Chapter 14: Healing Hands
Gawain managed to catch Potter before his head hit the ground. It had taken two seconds for Gawain's shocked mind to jumpstart, but then, within the blink of an eye, he was kneeling on the kitchen floor, Potter slumped against his shoulder. The boy's legs were stretched out awkwardly in front of him in what must have been an uncomfortable position, but he made no move to readjust.
Gawain propped Potter's torso against the wall and frantically tore aside the boy's cloak. And then he swore. The blood had been barely visible against the dark green of his cloak. But now, Gawain watched in horror as the scarlet blossomed over the white of his t-shirt below. The contrast of the deep red blood and the white shirt and the dark green cloak for some reason had Gawain thinking of a long-ago holiday when his mother had taken him to the Netherlands to see the tulip blooms when he was a child. Such a strange thought to come into his head now.
Gawain shook his head. He had to concentrate. Pressure. Put pressure on the wound. His hands went to the wound on Potter's abdomen, pressing hard. Potter let out a strangled gasp of pain.
"MARY!" roared Gawain, not talking his eyes away from Potter's belly. He was still vaguely aware of some commotion between Kingsley and Ben and Bones over by the door, but he paid it little heed. Out of his peripheral vision, he saw Mary responding to his call and struggling to extract herself from the other side of the table. She was pushing chairs and people out of her way to get to him.
What else? Gawain thought. He struggled to remember his first aid training from what felt like a lifetime ago. Merlin, why was there so much blood? Why didn't the pressure he was applying seem to be slowing the pool that was forming on the kitchen floor? "Elevate the wound," he mumbled to himself. "Elevate…" He blinked. How the hell did one elevate a wound that was on the lower abdomen? He glanced up at Potter's sheet-white face as though hoping he could tell him. But Potter was staring blankly out across the room now, not seeming even remotely aware of Gawain's predicament.
"Lower the heart! Lay him flat," cried Mary, skidding down to kneel besides Gawain. Oh… right, thought Gawain as they pulled Potter away from the wall and lowered him to the ground. That should have been obvious. Potter's head lulled, and now his unfocused gaze contented itself to study the ceiling. He was drawing in rasping breaths.
Mary's practiced hands pulled Potter's blood-soaked t-shirt up to inspect the wound. The injury was situated a few finger's width above his right hip bone, penetrating into the abdomen. Gawain wondered how Mary could see much of anything with the blood pouring out. But she must have made some sense of it, because she frowned, then rolled Potter over part way, tilting her head to look at his back.
"There's an exit wound too," she said to Gawain. "You have to put pressure on that too." Her hands grasped Gawain's and guided them, one on each side of the boy's torso. "Here and here," she said. "Firm pressure." She enunciated these words by pressing his hands hard against Potter. Then she turned aside, rising to her feet, and moving away.
Gawain craned his head to look around, his eyes wide in panic. She wasn't leaving him, was she? But she was leaning over, and her arm swept across the table top. The deserted papers and case files from the earlier meeting went flying with reckless abandon. "Scourgify!" she cried, waving her wand over the tabletop. Pink suds erupted from the table before being rinsed away.
His head awkwardly craned as he still held both hands to Potter's abdomen, Gawain took a moment to assess the situation. The kitchen was in chaos. There was commotion happening in every direction. Only half of the room seemed aware of Gawain crouched on the floor with Harry Potter bleeding out under his very hands. Gawain stared around desperately.
"What do you think you're going to be able to do?" Gawain heard Kingsley saying from over by the door where he was blocking Bones's path, oblivious to the turmoil on the other side of the room.
"I'm going to get my wife back!" bellowed Bones. Clearly, he'd been trying to push past to the door.
"You're going to get yourself killed," Ben corrected.
"Accio healer's bag!" Mary cried, pointing her wand to the place by the door where she had left her supplies.
Gawain saw Kingsley start in confusion as the bag whizzed by him, narrowly missing his head. Bones took advantage of his momentary distraction to push past him and march out of the kitchen in the direction of the front door.
"Dad!" cried the older of the Bones boys after his father's retreating back, but Bones did not look back. Still being careful not to let up on the pressure he was applying to the wound, Gawain turned to look over his other shoulder at the two boys behind him, still standing where their father had left them over by the fire. The older was staring after Bones in lost confusion, tears streaming down his young round cheeks as his little brother wailed beside him. Amitra and Margaret struggled to keep their attention diverted, whispering comforting words Gawain could not hear. The House-elf was sitting sobbing on the floor still. Gawain looked back to the door, waiting for further instruction from Mary.
Kingsley's eyes had distractedly followed the direction of the healer's bag to see what Mary was up to. They passed right over Gawain and Potter as he looked back to the door where Bones was leaving, then did a double take. His gaze met Gawain's and widened in horror. Gawain saw the exact moment he took in Potter's prone form on the ground, the smear of blood down the wall, Mary hurrying to prepare a space for him on the table. Kingsley paled. And then he was moving in their direction, all thought of stopping Bones clearly gone from his mind.
"Get him up onto the table!" ordered Mary, just as Kingsley reached them. All of Mary's attention was on the medical emergency; she was completely ignoring the drama unfolding around her involving the Bones family. Gawain nodded once pointedly to Kingsley who looked as though he might fall to pieces at any moment, but he nodded back to Gawain. He was still with him. Gawain shifted. Kingsley took hold of Potter's shoulders, and Gawain grabbed his upper legs, and they heaved him to lie on the table on his back. Potter let out a choked gasp of pain again.
Breathing raggedly, Potter blinked a few times and his eyes found Kingsley's. He raised a blood-smeared hand weakly and Kingsley grasped it in his own, brushing the boy's hair out of his eyes with his other hand. Potter drew in a rasping breath and opened his mouth to say something, but nothing came out that could be recognised as human speech. But the sentiment was there. Gawain saw fear in his eyes.
Gawain had seen horrible injury and death in his two and a half decades as an Auror. Everyone was afraid when it really came down to it. Gawain thought it a myth that anyone could be truly fearless in that situation. There wasn't a person on the planet who could stare down death and not flinch at least a little. So he couldn't say why the look in Potter's eyes struck him so hard. But something about seeing the fear of death in the Chosen One, the Boy Who Lived, a child who had faced death on multiple occasions and beaten it back against all odds…
"It's alright. It's going to be alright, Harry. Stay with me." Gawain suspected Kingsley was speaking to himself as much as he was to the boy on the table. Gawain felt a strange disconnect as he stared down at the pair of them, both looking so terrified. His head was fuzzy and light.
"Keep applying pressure!" Mary snapped at Gawain impatiently, drawing his attention back as she pushed a fist full of gauze into his hand. And he went back to his task of holding pressure on Potter's wounds, shaking his head to clear it. Dimly, he was aware that Margaret and Amitra were ushering the Bones boys out of the room. Mary was bustling about pulling things out of her bag.
"Drink this," said Mary, gently lifting Potter's head and holding a vial filled with some kind of dark red potion to his lips. Potter's eyes turned trustingly to Kingsley, and only after he received a nod of encouragement from him did he drink. After a couple gulps, he coughed and spluttered, and Mary pulled the vial away, turning back to her bag.
"You're doing great, Harry," Kingsley encouraged him, still clutching his hand.
"One more," said Mary, holding another potion to his lips, this one a light sky blue. Potter took it dutifully.
"Sonorus," said Mary, pointing her wand at Potter's chest. Abruptly the sound of Potter's heartbeat resounded in the kitchen. It was unusually fast and thready. Even Gawain's untrained ears could tell it was not normal. But Mary did not react— she had been expecting this. She was currently attaching some gadget to encircle Potter's arm now, but Gawain did not know what it did. She tapped it with her wand, and it clicked and vibrated and constricted in a repetitive pattern. Potter's breath was laboured and shallow, and his eyelids fluttered as though uncertain if they wanted to close or remain open.
"Ella, why don't you go with Nayana and Sandeep. Go upstairs. We'll find you in a bit," said Mary, though she did not look up from her work. Gawain had not noticed the three of them hovering uncertainly across the table until that moment. But Mary was a multi-tasking genius that way.
