Rash
For once, Grace isn't the one in the hospital bed. It's not a good feeling.
"This is 'and,'" Sophia said with absolute surety. One of her hands hovered over the minuscule rune while the other rapidly flipped through her textbook.
"Nice," Grace complimented. "What about the one that comes before that? Or even after?"
Sophia glanced back at Vablatsky's notebook. Her nose wrinkled slightly. "Those seem like really advanced words."
Grace deflated. "Yeah, I was afraid that might be the case."
A third-year who had only just begun Study of Ancient Runes was certainly not Grace's first pick when it came to deciphering the mysterious journal Vablatsky had left behind. But Hogwarts was not exactly flooded with experts in runic script, so Grace had to make do with what she had.
"This one—er—" Grace glanced back at the book she had procured from one of the highest shelves in the library, "—might be 'cat'? Maybe? It's got the squiggly dash in the center, and—"
"I think that's just a smudge, actually."
"Oh," Grace said in a perfectly calm voice, and then leaned forward and let her head fall smack against the table. "Merlin's beard—this is hopeless!"
She had quite liked the idea of deciphering Vablatsky's journal in the beginning. It seemed to be a mystery that the old Divination professor had left behind specifically for her, and she was more than willing to take up the challenge. Grace had also figured it would be a good way to distract herself from Regulus.
Except it wasn't.
With every rune she and Sophia managed to piece together, Grace was inadvertently reminded of Regulus, who was taking N.E.W.T. Ancient Runes and could likely decipher the entire journal in a matter of hours. It didn't exactly help that Grace seemed to be bumping into Regulus at every possible opportunity. Merlin, she'd never realized how many classes they had together. Or how small the Great Hall could be; had the Ravenclaw and Slytherin tables always been so close to one another?
It was difficult to throw Regulus out of her mind, but Grace was nothing if not stubborn. She had Dirk and Sophia to sit with during the odd meal. And when Greengrass was in a rare agreeable mood, Grace partnered with her for class. All in all, it wasn't a perfect situation. But it was preferable to remaining friends with a Death Eater.
Grace felt a small hand pat her shoulder consolingly.
"Maybe we could show this to Professor Babbling," Sophia suggested. "I bet she could translate the whole thing instantly."
Grace propped her head up. "Absolutely not," she said immediately, grabbing onto Vablatsky's journal and tugging it closer to her. "What if this contains sensitive information?"
"Like what?"
"I dunno," Grace shrugged. "Vablatsky was, first and foremost, a Seer. She had a bunch of scrolls about students. She was probably recording visions about them. I bet this whole book—" she flipped through the pages of Vablatsky's cramped writing, "—is just a bunch of prophecies about me—which means it's me who should be reading them, not Professor Babbling."
Sophia cocked her head thoughtfully. "But if they're prophecies about you and Vablatsky never gave them to you…then maybe you shouldn't be reading them, either."
"Maybe I shouldn't," Grace agreed absently. She grabbed the book about runic script and began scanning through the glossary once more. "But I will anyway."
Sophia let out an exasperated sort of sigh. "It's just that…what if you find out something about your future that you shouldn't," she tried.
"Whatever I do or don't is still meant to be, so it'll be alright," Grace answered easily.
Sophia glanced at her, brows furrowed. "What?"
"If I wasn't meant to read them, then Vablatsky wouldn't have written them all down and put them in a place where I could have gotten them. But she did, so I was probably meant to find them eventually. And—who knows—maybe she was planning on giving them to me." Grace's lips thinned. "It's just that she never got the chance."
They fell into an abrupt silence after that. Grace's eyes skimmed over the index in her book. The runes blended into one another—bold curves into strong spirals into thick dashes and on and on. The characters swam before her eyes. Grace closed her eyes and leaned back against her chair.
Grace didn't actually know if Vablatsky meant for her to have this journal, but she certainly liked to think so. And even if she was never meant to decipher these words, she would still try. There was security in this journal. There was a concrete beginning and end to it. Vablatsky had written Grace's destiny down, and Grace only wanted to know if the ending was a good one.
"Oh, I know this one!" Sophia cried out suddenly, startling Grace.
The legs of Grace's chair teetered back as she lurched back, but she caught herself forward on the edge of the table just in time.
"What?" Grace asked wildly, craning towards Sophia. "What is it?"
"This one," Sophia said exultantly, pressing down on a rune at the top of what must have been the twentieth page of the journal. "This is the basic form of 'to see.' We learned that last week: I see, you see, we see, they see. This one is..." She leaned in closer, the tip of her nose almost brushing the page. "Well, this one is sort of weird, actually. It's the verb form—see, it's got the arrow—but it's not in verb form?"
"So a different part of speech?" Grace suggested.
"Yeah, it's written as a noun." Sophia frowned and looked up at Grace. "But then she could have just used the noun for it—like 'sight' or 'vision' or something."
"Maybe that's what she meant, but she didn't know the rune for it?" Grace glanced down at the page. "What about this one, the one after 'sight'? It looks sort of like a cross stuck to a triangle…hold on, I think I've seen that before." She grabbed her book and began flipping through the pages once more. Her finger traced rune after rune, until, finally: "Aha! Here we are…that one's 'obstacle,' I think."
"Sight obstacle," Sophia hummed quietly.
"Sight obstacle," Grace repeated, letting the words roll in her mouth. "Sight obstacle, sight obstacle…"
"Does that mean anything?"
She hefted a sigh. "No, not at all."
"Maybe I'm wrong about this one then," Sophia said, tapping at the first rune. "It could be that Vablatsky was using a different type of script, and it doesn't have anything to do with sight at all."
Grace dogeared the page so she could examine it more closely later. "No, you're probably right," she told the third-year comfortingly. "Vablatsky is likely just speaking in riddles."
"Er—you're Potter, yeah?" a new voice piped in.
Grace glanced up and spotted a first-year Hufflepuff shifting awkwardly in front of their table. He was tall and weedy. In his hands was a tightly-clutched letter.
"Yeah?" she said, eyeing him suspiciously.
"Here." He thrust the letter at her. "It's from Dumbledore."
Grace's heart stopped in its tracks. "What?" she said. "What do you mean from Dumbledore? What's it about?"
He stared at her for a long moment. "How on earth would I know?" he said at last. "Just open and it read it, gosh…"
Grace shot him a nasty glare as he sauntered off. "They keep getting cheekier and cheekier," she muttered darkly as she ripped open the letter.
Miss Potter,
Please meet me in my office at your earliest convenience. I have just received some urgent news that would be better delivered in person.
