Chapter 12: A Lost Bairn
The sun was shining brightly. Annoyingly brightly. The light was blinding as it reflected off the parchment he was trying to read from his seat on the garden wall. Gawain glared up at the sky before casting around for a shadier spot to sit. He needed to concentrate on this. It was important. Damn it, but it would be easier if he were back in the office.
Mary was working at Saint Mungo's and Gwen had had an appointment this morning. Naturally, Mary had asked Gawain to stay home to watch Ella. Well, 'asked' was the wrong word. 'Told' was more appropriate.
It was a Saturday, so there were no trials with the Wizengamot, at least. But still, the paperwork had been piling up faster than Gawain could keep up with. The weekends were always the best time to focus on paperwork, when most people were at home and not popping in and out of his office distracting him. He had been quite looking forward to a day at his desk without interruption. So much for that, he sighed internally as Ella called to him for the umpteenth time, "Watch this, Da'!" He spared her the briefest of glances as she tried yet again to do a loop-the-loop on her new broom and failed.
"Not too high," he called automatically, also for the umpteenth time, then looked back to the owl in his hands. 'Working from home' had to be one of the greatest lies mankind told himself. He wondered if anyone was actually successful or if it was really just a myth.
Gawain frowned at the report from Preston Proudfoot. Two weeks ago, word had come of an underground system to help smuggle escaped Death Eaters out of the country to evade the law. The rumours implicated some big pure-blood families in helping to harbour fugitives. But that's all they were. Rumours. But if they were true… and if they could prove it…
It had been decided to send an Auror undercover to try to infiltrate the organisation. Ben had promptly volunteered for the mission and Gawain had just as promptly vetoed that idea. It was a dangerous assignment and far too important to bungle. Not a job for one of the newest recruits in the Auror ranks. In the end, it had been Preston who had been chosen.
The parchment in Gawain's hands was the first communication he had had from Preston in the nearly two weeks since he had gone undercover. It was risky for those undercover to send or receive messages, so communication was always kept at a minimum. But it never failed to fill Gawain with anxiety. His mind could not help but go to the worst possible scenarios. Every day he did not hear from them, he found himself imagining his agents dead at the bottom of the Thames.
"Da'! Da'! Look at me!"
Gawain did not look up to the little paddock surrounded by birch trees where Ella was practicing her flying. It was a spot they had chosen with care for flying lessons. It was on low ground between the birches and a hill and the house and as such, was not well visible should any unsuspecting Muggles happen to wander their way. Not that many would—the house was well off the road and the nearest village was small and a good six kilometres away. This paddock had probably been used for horses or livestock once, long ago. But after decades without such a use, the split rail fence that enclosed it was beginning to fall into disrepair. Gawain could not be bothered to fix it. The fence served no purpose now anyway, other than to mark the boarders in which Ella was allowed to fly.
Preston's report was good. Progress was slow, but they had anticipated that. One could not expect to unravel the inner workings of a secret organisation in a fortnight. But he was slowly infiltrating the ranks and Preston knew well how to keep his eyes and ears open. Not much information of use to report yet, but that would come as Preston made himself more and more indispensable. He was good at that sort of thing.
"Look, Da'! I'm Viktor Krum!"
Gawain closed his eyes for a moment, begging for patience. Merlin, but he wished that he could explain to a seven-year-old that his work was important. That lives depended on what he did. With a sigh, he opened his eyes again and looked over to acknowledge whatever silly stunt Ella wanted to show off now. And then his eyes widened.
"Ella!" he cried. She was much too high. Much higher than the top of the birches she was supposed to stay below. And as he looked up, she was plummeting straight downward in a spiralling plunge. "ELLA, NO!"
Just before she hit the ground, Ella tried to pull up and she went skittering to the side. The sickening crash that rang across the garden made Gawain's heart plummet. Time seemed to stop for just a moment. His breath rang in his ears, and it was all he could hear.
And then he was sprinting. He didn't remember his brain telling his legs to run, but they were doing so. The documents which had been in his hand were flying in every which way as he dropped them, but he paid them no heed.
The old wood fence had splintered where Ella had collided with it. Gawain took a flying leap over one of the downed rails to get to her. She was lying in the grass curled in the foetal position with her back to him and her breath was coming in shuttering gasps of pain.
"Ella!" he panted as he skidded to a halt. Falling to his knees, he reached out to turn her over gently.
"Don't touch it! Don't touch it!" Ella cried, her face pale and streaked with tears and she hugged her right arm to her chest.
"I have to look at it, Ells. You need to let me see."
Gawain had seen more than his fair share of blood and gore in his years as an Auror. It was not the first time he had seen a broken bone, not even the first time he had seen one penetrating the skin. But it was one thing to see such a sight in oneself or one's colleague, or one's enemy. It was quite another to see such a sight in one's child.
Keep calm, he reminded himself. She'll only be more scared if she sees you panicking. And so he drew in deep and calming breaths as he studied the wound. The fracture was just below the elbow. The lower half of the arm jutted out at an awkward angle and the jagged end of bone poked out of the skin. Blood dripped into the crook of her elbow and down onto the grass where it pooled in a red sticky puddle. Deep breaths, he reminded himself, trying to block out the sound of Ella's shuddering sobs.
First aid was a requirement during Auror training. It was a dangerous job and one needed to know how to heal basic wounds. He knew what to do. Now if only he could remember. Deep breaths. He wished Mary were here. She was so much better at this sort of thing. Then again, if Mary were here she'd be killing him for not watching their daughter more closely. Deep breaths.
