THIS could not be happening to him right now. Seeing her hurt, this was all his fault. His first thought was that he had made a horrible mistake. He should have gone with her to Diagon Alley when she'd left his home to pick up dinner for him, and protected her. But he had not, and now...what had happened to her was all his fault. He had done this.
Monster, he thought bitterly to himself. That's all you'll ever be now to anyone, a monster.
His fingers moved to caress the twisted flesh of his burn mark as a pained grimace painted his features.
Guilt washed over him like a tidal wave. This was his fault. All of it.
That much he had realized as he exchanged a brief, panicked look with Professor Snape, though it was Severus's face that tipped Quirinus off to the severity of Elisabeth's situation.
The way the Potions Master's mouth twitched and his black eyes narrowed at the violent scene in front of him.
Without even thinking, Quirinus knelt and gingerly plucked Crouch's ring off the floor with a shaking thumb and forefinger, amazed he could even hold the delicate piece of jewelry in his palm with how badly his hands had started to shake. He pocketed the ring into his back pants pocket and swallowed all the bile that had crept its way up into his throat, still feeling as though if he opened his mouth, he would be sick. He flicked his gaze towards Elisabeth's hand and was horrified to see her left ring finger was now missing. His heart was in his throat as he had hoped that for a fleeting moment, what he was seeing was nothing more than a phantasm of one of his worst fears. However, the blood that pooled in his hand and stained his palm crimson was very much warm and sticky and real. It hit him square in the chest with so much force that he staggered back, as though She had hit him with a Flipendo Knockback Jinx.
"NO!" he shouted, shaking his head in dread, not wanting to believe it. "Wh-what have you done? Elisabeth! H-How could you?" he demanded, angry with her and more than afraid as he realized the grave lengths she had willingly placed herself, to protect not only herself but him as well. His life was not worth this.
Quirinus was horrified to see a faint smile flit across Elisabeth's blue-tinged lips as she forced a weak whisper through the immense pain that ravaged her body as she began to violently convulse.
Madame Pomfrey hovered over her, murmuring an incantation that almost sounded like a song under her breath, willing the blood that had been lost to flow back into Elisabeth's body. He strained to hear her.
"I—I saved you, Quirinus. I saved…us, Barty won't…won't trouble us any more, he can't find us," she said in a small choked voice. Fat tears slipped from the edges of her eyes, trailing down her cheeks and dripping onto her blouse as she weakly clutched her injured hand. The witch exhaled a shaky sigh as she trailed off, unable to continue, and merely smiled at Quirinus from across the bathroom, almost hopefully.
He shook his head, his tears matching hers as he could not still melt the shock that was dribbling on his mind as he recognized the length she had gone to, and he suddenly hated himself for what she'd gone through.
"Oh, God, Merlin's Beard, no, nononononno, not this," he moaned.
All of this, it was all his fault. He did not think he could ever forgive himself. He was the cause of her suffering.
He rushed to her side the moment Quinton moved to stand to Elisabeth's left, feeling a vent of adrenaline propel him towards his friend, and a surge of protectiveness welling within his chest so tightly it felt as though he could hardly breathe.
"Don't touch her! Get away from her!" he shouted, his hostility aimed at Quinton.
Quinton retracted and looked towards his son, startled by Quirinus's uncharacteristically violent outburst and could only watch as Quirinus darted forward with speed that surprised even himself and skidded to a crouch in front of Elisabeth and shakily waved his wand to conjure a rag with which to press over Elisabeth's bleeding hand.
He turned towards Madame Pomfrey, and was hardly aware of Severus coming to stand directly in front, though his ears perked up at hearing an odd little groan escape Severus's throat.
"Elisabeth, why on earth did you…? I told you not to! Did I not tell you that I would have helped you? There is another way! You should have waited!" Severus roared, the man sounding livid and beside himself with rage as Quirinus pressed the rag to her hand, desperate to stop the bleeding and help Madame Pomfrey however he could.
"Don't you dare yell at her!" Quirinus bellowed at the top of his lungs, having reached the breaking point of his patience and began to draw his wand. He did not want to duel Severus over this, though he would if he was left with no alternative. "She thought she had no other choice!" he shouted, his face reddening in rage.
The Head Matron rose to her feet and was looking at Elisabeth with pursed lips and as if she were a disappointment to her.
"Gentlemen, kindly control yourselves, if you cannot still your rage and remain calm, then we have a problem, you will quiet down now or you will remove yourselves immediately," Madame Pomfrey commanded in a clipped tone as she helped Elisabeth to her feet. The matronly witch made a visible show of gripping onto her arm tightly for support and winding a hand around her waist and helped the witch begin to shuffle towards the exit. "We need to get you to the Hospital Wing, Miss Raywood, can you walk? That is to say, are you able to come away with me?" she said.