Sincerely,
Albus Dumbledore
P.S. Those Caramel Cobwebs sure are growing popular, aren't they?
"What is it?" Sophia asked curiously.
"Nothing," Grace said instantly, and began gathering her things. "It's nothing."
But it wasn't.
A terrible burst of uncertainty clawed its way through Grace's chest. There was only one explanation for this note, for calling on her out of the blue: Dumbledore had figured it out.
He knew Regulus was a Death Eater.
For about the thousandth time since she left the library, Grace thought about turning back. She thought about ripping up the letter that first-year had delivered and returning to Sophia. She thought about Obliviating herself—erasing any memory of what had transpired in the Room with Regulus that fateful day—because…well, that was what all this was about, wasn't it?
There wasn't any reason for Dumbledore to send for her. Grace wasn't doing spectacularly in her classes, but she wasn't doing terribly, either. She was making progress with her Patronus (a stub of a tail and long hind legs were all she could ever make out) and Slughorn had finally forgiven her for the exploding cauldron incident (but only after Grace managed to procure some occamy eggshells for his private storeroom). Life at Hogwarts was going as smoothly as possible for Grace, so it couldn't be anything school-related.
It had to be about Regulus. Or, more specifically, about the Death Eaters who had infiltrated Hogwarts: Rosier and Yaxley and Merlin only knew who else.
"Are you just going to pace there all day?" groaned the gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office.
Grace frowned at the statue. "What does it matter to you?"
"This job is hard enough without the backchat, you know," the gargoyle muttered under his breath.
Grace scowled at the stone figure. "Caramel Cobwebs," she bit.
The statue revealed a winding staircase. Despite every fiber of her being screaming at her to turn away, Grace took a deep breath and stepped forward. She climbed up steadily, step by step, fiercely ignoring the frantic thump of her heart, the nauseating curl of her stomach.
She had never considered this before. Well—she had, actually. She had wrestled with the idea of telling someone that there were a few Death Eaters lurking in Hogwarts, but she squashed the idea as quickly as it had arrived. How could she ever be Regulus's doom? She hoped, quite selfishly, that someone else might figure out that Yaxley and Rosier were Death Eaters and turn them in. Regulus would be safe if he didn't do anything mind-numbingly stupid.
She had refused to dwell on the idea that anyone would figure out Regulus was a Death Eater. She didn't think it was possible. After all, she hadn't figured it out herself, and there was no one on the planet who knew Regulus better than her.
"…I understand what you're saying, Albus, but the truth of the matter is that this only became an issue after Vance took on her position here," a low, reedy voice coughed out from Dumbledore's office.
Grace stopped short of the entrance, flitting by the archway. Merlin's baggy pants, she thought sourly. Why did Dumbledore book so many conflicting meetings?
"I really have no idea what to say to any of this. Whatever it is Emmeline is doing outside of Hogwarts really isn't any of my business, Harold," Dumbledore replied calmly.
Grace's brows furrowed. She stepped closer to the side of the open entrance, and peeked her head out into the open. Her brows rose as she caught sight of the tall, lean man with wispy hair opposite Dumbledore—Harold Minchum, the current Minister for Magic.
Fresh panic rooted itself deeply into Grace's chest. She tore her head away from the view and stepped to the side, back flat against the stone wall. This was a sure sign Dumbledore knew. He knew, and he had called the Minister here so they could speed along the judicial process.
"You can't really expect me to believe Vance is tailing high-ranking members of the Ministry just for the fun of it."
"High-ranking members of the Ministry?" Dumbledore repeated with mild astonishment. "You said it was Antonin Dolohov and Rawdon Avery. I'd hardly call an Unspeakable and a member of the Wizengamot high-ranking."
"High-ranking or not, they are still members of the Ministry, and I have received complaints that Vance has been approaching them in a hostile manner—"
"I don't see what this has to do with me at all," Dumbledore maintained.
"Again," the Minister sighed, "this activity only began after she became a professor here at Hogwarts. Crouch is worried she is taking some or the other directive from you."
"You can assure Crouch that I am doing no such thing. As I mentioned earlier, I am not involved with anything Emmeline does outside of Hogwarts."
A steely silence followed. At last, Minchum gave in. "Alright," he agreed.
"Wonderful." Dumbledore clapped his hands together softly. "Now, I have another meeting in a short moment, so if you don't mind—"
"Oh, that's not all, Albus," Minchum started imperiously. "There's also the matter of an uneven split between Vance's time here and at the Ministry. When you requested an Auror to oversee Defense, we were under the impression you would only need Vance once or twice a week. As it stands, she's gone nearly every workday—"
"This is a school, Harold. There's no time to be taken off. Students must be taught."
"Crouch is becoming increasingly distressed about Vance's commitment to her role. She seems to be taking more care to gallivanting around Hogwarts and trailing Ministry officials after dark than closing her assigned cases."
"Again, I fail to see how this is my responsibility."
"If necessary, we may pull Vance from her position at Hogwarts. No—I won't hear anything more on the matter, Albus. I fall into agreement with Crouch on this one. Times are tough. Now is not the time to spare Aurors."
"Do you really think so?" Dumbledore said softly. "Who but an Auror is fit to train the next generation of Aurors? If this war is to go on for as long as you think it may, then we may need these students…and they must be ready."
Another tense silence followed. Grace shifted uneasily in her hiding spot. The small crevice behind the entrance was uncomfortable to stand in for long periods of time. Her legs were bent strangely, and her arms ached from holding her position up against the wall.
"I'll speak to Crouch," the Minister said a short while later, seeming thoroughly put-out. "But don't think this is the end of our conversation."
"I'll see you soon, I gather," Dumbledore said kindly.
Grace strained her ears as she heard a faint whoosh—the telltale sign of the Floo—and she eased herself forward, waiting, preparing.
If Minchum left, then maybe Dumbledore didn't call him in for me, Grace thought rapidly. But he still might know about Regulus. And if he does, if he asks—what do I do?
"Miss Potter, you can step out now."
It was as though someone had dumped a bucket of ice water over her. Grace walked into the office, trembling. The contents of her dinner lurched dangerously in her stomach.
She sat across from Dumbledore and clasped her hands tightly together. Her thoughts were clotted with images of Regulus—the soft peek of his smile and the messy tousle of his bedraggled hair and the cloudy grey of his eyes. He had made a decision—a terrible, rotten decision—and now Grace had been called to reveal it, to condemn him for it.
She could not. She knew it instantly. She could not give him up. She could not betray him. She didn't know how.
Dumbledore's hands were steepled together. His piercingly blue eyes danced over her face. The crease between his brows dipped slightly. "Something the matter?"
