Aurora hardly felt the motions of her own body on her way to St. Mungo's Hospiral. She was only vaguely aware of herself, Flooing into Arbrus Hill, dumping off her trunk and Stella and her cage, and then spinning back through the fire grates to the hospital reception.
As soon as she entered the bright reception area, she hurried over to the desk where a young witch sat, twirling a quill between her fingers. "Excuse me," Aurora said, hating the way her voice quivered as the witch looked up, blinking slowly at her, "I'm looking for Sirius Black — I'm told he's in the Serious Curse Effects Wards."
"Sure," the witch said in a bored way, snatching a scroll from midair. Aurora tapped her fingers nervously on the edge of the desk. "I take it you're his daughter, then? Lady Aurora?"
"Yes. Yes, that's me."
"Hm." The witch's gaze flickered up to her, and then back down again, carrying with it a sense of disappointment at a lacklustre curiosity. "Saw you in the paper. Yeah, Ward Seven, Serious Curse Effects. Level four. To your left and up the stairs, then at the top go right and then another left. The healers'll help you from there." She met Aurora's eyes and gave her a sympathetic smile. "It's the short term ward. Almost all the patients get out within a couple of weeks."
"Right." That didn't help ease her nerves. In fact, the sympathy made her feel worse, like something to be pitied, like her emotional weakness was written all over her face. She supposed it probably was. "Thank you. Have — have a good day."
She fled before the witch could see more of the fear in her features, hurrying across the room and up the spiralling staircase and into the curse damage ward, the same one where she had seen Barty Crouch last Christmas. It felt a lifetime ago now, and some part of her felt maybe it was. Her father's own life could be fading, and she powerless to do anything about it.
As she made her way down the corridor, her breath began to get stuck in her throat, sobs lodging inside of her. Her dad could be dying. Could be dead already. She didn't care what the witch downstairs had said, or Madam Pomfrey or Dumbledore or anybody else; she had been here before, had felt the fear of pre-emptive grief, feeling a loved one slip away in the silence between her own breaths, everyone pretending they were fine out of pity, thinking her weak, too young to handle the truth, which would hit her even worse when she finally had to know it.
She couldn't lose him. Even though now she had the Tonkses and more friends around her, she had a family, a stable one, one that would not snap at her for crying and think her a fool for grieving too long, she just could not stand the thought of losing her father. It rooted her to the spot, and made the pain in her chest and head flare again. The world faded to a shadow and an incessant ringing in her head, voices speaking poison in her ear.
He's dying he's dying he's dying-
The reality was here; the too-clean smell of the hospital clotted in her nose, and she could feel Death at her shoulder, thriving in this place and licking his lips, delighted by all the prizes. It felt like hands wrapped around her neck and fire licking at her arms.
"Aurora?"
She reared back at the familiar voice, turning round. She hadn't even realised she was leaning against the wall, holding tight to the door handle of a nearby cupboard. The world seemed poorly adjusted in her vision, tilting and jarring, too bright white.
Kingsley Shacklebolt was approaching her warily, having just left another room. Marked number four. "It is you," he said, voice warm and even, despite a small dose of worry. "You're here to see Sirius, aren't you?"
"I — I. Yes. But I can't." The words stuck in her throat, tight webs of shame. "I can't go in there, I can't see him like that. I was just going to get some tea."
She backed away, but he followed, cautious yet calm. "That's quite understandable," he told her, offering a hand. "Frankly, I think it would do you some good to sit down for a moment first, hm? You can collect your thoughts."
Aurora accepted the offer warily, sitting down on a nearby row of uncomfortable metal seats. The nearby Healers stared at them, then looked away when she glared back.
The ringing in her head was fading slightly, replaced by hot cheeks and the penetrating feeling of nausea. "Are you going to give me a lecture?" she asked Kingsley, not looking him in the eye.
"Now, why would I do that?"
She shrugged, trying to breath well enough to get her words out. "No one has yet. I fucked up, it has to happen at some point. Dumbledore hasn't done it yet. My dad can't, even if he wanted to."
"No one's going to give you a lecture," Kingsley said. "There's no need for one."
"But I — people are dead. And I — I was useless and probably made things worse and I…" She shut her mouth. She could not admit guilt to Kingsley Shacklebolt, but the words had to escape her somehow and the only person she dared speak them to was unconscious in a hospital bed just through a door and she did not dare see him for fear of losing herself entirely.