Quirinus was relieved to see Elisabeth nod weakly and she tried to smile at him as he rushed to her side and draped her arm over his shoulder and helped Madame Pomfrey to support her bodyweight, and together, the pair escorted an injured Elisabeth out of the girls' bathroom and back towards the Hospital Wing.
Activities were bustling strangely enough, by this point in the day, as the students were preparing to head for home, idling in the hallways with their trunks. As Severus barked angry orders at the students to back away and give them the space to move down the corridor unencumbered, Quirinus felt the burn of the students' stares, some of them spiteful, some of them curious. His cheeks flushed bright red and he tried to pretend he did not notice, and the Hospital Wing was a welcome sight. He breathed a sigh of relief as his frantic eyes searched desperately and landed upon the capable genius besides Pomfrey he sought. He spotted Professor McGonagall outside the Hospital Wing.
"Professor!" he cried, urgency in his voice, and tears in his eyes. Elisabeth was beginning to falter in her steps. Professor McGonagall was speaking to none other than The-Boy-Who-Lived, and looked up, startled, expecting Quirinus to be injured, considering the man's already weakened state, though the bloody and gruesome scene in front of her now was much worse. Her eyes landed on Elisabeth's injured hand, specifically, where her missing ring finger had used to reside, and the blood drained from her face.
"Oh, my goodness! Wh—what on earth happened? E-explain yourselves, both of you! What happened?" she exclaimed, spluttering over her words as a hand shot to her heart as she darted inside the Hospital Wing to gesture them both inside, with Severus and Quirinus's father trailing close behind at Quirinus's heels.
"She-she cut off her finger, Minerva, Barty's engagement ring had a Tracking Spell set on it, th-there was no other way," Quirinus explained urgently as he carefully lay the fading witch on top of the bed closest to them. "S-save her, Madame Pomfrey, please, I-I beg of you, I-I will do anything, anything you ask of me," he stammered in a choked voice. Quirinus watched, horrified, as Elisabeth rested back against the pillows and her eyelids flickered shut as she slipped into sleep. Terror wormed its way into his heart and squeezed.
Madame Pomfrey darted to her side and immediately began to examine the wound before turning on her heels and swiftly crossing the room to one of the wooden medicine cabinets where she kept spare medicinal supplies throughout the year.
When the Head Matron returned, he was relieved to see a green liquid in a small glass vial clutched in her hand. His lips parted in shock, though it took him a moment to speak.
"I-is that…?" he stared, hardly daring to believe it, though as Madame Pomfrey offered a curt nod, his chest swelled with hope.
She nodded, not bothering to look at Quirinus or anyone else in the room who had gathered by the witch's bedside, her attention already fixated upon her newest patient and doing whatever she could to heal her.
"It is indeed, Mr. Quirrell. My last vial of Elixir of Strength and one that I fully expect you will pay me back for in exchange for the kindness," she added, almost as an afterthought, though the Head Matron's tone was deadly serious. She meant her words. "It will restore the blood she has lost and regrow her finger, though I must warn you, it will be a very painful process for her. This solution is quite rare, but effective, though it does not come without its price. The pain of regrowing her finger is that price." The grey-haired witch fussed over Elisabeth and clucked her tongue as a mother hen would to her chick. "You're in for a long night, dear."
She uncorked the vial and poured a few drops of the truly foul-smelling liquid onto Elisabeth's injured hand and pulled a face of disgust at the stench that flooded the Hospital Wing now.
Madame Pomfrey gingerly nudged Quirinus aside, and the others as well. Within moments, there was suddenly barely enough room for Quirinus to remain at Elisabeth's side. Sensing his apprehension, the Head Matron turned towards the small crowd gathered around the unconscious witch's bedside and frowned.
"All of you, out, right now, and please do not make me say it to you lot a second time," she barked, jerking a thumb towards the Hospital Wing's exit with her thumb. "I need the space to tend to her wounds unencumbered and all of you now are in my way. Please. You will all need to wait outside," she told them.
Quirinus bristled at the notion of leaving Elisabeth's side even for an instant and scowled a warning towards the Head Matron, though Madame Pomfrey was not at all fazed.
"Out, you, out, you all need to leave. You can see her when I am finished, and not a moment before, do you understand me? I won't have you impeding her recovery in this manner!" she commanded in a shrill, earnest voice as she grabbed her arm and began to drag the distraught wizard away from Elisabeth's bedside and towards the Wing's door.