"Is… Is he going to be alright?" asked Ella, her eyes wide and her face pale with worry.
"Of course he is!" said Nayana, turning Ella's attention away from the blood. "You know your mum can fix up anybody. Now let's go on upstairs and pick out a good bedroom for you and your parents."
"But…"
"Don't argue, Ella. Go upstairs," Mary said, sterner now. "We'll be up soon."
Ella sighed, but allowed herself to be ushered out of the kitchen by Nayana. Gawain glanced up and met Amin's eye as he paused at the door out to the hall. He looked sad and worried. Gawain nodded his thanks to him for looking after Ella, then returned his attention to Mary. She had retrieved another potion from her bag. This one she poured some onto her hands and worked it into her skin before doing the same to her wand. The kitchen was at last blissfully quiet, save for the thumping of Potter's magically amplified heartbeat and the rasping of his breaths. It was almost jarring after the cacophony of screaming and crying and shouting that had filled the kitchen mere minutes before.
With difficulty, Kingsley pulled his eyes away from Potter for a moment. "Ben? Keep an eye on the fireplace, will you," said Kingsley. His voice was strained. "I imagine if someone were to find a way to follow Harry through, they would have done so by now. But we can't be too careful. Gawain glanced up to see Ben nod. He was looking like a lost child as he took in Potter's prone form.
"Brannagh? Perhaps you can make sure everyone is getting situated alright upstairs?" Kingsley continued. Gawain had rather forgotten Roslyn was there. She had been quiet during the tussle and shouting that unfolded. Now Gawain took her in. She was looking almost as pale as Potter. She was staring down at the boy and her hand was over her mouth as though trying not to vomit and tears filled her eyes. She had probably not been exposed to much blood over the course of her career in the Improper Use of Magic Office, Gawain supposed. Kingsley, Gawain suspected, was giving her a task elsewhere out of a worry that she might faint at any moment. Even sick with fear over Potter's current state, he still could find creative ways to help others. "The first floor is just living rooms, but there are a number of bedrooms on the second and third floors. Harry…" Kingsley swallowed. "Harry sleeps on the fourth floor, so leave those rooms for him. Make sure everyone is being careful. The previous owners of the house had a lot of dark artefacts that could do some real damage. I'm not sure how much Harry has cleared away since I was last up there."
Roslyn seemed unable to muster any words. She simply nodded and then positively fled to the door. She paused, just before leaving, looked back at Potter and swallowed visibly, then was gone.
Through all this, Mary had been muttering some spell and waving her wand over Potter's face. His eyes finally fluttered closed and stayed that way and his hand went limp in Kingsley's grip. Kingsley's attention was immediately back to the matter at hand, and he looked frantically toward Mary.
"Don't' worry. That was me. I've put him in an enchanted sleep so I can try to repair his wound," Mary assured him.
"But you can repair it, can't you?"
Mary glanced at him and licked her lips. Then, turning back to her work, she said, "It's a cursed wound. Those are always tricky. And I don't know what they hit him with." Then, catching the terror in Kingsley's gaze she added, gently, "I'll do everything I can." No one missed that she really didn't answer. But no one dared call her out on it.
Kingsley looked back to Potter, and Gawain could see unshed tears forming in his eyes. Still he held Potter's hand between both of his own, staring into Potter's face desperately. If will-power alone could keep someone alive, Kingsley would hold on and not let go until he was sure the boy was safe.
"Alright, Gawain. You can let up on the pressure. I'll need to see what I'm working with."
Gawain stepped back to give Mary room to work. He rounded the table to the opposite side to watch and wait for further instruction. A quick slash of Mary's wand had Potter's t-shirt split open up the front. She pushed the tattered remains aside and pulled away the blood drenched gauze that Gawain had been holding to the wound. She then tipped a generous splash of purple potion that smoked over Potter's belly before really getting to work.
She was mesmerising to watch. Her hands flew back and forth with a graceful elegance. She held her wand delicately and nimbly. She was mumbling spells too low and too fast for him to hear as she worked her way through the wound.
Gawain had absolutely no idea what she was doing of course. It was all a complete mystery to him. He tried not to look too closely. The sight of her working in Potter's abdomen to heal him somehow made him more nauseous than the sight of a curse causing the damage. He could not explain why.
"There's some compromised intestinal loops," Mary said. Gawain wasn't sure if she was talking to them or to herself. "I'll have to do a resection. But we're lucky it missed all the vital organs. A little too close to the kidney for my comfort. A little higher and this would have been a whole lot bloodier…"
As it was, Gawain really couldn't imagine it being 'bloodier'. He was also alarmed to note that if anything, there seemed to be more blood now than when she'd started. And Potter's heart rate was getting faster and faster. The vibrating instrument on Potter's arm seemed to be buzzing with more and more urgency.
"Mary…" Gawain said, uncertainly, his eyes on the instrument which had started to let out a whirring sound and was flashing with different coloured lights. Gawain didn't know what it did, but he was sure there could be no good meaning to those lights. Mary's eyes were on her work, her left hand and much of her wand plunged inside the wound, and she seemed to be unaware of whatever the instrument was trying to tell her.
"I know, I know," Mary said, her voice urgent. She glanced at the instrument for no more than half a second before her eyes were back on her hands. "I almost have this bleeder. If I can just get it ligated…"
The buzzing instrument was beeping in alarm now, and the lub dub of Potter's heart was sounding so fast the beats were becoming almost indistinguishable and slurring together.
"Mary!" Gawain called, more urgently.
"I've got it, I've got it!" She pulled back from what she had been doing, her hands stilled, and her eyes turned now to the instrument on Potter's arm. She paused watching the instrument on Potter's arm and listening to his heart. For a moment, she was perfectly motionless. Gawain didn't even think she was breathing.
For a terrifying moment, nothing seemed to change. Then, very slowly, Potter's heartrate began to slow and the beeping vibrating of the instrument on his arm became less insistent. Gawain noticed Mary take in a deep calming breath with eyes closed. Then she returned to the wound. She was back to her whispered counter-curses and healing spells, eyes zeroed in on Potter's abdomen as though nothing had happened.
Mary continued to work, her graceful hands sliding, flourishing in what would have been a beautiful sort of dance in other circumstances. Gawain looked into her face and marvelled at her determination and focus. He rarely got to see her work like this. And she was stunning. Hope—no, faith—swelled in Gawain's heart as he watched her work.
"I have the bleeding under control. And his intestines seem to be holding their seal well. I think I can lavage and close up the body wall now." She drew in another deep breath, glanced at the instrument on Potter's arm, then went back to work.
Kingsley was still holding Potter's hand between both of his own. He had pulled up a chair and was seated near Potter's head. He seemed to be keeping his gaze deliberately away from the wound and did not respond to Mary's comment. He just sat and looked into Potter's face. Gawain could not fully understand all the expressions on his face. Sorrow? Fear? Guilt? They flashed across his features too fast for Gawain to read.
It was then that Gawain abruptly realised he himself was just standing there uselessly. Feeling a tugging on the skin of his hands, he looked down to see the dried blood there coating them. He rubbed his hands together and some of it flaked off.
Should he leave, now that Mary was no longer giving him instructions? Should he go upstairs and check on the others to make sure everyone was settling in alright? Make sure that Ella wasn't too scared? But when it came down to it, Gawain felt glued to Mary's side. Like some invisible gravitational force was pulling him to stay with her.
He was distracted from having to make this decision when Mary let out a sigh of frustration. Gawain looked to her worriedly. She caught the glance and shook her head slightly. "It's alright. It's just… whatever curse they hit him with is tricky. I can't find the right counter-curse to seal the wound fully. If there even is one. Cursed wounds are the worst. Even at the best of times—when you know exactly what you're dealing with— they're hard to close. I'm going to have to place a bandage and his skin layer will have to heal the long way through second intention. There are some poultices that can help. But it will probably be a couple weeks before he's back to normal. And he'll have a scar… But it seems he's no stranger to that," she added, and Gawain noticed her eye dart up to the boy's bared chest.
