disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, just Arabella and her story! Hope you all like this chapter!
Christmas Love and Christmas Loss
Was this why Dumbledore would no longer meet Harry's eyes? Did he expect to see Voldemort staring out of them, afraid, perhaps, that their vivid green might turn suddenly to scarlet, with catlike slits for pupils? Harry remembered how the snakelike face of Voldemort had once forced itself out of the back of Professor Quirrell's head, and he ran his hand over the back of his own, wondering what it would feel like if Voldemort burst out of his skull.
As the train rattled along the dark tunnel of the train, Harry gritted his teeth, suddenly feeling dirty and contaminated, as though he was carrying some sort of deadly disease. He was unworthy of sitting in the underground train with clean, innocent people whose minds and bodies were free of the taint of Voldemort… He had not merely seen the snake, he had been the snake, he knew it now…
"What's he after then?"
"Stuff he can only get by stealth… like a weapon. Something he didn't have last time."
I am the weapon. I'm the one Voldemort's trying to use, that's why they've got guards around me everywhere I go, it's not for my protection, it's for other people's, only it's not working, they can't have someone on me all the time at Hogwarts… I did attack Mr. Weasley last night, it was me, Voldemort made me do it and he could be inside me, listening to my thoughts right now…
It was as though poison was pumping through his veins, chilling him, bring him out in a sweat as he swayed with the train. He looked up, noticing his surroundings for the first time. Nearly everyone was staring at him, as they did in St. Mungo's. All except for Arabella and Moody. She was whispering something to him, something he couldn't make out. Her lips were barely moving and he got the sense that she didn't want anybody else to know. Was she tell Moody about him? How she, ever so cleverly, figured out that he was the weapon Voldemort has been searching for? Was she warning Moody about him, how dangerous he was? How Voldemort could use him at any time?
"Mad-Eye," whispered Arabella, her body swaying into his and the railings.
"What is it, kid?" growled Mad-Eye.
The bowler hat over his eye attracted some attention as many people around them kept staring at him. He was severely unhappy and didn't want to draw anymore attention to his disfigurement in front of Muggles.
"Thank you for saving my life."
Arabella's voice was barely above a hush. She wondering if he heard it at all with all the ruckus around them. But he did hear her. He briefly glanced at her and looked at the ground, almost in shame. It took him a moment to find the words.
"Don't," he said roughly. "If I had gotten there soon, Anastas would be alive. I was too old, too broken, too beaten down –"
"Shut up," Arabella said roughly, closing her eyes and rolling her head slightly. "If it wasn't for you, Bellatrix would have killed me. I don't care that you're old or missing a couple body parts –"
"More than a couple body parts, kid," added Mad-Eye, pointing to his nose.
"And yet… you were still able to save me and throw them into Azkaban." She took a deep breath and then said, "I am… eternally grateful, Mad-Eye. You have no idea. Thank you and just take it, all right?"
There was a strange look on Mad-Eye's face as the train began to slow down. He grabbed Arabella's shoulders for a moment before letting. As Arabella exited the train with the others, realizing that the moment was almost sweet. As sweet as it can get with Mad-Eye Moody.
As Mrs. Weasley opened the front door, Harry proceeded straight past the troll's leg umbrella stand and up the stairs and hurried into his and Ron's room. Here be began to pace up and down, past the two bed and Phineas Nigellus's empty portrait, his brain teeming and seething with questions and ever more dreadful answers.
How had be become a snake? Perhaps he was an Animagus… No, he couldn't be, he would know… perhaps Voldemort was an Animagus… Yes, that would fit, he would turn into a snake of course… and when he's possessing me, then we both transform… That still doesn't explain how come I got to London and back to the common room in a space of five minutes, thought… But then Voldemort's about the most powerful wizard in the world, apart from Dumbledore, it's probably no problem at all to him to transport people like that without anyone detecting any issue… That's why Arabella didn't realize he was gone…
And then, with a terrible stab of panic he thought, but this is insane – if Voldemort's possessing me, I'm giving him a clear view into the headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix right now! He'll know who's in the Order and where Sirius is… and I've heard loads of stuff I shouldn't have, everything Sirius told me the first night I was here…
There was only one thing for him to do: leave Grimmauld Place straightaway. He would spend Christmas at Hogwarts with the others, which would keep them safe over the holidays at least… But no, that wouldn't do, there were still plenty of people at Hogwarts to maim and injure. The next time it could be Seamus or Dean or Neville. It could even be Arabella, both of them spending another quiet moment in the common room, unaware of when Voldemort might strike. He stopped his pacing and stood staring at Phineas Nigellus's empty frame, a leaden sensation settling in the pit of his stomach. He had no other alternative. His dreams of spending Christmas with Arabella, Sirius and the others were cut short. He was going to return to Privet Drive, cut himself off from the other wizards entirely…
Well, if he had to do it, he thought, there was no point hanging around. Trying with all his might not to think how the Dursleys were going to react when they found home on their doorsteps six months earlier than they had expected, he strode over to his trunk, slammed the lid shut and locked it, then glanced around automatically for Hedwig before remembering that she was still at Hogwarts – well, her cage would be one less thing to carry – he seized one end of his trunk and had dragged it halfway toward the door when a sneaky voice said, "Running away, are we?"