Quirinus fought the Head Matron the entire way, clawing at the older witch's surprisingly firm vice grip on his arm as he attempted to rip out of her grasp, though she did not so much as flinch.
"No! Let go of me, Poppy, I—I need to stay by her side!" he shouted, turning towards Professor McGonagall for the witch's help.
Understanding her colleague's hostility, Professor McGonagall did her best to calm Quirinus. The elderly witch guided Quirinus the rest of the way outside the door, alongside Severus and Quinton, as Madame Pomfrey relinquished her hold upon Quirinus's arm and darted back towards Elisabeth's side without so much as a second glance behind her, eager to return to her patient's care.
"You need to let her work alone, Quirinus," she answered, her tone unwavering.
"B-but I-I want her to know that I-I'm here," Quirinus stammered, the words on his tongue forming ahead of his thoughts, and he could not recall stuttering like this so much ever in his life that he knew of. His face was pained as it twisted into a grimace as he looked towards the Transfiguration Professor for any guidance.
He suspected it was due to his frayed nerves, why it was that he was stuttering so much, and feared if he had one more stressful or terrifying thought or experience today, then he would surely implode into flames.
"She knows, dear." Professor McGonagall attempted to comfort their soon-to-be-reinstated Muggle Studies Professor. Quirinus's breathing began to feel heavy and his chest tight.
With no way of watching over his friend, and no outlet to vent his frustrations and his pain, at least no outlet that he wanted, Quirinus turned away from the group of his colleagues and his father now gathered around him and clenched his hand into a fist. He throttled his urge to roar like an enraged Chinese Fireball and slammed his knuckles over and over again against the un-moving stone walls, but he felt no pain. His mind was so focused on Elisabeth and her ordeal.
His injury was nothing compared to what she was going through, what she would go through tonight, the worst of her pain was likely still yet to come, while her body underwent the excruciatingly painful process of growing back the finger she had cut off.
A thick coating of dust gathered around the shallow dent that his now bruised and battered bleeding knuckles made against the masonry, and he could hear the clicking of debris against his shoes and the floor.
Quirinus almost swallowed his own tongue as his mind blazed with the worst curses imaginable as if they were the first and only words he could ever know as he cursed his existence for doing this to Elisabeth.
But the worst part of it now was that the stinging of his now likely broken knuckles was not enough to swap with the anguish that stabbed the feeble quivering muscle within his chest and rendered his heart broken. Prudently, Professors McGonagall, Snape, and even his father all stood back and let him have this release, and it was only when Quirinus had no more strength left in his lungs to scream and his strength dissipated from him as he slumped to the floor, using the wall as a support brace for his back, did his father dare to cautiously approach him, the only one to do so given his son's foul mood.
Quinton bent at the waist as best as he could and rested his good hand on Quirinus's right shoulder in hopes of coaxing his son to look up at him. The older wizard flinched, but only because his son did so the moment his hand made contact with the appendage.
Quirinus stiffened as he looked up at him through tear-filled and red-rimmed eyes, not seeing him.
"Come away with me, son, please, you do not need to be here. To see her suffer this is only upsetting you. You need to come home with me," Quinton told Quirinus firmly, though he removed his hand when Quirinus ripped away from him and vehemently shook his head no.
"No! I-I'm staying by her side, Dad, so just drop it! I'm not going home with you, not if you won't allow her to visit! I'm not leaving her alone! Not again!" he bellowed, finally losing the last vestiges of his nearly barren patience with his father.
He grimaced as he knew his words hit their mark the moment they left his lips, for he saw his father flinch in discomfort and he drew away, and could only tear his gaze away when the sound of audible footsteps could be heard coming down the hall towards them. Quirinus reluctantly tore his gaze away from his father, his cheeks flaming red as he grew ashamed of his surprise outburst.
Though thoughts of his father and what the wizard must think of him now were the furthest thing from his mind as he caught a glimpse of who was steadfastly approaching their position as the group lingered outside of the Hospital Wing. Beads of sweat began to glitter along his scalp. His heart was in his throat to see Professor Dumbledore coming down the hall towards them. The Hogwarts Headmaster's wrinkled face was pulled taut and tight with worry, a look of intense concentration in his eyes, and it did not escape Quirinus's attention that the Headmaster was being followed.
A first-year student trailed nervously behind him, close at his heels, his head just barely visible behind a huge stack of sweets gathered in his arms. Quirinus gave a jolt as recognition dawned on him the closer he drew and realized the boy that followed Dumbledore down the hall was none other than The Boy Who Lived. Harry Potter himself. Suddenly, his ears were burning and his heart was in his throat as he noticed the look of trepidation and uncertainty the scrawny eleven-year-old was eyeing him with.