Gawain had not noticed it before. He had been so focused on the wound to Potter's lower abdomen, he had not appreciated the scarring on his chest. Now he took it in. Potter was slender. More than slender. He was skinny. His ribs showed a little too clearly to be entirely healthy. His chest was smooth and largely hairless. It was a startling reminder of how young the lad was. It was so easy to forget that he was just seventeen and barely through puberty. Below his collar bones and centred on his chest was a perfect oval of smooth scarred flesh. It reminded Gawain of a cattle brand. And just below was an odd swirling pattern of discoloured scarring. Gawain couldn't imagine what could have caused such an injury.
"Can you prop him up so I can bandage him?" Mary asked Gawain and Kingsley then, bringing him back to the matter at hand. Gawain reached down to help Kingsley set the boy up upright. Potter's head lulled helplessly and Kingsley adjusted himself to sit on the table to better support it against his shoulder in a more comfortable position. Mary pointed her wand at the boy's belly and muttered, "Ferula." Clean white bandages shot out of the end of her wand and wrapped themselves neatly around Potter's middle from pelvis to ribs.
Satisfied with her bandaging, Mary nodded to them to lay him back down. She reached over to support Potter's head as Kingsley moved aside, and together they lowered Potter's limp form back to the table. Gawain pulled away, but he saw Mary freeze, still bent over Potter, her hand under his neck.
Mary was staring into Potter's face. Abruptly, Gawain realised, this was the first time she had really looked at him directly since he had arrived back in the kitchen. Through all of that, everything she had just done to heal him, not once had he really seen her take in the boy's face. Now she stood there, staring at him as though lost in a trance. She brushed the hair back from his forehead, and Gawain watched as she traced a thumb over the lightning bolt scar. Abruptly Gawain noticed there were unshed tears in her eyes as she studied his sleeping features.
Gawain understood then. She had not let herself look at him before this moment. She had not wanted the reminder that she was treating her dead best friend's son. She had struggled to remain detached from that so as to concentrate on her work. How hard it must have been to turn that off. To focus on just her work, knowing whose life was at stake under her hands. He reached out and laid a hand gently on her shoulder from across the table, but she scarcely seemed to notice.
"Is he supposed to be breathing like that?" Kingsley asked, clearly unaware of this struggle. His eyes were only for Potter. And still he had that strange look on his face that Gawain could not fully read. Now that Kingsley mentioned it, Potter's breathing was very quick and shallow. His heartbeat was still sounding around the kitchen, and it too sounded too fast, though it was stronger than it had been during the procedure.
Mary blinked several times, seeming to come out of a reverie. "Yes… I mean, no… But it's expected. He lost a lot of blood. His heart and lungs are having to work twice as hard to get oxygen to his tissues. It'll get better as his body starts to regenerate more red blood cells. The Blood Replenishing Potion will help, but he'll need repeated dosings for at least a few days."
"So he's gonna be alright?" asked Ben. Gawain almost jumped at the voice behind him. He had quite forgotten he was there.
Mary looked at him. Her face was emotionless with exhaustion, though Gawain still saw the remnant of the tears clinging to her lower lashes. "He's stabilised for now. We're not entirely out of the woods. Infection is going to be the biggest worry. If his intestines leak at all… But I'm hopeful."
At that moment, Margaret re-entered the kitchen. Her gaze went first to Potter, then to the others. She was quiet as she took in the occupants of the room sombrely.
"How is he?"
"Alive. Thanks to Mary," said Kingsley. "Edward?"
Margaret shook her head. "Hasn't come back yet." Her eyes were filled with worry for her friend. Gawain knew Margaret had been friends with Edward Bones since they were children. Knew that she must have been close to his wife too. This must be horrible for her. Margaret sighed in frustration. "I can't believe he just left the boys like that. What's going to happen to them if he gets himself killed? What is he thinking?"
"He's not," said Gawain softly. Everyone looked at him. "He just lost his wife. He's not thinking," he clarified. Then he turned away to look at Potter. Because Potter was the only one in the room who wasn't looking at him in pity, knowing that he spoke from experience. No, Potter just slept on, oblivious to Gawain's discomfort.
"How are the boys?" asked Kingsley, blessedly distracting the room from Gawain.
"Traumatised," replied Margaret. "They're with Amitra now."
"I'm sorry. I don't want to interrupt," said Mary. "I know this is important too. But we really should move Harry now."
"Yes. Yes, of course," replied Kingsley, running a hand over his bald pate and glancing back to Potter, considering. "I don't want him all the way up to the fourth floor in his own room… too isolated and too hard to get him up all those stairs. But maybe we can turn the first floor drawing room into a bedroom for him."
Gawain nodded in agreement. "We should be able to get him up one flight of stairs. And the sofa in there should be comfortable enough.
Mary was staring between them with her mouth open, shaking her head in confusion. "Upstairs? What are you talking about? No, I mean it's time to transport him to St Mungo's."
There was silence in the room save for Potter's continued heartbeat thumping away in the background. The Aurors all looked at Mary, then exchanged looks with each other. Mary was staring between all of them. "Why is everyone looking at me like I'm crazy right now? Harry has been seriously wounded. He needs to go to hospital!" Silence.
Margaret spoke first, very softly, her eyes darting between Kingsley and Gawain. "I'm going to go with a hunch and say I'm not the only one thinking of Boderick Bode right now…" They all exchanged looks again.
Mary, however, seemed completely nonplussed. "Bode? That wizard who was accidentally killed by Devil's Snare in the Permanent Spell Damage ward a couple years ago?
"That was no accident," supplied Gawain, grimly. "It was an assassination."
Mary's mouth dropped open, and she stared around between the Aurors. "But… why?"
"He found himself on the wrong side of the Death Eaters," said Kingsley.
"Good thing Harry's never done that," added Ben, sarcastically.
Gawain shot Ben a quick look. There was a time and a place for his humour. Goading his wife's already tattered nerves was not one of them. Then he turned back to Mary. "The point is, St Mungo's is a security nightmare."
"He has too many enemies. If it were anyone but Harry…" continued Kingsley, trailing off.
"Or if we were free to go stand guard by his bedside…" added Gawain. "But with the Trace… We'd just be putting an even bigger target on his back."
Mary was shaking her head. "I don't think you understand… Harry needs to be hospitalised. He'll need constant monitoring and regular Blood Replenishing Potions and Pain Relievers and bandage changes… If there were any leakage through the anastomosis sites I just made in his intestines… If he were to develop peritonitis…"
"Mary…" Gawain began tiredly. The medical jargon wasn't helping anyone.
"He could die!" Mary interrupted his objection. The words rang out and silence fell in the room as they all considered this. Then, all eyes turned to Kingsley, awaiting his decision.
Kingsley, meanwhile, was staring at Potter's sleeping form as though the weight of the world was on his shoulders. After a long pause, he finally spoke. "He could die no matter what decision we make," he said softly, more to himself. Then he licked his lips and straightened his back and said determinedly. "For now, he stays. We'll set him up in the drawing room." Then he added to Mary, "We will help you. We can take shifts monitoring him. You can show us what to look out for. Help us to know what he needs."
Mary was shaking her head incredulously. "But… I don't even have what he needs! I've already used most of the potions I keep in my bag for emergencies. I don't have the supplies to treat him here. This doesn't make sense."
"Well, maybe I can help there," said Margaret. She turned to Kingsley. "I actually came down here to tell you that I'm going to Hogwarts."
"Wait, what?" Abruptly, everyone was distracted from discussion of Potter.
"I know. I know, it's risky. But I need to go collect Edward's daughter, Susan. She has no idea what's going on. And the boys need her. Especially with Edward…" she trailed off.
"But… the Trace," said Ben, quite unnecessarily.
