Posted 12/4/2014
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This is a work of fiction, based on the book series by J.K. Rowling. Neither do I claim ownership nor do I intend to.
Chapter Fifty-Nine - Scars
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Taking a deep breath, Millicent made to open the door, but hesitated again at the last moment.
"You don't have to do that, you know?" Pansy spoke up, fighting down the shiver as a cold breeze ruffled her hair. "I'm sure we can come up with something else. You could have gotten a detention or something?"
"No," Millicent said, smiling faintly. "No. She's here. I'm here. She asked that I come. She got me permission to leave."
"Thanks for that," Pansy replied with a roll of her eyes. "Nothing like trudging from Hogwarts to Hogsmeade through the snow."
"I'm sorry," Millicent repeated for maybe the tenth time over the last few hours.
"Not really your fault, it's just... I could be sitting in front of the fire. Instead, I'm standing here in the cold. If you don't want to cancel at the last moment, could we maybe get inside? I'm sick of reapplying the warming charms every few minutes."
"Sorry," Millicent chuckled. Straightening up, she opened the door and walked inside the bar-room. Pansy was all too happy to follow her inside the Hog's Head.
They had already been noticed, and as Pansy shook off the snow from her shoulders, Mrs. Bulstrode walked over with a wide smile.
Every time Pansy saw mother and daughter together, she couldn't help but wonder about the differences. Whereas Millicent was tall, burly and looking rather off-putting most of the time, her mother both looked and carried herself like the pureblood she wasn't. In fact, the only true similarity were their eyes, but Mrs. Bulstrode's showed a hint of disapproval at the moment while Millicent's told of her apprehension.
"You're almost late, Millicent," Mrs. Bulstrode spoke up once she had reached them. "I had worried you wouldn't come. I had worried something had happened. And why are you looking so dishevelled?"
"No carriages," Millicent replied, smiling apologetically.
"Oh dear," her mother sighed, "and I had hoped Narcissa would have arranged for one."
"She didn't seem to find it that important," Pansy offered. "Or maybe she didn't think of it."
"Well, if it isn't Pansy? I met your mother a few days ago, did you know? She was just about to head to... Paris?"
"Naples, I think," Pansy said, smiling.
"Well, don't just stand there," Mrs. Bulstrode told them, "come in. You must be freezing if you indeed walked here. We wouldn't want you getting sick now, would we?" To the barman, she added, "Something to warm them up, please," before guiding both girls to a table in the corner.
Once they had settled in and had cups of tea in front of them, an awkward silence followed, making Pansy wonder who would break it.
"Well," Mrs. Bulstrode tried after a while, "you do look better than during the holidays."
Millicent didn't seem inclined to disagree and just nodded in thanks.
"And your father asked me to greet you. Just yesterday, he was recommended for the night-shift. Farley or whatever her name is feeling under the weather right now; your father is now one of the most qualified and might take the woman's place."
"That's nice," Millicent answered with a small nod. Pansy felt a stab of sympathy for her. Mr. Bulstrode's lack of success had been a sore spot for a long time, but unfortunately, he just wasn't cut out to become much more than a guard. Even his pure blood couldn't open every door.
"In a way, yes. He couldn't come, however; he had to work last night," Mrs. Bulstrode added. She fumbled, getting something from an inside pocket of her cloak. "I brought you a present," she said, handing over what Pansy recognized as a jewellery box.
"Your Aunt Marcella got it when she married," Mrs. Bulstrode explained while Millicent opened the box. Inside was a silver butterfly hair clip. "I thought," Mrs. Bulstrode added, "that it might suit you."
Pansy wisely kept her mouth shut. Millicent was many things, but very little of it had anything to do with butterflies.
"Thanks," Millicent managed, fingering the delicate object.
The fire roared to life. Green flames, Pansy noticed out of the corner of her eye. Mrs. Bulstrode straightened slightly in her seat. It didn't go unnoticed by Millicent who narrowed her eyes suspiciously.
"You didn't come all the way out here just to give me that, did you?" There was a hint of anger that surprised Pansy. "And you did arrange for Mrs. Malfoy to get me permission to leave school instead of coming up."
"Well," Mrs. Bulstrode replied with an unsure smile, "I didn't think it appropriate to meet at Hogwarts. I do have another surprise for you, though." Her eyes jumped to the fireplace, but apparently, she didn't see whoever she had expected. Relaxing somewhat, she continued, "Although I guess part of the surprise is lost now. As you've probably guessed, I'm waiting for someone."
Millicent's eyes narrowed even further as she clenched her fists.
Her mother seemed to have noticed as well and tried an unconvincing smile. "Now, it's not what you are thinking, Millicent. It's still all very much open; nothing has been done yet –"
"So that's it, then," Millicent accused. "This is all another attempt to marry me off." She pointed at the hair clip. "She got it when she got married, eh? Was that your way of telling me? Was that your way of breaking the news to me?"
"There are no news to break right now," Mrs. Bulstrode replied with a slight warning in her tone. "As I said, nothing has been done yet. Your father would never have allowed me to do what you're implying; you know that, I know that. An old acquaintance of mine introduced me to a business partner of his at a social gathering of sorts about two months ago."
"And now you want to introduce me to that business partner? And I'm supposed to go along with that? Without even knowing the man?" Millicent ground out.
"No," her mother told her with an unmistakeable nod to the seat. "Said business partner is relatively active, trying to get a foothold on the British Isles. I tried pointing him in the right direction; doing him a favour in hopes of calling the debt in one day. Well, when I met him about a week ago to introduce him to some of my acquaintances and friends, he... Ah." The fire roared again; all three women turned to look at the fireplace.
