Chapter Three
-Overlooked-
Come to me now
Lay you hands over me
Even it it's a lie
Say it will be all right
And I shall believe
It was the worst battle she'd ever seen; curses flying every which way, bodies strewn about the courtyard of 12 Grimmauld Place. Those of the Order who weren't knocked unconscious or dead were locked in battle with Death Eaters who seemed more numerous than ever before. Everyone was fighting. Everyone was in danger. Everyone was doing something about it.
Everyone but her.
She'd been hit with a flesh-wounding curse earlier which had not stopped bleeding. Bill had scooped her up quickly and carried her behind the statue. "Don't move," he'd instructed gravely.
"I'm fine!" she'd promised.
"Don't move," Bill had repeated, not looking at her dirty face, only concentrating on wrapping her arms in bandages which were bled through within moments. "I'll come back," he promised as someone called for him. "Be here when I come back."
"Bill-,"
"Damn it, Ginny. Stay here." Without another word, her oldest brother had gotten to his feet and returned to the war.
That's what this was, she realized, this was war. What she'd only read about and heard about. War-where you could lose your friends or your brothers or your…Harry Potter without even realizing they were gone until the smoke cleared. War-where every single moment was life and death and if you stopped and thought about it for a moment too long you'd be the latter.
Her brown eyes scanned the terrible scene before her. Everyone was fighting. Everyone. Ron and Crabbe, Hermione and Dolohov, Fred and George were back to back in a circle of Death Eaters. Ginny's heart winced-she should be there. She should be out there fighting with everyone else. She should be helping Harry, whom she'd last seen locked in combat with both Malfoys. She searched the courtyard again-Harry, where was Harry now?
She found him in the thick of things, pushing Ron out of the line of a bright green beam of light from Crabbe. They got up quickly, unscathed; Ron went right to aid Bill and Tonks, and Harry, inside the house where her brother had pointed just before they'd parted ways. She'd seen the strange look pass between the two of them-the way Ron had held Harry's shoulder just a moment longer. Something heavy dropped in her stomach-Voldemort couldn't be here, could he? He couldn't have found out about his last Horcrux so quickly. As Ginny watched Harry race up the back steps, she knew. This was it-this was what he'd been born to do.
He must have taken care of Malfoy then. Her eyes darted back to the corner in which she'd seen them fighting before; to her surprise, Lucius Malfoy lay on the ground, face up, white blonde hair fanning out around him. In an instant, she knew he was dead. The surprise came seconds later, when she noticed a huddled lump beside the fallen Death Eater. Draco-his knees pulled up to his chest, white blonde head tilted into himself, shaking uncontrollably.
Something inside her snapped. What right did he have to fall to pieces like that? Didn't he know what had happened to Percy only a day before? Didn't he know that she wanted to curl into a ball and cry and dissolve into nothing too? But she kept fighting-everyone kept fighting. No one was allowed to let their guard down. Death Eater or Phoenix, no one got to take a time-out for grief.
"Sorry, Billy," she muttered under her breath. Ignoring her blood-soaked bandages and the shooting pain that accompanied the curse, Ginny got to her feet and, darting behind statues and pillars, raced to the opposite side of the courtyard.
"Get up," she demanded, pointing her wand at Draco. As close as she was, she could hear him crying, sobbing into his arms.
"Leave me."
"Get up." Ginny moved closer so that her wand was touching his forehead.
"Why?" Draco raised his tear-streaked face. "So you can kill me?"
"So you can try to kill me!" She was being ridiculous, but this side of Malfoy scared her more than his violent side. "You're a Malfoy, god-damnit! I'm a Weasley! You hate me! I hate you! We're in a war-you've got to do something!"
"Why?"
"Because you have to! Curse me! Insult me! Kill me, I don't care! Just get the fuck up!" Her rage boiling, Ginny pulled her leg back and kicked him hard in the ribs. He barely reacted. "You want it to end like this? Huh? Do you? Do you want to die, crying in the corner like the spoiled little bitch you are? Get up and fight." Nothing was penetrating; she kicked him again. "You've got the war you always wanted, what you were preparing for your whole life-go fight in it!"
"I never wanted anything."