"I know. But I've been thinking about it. Quite apart from all the protective enchantments at Hogwarts, there's no way to Apparate directly to me there. There's very few designated Floo entry points to Hogwarts—only those authorised by the Headmistress. The response time for the Death Eaters to react to my Trace coming back online would have to be very slow. I'm fairly sure I could have at least half an hour there before they could get anywhere close to me. And that's if they even have the guts to try to attack me at Hogwarts. Potter said he's been Flooing into McGonagall's office directly. I could be there and back before the Death Eaters could do anything about it. And while I'm there, I can bring a list of things Mary needs to Madam Pomfrey to collect and send back with me."
There was quiet as they considered this plan. "I don't like it, Margaret," said Kingsley at last. "You're putting yourself at a great deal of risk. Perhaps we should be focusing on finding a way to make contact with the Aurors. They can send a team up to collect Susan."
"As much as I am not looking forward to telling an eighteen year old girl that her mother is dead and her father has gone off the deep end who knows where picking fights with who knows what..." Margaret said sarcastically, "it should be me. Iris was my friend. I was the one who introduced her to Edward," there was an uncharacteristically emotional catch to Margaret's voice. "I'm Susan's godmother. She's known me since she was a baby. She should hear it from me. And I'm sure Professor McGonagall would be able to get word to the Auror Office about what has happened. Two pixies with one jinx."
No one spoke to argue with this. How could they? There was silence. "I'll be careful. And I'll be quick. And I'll be able to get Potter what he needs." Gawain thought it was this last that finally made Kingsley nod his agreement.
Mary sighed, resigning herself to the fact that she was not getting her way. Then she set about hunting for a quill and parchment to make a list for Madam Pomfrey. Kingsley, looking just as dissatisfied, also retrieved a quill and parchment from the pile strewn on the floor. Gawain watched as he wrote the words, The residence of Harry Potter may be found at number 12, Grimmauld Place, London on the paper. Slowly, he held it out to Margaret who grasped it. But Kingsley did not immediately let go. She looked up at him, both holding a half of the parchment.
"Guard it with your life," Kingsley said deliberately. "And burn it the second Susan has read it." Margaret nodded, and he released the parchment. She tucked it carefully away in an inner pocket of her robes. She turned to Mary, accepting the list of medical supplies from her.
Then, in a whoosh of green flames, Margaret was gone.
Definitely getting too old for this, thought Gawain as he rounded the sofa in the drawing room with the limp weight in his arms. He laid Potter down on the ragged old divan with a little more assistance from gravity than he had intended as his arms began to give out.
Kingsley had instructed Ben to stay in the kitchen to keep watch on the Floo and await Margaret's return. He had then led the way up to the drawing room. Mary had passed ahead of Gawain who had found the march up the stairs with Potter's unconscious body slower-going and more challenging than anticipated. Thank Merlin the boy was skinny. Ahead of him, he had noticed Mary take in the dank hallway decorated with severed House-elf heads with some horrified disgust before rushing to follow Kingsley. But now her attention was fully back on Potter, sliding a pillow under his head with care.
Kingsley had hesitantly summoned the old House-elf, Kreacher, bidding him to track down some bedding from the depths of the house. The House-elf had complied with low murmuring under his breath. Gawain only caught something about not taking orders from blood-traitors, but he would do this for Master.
Gawain hung back as Kingsley and Mary fussed over Potter's unconscious form: folding the boy's hands over his chest; removing his glasses and placing them on the coffee table; tucking him in under the blankets snuggly. Potter stirred faintly, letting out a small moan, a frown crossing briefly over his face, but he did not awaken. Then the pair straightened, and the three of them merely stood there, staring down at the lifeless form of the saviour of the wizarding world in silence.
No one moved. No one spoke.
Gawain was not sure how long they stood there in silence in the dim drawing room. It might have been seconds. It might have been days.
"I… I should…" Kingsley cleared his throat and tried again. "I should head upstairs. Check in on the others. Make sure everyone is getting settled in alright. And I suppose we'll have to figure out how to feed everybody tonight…" He trailed off. Neither Mary nor Gawain responded. Gawain couldn't even begin to comprehend the idea of something so mundane as dinner in that moment. And still it took another solid minute before Kingsley actually moved to leave the room.
Kingsley's departure seemed to wake Mary from a trance. She blinked, drew in a deep breath, then set to work. She moved over to Potter and extracted an arm from within the bundle of blankets. She held her wand tip to the crook of his elbow, then pulled back. A single drop of blood shone at her wand tip, glowing like a ruby in the sun. With her left hand, she extracted another instrument from her bag and flicked the droplet of blood into a small straight tube on the instrument. It whizzed and beeped and she stared at a reading in silence. She waved her wand over it to wipe it clean and replaced it in her bag. Then Potter's arm was tucked back under the covers. He slept on.
Mary looked around. She had a lost sort of look on her face as she tried to find something else to occupy herself with. She was clearly restless. She pulled a couple more potions from her bag, some bandage material. Her hands were constantly moving, unnecessarily tidying the coffee table, arranging and rearranging the supplies within easy reach. Gawain reached out slowly and took Mary's hand in his, stilling its fidgeting motion. She paused, holding stock-still for a moment. Then slowly turned her eyes to look at Gawain.
Gawain thought it was the first time she had really looked at him since she had first arrived and he had explained what was happening. Now their eyes met. And Gawain saw her exhaustion. Her sorrow. Her pain. Without further thought, he pulled her closer and wrapped his arms around her. Mary accepted the embrace. She leaned heavily against him, her face buried in his chest.
She was the perfect height. Gawain always wondered at how she fit so perfectly against him— his chin rested comfortably against her temple, her forehead on his collarbone. His hand buried itself in the hair at the nape of her neck. He closed his eyes and let his mind go blank, savouring in the feeling of this incredible strong woman in his arms. Savouring the peace of being alone with her at last. Of knowing she was here safe.
After some time, she pulled back just enough to look him in the eye. She ran a hand through his hair, her eyes searching for something in his face, though what he was unsure. Then she leaned in and kissed him gently. When she pulled back, he saw again an unshed tear clinging to her eyelashes.
"Are you alright," Gawain asked, long overdue.
She didn't immediately answer. But her face was full of worries. She glanced back to Potter. Her eyes fixed on the boy still sleeping on the couch, she at last said softly, "I don't know if I can do this, Gawain."
He was silent for a moment trying to understand what she meant. "Do what?"
"Treat him."
Gawain considered this a moment longer. He glanced to Potter, then back to Mary. Still her eyes were only on the boy. "I can't think of anyone better suited to the job. You're one of the most experienced Healers at St Mungo's. He was incredibly lucky to have had you here."
"I… That's not what I mean." Gawain decided to simply wait for her to explain herself. And after another minute she continued. "I'm already completely in love with him. I've scarcely exchanged two sentences with him, and I already feel like he's part of the family."
Then at last, she turned back to Gawain. Her eyes were wide, begging him to understand. "What if I make a mistake? What if he were to die? How could she ever forgive me?"
"Who?"
She took a moment to answer, looking back to Potter and chewing on a thumbnail distractedly. "Lily."
Gawain decided not to point out that Lily Potter was long dead and thus her forgiveness was nothing to worry about. He did not feel this argument would be helpful. Instead he took a different tactic. "He's going to be fine. We're not going to let him die. But even if—"
"You don't know that," Mary interrupted him with an exasperated shake of the head. "You don't understand. He's doing better, but… There are so many things that could still go wrong—"
He interrupted her right back. "But even if he did die," he continued firmly. "Even if something did go wrong. Lily wouldn't blame you."
Mary sighed and glanced at him with some little frustration evident on her face. "You didn't even know her. How can you say that?"
"I know you," said Gawain inflexibly. "And I know you loved her. And I know you wouldn't love anyone who would place blame on someone who did everything in their power to prevent their son from coming to harm."
There was silence for a moment as Mary considered this. Then a small sad but grateful smile turned up the corners of her mouth. With another sigh, she turned and rested her head against his shoulder, both arms wrapping around his right bicep. They stood like this for a long moment, both watching Potter sleep away.
