XXII
At four o'clock sharp, Thalia found herself standing with the other members of Dumbledore's Army outside the closed doors to the Great Hall. The air was thick with anticipation and tension, the weight of what they were about to face hanging over them like a dark cloud. As students passed by, many sent them sorrowful glances, others offering subtle nods of encouragement. It was as if the entire castle had become a battlefield, and while the DA had been caught, there was still a palpable undercurrent of defiance running through the halls. The students may have been scared, but they weren’t defeated.
Thalia instinctively moved closer to George, slipping under his arm and clutching Fred’s hand for some added comfort. George sent Fred a grateful look, his eyes softening as he glanced down at Thalia with a small, reassuring smile. Fred squeezed her hand gently, his thumb brushing across her knuckles in a gesture that was meant to calm her nerves. The conversations around them were quiet and fragmented, as everyone tried to make sense of the situation, speculating on who had betrayed the DA and what was in store for them.
The silence was shattered by the sharp click of heels echoing through the otherwise empty corridor. The small trio broke apart instinctively, their faces hardening as they prepared for what was to come. George leaned down to kiss the crown of Thalia’s head, the soft gesture meant to reassure her. Fred gave her hand one last squeeze before stepping away, his expression a mixture of concern and determination.
Thalia’s heart skipped a beat when she saw Umbridge at the top of the staircase, her sickly sweet smile plastered on her face. But it wasn’t just the toad-like woman who caught Thalia’s attention. She was dragging a student behind her, the girl’s arm gripped so tightly by Umbridge that it was clear the professor’s nails were digging into her skin. The girl’s face was hidden behind a curtain of hair, but Thalia could make out the blue lining of her robe and the telltale copper curls. It took a moment for the recognition to click, but when it did, a chill ran down Thalia’s spine.
It was a fifth-year Ravenclaw, one of Cho Chang’s friends. Thalia couldn’t recall her name off the top of her head, but she knew the girl’s face well enough. She had always been quiet, a bit shy, and now here she was, dragged through the halls by Umbridge like some kind of criminal. The girl’s eyes were fixed firmly on the ground, refusing to meet anyone’s gaze, and Thalia couldn’t help but feel a pang of sympathy for her.
As Umbridge descended the stairs, her heels clicking ominously with each step, Thalia balled her hands into fists, creating little half moon indents as her nails bit into the skin of her palm.
The tension in the hallway was almost unbearable as Thalia and the others were ushered inside, the heavy door closing behind them with an ominous thud. Umbridge’s high-pitched giggle echoed through the space, sending a shiver down Thalia’s spine. The sickly-sweet woman stood before them, her eyes glinting with cruel satisfaction as she surveyed the group, clearly enjoying the discomfort that radiated from the students.
"I assume you are all here? Correct, Mr. Potter?" Umbridge asked, her voice dripping with condescension.
Harry’s glare could have burned a hole through her, but he merely gritted his teeth and spat out, "I assume so, Professor."
"Good," she replied, her smile widening to something almost predatory as she turned her attention to the rest of the group. "Miss Edgecomb, if you would guide your fellow students to take a seat please?”
The mention of Marietta Edgecomb’s name sent a ripple of shock and disgust through the group. Thalia felt her stomach turn as the girl slowly stepped forward, her face flushed with embarrassment and shame. As she moved, her hair shifted slightly, revealing the large, painful pustules across her forehead—each one spelling out the word sneak. Thalia’s breath caught in her throat as she saw the marks, the ugly, glowing word etched into Marietta’s skin for all to see. Suddenly it became clear just how severe Hermione’s punishment had been.
A murmur of discontent rippled through the group, the betrayal fresh in everyone’s minds. Marietta’s steps were slow and reluctant, her body stiff with tension as she made her way toward the front of the room, her head down in shame. The sight of her—once a member of their trusted circle—was a bitter reminder of the danger they were all in, and how quickly things could fall apart.
"You will sit at a desk and await further instruction," Umbridge’s voice rang out, filled with glee as she watched the group shuffle into the room.
Taking a seat at a desk between Fred and George, she glanced around the room, trying to gauge the mood of the others. In front of her, Nova and Kristen sat, their expressions a mixture of anxiety and defiance. At the very front of the hall Hermione, Ron and Harry sat together, heads held high as they glared at the pudgy woman. The room felt too small, the walls closing in with the weight of Umbridge’s presence, the air thick with the tension of impending punishment.