Her eyes fell to the corpse of Lucius Malfoy. "You wanted him to love you," she began cruelly, "You wanted him to be proud of you. Didn't you?" No response. "How proud do you think he'd be if he knew you were just going to give up like this?" Frustrated, and feeling as though she were running out of time and ideas, Ginny kicked him a third time, feeling something break in her shoe and pain shoot through her foot. "You're Draco Malfoy, god-damnit. You're the meanest boy in Hogwarts history. You've made me cry more times than I can remember, you're the biggest pain in the ass I've ever met. You're just going to let this get to you? You're just going to die?"
He looked expressionlessly at her, tears still pouring from his silver eyes. "Make it quick."
"If I were going to kill you, Malfoy, it wouldn't be quick," she snarled, "Now get up."
And something amazing happened. He did. His eyes, which moments before had been empty and hollow, suddenly grew wide as he got to his feet and shoved her to the ground. Preparing herself for a curse, Ginny pushed back up to find herself witness to a very strange sight.
Draco and Goyle, wands drawn on one another, one staring menacingly at the other. "She's a blood traitor, Malfoy," Goyle growled.
"You leave her for me," Malfoy snarled back. "I'll take care of her."
"Why not do it when you had the chance then?" his friend asked, circling him dangerously.
"You have other things to worry about, Goyle."
"I think I'll worry about the Weasel right now if you don't mind," he pointed his wand at Ginny, "AVADA-,"
"PETRIFICOUS TOTALUS!"
Before Ginny had a chance to blink, Goyle grew stiff and rigid, he dropped to the ground like a rock. Shocked, she looked at her own wand, wondering if she'd cast the spell on impulse. She hadn't. Her eyes rose to Draco who was looking just as surprised as she. "Did you..?"
"Yeah, I think so."
"And he was…?"
"Probably."
"Why did you…?"
"No idea."
Without another word, Draco Disapparated, leaving Ginny breathless and confused, her arms still bleeding, though not as profusely. All around her, it had gotten incredibly loud. Though the noise she was hearing wasn't what had been so deafening moments ago, curses and hexes, explosions and shrieks of pain. This was different-there was silence. Deafening silence.
She looked around, heart pounding, astonished to see that those who were standing were those she knew. Those she loved. Everything seemed to be happening in slow motion; Bill was hugging Fleur tightly, Kingsley Shacklebolt and Moody shook hands, wagging their heads in disbelief, Tonks and Lupin were also embracing, Fred, George, and Ron were grinning at one another like idiots. Hermione, a hand to her chest, slid down the side of the stone wall, tears falling freely down her cheeks-her cinnamon eyes trained on one figure emerging from the shadows of the stone stairwell.
Harry looked exhausted. He was dirty and winced with every step-his scar had split open and the blood was dripping onto his glasses. But he was alive. And if he was alive, that could only mean that Voldemort was dead.
Ginny sat up in bed, nearly cracking her forehead open on the low beam which hung down. She put a hand to her racing heart and took a deep breath; her clock told her it was the middle of the night. Sliding into her slippers, Ginny grabbed her robe and went down to the kitchen where she quickly brewed a pot of tea.
Sipping her chamomile cautiously, Ginny perched on the window seat and stared blankly into the woods behind the Burrow. She'd been dreaming about the last battle for months now-never sure if it was a nightmare or a memory until she woke up. The scars on her arms promised that it was a memory, a very real memory which had happened exactly as she dreamt it, down the toe she'd broken on Malfoy's ribs.
Malfoy, who was suddenly an annoyingly present figure in her life.
Who told her she was pretty and came to visit her at work, though it may not appear that way.
Whom she'd found occupying her thoughts more and more lately since his name had been cleared by the Ministry.
A gnome ran across the garden and distracted her thoughts. She remembered suddenly what day it was and what she had to do in the morning. Draining her tea quickly, Ginny Apparated back to her room and got into bed, pushing all thoughts from her head.
***
Harry hated waiting. He'd always hated waiting. And waiting seemed to be all he'd been doing in the last two days. The Healers at St. Mungo's had been administering every test imaginable to Hermione and they'd all come back inconclusive. Virtually, it appeared, there was nothing wrong with his best friend, but for the crippling headaches she was experiencing and a memory that grew weaker with each passing day.
She'd been sleeping for most of the day when he walked in. A nurse had informed him that she'd only just woken up from the potion and would need a few moments to readjust. Harry opened the door to find her sitting up in bed, looking sleepy and pale, but otherwise fine.
She smiled when saw him, "The-Boy-Who-Never-Learned-to-Brush-His-Hair."
Harry laughed and impulsively tried patting down his unruly locks. "How're you feeling?" he asked, pulling up the chair next to her bed.