Quirinus tore his gaze away from the boy, grinding his teeth so hard that his molars clacked, as he heard Dumbledore speak.
"Minerva, Severus, I am glad to have found you both, I had thought to find you both at the end-of-term feast. Come, there is a rather delicious-looking custard tart that I was hoping to sample and…"
Though Albus Dumbledore's hopeful and previously jovial expression paused abruptly as the Hogwarts Headmaster took in the sight of their stricken expressions, Quirinus's especially, and noticed Elisabeth Raywood's blood staining his palms. With painstaking slowness, the Headmaster slowly swiveled his gaze toward the Hospital Wing and eyed the closed door with a sense of resigned horror.
For a long moment, the eccentric warlock did nothing and Quirinus felt the urge to defend Elisabeth's actions in case Dumbledore questioned it. Then, Albus Dumbledore's cerulean blue eyes darkened a shade further and sought his own, an equally dark expression now clouding his eyes.
For a moment, the wizard looked exasperated as a prominent vein twitched in his brow, and he pressed a thumb and forefinger to his nose and pinched the bridge of his nose, as though the Headmaster hoped to squeeze out an answer to his question that way, though it was to no avail.
"Would you care to explain to me, Minerva, or Severus, either one of you," Albus Dumbledore began, his voice soft yet full to the brim with concern for the witch now behind closed doors. "Why it is that Mr. Quirrell and Miss Raywood are in far less perfect condition than I left them in?"
Quirinus ran his hands through his hair, his fingers sticky every which way as the locks entangled themselves in his hair as he heard Professor McGonagall quietly launch into an explanation. He was grateful he did not have to speak.
He did not even think he could summon the strength or courage to look Dumbledore in the eyes. He could not make out what was said between the Headmaster and Transfiguration Professor.
He raised his red, tear-filled eyes to the ceiling, wishing that he could remember every moment spent with Elisabeth Raywood throughout the course of their friendship and hated he couldn't, and all the memories that he still hoped to share and create with her, if she would have him, romantically, in that way, in the way he found himself hoping for.
A pit began to form in his stomach and he chewed on the wall of his mouth as he looked toward Dumbledore, feeling anger and resentment welling within his heart at the Headmaster for forcefully taking his memories from him.
"It should have been my choice, Albus, to remember, I deserved to make that decision myself. I—I want to remember everything that I've done, to feel everything, I-I want…her, Albus. Just her. My memories, Headmaster, I-I want them restored, every last one of them, please, what has happened to me, it is not enough. I want to remember," Quirinus whispered hoarsely, amazed he could speak, in so low a voice that he was not sure if Dumbledore heard him.
Though he was proven wrong when the aging wizard slowly turned to look at him, looking exasperated. Quirinus waited. Professor Dumbledore hesitated as he looked into the much younger wizard's earnest and pleading tear-filled eyes. It took him a moment to speak.
"I do appreciate your concern, Professor, however, this is…not the moment to discuss it. Until Miss Raywood is out of danger, I will not broach the topic of conversation with you, and you would be wise not to bring it up again until I've had a chance to speak with you both. You must understand that the matter concerning your memories must wait, for the moment, though in time, I will consider your request and I give you my word that I will think on the matter and give you a more firm answer once I have spoken with you both at length," he told him gravely, his blue eyes shadowy.
Quirinus nodded and looked towards the door as the sound of it creaking open loudly on its hinges alerted him to yet another presence in the hall. As he struggled to continue to avert the Potter boy's questioning stare, he was utterly relieved to see the Head Matron walk slowly through the now open doorway of the Hospital Wing and out into the corridor to find Quirinus and anyone else there who might be waiting for news on the witch's condition. Madame Pomfrey walked slowly towards them, her hands clasped in front of her middle, deliberate in her motions. The grey-haired matronly witch's lined face showed the exhaustion the witch would likely not allow herself to feel for several hours. Quirinus rose, clutching the bricked wall for support, unsteady on his was afraid to try to interpret the Head Matron's look.
"D-Elisabeth, Poppy, her wound, h-how is she?" he asked, fumbling over his words and hating hearing the faltering crack and dip in his voice.
Fear shadowed his hopes as a dark cloud passed over the Head Matron's tired features. With painstaking slowness, Madame Pomfrey lifted her gaze to Quirinus and a weary smile found her cheeks as she took a deep breath and delivered her news.
"Her finger is already beginning to grow back. With rest and care, I would say a day or two spent in the Hospital Wing and allowing me to continually monitor her progress, she will be right as rain in no time," she announced, happy she could bring good news.