Repairing bones. This seemed like a clean fracture. Yes. He knew how to do that. He could do this. Supporting her arm with his left hand, he reached into his pocket with his right and pulled out his wand.
"Brackium Emendo." He pointed his wand at the arm and held his breath. Ella gasped in pain as the bone realigned itself. Gawain winced, glancing up at her face. It was a mistake to look at her face again. Better to concentrate on the arm and try to convince himself that this was not his daughter and the most important creature in the world to him. He swallowed and moved his eyes back to the arm, trying to block out the look of her cheeks streaked with tears and her eyes screwed shut in pain. His fingers felt along the bone. It felt smooth and straight. Good.
He turned his attention to the wound. It would need to be disinfected and closed. He took another deep breath and let it out. Luckily Mary always kept the house well-stocked in medical supplies. "Accio antiseptic," he called, pointing his wand toward the house. It was only a moment before a small purple vial came whizzing in his direction.
"This will sting," he warned her as he tipped a generous amount of purple liquid onto his handkerchief. Ella gasped again as he dabbed at the wound and it smoked. Deep breaths. Okay. Next.
He knew the spell. He had always liked it for how musical it sounded. "Vulnera Sanentur," he intoned. The flow of blood ceased. "Vulnera Sanentur," he repeated. Flesh knitted itself together.
It was then that Gawain heard the hastening footsteps behind him and turned.
"Is she a'right?" gasped Gwen, clutching a stitch in her side. "Ah heard ye yell from the front gate as ah Apparated in."
"A broken arm. I've patched her up as best I can," replied Gawain, he was still drawing in deep calming breaths. He ran a thumb over the jagged scar that now marred the pale and previously flawless skin in the crook of her right elbow. "I'm sure your mum could have done better," he sighed. Finally he looked up at Ella's face. She had stopped crying at last, and sat with her knees drawn to her chest sniffling.
"Are you hurt anywhere else?" he asked her. She shook her head, still looking quite miserable.
Relief flooded him. That and another emotion—an emotion the fear had thrust aside. But fear was leaving and in its place came anger. "What were you thinking," he ground out between clenched teeth. And before he knew it he was shouting. The calm state of mind in which he had forced himself in order to clean and close her wound had left too. "YOU COULD HAVE KILLED YOURSELF! YOU KNOW YOU'RE NOT ALLOWED TO FLY THAT HIGH! AND CERTAINLY NOT ALLOWED TO TRY STUNTS LIKE THAT! WHAT WERE YOU THINKING?"
Ella was looking up at him with wide eyes and then she burst into tears again. He felt Gwen's hand on his shoulder from behind and heard her say softly, "Gawain, ye'r scaring her." Abruptly Gawain realised his fingers were digging into Ella's arm where he still held it. He released it.
And then Gawain felt himself deflate. As though someone had opened a valve and let every emotion out. He slumped, suddenly exhausted. He pulled Ella's sobbing form into his arms and crushed her against his chest. He buried his face in her brown hair and breathed in the smell of her, seeking comfort in the scent.
"I'm sorry," he muttered into her ear, gruffly once he found himself able to speak through his gasping breaths. "You just scared me, is all. You can't do things like that. You could have been seriously hurt. And your ol' da' couldn't take it if anything happened to you." He felt her arms go around his waist to hug him back at last. They sat there for a moment in silence as she cried. Gawain was vaguely aware of Gwen waiting patiently behind him as they both struggled to collect themselves.
At long last, Ella's sobs quieted, and Gawain pulled away. He cupped her face between his hands and brushed the tears from her cheeks with his thumb. She looked up at him and met his eye with a sniff. The tears clinging to her long lashes made her hazel eyes look almost green. "I'm sorry, Da'," she said pitifully. "I know I'm not supposed to fly that high. But I wanted to try out the Wronski Feint."
"The Wronski Feint!" Gwen exclaimed gently, crouching down to be on their level. "Nae wonder ye gave yer da' a heart attack! Ye have tae learn tae crawl before ye can run, my jo."
"But I wanted to fly like Viktor Krum," she said, looking up at her grandmother earnestly. "Remember? When you took me to the Quidditch World Cup?"
Gwen looked surprised. "Ah'm surprised ye remember that. Ye were wee more than a bairn!"
"You told me I should remember it!" said Ella. "You told me I was witnessing history. That he was the greatest Seeker of all time!"
Gwen laughed, surprised at what was probably one of Ella's earliest memories. Gawain also suspected that she was intentionally holding Ella's attention to give Gawain the chance to compose himself, and he was grateful for it. Slowly, he extracted himself, rising to his feet to turn his back on the pair of them as they spoke. He looked out across the moor, listening as Gwen calmed his daughter with far more success than he could have. There was a buzzing in his ears and his heart still pounded painfully in his chest. "Exactly," Gwen continued. "The greatest Seeker of all time. So let's leave the Wronski Feint tae the likes o' him fur now an' focus on some easier manoeuvres, shall we?"
"I don't wanna fly anymore."
"Dinnae be silly," scoffed Gwen. But when Ella looked quite miserable, she said, "We'll tak a break fur te'day. Go an' git ye all cleaned oop— Ye'r sportin' half th' moor on yerself." Gawain glanced back in time to see Gwen rub a particularly noticeable grass stain on Ella's cheek. She managed to elicit a weak giggle. "But temorrow, we'll come right on back oot an' get ye back on that broomstick, ye hear?"
"Okay," replied Ella.