The man who had stumbled out seemed very much out of place, with robes just a bit too proper for the Hog's Head, hair in a comb-over that was likewise just a bit too neat, and an angular face that didn't fit the oddly wild side-whiskers.
"That one?" Millicent asked mockingly. "He's what, sixty?"
Mrs. Bulstrode sent her daughter a warning look, but before she could answer, the fire flared once more, and another man stumbled out, only to be shielded from sight by the first one as much as possible.
"His nephew, if you need to know," Mrs. Bulstrode hissed, giving a fake smile. "I know you aren't happy about it. I'm just trying to look out for you; with connections to the continent, you'd have some place to go if..." She hesitated. "Millicent, please be nice and keep an open mind. That's all I'm asking."
The two men were walking over, giving Pansy a good first look at what she assumed was said nephew who was short, but about as tall as he was wide. His rosy cheeks and painfully short hair made Pansy think of an over-large baby.
"Mr. Brunner," Millicent's mother greeted the taller of the two arrivals, smiling. "I'm glad you could make it."
"It is a pleasure, Mrs. Bulstrode," he replied with a handshake and a curt bow. Behind his back, the other arrival fumbled with his tie. "May I introduce my nephew Karl Brunner?" Half stepping aside and half pulling him forward, Mr. Brunner got the younger man to stumble forward.
"Mrs. Bulstrode," he mumbled. Out of the corner of his eye, he seemed to have noticed his uncle straightening up. Mirroring him, the man named Karl forced himself to smile unconvincingly. "It is a pleasure to meet you," he said, sounding rather awkward as he seemed to focus on his pronunciation. "I haf heard many sings about you."
"Did you have a nice journey?" Millicent's mother asked, shaking his hand.
"Yes, it was nice," he confirmed, still looking quite uncomfortable.
"Well, that's nice to hear," Mrs. Bulstrode told him. "May I introduce my daughter Millicent?"
For a moment, Pansy thought her friend might not play along, but she was wrong. Millicent stepped forward, dutifully shaking both of the men's hands. When it was Pansy's turn, Mrs. Bulstrode gave her a quick nod. "And this is Miss Parkinson, a friend of my daughter from school."
After the introductions were done, they took their seats, giving Pansy a moment to take a closer look at both Brunners. Apart from the eyes, she couldn't really see many similarities between the two. Meanwhile, Millicent seemed to have pocketed the present from her mother.
"Miss Bulstrode," Mr. Brunner spoke up, "it is nice to finally meet you. Your mother told me you are in your last year at school?"
"Err, yes," Millicent replied with a quick glance to her mother. "We're preparing for the N.E.W.T.s right now – the final exams, I mean."
"Yes," Mr. Brunner said with a nod, "I heard as much. Do you like it at school?"
"It's fine. The professors are a bit harsh from time to time, especially right now. We did have a few rough spots over the last years, but apart from that, it was all right." While she continued talking a bit about her schoolwork, Pansy watched both of their guests.
Mr. Brunner was hard to read; when Millicent was listing her favourite subjects, he nodded in acknowledgement, but stayed silent. On the other hand, his nephew seemed lost for the most part. His face lit up occasionally, only to drop again, making Pansy guess he didn't quite understand that much of what was said.
"Of course," Millicent finished with a smile, "focusing on those subjects I had some talent for helped a lot to motivate me lately. I just wish I had continued with Defence Against the Dark Arts."
"It is an important subject for some people, yes," Mr. Brunner agreed. "Personally, I neither liked nor disliked it, but knew it was not for me. As a businessman, I had no need for it." He seemed to think over what he had heard before continuing, "Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures, Herbology and Charms... They lend themselves to a future in trading as well, do they not?"
Millicent looked slightly surprised. "Err, yes, that too," she admitted, "but I had planned to work for the Ministry. There are also traders for rare animals that might need warding or the like, so I thought I might be set either way."
"It is a sound plan," Mr. Brunner agreed. "I take it your Ministry has changed its recruitment policies, only taking those with an understanding of defensive magic?"
"Ah, no," Millicent told him with a glance to her mother. "I just think Defence Against the Dark Arts could have been useful right now –"
"More tea, Millicent?" Mrs. Bulstrode interrupted, looking as if she had caught the eye of the barman. Mr. Brunner seemed to have seen through it as well if his glance was any indication.
"So you might still work for your Ministry," he spoke up after a moment of silence. To his nephew, he added, "Please remind me, what subjects did take until your final exams?"
From the slightly panicky look, the younger man was struggling to sort his thoughts. "I took... Charms and..." It looked like hard work for him, and Pansy wondered how he was ever meant to make a good impression.
"Right," Mr. Brunner interrupted. "Charms and... Transfiguration, wasn't it?"
A look of relief washed over Karl Brunner's face. "And Runes, yes. I work as a teacher."
"Isn't that nice?" Mrs. Bulstrode said, smiling. "So, do you like your work?"
"It is nice," Karl Brunner replied unconvincingly.
"He is too modest," his uncle interrupted. "Many people hire him as a private tutor for their children. And our Ministry offered him a position in their Department of Education and Examination."
"Sey wanted me as an Examiner," Karl Brunner confirmed. Frowning slightly, he added to Millicent, "You wanted to work wis wards?"
