Note: This is a revised version of the original I posted before. Mostly to fix spelling and grammar mistakes but a few other things have changed as well.
Thank you so much to SunriseImagination for Betaing this story for me. Definitely, go check out her story.
And thank you to all of you that have taken the time to Favourite/Follow and review this story. You guys are what pushes me to write. Thank you! xoxo
Now on to the chapter!
Chapter 7
November 26th
Tuesday
~oOo~
The man stalked down the hall, his red and black Auror robes billowing behind him in a dramatic manner. His normally calm features were hard from his apprehensiveness and nerves and his brilliant green eyes shone with unusual brightness.
The sound of his heavy boots echoed angrily down the hall, causing the nearby receptionist to cringe slightly and make no move to stop his rather loud passing.
BANG!
The door slammed into the wall as the man pushed it open, startling the other person in the room and making him jump and look up from where he had been going over a book with great attentiveness.
"Bloody hell, mate you scared me," Said Ron Weasley grinning as he stood and placed the tome down on the table, "What's wrong?" The smile slipped from his face as fast as it had appeared when he saw the look on his friend's face.
Harry Potter was worried. No not worried, what he was feeling went beyond simply worry. The news he had just been given made his hands shake and his blood pump in a way it hadn't since his school days.
Harry turned and closed Ron's office door before he leant back against the smooth wood and ran his hand over his face and into his hair; the way he had so many times before.
"I've just gotten a report from Albertson," At Ron's perplexed expression Harry clarified "Our inside man in that radical group," Understand dawned on Ron's face before a grim frown was set into place. He nodded for Harry to continue as he rounded his desk and leant against the side crossing his arms.
"I just got an owl from him, I don't even know how he managed to send one in the first place but that's not the point, I read it through and well... it's not good. As you know Albertson's been quiet for months, only sending in short messages saying that things were still calm, I was starting to think that maybe they were just another passive group, standing on the sidelines and watching; but then I got his latest message." Harry paused and drew a breath, raising his head and meeting his partner's eyes with a grim stare, "Ron, they've just had men return from a covert mission to Africa and they brought dark artefacts back with them."
Ron's expression tightened at the mention of more dark artefacts. There had been so many cases involving cursed objects and muggles lately that the Oblivion squad and the other magical catastrophes offices were almost always with the Aurors on their missions.
"Albertson reported that he only saw them for a few minutes and couldn't count them all but he said there were at least thirty or forty crates. He stated that they were making plans to distribute the objects." Harry ran a hand through his hair again and gripped a handful in the back, staring at the redheaded man in front of him "Ron, that many cursed objects being passed around would mean a disaster. Remember last month? That teacup blew up an entire muggle block. And those hats!"
Harry gazed across the room at the fireplace for a while, thinking, but when his partner didn't answer after a few minutes he lifted his gaze and looked at Ron's face. He recognised that look, the one Ron always got when he was troubled. Ron had never been good at hiding his feelings, his face, like his daughter's, was an open canvas; transparent.
"Have you informed the director?"
Harry sighed and yet again ran his hand through his hair, "I did. He's scheduling a meeting as we speak to inform the rest of the team, although he first needs to talk to the minister and that may take some time so don't be surprised if we don't make it home tonight."
Ron scrubbed a tired hand over his face. With everything on his mind, the last thing he wanted was to organise a raid, because there would be a raid; in the end, there was always a raid.
He watched as Harry pushed off the door and started pacing in front of him, another nervous and troubled habit he'd acquired over the years. Sometimes Ron wondered why they'd become Aurors, you'd think that after the war they'd had enough of fighting and yet... here they both were. Harry as the Head Auror and Ron his partner.
Ron would never tell Harry but he was growing weary of always fighting, having to always watch his back in fear that someone he'd put away might somehow break free come after him or his family.
And he would definitely never tell him that he was seriously considering retiring and taking the job George had offered him, to be the manager of his largest shops.
