Summary: This day, he is worried, scared and numb. His loved ones cannot do anything about it, but someone comes along by chance and brings him back.
This is hestiajones of Hufflepuff writing for the Great Hall April Fools Challenge, Lonely List: Next Generation. It actually won! :D Nathan even swept the floor with the Extra Credit Award. Thank you, Lea, for beta-reading this at such short notice.
Nominated for a QSQ in the Same Sex Pairing category.
Categories: Next Generation Characters: None
Warnings: Slash, Strong Profanity
Challenges: Series: None
Chapters: 1
Completed: Yes
Word count: 3719
Read: 1871
Published: 04/14/11
Updated: 04/16/11
1. Chapter 1 by hestiajones
We were sitting in the ice-cream parlour at Diagon Alley when the attack happened.
You won’t know what it is like unless you experience it yourself; when a bomb explodes, it is more than the thunderous boom, the flames ballooning out, and the earth shaking. It is an instantaneous combination of all that, and more. You are at once shocked, at once terrified, at once confused. You don’t know what’s happening, and even as you’re reeling from the loud gong that is reverberating through your head, or the tremor that still passes over your body “ even then, you haven’t begun recovering. It will take minutes, probably hours after all the screams have stopped rending the atmosphere, that you begin to think: a bomb has just exploded, and I am alive.
I don’t think I ever did, because Scorpius’ body was lying bloody and limp on the ground next to me. My screaming started then, and though I am no longer in Diagon Alley as far as my body is concerned, my consciousness is still there.
It has been hours since it happened, hours since my father found me and brought us here along with the other victims, hours since the Healers have been working on Scorpius. I vaguely register Scorpius’ parents sitting opposite me, huddled together. I don’t even care that my own parents are here, waiting for me to snap out of it but afraid to coax me. I don’t give a fuck that I haven’t sustained any serious injury. I am still there, kneeling on the ground, holding an unconscious and nearly dead Scorpius as the world spins around us in grey and orange.
“Hugo.”
I close my eyes, unwilling to answer.
“Son, you need rest. The Healers are doing their best. C’mon now, your mother’s getting anxious.”
“I’m okay, Dad. I’ll wait.”
“Here in this chair?” There’s a pause. “You can wait at home, too. I’ve asked Healer Williams to let me know as soon as there’s a breakthrough. You can Apparate back here in no time.”
“Dad…please. I need to be here.”
“Your presence is not going to help him in any way.”
I can hear the impatience in his voice, and I know he can hear it in mine, too. It’s always been like this between us, this contest, this waiting to see who gives up first.
“Dad. Just take Mum and go home. Please. I’ll be there as soon as I hear he’s fine.”
“And what if “ ”
He thankfully stops speaking right there. In my mind, I can see his shoulders slumping in defeat, his shake of the head. I don’t open my eyes even after he has left because I have an inkling Mum is going to try next. She doesn’t.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I finally open my eyes, and find Scorpius’ father looking at me, the expression on his face inscrutable. We have never been able to get on, no matter how hard I’ve tried for Scorpius’ sake. Draco Malfoy will forever resent the fact that his son fell in love with a Weasley, and a male Weasley at that. I can deduce what is going through his head at this moment: he blames me, and possibly thinks I should have been maimed, too.
I stare back at him, daring him to say something, aware that if he does pluck up the courage to hold me responsible, I’d have little to defend myself with, even though it is Scorpius who insists on having lunch with me everyday. Perhaps, if we fight, I might be able to concentrate on my grudges against him rather than the situation at hand. But he turns away.
“Where’s Astoria?” I ask him after a while.
“Off to look after her patients,” he tells me shortly.
She needed to get away. I can understand that. Astoria is a Healer. I regret that I didn’t have a chance to talk to her earlier. I am, however, glad that at least she has something to occupy herself with.
The same can’t be said for the two of us here, left in the waiting hall, known to each other and yet strangers, the passive hostility almost tangible. We have nothing but the suspense that hangs heavily in the already congested aura of the place. Healers and patients come and go; someone shouts, another cries. There is silence and there is noise. And we still have nothing but each other, which is not much, and yet, too much.
We only relax when a trolley wheels itself into the hall, carrying copies of The Prophet. I grab one, and so does he. The first thing I see is the following:
MUGGLE-MADE BOMB EXPLODES AT DIAGON ALLEY
16th May, 2031
London
The latest in a series of attacks occurred today at Diagon Alley, 2:30 p.m. A Muggle-made bomb was detonated right in the middle of the crowded street, killing fifteen people and wounding several. The Ministry of Magic is still baffled as to who is responsible for the attacks…the previous attacks occurred at Hogsmeade and Kent…areas where wizards live in great numbers targeted…Ministry spokesperson Percy Weasley refused to comment on questions related to suspected wizarding extremists groups…
The words stop carrying meaning to me as the letters merge into each other, forming an incoherent mass. I try not to look at the vivid, moving image of half of Diagon Alley burning, but just as I’m folding up the paper, I remember something.