"Er—no," she said, and immediately regretted the hasty quality to her voice. She willed herself to be slower, to seem softer. "Everything's fine. What did you want?"
Not Regulus. Not Regulus. Please don't ask me about Regulus.
"Your brother—"
And the panic evaporated from Grace in an instant.
"—sent a message to me from St. Mungo's—"
Another wave of alarm rolled over her. Grace shot up from her chair. "St. Mungo's?!" she cried out. "Is it about Dad? He hasn't—" Her voice collapsed into itself. The thought was too terrible to voice.
Dumbledore caught onto her line of thinking. "Your parents, as I gather, are both stable at the moment," he said, but his voice was still low and grave, and everything in Grace screamed that something wasn't quite right.
"Parents?" Grace repeated. "As in—Mum—"
"Your mother has also been admitted," he confirmed. "James has requested that, if possible, you drop by to visit."
"Yeah—I mean, yeah—" Grace's eyes flickered over to flickering flames of the Floo. She glanced back at Dumbledore. "Did he tell you what happened?"
"I've no idea."
"But they're alright now? You said they were stable." Grace's voice wavered. She did not know what she would do if Dumbledore did not agree with her. She scarcely knew how she felt in the moment. The world seemed darker, narrower. "Did James say if they were okay?"
"Your mother didn't seem too bad off," a new voice piped in. Brisk and businesslike, it came from the wall of portraits that swept around the Headmaster's office.
Grace craned her neck and saw a portly woman in a large gilded portrait wave emphatically at her. The witch had neat, shoulder-length hair and wore the sage green robes that were standard issue for all Healers. At the base of her portrait was a plaque that read Dilys Derwent.
"Er…" Grace started.
"Dilys was Headmistress of Hogwarts in the eighteenth century," Dumbledore explained. "She was also a celebrated Healer in St. Mungo's, and has a portrait there she travels to frequently. James sent me the message through her."
"Oh," Grace said faintly. Her eyes snapped to the silver-haired witch. "So Mum's okay?"
"A little green, but otherwise alright," the portrait responded honestly. "But I only saw her for a moment."
"Okay," Grace said, nodding along. Her heart was going so fast it was a miracle it hadn't burst out of her chest and ran the distance to St. Mungo's already. "So can I go, then? James said to drop by, so I can go?"
She had to go. She had to see Mum and Dad herself. She had to know what had happened, what James had been keeping from her.
Dumbledore stared at her for a long moment. Finally, with far too much solemnity than Grace cared for, he said, "You may go, of course, but first…is there anything you would like to tell me, Miss Potter? Anything at all?"
"No, professor," she said wearily, and had to force herself to keep still. "Can I go now?"
He leaned back. "By all means," he said, gesturing at the fireplace.
She stepped into mantel. Amongst the emerald green of the flickering flames, she could still make out the deep blue of Dumbledore's unwavering eyes.
She emerged in the waiting area of St. Mungo's, limbs aching, head throbbing. The whole of the hospital was a well of harsh white light, and Grace struggled to adjust to it. She had never quite liked how bright St. Mungo's was. It made her feel more vulnerable than she really was.
The thick smell of valerian wormed its way into her nose as she walked to the reception area.
"Er—hullo?" she burst as she approached the witch seated behind the desk. "Do you know where the Potters are? Euphemia and Fleamont Potter?"
The receptionist waved her wand and a scroll appeared in front of her. She searched through the length of the parchment at an agonizingly slow pain. Grace could feel the seconds tick by. Each one felt like a prick in her skin.
"Second floor, the magical bugs ward," the witch said at last. She vanished the scroll and took out a pamphlet with a map of the hospital. "If you take the staircase up, it'll be right across from—"
"I know where it is," Grace said briskly. It was opposite the chronic diseases ward, where she had spent much of her childhood.
She barreled down the length of the corridor in something of a daze, weaving between patients and Healers alike. She craned her neck now and again, trying to catch sight of a familiar head of untidy, jet-black hair. (James, she thought frantically, where are you?)
Grace spotted the edge of the magical bugs ward, and dashed forward. A flurry of Healers came out, and through the gap of bodies, right near the door of the ward, she spotted—
"Mum!" she called out when she caught a glimpse of the familiar peacock-colored robes, the gentle grey of her mother's long single braid.
The Healers moved by, and Grace saw more: there was a half-drawn, light green curtain obscuring the face, but Grace could still make out the angry red-purple rash working its way down her mother's arm, the wane, slightly green hue to her mother's skin, the tremble of her body, the hacking cough that erupted from her mouth.
Grace's heart jumped to her throat. Her chest caved in. She wanted to move, wanted to surge forward and pick her mother up and breathe fresh life into her lungs, but the moment struck her still. She was dizzied by the sight of Euphemia Potter—tall and broad-shouldered, who had never even sniffled in Grace's presence—stuck in that hospital cot, skin sallow and pale.
As the flock of Healers left, the doors to the ward thudded to a close. Grace stared at the grey doors emptily. Pinned across the front was a large sign: Dragon Pox—Stage C. Visitors must perform the Bubble-Head Charm before entering.
"No," Grace said, and the voice seemed cut off from herself. She couldn't believe the moment, that it was rolling, that this was happening. She could see the sign, but it didn't seem real. She could feel her panic—unfathomably wide and blunt—but it didn't seem right.
Yet another Healer emerged from the special section. She pushed past the doors, cast a surprised glance at Grace, and moved on. The doors closed behind her. The thud of it made Grace flinch.
A hand caught onto her shoulder, and Grace spun around violently, frenzied.
She almost thought it was Regulus, and very nearly fell into his arms. But once her gaze settled, she noticed the shoulder-length hair, the peek of a dark tattoo resting against his collarbone, the ripped Muggle band t-shirt that hung loosely from his frame.
"Whoa, calm down," Sirius said, hands up. He peered at her cautiously.
The silver of his eyes traced over Grace, and she found she couldn't quite meet the gaze. Maybe it was the guilt of that terrible secret that sat solidly in her heart: Your brother's a Death Eater. Maybe it was the unfailing resemblance Sirius shared with Regulus: the sweep of his dark brow, the hollow of his cheek, the deep grey of his eye.
Maybe it was both.
"What happened?" she said. It was supposed to be a Muggle illness. It was supposed to go away by now. "Where's James? What happened?"
Sirius looked around. "I dunno about James—he was here, last I saw. Lily might have dragged him upstairs to get something to eat. He hasn't since yesterday."
