Chapter 18: Second Choice
People were getting restless. Gawain could see it around the dining table at lunch the next day. He didn't know how much longer they could stay in this house. Tedium had settled over the inhabitants of Grimmauld place. The Gang especially seemed to be desperate for some sort of job as they all milled about aimlessly.
Arthur Weasley's latest update was no more promising than the day before. Or the day before that. Or the day before that. And just to add insult to injury, the morning's Daily Prophet had published an election poll that showed Kingsley's popularity had taken a sharp dive downward. Guy Burgess seemed to be taking advantage of Kingsley's absence and taking every opportunity to be seen. Gawain groaned at the foolishness of the populous that this seemed to be all it took to convince people he would excel as Minister of Magic.
The only person in the house who seemed to be keeping busy was Potter. He had moved back up to his bedroom at the top of the stairs. In turn, the drawing room had been transformed into a sort of lab where he was busy practicing charms and potions in preparation for his NEWT practical exams. And the rest of his morning was spent with his nose in a textbook.
As it was, lunch was a more sober affair today. Nayana had made up a large pot of some sort of rice and lentil dish—she had said the name as she served it, but all Gawain could remember was that it sounded like a sneeze. Still, it tasted good and heartening. He casually followed Sandeep's example as he spooned what tasted like buttermilk over it, but unlike Sandeep, he chose to eat it with a fork.
"Bloody hell, what I wouldn't give to just… I dunno… be anywhere but here…" Ben was saying. "Hell, I'd even take a dentist appointment. I'm going stir-crazy in this place." To his right, Gawain heard Potter give a very small choked laugh. But when Gawain looked his way, the boy's face was determinedly straight as he lifted another forkful of rice to his mouth.
Gawain was not the only to catch this, however. Kingsley smiled at Potter indulgently, and said loudly, "You know we're not all as adept at living in hiding as you are, Harry."
Potter smiled mildly ashamed at getting caught. "I didn't say anything," replied Potter, but he was still smiling as he continued eating.
"Your face did," replied Kingsley, grinning. Gawain had noticed Potter making a point that morning to be warmer and friendlier with Kingsley and their banter had returned to its usual light-heartedness.
Potter's grin widened, and he flushed as he resigned himself to being caught. "I mean… since you mention it. It hasn't even been a week yet, has it?" He sniggered softly in spite of himself.
"I do suppose a week sounds pretty measly after the year you had…" Sandeep observed reasonably.
Potter seemed rather awkward in response to this topic of conversation. "Well," he hedged. "All I can say is that if I had Mrs. Amin cooking for me while I was in hiding, I might never have come back." He enunciated this with another bite of the rice dish and a smile toward Nayana who blushed and smiled happily.
Gawain considered Potter quietly. Everyone around the table was smiling at him, appreciating his charm. But underneath it all, Gawain thought perhaps there was something else there. Potter spoke with a sort of frankness that made one think he was saying all there was to say. Until, that was, one actually paused to consider his words and realise how little substance there was to them. Gawain couldn't help but wonder if Potter's gregariousness was something of an act. At the end of the day, he really said very little in conversation about the trials he had endured this past year.
Just as Gawain was wondering if no one else noticed this, Kingsley pressed him gently. "I imagine there were a lot of hungry nights."
Potter let out a gloomy laugh that didn't reach his eyes. "You caught me. The Battle of Hogwarts really just happened because I was terribly hungry." He took a sip of his water. "Would probably be funnier if it wasn't a little bit true…" he mumbled darkly.
"How did you lot manage food while on the run? There were days I found it difficult, and I was not in hiding nearly as long as you, nor was I 'Undesirable Number One'."
There was a small pause as Potter considered this question, and Gawain couldn't help but feel both amused and sympathetic. Avoidance was harder when asked a question outright. "Well, we didn't some days. A lot of days, really. I didn't drop two stone this past year out of a concern for my girlish figure." Potter smiled. The joke only very slightly lessened the tragedy of this comment. Potter shrugged and continued with what Gawain suspected to be forced casualness, "We stole sometimes. From small Muggle grocers mostly. We'd drop some money on the counter and hope it reached who it was supposed to. Caught fish sometimes. But, well… Between Ron, Hermione, and myself, we have many talents. Most unfortunately, cooking is not one of them."
When he saw Kingsley regarding him sadly, Potter just shrugged. "We managed. Hermione was definitely the most patient of the lot of us. Ron and I were probably pretty insufferable to live with when we were hungry. I dunno… it was alright for me, I guess; I grew up missing meals here and there. But I think it was particularly hard on Ron. Between his mum and the Hogwarts House-elves, I don't think he'd gone a day in his life without three square meals before that."
The conversation did nothing to lessen the gloomy mood in the kitchen. What had started out, Gawain suspected, as Kingsley seeking a diversion from their own troubles, merely had everyone simply sitting there and imagining how much worse it could be. It might have been a comforting thought except for the fact that that "worse" had really happened to someone they had all been growing to care about.
Nayana broke the tension after a moment's awkward silence. "Well, Khichdi is a very simple dish to prepare. It's sort of comfort food to us." She smiled at Sandeep. "If you'd like to learn, I'd be happy to teach you. I have nothing but time, it would seem," she laughed good-naturedly.
"Nayana can have you cooking like an Indian chef in no time," Sandeep agreed, flashing his straight-toothed smile.
Potter smiled at them both, then replied earnestly, "I would love that." Then continued with a more facetious tone, "And then next time a raving mass murdering psychopath who has overturned society has it out for me, I will be better prepared." He raised his water glass in a salute to Nayana who giggled in spite of herself.
"Well, I say you should enjoy your freedom while you have it," Ben advised him. There was still bitterness if Ben's tone as he turned the conversation back to what he had been saying earlier determinedly. Clearly he had not understood Kingsley's intention in moving the conversation away in the first place. "You could actually go out and have a pint in a pub if you wanted to. The rest of us are trapped here."
Potter laughed at this and Ben frowned. "Why is that so funny?"
"I think it's funny you think I can go have a sit down in a pub."
"Why not? You're the only one in this kitchen who we're sure doesn't have a Trace…"
"Yeah, well… Trace or no Trace, I'm pretty sure there are still plenty of people out there who might want to kill me if I tried. But apart from that, I would find myself surrounded by people asking for my autograph. Which might be worse, because I hear hexing people for asking for your autograph is frowned upon." There were several surprised chuckles around the room. "I don't stay locked in this house out of a love for the interior decorating. Even if I do hear severed House-elf heads are all the rage."
Ben sighed. "I just want to do something. I used to go to the training gym every morning. Now I can't even go for a jog. What I wouldn't give for a good round in the sparing ring."
"Well, I'll spar with you," Potter volunteered lightly. Mary cleared her throat very pointedly. "…in a few days when I am more healed, of course," Potter finished with sheepish smile to her.
Ben blinked, then his face brightened considerably at the prospect of a sparring match with the Chosen One. "Really?"
"Sure. It'll be good practice for my Charms and Defence Against the Dark Arts practicals coming up."