It took a moment for Kingsley to speak. "Hestia Jones was a remarkable witch," he said slowly, "and she will be greatly missed. But she made her own choice to join the Order, and to fight at the Ministry on Friday evening. Lord MacMillan did the same."
"But I — I shouldn't have gotten other people involved and MacMillan shouldn't have known, it was my responsibility. I put the Order in danger. Like you all thought I would."
"That's the Order's job. To protect people. That includes you too, Aurora. Look at me." She didn't dare. With a small sigh, he said, "I know I'm not the one you need to hear this from. But you did what you had to, and what you should have. You saved your father's life."
"I would have let Harry Potter die for it."
The words broke out of her, quiet in the still ward, and her breath stayed caught in her throat as she squeezed her eyes shut, pretending that the world had ceased to exist, and that if she couldn't see Kingsley, then she was admitting all of this to nobody except herself, that it meant nothing, that she was not begging for forgiveness but acknowledging fact, simple as the weather.
"I'm sorry," she said breathlessly, "I don't know why I told you that."
"That's okay," he told her simply. "A lot of Aurors think similarly, when they're stressed. I know where your mind goes."
She swallowed. "You don't understand." She shook her head.
"Then help me to."
"No." Aurora stood, and the world around her spun. "I don't want to talk to you."
"That's alright," Kingsley told her, voice still measured and eerily calm. He had done this too often; either that, or he was really preparing for a lecture after all, and had rehearsed all of this. "But you may want to take a moment before you go and see Sirius. Perhaps I could fetch Auror Tonks for you?"
"No." She couldn't possibly say any of this to Dora, or Andromeda or Ted or anybody else. She wouldn't even know where to begin. "No, I'm going now." Anything to get away from this, anything to just see him and know he was alive, to speak her truth and wish for absolution.
"You should know, then," Kingsley started, "he doesn't look in a good way. It may be upsetting."
"I'm sure I can handle it," she snapped back, glaring at him, the concern in his face prickling beneath her skin. "I've done this before."
She left him with that, revelled in the shock in his eyes, and hurried down the jolting corridor, gaze focused on that door. She nearly rammed into the frame as she opened it, bypassing a startled Healer who called after her, and slammed the door, hurrying to the bed by the window where her dad lay, as still as she had ever seen him.
He didn't look quite alive. If it were not for the steady rise and fall of his chest, she would have believed him a corpse already, pale face and blue lips and gaunt, hollowed cheeks.
Her knees trembled as she forced herself to sit down at his bedside. "Dad," she started, then stopped. All of a sudden, there was nothing to say except the one wish she would beg out of him.
"I really don't want you to die," she managed to tell him in a broken whisper. "I really don't think I can do it, and it isn't fair and you — you can't die. You've been too alive to die." She reached out for his hand. "I'm so sorry. I couldn't help you, like I wanted to, I — I failed you." Tears burned and she squeezed her eyes shut in a vain attempt to keep back the tide. Don't cry, echoed that voice in her head. Now more than ever, she wished that she could stop herself. "I thought I was doing everything right. And I wasn't. I didn't know what was right. I just made it all worse and — I just really, really want you to stay alive, alright? That's all I want, I… I need you to stay alive."
She almost fooled herself into believing he held on a bit tighter to her hand.
"I promise if you wake up, I won't argue with Porter ever again. Or with you, or — I'll be the perfect, daughter. Just, let me be one."
There was a knock at the door. Aurora flinched, blinking back her tears as she called, "Yes?"
A moment later, Dora sidled into the room, clad in her usual clothes but with a large bandage around the right arm. "Wotcher, munchkin," she said tiredly, sighing as she made her way across the room. Aurora shifted on her seat, dragging another chair across for Dora to sit down in. "How's he holding up?"
"I don't know," Aurora said shortly, "it's not like he can tell me."
Dora gave a wry smile. "True enough." A pause. "I heard you're a bit banged up yourself."
"I'm conscious," she said with a shrug. "I'm fine."
Her cousin frowned at her. She knew she didn't believe her, not really. "I saw Bellatrix—"
"I'm fine," Aurora snapped.
Dora arched a cool brow, and in that moment, looked unnervingly like Andromeda. "Not buying it," she said, "but if you don't wanna talk, fine. I struggled with my first Auror mission, you know. Everything that went wrong, I blamed on myself. I was terrified to go back out into the field again after that, but I had to. And I soon realised, that mistakes happen. Injuries are part of the job description. It's a risk you take on when you join."
"So?"