While some might think his reasoning behind staying an Auror was stupid, the truth was the truth. He didn't want to leave Harry. They had been best friends since they first met and had gone through so much together. How could he leave him now? After that night he left them in the woods when they had been on the hunt so many years ago, Ron had sworn to himself that he would never abandon Harry or Hermoine ever again.
Harry was not just his best mate but his brother and though Ron didn't lack any of those Harry was family and he would do anything for family.
"Ron, are you listening to me?"
Pulling his gaze from where it had dropped to study the carpet Ron meet his mate's gaze with a sheepish smile. "Sorry. Thinking."
Harry gave yet another deep sigh and stopped his pacing. He crossed the room and came to a stop next to Ron, turning so that he was leaning back against the desk, Harry nudged his friend's shoulder with his own. "What's on your mind, I can tell you're not thinking about the Rebel group, so what is it?"
"It's nothing" Ron lied, but as always Harry saw right through it.
"Come on mate, you know you can talk to me. What's wrong?"
Ron gave a sigh and ran a hand through his steadily greying red hair, a habit he'd caught from Harry after all these years.
"It's nothing," Ron said and when Harry opened his mouth, probably to lecture him on keeping secrets, Ron just shook his head, "Did Albertson say when they were planning on distributing the artefacts?"
Harry gave him a look, obviously not happy that he had changed the subject but he kept his mouth shut about it.
That was one thing Ron had always appreciated about Harry; he never really pushed.
"No, he said they weren't letting him in on all the details, only the higher up leaders know but he promised to try and find out and that he'd let us know as soon as he hears anything." Harry let out a tired breath, shaking his head slowly, "I don't want another raid, Ron. Not now. Not so soon after the last one, not after..."
But his words faded, the sentence left hanging in the air but Ron didn't need him to finish it to know what he was talking about.
Frank.
Harry cleared his throat and pushed off the desk, walking over to the door before looking over his shoulder, "I need to go talk to the Minister" He said, his voice was just slightly rougher than normal and his eyes sad and tired, but he tried for a smile anyway.
Did he succeed? No. But he tried.
"See you tomorrow, mate" And with one last brave attempt at a smile, he left in a flurry of red and black robes; leaving Ron alone in his office, much more sullen than he had been ten minutes ago.
~oOo~
The water was hot. Or maybe it was cold? Or maybe it was a mix of both, making for the perfect temperature, either way, it did its job, washing away any trace of red from his pale hands.
One thing it did not manage to do was rid his skin of the coppery scent that only came from blood.
It lingered in the air, hanging around him in a cloud. It was everywhere, the air, his hands, his clothes, the ground, the table... the body.
Because of course, the blood had to come from something, from someone and that person lay still, dormant on a steel table mere feet from him, the only thing separating them was a thin wall of glass and metal.
Images swam before his eyes, a pale nameless wrinkled face, the long gashes, dripping with blood, the barely hidden, beating heart of a dying man...the screaming.
So much screaming.
With a bang, he slammed his dripping hand down on the rim of the sink in front of him, causing pain to erupt from the place of impact all the way up his arm, but he didn't care, his eyes, his mind, was firmly fixed on the man currently being prepped to be taken away.
The nurses worked quickly, moving about the dead man with sure quick steps, going about their job with unseeing eyes and such normalcy Draco thought he might throw up from the sight. Because he was the reason they were there at all, doing their jobs with such callousness.
For Draco Malfoy had just failed to save a life, a life of a man that he knew nothing about but that the death of had struck him hard.
They did not know what had killed him in the end, whether it was the bite marks, the poison, the cold, or maybe the shock of it all had just been too much and he had had a heart attack.
But it still stood that Draco had not managed to save him, that even with all his magic, with all his learnings that he had failed to save yet another life.
Draco Malfoy was one of the best Healers St. Mungos had ever seen. His dedication to his work, his compassion for his patients and his inability to ever give up was something that not many at the hospital had.
Because Draco Malfoy was not the boy of the war, not the monster that the dark lord and his parents had forced him to be and he would work until his dying breath to make sure he proved that he was more than his past, that he would make up for all the wrongs he had done.