"Yesterday?" Grace echoed. "I thought Mum was just admitted. She's been here since yesterday? And no one told me?"
She wanted to be angry, but she couldn't find the energy. She stared at Sirius helplessly. They had never gotten along—not the way he did with James or she did with Regulus—but they still understood each other. He should know her anger, no matter how subtle, no matter how diluted. Perhaps not as well as Regulus, but he should still know.
"No, no," Sirius said, shaking his head. "Effie was admitted in the morning. It was Lily who was in yesterday—"
Grace started. "Lily—?" she repeated. "Lily's been admitted, too?" Her head swept from side to side with renewed vigor. "Where's James? He must be a mess—"
"She was admitted," Sirius said calmly, and Grace felt a wave of irritation rear in her. How could he be so composed? How could he stand there and speak each word so carefully? Didn't he know? Didn't he get that none of this right? That everything was collapsing at once? "It wasn't anything serious. When they got home in the morning, they found Effie unconscious in the sitting room. And that's when she was admitted."
Grace's stomach lurched at the words. "And then they realized it was the pox."
Sirius at least had the decency to look away. "Yeah…and then they realized they'd misdiagnosed Monty."
"But—" she glanced back at the doors, at the sign, "—how's Mum in there already?" Grace asked. "When she only got in this morning? How's she at the third stage?"
"She's not," Sirius said easily. "Your dad is. She was moved into the ward by request. She didn't want to be separated from him."
Grace's brows flew up. "And James just let that happen?" she demanded. "James just—fuck! She's been here for nearly a whole day! What if the pox has advanced?"
Sirius's lips pursed. "Yeah, he just let it happen—and he instructed the Healers to cast a Bubble-Head so your mum wouldn't breathe in any spores. Do you think he just wouldn't take any measures or something? Do you really think that little of him?"
"I don't know!" She didn't know what to think in the moment. "I just—where is he? Why isn't he here? Why isn't he with Mum and Dad in there?"
"I just told you! Lily's probably forcing him to eat—"
"Can't he eat here?"
"Merlin's fucking—! Are you serious right now? He's been a wreck, Grace! He needed a break. You don't know what he's been doing. You wouldn't understand."
Grace ground her teeth. That was always how it went, wasn't it? There were things to be known in the universe, but she would never understand them. She would never understand why her parents had contracted Dragon Pox. She would never understand why James had been so secretive about it all. She would never understand why Sirius could be such a dickbag. She would never understand why Regulus became a Death Eater. She would never understand anything ever, so she ought to just give up, right?
"He should be here," Grace insisted, and she hated how her throat was beginning to close in. "He told Dumbledore I should come. He was expecting me, and I'm here now—and—and he should be here!"
This was St. Mungo's. Grace had spent an unusually large amount of time here in her childhood, and it had mostly been spent alongside James. When the Healers came to drop off foul-smelling potions for her to ingest, it was James who'd turn it into a fun game. When she was confined to bed rest for the day, it was James who'd clamber into her cot with a pack of Exploding Snap.
"He should be here," Grace said again, and her voice cracked somewhere along the center of her words. Tears were slipping past the corners of her eyes.
"Merlin, Padfoot. What did you do?" an aghast voice called out.
Grace rubbed at her eyes angrily, and looked up. Remus was approaching them, a bottle of Butterbeer in each hand. Trailing behind him was Peter with his own bottle.
"Nothing!" Sirius said immediately.
Remus thrust the bottle at Sirius. "Sure looks like something," he said dryly.
Sirius shot him a glare. He sidled up next to Peter. "Only got back last night, and he thinks he knows everything," he muttered.
"I just want to know where James is," Grace told Remus.
"If he's not in there—" Remus nodded at the closed ward door, "—then Lily's likely taken him to get some food."
It was the same dead end. Grace shut her eyes, and pressed the hilt of her palms against them. This day was pure and utter shit. She wanted to wash herself of it.
"He should be here," she insisted. She couldn't do this alone.
"He is here," Remus said easily. His eyes swept over Grace. "He's in St. Mungo's, and I guarantee you'll see him soon. He just needs a moment. I don't know what Sirius said, but…your parents are alright at the moment."
Grace didn't find this believable at all.
"It's Stage C," she said hoarsely, and pointed limply at the sign.
"There are ten stages. They're not very far along. Your mother's certainly in a better state than your father. But he's hanging in there. While Dragon Pox is certainly not reversible at this point, there is a possibility that they might fight it off and pull through."
The hysteria in her calmed. "Oh."
"You should go see them," Remus said kindly. "You'll see after you talk to them. There's no reason to lose heart."
Grace turned unsurely towards the closed doors. Her chest felt as flimsy as a piece of paper. One breath seemed enough to tear her right into two.
"Alright," she agreed after a moment, and silently cast the Bubble-Head charm over herself.
She pulled open the double doors and stepped into the ward. She caught sight of Mum immediately—near the front, only partially hidden by her curtain. On the very next bed was Dad, and he was far worse along than Mum. Purple pustules dotted his arms and face, and his rash was far rougher and redder. He was coughing messily into a handkerchief.
"Hullo," Grace choked out, coming between the beds. Her heart was scrambling up her throat.
"Gracie!" Dad greeted once he had caught his breath.
"Oh, thank Merlin you've arrived," Mum said, smiling weakly. "It's been utterly dull in here. I don't know how you used to put up with these wards when you were younger."
Grace couldn't help the fond smile that flitted over her face. "James would sneak me games and snacks."
Dad snorted. "Of course he would." His voice was hoarse and rough, like his words were being shredded as they passed through his throat. The sound made the smile drop from Grace's face entirely.
"Are you alright, Dad?"
"Oh, there's no need to worry about an old codger like me," he waved off. "I'm perfectly fine. You know—I'm almost certain that potion of mine would've fixed me up in a couple more days if these Healers would have let me finish my course."
"I'm almost certain you would have poisoned yourself if you finished the course," Mum said. "Where on earth you got the idea that you could heal yourself…I've no idea…"
"All they do here is force potion after potion into our hands," Dad argued. "I could just as easily do that myself in the comfort of our home."
"Yes, if could properly brew a potion."
Dad let out a gasp. "I got an O on that N.E.W.T., Effie!"
A strange combination of wist and woe swept over Grace. Suppose Remus was wrong, and this really was it? Suppose her parents only had a few more weeks left? Grace could hardly bear the thought.
How could you do this to me? she wanted to ask, but it wasn't about her. She knew that, but she couldn't help the thought. She knew that, and knew what her parents would say: Do what to you, Gracie? Leave you? Oh, darling, you don't need us. You never have.