"So. Your dad knew what he was getting into, and so do I, and so does everyone. And I know you're beating yourself up about it, without cause, and I know you're thinking about what you could have done differently, but that's not for you to do, Aurora. You shouldn't have been put in that position, anyway, in the first place."
"Well, I was." She stared at the floor. "I don't want this. I thought, I don't know, that I should be in the Order, to prove something, that I could. But I'm scared of it, Dora. I'm scared to lose my dad, or you, and anybody. I don't want to be a part of this. But I have to. I've no way out, and I have to fight, and not doing so feels wrong — but I don't want anyone else involved."
"That's not your decision to make, kiddo."
"I know that. I know, I'm not trying to — but it is dangerous. And my dad could die."
"He's not going to, Aurora. The Healers said—"
"I don't care what the Healers said. They could be wrong."
"They're not."
"You're just trying to make me feel better."
Dora sighed, and put her good arm around Aurora's shoulders. "He's gonna be okay. We're all going to pull through, yeah."
"Not forever. The war's started properly now, or is about to. I need to catch up, but from what I gather, Fudge is on his way out, and Scrimgeour's set to replace him. Right? An Auror in top office — that's a war Ministry if I ever saw one."
"That's as may be," Dora said, "but not everybody dies, Aurora."
"Feels like it," she whispered, pulling her knees up to her chest and burrowing into her jumper. "That's all I've heard of the first war — how many people died. And I know it's the right thing to do, I know it's the noble or brave thing or whatever you want to call it, and I know it's right. I know I don't want to just sit and do nothing, because that feels as good as fighting for the other side. But I just wish it wasn't necessary."
Dora sighed, and squeezed Aurora to her side. "I'll tell you a secret, kiddo — that's what everybody feels right now."
"Why can't things just be easy?" she asked, knowing she sounded like a petulant child and not caring, because it all just felt so unfair and for once, for the last time, she wanted to pretend that she could hold onto the edge of precarious childhood. "Why can't the world just be good?"
"Maybe it can," Dora said, holding her close. Aurora relished the warmth, the understanding that bound them now. "If the right people fight for it."
It was the same conversation she had had with Gwen, confronted the same fears. But somehow coming from Dora, it felt more possible. Dora spoke with confidence even when she was scared; she was so bright and so alive that Aurora could not comprehend the thought of the universe going against Dora's plans, of stopping her fighting.
"Can I stay with you tonight?" Aurora asked, not looking up from where she was nestling into her cousin's embrace. "I kind of told Dumbledore I wasn't coming back to school, and I don't want to be alone in Arbrus Hill with only Tippy for company." Which reminded her — Kreacher's treachery. Her chest tightened in anger, but her head was clouded; she realised she didn't even know how to go about beginning to deal with it.
"Course you can," Dora promised. "Penny'll be fine if you stay with us, or I'm sure Mum and Dad would be relieved to have you close by again."
"Thank you," Aurora said, and looked back at her father's hand in hers. "Madam Pomfrey said I have to get tested at four o'clock."
"I know. Mum's made it her mission to make sure you get there."
Of course she had. Aurora sighed, sitting up straight with a wince. "She doesn't miss anything, does she?"
"We've all been worried sick about you. Every time she had to come back to see me from Hogwarts, she was fretting more and more about you."
"Sorry," Aurora said with a wince.
Dora gave her a funny look. "Don't apologise. I've been fine. Got a badass scar and everything. And you're the baby of the family." She grinned and nudged her side gently. "And you need to be taken care of properly."
Somehow, this reassured her. A warm calm settled inside of her, and Aurora, despite the heaviness of her father's limp hand, managed to brave a smile.
A Healer came by shortly after, and Aurora and Dora were summarily ordered out of the room for half an hour, so that her father could be checked over. "Don't worry," the Healer said, "he's being perfectly well looked after. I'll give you a full briefing as soon as I'm done — so long as you sign yourself in at the desk there." She gave Aurora a pointed, scolding look that made her rather resemble Professor McGonagall.
"I'll make sure she does," Dora promised the Healer, who nodded, and gave Aurora a frustrating sympathetic smile.
"We're doing everything we can, dear. All signs point to recovery."
"Right." Aurora swallowed the tight worry in her throat. "Thanks."
She closed the door behind them, and turned to see Andromeda and Ted waiting outside, both weary and drawn. They opened their arms and welcomed both girls in, holding them close again. "Hey, honey," Andromeda said against Aurora's forehead. "You feeling better?"