Hermione yawned, "Tired," she blinked a few times, "have they found out what's wrong with me yet?
"Not…not yet."
"Maybe nothing's wrong with me," she suggested hopefully, allowing him to move a few curls out of her eyes.
"Let's hope not."
"Did you get my work like I asked?" Harry nodded and handed her messenger bag to her, loaded down with textbooks and rolls upon rolls of parchment. "I'll be so far behind in all of my courses if I don't get to work soon." She was removing books and quills when Harry put a hand over hers. "What?"
"Hermione, we need to talk about what's happening to you."
She sighed, "I don't want to talk about. What is there to say?"
"Do you have any idea what could be causing this?"
"No," she insisted impatiently. "I have no idea!"
"Have you done anything differently in the past while?"
"No."
"Are you sure?"
"Yes, absolutely. I've been eating right, exercising, sleeping well…there's nothing else I'm supposed to do, is there?"
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I don't know, Hermione. I really don't. When was the last time you went to a Healer…before all this started happening?"
She closed her eyes and thought, "Just before Percy's funeral…after Grimmauld Place. I'd had my last check-up just before the funeral. Don't you remember?"
Harry had an idea. "Yeah, I remember."
"That's it. I got a clean bill of health then; I don't know what else to say."
"Don't think about it right now," Harry got to his feet, "I've got something I've got to take care of-you'll probably want to start working anyway."
She smiled a wan smile, "You know me too well."
"Feel better; Ron and I will come back for dinner, all right?"
"Mmm hmm."
He waved again on his way out, but Hermione was already engrossed in her reading and did not look up.
Harry grabbed a hold of the first Healer he ran into. "Can I help you, Mr. Potter?" the young man asked pleasantly.
"It's about Hermione Granger," he began nervously.
"Well yes, I had assumed. What can we do?"
"I think you may have overlooked something in her medical history…I was wondering if perhaps you could retrieve a memory of hers to try to trace a curse she may have received."
***
Snape was in rare form that day, Draco noticed at lunch. He'd been snapping at his students, Slytherins included, deducting House points, and making first years cry. Draco had overheard two fifth years concocting a scheme to brew the Draft of the Living Dead and slip it into his goblet at dinner. Draco, remembering the icy encounter he'd had with his former professor that morning before breakfast, had pretended he hadn't heard anything. Though if Snape dropped over comatose, he'd probably have some explaining to do.
Some explaining to do, that was how Severus had approached him that morning before breakfast. Approached was a relative term, Draco reasoned in his mind, cornered him would have been a more appropriate term.
"Where do you think you're going, Draco?" his mentor had demanded as Draco passed him in the hall.
"I was planning on a light breakfast-watching my figure-and then off to teach my classes, Severus. Seems to be the done thing for teachers," he'd answered without a thought.
Snape had put up a hand to stop him. "I'd like a word."
"Sure, take a sentence if you feel so bold."
His humor was lost as the older man folded his arms over his chest and raised an eyebrow, "Weasley."
"Word association, my favorite!" Draco rubbed his hands together in mock excitement, "Red hair?" Snape's face remained emotionless. "Freckles? Fertility?" He shrugged, "I'm running out of guesses, let's try another one."
"Draco, I'm not certain from where this steak of good will is stemming, but you would do best to try and curb your enthusiasm for your recently clean record."
"And you would do best to curb your enthusiasm for life in general," Draco stopped and realized what Snape had just said. "Wait, what are you talking about?"
"I don't know what your recent infatuation is trying to prove, frankly I don't care. The point is you're creating a spectacle."
"A spectacle, Severus?"
"Daily Prophet, page nine." The Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had pressed the newspaper into his hands and stalked quickly away before his former student had a chance to say anything else. Late for breakfast, Draco had stuffed the paper into his shoulder bag and forgotten about it until lunch.
Now, however, he drew it from its resting place and spread it on the table in front of him. He flipped to page nine, silver eyes skimming the articles until he found what Snape had been talking about. Halfway down the page, in rather large letters was an article titled "Two Houses Both Alike In Dignity…Has Draco Malfoy Finally Found Love?" above a perfectly nauseating candid picture of his argument with Ginny Weasley the week before. The picture, however, (and damn those Prophet photographers) depicted none of their brief spat. In fact, they appeared rather romantic towards each other-she leaning in, he reaching a hand towards her face. Though, if he recalled correctly, Draco was certain he had been about to poke her in the forehead-arguably not one of his finest moments.