Quirinus felt his body go limp as he let out a joyful cry and practically dissolved in relief. Were it not for Professor McGonagall rushing forward as spots danced in his vision and he began to sway on the spot, she wound one arm around his waist and the other around his waist, he felt certain that he would have collapsed without Minerva's help.
He shot her a grateful look and nodded, appreciative of the older woman's assistance. She looked at him and told him without the need for words that there was no need for him to thank her.
Quirinus turned towards Madame Pomfrey and without thinking, he embraced the older witch, nearly drawing her up off her feet and eliciting a startled squeak of surprise from the experienced Healer. Madame Pomfrey smiled wanly as she was set back down on solid ground, however, she was still cautious of declaring Elisabeth fully mended. It was going to be a long night for her recovery.
"She is not out of the woods yet, dear." Madame Pomfrey was quick to temper their professor's relief. "She has not awakened. I gave her a Sleeping Draught and a Calming Draught to help with the pain and keep her asleep through the worst of the procedure, and there is still a risk that her hand could become infected," she warned, the witch's mouth pinching and turning down in a frown. "Her injury was very serious. Even after her finger has grown back, it will still need time to heal. It will be painful for her. She regained consciousness briefly and asked to see you in a moment of lucidity before she slipped into sleep again, though I fear ignoring the young lady's demands might lend itself towards unnecessary injury towards herself." The Head Matron nodded, sure of herself, as her expression turned even more serious than before as she fixed Quirinus and the rest of the group gathered around her with her usual stern countenance.e "Make no mistake, you lot, I will not have her delve into too much anxiety as she heals, and only one visitor is permitted to see her at a time."
"I…I see," stammered Quirinus, for the flustered wizard did not know what else to say. He began to wring his hands in front of him and restlessly pace, a habit of his whenever he was nervous or thinking about something particularly troublesome, which was often. "Well, I-I-I still need to see her, Poppy, please," he stammered over his words, his hands still wringing in front of him as his anxiety only worsened. "Please," he said again, speaking so faintly that for a moment, Madame Pomfrey wasn't even sure he'd said anything at all as Quirinus took a step towards her hesitantly. "I would like to stay by her side through the night. I-I will see if I can keep her calm and hopefully get the rest she needs. A-after all, all of this was my fault in the first place," he confessed, embarrassment flushing his cheeks.
"No, Quirinus, it was not, we cannot allow you to make such an unfair conclusion. There are always reasons for every action in life. Miss Raywood would not have taken such an extreme measure if she felt strongly there was no other way. The good news is that she will make a full recovery, in time, with your help, of course, this arrangement works both ways. She has proven that her word is her bond by staying by your side. Perhaps now you can repay the favor owed," he told the man gravely, not a hint of jest seen in his pale blue eyes. "Perhaps now it is your turn to give something back to her," replied Professor Dumbledore immediately as he came to stand at Quirinus's side.
Quirinus watched, interested, as Professor Dumbledore did not look at the boy, either ignorant of the scrawny Potter boy following him or he was aware and chose to ignore him, at least for the moment, in favor of setting Quirinus's mind at ease, for which he was grateful.
The boy seemed too shy to speak, for he immediately lowered his gaze and studied the ground in too engrossed a manner rather than lock eyes with Quirinus as Quirinus let his gaze curiously rest on the boy who had apparently caused him so much trouble over the course of a year.
Elisabeth had been moved to a new bed, was the first thing he realized upon entering the Hospital Wing, and that the entire room was laced with a bitter biting feeling of cold.
A chill wafted down his spine and he was unable to repress the shudder down his back. He ground his teeth and did his best not to shiver, attempting to shrink into his thick black knit sweater for warmth as he followed Madame Pomfrey and Headmaster Dumbledore to the furthermost back corner of the room.
A large blanket had been hung from the rod on the bed to allow separation from the rest of the Wing, though the vast room was empty, save for their small group, as the children were preparing to board the Hogwarts Express within the hour to head for home for the summer holidays.
Madame Pomfrey drew the curtain back and allowed Quirinus to enter first. Professor Dumbledore and Harry Potter followed slowly, completely oblivious to the boy's curiosity overcoming him and following Albus.
She was preoccupied with fussing over Elisabeth, ensuring the witch's blankets were wrapped snugly around her, checking the wrapping on her hand to pay too much attention to anything else.
Elisabeth lay unconscious and motionless on the hospital bed, covered with a warm-looking thick white blanket, her skin faded and pale from the loss of so much blood. She looked more a ghost than alive.
When he saw her, Quirinus's legs nearly gave out beneath him as he felt faint and he hurriedly darted forward to sit in the chair beside her bedside, grateful Madame Pomfrey had thought to prepare a place for visitors to sit. He took her uninjured hand and held it to his lips, a bold move that surprised even him, and yet, the gesture was just as much as to take comfort for himself as much as he hoped to give it, even if Elisabeth, in her unconsciousness, could not feel him.