"Is there a place we can use?" Ben asked eagerly.
Potter just shrugged. "We can just push the furniture aside in the drawing room. The more damage you can cause to that room, the happier I'll be."
Gawain was torn. On the one hand, he would very much enjoy watching a sparring match between Ben and Potter. On the other hand, if things went well with his own plans, he would very much like to be out of this house by that point.
There was a moment's silence after Gawain finished talking. The rest of the inhabitants of Grimmauld Place had retreated upstairs after lunch, leaving just the Gang to their meeting. Now Gawain looked around at each of them in turn. But still no one spoke. Then Sandeep let out a low whistle. Ben was grinning from ear to ear. "I wanna go," he said.
"No," replied Gawain and Margaret simultaneously.
"It's not fair! Why should Gawain have all the fun?"
"This is not intended to be fun, Ben," said Margaret sternly. Then she turned her good eye back to Gawain. "This is risky, Gawain."
"I'm not even sure if it will work," added Roslyn. "I mean we're not even certain if there is a Trace on you."
"Maybe that's part of the point," offered Gawain. "We test the Trace. Test their response time. And if there is none, then I won't be at risk, will I."
"Edward, you said that they were able to follow you everywhere you Apparated within minutes until you came back here," asked Margaret uncertainly. Bones just nodded, saying nothing. He never did say much of anything these days. It was a wonder Margaret had even gotten him to come downstairs for the meeting at all. Even now, Gawain thought she was trying to force him to take part. "Then we'll know quite quickly. They won't be expecting you the way they were him, though..." She had turned back to Gawain, then paused, considering him. "If you do have a Trace as we suspect… You'll be putting yourself in a lot of danger…"
"Exactly why I should be able to go with him to watch his back!" argued Ben.
"You're not coming, Ben," said Gawain, his tone brooking no argument. "There is absolutely no reason to put more than one of us at risk in this. And in fact, they would likely just be more suspicious if they saw two of us. Let them assume I've gone rogue—gone out on my own out of frustration or desperation. Much easier to explain just one person."
"And automatically, I suppose it should be you," muttered Ben disgruntledly.
"It will be me or no one," said Gawain. "I have more combat experience than any of you, and there's a higher probability that they put a Trace on me, than on you." But his eyes had turned to Kingsley. For his was the only opinion that mattered.
To this point, Kingsley had merely sat there as the Gang conferenced, listening quietly, studying his fingers entwined on the table top. One by one, all eyes in the room turned to the Minister, awaiting his decision. Slowly, the Minister raised his gaze to meet Gawain's. Gawain fixed his face in a determined expression. They stared at each other in silent communication for a time. Then, at last, Kingsley gave a single nod.
Arthur Weasley let out a long breath. "Well. I guess that's my cue to get back to the office and relay all this to Proudfoot. He'll need to start gathering a team. I guess all I need is a time and a place?"
"Tonight," replied Gawain, his eyes still on Kingsley's. A small frown creased the Minister's brow, but this was his only response. "Five o'clock. My house. I'll be in the back garden. The hills surrounding should offer them a good vantage point."
"Tonight?" cried several people.
"I don't think this is wise, Gawain. We need time to formulate the details of the plan, make sure we have everything ready…"
"There's nothing to formulate. It's done. It's decided. And the more time we take before acting, the more time we give any potential spies to feed the information to the wrong hands. We act now."
Margaret looked around as though pleading someone to talk some sense into Gawain. When she looked at Bones he just said gruffly, "I support anything that has any chance of getting me and my family out of this bloody house." So instead Margaret turned back to Kingsley. But Kingsley merely maintained his stare at Gawain then nodded again.
There was silence. Arthur sighed again, then nodded and headed toward the fireplace. No one spoke after he had left for some time. They merely sat there. Gawain finally cleared his throat. He pushed his chair back and rose to his feet.
"Reckon I should go get ready." The others merely watched him go in silence. Dead man walking, Gawain could not help but think as he moved up the short flight of stairs to the ground floor entrance hall.
"Robards!" Called a voice behind him. Gawain turned, his feet pausing outside the library. Roslyn was rushing after him.
He looked at her expectantly as she too paused, two paces away. She licked her lips nervously. "Are you sure about this?" she said at last.
Gawain glanced away, then back. Hadn't they just gone through this? "It's just that…" she continued, "I am your supervisor now… I feel… responsible... For whatever outcome may occur. And…" She was looking very nervous. It surprised Gawain that she should care what happened to him. But he supposed duress forced friendships in unlikely places sometimes.
"I'm sure," he replied. "We have to do something. We can't keep hiding here forever."
"I understand that. But it's just… Your wife. Your daughter. If something were to go wrong... If something were to happen to you… I just can't help but worry… Are you sure you want to do this?"
"Do what?" Gawain turned his head sharply at the new voice. Mary had just descended the stairs and was staring at him expectantly.
Roslyn looked between the two of them. Then, meeting Gawain's eye, she sighed and nodded her head. "I'll leave you two to talk," she said. Then added, "Godspeed, Gawain." Then she moved off in the direction of the staircase. Abruptly, Gawain realised it was the first time they had been on a first-name basis.
"Thank you… Brannagh," he replied solemnly. She looked back at him over her shoulder and smiled a sad smile and nodded back. Then she disappeared up the stairs.
There was a pause as Gawain watched her disappear. Then, "Do what?" Mary repeated. Her voice was stern as she stared him down.
Gawain sighed. "In here," he said, opening the door to the library and holding it open for her. He had been heading upstairs to tell her anyway, but there was no reason that more people should know this plan than necessary. So he ushered her into the library and closed the door. And then he proceeded to tell her everything.
Mary listened silently and nodded as Gawain spoke, but she did not meet his eye and there was a hard set to her jaw as he finished explaining his plan. He could not understand the expression on her face. It was one that said she understood far more than just what Gawain was saying. She turned her back on Gawain and stared back at the door for a moment. When she turned back, she at last looked Gawain directly in the eye, and he saw unshed tears in her eyes and a hard line to her jaw.
"And let me guess. You've decided that you're the one who is going to play bait in this trap."
Gawain paused, taking in her expression and the hard edge to her voice. He suddenly felt that he was standing on the edge of a minefield. He swallowed. "I have to. It's the only way. I'm the only one—"
Mary let out a growl of frustration. "Don't give me that, Gawain!" she snapped. "In a house full of law enforcement officials? You think I haven't heard this before? You always 'have to.' You're always the 'only one.'"
"We have no idea who we can and cannot trust right now. No idea who the traitor is. Kingsley is counting on me to—"
"You're loving this, aren't you?" Mary interrupted his explanation. "That you're the one whom the Minister of Magic trusts above all others?"
"He's my friend, Mary. But even if he weren't. I'm an Auror. This is my job."
"Look at where your job has gotten you! Look at where we are, Gawain! It's not just you who has been put in danger by all this." She was staring at him incredulously. As though he were some idiot who was missing something painfully obvious. He stared back at her, struggling to understand. She sighed in frustration at his blank expression.
