Chapter 12 - A Scratch in the Night
By the time they reached the castle, Ava's ankle was screaming with every jostled step. The pain throbbed in sharp pulses up her leg, and the events of the last hour refused to settle in her mind. Everything felt both far away and terrifyingly close. Oliver's voice, the pressure of his hands, the fear… and then the storm.
Fred carried her effortlessly, though she could feel the tension in his body with every movement. His jaw was set tight, and his eyes remained fixed ahead, barely speaking until they made it through the front doors.
He gently lowered her onto a bench near the entrance, his hands lingering at her waist a moment longer than necessary. Then, groaning dramatically, he stretched backward until a loud pop cracked from his spine.
"Merlin's beard, Ava. You're not allowed any more pumpkin pasties," Fred said, smirking as he rubbed his lower back.
She grabbed the shoe from her good foot and weakly threw it at him. He ducked with practiced ease.
George snorted and dropped onto the bench beside her. "Ignore him, Ava. He's just bitter you've got more muscle mass in your leg than he's got in his whole upper body."
"I'm going to kick you with that leg next," she muttered, crossing her arms.
"You won't," George said cheerfully. "Because I'm your favorite twin and you wouldn't dare harm this masterpiece of genetics."
"Only if you're comparing yourself to Marcus Flint," Ava shot back, managing the smallest smirk.
George clutched his chest in mock agony. "Ouch. Low blow."
Fred crouched in front of her again, the teasing fading from his expression. He gently reached for her ankle, lifting it with one hand while brushing her trouser leg up with the other. The sight made Ava wince. Her ankle was swollen and the skin was starting to bruise a sickly violet.
"Can you move it at all?" Fred asked.
Ava shook her head. "Not unless you want me to scream in your face."
He frowned. "Alright. I'm going to rotate it slightly, just to see–"
She didn't let him finish. The second he twisted, she let out a yelp and slammed a hand over her mouth. "Merlin's–Fred–don't–!"
"Careful, mate," Lee said, eyeing the swollen foot. "That's an ankle, not a pumpkin."
Fred shot him a look. "You want to fix it?"
Lee considered. "Hmm. No. I'm more of a moral support type."
George rested his elbow on her shoulder. "Honestly, Ava, if you wanted this much attention from the three most charming blokes in school, all you had to do was ask."
She groaned. "Merlin, just drop me in the lake next time. Less painful."
Lee smirked. "We considered it. But Fred here insisted on the whole knight-in-shining-sweater routine."
Fred muttered under his breath as he stood up. "I'm getting Madam Pomfrey."
"Tell her we need a glamour charm too," George called after him. "Preferably one that hides bruised egos."
Fred flipped him off over his shoulder.
Ava leaned back against the stone wall, letting out a long sigh. Her ankle throbbed, her sweater itched, and her nerves still buzzed from the adrenaline. George and Lee filled the silence with banter, something about whether a hippogriff or a manticore would make a better Quidditch Keeper, and for a second, she was grateful for their noise.
After a while Fred returned, trailed by Madam Pomfrey and carrying a warm blanket. He dropped to a crouch in front of Ava again, carefully draping it over her shoulder.
"I brought the cavalry," he said quietly.
Madam Pomfrey bustled in with a diagnostic charm already glowing at the tip of her wand. "Sprained, mildly twisted. Nothing too serious," she confirmed. "Let's get you off this stone floor before you catch your death."
But before she could lift her wand to summon a stretcher, the doors banged open once more, this time with the unmistakable voice of Angelina Johnson.
"Ava?!"
Ava blinked as her cousin appeared in a flurry of robes and righteous panic, her eyes scanning the scene.
"I heard something happened. Fred said you hurt her ankle but he didn't say you looked like you got dragged through the Forbidden Forest!"
Lee held up his hands. "She did fine until the part where she dove into a tree."
George whispered to him, "Should've told her Ava wrestled a troll."
Angelina glared at both of them before kneeling beside Ava. "Are you okay? What happened?"
"I'll tell you later," Ava said, her voice quiet. "It was… a lot."
Angelina studied her for a beat, then reached out and squeezed her hand. "Just get some rest. I'll go to your room and get you some clothes and meet you back at the hospital wing."
George smiled faintly. "Wow. You get tender when you're worried."
Angelina straightened and shot him a look. "Don't make me show you what worried and angry looks like."
Lee snorted.
Madam Pomfrey floated a hovering stretcher over and gestured for Ava to lie down. Fred stepped forward immediately, helping her shift carefully into place. His hands were steady and warm as they supported her back. She winced when her ankle bumped the edge, but he instinctively tightened his grip, grounding her.
"Thanks," she murmured.
He didn't reply. Just looked at her for a long, unreadable moment, then reached down and tugged the blanket more snugly around her shoulders.
George leaned over the edge of the stretcher with a grin that spelled trouble. "Well, would you look at that," he said, tone dripping with mischief. "About time someone made a move."