He looked around. Phineas Nigellus appeared upon his canvas and was leaning against the frame, watching Harry with an amused expression on his face.
"Not running away, no," Harry said shortly, dragging his trunk a few more feet across the room.
"I thought," said Phineas Nigellus, stroking his pointed beard, "that to belong in Gryffindor House, you were supposed to be brave? It looks to me as though you would have been better off in my House. We Slytherins are brave, yes, but not stupid. For instance, given the choice, we will always choose to save our own necks."
"It's not my neck I'm saving," Harry said tensely.
"Oh, I see. This is no cowardly flight – you are being noble. Very well – I have a message for you from Albus Dumbledore."
"What is it?" said Harry, spinning around.
"Stay where you are."
"I haven't moved!" said Harry. "So what's the message?"
"I have just given it to you, dolt," said Phineas Nigellus smoothly. "Dumbledore says, 'Stay where you are.'"
"Why?" Harry said eagerly, dropping his trunk. "Why does he want me to stay? What else did he say?"
"Nothing whatsoever."
Harry's temper rose to the surface like a snake rearing from long grass. He was exhausted, he was confused beyond measure, he had experienced terror, relief, and then terror again in the last twelve hours, and still Dumbledore did not want to talk to him!
"So that's it, is it? Stay there? That's all anyone could tell me after I got attacked by those Dementors too! Just stay put while the grown-ups sort it out, Harry! We won't bother telling you anything, though, because your tiny little brain might not be able to cope with it!"
"You know," said Phineas Nigellus, even more loudly than Harry, "this is precisely why I loathed being a teacher! Young people are no infernally convinced that they are absolutely right about everything. Has it not occurred to you, my poor puffed-up popinjay, that there might be an excellent reason why the headmaster of Hogwarts is not confiding every tiny detail of his plans to you? Have you never paused, while feeling hard-done-by, to note that following Dumbledore's orders has never yet led you into harm? No. No, like all young people, you are quite sure that you are alone feel and think, you alone recognize danger, you alone are the only one clever enough to realize what the Dark Lord may be planning…"
"He is planning something to do with me, then?" said Harry swiftly.
"Did I say that?" said Phineas Nigellus, idly examining his silk gloves. "Now, if you will excuse me, I have better things to do than to listen to adolescent agonizing… Good day to you…"
And he strolled into his frame and out of sight.
"Fine, go then!" Harry bellowed at the empty frame. "And tell Dumbledore thanks for nothing!"
The empty canvas remined silent. Fuming, Harry dragged his trunk back to the foot of his bed, then threw himself facedown upon the covers, his eyes shut, his body heavy and aching…
He felt he had journeyed miles and miles… It seemed impossible that less than twenty-fours hours ago he had kissed Arabella passionately under the mistletoe and she was in his arms in the common room… He was so tired… He was scared to sleep… yet he did not know how long he could fight it… Dumbledore had told him to stay… That must mean he was allowed to sleep… But he was scared… What if it happened again? He was sinking into the shadows…
It was as though a film in his head had been waiting to start. He was walking down a deserted corridor toward a plain black door, past rough stone walls, torches, and an open doorway onto a flight of stone steps leading downstairs on the left… He reached the black door but could not open it… He stood gazing at it, desperate for entry… Something he wanted with all his heart lay beyond… A prize beyond his dreams… If only his scar would stop prickling… then he would be able to think more clearly…
"Harry," came Arabella's voice from far, far away. "Are you awake? Mrs. Weasley says dinner's ready, but if you want to stay in bed, she'll bring something up."
Harry opened his eyes, but Arabella had already left the room.
She doesn't want to be on her own with me, Harry thought. Not after what we heard from Moody…
He supposed none of them would want him there anymore now that they knew what was inside him…
He would not go down to dinner; he would not inflict his company upon them. He turned over onto his other side and after a while dropped back off to sleep, waking much later in the early hours of the morning, with his insides aching with hunger, and Ron snoring in the next bed. Squinting around the room he saw the dark outline of Phineas Nigellus standing again in his portrait and it occurred to Harry that Dumbledore had probably sent Phineas Nigellus to watch over him, in case he attacked somebody else. The feeling of being unclean intensified. He half wished he had not obeyed Dumbledore and stayed… If this was how life was going to be in Grimmauld Place from now on, maybe he would be better off in Privet Drive after all.
