A/N: Again, I apologize profusely for the extremely long delay in getting this chapter up. I do blame real life, work and travel over the past couple of months; June was not a productive writing month for me. I've been sitting on this chapter for a few weeks because, well, I'm having difficulty writing the next few chapters out. Pesky writer's block!! I know what I want to write, but it's not coming out like I want it to. And I really do not know when I'm going to have the next chapter finished.

Thank you to all my readers, who have been extraordinarily patient with me waiting for this update. I do hope you enjoy this. Hopefully, I can sit down and try to hammer out another chapter; I ask is for your continued patience. Thank you so much for reading and reviewing and favoriting (and for your infinite patience!)


Chapter 44: Punishing a Snake

Ginny Weasley had thought that maybe, just maybe, things were going to be different. With the way term had already started out, that wasn't bloody likely.

News of the Ravenclaws' stand against Alecto Carrow spread like Fiendfyre throughout the school, practically the instant it happened. Neville and the other D.A. seventh years who had witnessed it had snuck their Galleons out during class and delivered messages to the others,

Ginny still didn't have her D.A. Galleon, having given it to Colin in the safe-house on Christmas Day. She also hadn't had a chance to ask Anthony for a replacement. Not that the Galleon was entirely necessary, as Neville and the other Gryffindors practically stampeded towards her.

"Gin, never underestimate the brilliance of the Ravenclaw seventh years! You should've seen them!" Neville launched into a play-by-play, complete with Daphne's rather impressive acting job and intervention.

"Daphne, though. She was insane! Scarily impressive."

"Imitated the Carrow bint word for word," Seamus added.

Ginny shook her head. "I wish I had seen it."

However, the details about what happened after they left Muggle Studies made their way to the rest of the student body, thanks to the boasting of Crabbe, Goyle and their goons. Following lunch, Neville and Ginny visited the injured seventh years and Daphne.

"Oh Merlin!" Ginny exclaimed breathlessly. They were by the doors of the Hospital Wing, but they could see the Ravenclaws all lying in a row, their bodies and faces bruised and bandaged, their injuries almost as bad as Neville's at the beginning of last term, but far less than Terry's, who still bore the scars of the whipping Carrow had given him in December.

They walked down the row, until Neville realized someone was missing.

"Where's Anthony?"

"Got there, have you?" The drawling voice came from behind a set of screens on the opposite side of the room. The two Gryffindors watched as Blaise Zabini approached them, his face more sombre than normal. "Eddie said Snape gave the Ravenclaws a decision: face punishment for their uprising or have retribution fall upon their entire House. They chose the former, but Snape demanded Goldstein curse them, since he was the one that led the whole idiotic show!" He snorted, ignoring the glares Neville and Ginny shot his direction. "The whole thing was very Gryffindor of them. Gryffindor with a twist of Ravenclaw's love for obscure, meaningless rules, going to the student code like that." The Slytherin wearily shook his head. "Unfortunately Snape disagreed with Goldstein's idea, and he forced him to torture the others."

Ginny stilled, her breath catching in her throat. "Forced Anthony?"

Blaise nodded. "The Imperius Curse."

She looked over at Neville. His eyes weren't even on Blaise; instead, he was staring at the beds in front of him, filled with the witches and wizards who had somehow lived up to and transcended the very definition of what it was to be a Ravenclaw.

They left the Hospital Wing after checking on a still-sleeping Daphne, who rather resembled one of the twins' test subjects. Neville waited until they were out in the hallway to start speaking again.

"He Imperiused Anthony to torture his best friends." He shook his head, clearly numb from the news.

"We should go find him. Talk to him and make sure he knows this wasn't his fault."

Neville shook his head. "No. I should go, Gin." He nodded back towards the castle. "Go on with the rest of your day."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah I am. It's part of leading, you know? I let Luna carry the weight taking care of Terry last term. Now, it's my turn. I'll go find Anthony and get him to see reason."

The tone of Neville's voice allowed no debate.

Ginny acquiesced and they parted ways. She tried to carry on with her lessons and meals, but her mind ran through a million different thoughts. Her nightmares, her family, and now coming back to school and watching her friends getting hurt left and right. . . .

The evening came and Ginny sat on a couch in the Gryffindor common room, discussing the morning's events with the Seamus, Lavender and Parvati. Several younger Gryffindors joined them. They stayed up late into the night, waiting for Neville to return.