"No Wronski Feints, mind."
Ella giggled. "Okay. Promise."
Gawain turned to watch as Gwen straightened from her crouch and reached down to help Ella to her feet. He looked out across the moor one more time, then started as he felt a small hand in his. He looked down to see Ella looking up at him. He smiled, and the three of them made their way back to the house, Ella hanging off his arm. As they passed through the back gate into the garden, dimly he was aware of his work papers strewn about, rustling in the breeze. But he made no move to collect them.
"A'right, intae the bath with ye," Gwen said once they entered the house, shooing Ella in the direction of the bathroom.
Gawain did not follow them. He stood stock still just inside the door for a moment, listening to the sounds of Gwen filling the bathtub and helping Ella undress. He then made his way into the kitchen and sank down into a chair at the table. He rested his elbows on the table and buried his face in his hands. He sat there is silence. Still the buzzing filled his ears.
It was a few minutes later before Gwen came bustling in. "Ye need a cuppa, ah think," she said to him. He did not look up, but he heard her filling the kettle and setting it to boil. A moment later there was the clatter of a teapot and a couple of cups being set down on the table. Then the soft screech of the chair next to him being pulled out. Still he did not look up.
"She's fine, Gawain. Ye did well patching her oop. No harm done. We'll hae Mary tak a look tae be sure when she gits home."
Gawain sighed and finally pulled his face from his hand and shook his head. But he couldn't look at her. "It was my fault. I should have been watching her. I shouldn't have yelled at her like that." He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose where a dull throbbing was starting up.
"Wee 'uns 'll do as they're wont tae do. It wilnae be the last time she does something tae frighten the life oot o' ye." She regarded him as she reached over to pour the tea. "An' as fur ye yelling… Ye lost a bairn afore. Something no parent should have tae go through. Ah think we can all forgive ye fur over-reacting a wee bit."
Gawain's head snapped up to her at the mention of a lost bairn, then just as quickly snapped away. He did not talk of that. Gwen knew that. Everyone knew that. He didn't talk of Katherine or the baby or his complete failure as a husband and father. "But maybe ye'll still need tae wirk on forgiving yerself," Gwen finished. Gawain just stared at the far wall, looking at nothing, and determinedly not acknowledging the comment. He knew he was fooling no one. His hands were shaking and his jaw was clenched so hard his teeth ached. And internally, he sat there wondering how Gwen always saw so very much.
The silence was not long before Gwen blessedly took pity on him and changed the subject. He noted that she was practiced in pausing just long enough to let him know that he could talk about it if he wanted to. But he did not want to. And so she continued. "Luckily," she said, rising to her feet and moving over toward the cupboard, "this auld Scotswoman haes a secret parenting trick tae help us survive our young uns scaring us half tae death." Gawain did not look round or inquire as to what trick she might mean until he heard the unmistakable squeak and thunk of a cork being pulled from a bottle. Then he turned his head and laughed in spite of himself.
"An' dinnae ye go thinking Mary hasn't used this trick a time or two," she finished as she tipped a generous splash of firewhisky into each of their teacups with a wink. Gawain gave another weak laugh and ran his hand through his hair before reaching over and relishing a sip of the warm tea. The whisky burned his throat in a comforting way as it went down.
Gwen smiled at him and Gawain tried to ignore the pity in that look. "I feel like such a fool," he said with a sigh.
"Ah, now, hush. It couldae just as easily bin me." She took a sip of her tea and regarded him over the rim of her cup for a brief moment before saying, "Still… maybe ye should let me break the news tae Mary when she gets home."
Gawain smiled ruefully. He doubted it would do much good. Mary was likely to be furious, and rightly so. Still. He was grateful for his ally.
"Ah'm off tae check on oor future Quidditch champion," Gwen said, and she rose and headed out in the direction of the bathroom.
Gawain sat in silence and sipped his tea. He could just make out the sounds of Ella getting out of the bath and Gwen helping her dry off and change. He heard the soft murmur of their voices but could not make out the words. He sat there at the table and let his mind go blank. He didn't want to think. He couldn't bear to think how close he could have come to losing his daughter. He would not survive that. He could not. Not again. And so he let his mind go blank.
It was a few minutes of blissful blankness before he heard the pair leaving the bathroom. He heard them go out the back door into the garden for a few minutes before coming back to the kitchen. He could not bring himself to even be bothered to wonder what they were doing outside. He kept his mind blank.
"Here, Da'," said Ella. He blinked and looked down at her. She was holding out a stack of parchments. The papers he had thrown aside in his haste to reach her outside. He smiled sadly at her, took the papers, and set them down on the table, an arm's-length away.
"I think the pair of ye could do with some dinner. A cheese toastie? What dae ye think?"
Gawain smiled as Ella replied enthusiastically in the affirmative, marvelling at the resilience of children. She was the one who had been hurt and yet one would think nothing amiss at all. Looking at her, anyway. Looking at Gawain, would tell a totally different story. He reached out from his seat and pulled her into a hug from behind and pressed a firm kiss on her cheek.
"Da!" she squealed. She then reached up, craning around to push his face away with her hands giggling. "You're all scratchy!"
"What? You don't like my beard?" he teased, then bent down to rub his cheeks against hers playfully. She squealed as she struggled to escape his embrace, then shrieked as he tickled her sides, both of them nearly crying in laughter. Gwen watched them from the stove as she toasted sandwiches for them, smiling fondly. Finally, Ella collapsed against Gawain in exhaustion, leaning back against his chest from where she was now perched on his lap. Gawain wrapped his arms around her and rested his chin on her shoulder as they watched Gwen flipping the first toastie, a sense of peace settling over the room at last.