"You love your job, and I get that. I'm not a fool. I knew this when I married you. I knew…" She took a deep calming breath and continued. "I knew that you loved your job more than you loved me. I accepted that when it came down to it, you would pick your job over me. And I knew that you… that I was always your second choice. That you may never love me the way you loved... her. I thought that it was okay, because I loved you enough for the both of us. And so I accepted it." Her voice was little more than a whisper, breaking with emotion, but it cut like a knife in Gawain's heart.
"But what I cannot accept," Mary continued, her voice growing harder. "Is that you pick your job over Ella."
Gawain shook his head in denial. "I'm doing this for her," he growled. "I'm doing this for all of us. To end it! If this works… If we can get to the bottom of this… We could be safe again. We could go home!"
"When were we ever safe?" Mary cried exasperatedly. "You put yourself in these dangerous positions—"
"This is my job," Gawain ground out again through gritted teeth. "Merlin damn it to hell, how many times do we have to have this same argument, Mary?"
"HOW MANY PEOPLE HAVE TO DIE FOR YOUR JOB BEFORE YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I'M SAYING, GAWAIN?"
Gawain faltered. He felt as though she had slapped him. He stared at her. A buzzing was filling his ears, and he could not formulate any kind of response. He just stood there, his mouth hanging open and blinking at her.
Her face crumpled, and she looked away again, a hand coming up to cover her mouth. When she looked back to him a moment later, tears were streaming down her cheeks. Her voice was almost gentle as she continued. But the words were anything but. "Mam is dead. They weren't there for her. They were there to hurt you. And now, my mother—your daughter's grandmother— she's dead, Gawain. And you haven't had a word to say on the subject. Do you even care? Who does it have to be to make you care? Does it have to be Ella next?" Her voice broke on Ella's name.
She had plunged a knife into his heart and now she was twisting. Of course he knew this. Of course he knew he was responsible for Gwen's death. But to hear Mary say it aloud…
Gawain turned away. His breathing was coming fast and faltering through his nose and his hands were shaking as the buzzing continued to fill his head. He turned away. He couldn't look at her. But the words he could not shut out so easily.
"What about Katherine? What about her baby—your baby? How many more deaths is it going to take?"
"DON'T. SPEAK. OF HER!"
He hardly recognised his own voice. The words had burst from his lips without him even being aware of them. But he had turned around and his feet were carrying him up to her. He felt his hands raising of their own accord. He wanted to grab her by the shoulders. To shake her. To make her stop saying such terrible things that he knew to be so very terribly true.
As he took the last step to her, there was a flash of fear that crossed her face, even as she raised her chin and stared him down unflinchingly. It was this flash of fear that made him deflate again. He turned away, a hand covering his face as though this could hold back the shame. As though if she could just not see him, it would undo everything.
He was shaking head to foot. Slowly he lowered trembling hands. He stared at them as though he barely recognised them. He didn't look at her as he spoke. "You would use my dead wife and child to win an argument?"
From the corner of his eye, he saw her shaking her head incredulously. "This isn't about winning or losing an argument," she said quietly. "You're already losing, Gawain. You're losing me."
Gawain half turned his head to look at her before thinking better of it. He couldn't look her in the eye. He couldn't give her the satisfaction of seeing the shame he was sure was stamped across his face. There was silence. The only sound Gawain could appreciate was his own sterterous breathing.
After a long quiet, Mary at last spoke again. "Go fight your fight, Gawain. End this thing if you can. But bear in mind that if you keep making these decisions… One way or another, you might not have a wife or daughter to go home to."
He heard her turn and leave the room, the door closing with a snap. Still Gawain did not turn around. God, but he was truly beginning to hate this room and every conversation that occurred here.
Gawain appeared on the garden path with a pop. It was so quiet. Merlin, he forgot how quiet it was out on the moors. The only sound was a breeze ruffling the leaves on the birch trees. Slowly he raised his eyes to the house.
He wasn't sure what he expected to see. Perhaps a Dark Mark floating above it. He didn't know if there had been one after they had killed Gwen. But of course the Aurors would have removed it if there had been. In the end, he was mainly just shocked to see how very normal the house looked. A recent fall of rain had been kind enough to water Mary's flowers. One of Ella's toys was left forgotten in the front garden. Nothing seemed out of place.
Still, he couldn't bring himself to go inside. He couldn't bear to see what it might look like on the inside. He knew Gwen wasn't there— that she had long since been moved to the morgue at St Mungo's— but still he found himself picturing her lying on the floor of the house as he had once found Katherine…
No. He would not go inside. He was not staying, after all.
Instead Gawain took the path from the front door around to the back of the house. It was the same path Gwen had run when she had happened to visit the day Ella had had her flying accident. Merlin, but had that really only been a week and a half ago? It felt like a lifetime.
His wand was held loosely in his right hand as he circled the house. He paused just outside the low garden wall and looked out at the little paddock where Ella had been flying that day. He remembered the gut-wrenching feeling as he had watched her plummeting through the air. He didn't think he would have survived that feeling if Gwen had not shown up when she did.
He saw her face before his mind's eye. He saw her comforting Ella in her injury. And then he saw her comforting him in his own hurts, for all that he had not deserved comfort. Gilt and bile were rising in Gawain's throat, but he pushed it down. He did not have time for that. He had a job to do.
But for now, his job was to wait. And damn if it wasn't one of the hardest jobs of his whole life. He bounced on the balls off his feet to expel some nervous energy as his eyes raked around the hillside behind the house. The Aurors would be there already. They would be in position, waiting, watching him. He could not see them. He chose to believe this was because he had trained them all so well in stealth and not because something had gone wrong and they were not in fact there at all.
Gawain checked his watch. Nine minutes had passed since his feet had left the stoop of Grimmauld Place. They would have picked up his Trace by now, surely?
Twelve minutes. How long did it take them to marshal an attack?
Thirteen minutes. Were these people even trained at all?
Fourteen minutes. They arrived as one, a sudden crack splitting the evening air. But Gawain was ready for them. His Shield Charm was already up, even as the first curse came flying his way. The trap was sprung.
There was another CRACK and a dozen Auror's had them surrounded. The Death Eaters were hooded and cloaked and unrecognisable. Gawain looked around to take them in. But something felt wrong. There were only two Death Eaters. Such a small attack. Both Bones and Potter had reported more. And they knew who Gawain was; they knew he could defend himself. Why send only two? Scarcely had this thought entered Gawain head and before the other Aurors had fired off more than a single hex, than the Death Eaters Disapparated away. Gawain and the other Aurors stumbled to a halt, looking around in confusion for their lost enemy.
Preston Proudfoot was nearest Gawain. He had Apparated directly to Gawain's right. He looked around in confusion, adjusting his glasses and scouring the hillside. Marina Savage had arrived just to Gawain's left. She ran a hand over the shaved half of her head as she always did when she was agitated. "Is it just me… or was that a really weak attack?" she asked into the silence, one pointed eyebrow arching.