"Piss off," Fred muttered under his breath.
"What was that?" Madam Pomfrey asked, arching a brow as she adjusted the blanket at Ava's feet.
Fred cleared his throat quickly. "I said–er–'bless cough.' I think I'm catching something."
George snorted, barely containing his laughter.
"I'm sure you are," Madam Pomfrey said dryly but moved on. As Madam Pomfrey began guiding the stretcher toward the hospital wing, Ava caught Fred's eye one last time over her shoulder.
He hesitated.
Then, without a word, he stepped into pace beside her and the matron, one hand still lightly on the edge of the stretcher as if to make sure she didn't float too far away.
As they disappeared up the corridor toward the hospital wing, the grand oak doors creaked open again this time not with a gust of wind, but with the heavy, wet squelch of soggy boots on stone.
Oliver Wood staggered through the castle entrance, soaked from head to toe. Kelp clung to his robes and hair like he'd been strangled by a pond, and water dripped in a pathetic trail behind him with every step. His face was pale, his expression dark and most damning of all, one eye was starting to bruise.
The few students milling about froze, gaping.
Angelina turned at the sound. "What the hell happened to you?"
Oliver muttered something under his breath, eyes avoiding everyone as he marched past them, squelching with every angry stride.
Lee let out a long, low whistle. "That is not the walk of someone who had a good date."
George, still holding Ava's candy bag, reached in and popped another piece of fudge into his mouth. "Y'know," he said around it, "I heard Honeydukes has a new aquatic blend. Saltwater taffy with a hint of ego bruising."
Lee snorted. "Mate looks like he got punted by the lake itself."
Angelina narrowed her eyes as she watched Oliver disappear up the stairs, dripping a trail of lake water in his wake. "Alright. I definitely want that story. What did I miss?"
George and Lee exchanged a quick look, the kind that meant they absolutely knew what had happened and absolutely weren't going to say just yet.
"I'm sure it'll come up at dinner," George said innocently, licking fudge off his fingers.
Lee nodded. "Yeah. Probably float right to the surface."
Angelina groaned. "I hate you both."
The hospital wing smelled faintly of antiseptic and honeysuckle, the latter most likely an enchanted diffuser Madame Pomfrey used to make things feel less sterile. Ava lay back on the bed, her ankle propped on a cushion and wrapped tightly in a bandage that shimmered slightly and was spelled to reduce swelling. She'd been there just under an hour, but her body was already starting to ache in places she hadn't realized she'd bruised.
When Pomfrey had examined her injury, she clucked her tongue and muttered, "Completely ruptured–not just a sprain, dear. You'll need at least two days off your feet. Might want to get comfortable."
Ava had nodded mutely, exhausted and still reeling from the incident in the clearing. The sweetness of Honeydukes had long since turned to bile in her stomach. At least Fred hadn't mentioned Oliver or what had really happened. Pomfrey had accepted the explanation that she tripped on a root in the forest, and was currently fussing over another student two beds down with magical chickenpox.
The ward was quiet, dimly lit by floating candles that cast long shadows across the arched ceiling. Fred had left once Angelina came by with a change of clothes and she left when it was time for dinner. Ava had begun to drift, somewhere between sleep and haze when the hospital doors slammed open with a bang.
"Everyone remain in your beds!" Madam Pomfrey's voice rang out, sharp with urgency.
Ava startled upright, heart racing. "What is it, Madam Pomfrey–?"
"Silence!" Pomfrey snapped, her eyes scanning the room with a militaristic focus. "Stay in your beds. If you see anything. Anything strange send up red sparks and shield yourself. Understood?"
She didn't wait for replies before disappearing through the double doors again, her dress billowing behind her.
Ava sat frozen for a beat, then looked around. Three other students were in the wing. One, a first-year Hufflepuff girl with bright red measles spots, had pulled the blankets completely over her head. The boy across the room, maybe sixth or seventh year, had a bandaged arm in a sling and was now wide awake, staring at the door with an intense frown.
"What's going on?" Ava asked, her voice hushed. "Do you know?"
The Hufflepuff girl gave a pitiful whimper from under her quilt, but the older boy answered.
"He's here," he muttered, shifting to sit up straighter. "Sirius Black. Someone saw him. They said he was spotted near Gryffindor Tower."
Ava's blood ran cold. "Here? Inside Hogwarts?"
The boy nodded grimly. "Some second-years were screaming in the corridor… I think he tried to get in through the portrait hole. Nearly tore the Fat Lady in half."
Ava's heart pounded. "But how did he even get in?"
"No one knows." He rubbed the back of his neck. "Probably magic, yeah? Everyone says he's unhinged, but he's not stupid. If he got into the castle, he wants something. Or someone."
Ava's thoughts immediately jumped to Harry Potter.
