Whisky Tango

Broken glass on the floor by my bed

Lying next to books

I've never even read

Wide awake, all the mess that I made

Everything I've taken

You're the one who paid

Broken Glass By Jack Savoretti

Chapter Five

Antonin hated opening doors when in someone else's mind. Doors meant secrets. He easily slipped into the Weasley boys' thoughts and found himself standing in front of an average townhome. A middle-class neighborhood, well-groomed flower beds, and neatly trimmed lawns. Except for that door. Glaring white with its neat black trim. Nefarious energy emitted around that normal white door, a dark power that set Antonin's teeth on edge. This boy had secrets.

It did occur to him that this might be an epic mistake. The closer he came to the door, the more ominous the feeling. It wasn't dark magic, but something else. The hair on the back of his neck stood on end. Because his magic didn't work in here, and with zero back-ups, the feeling to retreat nagged at him. Whispered voices drifted from inside. A woman's voice sobbed gently in the wind,' Please stop, please Ronald.'

Screaming rattled the windows, glass shattered against walls, and someone inside roared with rage. Antonin reached for the door handle. Hesitating at the sight of bloody fingerprints smearing the doorframe. His fingers closed around the brass nob, knowing it would be locked, "Ronald! Ronald open the door," He didn't want to push his way inside, risking further brain damage to the boy.

"Ronald Weasley, I'm a healer. Will you open the door?" He peered through the window. Shadows moved in the darkened room. Hushed tones of a woman's voice began again, she was crying, begging. Sounds that he was not unfamiliar with, "Open the door, Ronald."

The nob turned in his hand, creaking open. The smell of blood, like dirty pennies, hit his nose. Unsure of what he would find, Antonin cautiously entered. Inside that perfect middle-class home, lay the ruin of a marriage, smelling of rot and deception.

Shadows slithered along the walls, dripping from the corners. Inside, the house writhed in pain from the cruelty etched in its walls. An exquisite painting of Ronald's dementia.

Broken glass littered the carpet around were Ronald sat. Hunched on the couch, sitting in a pool of blood. A full array of bottles before him. Bleeding from the back of his head, mumbling to himself as he drank straight from the bottle, "Boobals, boobals, fucking mudblood thinks I forget… she thinks she knows everything…" He hissed, cursing, bloody spittle dripped from the bottle and down his hand, "I'll tell mum that's what'll do," Slurring his words and downing what he had left of the firewhiskey, "Mums always hated that bitch… always said not to marry that mudblood... I'm too good for that cunt… she did this to me…"

Antonin moved cautiously, swinging wide around Ron. Keeping his back to the wall. Ronald swayed back and forth, cursing the mudblood under his breath. Antonin took this chance to assess his patient. He had a feeling there was a lot more to this story than how it appeared.

He noticed Ronald's eyes first, eerily incandescent, darting around the room until they locked on Antonin. His nostrils flaring, snarling, "That fucking bitch locked me in here," Clear fluid leaked from his ears. Antonin noticed injuries that must have happened before the accident. The lacerations, the glass, the slight angle to his head, and something else…Tremors, the kind he recognized. Antonin was beginning to paint the picture of what might have happened.

"What happened here, Ronald?" Antonin kept his tone low, neutral, as nonthreatening as possible. The young man on the couch was unstable, and Antonin risked a great deal to sneak inside this kid's head because of a feeling he had. It was, however, paying off, Ronald was not disappointing him. Someone and he speculated had Obliviated Ronald… badly. Traces of a few unforgivables floated through the room. Antonin shivered. There wasn't anything else quite as tantalizing as Dark Magic tickling the senses.

"Babbies, Boobels, Boobels, she thinks she knows everything…" The words rolled from his tongue, hissing. Bloody drool on his chin, he tipped the bottle back and drained it, "Mudblood! Cunt, she tricked me," He wiped at spittle with his sleeve, "I'm stuck I can't get out…. She thinks I don't remember… But I fucking remember… She showed me the boobels." He shook his head to clear the fog.

The bottle in his hand refilled, and he took another long pull, rocking back and forth. Ronald's eyes narrowed as he squinted at Antonin, "Who… who… who are you?... Are you fucking Mione? She's fucking someone …doesn't fuck me …" Ronald growled, throwing the bottle, narrowly missing Antonin's head. It shattered against the wall, spraying glass into the carpet.