Thalia’s fingers drummed nervously on the edge of the desk, her mind racing. She knew this wasn’t going to be easy. Umbridge had already made it clear that she enjoyed the power she held over them, and with Marietta’s betrayal still fresh, it was impossible to ignore the danger they were all in. The thought of what might happen next made her stomach churn.
As the minutes dragged on, the atmosphere grew heavier, the silence only broken by the occasional shuffle of feet or the soft rustling of robes. Thalia could feel the eyes of the others on her, their collective anxiety hanging in the air like a storm ready to break.
The sharp click of Umbridge's heels echoed in the otherwise silent hall as she made her way toward the platform. The sound was almost mocking, like the ticking of a clock counting down to their inevitable punishment. Thalia watched with a mix of dread and anger as Umbridge seated herself in the large, ornate chair that had once belonged to Dumbledore. It looked wrong on her, as if the very chair had rejected her presence, but she didn't seem to care. She sat with a sickening air of satisfaction, her smile wide and smug.
"Miss Edgecombe, you may go," Umbridge said, her voice dripping with condescension. "I suggest going back to Madame Pomfrey, maybe she has had a revelation as to how to cure those unsightly boils."
Thalia could hear Marietta sniffle as she passed by the group. Her eyes were downcast, her face flushed with humiliation. Some students snickered, their cruel laughter filling the air, but Thalia couldn't bring herself to join in. No matter how much she felt betrayed, she couldn't ignore the fact that Marietta was suffering. She tried to remind herself that Marietta had made her choice, but it didn’t make it any easier to watch her walk away like that.
"As part of your punishment, and to earn your repentance, you will all be writing lines for me," Umbridge continued, her tone so casual it was as though she were discussing the weather rather than orchestrating their torture. "You will write the following using the quill provided: I will follow the rules and be a law-abiding citizen."
With a flick of her wand, a blackboard appeared at the front of the room, her cursive handwriting flowing across the surface in an elegant swirl, the words I will follow the rules and be a law-abiding citizen etched in a way that almost made it seem like a mockery of the very idea of freedom. Thalia's stomach churned as she read the line, the irony not lost on her.
Thalia noticed Nova sending her an anxious glance, stilling herself Thalia sent her a reassuring smile. Hopefully reminding her that everything would be okay in the end.
"You will not communicate with one another," Umbridge added, her voice almost sing-song in its sweetness, "you will keep your eyes on your own desk, and you will only be able to leave when I dismiss you. Do I make myself clear?"
A chorus of reluctant voices responded, "Yes, Professor Umbridge."
“Let’s try that again shall we,” called Professor Umbridge the childish tambure of her voice grating on Thalia’s last nerves. “Yes, Headmistress,” she said, a look of expectation on her face as she stared down at them.
Thalia’s heart pounded in her chest, her teeth grinding in frustration. She wanted to scream, to let out all the anger and fear that was bubbling inside of her, but she knew better than to show any sign of resistance. She forced the words out, her voice tight with barely contained rage, "Yes, Headmistress."
"Much better," Umbridge said with a sickly smile, her eyes gleaming with a twisted satisfaction. "You may begin now."
Thalia picked up the quill that had appeared in front of her, its sharp nib glinting ominously in the light. As her hand hovered over the parchment, she felt the weight of the situation settle over her. The quill, she knew, would not be kind. It would carve the words into her skin, leaving her with a painful reminder of her submission to Umbridge’s authority.
The moment Thalia put the quill to paper, her hand trembling slightly, the sharp nib digging into the parchment, she felt the sting. At first it was a dull throb, a prickling sensation that spread up her wrist like an electric current. But as the ink began to flow, so too did the pain. The quill dug deeper into her skin with each word, each stroke of the cursive letters, carving them into her flesh with a cruel precision. She couldn’t help but let out a muffled gasp, her breath catching in her throat. The sting was relentless, gnawing at her senses, a searing burn that made her fingers tremble as she continued to write.
By the time she reached the fifth line, the skin on her hand had split, the sharp pain of it making her vision blur. She could feel the blood pooling beneath her fingers, warm and slick as it trickled down her wrist. The indentations of the words she was writing appeared just beneath the scar from her last detention, a cruel reminder of how far she had fallen into this twisted cycle. The sensation was like a thousand tiny needles pricking at her skin, each letter etched into her hand with an almost malicious intent.