Everybody else spent the following morning putting up Christmas decorations. Harry could not remember Sirius ever being in such a good mood. He was actually singing carols, apparently delighted that he was to have company over Christmas. Harry could hear his voice echoing through the floor in the cold and empty drawing room when he was sitting alone, watching the sky outside the windows growing whiter, threatening snow, all the time feeling a savage pleasure that he was giving the others the opportunity to keep talking about him, as they were bound to be doing. When he heard Mrs. Weasley calling his name softly up the stairs around lunchtime he retreated farther upstairs and ignored her.
It was around six o'clock in the evening that the doorbell rang and Mrs. Black started screaming again. Assuming that Mundungus or some other Order member had come to call, Harry merely settled himself more comfortably against the wall of Buckbeak's room where he was hiding, trying to ignore how hungry he felt as he fed Buckbeak dead rats. It came as a slight shock when somebody hammered hard on the door a few minutes later.
"Open up, Harry," said Arabella. "Come out. We want to talk to you."
"We?" Harry asked, pulling the door open.
"Yes, Harry," said Arabella, sounding exhausted. "We as in your friends and the people that care about you. Come on, let's go to your room. There's a fire and Mrs. Weasley sent up some sandwiches."
Harry stared at her but did not follow her. Arabella shook her head and settled down on the floor inside Buckbeak's room.
"What are you doing?" asked Harry.
Arabella shrugged. "I'm not in any mood to fight you, Harry. If you want to stay up here with Buckbeak, then I will stay up here with you and keep you both company. If you want to go downstairs and see your friends and eat some good food, then I will follow you, Harry."
"Don't be ridiculous."
"I'm not the one hiding," Arabella said quickly. "You're the one sticking himself in my grandparents' bedroom where they used to sleep together, not me. Who's the ridiculous one now?"
Harry could not find himself arguing with that. Though he had never seen Mr. Black's portrait, the thought still made his stomach turn.
"Fine," Harry said shortly. "Let's go."
Triumphantly smiling, Arabella led the way to the second floor where Ron, Ginny and Hermione, to his surprise, were waiting for him.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked Hermione. "I thought you were skiing with your mum and dad."
There was still snow in Hermione's hair and her face was pink with cold. "Yes, well, I've told them that everyone who's serious about exams are staying at Hogwarts to study for the holidays. They're a bit disappointed, but they want me to do well, they understand. I came on the Knight Bus. Dumbledore told me what had happened first thing this morning, but I had to wait for term to end officially before setting off. Umbridge is already livid that you lot disappeared right under her nose, even though Dumbledore told her Mr. Weasley was in St. Mungo's, and he's given you all permission to visit. So…"
Arabella had taken the seat next to Hermione and all four of them looked up at Harry.
"How're you feeling?" asked Hermione.
"Fine," Harry said stiffly.
"Harry, don't lie," said Arabella, shaking her head. "You're a rubbish liar. You've been hiding from us since we've gotten back from St. Mungo's."
"Have I now?" said Harry, glaring at her, Ginny and Ron.
Ron looked down at his feet but Ginny seemed quite unabashed.
"Well, you have!" said Ginny. "And you won't look at any of us!"
"It's you lot who won't look at me!" Harry said angrily.
"Maybe you're taking it in turns to look and keep missing each other," suggested Hermione, the corners of her mouth twitching.
Arabella laughed at this suggestion, but Harry did not find it amusing as he snapped, "Very funny," before turning away.
"Oh, Harry, enough," Arabella said sharply. "We all know what was said last night on the Extendable Ears and –"
"Yeah?" growled Harry, his hands deep in his pockets as he watched the snow now falling thickly outside. "All been talking about me, have you? Well, I'm getting used to it…"
"We want to talk to you, Harry," said Ginny, "but as you've been hiding ever since we got back –"
"I didn't want anyone to talk to me."
"Well, that was a bit stupid of you," said Ginny angrily, "seeing as you didn't know anyone but me who's been possessed by You-Know-Who, and I can tell you how it feels."
Harry remained quite still as the impact of these words hit him. Then he turned on the spot to face her. "I forgot."
"Lucky you."
"I'm sorry," Harry said, and he meant it. "So… so do you think I've being possessed, then?"
"Well, can you remember everything you've been doing? Are there big blank periods where you don't know what you've been up to?"
Harry racked his brains before deciding on, "No."
"Then You-Know-Who hasn't ever possessed you," said Ginny simply. "When he did it to me, I couldn't remember what I'd been doing for hours at a time. I'd find myself somewhere and not know how I got there."