Something felt off. Gawain and the others looked around at each other in confusion. They had been geared up for a fight, but no fight had come. Proudfoot closed the gap and approached Gawain, looking to him.
"This doesn't feel right," he said, shoving his horn-rimmed glasses further up his nose. "I think we should fall back. Return to the Ministry and—"
Exactly what Proudfoot's plan was, Gawain never heard. For in that moment, a whizzing sound passed by Gawain's ear, and he felt a hot wet liquid splatter across his face. He flinched back in shock, trying to blink away whatever had hit him in the face. Then he opened his eyes just in time to see Proudfoot crumple to the ground. A curse had blasted a hole right through one lens of his glasses. And his skull.
Gawain could only stare in horror at his friend's blood smeared face staring blankly through one eye at the sky.
"AMBUSH!" he heard Savage scream from beside him. And suddenly he was aware of the air thick with flying curses from all directions. "FALL BACK!"
Gawain dove for Preston desperately, but another curse grazed Gawain's cheek, leaving a white hot stinging sensation behind. "LEAVE HIM, GAWAIN! HE'S GONE!" he heard Savage shout at him over the sounds of curses flying and people screaming. He felt a hand grab him from behind and tug. He tripped and fell backward awkwardly, twisting his ankle. But he scarcely registered the pain.
Fury was coursing through him. He was raring to duel, but the cowards were raining curses down on them from afar. He couldn't make out the enemy. He moved to charge across the paddock toward the hills where he was sure they were hiding. But Savage had grabbed hold of him around the chest and was dragging him back with one hand, firing off curses with the other. Damn, for such a tiny woman, how was she so strong?
They reached the garden wall, and she pushed him over it as she deflected another curse headed straight for him. Then she dove over as well. They sat on the ground with their backs to the wall. On either side, the other Aurors were diving across as well. Gawain saw one go down just down the way, and Martins was crouched beside him holding pressure over a wound in Williamson's side saying, "It's not that bad. You're going to be fine. Stay with me, mate" as Williamson moaned through gritted teeth.
"We're sitting ducks back here!" Savage was saying. "Get out of here, Gawain. You're not going to be any help to us. It's you they want."
Gawain shook his head, partially to clear it and partially in denial. "Are you mad? I can't leave you lot like this!"
"Go, Gawain! They're tracking you. They may follow you away if you Disapparate. Go somewhere they can follow you, but don't stay. Head back to wherever you lot are laying low as soon as you've given them time to catch your scent again."
Gawain hesitated. It was logical. It could give the rest of the Auror's enough of a reprieve to get clear. But damn, it was the last thing he wanted to do in that moment. He wanted to fight. He wanted to charge across that valley toward the hills and attack. The fact that he would most certainly be killed in that charge did not faze him in that moment. Savage seemed to be reading his mind. She shook his head at him. "The best thing you can do for us is to go. Get out! We'll be fine!"
Gawain looked up and down the line of Aurors shrinking as low as they could get as curses smashed bits of rock off the top of the wall.
"Best go, mate! We'll be alright," called Martins, though his hands were still coated in Williamson's blood up to the wrist. And Preston… How many others were dead or dying? How many more lives would he have on his hands this day?
"We'll cover you!" called Savage. She met Martin's eye and he nodded to her in agreement. "On three!"
"Now wait just a minute, here!" cried Gawain.
"ONE!"
"Marina! I did not agree to this plan!"
"TWO!"
"DAMN IT, SAVAGE! I AM YOUR SUPERIOR!"
"And you can reprimand me good and proper back at the office when this is all over!" called back Savage. "MARTINS! THREE!"
Savage and Martins rose as one, pointing their wands across the wall and firing off simultaneous curses.
"DAMN IT!" cursed Gawain, even as he also pushed off the wall and rose to his feet. He just made out Savage and Martins sending up Shield Charms. He turned on his heal, and shut his eyes as he made to Disapparate. And then…
Nothing. He did not feel the tight constriction he was used to in Apparition. And then he felt the pain of another curse slicing across his left bicep.
He opened his eyes. He had spun foolishly in a circle, but the Disapparation had not worked. His eyes met with Savage's as she dodged behind the wall as another curse flew her way. Her eyes widened in realisation.
And then Gawain understood. He remembered what Potter had said about them putting up an Anti-Apparition Spell. Damn it, but he should have remembered that! Gawain's brain seemed to be working so fast the world around him was in slow motion.
"FLOO!" He shouted to Savage, hoping she would understand. She nodded and rose again to fire off another barrage of hexes to cover him as Gawain made his mad dash for the house.
"Reducto!" Gawain cried, and the back door was blasted away just in time for him to fly through it. He skidded down the hall, into the sitting room and grappled for the jar of floo powder on the mantel. He prayed the Death Eaters would follow him. Prayed the rest of the Aurors would be able to get out.
But he did the only thing he could do in that moment. He threw a pinch of powder into the fire, and he disappeared in a whirl of green flames.
Gawain fell out of the fireplace and cursed in pain. He tumbled to the floor as his ankle gave out beneath him. In the adrenalin, he had barely noticed it. Now he felt like it was on fire. He looked down and pulled up the hem of his robes. It was swollen to twice its normal size.
He leaned back, supporting his weight on his palms from where he sat on the floor beside the fireplace. He closed his eyes tight as he drew in gasping breaths. Whether they were breaths of exertion or grief or anger or pain, he did not know.
After a moment, he opened his eyes. He needed to be prepared to move. They could follow him at any minute. He looked down at himself, taking stock of the damage. Blood was still pouring from the gash in his left bicep and his right cheek. And still he could feel Preston's dried blood splattered across his face. He pulled out a handkerchief and tied it tightly around the wound on his arm to stem the bleeding. As it was, he was sure he would leave bloodstains on the carpet. It was an odd thing to be concerned about. For who was there to care if there were stains on the carpet?
He raised his eyes to the photo on the wall he had known would be there. Mary looked down on him, smiling sweetly, her thick brown hair cascading about her shoulders. She was younger in this photograph. Perhaps eighteen. Young and innocent and beautiful. She had been right. Mary had been right about everything. And in that instant, Gawain could only stare at her photo and wish it was really her so that he could tell her that.
He turned to look at the photo over the mantel. He was in this one. Gawain along with all the Mcdonald family. Mary was wearing her wedding dress, Gawain in his dress robes; both were beaming with pure happiness and love. His eyes found Gwen standing beside Mary, younger than Gawain pictured her in his mind. She too was glowing and proud and loving. Gawain had betrayed that love. He had destroyed them all, bit by bit.
He didn't know why he had come here. It had been the first place to come to mind. The only place he could think of where he'd be unlikely to put anyone else in danger. Or perhaps it had just been his subconscious seeking to torture him. But he did not have time for torture.
With some difficulty, he pulled himself to his feet and hobbled his way to the front door of Gwen's Edinburgh terraced house. He opened the door and stood on the stoop, gulping down the cool evening air and looking down to the street.