Unable to be strong any longer and not caring what Severus or Albus thought of him, he rose from the chair and perched himself on the edge of the mattress, stroking back a few wisps of her red hair that were tickling her nose while she slept, for she sniffed in her sleep, though Elisabeth did not wake.
The tears he had been furiously blinking back in hopes of fighting against the salty liquid now brimming in his eyes finally flowed freely down his cheeks, and he shook bitterly in defeat as he held her hand. He raised his eyes to her face as he hovered over Elisabeth, not even caring that his tears fell upon her skin. His hands traced the path along her cheeks, and he was startled at how cold her skin felt. He wished he could remember the times they had spent together, as friends, and nearly happy fantasies began to flood through his mind of the friendship he still hoped to enjoy with her, and perhaps more than that if she felt anything for him beyond that of simple friendship. He prayed she did.
Professor Dumbledore stood at the foot of the low hospital bed and respectfully gave Quirinus the time alone with Elisabeth he needed, oblivious to the fact that Harry Potter was silently watching the strange scene unfold, as still and quiet as an owl, hardly daring to breathe.
Finally, Quirinus managed to regain enough strength in his throat to ask the Matron the one question he wanted an answer to the most.
"When will she wake up?" he asked dryly, turning questioning eyes to the Head Matron, who kept her hands clasped.
Madame Pomfrey cleared her throat.
"That's…that is difficult to say, Mr. Quirrell," she confessed, pained. "She must allow her body to heal the wound. That will take her time, at least tonight, and I should like to keep her tomorrow for observation. There is always the risk that her hand if not monitored closely enough, could become infected. Though, as I've said before, with proper rest and care, she will be just right as rain. I daresay that a good chicken broth or some other sort of soup would go a long way in helping her recovery. She's in for quite a rough night, I'm afraid." She paused and fixed Quirinus with a pointed stare. "You are as well, Mr. Quirrell, if you insist on staying with her and being by her side." She clucked her tongue in disapproval and shook her head. "Your eyes are already darker than my dead father's soul, Quirinus. You need to be resting as well." Madame Pomfrey looked towards the Headmaster for the warlock's support.
Albus picked up on his Head Matron's hesitations and was quick to alleviate his mind.
"Madame Pomfrey is right, Quirinus. You should rest. It will be a long night. You might as well make yourself comfortable if you wish to stay. I will stop by the kitchens and see what the house elves can do about getting Miss Raywood a bowl of something hot, and for you as well. You need to eat, to keep up your strength, I have a feeling the both of you will need one another soon," he predicted, a glossy look clouding his eyes.
Though before Quirinus could question it further, the look was gone as Professor Dumbledore continued speaking to him.
"Miss Raywood is a strong woman, Quirinus, not one of many, I must confess that I have never met two souls that are so alone in the heart as the two of you seem to be. It is painful to think of, but it is still a connection. Perhaps one to build upon," Professor Dumbledore encouraged, moving closer to Elisabeth's bedside and resting a firm hand gently on Quirinus's shoulder. "I think that now…she has a reason to fight. Love, something that is more powerful in this world than anything else, in both our magical world and the Muggles' world," He reminded his teacher. "It is obvious to any who sees it how much she cares for you, considering the lengths she went to protect you," Professor Dumbledore said gravely, his lips pursed into a thin line of disapproval as he cast his gaze down toward her bandaged hand. He heaved a haggard sigh and pinched at the bridge of his nose as he carried on. "She will not give up so easily. Our dear Elisabeth will emerge victorious, and come out even stronger for it, in the end, and you will be by her side as she does, of that, I'm sure."
Quirinus nodded slightly, and slowly turned his attention toward the Potter boy.
"H-Harry, what…what are you doing here?" Quirinus asked, finally deciding to make the boy's presence by Dumbledore's side known. His suspicions were confirmed when the Headmaster looked down in surprise and saw him standing there, genuine confusion in his eyes.
"Harry, when did you get here? I had thought you'd be at the feast," Professor Dumbledore questioned, sounding concerned, though not outright angry with him.
Quirinius felt a stab of annoyance well within him at the boy's presence, how he stood so close to Elisabeth's side. Something about this whole scenario felt off, he realized. He was looking at her as though he knew her, though the boy could not have.
It did not escape Quirinus's attention that Harry was suddenly looking uncomfortable, awkwardly shifting his weight from one foot to the other and glancing down at the pile of sweets in his arms, no doubt collected for the train ride back home.