"I really do like him," Mary said after a moment. "Once I got over the shock that he was at the house… and that question you had him ask me…" She glanced up to Gawain briefly, then back to Potter. "He was so good with Ella. Kept her distracted while I ran to pack. Asked her to show him her new broomstick. Kept her calm."
"He is a likeable bloke," Gawain agreed. A small unbidden smile twitched his cheek as he remembered Potter joking in the kitchen earlier that night that he was 'charming'. "Which is good. I did worry a bit that you might not trust him. That you might not come. That maybe you would think it was a trick."
She pulled away and studied Gawain's face. He looked back at her as she considered her next words. "I have to say… With that question you had him ask me… I wasn't sure if it made me trust him more or less."
Gawain shrugged. "I needed something that you knew I had never told anyone but you."
"Yes…" replied Mary slowly. "No one but me… and now Harry Potter." She cocked her head as she considered him. "I think you only even told me because I had caught you so off guard with my name. But now you tell him…"
Gawain didn't know how to respond to that. He looked away, back to Potter. He understood her point. He did not talk of this. Ever. But he had given that information to Harry Potter freely without a second thought. Her surprise was less with the question itself and more that he had volunteered that information to Potter.
There was silence. Then Mary pressed on hesitantly. "You never talk about her. Either of them. Mary or Katherine. I know how hard all this must be for you. It must feel like history repeating. Maybe it would help… to talk…"
But Gawain's mind was back down in the kitchen, just a couple hours prior. Could that really have been just a couple hours ago? He was thinking back to that moment when he had decided to defy Kingsley and write down that question on that parchment and hand it to Potter. He had not even considered what he was sharing with Potter at the time. How intimate it was. The scribbled words floated across his mind as he had written them:
What had I been planning to name my first child?
Mary
It had been how Mary and Gawain had come together, that question. A strange thing for a widower to bond over with another woman, but there it was. He thought back to the day he had told Mary that she shared a name with his daughter who had never been born.
It had been two years after Katherine's death that he had first met Mary. About six months after Mary had lost Lily Potter. She had been the Trainee Healer assigned to Alastor Moody's case when he had lost his eye on the job. Gawain had found himself visiting Alastor in hospital more than he might otherwise have done, looking forward to the opportunity to catch a few moments with the pretty young Healer Macdonald. He had not even known her first name in the beginning.
She had been the first person he had been able to bring himself to flirt with after Katherine's death. He remembered the mixed feelings of guilt and excitement this had brought him at the time. But for days, each time he visited, he found himself perking up when she entered the ward on her rounds. Alastor had teased him mercilessly over the real reason Gawain had been stopping by to visit his sickbed. It had been the day that Alastor was due to be discharge that Gawain had finally plucked up the courage to ask her for her first name. And then it had been like she had punched him in the gut.
To this day, he could not say exactly why this had hit him so hard. It was not an uncommon name, after all. Mary. He was bound to meet many more Marys over the years. But did it have to be the name of this woman? The first woman he had found himself interested in since Katherine?
Gawain and Katherine had been planning to name the baby Mary after her grandmother. They had kept this name secret, looking forward to surprising her family when the baby was born. No one had known this save the pair of them. But Gawain had been so shocked when Mary Macdonald had introduced herself properly, and she had watched him unravelling before her very eyes. Seeing him falling apart, Mary had asked him to join her on her break in the hospital tearoom. And before he had even realised it, she somehow had him telling her everything. All about Katherine and the baby. And the Death Eaters. And she had told him about her best friend from school who had recently also been murdered in the War. And they had shared in the frustrations of seeing everyone around them rejoice at the end of the War while they had been left behind to grieve. And they had fallen to pieces together.
But then those pieces had been used to create something new.
As it was, Gawain had been so embarrassed by his breakdown, he had not reached out to Mary Macdonald again after that. How could she ever be interested in someone who was as broken as he? It had taken another six months and a chance encounter in Diagon Alley before Gawain had actually brought himself to haltingly ask her out on a date. And another six years after that before he had asked her to marry him.
She knew him better than anyone these days. Probably better than anyone ever had. But now, standing here in the dark drawing room with Harry Potter still lying unconscious before them, Gawain looked down at her and saw her gazing at him with confusion. Like she really couldn't figure him out at all.
Gawain knew she was right. That talking about Katherine and the baby would help him heal. But he'd scarcely spoken of them since that day in the hospital tearoom. He had tried, of course. Over the years, he had tried to talk about her from time to time. But at the end of the day, he always found he couldn't. Katherine was his. Only his. He didn't want to share her with anyone else. Not even someone he loved the way he loved Mary.
At that moment, a light tap on the door frame announced Kingsley's return. They turned to look at him, standing in the open doorway. "Hey," he said, looking to Gawain. His face was a blank mask, like he really didn't even have the energy to muster emotion anymore. "I want the Gang all downstairs. We need to touch base. Work on getting a plan of action together." Gawain just nodded. Kingsley's eyes travelled past his shoulder to look at Potter. Then he forcibly turned himself away and headed down the stairs.
Gawain glanced to Mary. "Alright?" he asked her.
She nodded. "He'll sleep for a good while yet," she said glancing to Potter. "I should go check on Ella. Just for a minute. I don't want to leave him alone for long, but Ella must be scared..."
"I'm sure Nayana won't mind keeping her company longer. And we can take it in turns to watch Potter tonight," Gawain volunteered. "I can monitor his vitals. Let you know if anything changes. That way you can get some rest and be with Ella. But I need to check in with the Gang first." Mary nodded in agreement.
They left the room together, hand in hand. But out on the landing Mary headed up the stairs and Gawain down. Her fingers slipped from his grasp as she turned away from him, and he felt the loss of her immediately.
When Gawain entered the kitchen, Kingsley was leaning against the wall just inside the doorway with his arms crossed across his chest, quietly watching Kreacher mopping up the pool of blood on the floor. The elf was muttering angrily under his breath as he worked, but Gawain could not catch the words. Roslyn was there too, looking pale and ill and trying very hard not to look at what the House-elf was doing. Ben was pacing in front of the fire, his wand still out. Amin arrived just after Gawain, still with that sad lost look on his face. And Edward Bones was still notably absent. The Bones family House-elf was there too, seeming lost and forgotten. She sat on a chair at the far end of the kitchen, her feet not reaching the floor. She hiccoughed softly as she rocked her little body and wrung her hands. No one paid her any mind.
They didn't speak for a time. It was not until Kreacher finished his task and Disapparated with a crack that anyone moved at all. Then Kingsley looked around at each of them in turn and said, "I suppose we should start to assemble a game plan."
No one sat down at the table for the meeting this time. They were all too restless. Instead they stood or paced or, at most, leaned. Ben did a quick inventory of the pantry and reported that they should have enough food to last out the next few days. Maybe a week if they really rationed (the very thought seemed horrifying to him). Amin conveyed that they had found adequate bedrooms that seemed liveable for all involved. He and Roslyn had done a sweep of the second and third floor and assigned suitable rooms for everybody, being careful to keep family members together. Gawain advised the others on Potter's condition. That he would need careful monitoring over the coming few days. That he would take a shift tonight to allow Mary time to rest. Kingsley promptly volunteered for a shift as well.
It was at this point that the fire roared to life and out stumbled the round-faced girl with long plaited hair who Gawain recognised as Bones's daughter. She looked around with wide eyes, taking in Ben's wand which was pointed directly at her with some alarm. But within another second, the fire whooshed again and out stepped Margaret who promptly put a hand comfortingly on the girl's shoulder.
"You must be Susan," said Kingsley, solemnly, stepping forward and motioning to Ben to stand down.
But Susan Bones did not acknowledge the words. Her face was the blank mask that came with sudden grief. She merely said in a small shaky voice, "Where are my brothers?"
"They're upstairs. They're safe. Margaret can show you the way."
She looked around at the occupants of the room, then back to Kingsley. "My dad?"
Kingsley's face was full of sympathy. "He hasn't returned yet."