The Death Eaters were not here. He should go back. What if they didn't follow him? What if the Aurors couldn't get away? Resolving to go back to help, he took a step forward and gasped in pain again as his ankle protested the weight. Damn it, but what good was he to be in a fight when he could barely walk?
He shook his head back and forth, trying to decide what to do. Maybe if he could fashion a splint around his leg… He closed his eyes and drew in a deep breath and held it, trying to calm his mind enough to think.
And then he heard the CRACK as several people Apparated before him. He didn't need to open his eyes to know that they were there. A small smile spread across his lips. They had followed him.
And he Disapparated back to Grimmauld Place.
He appeared on the stoop to Grimmauld Pace. He did not go inside. He did not move. He just stood there, head bowed, eyes closed, leaning against the door for support.
God, how could he face them all? How could he face Mary? He drew in a deep breath and let it out. The sound of it was shaky, and only then did he realise he was trembling from head to toe. He longed for her and dreaded seeing her at the same time. Shame was riling his gut. Her words were still haunting him. And his reaction to them even more so.
Looking back, he began to realise how long she had felt that way; and he had been completely oblivious. How long had she been living in fear? Had she felt this even as she smiled in that wedding photograph? She had married him knowing that his first wife and child had been murdered to get to him. Now he looked back on every argument they had ever had about the risks of his job with new eyes. Even then, had she feared for her life? For Ella's? For his? Her Gryffindor courage sometimes made him forget that she had fear, but it was there. She just didn't show it in the way he would have expected.
Gawain had always prided himself on his ability to observe. He always thought he read more from people than they said. How much of his life had been spent sitting back and watching people and trying to recognise the secret thoughts they didn't say aloud? Why had he never thought to do this with his own wife? Merlin, how had he been so blind?
And now it was not just Katherine and baby Mary. Now it was Gwen. Now it was Preston. How many more lives could he ruin?
Without making a conscious decision to do so, Gawain's fist made very hard contact with the brick wall of the house at that moment. A scream escaped his lips and seemed to echo through the evening air. It was a scream of anger, of grief, of pain. Whether physical or emotional pain, he could not say.
A Muggle pedestrian was walking by the house, but his feet did not falter. The man did not hear him through the Fidelius Charm. He just continued on his way, content in his own little world where no one feared the decisions he would make, where no one had been murdered for him, where his wife and daughter lived in safety.
The pain brought Gawain's attention away for a moment. He studied his broken and bleeding fist for a moment, feeling detached. He tried to straighten his fingers, but they screamed in protest. Blood oozed from the scrapes across the knuckles. He didn't care.
The front door was suddenly yanked opened at that moment. Gawain nearly lost his balance at the sudden loss of his support. He automatically threw out his hand to catch himself on the doorframe and hissed in pain. He bent over, cradling his hand to his chest.
"Oh, Merlin," said a soft voice. Gawain's face was screwed up with pain as he clutched his broken hand to his chest. He fell against the door frame as his left ankle protested holding his weight again. Then, after a moment in which he supposed the newcomer was studying him, the voice continued. "Come on then. Let's get you inside. Can you walk?"
Slowly, Gawain raised his eyes to look at Brannagh Roslyn. She was looking at him with an expression of sorrow, of resignation, of pity. He didn't need to tell her he had failed. She knew. Gawain looked down, unable to meet her eye. He didn't answer her.
He tried to take a step through the door, and she silently observed his hobbling gait. "You best lean on me," she said gently. And he felt her slide her shoulder against his left side and wrap an arm around his waist. Reluctantly, he moved his left arm from its place bracing himself against the doorframe to her shoulders. Still he struggled not to put more weight on her than he could avoid. He winced as he noticed a smear of blood from the gash on his bicep mar her pristine robes, but she didn't seem to mind.
She managed to support him down to the kitchen, though not without difficulty. Both of them were out of breath by the time she pushed open the door to the kitchen.
"Give us a hand, Ben," Brannagh gasped as she entered the room with Gawain in tow.
"Bloody hell," replied Ben, even as he was diving to help her. Sandeep was pulling out the nearest chair, even as Kingsley and Margaret rushed around the table.
"I'm going to go with a hunch and say that didn't go great," said Ben as he and Brannagh lowered Gawain in to the proffered chair. Gawain leaned back in the chair, his eyes screwed shut in pain.
"I'll get Mary," Gawain heard Sandeep say, and he rushed from the room. There was a great deal of movement and commotion in the room.
"What happened, Gawain," came Kingsley's voice, very gently.
"It was a trap," Gawain managed to grind out. That resulted in silence. The room stilled. "They knew exactly what we were up to. We've been betrayed. Someone told them everything."
The silence stretched. Then Brannagh spoke. "Proudfoot. It's got to be him. He knew everything. And isn't it convenient that he just happened to hear about the attack in the first place. Maybe forcing us here… maybe it was all part of his plan."
"Preston is dead," Gawain flatly cut across her speculations. There was silence again.
Ben sank into a chair. "Preston…?" He looked lost. Like this was something he could not even begin to comprehend.
"Oh, God. Preston…" muttered Margaret, covering her face with one hand. Kingsley just stood, silent and blank-faced.
After a long silence, Margaret said softly, "Are you absolutely sure you trust Arthur Weasley?"
"With my life," Kingsley said, brooking no disagreement. "It's not him."
"Then it's got to be one of the Aurors. They're the only ones who had access to all of us. Who would have known about tonight's plan…"
"We know all of those people," Ben objected. "How can you think that? We've worked with them for years. Fought with them. There's no way—"
"Well, if it's not one of the Aurors," Margaret cut across him impatiently, "that just leaves one of—" Margaret broke off mid-sentence, her one eye widening as she glanced around at the other members of the Gang. She had not meant to say that thought allowed. But it hung there in the open. One of us.
There was a clatter as the kitchen door was flung open, and there stood Mary, frozen in the doorway. Her face was ashen and her eyes wide and desperate as she stared around wildly until her gaze fell on Gawain. He could only sit there and look at her. She stood perfectly still staring at him for five seconds that felt like an eternity. Then she flew to him. Amin slid into the room behind her, re-joining the others.
Mary crouched before Gawain's chair, and her eyes were raking his body, taking in each and every wound perceptively. He watched her take note of the blood-soaked handkerchief tied around his upper arm. The shattered bones of his right hand. Her gentle fingers probed the slice across his cheek. He saw her frown and read her mind as she noted that the blood splatter pattern across his face did not seem to correlate with this wound.
"It's not all mine," he said dully. And then her eyes looked into his. She looked deep into his eyes, and he saw her take note of the deepest wound of all. "Preston is dead," he said. There was no emotion in his voice. He was beyond emotion.
There was a pause, then, "Oh, Gawain," she breathed, and her eyes were filled with a pity he could not bear to see. He closed his eyes so he would not have to see it. He didn't deserve her pity. She read him too well. Some might be comforted to learn that the blood was not his. But she knew what this meant. She knew that he was racked with guilt over yet another death. She knew that he was wishing it was his blood and not Preston's.