“Fuck!” I exclaim loudly.
Draco snaps his head up and raises an eyebrow.
“I’ve just remembered,” I tell him wildly. “The shop! Roxanne and Fred!”
“Who?”
“My cousins! Fred and Roxanne Weasley!”
Something like a sneer takes form on his face, but before he can say anything, I cut him off. “I’ll be back. I need to see if my cousins are all right.”
I try to walk as quickly as possible, try to stop myself from running down the corridors of the hospital as I imagine a familiar building in Diagon Alley burning. How could I have forgotten about it?
“Where’s the nearest fireplace?” I ask an attendant.
He indicates to his right. Thanking him, I hurry towards the fireplace, and then curse once more as I see a long line of people waiting to use it.
“Hugo?”
Relief floods through me as I turn towards the person who called me.
“Fred!” I cry, breaking into a run and hugging him. “I thought you’d got hurt.”
“I didn’t,” he says with a solemn smile that is unlike him. “Roxanne did, though.”
“What? How?”
“She’s all right,” he says. “Nothing serious. She had been standing near the window. The panes shattered.”
“Is she here?”
“No. They’ve taken her home. I was about to leave, too.”
“What about the place?”
“We had protected it with anti-fire spells,” he says, a half grin brightening up his tired face. “It’ll be up and running in no time.”
“That’s great. That’s really great news.”
“I don’t think Florean’s ice-cream parlour will survive,” he says sadly.
A wave of nausea hits me; I try not to give in to it. “Yeah…Yeah…”
“Poor Andrew.”
“Who?”
“The owner.” His voice breaks. “He …he didn’t make it.”
The giddiness rises yet again, nearly making me retch. I surreptitiously take out my wand and cast a silent Refreshing Charm. Fred doesn’t notice as he wipes his eyes.
“Did you know him?” I ask.
“Yeah … We had got close. He has … He had a wife and two kids.”
“Fred,” I say firmly, “let’s talk about something else.”
He nods and gestures towards two empty seats in the lounge. Although I want to get back to Scorpius, I can’t leave him alone like this. We take our seats and sit, not talking, but observing the endless stream of people who come to the hospital with a variety of complaints. My eyes are on them, but I don’t really see them. Now, I’m playing a game of hide-and-seek with my mind as it tries to remind me of Andrew, who served Scorpius and me chocolate sundae this afternoon.
Fred nudges me and shakes me out of my reverie. I turn to look at wherever he is pointing at and see a very old witch holding up a broomstick which has half its tail-feathers missing.
“My husband!” she yells hoarsely at the Welcome Witch, who considers her with glazed eyes. “I can’t turn him back. I was angry and I don’t even remember which hex I’d cast.”
“Spell Damage, fourth floor,” says the receptionist without interest.
Fred and I chuckle, thankful for the reprieve.
“Shall we leave now?” he asks me. “Maybe go and drink something?”
“I -”
I don’t quite know what to say. There is nothing to hide from Fred, but I don’t want to discuss Scorpius and his condition with anyone right now.
“You came here to see us, right?”
Mentally, I thank Dad and Mum for not telling anything about me to the others. “Yes,” I answer without thinking, improvising as I speak. “But I need to see Scorpius’ mother for … for some work.”
“I’ll wait.”
“I need to talk about Scorpius.”
“Is something wrong?”
“No … I …”
I’m especially dim tonight, and my face reddens as I try to cook up a reasonable answer. But Fred “ bless him “ nods, and gets up.
“All right, I’ll go ahead then,” he says. “Maybe, I should just go get some sleep.”
“Yeah, you need it.”
He grips my shoulder and walks off.
“Fred!”
When he turns back, I say, “Thanks.”
He winks and leaves me alone. I mechanically make my way back to the waiting hall on the fourth floor, where they are trying to heal Scorpius. Hands deep in my pocket, I concentrate on the blocks of tiles ahead of me, playing my personal game of not stepping on the borders. Anything. Anything to shut out the fear that threatens to slip into my head and corrode away my hopes.
A throng of people are waiting for the lift; I decide to take the stairs instead as they are less crowded. Walk it off, I say to myself. Don’t step on the border of the tiles. Step one. Step two. Three. Four.
As soon as I reach the first floor, I hear somebody sniffling. Warily, I climb the next few steps and catch sight of the old woman I saw earlier, sitting on the steps and clutching the broomstick to her chest.
I think of turning back, but I know I can’t.
“Are you okay?” I ask her.
She looks up tearfully and gestures at the broomstick. “It’s Nathan. It’s so heavy. I can’t carry him any longer.”