About twelve o'clock, after his patrol ended, Neville walked through the portrait door and flashed Ginny a small smile and held his thumbs up, sending a wave of relief through the Gryffindors. Ginny shut her eyes thanking Merlin that Neville seemed to have things under control.


Ginny soon realized that Neville having things under control meant that applied to all members of the D.A., not just to Anthony Goldstein.

"Gin, can I talk to you for a second?"

"Sure, Neville."

They were in the common room, preparing for the trek to the Great Hall. Ginny noticed with a pit in her chest that her dorm-mates, Cosima Ramsay and Ursula Beckham, were standing very close to Neville, wringing their hands with worry and apprehension.

She felt crabby enough to whip out her wand and cast her Bat-Bogey Hex on them; she had a sneaking suspicion about why they had been talking to Neville.

(Stupid bloody dreams!)

He turned to the others. "Go on, we'll meet you in the Great Hall. Parvati, can you make sure the other Gryffindor prefects surround the House? Protect the younger ones and help them get down to the hall without any troubles. Stay alert."

Parvati winked at him. "Of course! We wouldn't let up on that." She walked through the portrait door, directing the Gryffindors using Neville's orders.

Cosima headed for the entrance, shooting Ginny an apologetic grin. Ursula managed a weak, "Morning, Gin."

She glared at both of them as they hurried out the portrait. Neville waited for the last couple of Gryffindors to leave.

"You wanted to see me?"

"How've you been sleeping?"

She hissed and stomped her foot. "Dammit, Cosi!"

"Don't." There was an unfamiliar sternness to Neville's voice, but Ginny could also sense his concern. "Don't get mad at Cosima or Ursula. They came to me because they're worried about you. You were having a horrible nightmare last night. And . . ."

He chewed his tongue, mulling over something. "They said you were having bad dreams towards the end of the last term."

She felt her nostrils flare. "It's nothing I can't handle on my own."

"Gin, you're one of my best friends here. And you're one of the most valuable assets that we have to stand up to the Carrows and Snape. But I want to know what's going on. Did something happen to you? Was it the Carrows? Did they hurt you in any way?"

"No! Nev, nothing like that happened." Between Daphne, her dorm-mates, and Neville, she could feel herself getting tired of answering this particular line of questions already.

"Look, I'm not ready to talk about it, all right? Besides, it'll tamper down, I'm sure of it."

"Ginny—"

"I'll go see Pomfrey and Eddie, all right? Will that make you feel better?" Her voice was edgy and sharp; she chalked up to a lack of sleep and incessant questioning about how she was handling her own issues. Only one thing was clear to her: what she was going through was insignificant compared to everything else.

Neville frowned. "It's not about making me feel better. It's about making sure one of my friends, and one of my comrades, isn't hurting. I'm here if you need to talk."

Ginny looked at him, feeling the tension she had been holding inside of her slowly melt. After a moment, she managed to smile. "Thanks. I appreciate that." She gave him a playful punch in his gut, reeling back in surprise. Her eyes scanned his body, finally realizing something that she hadn't before. "Blimey, Nev. You've lost weight! Can't believe I've never noticed."

"What? Oh, yeah." He grinned at her, blushing. "S'pose I haven't been eating as much and, well, maybe those defence drills have something to do with it."

Ginny smiled, this time more broadly than before. "Well, lookin' good, Longbottom!" She winked at him. "Or should we call you Tight-bottom?"

"Gin!"

"Just kidding!" She nudged her head towards the portrait door. "I'm hungry. Shall we go ahead and get to breakfast before everything's eaten up?"

He sighed, looking at her amused. "Witches first." He held out his hand and Ginny took the invitation to lead the way.


Daphne Greengrass kept pace with Draco Malfoy, matching his long steps as best she could. Although he was short, he was still a few centimetres taller than her. His strides were long and purposeful; there was no break in his gait.

And she couldn't help but think he slightly resembled Snape in his movements.

"Bastard," she whispered under her breath.

"What was that?" Draco asked under his breath.

"I said nothing."

They turned the corner of the long corridor, flanked by cells on either side. This was Daphne's first trip into the dungeons, and she hoped, stifling a small gag at the dank smell of mould and rat droppings, that it would be her last.