Antonin didn't flinch. His eye's never wavering from Ron as he crept back toward the door. It was time to leave. He wasn't getting anything else from the red-head, and the situation had started to deteriorate. He took a deep breath, backing out of the damaged mind of the Weasley boy.

ooOoo

Antonin gripped the rails of the gurney as he retreated. Ducking out too fast, giving himself a headache. He leaned his forehead on the cold metal, thinking this is what he got for meddling like an old crone. He exhaled, closing his eyes from the glare of the lights, he needed to reassess his patient. Alarms sounded as footsteps echoed down the hall. He needed to pull himself together. The wife would be here soon, and Antonin wasn't convinced he could look her in the eye. He had gotten a peek at the nightmare she lived in.

Footsteps shuffling on tile, a muffled gasp, and he knew she was here. All he had to do was look up.

Hermione stopped in the doorway. Her shock well cloaked as she stared at Antonin Dolohov, hovering over Ron. Harry could have warned her. She was aware that he worked in the hospital as she kept tabs on all of the parolees. She just didn't expect to see him like this. It wouldn't be easy to lie to the dark wizard. Doing so would be tough, now was not the time to panic.

Through the glare of the fluorescent lights, her hazel eyes stared back at him. With her hair pulled into a messy ponytail and still in her nightclothes… Antonin had to admit she certainly had her game face on. The first thing he noticed was the glamour she put on her face, he thought Potter would have noticed. But grief tends to blind, grief wasn't blinding Mrs. Weasley. That was evident. She appeared concerned, and Antonin didn't want to judge. But she looked as if she were hiding something. This coming from an old habit of reading everyone in the room. It proved an asset in the Emergency Department, with legilimency skills second only to Snape. There were instances when being a

Death Eater had its benefits.

"Mrs. Weasley?" Antonin steeled himself for her reaction. Wondering if she would fall apart as Potter had done. She didn't. She carried herself with grace, not the broken spirit of a battered witch that he expected. Hermione Weasley hid her secret well. He would bet he was the only other person who knew. He made up his mind not to talk about anything he suspected or had witnessed in front of Potter, "I'm Healer Dolohov, but I think you know that… I'm your husbands, Healer."

"Granger-Weasley, but yes, I do know who you are Healer Dolohov." Hermione let go of Harry, dropping his arm as she left his side. She would face Dolohov head-on. Even though her heart fluttered like a trapped bird in her chest. Anxiety welled up, Antonin Dolohov, she remembered in scattered nightmares from the past. Almost ten years since the incident at the Ministry had passed. This was not the man that haunted her dreams. He had changed, softened around the eyes. Dark eyes that were now staring right through her. Leaving her with the impression he knew everything.

She stood next to him, her hands on the rails of the gurney. Not touching her husband. The emotion wasn't there. She had gotten what she wanted, the man she once loved looked near death. Hermione concentrated on keeping her breathing steady, but she was pretty sure Dolohov could see through the glamour covering the bruises. His eyes never left her. She was properly fucked.

"Will he live?" Her voice cracked as she asked Antonin, her eyes flickered to his. She stood close enough to him that she could smell the coffee on his breath, hints of his cologne, bergamot, and citrus. All mingled with the dozen or so potions. Hermione's gaze went to the bag in the corner, Ron's bloody clothes. This is what she wanted… wasn't it?

Thinking this was a hell of a time for the Fates to listen.

"I'm very sorry, Mrs. Granger-Weasley, there's not much else we can do. Honestly, it doesn't look good," Antonin's gaze drifted to the Auror, "Mr. Potter, if you would be so kind as to retrieve Mr. Weasley's parents." He glanced at the soon to be widow, his thoughts straying. Remembering the teenage girl, he met at the Ministry all those years ago. Saying that was a bad night was a huge understatement.

She was staring straight ahead at the pale body of her husband. Giving Antonin a chance to see the faint blue bruises on her neck, the fleck of blood she missed in the shower that hid behind her ear, and a hint of dark magic hiding inside of her.

He risked the intimacy of laying a hand on her shoulder, speaking low in her ear, "There are things we should discuss… privately."

Harry's eyes narrowed at Antonin's request, "Hermione … will you be alright if I go?" The Auror didn't like Antonin's hand on his friend.

Antonin smirked at the Auror's untrusting tone, "Do you feel comfortable if Mr. Potter leaves?" She looked at him as if she wanted nothing more than for Mr. Potter to leave.