And that was something Moriah Silver, his head nurse saw, a good man that had had an unfortunate past, one that haunted him still, and one that he would pay for until he his name was on a gravestone and even then people would look at it with scorn.
"Healer Malfoy?"
Draco didn't answer her questioning voice and she didn't need him too, she had worked with him enough to know that deaths hit him hard.
"Would you like me to alert the family?"
There was a moment of silence and Moriah turned her head to watch as the cleanup staff pushed the now covered body from the room, and she sighed to herself when she saw Draco clench his fist in anger and guilt.
She wouldn't say useless things like 'you did everything you could' and 'it wasn't your fault' because they would just go unheard by the Healer, instead, she moved to his side and put a hand gently on his wrist, squeezing for just the briefest second before removing.
It was enough though.
Taking a deep slightly shaky breath Draco straightened and removed his hands from the water, drying them with a simple thought.
"No Silver, I'm the Head Healer on his case, it's my job to tell them."
"I'll come with you then."
He scowled at this and opened his mouth to reply but she just cut him off.
"Malfoy you know I'll not take no for an answer."
There was a beat of silence before Draco breathed hard through his nose and nodded.
"Fine."
So together they made their way through the long halls of St. Mungos, not speaking but taking comfort in each others company. They had been friends for only five years now, something Draco was thankful for on a daily basis. Draco would never admit it but Moriah was one of his only real friends.
She was anything but dull and her no-nonsense sassy attitude was so very refreshing after so many hours of blood and gore that Draco did not know what he would have done without her.
Draco was pulled from his thoughts when they pushed past a pair of large steel doors, straight into the corridor of patient rooms.
"Over there," Silver said softly to him, gesturing to a door near the end of the corridor. He nodded and together they walked to the door, pushed it open and stepped inside.
Draco took in the sight of a man, young and muscular with a strong jaw framed by dark brown hair, and long legs pacing up and down in front of what Draco assumed were his family, his handsome face tight with worry. Sitting behind his pacing form were four other people. A woman looking about the same age as the young man, if not a bit older, with the same dark hair and eyes. His sister. Another man, younger than both of them with the same features of his brother and some of his sisters sat there as well, holding the hand of the fourth and last person in the small group.
The elderly woman with the grey-white hair was obviously their mother. She sat with her head bowed and the hand that wasn't clasped in her son's hand moved absentmindedly over the fabric of her shirt.
At the sound of the door opening, they looked up, their eyes locking on to the two people who had the answers they needed.
Draco felt the insane urge to turn around right there and run back behind the safety of the double doors because no matter how many times he did this it never seemed to get easier. And he had always been a coward.
But he held strong like he always had to and with sure-footed steps he moved over to the gathering not backing down or slowing an ounce when the eldest son locked eyes with him, his dark black-brown eyes solemn and unhopeful.
He already knew what Draco was going to say.
The wife of the man Draco had failed looked at her son for a moment then at Draco and her grey eyes were so soft and kind that he didn't know if he would have been able to say anything had it not been for Silver at his side.
"Mrs, Grey?"
The old witch stood slowly to her feet and took a small step forward, her son matching her every move. "Yes, that's me. Are you John's Healers?"
Silver opened her mouth to respond but Draco cut her off.
"We are ma'am, I'm Healer Malfoy and this is my Head nurse. I was the lead Healer on your husband's case."
Draco didn't miss how the children tensed at his name, as though his white-blond hair wasn't enough of a give away hearing his name just confirmed their suspicion.
But the old woman didn't flinch away or get upset that an ex-Death Eater was looking after her husband, she just nodded and asked in her feeble yet calm voice, "How is my John?"
Draco swallowed, the only indication that he was affected by the events of the night.
"Your husband sustained major external injuries, Mrs, Grey and while those were easily mendable and would have healed well over time there was also all his internal bleeding and the amount of time he was out in the snow and cold combined with the emotional and physical turmoil on the whole event proved to be too much on your husband's heart."