"It's something I have some talent for, yes," Millicent answered. "I remember seeing the Dragon Handler during the Tri-Wizard Tournament taking the ones down they had set up around the arena, for example. The Ministry seemed like a reasonable choice for me back then since they do have to set up protections now and then – the Quidditch World Cup comes to mind – but with the Ministry kowtowing to You-Know-Who right now, it's probably helping them hunt down anyone who disagrees right now. That's not something I want to help them with." She ignored her mother's glare and Mr. Brunner's raised eyebrow. "And I hate to bring it up, but we should probably leave soon. Right, Pansy?"
Put on the spot, Pansy nodded. In truth, Mrs. Malfoy had given them until dinner. "I guess so, yes. It's a rather long walk in the current weather."
"I hadn't even thought about that," Millicent mused, smiling apologetically. "And I still have quite a lot to do for tomorrow." Rising to her feet, she extended her hand for both men to shake. "It was nice meeting you, but we really should get going."
Once they had left the bar, Pansy had trouble keeping up. Millicent seemed intend on storming all the way to the castle, dodging the occasional shopper and pushing her way through the snow. Just before they left the village, she kicked one of the trees, making the collected snow on it fall to the ground. It gave Pansy enough time to catch up, but one look at Millicent's face was enough to tell her to stay quiet. They walked in silence until they reached the gates of the school where Pansy tapped the marked stone to let someone inside know they wanted to be let in. It didn't take long until Mrs. Malfoy came down to get them.
"I take it," she said, "the meeting didn't go very well. Not very surprising, I think. Miss Parkinson, please remember to hand in your report of your last patrol. To my knowledge, it is still missing."
They had reached the Entrance Hall. After thanking Mrs. Malfoy, both girls continued on their way down into the dungeons.
When they walked into the Common Room, Pansy pursed her lips. Books lay helter-skelter, students were busying themselves in a corner trying to clean some muck from what seemed to be a portrait, and the smell of something rotten lay in the air. However, Pansy had more pressing concerns than finding out whatever had happened; out of the corner of her eye, she saw Astoria standing up from where she had sat with Tracey and next to Theodore. It seemed he had returned to school sometime during the day. While Millicent headed over to him, Pansy focused on Astoria. She managed to intercept the girl before she could leave through the side-entrance.
"All right," Pansy said, keeping her voice low enough, "what was that about?"
Astoria adopted a look of surprise. "I don't know what you mean."
Pansy pursed her lips. "Don't lie. You know exactly what I mean."
"Oh, Nott?" Astoria replied with a smile. "Well, he wanted to talk. We both lost family, didn't we? So it was only natural that I'd keep him company and lend him an ear."
Pansy felt her anger boiling. "You've lost no one. And we also both know how you feel about Daphne."
"She's my sister. I miss her?" Astoria said, tilting her head in confusion.
"And since she's not around, you latch onto Theodore's misery?" Pansy hissed.
Astoria rolled her eyes. "Hardly. He came to me, not the other way around. He latched onto me, not the other way around."
Pansy hesitated. "Never mind. Go on then." Once Astoria had left, Pansy walked over to her friends.
Tracey looked up and nodded in greeting.
"Hello, Theodore," Pansy spoke up, taking a seat next to Millicent. "I hadn't expected you back already."
"Hi," he replied. "Yeah, it... there wasn't much to do any more. My aunt had done most of the work when I arrived. Wouldn't have known what..." He broke off, staring off into the distance.
"How is Marcus?" Millicent asked, sending him a sympathetic smile.
"He's... I don't think he's quite understood what happened," Theodore said with a sigh. "I mean, he knows, of course, but... Aunt Regina's taking him in. For now, at least. Or, you know, once the healers'll allow it. They want to keep an eye on him, to make sure he doesn't remember. You know how Obliviations are, sometimes." After a moment, he swallowed hard. "It was a nice ceremony. Ceremonies, I mean. OR at least I think that's what people mean when they say that."
"You know we're here to support you, right?" Pansy asked. "If you want to talk, if you have anything we can do for you..."
He chuckled humourlessly, but didn't answer. "I'm tired," he told them, still staring at something no one else could see. "I think I'll go lay down for a bit."
Once he was out of earshot, Tracey leaned over. "Nothing new on the perpetrators, I heard. Not from him, of course, but..." She glanced around nervously. "It must've been horrible. Can you imagine... ?" Looking to the archway of the dorms, she pursed her lips. "I think we should do something for him. Something nice, I mean – to show him he's not alone."
"I doubt he'd like to be singled out any more than he already is," Pansy pointed out. "And it's not like we can do anything, really."
After a sigh, Tracey forced herself to smile. It looked horrible, but she had tried, at least.
"So, you're back earlier than I expected," she said.
"My mother wanted to introduce me to some idiot from the continent," Millicent grumbled. "Don't know why she's still trying, though. Or what she's hoping to achieve."
"To marry you off?" Tracey asked. Pansy wasn't sure whether it was meant as an answer or asking for confirmation of a guess.
"That was the thought, yes," Millicent replied, glaring. "Tried to soften me up with a present, even. She said it was my aunt's and that she got it for her wedding. Isn't that nice?" She pulled out the box throwing it on the table in front of them.
"Were you and your aunt close?" Pansy wondered.
"I vomited all over her once," Millicent told them. "And I kicked her in the shin when I was six. Six? Five? Doesn't matter. Apart from that, no, we weren't close. But that wasn't the point, was it? No, it was just a hint at what she expected of me." To Pansy, she added, "Sorry I stormed out like that. And sorry I forced you to back me up, I just..."
"I get it," Pansy laughed, waving her off. "I was there, remember?"