Her breath came in shallow gasps, her teeth gritted as she forced herself to keep writing. She knew that if she stopped, if she hesitated even for a moment, the punishment would be worse. So she continued, the words flowing from her quill even as the pain intensified. Each stroke felt like an eternity, the blood from her hand dripping steadily onto the desk, pooling beneath the parchment. The quill was a cruel extension of Umbridge’s will, forcing her to comply, to submit, to be broken down one line at a time.
Around her, the other students were enduring the same torment. The room was filled with the sound of quills scratching against parchment, a constant, rhythmic noise that was almost hypnotic in its repetition. The occasional wince or sharp intake of breath cut through the silence, a subtle reminder of the suffering that was unfolding in the hall. Thalia kept her eyes fixed on the page, her focus narrowing until the only thing she could see was the swirl of her own cursive handwriting, the words I will follow the rule and be a law-abiding citizen stretching out before her like a never-ending line.
The pain was unbearable, but she gritted her teeth and forced herself to keep going, her grip on the quill tight as her fingers slicked with blood. She could feel the heat of it, the blood running down her forearm and pooling in her sleeve at her elbow. She pressed her mouth hard into her shoulder trying to stifle any sound, not daring to let a single noise escape. The last thing she wanted was to give Umbridge the satisfaction of hearing her pained groan, of showing any weakness.
But it was hard. She hadn’t dared look at her friends, knowing that seeing them in pain would unlock something primally defensive, only getting them in more trouble. However, every time she heard a muffled whimper from George beside her, it felt like a knife twisting in her chest. She could feel his pain as though it were her own, and every time she heard him struggle to keep silent, it shattered her heart a little more. She hadn’t dared look at him to try and reassure him, not wanting to see the agony in his eyes, not wanting to see the same helplessness that she felt mirrored in his face.
She heard Umbridge’s heels click across the floor, the sound like a metronome, counting down the minutes until they were free—or at least, until this part of their torment was over. Thalia’s eyes flicked up briefly, just as Umbridge began her slow, deliberate walk around the room. She moved like a predator, assessing each student’s progress with a gleam of satisfaction in her eyes. Her gaze flicked over Thalia, but she didn’t slow, didn’t even pause to savor her pain.
Instead, she moved on, sending the younger students off first. Colin Creevey and Ginny Weasley walked past, Colin cradling his arms against his chest, his face streaked with tears. Ginny’s face was a mask of fury, her lips pressed into a thin line, but her eyes—those molten, burning eyes—betrayed the anger that churned inside her. Thalia couldn’t help but admire Ginny’s resolve, the way she held herself together despite the agony she was enduring.
Next, Umbridge dismissed some of the Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw students, and Thalia felt a wave of relief when she saw Nova and Kristen get up. Nova was sniffling, her face pale, but Kristen was guiding her with a comforting arm around her shoulder, her face set in a grim expression. Thalia managed a small, pained smile as she watched them leave, grateful that at least some of her friends were spared from the worst of it—for now.
But it wasn’t long before the only ones left in the hall were herself, Harry, and the twins. The silence in the room was suffocating, the weight of the punishment pressing down on them, but Thalia refused to let it break her. She kept writing, each word another small act of defiance in the face of Umbridge’s cruelty, she refused to acknowledge her pain.
In her mind, she began to replay the memories she needed to summon her Patronus. If Umbridge wanted to act like a Dementor, Thalia would use the same technique to ward her off. She focused on the happiest thoughts she could muster, the moments that made her feel strong, that reminded her who she was and what she was fighting for.
She had nearly finished her second page when she felt a presence beside her, cold and oppressive. Glancing to her left, her stomach sank as she saw Umbridge standing there, peering over George's shoulder with a sickly sweet smile on her face, her eyes glinting with that same malicious satisfaction as she observed his torn up hand.
"Finish that line and you may go, Mr. Weasley. Take your brother with you." Her voice was so sugary sweet it made Thalia’s skin crawl, and the words felt like a slap to the face.
George hesitated, looking at Thalia with a mix of frustration and concern. She met his gaze, her heart aching for him, and shot him a reassuring smile, though her own desperation was clear in the way she shook her head. She couldn’t bear to see him suffer any longer and she couldn’t let him get into trouble for trying to help her. Before George could say anything, Fred appeared beside him, throwing Thalia an understanding look. He jostled his brother toward the door, trying to keep him quiet.