But she did. She needed them like flowers needed light. Nothing had changed these past few years. She would always need Mum's coddling and Dad's terrible jokes. She would even need the scolding, the reprimanding, the heavy-handed lectures about responsibility and maturity.
"Have you talked to your Healers?" Grace sniffed, feeling horribly like somehow she was in the cot and her parents at the bedside. "About the Dragon Pox? It's not bad, is it? I was talking to Remus, and—"
"You mean this?" Mum started haughtily. "Don't you worry about it. It's just a bump in the road, darling. It was bound to happen eventually. I don't know if you've noticed, but we're getting on with the years—"
"Getting on with the years?" Dad coughed out indignantly. "I won't hear it! I'm not a day over forty."
Grace let out a watery chuckle. "I'm serious," she insisted. "What did your Healer say?"
"Not much," Mum said. "To be honest, I don't like talking to him."
"Quite a downer, that one," Dad agreed.
"Ah, there he is now," Mum pointed out, eyeing a stout Healer with windswept blond hair rather darkly. "Quick, Grace, pull my curtains back round. I don't want him to catch sight of us."
"Er—okay," Grace said, doing as told. "What's he done, exactly?"
"It's just the way he talks," Mum complained. "He could put Bathilda to shame, the way he goes on and on."
From the slit in the curtains, Grace watched the Healer chat with another patient who seemed on the verge of falling asleep. The Healer had pulled out some parchments with hand-drawn figures and charts in the hopes of explaining some or the other symptom. The patient was waving him away.
"Maybe I should talk to him? He seems quite informed…"
"You can certainly try," Dad said. "But take a pillow if you do, just in case you fall asleep in the middle of the conversation."
Grace snorted. "I'll be right back," she told her parents, and stepped out of the enclave.
She strolled up to the Healer and tapped on his shoulder. He spun around in surprise and narrowed his eyes at her.
"You're part of the Potter family, aren't you?" he said.
Her brows rose. "Er—yeah—have you spoken to my brother, James?"
"Yes," he said, and seemed very regretful of that fact. "He was quite…enthusiastic."
Grace winced. "Right. Well. I just wanted to know what the prognosis is for my parents. Dad doesn't look too good—but he's talking just fine, making jokes and all that. That's surely a good sign, right?"
The Healer eyed her warily. "I'm going to tell you the same thing I told your brother: Dragon Pox doesn't go over well with the elderly. The immune system can't bounce back the way it used to. I'm sure you've heard about what happened to Abraxas Malfoy?"
It had only been a couple years ago. Abraxas Malfoy had barely touched seventy when he passed away from Dragon Pox. James had thought the news rather good.
"That's different," Grace said immediately.
The Healer raised his brows. "Different how?"
"Because these are my parents. They're not like the Malfoys. They're different. They have Dragon Pox, yeah, I know. But they'll get better. We'll do whatever it takes."
There is a possibility that they might fight it off and pull through, Remus had said. If anyone could fight of Dragon Pox, it was Grace's parents. If anyone could pull off the impossible, it was them.
From the world-weary sigh that escaped the Healer's lips, Grace could only assume that the man had received a similar speech from James not too long ago.
"Look," he sighed, "we will try our best. At the behest of your brother, we're trying a new winterbloom remedy from America…but you must come to terms with the idea that we may simply be delaying the inevitable."
Every fiber in Grace's body rebelled against the thought. She shook her head. "No, no—there's got to be a way to fix this—"
"Mr. Potter is already well past the stage to reverse the effects of Dragon Pox," the Healer cut in briskly. "We have administered some preventative measures to Mrs. Potter, but those may be in vain considering how much time she spent at her husband's bedside before his diagnosis. The plain fact of the matter is that there may not be a lot of time left."
Grace did not care about time. If they did not have time, then—fine—they did not have enough time. But they still had hope—all of it, endless, inexhaustible—and she'd be damned if she ever lost any of that.
After spending a bit more time arguing with the Healer, Sirius stepped in to entertain the Potter parents, much to Grace's chagrin. She patiently listened to Sirius make one pun about his name, and very quickly decided that her efforts would be better spent tracking down James. So, with a promise to stop by again later, Grace left the ward and traveled up to the tea shop on the top floor of the hospital. If Lily had truly taken James to get some food, this had to be where they'd gone.
And, indeed, as soon as Grace passed through the front door, she heard their voices:
"What about this one?" Lily said, pointing at a pastry in the display case that seemed to be a cross between a croissant and a cake. "It's sugar-free."
"Then what's the point?" James sighed forlornly. "Might as well stick with the tea."
"You've got to have something with the tea."
"I would, if I could get something with sugar in it," he said rather pointedly.
"You know that's not going to happen, and for good reason—" Lily's voice faltered as her green eyes met Grace's. Her mouth fell open. She reached Grace in two great strides and swept her into a hug. "I didn't think you'd get here so fast. I'm so sorry—we meant to meet you down in reception once James got some food."
Grace instantly felt guilty for squabbling with Sirius earlier over James's presence. "No, no, it's fine," she said sheepishly, patting Lily's shoulder limply. "Sirius, Remus, and Pete were there. I saw Mum and Dad, and even spoke to their Healer…so I'd say I'm caught up."
Her eyes flew over to James, who had taken a seat at the closest table. He was curled into himself, gently nursing a hot mug of tea. His leg was jittery, tapping against the floor restlessly. His eyes were rung with dark circles, and there was something heartrending in the haggard way he was glancing about the room.
Perhaps Sirius was right. Perhaps James did have a lot on his plate.
"They're all down there?" Lily asked. "Already?"
"Yeah."
Lily let out a great sigh. "I'd best head over and make sure they don't create any trouble." She cast a glance at James and leaned closer to Grace. In a whisper, she said, "Perhaps you can convince him to actually eat something."
And with nothing more than a hasty peck against James's temple and one last hug, Lily flitted away. The bell of the tea shop jingled as the door opened and closed behind her.
Grace ordered her own cup of tea by the counter, and went to sit opposite James. She cradled the hot cup in her hands.
"Hey."
He looked up briefly. "Hey," he let out, voice worn.
"Er—are you alright?" she asked.
"Oh, I'm right as rain, I am," he said sarcastically. "Never felt better."
She rolled her eyes, and leaned further back in her chair. "Sirius mentioned Lily'd been admitted last night."
James's eyes darkened. His gaze fell from Grace's. "Yeah," he mumbled. "She's fine now, though."
"What happened?"
His head snapped back up. "What?"
"What happened?" she repeated.
"Oh." He seemed alarmed by the question. "Er—well, there was just a mishap."