After a moment of hesitation, eyeing the box, Tracey couldn't contain her curiosity any more and opened it. "It does look nice, at least," she tried. Taking the hair clip, she examined it closer.
"If you like it so much," Millicent grumbled, standing up, "then keep it for all I care. I'll change out of these robes." With that, she left, ignoring a group of second-years that jumped out of her way.
Pansy shook her head. "Not a good day," she spoke up, letting her eyes wander around the room until they came to rest upon a blot of black on the mantle piece. "And what happened here?"
Tracey followed her glance, fighting a smile. "Oh, that. Well, funny story, actually. See, Adams – you know Adams? That third-year? Overbite?"
"Yes, I know him," Pansy sighed.
"Well, he had this problem with potions..."
The next day, Harry and Hermione reconvened. After a lengthy discussion, she reluctantly agreed to his planned killing spree. It took surprisingly little time to come up with a reasonable list of potential victims and a schedule for visits. As it turned out, some of the lower priority targets were slated to get visits during the night. Hermione was tasked with confirming the shift plans for Miss Busty and Melvin's healers. Harry had insisted on the inclusion of Rookwood by claiming it to be the perfect opportunity to get rid of him.
"So," she concluded at the end of their discussion after dinner, gathering up the notes strewn across the room, "I'll see what I can find out, and we'll improvise once it's time."
"You're not happy with it, I know," Harry laughed, bending low to pick up a piece of parchment that had fallen off the table. "But hey, it's the best we can do – adapt and see what we can do."
"Still not sure how you talked me into it," Hermione admitted with a shake of her head.
"By putting Cummings at the top of our list?" he suggested. "Come on, you know it'll work. You know it needs to be done. And unless you've been lying to me, you picked fast-acting poisons, so it should be quick. Less torment for the victim, less torment for the witnesses." Waving his hand, he caused some of the notes to stack themselves neatly and float over to Hermione's stack.
"One day," she joked with a smile that didn't quite reach her eyes, "I'll sit you down and won't let you leave until I've learned it as well."
"I told you it's not something you can learn simply learn or teach," Harry chuckled. "It's a process of self-discovery and more about intuitive understanding of magic – feeling, if you will. Oh, and breaking a few preconceptions about magic with the willingness to question what you know and accepted as fact."
"You've said as much before, yes," she sighed. "That doesn't stop me from wishing I could do it as well."
Once she had their notes packed away, he cleared his throat. "Do you remember what we talked about yesterday? What you promised?" He raised his bandaged arm slightly.
"Of course I do," she told him. "Well fine, let's see then."
She ran a number of diagnostic spells Harry knew, some he wasn't familiar with, and some he suspected Hermione had invented herself. After carefully inspecting the newly grown skin on his side and confirming that his Splinching hadn't left any lasting damage they hadn't known already, she sighed.
"Well, it looks fine so far. The side might still be a bit tender for a while – Essence of Dittany works fast, but it's not perfect. See these discolourations? We might be able to get rid of them over time, but it's not top priority. Does your arm still itch? Or throb?"
"Itching to be used, yes. Throbbing in tune with my heartbeat, yes. Apart from that, no," he answered.
"Well," she spoke up, "Let's see what's underneath." She gently tapped the bandages, and although Harry could still feel them, they vanished from sight.
It looked ghastly. Scars zigzagged over it, beginning on the shoulder blade and going all the way down, the ridges getting more pronounced the closer it got to his wrist. And then there was his hand. The fingers resembled claws with gnarled skin; a scar on the back of his hand was mirrored by one on his palm, suggesting the hand had been pierced and torn apart once.
And of course, his old scars were still there. He could still make out the cut Wormtail had given him, and the piercing the Basilisk had given his arm would probably never heal completely. If anything, it seemed they had gotten more prominent as well.
Hermione swallowed at the sight, but ran a few additional tests.
"Well, I can't detect any remaining injury, at least," she commented. "So let's try something." She tapped his shoulder and removed the bandages from Harry's arm. It felt good to be rid of it, that was for sure, and he could feel the strength coursing through the arm. "Let's see you move it a bit," she told him, "and go from there."
He tried clenching his hand. It worked, but the image of the Whomping Willow's branches came to his mind at the sight. Next the turned and twisted his arm. It seemed to be in working order, something he felt he should be grateful for. Lastly, he grabbed the back of a chair. That too worked reasonably well although his fingertips tingled at the touch.
"Not bad, all things considered," he told his friend. "You've done a good job. It certainly feels good moving it again. Slightly more sensitive to the touch than I'm used to, but that might work itself out sooner or later. It's been a while since it touched anything but the bandages. Kind of like going out on a bright day after a month inside."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at the comparison, but didn't comment on it. "Tell me if it's not back to normal tomorrow. Anything else?"
"It's no longer throbbing?" he said after a moment.
"It sounds all right, I think. The spells showed your bones have healed decently. Your muscles also seem to work, which is good. And you can feel as well; I worried a bit about that after seeing the state your arm had been in when you arrived."
Following a sudden inspiration, Harry held his palm out and tried conjuring fire. The flames seemed slightly less controlled than he was used to, but it still worked reasonably well.
"Magic works as well, thanks you, Harry," Hermione added with a slight edge, "although you could have asked first. That's no longer a normal arm you have there, it could have exploded from your attempt."
"Exploded?" Harry laughed.
"Why not? You don't know how all of the magic done on it over the past days would react to some of your own. Your magic interacting with Riddle's caused a magical dome around you once. Adding wards to a house's protection can bring all of it down. I wouldn't hazard a guess as to what accidents could happen with regards to healing magic. It's not just waving a wand around or handing out potions, remember?"