He heard her take a deep breath. And then she set to work. She summoned a cloth and a Wound-Cleaning Potion and filled a basin with water. Then she started by cleaning the blood from his face with gentle hands. Then his knuckles. "Looks like a couple broken metacarpals," she muttered as she palpated along the bones of his hand. "They're poorly aligned. I have to reset them. It'll hurt. Maybe I should get a Pain Reliever…"
"Just do it," replied Gawain, not looking at her. He didn't want the oblivion a Pain Reliever would offer. He wanted to feel it. He deserved this pain.
She looked at his face uncertainly for a moment, running a gentle finger soothingly along the back of his hand. Then nodded. There was a sudden tug and Gawain grunted in pain, doubling over, eyes screwed shut. But as suddenly as it had come, with a wave of Mary's wand, it was gone. She brushed a finger across his cheek in apology before moving on.
She tugged aside the handkerchief around his arm and ripped the hole in his sleeve bigger before washing this wound too and muttering a spelt to heal it. She did the same with his cheek.
Dimly, Gawain was aware of the other members of the Gang murmuring to each other, but he could not listen to the conversation. Instead, he simply focused on Mary's hands as she worked. God, but they were beautiful hands.
"There'll be a scar," said Mary gently, gliding a thumb over the newly healed cut on his cheek. "But your beard should cover the worst of it…"
"It doesn't matter," Gawain muttered, barely paying attention. He was still too busy staring at her free hand to pay much heed. The fingers were long and graceful. The nails always trimmed short out of practicality, but kept neat and clean. The tendons visible through her pale skin seemed to move like the strings of an instrument as she worked.
Mary merely looked at him solemnly for a moment, then turned her attention to his ankle. After she had repaired the damage and applied a cold compress, she straightened back up. Her eyes raked over his body carefully.
"Where else?" she asked him. "What have I missed?"
Gawain did not answer her. Instead he did what he had been dying to do since she had entered the kitchen. He took her hand between both of his own and pressed his lips against her knuckles. His eyes were shut tight, and he drew in a shaking breath through his nose, even as his lips were crushed against the back of her hand.
"Hey," she said bracingly, kneeling before him, she extracted her hands enough to turn both palms to cup his face, but still he kept his hand over hers. He gripped it desperately, for it was the only thing grounding him here. She looked into his eyes searching for something, but what he could not say. But what she saw seemed to bring her grief. She leaned close and pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Then she pulled back to study his face again. He could do nothing but sit there and stare at her like a starving man might stare at a feast laid out just beyond his reach.
Ben's voice broke the spell. "Er… I think I left the oven on…" he said loudly. "Upstairs… In my room. In fact, I reckon we should all go and er… turn off the oven… upstairs." There were several snickers and a rustling as the rest of the Gang filed out. But Gawain's gaze never left Mary's face. Kingsley patted his hand on Gawain's shoulder as he passed.
And they were alone.
There was a long silence. They merely looked at each other. He slowly raised a hand and traced a finger along her jawline. She pulled a chair close and seated herself directly in front of him, leaning over with her elbows on her knees should could look up into his bowed face. He clutched her hands in his lap.
Still he said nothing. Merlin, but he was a coward. Why was it so hard to tell her? He licked his lips trying to muster himself to speak.
"I'm so sorry." Her voice was soft and hesitant. He blinked. Wait. That was what he had been about to say. He looked at her frowning.
She was looking up at him, shaking her head, face screwed up in shame. "Merlin, I'm so sorry, Gawain. The whole while you were gone… I just kept thinking… Oh God, if those had been the last words you heard from me…"
Gawain just shook his head. "You were right. I knew you were. I just didn't want to hear it. It's me who should be apologising. I never should have gone. Never should have done any of it. Never should have put you in this position."
Mary just shook her head. "I wasn't right. What I said… It was terrible. What I said about Mam. And about… about Katherine. Gawain, it wasn't your fault. None of this is your fault. I should never have said it. I was angry and upset and… and somewhere in my foolishness I thought that if I could just…. That maybe if I said those terrible things, it would keep you safe... Make you change your mind and maybe you wouldn't go…" She shook her head, eyes closed in shame. "And then it would be worth it. Because even if you hated me, it didn't matter because you would be safe… Merlin, I'm such an idiot…"
Gawain just stared at her. She avoided his eye, chewing on her lip. There was silence for a time. It was his turn to talk. He knew that. But for this moment, he just stared at her.
"I love you," he said at last in little more than a whisper. Still his voice was dull and void of emotion. "I don't say that enough."
Mary smiled ruefully as she looked up at him at last. She brushed a hand through his hair as she sniffed. "I know you do, Gawain. You don't say much of anything right out. I've learned I have to read between the lines with you." She smiled tearily again.
Gawain swallowed painfully. Why was this so hard? But he needed to say it. He couldn't let things lie where he had left them before. He needed her to know. "Well, let me say this right out now. Just so we're clear." He forced himself to look her right in the eyes. He voice was halting and awkward and barely more than a whisper. But he was determined that the words he picked left no room for interpretation. They had to be clear and concise. "You were never a 'second choice.'"
Mary flinched as he used the words she had said in the library. "Gawain… you don't have to explain," she began, shaking her head. "What I said… it makes me sick to even think about it. You don't have to—"
"Yes, I do. Because I need you to know it. Because obviously I've never made it clear to you." He swallowed again. "I loved…" he faltered, finding he could not say the name aloud, even still. "I loved her. A part of me will always love her. That… confuses things sometimes. But it doesn't change the fact that I love you. I deeply. Truly. Love you. With all my heart."
Tears were streaming down Mary's face as she stared at him with wide eyes. And it grieved him to see that she really hadn't known this. Not for sure. He bowed his head in disgrace. And then he felt her rest her forehead against his. And he felt her tears dripped down off her straight nose onto his lap, onto their entwined hands.
He wasn't sure how long they sat there like that before she sniffed and straightened up. She looked at him in the eyes for a moment. Then she smiled softly as he reached up and wiped the tears away from her cheeks with his newly repaired hand. Her hazel eyes seemed to glow almost green through the tears still clinging to her lashes. Merlin, but she really is beautiful, he marvelled.
He thought she could read his thoughts, because a blush touched her cheeks, and she looked away then. She sighed. "I really should get back up to Ella. I left her with her sketch book and made her promise not to leave the bedroom. But you know how much trouble she can get herself into when she has a mind to."
He felt a smile cross his lips. It was unexpected, but there it was. His heart was aching with grief. But there was also love. Love for Mary. Love for Ella. Love for this life he had created with them. And he found that love turning up the corners of his mouth.
"I'll go with you," he said. For he couldn't bear the thought of being parted from her right then.
Mary smiled at him with some humour. "Probably a good idea. You could use a bath and a change of clothes, I think." He accepted the mocking look to his torn and filthy robes with a smile. And he rose as she nodded her head in the direction of the door.
They climbed the short flight of steps to the ground floor hand in hand. They were just passing the library when Gawain paused. He considered Mary thoughtfully for a moment as she turned back to look at him expectantly. He glanced up the staircase, then back to her.