"Yeah," she lied, ignoring Dora's dubious look. "Much better."
Andromeda held her back at arm's length, with an assessing gaze. "You've got to be checked out by the Healers here in a few hours. How about we get some lunch before coming back to see your dad?"
It wasn't really a question. Aurora fell into step beside Ted, who put an arm around her. "Andy's going to be fussing over you for months," he told her. "Just so you know."
They went upstairs to the hospital tearoom for lunch, which Aurora barely tasted. It was better than lying in the bed in the Hospital Wing with Madam Pomfrey watching every bite she took as if an unusual way of chewing could be a symptom, but she had the Tonkses all watching her instead now, Andromeda reminding her that she had to keep eating, and make sure that she ate enough. But she had next to no appetite. She could only think of her dad, downstairs, unmoving.
When they were done, Aurora led them back to the ward, where the Healer from earlier greeted them. Her name was Healer Laurence, apparently, and she took Aurora through all of the confusing jargon of her father's condition. The end result was that he was stable, but unconscious. There was some damage to his head, but mostly his body had just given out from exhaustion and nerve-shattering — a common result from extended torture. He would be alright, was what everyone kept saying, but Aurora simply could not allow herself to believe it.
Ted took her across the floor for four o'clock, to the general practitioners' office. There, she was to visit with one Healer Tibbins, an older witch with a kind face, who let Ted sit in with Aurora in case she was nervous. As it was, Aurora sat in a chair with her arms crossed, scowling as she tried to deny her pain even to herself.
"Healer Pomfrey was kind enough to send across her notes on your condition from Hogwarts," Tibbins said, glancing at a long scroll hovering in front of her face. "She is mostly concerned about the lingering pains in your upper body — the neck and shoulder — and the lingering curse magic she has detected around your chest. I'm here primarily to sort through the curse, see where it has spread and is concentrated, look at its linkage to the physical manifestations of your pain, and try and pinpoint other symptoms and concerns. Does that all make sense to you?" Aurora nodded slowly. "Very good. Now, I did have a couple of questions about your medical records before we start. Your notes from your school nurse are quite extensive about life-threatening situations you have found yourself in — but we could not track down anything from the ages of two until twelve. Do you recall being visited by any Healers in that time?"
Aurora blinked at her, surprised. She did not know how to answer that. "I — I don't know. I mean, there was a Healer who visited my grandmother just before she died, but that wasn't for me." She glanced at Ted, who appeared troubled. "And I think my great-grandfather — there was someone who spoke to me about developing magic, when I was about seven, and I think she was a Healer. But I never really had many problems. I didn't get sick often like a lot of children — I didn't see many other children — so there was no real need for it."
"I see." Healer Tibbins noted that down. "Very well. If you would sit up on that stool there for me, and we can get started. I'm just going to run the tip of the wand over you and try and hone in on the placement of this nasty curse. Tell me when it hurts."
Aurora obliged, shifting uncomfortably on the high-seated stool as Tibbins stood and walked around her. She felt like she were a helpless squirrel, being preyed on by a circling wolf. She shivered when Tibbins' wand alighted on her wrist, working over her light robes. When it reached her shoulder, she hissed, and Tibbins frowned, dragging the wand further down towards the centre of her chest.
"That hurts," Aurora said through gritted teeth. It felt like her heart was trying to rip out of her chest, pulsing bluntly against her ribs. "There, and there." She took in a cold, gasping breath, as the wand tip reached the bottom of her ribcage.
"Interesting," Tibbins said gently. "Hold still."
She lifted the wand up, but the pain did not fade. Next, Tibbins held the wand to Aurora's throat, and she could no longer think or breathe or see properly; she gasped and shoved herself backwards, nearly falling off the stool as blind panic set in and tugged her away.
"Whoa." Ted dived in, catching her before she could fall and the stool clatter to the ground. "You're okay, Aurora. It's safe."
"I — that—" A cold knife, wild eyes, green light. The room faded into that nightmare, and her throat closed up.
"Alright, dear," Healer Tibbins said, stepping away. "That's enough for now." She set her wand down and held her hands out. "You're alright. You're safe here. No curse will come from this wand."
"It hurt," Aurora bit out, "and she — she hurt me." Silver eyes like her grandmother's, pursed lips biting out cruel words.
"I am sorry, dear. The spell provokes the pain spots, but it should fade in a moment. I have a potion to assist with the process, but I believe I have located the source—"
"No," Aurora said, "no, I don't mean — Bellatrix. She hurt me."