"Fine, it might have exploded, then," Harry admitted. "It didn't, so it's fine."
"I wouldn't call it fine, Harry. It works, apparently. It seems healed enough that you should be able to use it, yes. I'm sorry I couldn't... it looks dreadful." A bit of her regret flashed through despite her control over herself; she wrung her hands, reminding Harry of Dobby for a moment. "It's... I mean, I knew there would be some trouble, but I didn't expect it to turn out like that."
"Don't worry about that. It's just another scar. Bigger than the others, but hey, so I'll have a new conversation starter. And now I have an incentive to figure out that spell Riddle used in the graveyard. If he can do it, then Tom as well, and if he can..."
"You think you can do it?" She asked, frowning. "That has to be highly advanced magic..." She trailed off, and he guessed she was torn between voicing her doubt he could do it and fighting down the envy over him potentially managing it.
"Don't know, really. It's not my top priority. I have a working arm, even if it looks less than ideal. Maybe sometime in the future I'll find a way to counter this, but it's not a pressing matter right now. There are more important things to do. And as for the supposedly advanced magic... he didn't use an incantation, no runes or potions as far as I could see, just a wave of his wand and the hand appeared." He refrained from pointing out how both wand movements and incantations didn't really affect the success of magic that much if one had a clear intention in mind.
"You still have an arm, though," Hermione pointed out. "You wouldn't have to replace it."
"True. Still, if I can figure it out, I might come in handy at some point. Muggles have prosthetics even without magic. Just think about what witches and wizards could come up with! It'd be a whole new business. No longer bound by the limitations of the human body, I could give people super-powered limbs. Some people would give an arm and a leg for it."
"Very funny," Hermione sighed.
"Or maybe Essence of Dittany or some other potions? If bones can be regrown from nothing, why shouldn't there be something for this as well?"
"A lot can be done with magic, yes," Hermione agreed, "but the body is fairly complicated. Yes, bones can be regrown, but only because there is flesh to fill out. And conversely, skin can be regrown, even by means like Essence of Dittany, but at the same time, it works on what is already there and extends the existing flesh. A missing limb would perhaps not count as such and be closed by simply closing the stump. Essence of Dittany works fast, yes, but it's more like patching up. It can and does occasionally go wrong, and it doesn't exactly replace the lost flesh, only giving a close approximation. It closes the wound."
Harry thought about that. What would happen, should one try to use Dittany on a severed limb? Would it regrow it? From what, now that he thought about it. Or would it count as an open wound and the essence would close it? He wasn't sure.
"Maybe I should just leave the arm like this. Girls like scars, don't they?"
She rolled her eyes. "That is an ugly one though. General rule of thumb, healthy and whole is preferable than being a deformed monstrosity." There was a slight twitch in her mouth and eyes, as if she wanted to say something more, but kept from it.
"Well, it's there for now. Anything I should watch out for?"
She frowned in thought. "It might be a good idea to test its limits slowly. I'm not sure just how much that arm can endure. The spells indicate it has been healed decently, but there might still be some unforeseen complications."
"Understood," he told her with a nod.
Hermione peered at him. "And since I know how you're thinking, I'm ordering you to go to your room and get some sleep. I don't care whether you think you're ready for it, I don't want you going to the training room right now. I don't want you busying yourself with anything right now. I want you to get a good rest."
"I'm..."
"I know you're feeling up for it, Harry," she interrupted. "Look, it's simple, really. The last few days might have seemed dull to you, but I really just want you to get some rest. You might need it more than you think, Harry. I know how much you like to rush things sometimes. We still don't know just what that arm can or can't do. I know you, and I suspect you'd try to find it out as soon as possible. That combined with your recklessness means you'd probably hurt it in some way, requiring me to fix your mistakes once more. I'd like a few days without having to patch you up right now."
He reluctantly agreed with a curt nod, looking at his new hand and trying to get used to the sight, when something caught his attention. "My ring," he spoke up, blinking. "The wedding ring." He couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before – the ring was missing.
"Your... ? Oh," Hermione groaned, grimacing. "I'm... I took it off. Rather forcefully, I fear. Your hand... Well, I took it off and..." She broke off, blinking and patting her pockets, before pursing her lips. "The table. The bedside table. I put it there for the moment, but didn't... I don't think I've seen it later on, but I also didn't pay much attention to it. I was a bit... preoccupied, I guess, with a lot to do and all of that and kind of forgot to... Sorry."
"So... where is it, then?" Harry asked, halfway between annoyance that the ring was currently missing and relief that he hadn't lost it during the fight.
"I... Well, I doubt Ron would have taken it. Greengrass perhaps..."
"No, she would've told me by now," Harry argued, huffing.
"I... it might have fallen to the ground, then. Maybe swept off the table?" Hermione offered hesitantly.
"Kreacher!" Harry shouted. Only moments later, the elf appeared, and ignoring Hermione's half-hearted glare, Harry immediately ordered Kreacher to search for the ring in the makeshift infirmary. It didn't take long for the elf to return.
"Kreacher found a ring under the table," he grumbled, holding out his open hand where indeed the rind in question lay. "Master's ring, Kreacher thinks."
Harry took the ring with a smile. Not really needing Hermione's nonverbal prompt, he added his thanks and sent Kreacher away.
Turning the bloodied ring between his fingertips, he could see almost no damage."Barely a scratch," he mused out loud, glancing at his disfigured left hand, only to be interrupted by Hermione's outstretched hand. In her other, she held a small box.