They found an open cell; Daphne's heart beat a furious tattoo against her ribcage. Light from the sconces on the cell's walls flickered, casting ominous shadows in front of them. She swallowed nervously; there was an elongated shadow of a figure, standing silently inside the chamber.

She knew who it was, without needing to see his face.

"Miss Greengrass. Mister Malfoy."

The two students stood at the entrance. "Good evening Professor Carrow."

"Come in."

The fact that Carrow was speaking in a relatively normal tone didn't make Daphne lower her guard. She remained alert, waving her wand to get rid of the Lumos spell she had cast. It had been her experience that when Amycus Carrow spoke in his calmest voice, he could be his most dangerous.

And right now, he was as cool as steel.

"You needed our help, sir?"

Amycus grinned and stepped aside, revealing a large wooden chair that had been behind him. It resembled one of the chairs behind the teachers' table in the great hall with its slender and tall back, lined with leather in the middle and on its seat. The legs had wrought iron fixtures bolting it firmly to the floor. But Daphne saw nothing outwardly wrong with piece of furniture.

"Miss Greengrass, we acquired this from the Ministry over the holidays."

"I see that, sir." She tried to keep her voice steady like Carrow's; the cold air and her nerves were not helping out matters at all.

"Now, first thing's first. Give your wand to Draco."

"Wh-what?"

"Miss Greengrass, I know you're not deaf, girl. Now give – Draco – your – wand!"

She followed Amycus' orders, watching Draco as she handed him the piece of wood. He merely kept his eyes on her wand, refusing to look at her as he did so.

"Very good, Miss Greengrass. Take a seat."

Daphne's eyes shifted between the Death Eater and Draco. Carrow was staring at her with a feral glint in his eyes. Malfoy, though, was staring at the ground in front of him, determined not to make eye contact.

"Sir, I don't know—"

"Greengrass, I give the orders around here. Now, get in the chair, or I will make you!" He pointed his wand at her, his leer positively predatory.

With a quick nod, she climbed in. To her relief, nothing happened.

"Place your arms on the armrests."

Swallowing her nerves, Daphne complied with the request. She breathed out in relief when nothing happened. But she didn't let her guard down, not for one second. She looked over at Draco, who had both their wands in his hands. He was staring at her knees, pointedly refusing to look at her eyes.

To Daphne's horror, Amycus leaned forwards, his hands tightly covering her wrists.

"You made a mistake yesterday."

She stared at him. "W-well . . . p-poss-possibly." She tried to get her trembling chin under control. She was showing him far too much fear.

"I, as the primary disciplinarian at the school, have a duty to make sure our prefects and Head Girl and Boy do their duties properly. This was an area I was lax on last term, but, I assure you, that'll change. Or how else will you learn that you must keep order?"

"S-so . . . sir, does that mean you'll whip me?" Daphne heard herself speak, her words tripping on themselves, leaving her practically tongue-tied. She struggled to regain composure.

Carrow shook his head vigorously. "Whip you? Oh no. No, no, no. I won't whip you." He ran a finger down her cheek and let his hand fall to hers, squeezing them as they rested on chair's arms. She knew he could feel her shivering in disgust. "Tell me — what is Devil's Snare?"

Daphne nodded and recited something close to the textbook definition, having written that particular assignment out for Millicent last year per their deal for Daphne's protection. "It's a vine that traps its victims by tightening its tendrils around them, binding them until they're choked to death."

"Correct. And what is its weakness?"

"Fire, sir."

"Very good, Miss Greengrass." Carrow stood up to his full height and, with his icy sneer widening across his ugly face, flicked his wand, wiggling it in squiggly lines in the air.

Daphne cried out in horror as the tendrils of the plant extended in dark curls from the chair. Before she could even get up, the snare wrapped itself tightly around Daphne's arms and legs, holding her firmly in place. Several bands wound out from the back of the chair and quickly lashed her around her shoulders and her torso, forcing her roughly against the back of her seat.

She jerked, a reflex of being bound against her will. The thick vines tightened even more. She keened as her body stiffened, whimpering as the plant continued to squeeze, nearly suffocating her.

"Stay still, Greengrass." In the dazed fog of her mental shutdown, where all that registered with her was vinessqueezingthelivingdaylightsoutofher, Draco's voice seemed to cut through the haze.

"Now have you ever heard about Flameless Burns?" Amycus asked in an icy voice.