Silence fell. "We know," Ted said, "that's what Dumbledore told us."
"She — she did it again. The Transmogrifian Curse."
"Yes. It is as I suspected. If you'll allow, I can locate the spot where the curse has latched on, and attempt to prevent further damage."
"She wants me dead." She squeezed her eyes shut. "It's here. It's at my neck."
"Alright," Healer Tibbins said gently. She could feel her approaching again. "Is that the main manifestation?" Aurora nodded. "I see. Perhaps there are two points… May I touch the side of your neck? With my hands, not a wand? Only if you're comfortable with it."
She hesitated a moment, trying to keep her breath even. "Yes. Alright."
Warm, soft hands touched the pulse point at the side of her neck, and Aurora felt it sharp in her throat, like the onset of a nasty cough. Cold flashed through her, like the stab of an icicle, and it was like something was draining out of her; warmth and blood and consciousness and liveliness.
"I can feel that." Like the feeling when she was about to be sick, but it was in her hroat, not her stomach, something moving and twisting, the wrong way. Something was there that should not be.
"As I suspected." Tibbins drew back. "You can open your eyes."
But she was afraid to, somehow. She had to force herself, like she was peeling her eyelids up. Tibbins took up her wand again. "May I?"
Aurora nodded, and Tibbins took the wand to her waist, down her legs, and then up again, crossing over to her wrist. It tingled everywhere it touched, and then, alighting on her right palm, it stopped. Across her body, all the pain stopped.
"A cold spot," Tibbins murmured. "Interesting." Tibbins straightened up, frowning. "I think I've drawn out what I need to."
Aurora noted, then, the spools of something like shining black thread, gathered in a vial next to the healer's wand. "I can take this away for testing and give you more information about the details of the curse's magic. Each spell, once cast, varies slightly, based on the way it is cast, the power of the caster, and the intent. Using this," she gestured to the vial, "I can work out what exactly the intended effects of the curse were — since it can have such varied effects. And I can see how those have manifested in you. Physical curses, especially those which are designed to linger, are never quite the same twice."
It was, despite the pain, rather entrancing to listen to the Healer speak. She spoke about the curse with a sort of reverence, as though it were a puzzle to be untangled, like there were layers to the magic which Aurora did not yet understand. And she wanted to understand it, too.
Healer Tibbins smiled gently. "We will get to the bottom of it. Now, I've got some pain reliefs to go over with you. Just to tide you over until we know more and can start targeting the curse itself. But I must say, it is peculiar how your body has defended you from it so far. Were there any defensive amulets of sorts involved?"
Aurora blinked. "Yes." Her hand flew to Julius. "Yes, this necklace."
Tibbins smiled. "Powerful thing, that. Do you mind?" She reached out and, when Aurora nodded, took the pendant in her hand. It hummed at the touch. "Yes, I see. That's why it was drawn to your neck, I suppose — the curse wants to target the strongest parts of you first, weakening your defenses. But it isn't made for metal."
"I can imagine."
"Let me know if you note any changes to this, too, just in case." Tibbins glanced to Ted for a moment. "Was there anything else you wanted to discuss?"
"No," Aurora said, "I don't think so."
"We'll let you know if we have any questions," Ted said, and gave Aurora an encouraging smile.
She tried to return it. When Julius fell back a against her throat, she felt him hiss at her skin.
-*
Aurora was supposed to go back to see her father after her curse test was complete. But when she and Ted got down the corridor, the sight of that door turned her stomach again. He couldbe dying. He could be dead and she wouldn't know and she would have to see it, see him, all over again.
"I need some air," she said, voice coming out in a whisper. Her head spun as she retreated, and Ted turned, agitated.
"That's okay. Here, we'll go up to the roof. Get a glass of water or cup of tea."
"No. No, I — I want to be alone." She couldn't remember the last time she had just had peace and quiet, the last time she had been able to lie and not think or worry about anything. "Please, Ted."
"You know I can't let you wander about by yourself. Not right now."
"I just need some space. Please, just give me ten minutes."
Ted worried his lip, glanced over his shoulder. "Five minutes. If I don't see you back in there, im coming looking for you, alright? No sneaking off."
"I'm not going anywhere," she bristled, looking away, "I just need to — to be on my own."
A warm hand landed on her shoulder and she resisted the urge to shove him off. "I know. It's difficult—"
"Yes," she snapped, "it is difficult."
"But we also need to keep you safe."
