Chapter Twelve: A Potion

I woke up in a hospital bed.

Isn't that a cliché? And it just figures, too. Apparently the bits that happened right after the fight and right before I was put into said hospital bed were the most interesting. I don't even remember it. It's rotten luck for this narrative. But fortunately, I was told by some very reliable redheaded sources what did happen.

No, Charlie did not sweep in and single-handedly rescue me. That's one cliché you're spared. Charlie and his brother Bill together swept in and double-handedly rescued me. It just happens that Bill tends to run faster, so he got there first, but Charlie was right behind.

(So I'm still technically allowed to feel warm and fuzzy inside. So there.)

Bill got a few good hexes in from the street as he was approaching, which apparently slowed Malfoy and his –henchmen (I was going to say something quite vulgar,) down enough that I wasn't too badly hurt. He also managed to knock down either Crabbe or Goyle with a blow to the jaw. It seems to work out to this: whichever one whose mask I didn't dent in, Bill knocked down. Unfortunately, the bastards managed to Portkey out a few moments after Charlie got through the door, but not before he shoved a henchman and helped Bill yank one of the three off of me.

That sounds worse than it was. I wasn't that badly hurt. At the point when I stopped seeing or hearing what was going on, I'd taken a Stunning Spell to the head. If you're familiar with boxing and the term 'glass jaw,' you can get an idea of what happened. Some people, me included, just happen to have less natural resistance to things like Stunning Spells and whatnot. In my particular case, a Stunner to the head knocks me out cold for at least a day, instead of the usual twenty-odd minutes of dizziness. (It'd happened before, in that soppy excuse for a dueling club when I was in fourth year. At least in the shop noone'd tried to wake me up with spells. Professor Lockhart miscast Ennervate so badly that I wound up in Madam Pomfrey's with such a freakish burst of energy that I had to be tranquilized.) Once I was down, one of the little proto-Death Eaters had resorted to fists in favor of wand waving. So I was a little bruised and had a couple of scrapes, maybe a broken bone or two. Not a big deal, right?

Well, if one happens to be a redheaded guy, apparently it is a big deal. Chivalry's a bit inconvenient sometimes. It was thus that I woke up in St. Mungo's. My shoulder was dislocated and hurt a lot, which I would've expected the Healers to fix right off, only the burn from the hex had to be treated first and it was putting up a bit of resistance to magical treatment. I also had salve on some of the scrapes, which made them nicely tingly and smelled just like the stuff Madam Pomfrey used.

You know, I kind of miss Madam Pomfrey. It was loads easier to go up to the Hospital Wing and have her patch up whatever I'd done to myself than to Floo all the way out to St. Mungo's and have to wait in line for some apprentice Healer more interested in my Gringott's number than in whatever it was I did. And Madam Pomfrey was loads nicer. She'd kind of got used to seeing me once or twice a week with blisters or little cuts or whatnot on my hands, and once I'd fixed the barometer for her, she didn't mind me coming in all the bleeding time. Okay, wretched pun. I also digress. Again.

Anyway, I was awake, my shoulder hurt, my arm itself hurt, some other little random places, including and especially my lip hurt, I had a headache, and I smelled of minty healing goodness. My mouth also tasted kind of coppery. It's probably a rather damning indication of how accident-prone I am that none of this bothered me.

Not to say I didn't go promptly and immediately bonkers once I did wake up.

"Wha…da fop! Wha' da hell a' I doing here? 'Fomeone'ff gaw t' lock da-"

"Jessie, it's okay-"

Ignoring the voice, I tried to get up and immediately realized just how much 'oww' one human shoulder and head combination can produce. I let out a groaning sort of howl, which is really all that one can do when it feels like your arm attempted to unscrew itself while someone filled your head with caffeinated Pygmy Puffs wearing chestnut-burr costumes.

"Jessie? What hurts?" I dimly recognized the voice as that of a Weasley, but I couldn't be certain which. I did reply though:

"Everything." This probably sounded more like 'everfing,' though, as my lip was swollen and kind of numb. "Wha' happened?"

"Death Eaters attacked your shop, Jess. You fought 'em off."

Yep, that was Charlie.

"Day weren' Deaf Ears," I explained, or attempted to. "I' wuf Day-ko Maffoy, an' Cab an' Goywe."

"Shh…don't try to talk yet. They were dressed as Death Eaters, so I suppose we have to assume they are…not very good ones, though. There was a broken window at the shop, and one of the glass cases, but George said he'd fix them. He and the Redferns are watching the place with Fred."

"You lef the Refferns i' my fop?" I wanted to get up, but knew it'd hurt. "Wif' da twinf?"