"Why are you here?" Gawain suddenly said to Gwen, his brain finally catching up to where they were. "I thought you were busy today."
"Oh, ah got done early an' thought ah'd come check on ye." She was fumbling in a pocket. "An' Ella, ah wanted tae give ye this."
"You got me a present," said Ella excitedly, reaching out for the small object Gwen had retrieved from her pocket.
"Ah was clearing oot an auld drawer an' found it. Ah ne'er wear it anymoore an' ah thought ye might like it."
"Oh, look, Da'! Isn't it pretty?" Gawain looked over Ella's shoulder at the bracelet she was holding in her small hands. It was bronze with small deep blue stones inlaid along its length.
"It is pretty," Gawain said, helping to clasp it around Ella's wrist. "Ravenclaw colours," he observed, with a small smile in Gwen's direction.
Gwen just laughed. "With how much Ella's enjoying reading, ah thought she might end up in Ravenclaw. But after today's stunt, ah have tae wonder if she's more like tae tak after her mam and go intae Gryffindor."
From her perch on Gawain's lap, still leaning back against his chest, Ella was holding up her hand and admiring the way the bracelet caught the light. "Nah," she said. "I want to be in Ravenclaw like you and Da'." She smiled happily at her gift.
"Well, ye'll nae hear any objection from us," Gwen said, putting a plate with sandwiches down on the table beside her. She winked at Gawain, and he smiled back. Their shared Hogwarts house had always been something they had bonded over. He was quite sure Gwen had intentionally wanted to give Ella this gift while he was there. Was quite sure this gift was meant for him, in a way. He gave Ella a soft kiss on the temple as she munched on her toastie before reaching for a sandwich himself.
His work papers lay forgotten on the table for the rest of the day.
Gawain found himself at a good breaking-point in his work Monday evening a little early. There was more to do, of course— there was always more to do— but if he started the next task, there was no way he could get it done before it was time to meet with the Gang at Grimmauld Place. Potter never seemed to mind when they came and went, so he decided to head over to the meeting early. He could get a bit of paperwork done there while waiting for the others and not lose so much momentum.
In truth, part of his eagerness to go early was in a vain hope that they might be able to start the meeting early and thus head home at a reasonable hour tonight. The thought surprised him a little. But he found himself with a new eagerness to get home in time to at the very least put Ella to bed. He had been missing far too many bedtimes, of late.
Mary had surprised him by being remarkably calm in response to Ella's flying accident. She had not shown any anger toward Gawain at all. Gawain suspected this may have had something to do with a whispered conversation she had had with Gwen right when she had arrived home that evening. Mary had merely examined Ella's wound quietly, scarcely acknowledging Gawain. She then had Ella hold her arm out extended and slowly swept her wand from shoulder to fingertips. Shimmering blue images of the bones flickered, suspended over Ella's arm. Mary's brow furrowed as she studied the images. Satisfied, she gave a nod and the blue images had flickered out like someone had blown out a candle. Finally, she had turned to Gawain, told him he had done well in healing the wound, and assured him that the fracture had not extended into the growth plate (something he had not been even remotely aware was of concern but of which he gathered was a good thing). Somehow, Mary's understanding made him feel guiltier than he would have in response to anger.
And so, Gawain found himself with his bag swung over his shoulder, taking the lift down to the Atrium half an hour earlier than he normally would have. He closed his eyes as he leaned against the back of the lift, letting his mind go blissfully blank. He relished in this moment where he had an excuse to just stand here and not think, just for a few minutes.
The lift stuttered to a halt on Level Five and a group of three workers from the Department of International Magical Cooperation got on. They were chatting merrily. It seemed to be the birthday of one of them and Gawain gathered they were heading out early to grab a pint together at the Leaky Cauldron. Gawain was already disposed to dislike them for their cheery attitudes intruding in his moment of quiescence, and this was only compounded when he opened one eye to glare at them and found they were all sporting BURGESS FOR MINISTER badges on their lapels. He really couldn't help the resultant eye-roll.
Guy Burgess's formal candidacy for Minister of Magic had been announced a couple weeks prior. Gawain was sick of seeing Burgess bustling around the Ministry pompously handing out those damn pins. He seemed to be putting far more effort into shaking hands and kissing babies than he was in doing his actual job. Not like actually maintaining international cooperation was important in a post-war government or anything. No, much more important to focus on buying votes with cheap gimmicks.
Gawain was glad that few people seemed to be falling for it, at least. Burgess was the constant butt of jokes around the Auror Office, and no one Gawain associated with seemed to take him seriously. And a recent poll published in the Daily Prophet showed Kingsley's approval ratings were holding strong. Still, he had started seeing a few more of those badges around of late, and they immediately set his teeth on edge.
When the lift clanged to a halt in the Atrium, he slipped out ahead of the Burgess Blokes and moved swiftly in the direction of the Apparition Zone. Stupid political opinions could be catching, after all.
He had expected to be the first to Grimmauld Place, and so he was surprised to hear Kingsley's voice coming from the kitchen when he arrived. He hesitated a moment, afraid he was interrupting something private, but Kingsley and Potter seemed merely to be chatting casually.