"I'm fine, Harry, please go get Molly and Arthur," Chewing on her bottom lip, she turned to face him, "Healer Dolohov, what

happened to my husband?"

Monitor spells glowed red as Antonin checked the vital signs. Waiting to respond, he watched Harry leave the room before he turned to look at the little witch in front of him, "That's what I wanted to ask you, Mrs. Granger-Weasley," Said with emphasis on her sur-name. He closed the door with the flick of his wand, "Do you want to tell me what happened?" Antonin leaned against the wall watching her reactions, looking for cracks in her armor.

Hermione cringed internally, looking at her feet because if she looked him in the eye again. She was afraid he would see right through her, "We … we had a row. And Ronald was drinking. I went to clean the kitchen, and he and he was in our living room, and when I came back, he was gone. He's done this before, gone off to the pub." Her voice was steady, her hands didn't shake. She didn't lie, but she didn't tell the whole of the truth. Lies

by omission were still lies. Hermione wondered just how skilled at legilimency he was.

Antonin had forgotten this was the same girl that had lied to Bellatrix. Even stood up to Bella, under torture no less. He knew she was holding back. There would be nothing to gain in exposing her secrets. So, Antonin nodded, agreeing with her for now, "So, you just went to bed then?"

Hermione worried at her bottom lip again. If he asked her about the obliviate, she wouldn't be able to lie to him, "He does it all the time, I hate to admit it, but I guess Ronald's drinking isn't much of a secret…" She looked back at Ron, trying to muster some amount of grief, she needed tears. Ronald looked almost comical, his red hair such a stark contrast to the milk-white of his skin, reminding her of face paint on a clown, "I took a shower and then yes… I went to bed."

Ronald lay unconscious now, but a thought occurred to her that he might have said something when he arrived, "Did he say anything when he came in?" Anxiously looking at Antonin and back to her husband. Damning her luck, of all the nights for this to happen. It was a perfect shite storm. With Dolohov on shift. Along with Harry accompanying a team of Aurors. But Dolohov, being the Healer in charge of Ron, was the worst of luck. Hermione knew that he suspected something odd. She could see it. She white-knuckled the

rail of the gurney waiting for Dolohov to call her on the lies.

Antonin leaned casually against the wall, "Hasn't said a word. The mediwizards found him unconscious. I'm not a neuro specialist, but I can tell you that he's sustained severe injuries to the brain. Even if he does live, it's my professional opinion that Mr. Weasley won't be talking to anyone," His empathy was with her, not Ronald. Standing in front of him with her chin up, not a tear in her eye. She indeed was a Wild-thing. He couldn't break his gaze from the speck of dried blood in her hairline, just behind her ear. Without thinking, he leaned forward, the pad of his thumb wiping away the evidence. He smiled showing her the smear of blood, "You missed a spot," He started to leave before she could respond, "I promised Mr. Potter I would hand over care to my colleague Healer Berry… and Ms. Granger don't worry … he's not going to make it." With a wave of his hand, the door opened, and Antonin walked out. He needed to find some coffee. This was going to be a long night.

Hermione was left standing alone with Ron. The feel of Dolohov's fingers in her hair left her stunned by his actions. She was right, he knew.

Ronald's protruding eye stared back at her, still mocking her, even near death.

She heard the cries of Molly Weasley nearing the room. Arthur held her upright, staggering, wailing. Followed by who Hermione assumed was Antonin's

colleague.

Over the last year, Hermione's relationship with Molly was strained. As if it were her fault, her precious Ronnikins drank. It was her fault there were no children. To be honest with herself, things with Molly had always been tense. She was never good enough for Ron. Molly never out and out called her a mudblood as Ron had, but she wanted to.

Hermione could feel the hate rolling off the woman. It wouldn't be long before the vitriol from the Weasley matriarch began. Hermione wanted to go home, she was beginning to cramp and wanted privacy. Yet she couldn't tear her eyes from Ronald's broken body. She didn't mean for this to happen. It was all spinning out of control, barreling at her like a runaway train, and no matter how hard she tried, it just kept coming at her. She reached for Ron's hand when the verbal attack began.

"You…Did this to my baby!" Molly spit at her, "Nothing he ever did was good enough for you… you spoiled bitch! You uppity mudblood cunt, I warned him to stay away from you. But he loved you, and you… you never loved him back!" Molly lay over Ron's body, stroking his hair, sobbing at the loss of her precious son, "Don't you touch him… Get away… Get away from my baby. You whore."