"Well, I don't feel safe," she said, "I feel like I'm going to walk through those doors and have the whole place collapse on me, and I — I'm going to lose my mind."
"I know, Aurora."
"No, you don't! That's my dad, and if he dies, I — I can't do it. It'll be my fault and I've already seen too many people die."
"Aurora," Ted said, taking a grip of her shoulders, "breathe. With me. In." She forced herself to inhale as he did, keeping her gaze locked with Ted. "And out." He exhaled slowly. "It's going to be alright. Take your five minutes. Breathe. Clear your head."
"I can't — there's too much! There's so much I have to do and so much I've messed up—"
"I know, alright? I know it feels like the weight of the world is on your shoulders. But you can't do everything. Breathe in with me now."
She tried to, tried to steady herself and clear her mind, but it all kept rushing in; her father, Hestia, Lord MacMillan, Leah, Pansy, Harry, Theo. The shattering of prophecies, the darkness of the Ministry, Bellatrix at her throat, wild eyes and silver knife and searing pain and the feeling of something bitter and acidic burning inside of her. "Breathe out."
She shook as she did so. "Five minutes," Ted said gently. "Clear your head."
Aurora nodded, and he squeezed her shoulder before she turned away, marching back down the ward and round the corner. There was so much to do — she couldn't bring herself to think about anything other than her father for more than a second, yet, she was no longer young and naive enough to think that the world would stop and wait for her. Fudge had to be unseated, the right person had to replace him; Pansy had to be exposed, the Malfoys and the Travers and the whole vile lot of them had to be brought down.
She found her own way to Barty Crouch's room, some way away. The Healers weren't watching. She could see it clearly now, like some sort of fog had lifted. They hadn't acted quickly to stop her entering her father's room. If she looked like she belonged there, they might let her pass without comment.
She went in before she could think better of it, in a daze. Lucius Malfoy donated to this ward. She had to see the man whose weakness had started all of this, and he was an easy target, easy to reach.
He somehow looked exactly like he had a year ago. Perfectly put together, combed and gelled hair, but somewhat haggard in appearance. She closed the door softly behind her.
He was breathing, still.
"You're alive," she said, not expecting him to respond or even react. But there was a stirring, a flex of his fingers. Aurora walked to his bedside, slowly, feeling somewhat like she was encountering a wild lion. He was asleep. He could not hurt her. "Why are you alive?"
Tere was a buzzing in her head, something telling her not to press. But this room looked like nobody had visited it in quite some time. The Healers outside hadn't even looked her way; she had barely even been able to hold the memory of it in her head from last Christmas. Something wasn't right about it.
"You should either be awake or dead. Not like this." Crouch did not respond. She did not need him to. "This isn't natural. I know it isn't. And you can't have been alive all this time! If my dad's dying then you can't be surviving, you can't!"
Crouch stirred again, and before she could stop herself, Aurora had lurched forward and torn away the threads that bound him to his bed. A scream broke through the air, as he lunged off the bed.
Aurora scrambled back, heart pummelling against her rib cage. He had a glazed look in his eye, sitting up completely straight, like a zombie, or an Inferius. But he wasn't, she was sure he wasn't. He was just trapped, in his own body, in this bed. His hand reached out like a claw, and Aurora trembled as she leaned away.
"My son," he said in a hoarse voice. "My son..."
His eyelids fluttered close. Aurora backed away towards the door. Her hand slipped as she tried to grasp a hold of the handle. "Are you — what's happened—"
"He's back," Crouch rasped, eyes rolling in his head. "He's bringing him..."
He slumped back onto the bed. His chest still rose and fell, but he went silent, and Aurora, shaken and terrified that she may have killed him again, tightened her grip on the door handle.
She needed the Healers in, needed the Ministry to hear him. She was sure, in her chest, that it was not a coincidence that the only time he had shown any signs of life, was after Malfoy's wand had been snapped and he taken to Azkaban prison.
But she did not want to admit to sneaking in. So she slipped away and ran, and only mentioned when she reached her father's ward, as she was checking in with the Healers, "Has anybody spoken to Barty Crouch recently? I heard he was still not well."
The healer she spoke to seemed to come out of something of a daze, and frowned. "That's not my department," he said, "but he's well cared for, I can assure you. He's in the..." He trailed off, frown deepening. "The Malfoy Wing."
They really had to change that name.
Aurora nodded, and hurried off to the room where her father was, hoping that nothing seemed too amiss. Nothing more than already was.