"I hear you've restarted Dumbledore's Army," Kingsley was saying as Gawain pushed open the kitchen door. Gawain paused just inside the door until he caught Kingsley's eye. Kingsley answered his unasked question with a wave of his hand to invite him in before his attention went back to Potter. On entrance, Gawain was glad to see Ben was there, so at least he was not the only one listening in.
"Yeah, Neville and Luna talked me into it. McGonagall is letting us use the old DADA classroom for the time being."
"Yes, Minerva was the one who mentioned it to me," said Kingsley. "I bet she'd be thrilled if you decided to stay on and take over the Defence Against the Dark Arts post, you know. She's seeming a bit at a loss to find someone to fill the post come September."
Potter gave him an odd look that Gawain couldn't read. There was a pause, then he said, "I'm in no way qualified to be a teacher." Then he moved on quickly before Kingsley could press the point. "But it's been fun. Restarting the DA. Kinda nice not having to keep it all secret anymore. And it feels good to have somewhere to be once a week. It's kinda morphing into more of big study group. We've opened it up for all OWL students and above. Helping us prepare for exams."
"Yes. I noticed you got your Hogwarts letter," Kingsley commented. Gawain followed his eyes to see a familiar looking yellow parchment envelope with green writing which was lying on the side table near the door. "I just had a meeting at Hogwarts with the Heads of Houses and Grizelda Marchbanks to finalise the plans for exams in August."
"Exams in August?" Ben exclaimed. "Whose cruel idea was that?"
"They're optional," Kingsley smiled at Ben. "For NEWT and OWL students who missed their exams this spring, what with the castle being under siege and all. Since so many students missed or just received a less than ideal education this past year, the Hogwarts teachers decided to offer students the option to retake the year. Or they can sit their examinations in August to test out."
He turned back to Potter, who only seemed to be half-listening. "Minerva mentioned you haven't responded yet. To say whether you intend to return for another year at Hogwarts. Sounds like Hermione has said she's going back. But Ron not."
"Yeah, well, you know Hermione. Nothing is going to keep her from completing a formal education. But Ron's decided to take a year off to help George get the joke shop back up and running. After that, I reckon he'll probably apply for Auror Academy. That was always his plan."
Gawain recognised a subtle hint of annoyance in Kingsley's face when Potter did not answer the question Kingsley was clearly trying not to directly ask. He had obviously not been particularly interested in what Potter's friends intended to do. Abruptly, Gawain realised that Kingsley was not here early by accident. He was here checking in on Potter in his subtle way. Kingsley licked his lips and prompted, in a determinedly casual tone, "The Heads of Houses have a bet going on which you'll choose."
"Yeah? What odds are they giving me?" Potter asked just as casually. Gawain found it odd that any student could be so unsurprised that the Heads of Houses and Minister of Magic were having conversations about him behind his back.
"They're split fifty-fifty," replied Kingsley. "Sprout and Slughorn think you'll come back. McGonagall and Flitwick think not."
"And you? Where does your bet lie?"
"Oh, I know better than to make any bets regarding you. You're always going to end up doing something I don't expect." He smiled mildly.
The two of them stared at each other in silence for a moment, and Gawain thought they were at an impasse. Potter, he was sure, was quite aware of the question Kingsley was not asking. He merely looked at Kingsley, his face blank, drumming his fingertips on the table. Then a small rueful smile spread across Potter's lips, and he let out a small huff of laughter. "Well, I do have to hand it to you. You're getting much more creative in your ways of asking me what the hell I'm doing with my life."
Kingsley smiled unapologetic in getting caught. "Can't blame us for being curious."
Potter huffed another small humourless laugh. "Suppose not. And I know I have to respond. The deadline is coming up." Potter's eyes travelled over to the letter sitting on the end table, and the expression suggested it might jump up and attack him with papercuts at any moment. "It's just… I guess a part of me wants to go back. Hogwarts… well, it will always be… home. But another part of me knows that doesn't exist anymore. And I don't know that I much fancy going back to school and just pretending that this whole year didn't happen."
There was silence in the room in response to this. Kingsley was gazing at Potter with a look of sadness, and Gawain considered the very great loss that was this boy's youth and innocence which had been claimed this past year.
No one seemed to quite know what to say. And Potter looked uncomfortable, as though he had suddenly realised he had said more than he meant to. The silence stretched to the point of awkwardness. Kingsley broke it with a change in conversation.
"Speaking of letters you have yet to respond to…" he said. Potter raised an eyebrow and a guilty grin spread across his face. He seemed to know where this conversation was going already, though Gawain had no idea. "I sent you an owl on behalf of the Wizengamot a couple of weeks ago and still haven't received a response. Care to tell me it got lost in the post?"
"Oh, no. I received it. I was just wondering how long you would let me ignore it before you brought it up. Little overly formal, wasn't it?"
"That is rather how it's done. A formal invitation. Of course normally the recipient writes back about what a great honour it is and gratefully accepts…" Kingsley raised an eyebrow at Potter.
"Oh, is that what normal people do?"
"Well, we've long since established you are anything but normal, but yes. That was rather the response I was hoping for."
"I really have no interest in spending an evening being tortured in the Ministry of Magic by a bunch of simpering bureaucrats."
"It's the awards ceremony to present you with an Order of Merlin: First Class, Harry. Not an invitation for an evening under the Cruciatus Curse."
"Oh, is that option on the table? Because I think I might prefer the Cruciatus." Ben snorted a laugh at Potter's response. Kingsley shot him a look that clearly said, you're not helping, before turning back to Potter.