Susan looked up at Margaret, her eyes practically begging her to make everything right again. Margaret just looked sadly back at her. "I'm sure he'll be back soon. He was distraught. But he'll soon remember himself and come back for you all. Now let's go upstairs. Brandon and Maxim are waiting for you."
Susan sniffed and nodded mournfully. The pair moved toward the door. But Kingsley called Margaret back before she could leave the kitchen. "The medical supplies?" he asked, and Gawain too took note of Margaret's empty arms.
"Sorry," said Margaret, shaking her head slightly to clear it. "Forgot to tell you. Madam Pomfrey is gathering everything together. She'll bring them through in a few minutes. She insisted in coming to check on Potter herself. She was… quite adamant." Then, in response to an unasked question on Kingsley's face. "I burned the paper after she read it. It's just the three of us." And then she turned, gesturing to Susan to follow, and exited the room.
It was indeed just a couple minutes before the fire flared with green flames again and out stepped Poppy Pomfrey. She took in the kitchen and its occupants before her eyes found Kingsley. And she looked livid.
She marched straight up to the Minister of Magic, looked right into his face, hands on hips and snapped, "Didn't I tell you to be careful with him, Kingsley Shacklebolt?" She enunciated his name with a jab of her finger to his chest.
Kingsley looked something like a chastised school boy in that moment. He hung his head and avoided her eye. "You did," was all he said in response.
"And your idea of being careful is to go sending him out on Ministry business to fight Death Eaters all on his own?"
Kingsley merely stood and accepted the abuse from the Hogwarts matron without complaint. Gawain wondered why he didn't defend himself—why he didn't tell her that it had not been his idea. That he had tried to stop Potter from going. Instead, Kingsley just stood there, looking at his shoes and allowing Madam Pomfrey to scold him.
After another solid minute of admonishments, Madam Pomfrey at last drew in a deep calming breath through her nose, let it out with a huff, and said, "Now. Where is he?"
"Upstairs. Healer Mary Robards is with him. We were lucky she was here."
"I'll take you up," Gawain volunteered. In truth, he was just eager to check on Mary again. Logically he knew she was not likely to come to harm in this house, but being apart from her right now felt almost physically painful. Madam Pomfrey nodded curtly to him to lead on, and they moved up the stairs together at a brisk pace in silence.
"Poppy!" Mary exclaimed in surprise as they entered the drawing room. She had been bent over a piece of parchment on the coffee table, scribbling out a chart of some kind with a quill. She rose and hastened over, and the two witches embraced. "It's so good to see you." There was some relief in her voice.
"And you, Mary. How is he?" Without a moment wasted, Madam Pomfrey was bustling over to the still unconscious form on the couch. "Oh, Potter," she sighed exasperatedly as she moved the blankets aside, eyes taking in the bandages below, a gentle hand feeling the pulse in his wrist.
"He's stable for now," replied Mary. "But I wish I could transfer him to St Mungo's. I'm terrified of peritonitis."
"Hmm," replied Madam Pomfrey noncommittally. "As someone who has treated Potter in the aftermath of a murder attempt or two over the years, I suppose I can appreciate why that's not a good option." Mary opened her mouth, then closed it dejectedly. She had clearly been hoping for an ally in this argument. "But he should be well enough here," Madam Pomfrey continued. "It looks like you have things well in hand."
She had tucked the covers back up to Potter's chin and had turned to look at the parchment Mary had been scribbling on. "Let's see your treatment plan," she said, leaning over the coffee table to take in the chart. "Hmm. Good," she mumbled as her eyes flew across the page. Over her shoulder, Gawain looked too. Across the top seemed to be written the time in one hour increments over the next twenty-four hours and down the left side seemed to be written various potions and abbreviations that Gawain did not understand such as T, P, R, BP, and HCT. Some of the cells of the chart were crossed out, others circled.
Madam Pomfrey was running her finger down each row. Gawain could not follow all of their conversation. "Have you gotten a baseline haematocrit?" she asked.
"Forty-one," replied Mary.
"It will drop dramatically over the next couple days. Don't panic yourself when it does. With the Colloid Potion, you should be able to normalise his blood pressure until the Blood Replenishers kick in properly."
"Yes, I know," Mary agreed, gently.
"Sorry," said Madam Pomfrey, looking up to her. "Of course you do. Didn't mean to imply…"
"No, it's good," replied Mary. "I'm glad to have you looking over everything. Sometimes my anxiety gets away with me, so I'm grateful for the second pair of eyes." They went back to the chart.
"You'll need more Blood Replenishing Potion. I brought what I had in stock—should be enough to get you through the next two days. I'll ask Horace to brew up another batch when I get back to the castle. He adores Potter; he'll waste no time in it. I'll come by to check on you and restock in a couple days. You only have him on BID with the Pain Reliever?" Madam Pomfrey questioned a moment later, fingering another line on the chart with a frown.
"To start," replied Mary. "Once he's awake, I figured he can ask for more as needed. I can go up to Q six hours if he seems to need it."
Madam Pomfrey shook her head. "If I know Potter, he won't ask. And he'll try to hide it if he's in pain. Just give it to him. You'll appreciate the sedative side effect too. Otherwise you'll blink, and he'll be off dodging bludgers on the Quidditch pitch or some such foolishness."
Mary let out a little laugh. "You seem to know him well," she said softly.
Madam Pomfrey sighed, though a small smile curved up her lips. "Wish I knew him a little less. He spent more time in my Hospital Wing than I would like growing up. If it wasn't You-Know-Who or his followers nearly killing him, it was Quidditch accidents or Dementors or dragons or basilisks…" She shook her head in exasperation. Gawain assumed she must be exaggerating with those last couple examples. "But well, he's a Potter, isn't he? It's in his blood to be reckless. Oh!" Suddenly, she straightened, looked at Potter, then looked at Mary. "Oh, Mary. I only just remembered who you were friends with in school…"
Mary gave a small sad smile and looked away, not meeting Madam Pomfrey's eye. The matron studied Mary sympathetically. "Are you sure you're alright with all this?" she asked gently after a moment. "Treating him? I know how hard it is when you're too close…"
Mary looked for a moment as though she wanted to say no, but after a moment's hesitation, she said, "Yes. I'll be alright. Suppose you're right that transferring him elsewhere would be too risky."
Madam Pomfrey looked over to Potter's sleeping form for a moment, then turned back. "Have you met him yet?" she asked with a nod of her head in Potter's direction. "Properly, I mean."
Mary shook her head. "Not really."
"You'll like him. Well…" she added as an afterthought. "On a personal level you'll like him. On a professional level, he'll drive you completely mad. He's a horribly incompliant patient, and the minute you get him patched up from one injury, he'll be off finding some new way to undo your handiwork." The pair of them were laughing fondly, despite Madam Pomfrey's vexation. "But on a personal level…" She looked over at Potter's sleeping form with a sad but affectionate smile. "Well, he's a good lad. He doesn't deserve all the sorrow life has thrown at him. He does them proud, Lily and James. And he definitely has Lily big heart." She turned back to Mary, then added with a shrug, "But most unfortunately, James's foolhardiness. A terrible combination, in its way."
Mary laughed. "Well, I do look forward to him being awake and feeling better. For multiple reasons."
Gawain was quite confident Mary was far from alone in that sentiment.
Gawain rubbed his eyes tiredly. It was a quarter past midnight and the house was quiet. The adrenalin which had been fuelling Gawain's mind throughout the evening had long since abandoned him. Gawain found himself looking at Potter with some envy as the boy slept away. Not that Gawain was likely to fall asleep even if he tried.
Madam Pomfrey had left back to her duties at Hogwarts several hours prior, though not without a final glare at Kingsley before tossing her Floo Powder into the fire. Gawain had sent Mary up to be with Ella and rest not long after. The others had trickled up to bed and their respective families one by one.
Before heading up to the Robards-designated bedroom, Mary had taken half an hour to drill Gawain to ensure he knew when to wake her. Over and over she repeated which potions to give Potter if he woke, what parameters his vital should remain within, how to check his bandages for strike-through. It was with quite a bit of hesitancy that she finally went up to bed.
