Chapter 12: Fractured and healing
The faint hum of magic greeted Ava as she drifted toward consciousness. It was subtle, the kind of sound that seeped into the edges of awareness—like water over smooth stones. She inhaled, the air tinged faintly with healing herbs and antiseptics, before her heavy eyelids fluttered open.
The light was soft. St. Mungo's.
Ava blinked slowly, her limbs heavy against the crisp white sheets. The room was sterile, lit with gentle golden spells that kept the shadows at bay. She shifted slightly, wincing as a dull ache flared up along her side, a searing reminder of where the Prism's final surge of magic had struck her.
"Ah, good," a calm voice called gently from the doorway. Ava turned her head just enough to see a healer—a tall, stern-faced woman with kind eyes—glide into the room. "You're awake, Professor Blackthorn. That's progress."
"How long have I been here?" Ava's voice was hoarse, as though it hadn't been used in days.
"Three days," the healer said, examining her with a faint smile. "You were quite the stubborn patient, from what I hear. Magical exhaustion, lacerations from the energy backlash, and significant depletion of your magical core. You've pushed yourself well beyond your limits, but the good news is that you'll recover—with time."
Ava nodded faintly, absorbing the words. Three days. It didn't surprise her, though it unsettled her that she had been so vulnerable for so long.
"You'll need rest—actual rest," the healer continued, stern but not unkind. "No spellwork. No alchemical experiments. Let your body and magic recover naturally. And don't even think about leaving your bed for at least another day."
Ava let out a slow breath. "Understood."
When the healer finally left, the room fell back into silence. Ava stared at the ceiling, her thoughts pulling her back to the artifact.
The Aetherial Prism.
Even in memory, the power of it lingered. The whispers. The pull. For days it had gnawed at the edges of her sanity, tempting her, testing her. It wasn't just the magic she had fought—it was herself. Her bloodline, her past.
Her eyes trailed to her hand, where faint silvery scars now traced her palm, a mark left by the surge of power that had nearly overwhelmed her. She clenched her fist slowly, feeling the rawness in her joints.
"You will not control me." She had won, but she felt the cost of it in her very bones.
And yet, amid the weight of everything she'd endured, a voice flickered in her mind, cutting through the darkness. "Come back in one piece."
Juniper.
The memory of her words—the concern in her eyes, the kiss at the station—unsettled Ava more than the Prism's whispers ever had. She didn't know why she had clung to Juniper's voice in that moment of weakness, but that was what had saved her.
Later that afternoon, the soft knock of boots against the stone floor interrupted the quiet. Ava glanced toward the doorway as a tall, stately man entered the room. He wore deep green robes embroidered with the Ministry of Magic's insignia, and his sharp gaze carried both authority and warmth.
"Professor Blackthorn," he greeted, his voice low but clear. "I hope I'm not intruding."
Ava sat up slightly, wincing at the ache in her side. "Minister," she said, inclining her head. "This is… unexpected."
The Minister of Magic smiled faintly, pulling a chair beside her bed. "Unexpected, perhaps, but warranted. I wanted to thank you personally for what you've done." He gestured vaguely to her bandaged arm and the faint scars on her palm. "The Aetherial Prism is no small matter, and you've accomplished something most of us wouldn't have dared to attempt."
Ava's gaze dropped slightly. "I only did what was necessary."
"And you succeeded," the Minister said firmly. "The Headmaster spoke very highly of your capabilities, and I see now that he wasn't wrong. Your expertise and your courage ensured that no further harm came from the Prism."
Ava nodded faintly, unsure how to respond.
The Minister leaned forward slightly, his tone softening. "Your work hasn't gone unnoticed, Professor Blackthorn. In fact, I'd like to offer you a position at the Ministry of Magic, in the Department of Mysteries. We could use someone of your skill and composure there."
Ava's brow furrowed slightly, surprise flickering across her face. She was quiet for a moment before shaking her head gently. "I'm honored by the offer, Minister, but I already have a job at Hogwarts—an important one. My role isn't just to teach Alchemy; it's to guide the next generation of witches and wizards who will surpass me in this field. That's where I'm needed."
The Minister regarded her thoughtfully, then nodded, a faint smile tugging at his lips. "A noble sentiment, and one I respect. Hogwarts is lucky to have you."
Ava inclined her head again, her voice firm. "Thank you, Minister."
He rose from the chair, his robes sweeping lightly against the floor. "Rest well, Professor. You've earned it."