Harry hardly dared to believe her, yet his heart was lightening almost in spite of himself. "That dream I had about your dad and the snake, though –"
"Harry, you've had these dreams before," Hermione said. "You had flashes of what Voldemort was up to last year."
"This was different," said Harry, shaking his head. "I was inside that snake. It was like I was the snake… What if Voldemort somehow transported me to London –?"
"Can't do that, mate," said Ron, shaking his head. "You can't Apparate or Disapparate inside Hogwarts."
"And you didn't leave the couch," added Arabella. "I saw you thrashing around for about a minute or so before I woke you up."
Harry started pacing up and down the room again, thinking. What they were all saying was not only comforting, it made sense… Without really thinking he took a sandwich from the plate on the bed and crammed it hungrily into his mouth…
I'm not the weapon after all, thought Harry. His heart swelled with happiness and relief, and he felt like joining in as they heard Sirius tramping past their door toward Buckbeak's room, singing "God Rest Ye Merry, Hippogriffs" at the top of his voice.
The rest of the days leading up to Christmas Day was spent cleaning and decorating Grimmauld Place until it was barely recognizable. Sirius was absolutely delighted to have a full house for Christmas and was determined that everyone should enjoy themselves as much as possible. The stuffed elf heads wore Christmas hats and beards and a great Christmas tree was decorated with live fairies and a star that glowed all day and night. The whole house seemed much brighter and festive than it did during the summer. On Christmas morning, Arabella woke up to a nice haul at the foot of her bed.
She began sorting through her presents. Hermione gave her a homework planner that resembled a diary. Ron gave her a box of Chocolate Frogs while Mr. and Mrs. Weasley have her the usual hand-knitted jumper and some mince pies. Hagrid got her some homemade fudge that immediately thickened when she took a taste. Nymph got her some quirky quills that misspelled everything while Andromeda and Ted got her a snow globe. Fred, George and Ginny pitched in and got her a clean Gryffindor jersey with her name on the back. Remus got her a large, dark blue knitted cardigan with over-sized navy buttons.
The last gift was a small box with light red wrapping paper and a pink ribbon. She slowly unwrapped it to see a small bottle of perfume with a tag that read: Merry Christmas! Love, H.P.
"Is this his way of saying I smell bad?" mumbled Arabella, chuckling as she examined the bottle.
It was a small crystal bottle with rose pink liquid inside. She aimed for her wrist, squeezed the nozzle and brought it up to her nose. She took a deep breath and immediately felt calm and light. The scent was absolutely relaxing and it felt as though she was somehow transported far away, watching a tall woman with brown hair dancing to the radio with a laugh. It was… peaches and the realization made Arabella let out some shaky laughs. She quickly got up from her bed and wrenched the door open.
Harry was already there in his pajamas, about to knock on her door.
"Merry Christmas!" he said, smiling broadly at her. "Opened your present yet?"
Arabella smiled and said, breathlessly, "It's fantastic."
She kissed him and wrapped her arms around his neck. She deepened it for a moment before breaking away and muttering, "Merry Christmas." She kissed him again, their bodies moving closer together. Her fingers were now in his hair and his arms tightened around her waist. It was slightly rough, their teeth clinking together every so often. They only managed to break away when someone from the stairs yelled, "Oi, get a room, you two!"
Arabella smiled over Harry's shoulder and said, enthusiastically, "Thanks, Fred, will do!"
Harry kicked the door behind him as Arabella kissed him again. He responded eagerly, pulling her closer towards him, their chests pressed together. There was a tingling feeling in the pits of her navel and she desperately wanted him to be somehow closer to her body. With one hand in her hair, Harry began kissing her down her neck. She let out a strange noise when she felt him nip just behind her ear. It was somewhere between a groan and breathlessness and she could not feel her legs anymore. She closed her eyes and leaned against the wall of her bedroom. Suddenly, his lips were on her again and his hands underneath her shirt. She inhaled sharply, feeling his thumb brush against her ribs and grip her sides suddenly.
"Harry," she mumbled against his lips. "We should – we should –"
She didn't know what they should do. Maybe they should stop before it gets any further? Or maybe they should… Oh, they shouldn't…
Thankfully, there was a knock on the door, saving Arabella the trouble of deciding what to do. She quickly pushed Harry towards the bed and shoved his present in his arms. She ran her fingers through her hair a couple times and then opened the door, trying to catch her breath.
"Hi," Arabella said quickly. "What's – what's up?"
Sirius raised a single eyebrow. He looked at her, then Harry, and said, "Am I interrupting something?"
"No," Arabella and Harry said together.
"He was just –" Arabella cleared her throat. "He was just giving me his Christmas present."
"I'm sure he was," Sirius said coldly.