She didn't know him well. He was a year younger and rarely in the common room when she was. But still… her father had told her stories. About Black. About the night Lily and James Potter died. How Sirius had killed all those Muggles in broad daylight. If he was after Harry…
A sudden noise snapped her back as the doors burst open again.
Professor Lupin strode into the wing, his expression grim, eyes scanning the room. "Is everyone alright?" he asked, voice low but urgent.
Ava raised a hand. "We're okay, Professor. He hasn't come here."
Lupin nodded, visibly relieved. "Good. There are Dementors stationed outside the corridor now. No one is to leave this wing until further notice."
His gaze settled on Ava. "I'll be staying nearby. Just in case."
Ava nodded, trying to catch her breath. "Thank you, Professor."
Before she could say more, the doors flew open yet again, this time accompanied by the furious shout of a voice she knew all too well.
The doors slammed open with a thunderous crack, and a voice like rolling thunder echoed through the hospital wing.
"What the hell is going on here?! Hogwarts is supposed to be the safest school in Britain, and you let Sirius Black waltz onto the grounds?!"
Her father.
Anthony Johnson stormed into the room, tall and imposing, his dark robes billowing behind him like a cloak of fury. The overhead candlelight caught the silvering edges of his close-cropped hair and glinted off the deep lines etched into his brow. His presence alone seemed to draw all the air out of the space. It was sharp and commanding. The quiet, simmering rage of someone used to control and rarely denied it.
Behind him, Professor McGonagall followed in his wake, her expression tight with exasperation and alarm. "Mr. Johnson, please–"
But Anthony was already striding toward Ava's bed, his rich baritone reverberating across the ward. His dark brown eyes, usually reserved and cool, were blazing now and scanning her, noting her bandaged foot, the state of the room, and the presence of others.
Then his gaze landed on Professor Lupin.
And everything changed. The fury didn't fade but instead shifted. Hardened.
"What is he doing here?" His voice was quieter now, but somehow more dangerous.
Lupin's posture remained steady, but Ava could see the way his hands curled slightly at his sides, the tension in his shoulders.
Ava blinked, still trying to catch up. "What–?"
Professor McGonagall turned sharply toward Anthony, brows knitting. "Mr. Johnson, I don't understand–"
But he was already advancing, his voice sharp and unforgiving. "What is Remus Lupin doing here?"
The name dropped like a curse, and the air in the hospital wing went still.
Lupin didn't flinch, but he straightened, the tired softness in his expression giving way to something guarded. The two men stared at each other, not with the awkwardness of strangers, but the weight of unfinished history. Old, heavy, and unresolved.
Ava looked between them, stunned. "You… know each other?"
Neither answered.
And then, quietly but with quiet finality, another voice cut through the tension.
"He's the new Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
Professor Dumbledore had entered the wing, his presence calm but commanding, the subtle lines around his eyes crinkling as he surveyed the room. His tone was mild, but it left no room for argument.
"I believe we have some things to discuss in private, Mr. Johnson," he continued. "If you'll follow me."
Anthony didn't move at first. His gaze remained fixed on Lupin. Cold. Unforgiving. Then, finally, he turned his attention to Ava.
Just for a second.
And he didn't say a word.
No 'Are you alright?' No 'I'm glad you're safe'. Nor a 'I was worried'.
Nothing. He hadn't even looked her over. Hadn't even acknowledged the fact that she was in the hospital wing with a leg wrapped in magical gauze. And yet, somehow, Ava wasn't surprised. It still hurt but it was a sharp, familiar kind of ache that didn't shock her. Not really.
Then, without a word, he turned and followed Dumbledore out of the room. The door clicked shut behind them.
Ava turned to Lupin, her throat tight. "Professor… what was that? Why did he–?"
But Lupin was already retreating toward the doors. He paused only once, glancing back at her with eyes that looked… haunted. "I'm sorry, Ava," he said quietly. "We'll talk soon." Then he was gone too.
The silence that followed wasn't empty. It was heavy and suffocating. The tension from the adults had left a residue in the room that no one seemed quite sure how to clear. Thankfully it wasn't long before someone broke it.
"Well," said the Ravenclaw boy across from her, the one with the arm in a sling. "That wasn't awkward at all."
A Hufflepuff girl a few beds down whispered to the first-year beside her, "Was that her dad? He didn't even say hi to her…"
The first-year gave Ava a wide-eyed look and ducked under her covers.
"Think they're gonna duel?" the Ravenclaw boy added with a grin. "Because that definitely felt like someone was about to duel."
Ava ignored them.
She leaned back against the pillow, her ankle throbbing under the enchanted wrappings, and stared up at the ceiling. Her father's face, cold and unreadable, flashed through her mind again.
He hadn't even asked if she was okay. But then again… he never did.
Something was happening. Something beyond Sirius Black or even tonight. She could feel it. Whatever history her father had with Professor Lupin… it was more than a disagreement.
And somehow, she was in the center of it.