Hermione refused to react to the venom. All her attention was now on Ronald. Once upon a time, she thought she loved him, maybe she did. Or was it the idea of him. Once upon a time, a long time ago, she thought she wanted a family, a home, and a husband. She thought she could have that with Ronald. Things were different … in the beginning.

Hermione touched cold, pale, fingers, ignoring Molly. As hard as she tried, she just couldn't summon the grief that was required. She had no tears for the man in front of her. All of his abuse sat at the forefront of her mind. She may have glamoured the bruises, but she still felt the sting. She wanted to forget the entire night, she wanted to go home and forget that he raped her, that he beat her, stopping only when she showed him the baby. All the cramping in her lower abdomen reminded her of the baby, and that she took the muggle pills. There was no going back. What was done was done.

Ronald's skin turned mottled, his breath rattled in his chest as he began to seize again. The blood replenishing charms were violently rejected by his body. Blood poured from his mouth and ears, dripping to the white tiles. Alarms blared, followed by nurses and Antonin Dolohov rushing into the room. Molly screamed as her husband dragged her away from the bed. Hermione stepped away to let them work, edging herself toward the door. A nurse swooped in, sitting her in a chair across the room from Molly. Through the elbows and bodies working, Ronald stared at her with that one wonky eye, judging her. His lips moved or had she imagined it. Through the alarms of the monitors, Healers, nurses, and Molly's raw emotion, came a stillness in the chaos.

Hermione watched in awe as Dolohov's wand danced, both Healers singing spells that tumbled from their lips in a symphony as they fought to save Ronald.

Dolohov held out a hand to the nurse pushing more potions into Ron. It was over. He called out the time. They had done all they could do. The sound left the room, and from her front-row seat, she watched as Molly crumbled to the floor in what felt like slow motion. She felt Dolohov's gaze and risked the eye contact. Sweat glistened his brow, his magical depletion obvious even to her. He hadn't lied when he told her they had tried everything. Failure seemed written across his face.

Still, Hermione couldn't squeeze out a single tear. Her abdomen fluttered. She could feel her pulse pounding in her neck, panic, and bile tickling the back of her throat. A warm gush pooled between her legs, as that damned pill had kicked in as blood showed through her pajama bottoms. She glanced over her shoulder. Harry spoke in hushed tones to Dolohov near the door. Hermione just knew she was headed to Azkaban.

Ronald was dead, Molly draped herself over his body, all of her tears, snot, and wailing. None of it would bring Ronald back. Hermione wished she could summon even half of that anguish. Instead, she sat quietly, her hands folded neatly in her lap. Hoping no one would notice her lack of emotion or the fact that she was sitting in a pool of blood. Maybe they would interpret it as shock. Maybe her cloak would hide the fact she was losing a baby.

Molly was now standing in front of her, she looked up and caught the backhanded slap against her jaw. Harry grabbed ahold of Molly, pulling her back and restraining her arms. Hermione's ears rang. She could see Molly's lips were moving, but she could only imagine what was being said. A pair of strong hands lifted her from the chair and guided her out the door. Ushered down the hall into another exam room and sat on a gurney. She felt the glamour on her injuries drop.

Antonin Dolohov was in front of her, "Well, Ms. Granger now that we have some privacy. Will you allow me to assess your injuries?"

Hermione only nodded, trapped by that dark gaze. It was all over. She couldn't hide the truth anymore, and tears began to well up in her eyes. Everything hurt, the cramping in her abdomen hit her hard enough to cause her to cry out, grabbing hold of Antonin's arm.

"All right, now I need you to lay back for me," Concern on his face, Antonin had his wand out, "Do you want to talk about it? I can have a nurse here if you wish."

Hermione shook her head no. She didn't need an audience. Tears spilled down her cheeks as Antonin lay her back, his wand hovering above her abdomen, "I know that I'm pregnant," She swallowed hard.

"And you're aware that you're losing the baby?" He said it in the gentlest way, not wanting to sound judgmental, "Besides the bruising, fractured ribs, and bleeding around your liver. I detect a muggle drug." Antonin pulled up a rolling chair next to the gurney and took her hand in his. "Ms. Granger, I don't know everything that you have been through, but I'll tell you that I've peeked inside your late husband's mind."

Hermione gasped and tried to sit up, cramps doubled her over. Her gaze locked onto his, "I didn't mean for this to happen." She whispered, curling on her side, her fingers still entwined in his.