Arabella blushed underneath his gaze and gave him a strained smile. "Yes, well, um –"
"I was just leaving," said Harry, moving forward, about to leave.
"No, no, it's fine," said Sirius, blocking the way. "Here," he said to Arabella, handing over a small blue box, "I just wanted to give you your present." He then looked at them both and said, "Merry Christmas and don't do anything I wouldn't do, all right?"
"Yeah, and what is that?" Arabella quipped.
"Never you mind," Sirius said in a rush. "Just… be careful and Merry Christmas."
Arabella closed the door and leaned against the door, taking in a sign of relief.
"Well that was… awkward," Harry offered.
"You could say that again," said Arabella, shrugging. "Um… why don't you head down for some lunch. I'll be there soon, I just wanna open this."
Once Harry was gone, looking disappointed, and she was all alone, Arabella unwrapped the little box and carefully placed the object on her bed. It was a small crystalized lily rose. She examined it closely. It was extremely detailed, each petal different from its last. It was beautiful and she couldn't believe Sirius gave it to her. She placed the little flower on her bedside table and headed downstairs to the basement.
Once they had their Christmas lunch, Arabella, Harry, Hermione and the Weasleys were escorted by Remus and Mad-Eye to St. Mungo's for another visit. Since the Underground did not run on Christmas Day, Mundungus managed to "borrow" a car for the occasion. The car had an Enlarging Spell that managed to fit eleven people in it quite comfortably. Mrs. Weasley was initially hesitated, considering it was Mundungus who turned up with the car, but settled herself in the backseat after her children's pleas. The journey was quite quick as there was very little traffic. There was a small trail of witches and wizards strolling up the street to visit the hospital. Mundungus parked the car around the corner as they all strolled towards the window and through the glass.
The reception area was festive with holly hung around every doorway. There was a shining white Christmas tree covered in snow and icicles next to the receptionist. They found Mr. Weasley on the fourth floor, propped up on his bed with half a turkey sandwich on his tray. They all greeted him and handed over their presents.
"Everything all right, Arthur?" asked Mrs. Weasley.
"Fine, fine," said Mr. Weasley, a little too heartily. "You – er – haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"
"No, why?"
"Nothing, nothing," Mr. Weasley said airily, starting to unwrap his gifts. "Well, everyone had a good day? What did you all get for Christmas? Oh, Harry – this is absolutely wonderful –"
Harry's gift was a box full of fuse-wires and screwdrivers. Mrs. Weasley was not satisfied with Mr. Weasley's answers and could sense that he was hiding something. As Mr. Weasley leaned forward to shake Harry's hand, Mrs. Weasley narrowed her eyes at the bandages under his nightshirt.
"Arthur, you've had your bandages changed. Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow."
Arabella and Hermione glanced at each other, both of them shifting in their seats.
"What?" said Mr. Weasley, looking rather frightened as he pulled his covers higher up his chest. "No – no – it's nothing – it's – I – well – now don't get upset, Molly, but Augustus Pye had an idea… He's the Trainee Healer, you know, lovely young chap and very interested in… um… complementary medicine… I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies… well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on – on Muggle wounds –"
Mrs. Weasley let out an ominous noise somewhere between a shriek and a snarl. Remus strolled away from the bed and over to the werewolf on the opposite bed. He looked rather wistfully at the crowd around Mr. Weasley. Bill muttered something about getting himself a cup of tea and Fred and George leapt up to accompany him, grinning.
Mrs. Weasley's voice grew louder and louder with every word. "Do you mean to tell me that you have been messing about with Muggle remedies?"
"Not messing about, Molly, dear. It was just – just something Pye and I thought we'd try – only most unfortunately – well, with these particular kids of wounds – it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hope –"
"Meaning?"
"Well… well, I don't know whether you know what stitches are?"
"It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together, but even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid –"
"Tea sounds lovely," exclaimed Arabella, jumping to her feet. She practically sprinted to the door with the others right behind her. As the swung close behind them, they heard Mrs. Weasley shriek, "WHAT DO YOU MEAN, THAT'S THE GENERAL IDEA?"
"Typical Dad," said Ginny, shaking her head. "Stitches… I ask you…"
"Well, you know, they do work well on non-magical wounds," said Hermione fairly. "I suppose something in that snake's venom dissolves them or something… I wonder where the tearoom is?"
"Fifth floor," said Harry.
They set off along the corridor, through a set of double doors and found a rickety staircase lined with portraits of Healers. As they climbed it, the various Healers called out to them, diagnosing them and suggesting horrible remedies. Ron was seriously insulted when a medieval wizard called out that he clearly had a bad case of spattergroit. The old Healer followed him through six portraits, shouting his suggestions and insults. Arabella, Harry, Hermione and Ginny found it very difficult to keep straight faces as they stepped onto the landing.