"A mishap," Grace repeated dryly.
"Yeah."
"With what?"
"What?"
She groaned. "A mishap with what, James? Are you being thick on purpose?"
"It was nothing, really," he waved off.
"Yeah, I'm sure," she said, completely disbelieving. "Alright, fine, then don't tell me. It's probably embarrassing or something." She watched him carefully, trying to gauge his response. "Is that it? Did Lily do something embarrassing and hurt herself?"
"You can ask her yourself later."
Grace decided to take that as a yes. She hummed contentedly to herself, and took a sip of her burning hot tea.
"You're not mad?" James asked after a moment.
"About what?"
"I meant to owl you as soon as we admitted Mum in the morning, but the Healers diagnosed her pretty much immediately. And then we had to go collect Dad from the wrong ward and move him to the right one. And I was trying to figure out how in Merlin's name this sort of thing could have even happened—"
"It's okay," Grace said quietly. "You were under a lot of stress. I'm here now, and that's all that matters."
James smiled wanly at her, and picked up his tea. He took a sip, and promptly gagged on it. "I've had enough of this," he grumbled quietly to himself, and picked up a handful of sugar packets from the center of the table. Quickly, he dumped no less than five packets into his cup, and stirred vigorously.
Grace's fingers caught onto a stray packet. She crumpled the flimsy paper between her fingers. "Have you met that Healer, by the way?" she started. "Mum's Healer? He's a real prick."
"You're telling me," James groaned instantly. He carefully tasted his new and improved cup of tea, and nodded his approval. "He kept going on and on about mortality rates—and Mum was right there! I almost hexed his nose off."
"Why didn't you?"
"Lily said it wasn't worth it to get kicked out of St. Mungo's. But Sirius managed to charm his laces together later, and he tripped into a bedpan while making rounds." James snorted at the memory.
A sudden surge of appreciation for Sirius flew through Grace. She smiled gratefully. "Can't we get her a new Healer? I feel like he's already written them off… It's not right."
"It's not," James agreed instantly. "I'll find someone new in the morning." He shifted suddenly, and leaned forward. "They'll be okay, Gracie," James said lowly, and Grace got the distinct feeling that he was convincing more than just herself. "They'll pull through. They will."
Do you promise? she wanted to say, but it would have been unfair to hold him to that, so she simply swallowed down the large lump forming in the midst of the throat and nodded.
"Okay," she agreed.
"Okay," he repeated, and smiled so brightly that, for one shining moment, Grace really did think everything was okay.
The aroma of freshly baked scones wafted through the air. The tea shop was near-empty and toasty. Grace found herself sinking into her chair.
"Everything's going so badly," she let out quietly.
"What do you mean?"
"Hogwarts."
"Oh. Er—" James drummed his fingers against the table anxiously, "—if it's boys, I can get Lily—"
She threw the empty sugar packets at him.
"Oi! What was that for?!"
"Why do you always say boys? Why can't it be something else? Why can't it be grades—?"
"But your grades are always bad, so it definitely—ow!" James yelped as Grace knocked at his shin with her foot. "Okay, okay! Merlin, it was just a joke!"
"Your jokes are rubbish," she muttered.
"Alright, then no more jokes," he promised. "What's so bad about Hogwarts now?"
How could she even begin to explain it all to James? Peeves has been unscrewing some of the chandeliers, which has been rather irritating. We've been doing Patronuses in Defense for the past month and a half, and I'm beginning to think we'll never move on. Hmm, and there was something else—oh, right, a bunch of Death Eaters have infiltrated the castle, and Regulus is one of them.
"It's nothing," she sighed. Now wasn't the time or place.
"Nothing?" James glanced at her slyly. "So it is—"
"If you say boys, I'll hex you."
James clammed up.
"So," Grace sighed, "how's your week been going? Sirius said you've been busy."
"'Course I'm busy," James said rather pompously. "I've got a full-time job and—"
She snorted. "A full-time job? You're a trainee."
"I am not just a trainee," James said, shooting her a scathing look.
"You definitely are, though?"
"Okay, yes, technically—" he said the word with an air of skepticism, as though it might not be a real word, "—I'm a trainee, by the guidelines—"
"By your paycheck, too," Grace pointed out.
"—but that doesn't mean I'm not doing my part." His chest puffed out. "I may be a trainee, but I reckon I'm doing a lot more than any Auror is doing right now. Merlin, the state of our Magical Law Enforcement Office is in shambles. I don't think they'll be the ones to end this war, if I'm being honest. It's sort of bleak to put it like this, but it seems to me like Dumbledore's Order—"
"Dumbledore's what?" Grace's brows furrowed. "What's Dumbledore doing?"
"Oh, fuck," James said faintly, wide-eyed. "Forget you heard that, will you?"
"Yeah, because that's always worked," she said sarcastically. She waited for James to offer his explanation, but instead he avoided her eyes and crammed five biscuits into his mouth at once. "Hold on—you can't just say something like that, and then not explain—"
"What did I say?" James said, and let out a high-pitched, nervous laugh. He quickly took a swig of tea. "I said something?"
"James—"
"Sometimes I just ramble. You know that, Gracie—"
"Oh, you're calling me Gracie now, too?" She raised a brow. "You're up to something."
"Up to my old tricks," he agreed, and lifted his mug. "Put a load of sugar in here. Lily'll kill me."
"James," she said again, sounding magnificently like she was five years old and whining after him. "You can't not tell me. I'll be up all night wondering about this—"
"Good. Keep wondering. You'll never know."
"And if I go around casually asking others if they know about Dumbledore and his Order…?"
"Be quiet," he hissed, leaning forward, his voice a shadow. "I swear to Merlin—if you mention this to anyone—"
"Mention what?" Grace said innocently. "I don't know what Dumbledore's Order is. It's just another set of words, as far as I'm concerned—"
"Okay, okay," James said, eyes narrowed at her. "You know—you got really annoying around fifth year. I always thought it'd go away, but no such luck."
"You know—I sometimes think you were born irritating, James. I hoped it'd wean away, but I think it's chronic." She offered a sympathetic little pat to his shoulder.
He shook her hand off. "Look—whatever I tell you, you absolutely cannot tell anyone else. I mean it, alright?"
Hazel met hazel. The lighthearted air of the moment evaporated, transformed into something more grim. Grace felt her chest grow tight. "James, you can trust me," she said honestly. "You know that."
"Yeah, yeah…it's just—" his eyes darted about near-empty tea shop, "—you can never be too careful, you know?"