Draco took a deep breath and looked the witch in the eyes, hoping she could see how truly sorry he was. "We tried everything we could to save your husband Mrs, Grey but even with our best efforts, he passed away at 11:56 tonight."
The softly uttered 'No' from the daughter broke the silence and the eldest son moved to wrap her up in his arms as she crumpled into tears, but the old witch didn't move.
"I am very sorry for your loss Mrs, Grey." Draco bowed his head, looking to the floor, "Truly."
And with that Draco and Moriah moved to step away but a warmth on Draco's arm stopped him.
He looked up, surprised to see that Mrs Grey had laid a hand on his arm, and he was even more surprised by the small watery smile pulling on her thin lips.
"Thank you, Healer Malfoy. Thank you for all you did for my husband, for trying to save him."
There were no tears in her eyes, just a grim sort of acceptance and Draco knew that she had seen this coming. She may have been old but she was far from stupid, she had known even before Draco told her that John was gone, because there was no way, even with magic for him to have lived.
Draco nodded, his throat tight and his eyes stinging before he turned and walked away from the greaving family. Leaving them broken, with only themselves to pick up the pieces.
~oOo~
Thursday, November 28th
Quidditch match
The cold air bit harshly at her exposed skin, little as it was and Rose felt an immense pity for the teams flying high above her head.
The wind wasn't too bad, more just a strong breeze but that mixed in with the temperature made for a brutal time to be outside.
It was Hufflepuff vs Gryffindor and so far her house was losing miserably with Hufflepuff leading 75 to 30.
It really wasn't their fault though. Rose's and Malfoy's stand-ins weren't bad, they flew well and were not too shabby at Quidditch but it was the fact that they didn't play well with the team.
They practised with the team like all the players did but they had not learned to take cues from their teammates and that was what was killing them.
For example, Al would do this thing, a small hand gesture, that Malfoy and the rest of the chasers knew meant to throw me the ball, I'm open and I can score.
And while the other chaser knew what this meant and would attempt to get the ball to throw to Al, Malfoy's stand-in, a thin blond boy in his third year, who had yet again misinterpreted Al's signals would hang back and wait for an opening before diving in and grasping for the Quaffle, disrupting the whole thing and making it impossible for Mark, the third chaser, to get his hands on it.
This happened so many times Rose was shaking her head in her hands by the time Hufflepuff had scored their fifth goal.
Malfoy was so annoyed after only fifteen minutes that he was yelling and shouting nonstop along with the rest of Gryffindor.
Rose just sat back and sighed, her breath forming a cloud in front of her face. She really didn't want to watch this anymore, it was just too depressing.
Gryffindor had won the Quidditch cup six years in a row and now because of Fate had decided that she and Malfoy were 'destined' to be together they were going to lose to Hufflepuff, of all people.
The match lasted barely an hour, with Gryffindor's Seeker just missing the snitch only to have it fly right into Hufflepuff's hand. The roar of disappointment for the Gryffindor side was immense while the cheer, hoots, and hollers for the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw side were even louder, causing Rose to flinch and cover her ears.
The teams all started descending before they landed on the ground and lined up for the sportsmanship handshake. One by one they all shook their opponent's hands and said their congratulations and good game, then they were off, walking back to their respective locker rooms where they would clean up, hear a great speech from their team captain, before bundling up and heading back to the castle to meet the rest of their house. For Hufflepuff that meant an after game party, for Gryffindor, it meant a very subdued week.
With a sigh, Rose got up.
~oOo~
"That was miserable."
"Come on, it wasn't that bad."
From his place in front of the fire, Al turned his incredulous gaze on Rose, looking at her as though she had three heads.
"Seriously Rose?"
"Fine it was bloody awful, the worst game Gryffindor has ever played, a gross display of disorganized, uncooperative, ill flying, stiff-necked, awkward, stubborn, spoilt little shi-"
"Okay okay I get it already, Merlin I think I liked you better unconscious."
Rose just laughed, glad that Al wasn't looking quite so morose anymore.
"Alright well I think I'll be heading up now. G'night," Rose said and stood, stretching her arms high above her head and yawning.