“I can do that for you,” I say readily. “Fourth floor, isn’t it? I’m headed that way.”
With a tremulous smile, she gets up and offers me the broomstick. I smile in return and carry it for her.
“What happened?” I ask.
“We were arguing over something,” she answers, her steps slow and beleaguered. “I can’t remember what it was, but it was probably silly. Then, I took out my wand and hexed him.”
“And he turned into a broom.”
“He did,” she says as she wipes her face. “And what a sorry looking broom he makes. Chipped in the middle and half the tail-feathers out. He wouldn’t try a Hair-Replenishing Charm, you know.”
I am not sure whether to laugh or not, but she giggles. I join in, hoping the broomstick-Nathan doesn’t understand our conversation and decide to thwack us over the head.
“What’s your name?” I ask her.
“Rosemary,” she says. “And what is yours?”
“Hugo.”
“Why are you here, Hugo? Is somebody hurt?”
“A friend.”
I think of a new topic, but my imagination fails me yet again.
“Is it a boy or a girl?”
“Boy.”
“And is he going to be all right?”
“I don’t know,” I tell her. “He’s seriously hurt.”
She reaches out and touches my hand slightly. Instead of feeing awkward, I feel strangely comforted. Before I know it, I am talking to her.
“Did you hear of the accident at Diagon Alley today?”
“Yes, I did.”
“We were there. We were at the ice-cream parlour. He works at Gringotts, and it was his lunch break. We were halfway into our sundae when … when it went off.”
“That must have been terrible.”
“It was. I was thrown off my chair, and my boyf “ I mean, my friend flew out of his chair and landed next to me. He was seriously injured; there was blood all over his face. His clothes were torn. I don’t understand, you know. I don’t understand how I got off with a few minor bruises and he got the worst of it.”
It is when I finally draw back that I realise she has been silently listening.
“I’m sorry,” I say. “I didn’t mean to scare you or … or repulse you.”
“Don’t be silly, Hugo,” she answers. “I didn’t know what to say, except that I’m very sorry to hear that happened, and that I hope your friend will be all right.”
“Okay.”
“Would that be enough?” she queries mysteriously.
“I … well …”
“Are your parents here?”
“They were here earlier. They’ve left.”
“Words are never enough,” she says. “I should know. I lost a son in the war over thirty years ago. His name was etched on the monument at Hogwarts and he received an Order of Merlin, Third Class. People said he died for the right cause.” She pauses, then adds, “Words.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” she says, and I am surprised to see she is smiling. Then, her face becomes serious again. “It’s hard to lose someone, but to be on the tenterhooks, not knowing whether you are going to lose them or not “ that is far, far worse.”
“Yeah…It really is.”
With that, we reach the fourth floor. I am not sure if I feel lighter than before, or more burdened.
“Listen, Hugo,” she says, “I’m terrible at talking. Age hasn’t taught me anything. My husband would have cheered you up, but he’s a broomstick now.”
I suddenly remember the broomstick and hand it over to her, grinning sheepishly as I do so.
“What I meant to say is,” she continues, “he’ll be all right.”
Smiling, she takes her husband back and walks away towards a group of Healers standing at the end of the corridor. I turn to my left and head for Scorpius’ room, and I know how I am feeling now “ optimistic. For some strange reason, her final words are helping me push the fear away.
Words.
The irony of it makes me chuckle, but my laughter dies when I notice Draco’s chair is empty and the door of Scorpius’ room is open. Tossing rules aside, I run towards it.
Scorpius is sitting up on his bed, talking to his father, who is somehow looking several years younger. Both of them turn towards me, but it is Draco’s eyes that meet mine. They are no longer indifferent, and as he gets up without his son having to ask and leaves the room, I can almost sense the tension between us dissipating in the air.
“Hugo,” says Scorpius softly.
As I enter the room, a bunch of emotions chase each other inside of me. Happiness, relief, anger, terror, doubt, certainty, hopefulness, despair. He’s alive, but what if only just?
“I’m okay,” he mumbles as I sit down and take his hand.
I don’t say anything. I can’t say anything except gaze at the clean face which is marked with now-healing gashes, the smile on his lips, and the bandages on his arms.
“The Healer says I need to take Blood-Replenishing Potion for a few days,” he explains when I don’t speak. “I only lost some blood. They think the wounds on my face will leave a few scars, but really, I’m going to be fine.”
I get up and kiss him lightly on the lips. He reaches out for more, but I draw back and cradle his hands in my palms, tears streaming down my face.
“Hey,” he says weakly. “What are you crying for?”
I shake my head and grip his hand.
“I’m seriously relieved you didn’t get hurt,” he says. “If you were … I am the one who forced you to come. If it had been the other way round, I wouldn’t have …”
“Stop talking, you twat.”
“Okay, I will.”