"Sure." A beat passed, and then she asked with far too much enthusiasm, "So, what's happening?"
"So…at the end of last year…Dumbledore gathered me and Lily into his office." His voice was so low and quiet that Grace had to lean closer and strain her ears just to make out his words. "I thought it was just a routine Head Boy and Head Girl meeting. Maybe he wanted to talk about dusters or something. But then…he mentioned he was putting together this team, a…er—counter-group, if you will."
"Counter-group?" She mulled the word over in her head, and took a sip of her tea.
"Yeah. To fight You-Know-Who."
She spat out her tea, splattering it onto the front of James's robes. He cried out in surprise, shielding his face and rising.
"Merlin's—sodding—!" He waved his wand over him, and the dripping stains vanished. He fixed Grace with a glower. "You've always got such measured responses…always keep a cool, collected head…wonder where you get it from—"
"You're fighting against—"
"Keep your voice down!" he said, sitting back down. "Yes, I am. Merlin, I didn't think you'd react like this. I thought you'd find it wicked or something."
"Wicked?" she said flatly. "You think I'd find it wicked that my only brother's going out putting his life on the line? I—have you even told Mum and Dad?"
"Er—well…"
"Sweet Circe—you haven't. Oh, James, what've you done…?"
"I meant to," he said defensively. "But I didn't really know how to after I graduated. I mean, I had just proposed to Lily, and there were wedding plans to be made. I could hardly be expected to just say, 'Mum, Dad, I think the eggshell-colored napkins go best with the silverware. Oh, and by the way, Dumbledore's recruited me for an anti-Dark Wizard taskforce—'"
"Taskforce—?" Grace wheezed.
"Poor choice of words," James amended quickly. "It's really nothing so serious, Gracie. It's just a sort of, er, group that meets to counter Death Eater attacks and raids. I can't really tell you much more than that."
Grace stared at him for one long moment. Slowly, she shook her head. "James, you should at least tell Mum and Dad. They'd want to know about this…that you've gone and…that you're a part of the war now. Like really a part of it."
"I meant to," he said again, this time more pitifully. "But then Dad was admitted to St. Mungo's, and now Mum has, too…and it's just not a good time, not in the state they're in. I don't want to upset them. Mum'd have a heart attack. I can't—I can't tell them right now."
"I guess, but you have to…eventually." Grace's finger rounded the rim of her teacup. "I just don't understand…why?" she croaked out after a moment. "I just don't understand why you'd go and join? When you could just as easily have gone into hiding, taken Lily somewhere…why would you…?"
She didn't quite know what she was saying. The word why was seared into her mind, even though she already knew the why. Why wouldn't James do exactly this? What did she expect? For James to just sit back and let the world collapse? For him to just disappear into the background while people died, while the war went on? James would never. He would fight until the end. James, with all his Gryffindor courage and bravery and chivalry, would always do the right thing, no matter how dangerous, how reckless, how unnecessary.
He gave her a bemused sort of smile, but it didn't lift any of the aching in Grace. "Lily? Go into hiding?" He snorted. "It'd be easier for me to kiss an Erumpent."
She didn't even snicker. "James…"
He softened. "You know," James said, voice quiet, subdued. His hand—slight and golden—palmed the back of his cup. "The first time I proposed, Lily said no."
Her eyes snapped to his. "What?" she said in disbelief.
It had been a sudden, abrupt change—James dating Lily in the middle of his seventh year—but once it began, it seemed very difficult to stop. They fell into each other so easily. Grace had teased James about it back then. (Finally cracked and slipped her some Amortentia, then?) But the closer the two got over the course of the year, the clearer it became that they were made for each other. No one could match James's whiplash wit like Lily could. No one could match Lily's fiery passion like James could.
Why in Merlin's name would she have rejected James's proposal at the end of seventh year?
"She said she'd made a mistake—a big one," James said, and for reasons Grace couldn't fathom, his lips quirked into a faint, fond smile. "She said we weren't a good match for each other, that we'd fight over something small, that I still wasn't responsible enough. It was a load of bollocks, honestly."
Grace didn't know what to say. "Why are you telling me this?"
"I've got a point, I promise," James said. "Lily said yes the second time round. You know that. But she said no the first time, because she thought if I married her, I'd be in danger. Muggle-borns were already going into hiding. Lily figured it wouldn't be such a good idea, that it might paint a target on our whole family, so she tried to end it. She didn't think I'd ask for her hand as soon as I did. When she saw how serious I was—when—I dunno…"
"Oh," Grace started, falling against the back of her chair. She stared at James blankly. "She saw you were willing to die for her." And the thought of James dead—of James being kidnapped and tortured and killed for marrying a Muggle-born—must have been unconscionable to Lily. The redhead would have rather shattered her own heart than allow even the slightest possibility of that happening.
"Yeah, I suppose. I mean—" James cracked his lopsided smile, "—let's be real, though. S'not like I would ever let a Death Eater get near me without disarming them first. But I digress. The point is that eventually I was able to get Lily to see my side: we can't stop living our lives just because there are some wankers out there who disagree with us. If they hate what we're doing so much, then—fine—we'll fight them. That's why we've joined, Grace. To fight, to make the world safe, to keep out hate and keep in love…"
He went on and on about the trials of love, the risks of it, how you had to trust one another. Grace didn't think he was talking to her so much as to himself. It hardly mattered, though. She was barely listening.
Her eyes bored into the swirling golden-brown of her tea. She understood now. She knew why Regulus had shown her his Mark when he should not have, when he should have kept the secret to himself—no matter how much she goaded, no matter how much she whined.
Regulus wanted her to hate him. She did not know exactly why—if it was because he was trying to keep her out of harm's way, perhaps out of Rosier and Yaxley's sights, or because he was trying to focus on his own survival. Whatever the reason, she was sure he had meant for her to hate him that fateful night. She was sure he wanted her to leave him and never seek him out ever again. And while ignoring Grace for the rest of seventh year would have surely made her bitter and irritated, it would not have been enough for her to hate him. It would not have been enough to break that bond of loyalty. But showing her his Mark?
That had certainly done it.
She swallowed thickly, and picked up her mug. She pressed the smooth ceramic of it against her lips, guzzled down the burning liquid. It stung the back of her throat, but the searing pain wasn't enough to pull her thoughts from Regulus.
How could she have been so hasty? How could she not have realized that Regulus—with his hidden books and coded letters—would have had something up his sleeve?
She set the cup down. Her eyes flickered back up to James, and she saw, to her surprise, that Lily had arrived somewhere in the middle of his lecture about love. She hovered over his shoulder, a cross little frown perched on her lips. James, it seemed, was frantically trying to explain why he had just stuffed himself full of sugar when he was supposed to be off it.