With no plan in mind and simply to keep himself awake, Gawain rose from the chair he had pulled over and moved to the window. He pulled aside the dusty green velvet drapes to look out at the still night. The street was dark and quiet. He rested his forehead against the cool glass. The chill was bracing.
A soft clearing of the throat behind him had him spinning around. Kingsley was standing in the open doorway.
"I thought you'd be asleep," said Gawain in greeting as Kingsley entered. He let the drapes fall over the window and moved back to the centre of the room.
Kingsley walked over and checked on Potter before turning to Gawain in answer. "I tried. Couldn't manage it. Thought I might as well relieve you." Still Kingsley had that look on his face… Gawain couldn't place it; he had never seen Kingsley like this before.
A part of Gawain wanted to jump at the offer to go up and rest. But something held him back. He studied his friend quietly for moment.
"Are you alright?" he asked abruptly, rather than answering Kingsley's prior statement.
Kingsley didn't respond. He moved away from Potter, and it was his turn to pull the drapes aside to look out the window. He crossed his arms over his chest and stared out at nothing.
The silence stretched and Gawain decided to make a stab at what the matter was. He wasn't good at this sort of thing, but he could see his friend was tormented. "Is it about what Madam Pomfrey said? Because you shouldn't mind all that. We all know this wasn't your fault." Gawain gestured in the direction of Potter's unconscious form. "Don't know why you didn't just tell her."
"Because it was my fault," replied Kingsley simply. He did not turn away from the window and Gawain could not see his face in full.
Gawain paused, trying to understand the logic there. He opened his mouth to say something, but closed it upon realising he really didn't know what to say. He licked his lips, then managed, "Well, that just doesn't make sense. You tried to stop him. You told him not to go."
Kingsley sighed, then finally turned around. Still he didn't look at Gawain, however. He studied Potter's sleeping face instead.
"Why do you think I suggested we use this house for our meetings, Gawain?" he said at last, finally turning to look mournfully at Gawain.
Gawain frowned. "For security. Because of the Surveillance Charms up in the Ministry."
Kingsley smiled ruefully. "That's why I didn't want to meet in the Ministry. But why here? You think this is the only safe-house with decent security measures? Hell, I could have put a Fidelius Charm up at my own home. So why here?"
Gawain considered this and found his eyes drifting to Potter. Then he looked back to Kingsley. "For Potter," he said at last. He was not entirely sure where this was going, but he found himself nervous to see it through.
Kingsley grimaced, a look of self-disgust on his face. But nodded.
Gawain shook his head. "You wanted to be able to check in on him. That's not a bad thing," he objected.
"To check in on him? Yes. To use him? Perhaps more to the point."
Gawain opened and closed his mouth a few times, trying to think of how to respond to that. Kingsley watched him sadly as he processed this, then continued. "I took advantage of him. I knew that if I moved our operation here, he would be drawn into it. I knew Harry. Knew he would want to help, because it's in his nature to do so. I used him." He was looking at Gawain with a painful seriousness on his face. He waited as Gawain processed this.
Gawain was about to open his mouth to argue further when a creak of the floorboards in the hall had both of them turning sharply. There, standing in the doorway was Edward Bones. He had a cut over one eye and a bruise blossoming over his jawline. And a haunted look that said he was completely unaware of both.
He paused there, staring at them and they stared back, all three men silent.
"My sons?" Bones asked at last, his voice low and rasping.
"Second floor. Third door on the right," replied Kingsley. There was no warmth in his tone. "Margaret and Amitra have been looking after them. Susan is there too."
Bones nodded. Then his eyes drifted to take in Potter still lying unconscious on the couch. His face was blank, but the barest hint on confusion flashed over it. "He's alive," Kingsley said, in response to the unasked question, his voice cold. "Barely."
Bones took in Potter for just a second more. Then Kingsley. Then without a word or any hint of emotion, he turned away and began to climb the stairs to his children's room. Alone again, neither Kingsley nor Gawain spoke for a moment longer. They just stared out the door well after Bones had ascended from view.
Gawain could not help but glance at Kingsley as the silence stretched. The Minister's gaze was hard as he stared after Bones. It was not always easy to read Kingsley Shacklebolt's emotions. He was a calm and steady man who did not wear his heart on his sleeve. Gawain considered himself more adept at reading him than most, in part due to his long study of human expression for his profession and in part because he had known Kingsley so long. But tonight, Gawain did not think one would have had to be an expert to read Kingsley's face. He was angry. From what he had just been telling Gawain, he knew a large portion of that anger was directed inward. But he had reserved no small piece for Edward Bones.
Gawain, on the other hand, felt too tired to feel emotion. He felt empty. Drained. A part of him wanted to take Kingsley up on his offer and go upstairs and leave all this to him. But the other part was scolding himself for even considering it. Kingsley was his friend. And Gawain had never seen him like this. He could not leave the conversation where it had fallen. He could not leave Kingsley alone sitting in the dark with nothing but an unconscious boy and his guilt for company.
So when Kingsley made no signs of intent to continue their prior conversation, Gawain brought it back, continuing as though they had never been interrupted. "So you wanted to get Potter involved with the Gang. That's not unreasonable. The boy has talent. He would be a great addition to the Ministry. You wanted to encourage him to see that. To see that the Ministry didn't have to be what it once was. Helping someone realise their full potential is not 'using them'."
Slowly, Kingsley turned his eyes away from the landing and back to Gawain. He studied him for a moment. "You seem quite sure that was my intention. Merely interested in his talents. You don't think there was that prodding in the back of my head that was interested in his fame? Interested in what Harry Potter could do for my approval ratings? Even Harry called me out on it. On scheduling the awards ceremony for his Order of Merlin as my first official function after the election. He saw it before I even saw it myself."
Gawain couldn't help but roll his eyes at that. "Potter," he said pointedly, "is suspicious of everybody. I'm not saying he doesn't have reason," he hastened to add when Kingsley opened his mouth to interrupt. "But let's take Potter's suspicions with a grain of salt and not as fact."
But Kingsley was shaking his head. "What if he's right? What if I'm no better than Fudge who used him as a scapegoat to distract the public when things started to go south? What if I'm no better than Rufus who was trying to convince him to be a Ministry poster boy? What..." Kingsley faltered. "What if I'm no better than Dumbledore…?"
These last words were soft and weak, but Gawain thought they were far from rhetorical. This was the crutch of it. What Kingsley really had been fearing. What he really wanted to know. But Gawain wasn't having it. He shook his head forcefully. "I've seen you with Potter. You love him. You would never knowingly do anything to harm him," he objected.
Kingsley was now looking at Potter's sleeping form with a profound sadness on his face. "Dumbledore loved Harry," he said very quietly.
Gawain didn't know how to respond to that. He faltered. Kingsley looked back to him and there was an earnest desire for understanding in his eyes. "I have laid awake at night thinking about it time and again. Trying to understand it. Dumbledore loved Harry. I know he did. I saw the way he looked when he spoke of him. He loved him. So how could he do it? How could he raise him to be a weapon? Raise him to just serve his purpose in the war effort? Raise him to take on a kamikaze mission? Raise him to sacrifice his life?
"I never understood it. No matter how much I tried, I never understood how Dumbledore could do it. Love him. And yet treat his life as expendable. And now, here I am… doing the same… I'm a monster."
"You are not doing the same," Gawain insisted. He was getting frustrated. "This is not your fault. You tried to stop him! If anything, it's my fault." Gawain's stressed mind had been skittering away from facing this thought all evening. But now, as he said it aloud, he knew it was true. Potter had nearly died. Could still die. And it was his, Gawain's, fault.
Kingsley blinked at him, confused. Could he really not see it? Gawain sighed, trying to formulate into words the thought he had been avoiding all night. "I was the one who sent him after my family. I made the final call when I gave him my address. The others never would have gone against you if I had not done it first. I risked his life, and I did it knowingly. This is my fault. So if you want to tell me that you're a monster, when you did everything you could to try to persuade him not to go… What does that make me?"