"It's okay, Jessie. Mum's with them."

"Your muffer?" For some reason, that made me feel better.

"And some Aurors…Tonks is there."

"Tonkff?" I did try to get up again out of sheer horror, but was thwarted. "Owww…"

"It's okay, she's guarding perimeter."

"Oh." It was then that I suddenly realized that I couldn't open my teeth. "Charry?"

"Yes?"

"Whaffck s'wrong wi'miteef?"

"They're spelled together. You have a broken jaw."

"Fukkat. I'ff got ta' warn Dumbwdow…"

I should perhaps address something. The conditioning provided by the dancing rubber chicken does not extend to situations where physical pain is involved. As a matter of fact, I swear like a Kenmore Kestrels fan when something on my person hurts. I may be a tradesman, but I will still use my inherent girly-ness as an excuse for growling like a wet kitten.

"You're not going anywhere until the Healers get your jaw fixed, Jessie. You…you could've been really hurt."

Concern? From a guy? A guy who did not on occasion claim me as an undiagnosed triplet or share a last name?

Wow.

"I'm ukkay. Iff juff… hurff a bit."

"The Healers left some potion for the broken jaw…you can have it in about another twenty minutes. The last one's still wearing off."

"Wha' wavvat fow?"

"Oh, the injuries…The burn on your arm…" Charlie pointed to some gauze wrapped around the spot. "It's from a hex, they know that much, but since it grazed you, it's been difficult to heal. That, and they aren't exactly sure what it was. May have been experimental, or botched in casting…they can't quite place it. Tonks even had a look before she headed to Diagon."

"Tonkff faw my ahm? Wha' she fink?"

"She fink –she thinks you were swinging too short a Beater-bat. That's at least possibly how your shoulder got dislocated."

"Diffocated?"

"Yeah…you pulled it good. I did that once in a Quidditch game –hurt like the very fires."

"I' duvvent hur too bad."

"Well…" He didn't look like he believed me. "In the meantime, they're suggesting that you drink a lot of water. Think you could get it down?" He poured a glassful and added a straw, then frowned for a second. A little spell put a convenient bend into the tiny tube, and Charlie lifted it so I could slurp down some of the stuff. It did make the coppery taste go away.

"Fankff, Charry."

"Feel any better? I know having teeth reattached hurts a lot…"

"Die loofum teef?"

"These three," he gestured, "were kind of loose, that's all. There was a little blood." That explained the coppery taste. "I…I was kinda worried about you, there, Jess."

"I'm ukkay."

"Erm…no, you're really not… your shoulder's dislocated and your arm has a hex and your jaw's broken and –you know, I think you may have broken the twins' record on impressive shiners…"

"Bu' I'm naw dead, juff hur…cubbie worf. Anna fop'ff ukkay…foe…"

"…I still worried," Charlie said quietly. "And believe you me, I am not about to let those snakes in robes get away with this. Every Auror in…well, all of the Aurors, y'know, they know about it. Dumbledore's been notified, Bill got in touch with your folks…"

"Wha'?" I couldn't believe it.

"Your…your family. They were the first we thought to fireplace…is that bad? Why on earth wouldn't you want them to…?"

"Dey'ffink I can'handwe da fop…"

"Jessie, you whacked the Bludgers out of a Death Eater to protect your shop. If it hadn't been three against one, you'd've probably put him in St. Mungo's with that bat." I felt my cheeks redden from this unexpected praise. "I was under the impression you hadn't played any Quidditch." The little alarm clock on the bedside table went off and Charlie picked up a vial and uncorked it. "Potion time. It'll probably taste vile, so…" He poured more water into the glass for a chaser and got it ready in the other hand. "On three?" I nodded, and soon the stuff, which did indeed taste akin to what I'd imagine eight-week-old calamari to be like, was happily tingling my jaw back to normalcy. "Alright…supposed to wait five minutes…then I can unspell your jaw," Charlie was looking at a bit of parchment that looked to be covered in writing. "And then you have to drink loads more water."

"Whyffn't dere a Heyew…?"

"Oh…apparently there've been some injuries at one of the Quidditch games and I…kind of insisted on looking after you myself for a bit…didn't want to let some overworked git bodge something…" Charlie, I remembered, was an accomplished, if not precisely certified Healer from his time in Romania, but I didn't think there was anything all that bodgeable for him to worry about. It sounded good to me. "Bill was in here once for a hex and they charmed his hair blond."

"…Owsh ong-er tiwu can uffick ma daw?"