She trembled, rivers of sweat running down her face. She couldn't shake her head, for fear of the snare crushing her until she burst. "No," she managed, her voice halting as the constrictive vines seemed to strengthen their grip.

"When the curse touches flesh, it tricks the skin, the nerves and the brain, making the person think they're burning. With repeated use, the skin may even redden and blister, much like it would with an actual burn without disintegrating completely. However, the pain is always the same — it is always excruciating, almost as painful as the Cruciatus. Instead of driving you insane after minutes of casting, you feel nothing but burning, as if your hand is on fire and you can't put it out."

Daphne could feel herself shaking. The vines tightened even more.

"Burning in your hands, lasting for hours. Days if I choose. And your brain will never shut down. And since there's no flame, the Devil's Snare will stay intact!"

Carrow curled his lip, baring his teeth in a vicious grin. Daphne cried out in earnest; it was inevitable. She was trapped, confined to this chair.

There was no escape.

There was only one thing she could do. With a brow crumpled from her fear of the inevitable, she stammered: "P-punish – me. S-sir."

Carrow pointed his wand at her hands. "USTULO SINE FLAMMARE!!"

Daphne screamed.

The burning started underneath her nails and seared through each finger. It was sudden and overwhelming, Daphne nearly lost control of her body as she could feel each nerve like it had been set on fire. She jerked hard; she couldn't help it, and the sudden movement caused the Devil's Snare to squeeze her more. It dug into her arms and body, nearly breaking her in half. And maybe that would be a good thing right now. Because she felt it. Every bit of that burn. It felt like she was melting, as if she had just grasped white-hot irons that were now stuck to her hands. She couldn't pull away, she couldn't let go.

She couldn't make it stop.

Daphne kept screaming, her throat shredding from her cries. Her hands clawed and trembled and water streamed from her eyes. The burning felt like it was getting worse, as if skin and muscle were disintegrating. When she looked down, her eyes filled with water, her mind nearly in shock, she saw that her hands were still intact.

She squinted in dim light of the dungeon cell. Carrow was talking to Draco. "An hour," was all she heard. And with another horrible smirk — one that she could barely see through the haze of her tears — Amycus swirled his cloak around and strode out of the dungeon cell, shutting and locking the door behind him.

It was just Daphne and Draco. He stood at the door, watching through thick, iron bars Amycus walk away.

"B-bet . . . you . . . love this, M-Malfoy." Her teeth chattered as she spoke.

Draco had one hand in his robes. Slowly, he walked towards her, pulled his hand out of his pocket, and held a vial topped with a cork. He stopped in front of her, and sneered.

"Know what this is, Greengrass?"

"N-no . . ."

"Murtlap Essence. I've taken to carrying a bottle with me now, everywhere I go. Stole it from Pomfrey's supplies. It comes in handy, in case I find myself in a situation like this."

There was a pause.

"Again."

She hissed. She wasn't about to beg Draco Malfoy for anything. No matter how much she hurt.

He twisted his hands so the backs of them were in front of her. Even in the dim light of the room, Daphne could see skin that looked raw, reddened as if scarred from being burned sometime in the past and never had a chance to heal.

He continued to speak, his voice casual. "It may surprise you, but," he said, squaring his jaw, cocking his eyebrow in a ploy to convey smugness, "I make mistakes. Sometimes."

Daphne shook. She didn't move an inch, but the constant burning, the waves and waves of pain — and not just from her hands, but from the Devil's Snare — was choking her. Her brain wanted to shut down. This was too much.

Draco bent down, putting his face level with hers. "I can't lift the curse from your hands, but I can alleviate the pain. All it takes is smoothing this on your hands." He rolled the bottle between his own scarred fingers, grinning like a cat who had the canary cornered. "What's it worth to you, Greengrass?"

(That bastard!)

"F-fuck . . . you, Malfoy."

He growled and spun away from her. Daphne squeezed her eyes and clamped her mouth shut, little moans escaping from her. Malfoy's attempt to bargain with her only made things worse.

"You're a piece of work, Greengrass. Y'know that?" He shook the bottle in front of him, frustrated. "Any normal bloody Slytherin'd be asking for my price! You? You just want to sit there and make yourself sick! And for what?"

"Ahhh . . . !" Daphne tried flexing her hands, but the pain sliced through her body like hot metal. "N-not . . . g-g-going to . . . owe you."