The boy parted his lips as if to speak, however, it took Harry a moment.
"I…er…she—she sounded nice, Professor, I...ah...heard she was hurt, and well, I thought..." he murmured hesitantly as he dared to inch his way closer to Elisabeth's bedside for a closer look. "I-I heard some of the ghosts in the Great Hall talk about her a-and wanted to meet her. And…I wanted to-to talk to you, Professor, too, before going home for the summer to say…that I'm sorry. For…for all of it. I...I didn't mean any of it, I don't think...any of what happened to you, was your fault, Professor, none of it, Lord Voldemort took away your control when he, er, took over your body, and I hope that...you can move past all of this," he mumbled, his cheeks flaming bright red as he paused to drop the entire pile of sweets on a wooden night table. He wildly gesticulated to his face with a hand, hoping that Professor Quirrell picked up on his meaning without him having to elaborate.
Harry paused and looked towards Elisabeth curiously, a strange glint flaring to life behind the boy's bright green eyes. Quirinus noticed and frowned.
"Wh-what is it, Potter, what's the matter?" he asked, hesitant and sounding so unsure of himself, not even sure if he should ask, and yet he was not entirely sure what to make of the way the Potter boy was eyeing his neighbor. Still had that odd look from before. He watched as Harry's expression changed only slightly. Well, of course, he would ask him what was wrong, what else had Harry been expecting Professor Quirrell would ask him? Harry hesitated as he looked at the pretty redheaded witch lying seemingly lifeless in the hospital wing's bed and then his gaze drifted towards her bandaged hand.
"I—I think I've seen her before, sir," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. Sensing Professor Quirrell and Dumbledore's confusion, he elaborated. "I-In Little Whinging. I—I think I've seen her out walking from time to time. She—she would always wave to me if I was outside, o-or if I happened to be watching from the window, it's like she would get this sixth sense that she was being watched, a-and she would look up and wave to me, b-but...but she never said hi in the streets, sir," he told the two men, very softly.
Quirinus couldn't be sure, but he almost thought that Potter was looking disappointed that Elisabeth never had if what he was telling them was true. Quirinus could only stare, though before he could so much as utter another word, Madame Pomfrey interjected, coming over towards them and swooping down on the first-year little Gryffindor lion like a hawk catching its prey.
"Out, Mr. Potter, away with you now, and you too, Headmaster, if you please. Miss Raywood needs her rest, you can visit with her later."
Madame Pomfrey turned questioning eyes towards Quirinus as if to silently ask the wizard if it was what he wanted. He offered her a curt little nod and sincerely hoped the gesture went missed by Harry. He did not want to have to explain himself. Harry made to follow Professor Dumbledore outside, with the Headmaster pausing only to ask that the moment Elisabeth awakened, he is informed, for he wished to speak to the pair of them together. The boy was halfway to the door, when something must have given him pause, for the boy turned around and faced Quirinus, looking at his former Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor hesitantly. He chewed on his bottom lip for a moment, then spoke.
"This witch, Professor, M-Miss Raywood, i-is this witch your wife, sir? The—the ring in your hand, is it hers? Are you married? H-how did she get hurt? What happened?" Harry asked, his innocent question floating through the air toward the flustered wizard's ears.
He could not have known how his series of questions very nearly crushed his former teacher's heart right there on the spot. Though Quirinus was too busy choking on his own tongue to attend to what Harry had just said and therefore, he missed the boy's question. Thankfully, the Headmaster had been paying very close attention and answered for him.
"No, Harry, Elisabeth is not, although they are…very close, and perhaps, in time, one day, she might be." Professor Dumbledore turned to look towards Quirinus, letting out a morose chuckle at the way his Muggle Studies Professor's face had turned pink. "Come along, Harry, let us leave Miss Raywood and Professor Quirrell to rest. Perhaps later, if she is feeling up to it, you may visit?" he questioned, turning to look towards Quirinus expectantly.
Quirinus nodded numbly, unable to do much else and still too stunned over the Potter boy's assumption that the two of them were actually married. He glanced down at the bloodied ring in his hand and stared at it for a moment, mesmerized. He did not take his eyes off the ring, not even upon hearing the two of them leave.
Harry had called Elisabeth his wife. And if Elisabeth had been awake to hear the boy's question, would she have embraced it? Or would she have dismissed it out of disgust?
Would she even truly consider such a possibility that perhaps one day, they could have a life together, going past the bonds of their friendship and towards something much more personal and intimate?
Did he dare to hope that Elisabeth could ever think to have him, to want him, as he had seen witches in the streets of London or in Hogsmeade want other wizards?