"Let's put it away for now, all right? So it won't get lost?"
"Again, you mean?" Harry couldn't help replying.
"Fine," she sighed. "So it won't get lost again. I'm not sure whether you should put it on already. Better safe than sorry, you know?"
Part of him was all for putting the ring back on out of principle, but he decided it just wasn't worth it to fight her over it. If she didn't want him putting the ring back on, he wouldn't do it immediately and in front of her. He took the box from her and put the ring inside, pocketing it. "Well, good night, Hermione."
"Good night, Harry. And don't forget – no experiments with that arm of yours, all right?"
Chuckling, he left and headed to his room. She hadn't been wrong – he wanted to test his arm a bit. If he was to rely on its strength in the future, he needed to know just how well it had healed. Could it support some weight? Could it grab onto things reliably? Could he feel things with it? How strong of a hand was it? How far could he throw? And just how well could he use it for wandless magic? The fire had given him hope, but could he also create shields? And what about other forms of magic?
He ran the hand over the railing. It stung like needles, but otherwise, it worked just about as well as he had hoped it would. Just for the sake of it, he stretched his fingers.
"Oh, so you've gotten rid of that dressing," Nigellus commented as Harry passed him. "About time, I'd normally say, but given how that looks, you'd better cover it up. Really, what has the world come to for such a disfigured boy to be the Head of House Black?"
"I've seen paintings of Blacks from the past," Harry gave back. "Compared to them, the ugliest troll would be a good catch. Which incidentally might explain the high number of marriages to cousins in the Black family. As for this hand," he lifted the arm, "it might draw attention away from my other scar," Harry replied with a shrug. "I might just have to wear gloves in public, and given that I'll probably have to shake hands with quite a few purebloods, that sounds like a good idea anyway. Wouldn't want their stupidity to rub off on me. Are you just here to complain about the lowered standards of our house and family?"
Nigellus pursed his lips. "Headmaster Snape wished for me to be absent for a while."
"He said that?" Harry wondered.
"I gleaned it from his behaviour when he started ranting about the many insignificant injustices he has to endure. I do not have the patience to bother listening to him ramble. He seemed particularly angry for once. Something about traitors and trust."
"Traitors and trust? That's rich, coming from him."
"It's mostly annoying, watching him do that silly little dance and stomping around like a spoiled brat. I've had enough of those at school, I don't need to watch another temper tantrum."
Shrugging, Harry left the painting. For some reason, he could imagine Snape throwing a tantrum in the supposed privacy of his office. Pushing the thought aside, Harry entered his room and picked out a clean shirt. After a moment's hesitation, he decided on a quick shower first.
Once he was finished, he looked himself over in the mirror and had to fight down a laugh. His side was reasonably fine, but he could tell it had been healed from the discolourations Hermione had pointed out. The left arm was more like someone else's stitched on him. A monstrosity, Nigellus had said. Well, he was right about that, but Tom had been called that before, usually connected to some of his crimes. Harry had been called worse than monstrosity. As long as it worked fine, Harry wouldn't complain too much about it.
In his room, he dressed quickly. Just as he buttoned up the top his pyjamas, he heard someone moving behind him. Turning around, he came face to face with a hesitant and slightly pale Daphne. It left him wondering how long she had been there already, but it didn't matter.
"So you got rid of the dressing," she pointed out unnecessarily.
"Yeah, luckily. Hermione relented. I've been longing to use the arm for a while now, and since it seems as if it's healed now, there was no reason not to."
Daphne didn't answer and instead stepped over, transfixed by the ruin that was now his hand. Without saying anything, she reached out, running her fingers over the skin. Then they travelled up his arm, trying to feel the damage through the fabric.
"It seems bad," she commented after a while.
"That it does, but it's still functional. As long as I can use it, why should I worry about looks right now?" He stopped, adding after a moment, "It could be worse, I mean. There'll be time after the war to think about appearances."
"And you could replace it?" she asked in a pensive, doubtful tone.
"I... why would you think that?" Harry spoke, blinking.
She blushed. "Well, I heard you talking earlier. That's how I knew you got rid of the bandages."
"You listened in on us?"
"Not really," she defended herself. "You were talking when I returned from the bathroom. I heard Granger saying something about it looking dreadful, so I was fairly certain she was talking about your arm."
"Only fairly certain?" Harry wondered.
Daphne shrugged with the ghost of a smile. "Well, I don't know how much she talks to you about whatever she and Weasley get up to nowadays."
"Thanks for the image," he chuckled. "Best not let Hermione or Ron hear you talking like that."
"I didn't intend to tell them. I try to think about it as little as I can, but you'd be the best choice for," she hesitated, "girl talk for Granger."
"Girl talk?" he laughed. "No, not really. I doubt I'd be the best choice for that, and not only because I'm friends with both of them. I try to keep out of those topics as much as possible."
"You did say you didn't tell Granger about the boy talk in your dorms," Daphne reminded him.
"You still remember that?"
"Well, you used it to argue that you knew how to keep secrets. I didn't dismiss it outright. But it does mean there is boy talk you could have told her."
"There might be, there might not be," Harry said evasively.
"And if there were, it wouldn't be your place to reveal it," she completed his thought. Her gaze dropped to his arm again. "Can I see it?"
"Sure you don't just want to see me undress?" he laughed, but unbuttoned his shirt before she could answer. In truth, he was curious to see what she would do and hopeful it would be something nice and fun.