"Blimey!" shouted Ron.
They all came to an abrupt halt on the floor landing, staring at the small window on the double doors marked SPELL DAMAGE. A man was peering out at them with his nose pressed against the glass. He had wavy blond hair and unforgettable blue eyes. He was smiling at them broadly and vacantly with dazzlingly white teeth.
"Oh my goodness," said Hermione, sounding breathless. "Professor Lockhart!"
He pushed the doors open and moved towards them. "Well, hello there! I expect you'd like my autograph, would you?"
"Hasn't changed much, has he?" Harry muttered to Arabella.
"Er – how are you, Professor?" said Ron, sounding a little guilty.
"I'm very well indeed, thank you!" said Lockhart, pulling a battered peacock-feather from his pocket. "Now, how many autographs would you like? I can do joined-up writing now, you know!"
"Er – we don't want any at the moment, thanks," said Ron.
"Professor, should you be wandering around the corridors? Shouldn't you be in a ward?" Harry asked.
The smile faded slowly from Lockhart's face. For a few minutes he gazed intently at Harry, then said, "Haven't we met?"
"Er… yeah, we have," said Harry. "You used to teach at Hogwarts, remember?"
"Teach?" repeated Lockhart, looking faintly unsettled. "Me? Did I?" And then the smile reappeared upon his face so suddenly it was rather alarming. "Taught you everything you know, I expect, did I? Well, how about those autographs, then? Shall we say a round dozen, you can give them to all your little friends then and nobody will be left out!"
But then a head poked out of a door at the far end of the corridor. "Oi, Gilderoy, have you been wandering off?"
Arabella instinctively took a step backward. A tall Healer came bustling up the corridor, looking tired and warn out.
"You've got visitor, eh, Gilderoy? Well, isn't that just – just –"
He was staring at Arabella, realization dawning upon his face. Arabella tried to smile at him, but it came out as a grimace instead. He looked a little different than he did all those years ago. His hair was darker and there was a small scar on the bridge of his nose. It looked as though someone broke it a while ago and it didn't heal properly.
"I thought that was you the other day," Healer Murphy said plainly, looking at her up and down. "Should have said 'hi' or something. Come on, Gilderoy, let's get you back."
"We're doing autographs!" Lockhart told Murphy with a dazzling smile. "They want loads of them, won't take no for an answer! I just hope we've got enough photographs!"
Murphy sighed and said, "All right, Gilderoy. Let's head back and get those photos." He then said to the others, "He's in a closed ward, you know. Must have slipped out while I was getting everyone's Christmas presents. The door's usually locked, but he's not dangerous or anything." He then lowered his voice into a whisper, "Bit of a danger to himself if he keeps wondering off. Never remembers how to get back, but it is the holidays and we've been hoping that giving out autographs will help get his memory back."
Impulsively, Arabella followed Murphy along the corridor, listening to his every word. Murphy pointed his wand at the door of the Janus Thickey ward and muttered, "Alohomora." The door swung open and he led the way inside. Arabella glanced over her shoulders at the others. They looked extremely reluctant to follow them.
"This is the long-term resident ward," Murphy told Arabella in a low voice. "Permanent jinxes, hexes, incorrectly-applied charms – you get the picture. On the other side of this floor we have more short-term residents. You know, the ones that just need a little time before they get back on their feet. Of course, nowadays, we're hoping to see some improvement from folks like Gilderoy. He's really coming along in writing and Mr. Bode over there is getting better and better with speech every day, though none of us seem to recognize what he's actually saying… Still, progress is progress."
Arabella looked around the ward. The residents seemed to have made the place their permanent home. There were personal effects around their beds. The wall behind Lockhart was papered with pictures of himself from before his time at St. Mungo's. But the autographs over them were new and disjointed. Once Murphy placed Lockhart on his bed, he pulled a stack of photographs towards himself, seized a quill, and began signing them. He took his time on the first one, his tongue sticking out in the corner of his mouth. Once Lockhart was done with the first one, he threw it at Ginny and began working on his second picture, his hands moving faster.
"So," Murphy said suddenly, clapping his hands together, "do you remember me at all or did you just follow me because I kept yammering on?"
"Er – both," Arabella said quietly. "You were yammering on, but, um, yeah, I remember you. I recognized you the other day."
Murphy nodded. "I thought so. I'm glad to see you're doing good, kid. I wondered how you faired after your time here."
"Really?" asked Arabella, shocked.
"You were my first solo patient, kid," said Murphy, giving her a grim smile. "And, no offense or anything, but it was pretty unforgettable. I still have the Daily Prophet article reporting your attack and the Longbottom's. Poor souls. We've been really trying, but, well, you know what happened…"
Arabella nodded, her eyes fixed firmly on her shoes as Ron, behind her, said, "What do you mean 'Longbottom's'? What's he talking about, Arabella?"