"Owe me? Prideful, arrogant cow!"

"Y-you're . . . onetotalk." she spat back. "ARRGH!"

It was now spiking through her body, wrapping around her insides and constricting her as badly as the snare. When she looked back down at her enflamed skin, she could see trails of red starting to show.

This was unbearable. For a fleeting second, she thought it would be worth it, to ask Malfoy to use the Murtlap Essence, regardless of whatever it cost her. She stared at him, her body quivering as she held it in, determined not to give him the satisfaction.

Draco looked back at her, a smile threatening to peek out on his face. He was waiting for her to say it; he wanted her to say it. So, she opened her mouth.

"F-fuck you, Malfoy!"

His face fell. "Dammit!" Draco stormed towards her and uncorked the bottle with an exaggerated motion. He dumped a palmful of the balm into his hand.

"Wh-what're . . . you d-doing?"

"Shut up! Shut up and, again, shut up!" He put the bottle on the floor in front of the chair. Rubbing his hands together, a sour look on his face, Draco touched her.

Almost immediately, the Murtlap Essence seeped into her skin, beginning its work to soothe her extremities, making them feel cool. Daphne's breath slowed, and what was left was the heat from Carrow's spell dulled into a harsh sting. It reminded Daphne of those moments when her extremities were on the verge of going to sleep. She realized that she was no longer in excruciating pain --and as she realized that things had suddenly become far more complicated. It didn't matter that the pain was now dulled; she was now indebted to Draco.

"Stop helping me, Malfoy."

His head snapped up to glare at her. "No. It's working, isn't it?"

Daphne sneered at him. "I don't want your help."

"Well," Draco said, his arrogant smirk returning. "You're getting it anyways."

She narrowed her eyes, staring at him icily. "You never do anything without a price. I don't want your help. I don't owe you anything!"

Draco leaned forwards, bracing himself with his hand pressed on the back of her chair. "What if I say otherwise? What'll you do then?"

"Tell Carrow you helped me? Don't think I won't!"

"You won't, though." Draco stood back up, staring down at her, his nose looking like it was turned up in the air — the typical Malfoy expression. "It's not in your nature to do that."

"I'm a Slytherin, Malfoy. You know perfectly well what I'm capable of." She felt herself finally able to smirk at the git. "I think I might want to see you squirm in this chair, dangle Murtlap in front of you and make you beg for it. And you would beg, because you would do anything to make your life easy. Doesn't matter what it is."

"You think you know everything about me and my life, Greengrass? All because of my name?" Draco rolled his eyes. "Is that another thing you've learned from your blood traitor best friends?"

"Don't you dare mention them!"

He, again, pushed his face at her. "Who do you think persuaded the Carrows and Snape that you've been spending time with Zabini, hm?"

She stared at him, confused. "Blaise and I d-did spend time together. We spent the holidays—"

"You think Amycus would've believed that pitiful attempt at a lie? After talking to me, a little embellishment here, a little there." He smirked. "I made your story a lot more convincing to him."

Daphne could feel her heart pounding rather rapidly. Why would Draco go out of his way to help her like that? Just because he has a thing for her?

"Do you want a treat for your efforts, Malfoy?"

"All I wanted to do was watch out for Blaise. He's my friend after all."

Daphne nearly lost her breath. Did he know? If he even suspected the truth about Blaise — oh Merlin! She needed to find out. "What do you mean, watch out for Blaise?"

"I know he's lying for you, Greengrass." He paced in front of her, reminding her of the textbook images of a lethifold as it hunted for its meal. "I've got no idea why he is, or what you're holding over his head."

She shot him her most dangerous glare.

"I don't think I want to know either," Draco continued. "I'm just the wizard making sure whatever your ruse is involving him doesn't bite you both in the arse."

"So it does have to do with me." Daphne wondered whether she came across as threatening enough. She doubted it, as she was confined to this chair and her hands had the sickly sweet and sour smell of pickled Murtlap. "Not just Blaise. Are you angling for something that I can give you? I can assure, Draco, that I've got nothing you want."

He regarded her for a moment, his face mellowing in the light of the cell.

"You'd be surprised, Greengrass."

Looking down at his watch, a little gold hourglass set on a snakeskin band, Draco arched his eyebrow. As much as he repulsed Daphne, she had to admit: when the ferret wanted to look like an egotistical maniac, he did it better than anyone else she knew.