The match had ended hours ago and the sullen group of Gryffindors had all made the slow trek back to the Tower where there had been a feeble attempt to comfort the losing players who many said had given it a good shot and should be proud of their efforts while really begrudging them for the loss of the cup.
It was late, the night sky was dark and cloudy and the few Gryffindors still left in the common room were those few unfortunate seventh years who had buckets of homework. Rose and Al were pretty much the only ones left. Malfoy had gone up hours ago, their bond just allowing the separation even though it felt quite uncomfortable, not that Rose minded, these quiet moments with Al were a blessing after so many forced ones with Malfoy.
"Night," Al said before taking a swig of something that looked suspiciously like fire whiskey but Rose wasn't going to say anything, not this time anyhow.
"Oh and Rose," Al called just as Rose was about to step onto the staircase. Glancing back Rose could see that Al was not looking at her, but at the fire, as he spoke. "Get some sleep, yeah? You've been looking bloody awful."
~oOo~
Scorpius yawned as he stepped out of the bathroom, running a towel through his wet hair before tossing it over the back of a chair and walking over to the dresser to grab a shirt. He was just pulling the soft blue fabric over his head when the rustle of the sheets alerted him that Weasley was getting up.
He turned as she stepped out of the bed and watched as she stretched and yawned, her eyes lidded and just slightly blood-shot, the dark circles under her eyes very visible without all the charms and makeup. Scorpius felt his frustration rise as he looked at her, noting for the hundredth time this week that she looked close to collapsing.
Scorpius might not have been the most observant student at Hogwarts but he wasn't stupid. He'd noticed the lack of eating, the way she drank only black coffee in the morning while nibbling on some bread in an attempt to look like she was consuming something, the way her eyes were never fully open anymore.
Scorpius could tell that something was wrong, he could feel it but he was trying to keep his distance, not only because he wanted to respect her privacy but also because the last time he had asked her about her lack of eating she had withdrawn and become distant; even more distant than normal.
But it wasn't just her that he had to look out for, it was himself as well. Because no matter how you sliced it now, they were connected and whatever Weasley was doing was starting to affect him too.
So when he saw her trip slightly over her own feet and latch onto the bedpost in an attempt to discreetly stay upright, he knew that he couldn't keep his distance anymore.
"Weasley, you alright?" He tried not to sound too concerned but even he could hear the slight note of urgency in his voice. He had felt yesterday at the match that she was tired, ever finished, but it was so much stronger today. He could feel the exhaustion, the hunger she probably couldn't or wouldn't feel anymore and it scared him. And not a lot scared Scorpius nowadays.
He had half a mind to tell Madam Pomfrey.
"I'm fine," Came the terse reply and Weasley pushed off the post and walked, just slightly slower than normal, toward the bathroom. Scorpius hated when she did that, just closed herself off and put up her walls. It was her way of ending their conversations if it was getting uncomfortable for her.
But this wasn't their usual conversation and this wasn't a usual situation. They had to start talking at some point, why not now?
"Weasley," Scorpius said softly, gently grabbing her wrist as she passed him, "What's wrong?"
Her shoulders were tense and her arm was ramrod straight under his gentle grip. He knew she wanted him to back off, he could feel it but he wasn't giving up that easily.
"Please."
She looked up at him then and he felt her walls fall, all the tension left her shoulders and she deflated visibly, like all the fight had left her.
And maybe for the first time, her gaze was not full of the hostility or anger, or even hatred. Her brilliantly blue eyes held nothing but exhaustion, confusion, and uncertainty. Her top teeth started worrying her bottom lip in a habit Scorpius had come to know meant she was thinking, and her hand twitching ever so slightly like she wanted to twist it and take his hand in hers. And for a moment, for a brief moment, he thought she might tell him, might finally open up just a little bit, but then she was turning her eyes away and pulling her wrist from his grip.
"I told you," She said gruffly like it somehow pained her to say, "I'm fine." She then walked into the bathroom, shutting the door firmly behind her.