"Nothing," she said quickly.
"Oi, Gilderoy," Murphy said swiftly, "you can't keep throwing your pictures at others. It's rude."
Lockhart looked up at Murphy for a moment before turning to Ginny. "You can put them in envelopes. I am not forgotten, you know, no, I still receive a very great deal of fan mail… Gladys Gudgeon writes weekly… I just wish I knew why… I suspect it is simply my good looks…"
"Yeah, you're a regular old James Dean, Gilderoy," said Murphy, giving Lockhart a smile.
"John, I need your help," said another elderly Healer. "See that pile of presents over there? Those ones were supposed to go to the third floor. Could you be a dear and drop them off?"
Murphy nodded. He looked back at Arabella and clapped her on the shoulder. "Take care, kid. Don't get yourself into anymore trouble."
Arabella gave him a strained smile as he walked away. Murphy went over to the pile of presents, took out his wand, and began levitating them out of the room. Once he was gone, Arabella let out a breath she did not know she was holding in.
"Who was that?" Hermione asked quickly once Murphy was out of sight.
"Healer Murphy," Arabella said quietly. She then added, lamely, "He saved my life."
Arabella looked around the room again, not wanting to answer anymore questions. On the bed opposite Lockhart was a sallow-skinned wizard staring at the ceiling. He was mumbling something to himself, unaware of his surroundings. Two beds along was a woman covered entirely in fur and at the far end of the ward was flowery curtains drawn around two beds.
"Here you are, Agnes," said the elderly Healer to the fur-covered woman. "See, not forgotten, are you? And your son's sent an owl to say he's visiting tonight, so that's nice, isn't it?"
Agnes responded with several loud barks.
"And look, Broderick, you've been sent a potted plant and a lovely calendar with a different fancy hippogriff for each month, they'll brighten things up, won't they?"
The Healer placed an ugly plant with long, swaying tentacles on the bedside of the mumbling man. She then fixed the calendar to the wall with her wand.
"And – oh, Mrs. Longbottom, are you leaving already?"
Arabella nearly stumbled on her feet. The flowery curtains had bene drawn back from the two beds at the end of the ward and two visitors were walking down the aisle between the beds. One was an old witch wearing a long green dress and trailed her was a young boy looking thoroughly depressed. Arabella felt her face become hot instantly. She knew who was at the end beds.
"Neville!" called Ron.
Neville jumped and cowered behind his grandmother.
"It's us, Neville!" Ron said brightly. "Have you seen? Lockhart's here! Who've you been visiting?"
"Friends of yours, Neville, dear?" Mrs. Longbottom said graciously.
Neville looked horror-struck. He was not making eye contact with any of them, looking as though he would rather be anywhere else in the world but here.
"Ah, yes," said Mrs. Longbottom. She was peering at Harry and stuck out a hand for him to shake. "Yes, yes, I know who you are, of course. Neville speaks most highly of you."
"Er – thanks," said Harry, shaking her hand.
"And you two are clearly Weasleys. Yes, I know your parents – not well, of course – but fine people, fine people… and you must be Hermione Granger? Yes, Neville's told me all about you. Helped him out of a few sticky spots, haven't you? He's a good boy, but he doesn't have his father's talent, I'm afraid to say…" And she jerked her head in the direction of the two beds at the end of the ward. "And you are Arabella Black," Mrs. Longbottom stated, turning to Arabella, offering her hand again. "My son and daughter-in-law knew your mother very well. Fine young woman she was."
Arabella blinked at the woman before shaking her hand.
"Wait, Neville," said Ron, looking amazed. "Is that your dad down the end, Neville?"
"What's this?" said Mrs. Longbottom sharply. "Haven't you told your friends about your parents, Neville?"
Neville took a deep breath, looking up at the ceiling and shook his head.
"Well, it's nothing to be ashamed of!" said Mrs. Longbottom angrily. "You should be proud, Neville, proud! They did not give their health and their sanity to their only son would be ashamed of them, you know!"
"I'm not ashamed," said Neville very faintly.
"Well, you've got a funny way of showing it! My son and his wife," she said, turning to Arabella, Harry, Ron, Hermione and Ginny, "were tortured into insanity by You-Know-Who's followers."
Hermione and Ginny both clapped their hands over their mouths. Ron looked mortified.
"Happened the same day as they killed your mother, dear," said Mrs. Longbottom, looking at Arabella. "They were Aurors, you know, and very well respected within the Wizarding community. Highly gifted – yes, Alice dear, what is it?"