"You just have to show up. I present you a medal; you shake my hand; you smile nice for the cameras; you spend an hour sipping cocktails… admittedly with a simpering bureaucrat or two. But then you can sneak out and come back here and hide yourself away again all you want."
Potter made a show of considering this for a moment. Then said definitively, "Yup. Sounds like torture."
"Ron and Hermione and Neville will be there," Kingsley coaxed. "They have all been offered Second Class."
"Oh!" said Potter mockingly. "So, it will be torture, but you're torturing my friends too, so that makes it all better!"
"They all promptly wrote back graciously accepting, I will add," said Kingsley pointedly ignoring Potter's jibe.
"To each their own," Potter muttered under his breath.
"Come on, Harry. You saved countless lives. People want an opportunity to say thank you. And you've been hiding yourself away to avoid it for two months now. It's time."
"Yeah, well that's another thing, isn't it? The timing. Total political stunt. I mean, how dumb do you think I am?"
"What?"
"The date of the ceremony?" said Potter, raising an eyebrow at him. "September 7th? One week after you would be officially sworn into office after the election. Let me guess. This would be your first official function? I'm not an idiot. I know when I'm being used."
Kingsley paused, a crease between his brows. "I'll admit, my political advisors did pick the date. But that doesn't change the fact that you deserve recognition. And this ceremony isn't about me."
"Sooo, if hypothetically Burgess were to win the election, would this whole thing just go away? Just trying to determine who I should vote for," said Potter. It may have sounded cruel, except that he laced each word with a strong enough sarcasm that left no one in doubt of which way he intended to vote.
Kingsley sighed, but he also couldn't help a self-deprecating laugh. Gawain thought this laugh contained both humour and more than a little indignation. He ran his hand over his bald pate. "Work with me here, Harry," he said tiredly.
Potter stared Kingsley down for a moment. Then said, "Fine. One hour. And I make no promises about smiling for the cameras."
It was at this moment that the doors opened and Margaret and Amin entered. In greeting the others, Gawain thought Potter missed Kingsley's look of pronounced relief.
The meeting proceeded much as they usually did. Picking through the details of case after case, bouncing ideas for new avenues of investigation off each other. Gawain noticed Potter was quieter than usual, and Gawain suspected he was still digesting his conversation with Kingsley.
When the subject of Thorffin Rowle came up, however, he chimed in with some helpful tips about Rowle's activity during the Battle of the Astronomy Tower the night Dumbledore had died as well as a story about an altercation with him in a café on Tottenham Court Road.
"I still wonder if he could be tied to the mess with Bathilda Bagshot," Kingsley was saying. "We know she was his great aunt, and there was bad blood between his mother and her. And we never figured out what happened to Bathilda. Still no idea what kind of dark magic that was. I've never seen anything quite like it. Not sure if it's something Rowle could have managed—far too precise to be his usual style. But the investigation never turned up any other leads."
"Oh." Everyone looked over to Potter who was looking wide-eyed at Kingsley with a guilty sort of expression on his face. "Yeah… Guess I forgot to tell you that story. That was me…" he said, slowly. Then, upon seeing the reactions on the faces around him, abruptly realised how that sounded and hastened on. "That came out wrong! I did not use dark magic to murder Bathilda Bagshot! But… well… that was a trap Voldemort set up for me."
"Wait. Back up. When were you in Godrick's Hollow?" Kingsley was looking at Potter with incredulous annoyance.
"Er… Christmas time," replied Potter, abruptly hesitant in response to Kingsley's tone.
"Why didn't you mention this at the time of your hearing?"
"Like I said. Guess I forgot. It didn't end up really furthering the fight at all—it's not like we found a horcrux there or anything. And well… to be honest, I don't really come out of this story looking so great." Potter winced as he remembered something. He paused and all the eyes in the room were on him, waiting. He sighed.
"We'd sort of hit a brick wall and didn't know where to go next. Ron had left. And Hermione and I were just sort of drifting and getting nowhere. Honestly, I was nearing the point of calling it quits. And Godrick's Hollow… It was sort of the last place we could think to go. It's where I was born. It's where my parents are buried. Where it all started." Potter was rolling something around in his left hand. Gawain saw a flash of a gold sphere before it disappeared into a pocket again. He had seen Potter fiddle with this object rather frequently, but he could never quite catch what it was. "And we knew Bathilda Bagshot was there and that she had been close to Dumbledore. We hoped maybe he had left… a hint or something. Obviously, we knew there was a good chance we were walking into a trap, but…" He shrugged as though not particularly concerned about that possibility.
Kingsley sighed. "I'm going to hate this story, aren't I," he said grimly.
"Er… I dunno. Do you hate stories where I do something really reckless and almost get myself murdered?"
"Yes," answered Kingsley in no uncertain terms.
"Then yeah. You're gonna hate this story."
The following meeting two days later was shaping up to be the most heated debate that had occurred in Gawain's time at Grimmauld Place. Margaret and Potter were staring each other down, eyes hard, neither backing down. Gawain sighed. This was not going to be a short meeting. It was Mary's day off, and he had rather been hoping he might make it home early enough for a pleasant evening with her and Ella. But he was already quite confident that was not happening.
"We can't try him as a minor. He's eighteen years old. He was old enough to know what he was doing the whole time." Margaret was looking at Potter incredulously.
"But he received the Dark Mark when he was underage. He was only sixteen when he was officially recruited. There's no backing out, once you have the Mark. That dictated every decision he made after he did finally come of age. And anyway. Most of what he did he was forced into as a way for Voldemort to punish his father for his failures. It hardly seems fair to sentence him the same as you would any other Death Eater."