If her blush was any indication, he hadn't been completely wrong with his guess. After a moment of collecting herself and controlling her features, she grabbed his left hand, or what passed for it for the moment. Her fingers were softer than before, he noticed, but they moved to his arm before long. They traced the cuts and ridges – it tickled, but Harry didn't pull his arm away, instead watching her for the small signs of shock and awe. When she reached the cut Pettigrew had made – it was clearly not part of the recent injury – she looked at him for a moment.
"Pettigrew's handiwork from the graveyard," he told her. "It wasn't as noticeable before, so maybe it'll fade again."
With a nod of acknowledgement, she continued her inspection, only to find the puncture wound he had gotten in his second year at school. It was surrounded by unblemished skin now – either by coincidence or the lingering effect of phoenix tears, the area didn't seem affected like the rest of the arm.
"A rather large tooth from a snake," he said, noticing her questioning look.
"Looks more like a spear or something. Just how large are we talking about?"
"A Basilisk's tooth?" he chuckled. "I survived, obviously."
Only the slight twitch in her eye betrayed her true feelings. "The Basilisk you fought and killed?"
"The one I unfortunately had to kill, yes," he agreed. "It bit me after I had dealt the killing blow, actually, but I got better. Before, it just tried to crush me to death and snapped at me a few times."
She made to say something, but seemed to think better of it. Her fingers travelled further up as her eyes followed them, over his biceps and then, as she stepped around him, to his shoulder blade.
"Not a pretty sight, is it?" he joked.
She didn't answer right away, and he wondered what her expression might look like. "And you can heal or... replace this?" she asked just before he was about to turn around.
"I might be able to, but I'm not sure. Once the war is over, there's a chance I'll find something. Aren't there potions for that as well, come to think of it? I know bones can be regrown, so maybe a regimen of potions for different causes might work."
"You said... you said the Dark Lord could do it," she spoke up hesitantly.
"I said that, yes. He did it in the graveyard to replace the hand he had Pettigrew cut off. That's how You-Know-Who shows his gratitude. But if he can replace limbs with a wave of his wand, then doing something about my arm should not be a problem. If I can't learn how, someone else can. I'm sure of that." And if Voldemort had learned it before his failed attack on Harry, before the memories ended, then Harry would know soon enough. Then again, he couldn't think of a single reason for a ruthless dark lord to bother with replacing limbs in the first place. Why had Voldemort even learned that? As far as Harry could remember, he had stopped fearing for his safety and health around the time he had hid his fifth Horcrux. "Granted, I'm not eager to replace the arm I still have," Harry added, deciding to not worry too much about it. "No matter how it looks, it still works, as far as I can tell."
Then Daphne's hands shifted down his arms to hold him in place as she stepped closer to him, kissing his shoulder lightly on what he assumed was one of the scars.
Had her arms not been there, he might have jumped in surprise from the unexpected contact. They had kissed, yes. They had even let their hands roam a bit, true, even if they hadn't gone as far as take off any significant amount of clothing, but he was still surprised by her sudden and startlingly intimate action.
"You should take better care of yourself," she told him. "You're getting injured far too often."
When she let go, he turned around to face her. "Worried about me?" he asked with a smile.
"You could have died five times already," she told him. "Five times that I know of, and that's not even counting the dragon from the first task. Or whatever was put in the maze during the third task. Your luck will run out one day," she replied. "If not for Granger and her healing magic, you might have died already. And I'd prefer if you didn't. I..." She swallowed. "I rather like spending time with you."
"I guessed as much," he told her with a chuckle. When he made to give her a hug, she put up her hand to stop him.
"Befriending you was one of the few good things that happened over the last year," she continued. "I... You've done a lot for me – more than what I could have asked of you – but more importantly, you..." She took a deep breath. "When you returned, battered as you were and I saw you lying there and thought..." She broke off, swallowing what she had been about to say. "Getting close to someone," she tried to explain, "is a risk. It always is, but with you throwing yourself in danger's path... I don't want to lose a... you. Not like that. I... Sorry. I had all these thoughts and this brilliant speech, but..." She ran a hand through her hair.
"I promise..." he began, only to break off when he saw that she tensed immediately.
"I..." she began. "There's something I should... No." She stepped away as her eyes danced around the room. "It's part of who you are. War and Basilisks and all of that, it's part of you. It's... Death and danger. They're all around you. 'Wouldn't it be nice if they weren't? Wouldn't it be nice, just Harry and I without all those complications?' Two stupid teens, only having to worry about getting caught sneaking around or something?" She chuckled dejectedly, and as he watched her, he had an idea what she was about to say and meant. More than that, he felt as if it was the reason why some of her kisses had seemed to have some deeper meaning. "It's stupid, wanting you without that baggage. It's part of who you are, isn't it? It's just... I look at you, and I know you probably could have died a half dozen times before I ever had the chance to get to know you. My friends, something might happen to them – I worry. With you, it seems like a foregone conclusion."
"What, you want me to stop fighting?" he asked her, careful to keep his voice calm.
"I know you can't, shouldn't and won't," she sighed, "and if you did, you wouldn't be the Harry I..." After hesitating, she gestured uncertainly, "Married. Befriended. Got to know. I don't know. You wouldn't be Harry. Look, I already said it's stupid, wanting you without all of that. I know it's not... I'm all messed up, it isn't fair to want that; I know that. I'm... Sorry, I'm rambling, it's just... There's that tale about... Doesn't matter. You won't know it anyway, I guess, but I just..." She took another deep breath to collect herself. "A seventeen-year-old shouldn't 'ave had so many narrow misses. One is more than enough." Shaking her head, she sighed. "One is one too many already."