At that moment, I hear Draco returning with Astoria, whose voice I can hear loud and clear. I abruptly let go of Scorpius’ hand and wipe the tears off my face.
“I’ll go now,” I tell him, getting up.
“No “ ”
“I’ll be here first thing in the morning,” I say. “You’re okay. That’s all I have been waiting for, all that matters. Your parents also need some time with you.”
“Scorpius!” shouts Astoria, forgetting she is a Healer, and that one shouldn’t be shouting here.
I say “good night” to them, although she isn’t listening. With a smile, I leave them, but I am stopped by Draco who has been waiting for me outside.
“Thank you,” he says abruptly.
“What for?”
“For our son.”
“I didn’t do anything,” I say, confused.
“You brought him here in time.”
“It was my dad,” I tell him frankly. “I … I was in shock there. If Dad hadn’t found us …”
“It’s not just that,” he snaps.
I look at him curiously.
“You make him happy.”
There is a brief moment of silence as I try to swallow what I’ve just heard. “You definitely don’t blame me for this?” I ask him slowly.
He sighs before replying. “I wanted to,” he admits. “But my son’s happiness matters a lot to me. This isn’t what I want, yes, yet if it is what he wants, then I must live with it.”
“Caught on, have you finally?” I ask him, unable to resist the chance to show him cheek.
“Yes, I have,” he replies drily. “Now, excuse me. I have a son to attend to.”
“Will you be here tomorrow morning?”
“Of course.”
“I’ll see you then.”
He stares at me, then nods curtly and goes inside. More elated than ever, I rush back to where Rosemary was earlier, but when I reach the place, there is no one there. I walk up and down the corridor for some time, hoping she would walk out of one of the rooms. Finally, I see a Healer coming out and hurry towards her.
“Excuse me!”
“Yes?” she asks me, barely looking up from her parchment.
“There was an old lady here earlier … with a broomstick.”
“Who?”
“An old lady. Rosemary. She’d turned her husband into a broomstick …”
She frowns at me and says, “Oh yes. Yes, there was. She just left.”
“What?” I ask. “Did you manage to turn the broom back to her husband?”
“Yes, do you know “HEY! NO RUNNING!”
I race down the stairs, looking out for Rosemary’s white, fluffy head bobbing along with the balding head of her husband, but I don’t see them anywhere. At last, I reach the reception area and ask the Welcome Witch if she has seen them go.
“Yeah, she left,” she answers and turns towards the queue. “Next!”
“Could you give me her last name?”
“First floor, Creature-Induced Injuries.” Back at me. “Do you know her?”
“Uh “ no, but it’s very important.”
“Sorry, I can’t divulge-”
“Please.”
She turns back to me.
“It’s really important,” I try to persuade her. “She … she …”
I know the moment is slipping yet again as my mind tries to function properly and fails. Besides, what would I say? She saved my life? She gave me luck? Every option sounds more melodramatic than the other, and in a place like St. Mungo’s, where people don’t have time for sentimental tripe, I’d end up looking like a prize fool.
“She …?”
“She was a source of comfort to me,” I say, deciding not to pay attention to the heat creeping up my face and ears, “and I forgot to thank her.”
“You’ve got guts saying that,” says the Welcome Witch with a guffaw. “Rosemary and Nathan Corner. That’s the couple you’re looking for. I can’t give you the address, though. You’ll have to owl them.”
“Thanks! Thanks so much!”
It’s only when I lie down on my bed that the name of their son comes back to me. Michael Corner. How many times did I study the monument while I was at school?
Gradually, the memory of the explosion returns, but this time, I regard it from an external perspective. I wonder who is behind it, and I wonder how Uncle Harry is dealing with it. I try to analyse why anyone would do something like this, why they would take away somebody’s father and kill another’s son. I think and I weep into the night.
But there is a tomorrow, and selfishly, I cling to that thought and make it blossom. Tomorrow, I’ll go and meet my parents. Tomorrow, I’ll see Scorpius and force Draco to have tea with me. Tomorrow, I’ll drop by at The Burrow and see how Roxanne is doing. Tomorrow, I’ll owl Rosemary Corner and thank her for changing her husband into a broomstick. Tomorrow, I’ll visit Diagon Alley and see what I can do for Andrew’s family.
My last coherent thought before drifting off to sleep is this: tomorrow, I’m for the world and I’ll mourn with it, but tonight, let me stay drunk with life.
End Notes:
Both Andrew and Nathan feature in my other stories. Andrew is my favourite OC, and I've written two fics featuring him, Being Muggle with Rooney and Florean Fortescue - An Unsung Hero. He's Florean Fortescue's nephew. Nathan is Rita Skeeter's friend in Becoming Rita.
Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters and settings are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. No money is being made from this work. No copyright infringement is intended.