Amin was staring between Margaret and Potter, his eyes bouncing back and forth as though watching a Muggle tennis match. Bones had a strange look of disgust on his face as he listened to Potter and Kingsley was staring at Potter with a crease between his eyes, fiddling with the gold loop in his ear thoughtfully. Roslyn looked nervous as they argued. Gawain noticed her glance uncomfortably at the door. She was not alone in that. Gawain too kept glancing at the door. Where the hell was Ben? He was well beyond late now. They had waited five minutes past starting time for Ben before deciding to get going without him. It was now twenty minutes into the meeting and still there was no sign of him. Of all the irresponsible…
"Draco Malfoy chose to get the Dark Mark. He could have walked away. He has been implicated in numerous acts of torture, not to mention attempted murder against Dumbledore..."
"Because he was forced into it! Even Dumbledore didn't blame him for that."
"Harry," Kingsley interjected, his tone reasoning. "You have to acknowledge that all of the Malfoys bear responsibility for a great number of crimes over the years. I'm surprised you feel so passionately about this. Wasn't it Lucius Malfoy who was responsible for opening the Chamber of Secrets? And he answered Voldemort's call immediately when Voldemort regained his body. He stood by in that graveyard and watched Voldemort torture you and did nothing. He fought against you and threatened your friends at the Department of Mysteries. All of the Malfoys were ready to give you over to Voldemort when you were captured and brought to Malfoy Manor."
"Draco had no interest in turning me over to Voldemort that night," said Potter impatiently. "And anyway. Lucius Malfoy can rot in hell for all I care. He dug his own grave several times over. But what does any of that have to do with anything? We are not responsible for the actions of our fathers or our spouses."
"We are if we see them committing those acts and do nothing to stop them," came Margaret's rebuttal.
"What would you expect them to do? Any act of rebellion would have been met with torture and probably death. And not just for themselves. For the whole family. And yet, even knowing that, Narcissa Malfoy chose to lie for me. She knew I was still alive in the forest, and yet she told Voldemort I was dead. She saved my life."
"She saved your life because she had realised she was on the losing side, Harry," countered Kingsley. "She saved it because she had realised you were going to win in the end. She realised you were the best chance of saving her own life and her son's."
"So if our motives aren't one hundred percent pure and unselfish, our actions count for nothing, then?" Potter glared at Kingsley. "She made the right choice in the end. Dumbledore once said to me that it is our choices that show who we truly are."
Kingsley faltered in response to that, but Amin took up the mantel. As usual, Gawain could not truly tell which side of the argument Amin supported. Instead, he seemed to be arguing in an attempt to fully understand both sides. "Right," said Amin, slowly. "And did they not choose to become Death Eaters?"
"Narcissa Malfoy is not a Death Eater. She never had the Dark Mark. Her crime is being married to a Death Eater and not wanting to turn over her husband. She cannot be held responsible for his actions. And do you really think Draco had a choice? He was raised in that life."
Potter looked around the room, daring anyone to argue. "I was raised to fight in this war. From before I was even old enough to realise it was happening, I had Dumbledore nudging me, training me. If our positions had been reversed… If I had been raised by Death Eaters and Draco had had the likes of Dumbledore looking out for him. Do you think we would have both done the same? Do you not think that would change the outcome?"
There was silence in response to this speech for a moment. Gawain could not help but to look to Kingsley, remembering his crushed reaction after Potter's testimony to the Wizengamot. Kingsley was staring at Potter with sorrow. Gawain knew this was a touchy subject for Kingsley. Potter had been a weapon to Dumbledore. He had used this boy and risked his life in this war, knowingly. Gawain did not think Kingsley had yet managed to forgive Dumbledore for that. Nor had he forgiven himself for unwittingly playing a part in it.
Kingsley ran a hand over his head and licked his lips before saying softly, "I know, all too well, that you faced more than your fair share of adversity growing up, Harry. And yet you still turned out to be a good person. Do you really think you can say the same for Draco?"
"Don't you think he deserves the benefit of the doubt?" replied Potter, his tone softened but still resolute.
Margaret looked between the pair. She seemed to recognise that there was more behind the words that what was being said. She turned back to Potter but continued more cautiously as well. "Listen. I hear what you're saying. But at the end of the day, hypotheticals are not the point of the law. Draco Malfoy is who he is, however pitiable the history that made him that way. We punish criminals for their actions because we need to ensure that they will not do it again."
Potter shook his head. "But if a criminal is already repentant. If we can already find confidence that he will not act the same way if he were to be given other options. Does that have no bearing on the sentence at all?"
Margaret was drawing in breath to answer when a crash was heard from the hallway. Everybody jumped. Almost simultaneously, the kitchen door swung open. The repulsive troll's leg umbrella stand rolled through the door from the hall, just as Ben caught himself on the door jamb, narrowly saving himself from a fall after clearly having just tripped over the umbrella stand. But he paid this no mind as he stumbled through the threshold.
His eyes darted around the room, taking stock of who was present before he doubled over, just inside the door, his hands on his knees as he gasped for breath. He had clearly been running.
"What the—"
"We… have… a problem," Ben panted.
Everyone in the room simply stared at Ben as he struggled to regain his breath.
"Well?" Bones snapped impatiently.
Ben looked to Gawain. "Preston… He's… back…"
"Preston?" Gawain said sharply, rising to his feet. "What happened? He's not due to check in for at least two more weeks." Merlin, but could Ben hurry up and catch his breath so he could formulate a complete sentence already!