"—it was only a few packets, Lily, I swear!"
"That's not the point, James. You start using sugar to cope with stress, and suddenly you're jittery all the time and need..."
Grace watched their bickering with growing resignation. Her chest grew tight and clustered. The light of the café was garishly bright. The air was thick and hot.
She'd really done it this time, hadn't she? She'd gone and left Regulus behind. She'd done what Sirius had done—assumed and left. Merlin…she hadn't even given him a chance to explain, and that should have been her first clue. He had just stood there and taken it all—the screaming and the crying and the leaving—without even offering up his side. And Regulus always had his version. Grace knew that. She knew that…and yet…
"Er—are you alright?"
She started when she felt a warm hand press against her shoulder. She looked up, dazed, and saw Lily's heart-shaped face peering down at her anxiously.
"Have you got a headache?" Lily asked softly.
Grace shook her head. "No—I'm just…" She locked eyes with a concerned James. She sighed deeply. "I just hate when you're right."
His brows flew up in surprise. "Oh," he said smilingly. He tilted his chair further back, balancing himself on its back legs. "Well—it was rather a good talk, wasn't it? Lily—you should have been there for it. It was poignant and—agh!"
His chair tipped back too far, and he went crashing against the floor. Grace sprung to her feet, but found Lily already fluttering over James. Her wand was out and scanning over his wrist to check if it was broken. The sight made Grace's heart ache.
"Lily…" James groaned. "The pain's too much. You'll have to go on without me…"
The redhead rolled her eyes and pocketed her wand. "Get up. Nothing's broken."
James reached out a hand. "Remember me, Lily…"
Lily laughed and swatted away his hand, and Grace found herself feeling incomprehensibly lonely. She could not help but think it was because Regulus was not there. She had seen Lily and James fawn over each other time and time again—in the Hogwarts library, in the Great Hall, in the annals of deserted hallways—but she had almost always been with Regulus. Somehow, seeing an obnoxiously in-love couple had been less irritating with him by her side. Somehow…
Grace swallowed thickly, and tried to bury the burgeoning thought by standing up abruptly. She pushed away her half-full cup of tea and headed towards the door, intending to make a few rounds through the wards. Hopefully the sight of a few grotesque injuries would ease the twisting and turning of Grace's stomach.
"Where're you off to?" James asked as she reached the door.
She swung around, and saw the duo—arm in arm—right behind her.
"I'm leaving."
"What?" James said, alarmed. "Why?"
Because her head was pounding and her heart was racing, and she wanted it to stop. Because she was in St. Mungo's but she wasn't the one sick, and there was something so dreadfully wrong about that. Because there was only one person on the planet who could even begin to fathom the tight tangle of feeling in Grace's chest, but she couldn't talk to him. Because—because—
"Because Mum and Dad are ill, and you two are acting like lovesick teenagers," she said at last, voice waspish and cross. She wasn't angry at them, not really, but she wished she was. It would have been easier, then.
James scoffed. "You can't expect us to be grim all the time. I told you—Mum and Dad will be fine. I'm sure of it. We just need to get a Healer who isn't an absolute pillock."
Grace swallowed thickly but refused to back down. "We should be more serious," she said resolutely.
Lily raised a brow. "We are. You know we are. It does us no good to be all doom and gloom." She stepped closer. "Love makes us stronger," she said firmly, and those four words were enough to make Grace's heart drop down to her feet.
She had never felt more strong or brave than when she was with Regulus. She had never felt more at ease with herself when she was with him. The past few weeks had been utterly dreadful without him. Grace had never felt so confused, so lost, so fucking alone.
If she was better with Regulus…what did that mean? What did that make them?
She stopped the thought before it could evolve. He was a Death Eater. There was a Death Eater in Hogwarts, and she still hadn't told James or Dumbledore or anyone who should know about this. She kept it to herself, hidden deep in her heart, afraid of what might happen should the truth come to light.
She did not know why Regulus did what he did, but she was sure there was a reason. And she would be damned if she saw him shipped off to Azkaban before—
Her thoughts halted right there and then.
She had never considered Azkaban—that dreadful, inescapable prison—a place that Regulus might end up. And now that the thought had wormed itself into her head, she found herself becoming queasy.
Regulus couldn't go there. He'd go insane. He'd die there. He'd—
"Oh, Merlin," Grace said faintly. How could she not have seen all this before? The more she thought on it, the more certain Regulus's future seemed to become: three grey walls, a row of metal bars, and one Dementor roaming right outside. Oh, fuck—and there was Dumbledore's so-called Order now. Suppose they got their hands on him? One jet of green light, and he'd be dead. He'd be gone.
She couldn't let that happen to him. She couldn't—
"Really, though? Are you okay?" James asked, concern flitting through him briefly. "Merlin—perhaps we ought to get you checked out, too. You're looking kind of peaky…"
"I'm fine," she protested weakly, even though she was not. Even though it seemed like her heart was ripping itself to shreds. Even though all she could seem to think about, in this moment, was Regulus spreadeagled on some cold hard surface, mouth agape, eyes empty.
Right now, she was the only person who knew, and she certainly wasn't going to tell a soul. But suppose someone else found out? Suppose Regulus—clever as he was—didn't conceal himself as well as he should have? Then, what?
"Come on," James said all of a sudden, wheeling Grace out of the café. "Healer Kane ought to be somewhere in this blasted place—"
"What?" she said, alarmed, and shook herself free of his grasp. "What are you doing?"
"You seem…out of it," Lily said honestly. "We'll just stop by Healer Kane's quickly. It might be the extra course of Clear-Head that's causing—"
"No, no—I'm fine." She peeled herself away from her brother's side and began frantically striding towards the Floo connection. "I just realized something is all."
"Realized what…? Wait!" James cried out in disbelief. "Where are you going?"
To Hogwarts. To right her wrong. To save Regulus.
A/N : I'm so glad to have finally reached this chapter, since it's a big turning point! It's called "Rash," because of the terrible rash claiming the Potter parents (sorry, folks) and also because Grace is acting extremely rash, which I hope isn't all too surprising considering her track record.
Thank you all for the faves, follows, and reviews! Please keep letting me know your thoughts :)
puppyduckster : Thank you for taking the time to leave such a thoughtful review! It really means a lot :) We will definitely be getting insight into Regulus soon.
QueenAnarchy2.0 : As always, thank you for the wonderful reviews! Looking forward to what you have to say about this one since there's quite an emotional journey taking place.