"I know you didn't," Her grip on his hand tightened. "If you'll let me, I can fix the injuries. You're bleeding internally and actively aborting."

"I'm going to Azkaban, aren't I?" She closed her eyes, the tears that failed to make an appearance earlier, now flowed. Here she was, curled on a gurney holding hands with Antonin Dolohov. Blubbering like a little girl.

"No… Ms. Granger, you are not going to Azkaban. Now, I need to stop the bleeding. What was the muggle drug you took?" Antonin pulled a handkerchief from the pocket of his cloak and handed it to her. Thinking this was something his mother would be proud of him for.

"I don't remember… oh for fucks sake," Hermione groaned, "Wait I have the bottle in my bag," Antonin helped her into a sitting position. She noticed he used this time to run diagnostic spells while she dug through her purse. She sighed heavily, finally handing him the bottle.

"Ms. Granger, if you can remove your cloak and lay back. I'd like to get started," Antonin took her bag and cloak, setting them on a chair, "This is a privet room, I can get a nurse if you're uncomfortable."

"No, please, I don't want anyone to know just yet. It will be all over the Prophet by morning," Hermione resigned to the fact she would go to prison. It seemed inevitable.

"What makes you think you're going to Azkaban?" He pulled a blanket from a cupboard and covered her legs. Seating himself again on the rolling stool, he drew out his wand and began dealing with the muggle induced abortion. The foolish little witch could have killed herself.

"You said you know, you looked in Ronald's mind… you know everything," Hermione began to cry, blowing her nose on the beautiful silk kerchief Dolohov handed her.

"No, luv, I said I was unaware of the details of your situation, but I had peeked into your husband's mind. By that, I glimpsed at your dismal living conditions. Now hold still," Antonin drew out the remains of the pregnancy, vanishing it before it was seen. Antonin worked quickly, unsure if someone would start looking for her, "It's called patient confidentiality. If you don't want anyone to know that you were pregnant, Ms. Granger, then no one will ever know.

"And if you suspect a crime?" Hermione chewed on her bottom lip, shooting him nervous looks.

Antonin continued healing the numerous bruises. Refraining from eye contact, he couldn't look at her. He needed to concentrate on what he was doing because if he stopped, the rage would overflow. "There was no crime Ms. Granger. Your husband had an unfortunate accident."

"You didn't say anything … about what you saw?

"What I witnessed is no one's business," This time, he looked at her, "I don't need the gory details. I can piece together what transpired by your injuries," He tucked his wand away and took her hand in his once more, "Go home Ms. Granger, take a hot shower, please eat something and sleep. It's over, my report will reflect that your husband died due to an unfortunate run-in with a muggle bus… that's it. I'll have my nurse bring in some potions, and please, please follow up with your Healer in a few days."

"Can't I follow up with you?" Hermione started to panic. She didn't want to see another Healer, another Healer would ask questions.

Antonin didn't want to get involved, the last thing he needed or wanted was to be involved, "Sure, of course, you can. I have the next four days off," It was out of his mouth before he could stop himself, "I'm back on Tuesday night, just come into the ER." Entwining himself further, he wrote down his address, handing it to her, "Owl me if you have any issues. Go home and get some rest, my nurse will be in the potions in a few minutes." He turned and left the room. The sun would be coming up soon.

Antonin retreated to the Healers box, he had a stack of charting to finish, a medical examiners report to fill out, thankfully the tech left a coffee on his desk. Steaming hot under a stasis charm. From his desk, he glanced up in time to see the newly widowed Ms. Granger leaving the exam room. He referred to her in her maiden name only. Because after what he had witnessed, the wounds he healed, and the hurt in her eyes. Antonin felt Mr. Weasley didn't deserve the honor of claiming her as a wife. He watched the tiny witch straighten her cloak, taking the prescriptions from his nurse. She turned briefly, making eye contact with him. The tears were gone, her head held high.

"Her husband has been sent to the morgue. Do you think she wants to see him one more time?" Healer Berry had come in behind him, "That Mrs. Weasley and I mean the older one is a right piece of work. I can't believe that the poor girl stayed married to that bloke… She sure carried herself well, very composed."

Antonin chuckled, "Yes, she does carry herself well. Most definitely a wild thing, Berry." He took a sip of the coffee, leaning back in his chair, "I never saw a wild thing sorry for itself. A small bird will drop frozen dead from a bough without ever having felt sorry for itself

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