"We have another half-an-hour until Amycus returns."

"So? What does that mean? Are you going to Scourgify the balm off of my hands so he doesn't suspect you helped sabotage his punishment?"

"That was the idea." He cocked his head to his left. "And now that you owe me for the pain that I took away—"

"I don't owe you, Malfoy!"

"Oh but that's the beauty of your world." He smiled, one that resembled the cruel leer of Snape. His lips kept quivering seemingly excited at all the potential. "You know you owe me for this. It's all that kind ever think about."

"What kind? Normal, sane people? Ones who actually give a hippogriff's fuck about another person? Ones that do good things for their fellow witch and wizard and don't bloody expect TO – BE – OWED – A – DEBT?!"

He continued with his awful smirk. "And someday I'll ask for you to repay your debt to me. I'm sure there'll be more in the future."

It was as if he heard nothing that she had said. Daphne curled her mouth, refusing to speak to Draco any further. Instead, she satisfied herself with shooting him poisonous glares.

They fell into a tense silence. She felt her hands, moving them gingerly so as not to disturb the vines firmly latched around her body. Her hands reddened more as the minutes ticked by; Daphne felt her extremities tingle, the discomforting sensation increasing as time passed and the Murtlap Essence's effect started wearing off.

Draco sat in a corner of the cell, tapping his wand, making sparks go off. When he got bored with that, he did the same with her wand, watching it as smoke flared from its tip.

"Stop mucking with my shit!"

He didn't look at her, but he grinned. "Such a pathetic excuse for a wand, Greengrass."

Daphne fumed; he wanted her to respond, to come back at him either with an insult or an acknowledgement of some sort. Instead, she turned her eyes towards the door, gritting her teeth as the pain started increasing more . . . and more . . . and more.

Draco stood back up. He pocketed her wand into his robes and approached her.

"It's time."

Daphne's eyes flashed upwards to his pointy face. He stood above her, his wand held in his hand; she could see him twisting it in his palm.

"What are you waiting for?" Her voice was shaking again; the pain and the heat were already coming back. "J-just . . . do it, Draco."

He stared at her with just a moment's hint an apology. Draco seemed to realize that he let his guard down because he quickly stiffened and smirked for good measure. He pointed his wand at her hands.

Daphne felt her heart stop. . . .

"Scourgify!"

The essence disappeared — and she screamed again.

The pain slammed into her. It wiped out any coherent thought, her ability to say anything that sounded remotely like a word. She had almost forgotten what the burn had felt like when Amycus had cast the spell, but after almost an hour of muted relief, it felt several times worse.

She whimpered, crying as the burn shot through her extremities, right up her arms. Through the wet haze of tears, she could see a blurry figure approach the chair, taller, more round than Draco.

"Finite Incantatem!"

Daphne gasped. Instantly, the pain ceased and suddenly, her panting slowed. Her hands -- her sore and tender hands -- stopped hurting. Through a closed mouth, she whimpered as she brought her breathing to a controlled pace.

Only when she felt the vines retract from her body did she finally relax. Daphne fell out of the chair, nearly landing face-first onto the floor, as her hands were far too raw to support her weight.

Surprisingly, Draco caught her by the arm and pulled her back up.

"Go clean yourself, Greengrass," Carrow snivelled. She wanted to send the Death Eater a defiant expression and obscene gesture. Instead, she managed to bow her head.

"Thank you . . . sir."

"My pleasure," Carrow drawled. Daphne turned around; she started hobbling towards the entrance.

"One more thing, Greengrass."

She paused, just a metre from the dungeon door. Slowly, she pivoted around and faced Carrow one more time. "Yes sir?"

"Let me see your hands."

Shaking, she held out the mess of red skin and shaking fingers, still stinging from their ordeal.

"Wiggle your wand hand."

Swallowing, she moved her right hand.

Carrow nodded and smiled at her — that same bone-chilling smile. "Thank you." And he waved his wand so fast, it was a blur. "Osteo Contricio!"

The bones in Daphne's hands broke. She crumpled to the ground, her cries tearing through the air until she vomited from the pain.


She woke up in the Hospital Wing for the second time that week; this time, she couldn't move her hands. Looking down, she saw that they were wrapped in bandages and she could feel splints in between her fingers. Daphne blinked, the dryness of her mouth bitter, almost painful. She licked her lips and, gingerly, she started scooting up—

"Hey, Daphne. Whoa there."