Well, that certainly explained Snape's annoyance, Draco thought, stuffing the paper back into his bag. The giggling amongst the girls in his classes made a bit more sense, as well as the disgusted stares he'd been receiving from the older Slytherins, most of whom he remembered from his days as a student.
"I suggest you be a bit more careful," a voice hissed into his left ear, making him leap a mile.
He turned to face Snape, "Could you whistle, or make some kind of noise before you sneak up on someone like that?"
"Constant vigilance," Snape replied, indifferent to his former student's jumpiness. "As I was saying, you'd do well to be a bit more cautious who you let take your picture."
"Why should I?" Draco asked, feeling defiant. "I'm a free man, aren't I? Off the wanted list, cleared of all charges, aren't I?"
"You were never cleared of being a Malfoy," Snape snapped, "There is still a certain…standard that most expect of you."
"What do I care what they think?"
"Because, you stupid boy, these are powerful people of whom I am speaking-people whom may, in the coming months, be helpful to you, should you need them."
Draco shrugged, "I don't need anyone's help, Sev. I think I'll be all right." He patted Severus' arm amiably and got up from the Head Table before another word was said.
After classes had finished for the day, Draco considered heading down to Hogsmeade and taking a glimpse around for the night, but something stopped him. The writers of the Daily Prophet were morons, but they had brought up an interesting point. If they could see him harmlessly flirting with Ginny Weasley, then so could other people; people who could be very dangerous to him indeed.
Draco went to bed early that night, trying to ignore the dreams he was having of a yellow dress which kept falling into a perfectly lovely pile on the floor.
***
"Mr. Potter," Harry's head shot out of the case study he'd been reading and at the medical intern who was practically running down the hall. "Mr. Potter!"
Standing, Harry tucked his parchment into his book and stood. "Yes?"
"We've-we've found something; something we may have overlooked," the out of breath student explained, coming to a halt just before Hermione's doorway.
Harry, who'd been waiting for this for the last three days, all of sudden wasn't sure how to feel about any actual news coming into his possession. "Well let's have it then."
"Upon removing the memory you suggested, we found something…rather odd," the intern said nervously.
"What is it?"
The young man looked uncertain to go on, "Perhaps it'd be best if you were to come with me."
"Yeah," Harry slung his school bag over his shoulder, "fine then."
"You'll have to forgive this oversight, Mr. Potter-if we'd had any idea…well, I'd suppose Healer Marcwith would rather tell you himself."
Healer Marcwith had been the head Healer in Hermione's care. He was a kindly middle-aged man with laugh lines around his mouth and a gradually receding hairline. In general, Harry liked him-in the way he always carried lollipops in his pocket for his younger patients, the jokes he liked to share from the funny pages of the Daily Prophet, and the way he called Hermione `my dear,' as though he really meant it.
Marcwith was sitting behind a desk when Harry and the intern-whose name, Harry read on the front of his white jacket, was Lars-entered the office. "Harry," he stood up and the two men shook hands before sitting back down, "good of you to come."
"Anytime, can you tell me what's going on?"
"Yes, yes." Marcwith set his hands on the table and pressed his fingertips together. "I trust Lars told you that we've stumbled upon something in our reading of Miss Granger's memory."
"Yeah, he mentioned it." Harry swallowed hard, "So what is it? What've you found?"
"It appears there is indeed Dark Magic present in Miss Granger's system. The curse in question, however, is one I've never come across in my years as a Healer. Nor, actually, has anyone at this hospital."
"What is it?" The knot in Harry's stomach, which had formed when he'd had first entered the office, tightened severely.
"The wizard who cast it-Dolohov, if I'm not mistaken-used the words `Efflectum Memoria.' Any idea?"
Harry shook his head, "No, I'm sorry. Dolohov's dead anyhow-in Azkaban about three weeks ago-wouldn't you think that would break the curse?"
Marcwith considered this, "With most curses of this nature, I'd imagine so. However, this doesn't seem to be an average curse. It completely escaped identification for weeks."
He continued explaining further research being done at that very moment to learn more about the curse but Harry wasn't listening. He was trying to imagine what to write to one of the only people he knew who could help them.
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A/N: A little lengthy, but I felt the flashback was necessary. Hope you enjoyed. As always, thank you for the amazing reviews. You're all so lovely.
Lyrics: Sheryl Crow
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