He looked away from Harry for a moment and clamped a hand over his mouth as he tried to hide his elatedness, not seeing the boy or the Headmaster staring at him. Though he could hear the two of them talking as Dumbledore promised to return within the hour with something from the kitchens for the two of them. Only as Quirinus turned away did the boy realize he may have said something wrong.
Even from this distance, Harry could see Professor Quirrell's crestfallen expression. It prompted Harry to ask his former Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher a final question.
"You don't think she would want that? Why not?" he questioned, confused.
Quirinus could not answer him, and more to the point, he did not want to answer him. Looking at his disfigured face should have been an answer enough.
No witch in the world would want to be with someone whose right half of their face was disfigured, with the skin underneath his eye ruined, taut and tight. No witch would want to be with a man who looked the way he did. It was simply a plain fact. The harsh reality of his new truth was undeniable.
There would be many in the wizarding world who would see him and automatically label him as some form of a monster rather than an ordinary wizard, a normal man with the same hopes and dreams as any other wizard alive. It should have been enough to have Elisabeth in his life as a friend, at least, he struggled to convince himself of this, and he knew that it was not enough anymore.
That she…their friendship…was not enough anymore. He wanted more. He wanted…her. Just her.
Hearing his teacher's silence, Professor Dumbledore took it upon himself to attempt to alleviate the defeat he sensed within his Muggle Studies Professor.
"My dear boy…"
It was enough to coax the younger wizard to lift his gaze to his, and as Quirinus looked at him briefly, the young man's dark brown eyes shining with something Dumbledore could only describe as grief before he lowered his gaze to his hands, which were resting his lap.
Albus pressed on in an effort to convince him to cling to hope and cherish love when it came to him.
"It takes more than looking, to really see within a man. Your Elisabeth? She sees you."
Quirinus knew there was wisdom in the Headmaster's words, though at that moment, he could not figure out just what that wisdom was, and did not want to, wallowing instead in his own self-pity.
He did not see the Headmaster or Harry Potter leave. Quirinus's frown deepened as he looked back toward Elisabeth. He had stopped trying to change people's perceptions of him years ago, and even now, he knew his friend deserved better. Elisabeth Raywood, the beautiful witch with the dazzling smile and the wonderful laugh… His friend deserved better than him, and yet, it was not enough. He wanted more.
Despite knowing that his friend deserved a man who was more successful, certainly a far cry more handsome, and overall a better match for her, Quirinus did not relinquish his vice grip on her uninjured hand, wanting to be at her side when his friend woke. There were so many things he wanted to say to Elisabeth, and to Dumbledore, for that matter, though he felt fatigued, and exhaustion was already taking its toll on his body. His sore throat protested at the idea of talking too much. Eventually, his eyes grew too heavy and they could no longer stand the strain of being open. He rested back against the backrest of his chair and tiredly closed his eyes, intending just to rest them for a moment.
For the first time, Quirinus wondered if it was possible if there was a chance for him to have a small ounce of happiness if there was still a chance for him to find the love of a good woman in Elisabeth. He was shocked, admittedly, by just how much he found himself wanting that.
At the same time as his heart pounded painfully in his throat with new and exciting possibilities as he let his sensitive and overactive imagination nearly whisk him away in a happy fantasy of entertaining a married life with Elisabeth as his wife, his logical mind screamed at him and appealed to the former Ravenclaw's more cautious nature. What was he thinking?
Surely, he had killed the feelings that Elisabeth might have once held for him the night the two of them had apparently rowed if he was to take Father at his word. He could not make a fool of himself.
Yet, as he sat there in the lonesome Hospital Wing, thinking about Harry Potter's misinterpretation of their friendship, he remembered how his attraction to Elisabeth Raywood was growing, from the moment he had first spotted the petite redhead in his sitting room. He jolted and opened his eyes upon realizing he was developing feelings for this witch. He looked at her and smiled at the way she seemed to be sleeping peacefully. He hoped she was not in any pain.
He let his mind wander to what their lives would be like if they really were…married. Quirinus felt he could easily become used to Elisabeth's care and concern for him, and he did not think he could imagine anywhere could feel more pleasant than to lay nestled against her in the warm darkness of their room, locked in her sweet embrace.
Before he knew it, he was climbing on top of the bed to lay beside her, hoping to give her some small semblance of comfort as she slept upon hearing her moan slightly in pain as she stirred in her sleep. His thoughts quickly transformed into dreams of her, and Elisabeth burrowed closer to the warmth he exuded.
Quirinus's body sensed her nearness and he fought against his body's urges as it began to react, though he sighed and drew her towards him in sleep, hoping to keep her warm as he too, joined in her sleep, too exhausted to stay awake for another moment longer.
She did not resist.