The sound of his voice washed over her and, for the first time in several hours, she felt safe again. Daphne looked over to her right. "Mi-Michael?" she asked, her voice raspy as if her mouth was filled with sand.

He smiled at her with his still-healing face. His hand grazed her cheek. "Who else? Think I was going to leave your side once you turned up here?"

Daphne fell back on the pillows of her bed. "I don't remember anything . . . not after the dungeons." She looked at her hands. "Oh. Oh Merlin! He broke them! How could I forget?"

Michael's face fell; Daphne saw sorrow covering his face. "Someone left you at the entrance of the Hospital Wing, but they disappeared before Pomfrey or Eddie got to you."

"Malfoy," Daphne whispered.

"Did he do this?" He touched her bandages; she couldn't feel his fingers on hers. "Your h-hands. They looked like they'd b-been . . ."

Her heart fell as he struggled with his words. She shook her head. "Not Malfoy. It was Carrow. He bound me with Devil's Snare and cast this curse on them; he called it the Flameless Burn. It's supposed to make you feel like your skin's burning even though it's not. Just makes it red, puffy. Maybe a little scarred."

He touched her bandaged hands. Even though she couldn't feel his hands on hers, Daphne felt comforted by his gesture.

"After an hour—"

"He cursed you for an hour?" he asked, his voice low and sounding dangerous.

"Y-yeah. He lifted the curse . . . and then he broke my hands. I can't remember what happened after that."

She didn't tell him anything about Draco Malfoy and the Murtlap Essence; somehow, Michael thinking Draco assisted her for whatever nefarious reasons might make the situation more disturbing.

"You were left at the door, and someone yelled for Pomfrey. We were all talking with Eddie in the back of the Hospital Wing, so by the time we made it out to the front entrance, we saw you lying on the floor, all by yourself. Pomfrey cleaned you up and tended to your wounds. And I haven't left your side since."

Daphne stared at him. "How long have I been out?"

"It's five o'clock in the morning."

She fell back in the bed. "It's so early."

He smiled, although it didn't reach his eyes. "I'm glad I slept almost two straight days in here; otherwise, I wouldn't have been able to stay up and sit by your bed when you woke up."

"Michael, you shouldn't be in here with me. What if someone saw us?"

"No one's stopped by for an unwanted visit. After everything you went through because of us, I couldn't leave your side. I didn't want you to wake up and not see me. Besides, Eddie and Pomfrey know I'm here and they'll warn us if anyone's coming that shouldn't see us together."

Despite her overall discomfort, Daphne laughed. "Stubborn prat."

Michael leaned over and kissed her softly on her lips. "I'm so sorry that you got punished for helping us."

"Trying to help you," she corrected, biting her lip to stop herself from losing it. "They still got you. Put you in the hospital for a few days."

He shook his head. "Don't worry about me. Us, actually," he said, twisting his head around, gesturing towards the other beds. "We're doing all right now. Although Anthony's not dealing with what happened all that well."

"You lot aren't mad at him, are you?"

"No. Terry, Padma and I aren't. The others are feeling a bit . . . testy around him, to put it mildly." He chuckled. "Morag's threatened them with even more bodily harm, though, if they so much as glare at Tony."

"He's doing all right?"

"He's managing."

Daphne sighed. "Which is about what any of us can do, isn't it?"

There was a lull in their conversation for a few moments; Michael stared at her hands, absent-mindedly rubbing circles on her bandages with his fingers. "Yesterday, when Tony came in to visit us, he said something about spending more time with us after today."

She looked at him, her brow creased with confusion. "Well, that sounds as a clear as lake sludge, doesn't it?"

"Yeah. I'm just worried about what that bugger's got planned."


Mid-morning, there was a commotion outside the doors of the hospital. A pair of footsteps ran towards the Hospital Room entrance, and Michael and Daphne peeked around her screen to see what was happening.

"MADAM POMFREY!!" Eddie yelled, as he flung open the doors to the Hospital Wing. He was followed quickly by the other seventh-year Ravenclaws, who were all still in the hospital recovering. They wanted to see the source of the racket.

They didn't have to wait for long.

The seventh-year Gryffindors hurried in, Levitating an unconscious body in front of them. Daphne took one look at him, and her heart plunged to her feet. It felt exactly like that second week at school, during that horrible demonstration in Carrow's Dark Arts class.