The next morning, Ava had just finished breakfast when she heard the faint shuffle of the door opening, and without so much as a knock, and Esme Alderwood breezed in, her usual air of mischief intact.
"Well, look who's awake," Esme said, a sly smile playing on her lips as she carried a small potted plant in one arm and a book tucked under the other. "You don't look half as bad as I was expecting. Only, what? Slightly mauled by an angry Hippogriff?"
Ava raised an eyebrow, her voice dry. "I'll take that as a compliment."
Esme grinned, setting the plant on the bedside table—a cheerful thing with glowing leaves that pulsed faintly in rhythm with the room's light. She dropped into the chair beside Ava's bed, crossing one leg over the other with practiced ease. "Honestly, though, you look like someone dragged you through three rounds with a Hungarian Horntail and then politely left you here to recover. But I hear that's what happens when you decide to go toe-to-toe with ancient alchemical artifacts."
Ava's lips twitched faintly. "I wouldn't recommend it."
"Good to know," Esme said lightly, though her gaze softened as she took in Ava's pale complexion and bandaged arm. "How are you really feeling?"
"Like I've been actually mauled by a Hippogriff," Ava admitted, her tone deadpan.
Esme chuckled, leaning back in the chair. "Well, the Ministry thinks you're something of a hero, you know. Rumor has it you put quite a few Unspeakables to shame."
Ava's gaze dropped to the blanket covering her, her expression unreadable. "I wouldn't call it heroism."
"Of course you wouldn't," Esme teased, though there was a note of sincerity in her voice. She tilted her head, watching Ava carefully. "So, what really happened?"
Ava hesitated, her jaw tightening. "I'd rather not talk about it."
Esme held up her hands in mock surrender. "Fair enough. But you know where to find me when you're ready."
Ava glanced at her, the corners of her mouth softening just slightly. "Thank you."
Esme smirked, leaning forward with a dramatic sigh. "Well, someone has to make sure you don't brood yourself into an early grave. And speaking of brooding…" She shot Ava a sly grin. "I've been keeping an eye on Juniper for you."
Ava's brow furrowed slightly, though her heart gave a small, unsteady thud. "Why would you do that?"
"Because she's been a proper mess since you left," Esme said, her tone casual but not unkind. "Hovering like a worried owl, badgering Stonemire for updates every time she sees him. Honestly, it's been quite entertaining to watch."
Ava didn't respond, but Esme caught the faint flicker in her expression—the way her lips tightened and her eyes softened, almost imperceptibly. Esme smirked knowingly but decided not to press the matter further.
Instead, she placed the book she'd brought on Ava's bedside table. "Something to distract you while you recover. Merlin knows you'll be climbing the walls with boredom by tomorrow." She got up from her chair, brushing imaginary dust off her robes. "Now rest. You look like you might faint from the effort of rolling your eyes at me."
Ava let out a soft, humorless huff, and as Esme left, the room felt a little lighter.
That evening, after the healers had checked on her again and the room had fallen silent, Ava sifted through a small bundle of letters brought to her by a nurse.
One was from Headmaster Stonemire—brief but encouraging. Another was from a few Slytherin students, who had sent her chocolates with notes wishing her a swift recovery. And then there was Juniper's letter.
Ava unfolded it carefully, her eyes tracing the neat, hurried handwriting.
"Ava, I don't know if you'll get this right away, but I hope you're awake and feeling better.
I don't know the details of what happened, and I won't ask—though knowing you, I'm sure it was something ridiculously heroic. The castle feels different without you here. The students have noticed too—they keep asking when you'll be back.
Please take care of yourself. And don't you dare think of rushing back before you're ready. Hogwarts will wait for you. I will wait for you.
—Juniper"
Ava's fingers lingered on the paper, her chest tightening unexpectedly. I will wait for you. She folded the letter carefully, tucking it inside her journal. The words settled into her like a weight—but not an unpleasant one.
For the first time in days, Ava allowed herself a faint smile.
As the lanterns dimmed in her hospital room, Ava stared quietly out the window, where the city of London shimmered in the darkness. She reached up to touch the faint scars on her palm, the reminder of what she had endured. But her mind wasn't on the Prism now—it was on Hogwarts. On the life she had begun to carve for herself there. On Juniper's voice lingering in her thoughts.
She exhaled slowly, steadying herself. I kept my promisse, she thought, the quiet determination settling into her bones. I'll come back in one piece.