Harry sent her a smile. "I'll be more careful from now on, okay?"
"I... No. I mean, yes, you do that," Daphne said, blinking rapidly as she stared at him. She couldn't quite meet his gaze, though, and seemed to settle on taking another look at his hand. Frowning, she added, "The ring's missing?"
With a snort, Harry patted his pocket. "I got it. Hermione took it off when she healed the arm: I got it back, obviously," he told Daphne. "But I thought you had overheard Hermione and I talking earlier?"
"Well," Daphne shrugged, "I didn't linger, you know?" Her eyes were fixed on the pocket of Harry's pants. Only a moment later, her eyes travelled upwards a bit as she seemed to take a closer look at his exposed upper body and especially his disfigured arm.
"Like what you see?" Harry asked, barely keeping a straight face as he tensed his muscles in jest. Their eyes met, hers shimmering with surprise and his with mirth. When he wiggled his eyebrows, her stunned surprise was replaced by a brilliant blush that she tried to hide by brushing her hair behind her ear self-consciously.
"The ring," she announced in a voice that couldn't hide her embarrassment. "Show it to me."
Dutifully, Harry pulled the box out, holding it open for her. "Got a bit dirty, I fear."
Daphne rolled her eyes and pulled her wand casting what Harry recognized as cleaning spells before taking the ring out of the box. Much like Harry had done earlier, she turned it between her fingertips, inspecting it. "Does it still fit?" she asked finally, glancing to Harry.
"Hermione wasn't sure whether it'd be a good idea to put it on yet," he admitted, wiggling his fingers on the left hand as a nonverbal explanation. "I pocketed it. Hmm, guess there's only one way to see." He reached out to take the ring from her, but she closed her hand around it, raising an eyebrow.
Instead of explaining, she took his left hand with her right, her touch softer than it been during the ceremony in August, and slipped the ring back in its proper place. It looked oddly out of place, shimmering gold on the gnarled skin and flesh that was his new hand, yet it also seemed strangely fitting and symbolic in a way Harry couldn't quite name.
Maybe Daphne had thought the same; she leaned forward and gave Harry a short, but sweet kiss, smiling all the while.
They might have continued for a while, but Harry felt the tiredness catching up to him. "Not that don't enjoy this," he began with a smile, brushing a loose strand out of her face.
She chuckled. "I know."
"Right," he laughed quietly. "Well, I do, but it's getting rather late, and I think I'll have a busy day tomorrow."
"Then you really should get some sleep," she told him with an understanding look on her face, but playfulness in her eyes.
"You know," he mused, sitting down on the bed, "you haven't told me whether you learned anything useful while I was out. You haven't really gone into details all that much, now that I think about it. Anything I should know? Anything you want to share?"
"Oh," she replied, looking to the door for a moment, "that's fine. I should probably... Yeah. It can wait, I'm sure. I mean," she said, laughing, "didn't you say you wanted to sleep?"
"Well, I probably should, yes," he admitted, "but now that I'm thinking about what you got up to when I wasn't around... It might help me get to sleep."
"So listening to me talk will make you fall asleep?" she asked, regaining her composure again. Still, he noticed her eyes flicked to his bare chest for a moment.
"Not knowing what happened on your end might keep me awake, mulling it over," Harry told her, raising an eyebrow. Not waiting for her answer, he lay down. Once he had settled in, he glanced to her and, seeing her watch him with a bit of a hidden fire shining through, crossed his arms behind his head, sending her a mischievous grin.
"Well," Daphne answered, biting her lip with a small smile, "we wouldn't want you losing any sleep for such a sill reason now, would we?" With that, she walked over to the bed and sat down next to Harry, flicking his bare chest. "But I'll warn you, it's not a riveting tale of adventure and daring. Most of the time, I stayed out of your friends' way. Granger might be willing to keep the peace around here and keep hostilities to a minimum, but Weasley? I wouldn't bet on it. I didn't want to risk getting in each other's way; the last thing we needed was some bedside brawl or something. Kreacher was decent most of the time, though. I guess he likes me in his own way. Well, with the time spent by myself, and I made some progress with Occlumency. I think I've understood it now, but it'll take a while to really learn it." Harry let her talk, watching the way she tried to brush over the worry she had to have felt.
About two hours later, long after he had fallen asleep, Hermione came to check on him. She found him not only sleeping, but also on his bed; both surprised her – she had expected to find him up and doing some research or spellwork already or at least dozing in a chair. His glasses were placed neatly on the bedside table next to his wand, and while he still wore his pants – Hermione was glad he did – the wedding ring was also on his hand. None of that really mattered all that much in that moment, though, and all of it paled in comparison to Hermione's shock. Next to Harry, half sitting and half lying, was Greengrass, propped against the headrest, her fingers entangled with those of his uninjured hand. Despite the uncomfortable position, she was smiling in her sleep – in fact, she seemed more at peace than Hermione could remember her ever looking.
Hermione shook her head in disbelief, wondering whether it was nothing but a crazy dream. Harry had admitted to liking Greengrass, but it didn't explain how Greengrass had ended up in his room, much less on his bed. A rather large part of Hermione's mind was all for waking Greengrass up and demanding an explanation, especially about her presence in Harry's room; however, she also felt very much out of place and intruding into a private moment. Either way, she knew something was very much off.
Almost as if reacting to Hermione's presence, Greengrass shifted slightly and leaned closer to Harry.
Unlike her, Hermione had a troubled sleep that night.
It's her own fault Hermione has trouble sleeping. Everyone had said she shouldn't eat all those beans but she did it anyway.