(Neviile.)

(Not again.)

Neville's body floated onto the nearest empty bed. He looked horrible. There was a large gash on the right side of his face, open and oozing. The skin around his eyes was black, blue and swelling; his clothes were ripped and Daphne could see cuts, big, small, all still bleeding even as Pomfrey and Eddie rushed to stop them.

"What happened?" Michael managed, watching the school's Matron and her intern move around as quick as possible.

"Whaddya think, 'appened," Seamus said, his accent thick, his tone dark, angry. "Tha' fuckin' bastard Carrow—"

"Mister Finnigan," Pomfrey huffed.

Seamus ignored her outburst. "'E did this! Cut up Nev because 'e was tryin' ter protect Anthony!"

"Parvati, what happened?"

She wiped her red and teary face, her voice shaking with anger as she responded to Eddie. "A-Anthony gave the same speech about the student code in Dark Arts. Carrow st-started cursing him, and Neville intervened."

Terry's eyes darted from the unconscious Gryffindor to the hospital's doors. "Where's Tony? Where the hell is he?" He bolted from the group, running to the entrance, Michael hot on his trail, when the door opened again. This time, a group led by Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones burst into the room. Tamsin Applebee and Zacharias Smith followed them. All four students were Levitating a person between them.

Daphne's dread grew, as did her suspicions about the identity of the injured student. The face was obstructed by Ernie, but the closer they floated the figure, the more she could see scars and torn and bloodied clothing—

They guided his body onto another bed. Daphne pressed her fingers to her mouth watching Michael and Terry's faces react to the newest arrival.

"Tony," Michael whispered to the unconscious figure. "What the hell did they do to you?"

There were huge cuts on Anthony's face, his chest, and his arms. His skin — the part that hadn't been sliced up — had a horrible grey cast to it. For a brief moment, Daphne thought that the worst had happened, but as the thought, as horrific as it was, flittered into her brain, Anthony coughed. Blood splattered from his lips.

"Be thankful Susan had her wits about her," Ernie said, turning to his fellow prefect and squeezing her around her shoulders. "She happened to have a vial of Blood Replenishing Solution on her. I don't want to think what could've happened if she hadn't been there for him."

"Nor do we," Terry said without hesitation, his skin paling at his best friend's condition. "Thanks, Susan."

Susan blushed at the accolades. "I just hope it was enough."

Eddie and Pomfrey ran around him, waving their wands in complex and precise formations above the unconscious Ravenclaw. An iridescent red field shimmered some centimetres above his body. Directly above that were green and yellow lines that peaked and moved in a steady manner.

"You did well with the solution, Miss Bones," Pomfrey said after examining him. "His vitals appear to be normal."

Michael, Terry, and the rest of the Ravenclaws flashed smiles of genuine happiness at the Hufflepuff. Susan wiped her face with her hands. She smiled in relief.

"I'm so relieved that he'll be all right."

Ernie took her chin and tipped it up to look at his face. "You were brilliant, Bones."

"Well, with a name like Bones, you were bound to be a Healer," Zacharias Smith said, his arms folded across his chest, looking at both Susan and Ernie with an odd expression. Daphne couldn't suss out what it meant, but it made Ernie tighten his grip around Susan's shoulders. Zacharias tore his eyes away, suddenly becoming deeply interested in the bedside table.

Pomfrey and Eddie took the time to make sure Anthony was comfortable. The Hufflepuffs departed from the Hospital Wing and the Ravenclaws all took positions around Anthony's bed, with Michael and Terry near his head. Padma touched his hand gently; she wiped her eyes as she quietly sniffled.

It was one hour later when he stirred, weakly crooking his fingers on his heavily-bandaged right arm.

Michael and Terry both leaned their heads towards their mate. "Tony, how are you doing?"

He smiled at Michael's question, but winced as the pain affected him.

"S-see? T-told you . . . I'd be s-spendin' . . . more time . . . with y-you."

"There's something called 'visiting hours', mate. You didn't have to let yourself get sliced up to see us," Terry said, his voice thick with emotion.

"Although you look a sight better than normal. Prat," Michael added.

Slowly, shakily, Anthony held up two fingers in an obscene gesture to his friends. And for a moment, the room managed to dissolve into smiles and laughs, barely tinged with nerves and tears.