"Called the mission off," gasped Ben. "Got wind of something new."
"Something new?"
"The Death Eaters… They're marshalling an attack…"
Gawain saw Kingsley's eyes dart quickly to Potter, then back to Ben. "An attack against whom?"
"Us."
There was silence in the room. Everyone stared at Ben.
Ben swallowed. He was at long last starting to catch his breath, though he was still massaging a stitch in his side. "Preston heard them say they were targeting the Gang. They used that word. He said there's a spy. Someone inside the Ministry, but he couldn't find out who. But whoever it is, they've put a Trace on us. Preston couldn't find out exactly which of us they're tracking. But he gathered it's on most if not all of us. They've been using the Trace to track us. And they're supposed to attack tonight.
There was a flurry of movement. Everyone was on their feet, moving restlessly. There was a cacophony of noise as several people spoke at once.
"Okay, everyone, let's take a breath," said Kingsley in his deep calm voice. "This house is well warded. It's why we meet here, remember? There is no way the Death Eaters can get in here. Let's take a moment and figure this out—"
"No," interrupted Ben. "You don't understand. They've been Tracing us for weeks. They know when we meet. They're not attacking here. They said they were coming at us through our families."
The world stopped. Gawain felt his blood run cold. His face drained. His head felt light. Bile was rising in his gut. His heart pounded so loudly in his ears he thought the whole room must be able to hear it. But this thought did not stay in his brain long. For he was sliding away. Miles away. Years away. As surely as if a hundred Dementors were bearing down on him, his mind left the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, and he was being pulled far, far away.
In his mind he had arrived outside his cottage in Yorkshire. It was night time and a hush hung over the moors. He knew something was off immediately, though he could not instantaneously comprehend what.
An eerie green light lit the ivy climbing up the stone walls of the cottage, and the leaves glowed a sickly chartreuse colour. Frost touched the tips of the scraggly moor vegetation and refracted the light to shimmer like fairy lights at Christmas time. But this light did not impart the feelings of warmth and joy that Christmas lights would. Dimly, he knew that this light was not natural. The moon did not shine green light. A part of him already knew then and there. But another part of him could not conceive it.
Slowly, so very slowly, he turned his eyes up to the heavens. No. This was not heaven. No greater power of good looked down to protect him from up there. No. This was hell. Hell was swallowing him whole.
It hung in the sky above his lovely little cottage—the home he and Katherine loved so much. The green skull with the serpent tongue etched against the black sky like a new perverse constellation.
His mind was racing so fast, it almost felt as though his body was running in slow motion. Thoughts jumped from one to another too quickly to process them fully. He did not know why he was bothering to run. He knew what he would find. Knew it was too late.
He pushed though the swinging gate of the low stone wall that enclosed the garden. Glass crunched under his feet from the shattered kitchen window as he ran up the cobblestone path. He stumbled through the front door which hung awkwardly off one hinge and shoved it aside. It scraped against the tile floor.
The door to the kitchen was ajar. He knew she would be there. It was where she always waited for him.
Even the corner of his mind that knew what he would find could not prepare him for the sight that greeted him as he pushed the door open. He stumbled and grasped the doorframe to keep himself from falling over. Then he half walked, half fell across the room. His knees made sharp contact with the floor. More glass crunched under them, but he paid the pain no mind. The pain of broken glass was nothing.
Katherine lay on her back, arms stretched out above her head, gaze fixed unblinking at the sky, lips ever so slightly parted. The lock of blond hair fell across one eye. It always did. No matter how many times she tucked it behind her ear, it always found its way back to fall in her eyes. Gawain loved that lock of hair. Now he pushed it aside to look into glassy blue eyes that would never look back at him again.
His fingers trembled as they slid to her neck to stem the flow of blood. But the blood was not flowing. It had not been flowing for some time. It was thick and sticky and barely warm. But his hands went to the slice across her throat anyway, determined that if only he could stop the bleeding…
As he vainly put pressure on the wound with one hand, his other hand travelled down her body to rest at the bulge of her stomach. He knew he would not feel the insistent little kick he so hoped to feel. But somehow he thought, maybe…. But never again would he feel her kick. Never would she take her first breath of air. Never would he hear her cry. Or see her smile. Or feel her warmth.
Slowly, so very slowly, his eyes left Katherine's and followed the path his hand had taken to her stomach. Some part of him had already taken this in as he had approached, but his mind had shut down, refusing to acknowledge it. But now he looked. It was hard for his eyes to focus. Unshed tears clung to his lashes, and he shook so hard the world around him seemed to be vibrating. But he was determined to look.
Her jumper had been pulled up to expose the pale white skin of her abdomen. Skin that stretched over a womb which had fought so hard to protect their child from this cruel world. Fought and yet still failed. His lips had kissed that spot just this morning before he had left for work. Now, across the white skin, the bright red cuts stood out sharply.
Blood had flowed from these shallow cuts, dripping down her sides to pool on the floor. Her heart had still pumped as they had made them. He could almost see it happening.
They could have killed her with a single curse. Quick and painless. But they had not. They had toyed with her. Had known she had no weapon, no magic, nothing with which to defend herself. They had held her down and carved this vile word across their unborn child before finally silencing her screams with a final slice across her throat.
He stared at the once flawless skin, now marred by the word they had carved there. The message they had left for him. Gawain finally allowed himself to read it. Not just to read it. But to understand it. One simple word that said so much.
Mudblood
And Gawain broke.