"I don't suppose Ella could burn down the house or anything if we left her alone for ten more minutes, could she?" He looked at the door to the library pointedly, then back to Mary.
She looked confused for only a brief moment. Then she smiled mischievously. "No. I don't suppose ten minutes could make such a very big difference." Then she opened the door to the library and led him inside.
Gawain shut the door behind him and tapped it with his wand. "Colloportus!" Then he turned to look at Mary who stood watching him with a small smile on her lips. Then wordlessly, they both moved simultaneously.
They were in each other's arms in an instant, and his lips crushed against hers with desperation. He moved her back until they bumped into a table. He pushed aside a stack of books with one arm. A cloud of dust was kicked up as they fell to the floor, but he paid them no mind. He had already grabbed Mary by the hips and perched her on the edge of the table. His lips were back on hers hungrily.
He felt her hands at his belt as his fingers found the hem of her robes and were pulling them up. Her legs wrapped themselves around his hips.
And then they were lost in each other. They clung and tasted and gasped and moved together in a dance of longing and grief and comfort and desperation and worship. And of course love.
Perhaps this room wasn't so very bad after all.
A short while later, Gawain drew in a deep breath and let it out slowly as his heart rate was decelerating again and his breath evening. He opened his eyes to find Mary smirking at him as she straightened her robes.
"Alright, Romanian Longhorn," she said as she reached up to re-pin the hair which had tumbled out of its usual knot at the back of her head. "Let's go find your daughter before she gets into even more mischief than her da'." He let out a huff of laughter and pushed himself off the table. He wrapped an arm around Mary and kissed her temple before they made their way back upstairs.
They walked down the hall of the third floor together in contented silence. Despite everything that had happened, he was feeling more relaxed than he had in days. That was, of course, until they pushed open their bedroom door to find the room empty. Ella's sketchbook was lying forgotten on the bed, and she was nowhere in sight.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake…" groaned Gawain. She really couldn't just let him have this moment of peace, could she?
Mary sighed in frustration. "Ugh. I knew I shouldn't have left her alone, but Nayana was resting." She crossed to the toilet across the hall and knocked before poking her head inside. Empty.
"I'll search this floor and the one above," said Gawain. "You take the first and second floor." Mary nodded and moved back toward the stairs. Gawain set off down the hall, knocking on doors and checking each spare room one by one.
"Everything alright?" Sandeep asked, answering his door. He was speaking quietly and Gawain supposed Nayana must be having a nap. He winced internally, remembering how tired Mary had been when she had been so far along in her pregnancy.
"Ella's wandered off. Haven't seen her, have you?"
"No, we haven't. But I can help you look."
"No, don't trouble yourself. I'm sure she's fine," Gawain replied. And with a nod, he move on.
When he had checked all the rooms of the third floor, Gawain hesitated at the stairs, looking up toward the fourth floor landing. "Ella?" Gawain called. No answer. Potter's rooms were up there. Kingsley had told them not to go up there to give Potter an area of privacy. But Potter would understand, Gawain decided. He would be quick.
He took the stairs at two at a time, then paused on the landing, looking around. There were only two doors up here. The ceiling was tall but sloped with the grade of the roof. The first door bore the nameplate reading SIRIUS. This was where Potter slept, Gawain remembered. He knocked on the door. "Potter?" he called. But there was no answer. "Ella?" Nothing. A subtle ringing was in his ears. Gawain took a deep breath. Bloody hell, but he was tired. The stress of the day was wearing on him and hunting the house for his run-away daughter was the last thing he wanted to be doing right now. He knocked again. He went to turn the handle to the door to peek inside but it was spelled shut. Well good. Then Ella couldn't have gotten in there either.
He turned to the other door. This bore a small sign that read: Do Not Enter Without the Express Permission of Regulus Arcturus Black. Well, Regulus Black wasn't around to care anymore, after all. Still Gawain gave a courtesy knock before pushing open the door.
"Ella?" he called. He looked around the room. It was not so much a bedroom as a museum. There were shelves upon shelves crammed inside, extending from floor to ceiling. Every piece of furniture— the desk, the book case, the dresser— was covered with various objects. There were vases, ashtrays, goblets, framed photographs, a sneakoscope, a tall stack of what appeared to be old letters, a set of Gobstones, a snuffbox, a Rememberall, a vintage-looking Quaffle…
Gawain looked around the room, completely distracted for a minute. Then a low croaking voice made him jump. "Why is one of the trespassers up here, Kreacher wonders. He does not belong up here, he does not. Is he a thief? Kreacher will deal with him if he dares to steal from the ancient and most noble House of Black. Never again will Kreacher allow a thief to steal from his Master's home."
Gawain blinked down at the ancient and stooped House-elf who had slinked out from around the dresser to investigate the intruder. The elf was fingering the locket he wore around his neck as he eyed Gawain suspiciously. "Oh, er… I beg your pardon," said Gawain. He was not at all sure how to address a House-elf, but Potter seemed to speak to him rather as he did everyone else. "I was looking for my daughter. She wondered off."
The elf merely glared at him. "He speaks to Kreacher as though Kreacher should care about his brat. But Kreacher is not a babysitter."
"Ah. No. Of course not." Gawain licked his lips awkwardly. Clearly Ella was not here. He backed out of the room. "So sorry to intrude." And he shut the door behind him and escaped back down the stairs to see if Mary had had any more luck than he.
A glance down the corridor from the second floor landing showed no sign of Mary or Ella, so he continued down to the first floor. As he came down the stairs, he saw Mary on the first floor landing with her back to him. "She's not on the third or fourth floor," he called down to her. Mary jumped and turned to look at him, holding up a finger to lips shush him. Gawain frowned and moved to join her stealthily.
She was standing outside the drawing room. The door was cracked open, but not enough for Gawain to see into the room. But from inside, he heard voices.
"Ew! What's that?" he heard Ella's voice.
"Rat spleen" came Potter's voice.
"What's it do?"
"Er… I honestly have no idea… Potions never was really my thing. I'm sort of just doing whatever the book tells me to do. Wanna hand me the scurvy grass? Thanks." There was a rustling in the room. Then Potter's voice continued, "While it's nice to have a potions helper… do your parents know where you are? Won't they be worried?"
"I doubt it," came Ella's voice. "They're probably too busy being angry at each other to notice I'm gone." The simple sentence felt like a punch to the gut. Gawain saw as Mary felt it too.
"Oh..." Potter sounded abruptly awkward. "I'm sorry. That must be hard… "
"They're always angry at each other," said Ella, a little too matter-of-factly. It made Gawain's heart hurt even more. "But it's worse lately. Because of Nan."
Awkward silence again. "Yeah… Yeah, I can see how that would complicate things. I'm really sorry about your nan. You must miss her."
"Mam's really sad. And I know I'm supposed to be sad too. And I am and all. It's just…"
"Yeah…" said Potter. He seemed to understand this more than Gawain did. "Sometimes it doesn't feel real, right?"