Neville's mother had come edging down the ward in her nightdress. She no longer had a plump, happy-looking face Arabella had seen in the old photograph of the original Order. Her face was thin and worn now, her eyes large in her face and her hair white and dead-looking. She did not seem to want to speak, or perhaps she was not able to, but she made timid motions toward Neville, holding something in her outstretched hand.
"Again?" Mrs. Longbottom said weary. "Very well, Alice dear, very well – Neville, take it, whatever it is…"
But Neville had already stretched out his hand, into which his mother dropped an empty Droobled Blowing Gum wrapper.
"Very nice, dear," said Mrs. Longbottom in a falsely cheery voice, patting Alice on the shoulder. But Neville said quietly, "Thanks Mum."
His mother tottered away, back up the ward, humming to herself. Neville looked around at the others, his expression defiant, as though daring them to laugh, but Arabella would never laugh at something so sad and beautiful.
Mrs. Longbottom sighed and said, "The Healers having been testing them regularly lately, hoping for any sort of sign." She then looked at Arabella and said, "I've allowed them to run whatever experiments they want on them. If they can somehow find a cure for this – or even some sort of improvement – it would be a miracle."
Arabella nodded, unsure as to why Mrs. Longbottom was telling her this. "At least… at least they're alive."
Mrs. Longbottom gave her a small smile of pity and then said, "Are they, dear?"
Arabella was startled at her words. She had no idea what to say to that. Neville looked down at his grandmother's words while the others looked on in horror.
"I – I – I –"
"Close your mouth, dear, it is quite all right," said Mrs. Longbottom. She then reached out, grabbed Arabella's hand and squeezed it. "I often think of that night and imagine all the things that could have happened differently. I imagine you do the same."
Arabella was disturbed. Mrs. Longbottom was a formidable old witch and Arabella had no idea what to tell her.
"Well, we'd better get going," sighed Mrs. Longbottom, drawing on long green gloves. "Very nice to have met you all. Neville, put that wrapper in the bin, she must have given you enough of them to paper your bedroom by now…"
As they left, Arabella saw Neville slip the wrapper into his pocket.
The moment the door closed, Hermione said, tearfully, "I never knew."
"Nor did I," Ron said rather hoarsely.
"Nor me," whispered Ginny, rubbing her cheeks.
They looked at Arabella and Harry.
"God, I hate this place," whispered Arabella, her arms reaching towards the wall. "This place – nothing good ever happens here."
She somehow made her way out of her room, her legs carrying her out in a jog. Thankfully, none of them went after her. She really hated St. Mungo's. It was a nasty place where people either came to die or find a permanent home. Why did the Longbottoms have to suffer like this? Frank and Alice were good people. Neville was a good person. He didn't deserve to visit St. Mungo's every Christmas to visit his parents who will never recognize him. She wished they would just close this place once and for all.
She didn't know where to go. She didn't want to stay on the fourth floor anymore and she didn't want to head up to the tea room and be surrounded by strangers. So, she headed back down to the reception area. It was nearly empty, save for the receptionist who was reading Witch Weekly and a few wonderers in the corridor. She sat quietly in the corner, picking at her nails, waiting for their visit to finally end. She didn't know how long she had been sitting there. There wasn't a clock in sight and the receptionist just kept sitting there, going through various magazines one at a time. Once she had gotten to Seeker Weekly, her third magazine, Arabella heard footsteps coming towards her.
Healer Murphy was holding a cup of steaming tea. He placed the cup on the chair beside her and gave her a small smile.
"Healer Shelley told me about a strange, young witch running out of the ward. Thought it might have been you."
"And if it wasn't?" Arabella asked quietly.
"Doesn't matter, does it?" said Murphy, shrugging. "It was you. Have some tea, it'll make you feel better."
Arabella glanced at the cup and slowly brought it to her lips. She didn't want to admit it, but it did make her feet a little better.
"Merry Christmas, kid. Don't let the past get you down."
As he walked away, leaving Arabella alone, she couldn't help but remember the way Alice Longbottom handed the candy wrapper over to her son and wondered if there was some part of her that realizes how important Neville is to her.
Thank you so much for reading! Tell me what you guys think!
I've been wanting to include Murphy for a while in the series, especially with the two St. Mungo's chapters in this book. It would have been a interesting throwback for Arabella and sort of give her more reason to dislike (in a way) St. Mungo's. There's certainly nothing wrong with him, but there are no good memories associated with St. Mungo's and I think that a lot of people, me included, understand that. And that's where Arabella's whole "Nothing good ever happens in St. Mungo's" thing came at towards the end. That and the Longbottoms.
Let me know if that makes sense. It made sense in my head, but I might not have translated that well in text. If it doesn't, please let me know and I will certainly clarify myself. Until next time, my friends!