They stared at each other at an impasse. Then both heads turned in the direction of footsteps and low voices coming down the stairs. The low rumble gradually turned into recognisable speech.
"Edward, this is madness…" Gawain recognised Margaret's voice.
"I don't want them in this house," Edward was saying. "First thing in the morning, we're going."
"Be reasonable. They're exhausted, they're scared. Where are you going to take them that is safer than here?"
"I don't care. I don't want anything to do with him or his house."
"Edward, that's not fair. This wasn't his fault. He tried to stop it. He took a curse for them!"
"Yes, and brought the bloody House-elf back and left Iris behind! I don't want him anywhere near my children! He's been nothing by trouble for my whole family every time someone gets involved with him or his family. First Edgar getting dragged into the Order of the Phoenix with his parents. Then Amelia speaking out for him when He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named returned and getting killed for it. Then Susan fighting at the Battle of Hogwarts. Now Iri…Iris..." His voice faltered. Then he continued, stronger. "I've had it. I'm done. I'm taking them out of here."
"No. You're not." Margaret's voice was firm and no-nonsense now. They were on the first floor landing now, and Gawain could just make out their shadowy forms in corridor as they paused. Margaret seemed to have stepped in front of Bones, forcing him to stop and listen. "I won't let you. If you want to go off and risk your own life on some damn foolish crusade, that's your business. But I won't let you risk their lives too. And you know Iris would agree with me."
"Don't tell me what Iris would want," growled Bones, pushing past Margaret to continue down the stairs
"Fine. I won't. But I'll go right on telling you you're a fool!"
Their voices drifted off down the stairs, heading in the direction of the ground floor and presumably the kitchen. A moment later and Gawain could no longer make out their words again.
Gawain sighed and turned back to Kingsley. The Minister looked livid again. Gawain thought he was ready to storm out after Bones and give him what-for for even suggesting that this was Potter's fault. Gawain shook his head at him silently, telling him not to get involved. Bones would calm down in time. Hardly worth dwelling on. He was in the irrational phase of grief. Gawain remembered it well. There was no reasoning with someone in that state.
He opened his mouth to say so, but at that moment, he heard Bones shout at Margaret from one floor below, "No, you don't know how I feel!" And then several things happened very fast.
The air was suddenly filled with a shrill shrieking voice, cutting through the quiet of the house. "FILTH! BLOOD-TRAITORS! HOW DARE YOU BEFOUL THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS!"
Gawain jerked his head in the direction of the new screaming voice he did not recognise, drawing his wand. But just at that very moment, a great gasp and cry of pain sounded from the sofa. Gawain jerked his head in the direction of this new sound and saw Potter sitting up on the couch, and staring around wide-eyed and terrified. Gawain looked back and forth very quickly between Potter and the door, not at all sure which direction to run first.
Kingsley, however, completely ignored the sound of the shrieking woman downstairs and flew to Potter without a second of hesitation.
"Easy. Easy, Harry," he was saying gently, reaching out to push Potter's shoulder to force him to lie back on the sofa. Potter's eyes were looking wildly around the room, clearing trying to determine where he was and what had happened. "You're home," continued Kingsley comfortingly. "You're safe. Someone just set off Mrs. Black, is all. It's alright. Rest." Potter allowed himself to be coaxed back to the sofa. His face was screwed up in pain, and he was drawing laboured breaths in through gritted teeth. He craned his neck up from his supine position to look down at his abdomen and hissed in pain as his hand found the bandaged wound.
Still the screaming from downstairs continued. "BEGONE YOU SCUM! YOU HAVE NO BUSINESS HERE!"
"Gawain," Kingsley half turned to him, though his attention was clearly still on Potter. "In the ground floor hall. There's a portrait of the former owner of the house. She's the one screaming. Pull the drapes over the picture, and she'll go back to sleep." Then he was back, brushing Potter's hair from his sweaty face and mumbling soft comforting words to cajole him to relax. Gawain turned to go, thought of something, and snatched up the Pain Reliever Potion Mary had told him to give Potter first thing should he awaken. He shoved it into Kingsley's hand, then hastened to the door.
Out on the landing, he turned to go down the stairs, but paused when a hail called him from above. "Oi! Gawain!" He looked up and saw several shadowy faces looking down at him from over the bannister above. "What's going on?" called Ben's voice from one of them.
"Nothing," he replied. "It's a false alarm. Go back to sleep." Then he was moving down the stairs fast.
"OUT! OUT, I SAY! THIS IS THE MOST NOBLE AND ANCIENT HOUSE OF BLACK! WE WANT NO MORE OF YOUR KIND HERE!"
Gawain leapt down the last four stairs in one bound and pushed past a shocked looking Margaret and Bones who were staring at a disturbingly life-like portrait of an old woman in an old-fashioned black cap. Gawain scarcely paused to take it in, just lunged for the moth-eaten velvet curtains on either side and pulled them across the portrait, a feat which required quite an alarming amount of force. Almost at once, the screaming quieted, and Gawain supposed the portrait on the other side must have gone back to sleep as Kingsley had said she would. Gawain wasted no time, but he did manage a glare for Bones as he moved to the stairs and back up to Potter.
Gawain reached the first floor landing at the same time as Mary. Clearly awakened by the portrait, her hair was mussed and dark rings from poor sleep and worry shadowed her eyes. She barely spared him a look before she was sweeping into the room to check on her charge. Gawain followed.
Potter was lying on the sofa breathing hard. Kingsley still had his hand bracingly on his shoulder encouraging him to lie still. The empty Pain Reliever vial was held limply in his other hand.
"What happened, Harry," Gawain heard Kingsley saying gently as he approached.
Potter licked dry lips. His voice was weak and halting between gasping breaths. "Apparated… right into it," he managed. "They must have… put up some kind of… anti-Apparition charm… just after I arrived. Couldn't Apparate out." He groaned as he tried to readjust himself to a more comfortable position. "Mrs Bones… already dead… Going for the kids…"
"How many were there?" Gawain couldn't help but ask. He ignored the vexed look from Mary.
"Happened so fast… Five, I think? Six maybe? Can't be sure… Just grabbed the boys… and went. Lucky they kept their Floo powder… on the mantel."
"Did you see what they looked like? Did you recognise anyone?"
Potter shook his head weakly. His breathing was slowly calming as the Pain Reliever kicked in. His eyes fluttered as though he were struggling to keep them open.
"Alright," interrupted Mary. "That's enough for tonight. He needs to rest." She nudged Kingsley aside so she could approach with another potion, this time the deep red one from before. "Here," she said gently to Potter. "Drink this one too." Her hand went to support his neck to help him to sit up enough to drink. "That Pain Reliever will make you feel drowsy. Don't fight it. You need your rest."
Potter nodded weakly, then lay back again. And this time, when his eyes fluttered closed, they stayed that way.
Once Potter was sleeping soundly again, Kingsley looked up and met Gawain's eye. Mary had turned away to mark on her treatment chart with a quill. Gawain and Kingsley merely looked at each other in silence.
They could argue all night over which of them was to blame. But at the end of the day, they both knew there was someone else to blame far more than either of them. They just didn't know who. But Merlin be damned if they weren't going to find out.
A/N (19.06.2021): Alright alright, I'm sorry okay?! The two cliff-hangers back to back was apparently a little too cruel. Thank you to all who have been reviewing and leaving such thoughtful comments. I have been in constant awe of how profound some of the questions and observations I have been getting. And I'm still amazed by a few readers who have been here with me since the beginning twelve years ago! You guys are awesome.
To the guest reviewer who challenged me about Gawain calling Moody "Mad-Eye" as opposed to "Alastor" a couple chapters ago, I'll have you know I spent about three quarters of an hour just sitting there considering which would be more appropriate. In the end, I decided Gawain could probably use either. I like to think the nickname "Mad Eye" had an affectionate teasing origin from his fellow Aurors, Gawain probably one of them. But you made such a good point, I hope you appreciate that you had me decide to change it in this chapter to "Alastor", all thanks to you.