"I think Mam blames Da'," Ella continued. Gawain saw Mary's face crumple. She was holding a hand over her mouth to hold back the sobs. "Do you think it's his fault?"
"What? Oh, no, Ella. It's not your dad's fault. It's no one's fault but the people who did it."
"Then why… why is he avoiding us? It's like he can't stand to be with us anymore." Gawain closed his eyes and swallowed. He had thought her too young to be so observant. Had thought this would be beyond her ability to understand.
"Oh…" Potter sounded sad. There was quiet for a moment. "I suppose… I suppose because maybe your dad blames himself?"
"But you said it wasn't his fault!" Ella objected.
"And it's not," Potter hastened to explain. "But grown-ups… Sometimes we blame ourselves for things that aren't our fault…"
"Why?"
Another pause as Potter collected his thoughts. "Sometimes… sometimes we can't help but wonder if we'd… done something different… made different choices… Maybe the other person would still be alive." There was a pause as Ella seemed to consider this. Potter continued. "And sometimes it's easier to blame yourself. Because sometimes the people who are really to blame are out of your reach. And you need to blame someone. So it might as well be you."
There was quiet for a moment. Then Ella said, "Well, that's stupid."
Potter laughed. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess it is."
Gawain glanced over at Mary and found her eyes on him. She was leaning against the wall just outside the door, here ear cocked in the direction of the gap. But she was looking directly at Gawain with a profound sadness.
"So how do I make him stop?" Ella asked.
"Stop what?"
"Blaming himself."
"Oh… er… I dunno. He might have to just figure that out for himself. But I hear hugs help," he added, and Gawain could almost hear his crooked grin in the statement. "I bet you could manage that."
"Yeah," came Ella's very serious reply. "I can help with that."
Mary let out the smallest squeak of a choked laugh, hastily stifled. But there was a sudden stillness inside the room. And in that moment, Gawain knew that Potter knew they were there.
"I'm gonna give him lots of hugs then," Ella continued determinedly. "So many he won't be able to be sad anymore."
Potter laughed. "That sounds great. But you know, Ella. Sometimes grown-ups get sad, and it's not always something easy to fix. So even if he's still sad… that's not your fault, you know?"
"But we mustn't give up, though right?"
There was quiet for a moment then, "No. We mustn't give up." Then, after another pause, Potter said. "You know, I think you mum is looking for you."
Mary took the cue and pushed the door open. Gawain shrunk against the wall, still out of view of Potter and Ella. He most definitely needed a moment to compose himself before facing them.
"Hi, Mam," said Ella as Mary entered the room. He heard her crossing the drawing room and giving Ella a kiss.
"I thought I told you to wait for me in the bedroom," Mary said, though she could not muster a stern tone of voice.
"I got bored," was Ella's defence. "We were talking about Nan. Mam, have you been crying?"
Mary was quiet for a moment, then she said, very softly, "Just missing your nan."
"Yeah," agreed Ella. "I miss her too. I wish I had my bracelet here. The one Nan gave me." Then, apparently for Potter's benefit, she explained, "Nan gave me a bracelet just before… just before we came here. But I wasn't wearing it when we left. So it's back home. But I wish I had it with me."
"Yeah," Potter agreed. "Sometimes it's nice… to have something to remember people who are gone. I have something like that."
"You do?"
Gawain, finally feeling like he had his emotions in check, came around the door into the drawing room in time to see Potter pull a small golden ball from his pocket. He held it out to Ella who was standing with Mary's arms around her. Gawain waited quietly by the door, watching them.
"What is it?" asked Ella, taking it from him and studying it.
"It's a Golden Snitch," replied Potter.
"Why doesn't it fly?" Ella asked sceptically.
Potter shrugged, a small crooked grin on his face. "It's a very old Snitch."
Ella was studying it closely. "So who does it make you think of?" she asked. She handed it back to Potter who took it reverently.
He turned it over in his hands a few times before answering. "A few people. Dumbledore. My parents. A couple of their friends who… who I was close to."
"And they're all dead?" asked Ella with the bluntness of youth.
But Potter just smiled at her kindly. "Yeah. Yeah, they're all dead. But this Snitch… it gave me courage at a time where I needed every drop of it I could get. So sometimes now… when I'm missing them… Or when I'm just feeling a little lost… I guess it helps ground me."
He seemed lost in thought. Mary merely watched him sadly, and Ella seemed to be considering this very seriously. Then Potter seemed to come back to himself. He smiled kindly at Ella and held it out to her again. "Tell you what. I think you could use that courage even more than me, right now. Why don't you borrow it? Then when you get to go home and get your bracelet, you can give it back to me."
Ella smiled broadly as she took it from him. She held it in both hands like it was the most precious and fragile thing in the world. "Really?" she said. Potter just smiled and gave her a nod. Mary looked close to tears again.
Ella turned to smile up at Mary when she caught sight of Gawain still standing by the door. "Da'!" she cried and she ran to him. She immediately enveloped him in a hug around his middle which half knocked the breath out of him. He leaned down and buried his face in her hair.
"Look what Harry gave me!" she said to him, holding up the Snitch as she broke away.
"Lent you," Mary gently reminded her, as she smiled at the pair of them from across the room, dabbing at her eyes with a sleeve. Gawain looked at the Snitch. Its delicate silver wings fluttered feebly as she held it up.
"That was very nice of him, wasn't it?" said Gawain, looking back at Ella. "Did you say 'thank you'?"
"Oh, yeah." Ella looked back over her shoulder. "Thank you, Harry!" Harry smiled and nodded at her. Then Ella again hugged Gawain tightly. As he hugged her back, his eyes drifted up and met with Potter's over Ella's head. And in them, Gawain was sure that Potter could see another thank you. But his gratitude had little to do with an old Golden Snitch.
Potter nodded at him, but he looked quite awkward and embarrassed. Then the potion he had been simmering over an enchanted flame in the centre of the room began to let out a gurgling noise and Potter glanced back at it.
"Ah… Don't think it's supposed to look like that at all," he said, scratching his head. "Well, consider me befuddled by Befuddlement Draughts."
Mary smiled. "You know I had to do quite a lot of study in Potions back when I was in Healing Academy. It's been a while, but I might be able to help, if you like?"
Potter looked at her gratefully, "Really? That would be great. Because I'm totally lost."
Gawain stayed where he was, his arms still around Ella. She was playing with the Snitch in her hand, even if her other arm was wrapped around Gawain. She was already undertaking her mission to give Gawain so many hugs he couldn't be sad any more.
As he considered his wife and daughter, Gawain knew with no uncertainty that this family of his could never be considered a second choice. Nothing this perfect could ever be second.
A/N (26.09.2021): I've been trying to keep this story within a T-rating, but I know I've been toeing a pretty fine line. Wondering if this chapter is pushing it over that edge. Grateful for advice if anyone out there feels like they have a firm grasp on how best to rate. Obviously there is a fair amount of violence and some sexual themes. Do I need to up it to M?