"What was that?" I pointed to my wrist and realized there was no watch on it. That startled me. I must've had a fairly expressive expression at that point, because Charlie reached over and patted my unscathed arm. "They're all here." He then proceeded to remove all of the five left-hand watches from his pockets and restore them in the exact order I wore them. In fact, the watch I wore highest up on my forearm, the chronometer with the calendar function on the left, that one had fit onto the very lowest part of his wrist. "I'll put the others on when your shoulder's fixed, okay?"

"'Kay."

"And it's…almost three and a half more minutes. Three-thirty-two, thirty-one… as a matter of fact, it is three and a half more minutes. Not long."

"Nope."

"Hey, I understood that." Charlie felt under my jaw in what a completely unromantic person could easily mistake for merely a practiced manner. In bed or not, I felt my knees going instantly back to their accustomed Charlie's-presence 'water' state. "Swelling's coming down nicely…try to talk a little."

"Mmm…what do I ssay?" It sounded a little hissy and sibilant, but then, my teeth were still closed. Charlie grinned. "I ssound like a ssnake…" A remarkable, twin-like idea occurred to me. My voice had gotten pretty damn funny with my teeth locked, but then I made it higher, and more girly, then remarked: "'I am You-Know-Who. Who took my denturesss?'" Charlie laughed suddenly and I realized how splendidly ludicrous, how outrageously witty that was. "'Luciusss! We sseem to be out of ssss –Spam!'" For some perverse reason, this was astonishingly funny. Charlie looked like he might be about to rupture one of his dishy organs.

"Jessie…if you do that voice for the twins, you will wind up on Wizarding Wireless, doing adverts for U-No-Poo inside of ten minutes."

"And if I leave in the 'Luciuss' crack we'll be hit with a libel ssuit. Sso it'ss not good to tell the twinsss…" Charlie tried to calm down, but it took a few moments.

"You sounded so …so bad, but so good, because…if You-Know-Who really sounded like that, it'd…well, it'd be humiliating for the Death Eaters, to start. You sounded like a cross between a Parselmouth with a lisp and a Celestina Warbeck impersonator from the drag bar. It was hilarious." I raised an eyebrow.

"Precccesssicccely when have you heard a Celestina Warbeck impersssonator at the drag bar?"

"Oh, it was last week. The twins have these new Portkeys…"

And the dishy, adorable, splendid redheaded man proceeded to tell me of a new Wheezes product, a series of ostensible office supplies which, when touched with the naked skin, transported the user to a particularly seedy or disreputable location. "Fred was thinking of calling them Cubicle Carryoffs, for use on appalling office-mates, then George suggested Ministry Move-Out Gifts, for office parties and such when people get transferred or promoted without deserving it."

"Excussse to ssend one to Fudge," I lisped. "Ssscrimgeour would jusst blink and then keep frowning."

"I really should unstuck your jaw now…it's been loads longer than five minutes…"

"Pleassse!" A quick spell and I was back to my usual ineffective voice. "Another sentence and we'd have an ad campaign meets political protest meets drag show. Nothing grand ever came out of me getting hurt before."

"Well…nothing grand ever came out of me getting charred like a steak before, until you decided to show me that burn salve and then I'd say some very grand stuff happened."

"Yes. You smelled minty."

"No, I…I noticed your hands." Charlie turned the left one over and traced the lines in my palm with a fingertip. "You've got calluses from work, but they aren't rough. And…you know they're really strong, especially for a girl –meaning that in the 'female person' way, incidentally, not the 'ickle firstie' way…anyway, when you put that salve on the burns on my arms, two things happened. One, they stopped hurting, for the first time in umpteen weeks. Dragon burns hurt for longer, because the flame is breath. The moisture is still in the flame, and it boils on contact, but there's still all the elements of …well, dragon spit in the burn. Something in that stuff neutralized the aftereffects, none of those burns have so much as tingled since. And the other thing…well…let's just say, I got to like your hands." Very gently, Charlie bent and drew my fingers down his jaw. "A lot." And then, very softly, he kissed my hand.

All manner of shivers were flying up and down my spine, like owls on Christmas or Seekers on Firebolts or…it was difficult to describe. That sort of gesture's a little rare for shopkeepers and craftsmen –which I more than suspect he knew. For just a moment, it didn't matter that I had a number attached to my name, or a famous name, for that matter, or that I had calluses on my hands and pliers in my pockets. I stopped filing myself under 'girl tradesman' for just a little bit, in favor of simply 'girl.'

And then I slipped my good hand into that deliciously red hair and drew him close. After all, it's quite difficult to kiss a guy when your other shoulder's dislocated.

But he fixed that.

Later.