Just as the door swung closed behind them, Thalia heard George’s voice, sharp and full of fury. "This is barbaric. It’s unfair, Fred! Why is she keeping Lia?!" His words rang out, echoing in the now-silent hall, and Thalia’s heart clenched. She squeezed her eyes shut for a moment, praying to Merlin and Morgana that Umbridge wouldn’t call them back in, that she wouldn’t drag them back into this nightmare. But Umbridge seemed distracted, her attention turned to cleaning her nails with the tip of her wand, her smug smile still in place.
Thalia focused on her writing, determined to finish. She couldn’t afford to lose her composure, not now. She glanced over at Harry, who was still hunched over his desk, his face set in a grim expression. The two of them sat in silence, the only sound in the room the scratching of quills and the occasional hiss of pain as they continued their torment.
Twenty minutes passed before Umbridge moved again. Thalia’s eyes flicked up when she felt the shift in the atmosphere, her heart pounding in her chest. Umbridge had begun her slow, deliberate walk toward them, her heels clicking with each step, the sound echoing through the otherwise quiet room. She stopped in front of them, looming over their desks, her presence suffocating. She didn’t speak immediately, instead standing there, watching them with an unsettling calm, as if savoring their suffering.
Thalia tried not to meet her gaze, but it was impossible to ignore her. The words that followed were venomous, each one more cutting than the last.
"Miss Winterbourne," Umbridge began, her voice dripping with false sweetness, "I gave you a warning the last time you were in this predicament. Did I not?" Her gaze was sharp, her eyes narrowing as she looked down her nose at Thalia, as though she were nothing more than a bug to be squashed.
Thalia’s heart skipped a beat, the memories of her last detention flooding back. She had been foolish to think she could escape the consequences, but she had hoped—foolishly—that this time would be different. That she could withstand the punishment without giving in.
"You decided not to heed my warning, it appears," Umbridge continued, her voice growing colder. "Someone of your stature in our society, someone associated with one of the grandest names in wizardkind, should not be defiling it on useless revolutions against the very thing that made your family powerful." Her words felt like a slap in the face, each one more demeaning than the last. "I know I speak for your grandfather and myself when I say you are a disgrace to the Winterbourne name and legacy."
Thalia’s throat tightened, her hand trembling as she gripped the quill harder, but she refused to let herself react. She couldn’t let Umbridge see her weakness, couldn’t let her see the effect her words had.
"I had hoped for more from you," Umbridge continued, her voice lowering as she leaned in closer, "and have set my expectations accordingly. Prove to me you are worthy, Miss Winterbourne. It is in your best interest."
Thalia’s breath hitched as Umbridge snatched the parchment from her hand, her fingers lingering for a moment too long, her touch cold and suffocating. "Leave," she commanded, her voice sharp and dismissive. "Both of you."
Thalia’s heart sank, her chest tight with a mix of relief and dread. She had made it through, but the price had been high. As she stood, her legs shaky, she glanced at Harry. His face was pale, but he gave her a nod, his expression unreadable. Without a word, they both made their way toward the door, leaving tiny droplets of blood in their wake, their footsteps heavy in the silence of the hall.
The door clicked shut behind them, and for the first time in what felt like hours, Thalia allowed herself to breathe. But as she stepped into the corridor, she couldn’t shake the feeling that the worst was yet to come.
The silence of the corridors was thick, the faint echo of their footsteps the only sound as Thalia and Harry walked side by side. The air was cool and still, carrying with it the faint scent of old parchment and stone. Neither dared speak until the Great Hall was far behind them, its oppressive presence fading into the distance.
Finally, Harry broke the silence, his voice soft but laced with concern. "Where are you heading? Let me walk you."
Thalia turned to him, her lips curving into a small, grateful smile despite the sting of tears threatening to spill. The crease in his brow and the earnestness in his gaze made her chest ache with affection for the boy who carried far too much weight for his age. She sniffled, doing her best to hold herself together. "I’m not actually sure," she admitted with a shaky laugh, her voice wavering as she glanced around the empty corridors.
Harry’s expression softened, and he began to guide her with quiet confidence. "I expect everyone headed back to the Gryffindor Common Room. The twins will probably be waiting for you there."
Thalia’s steps fell in sync with his, and she cast him a sidelong glance, her heart lifting slightly at his thoughtfulness. "I get why they like you so much, you know. The twins, I mean. Actually, the whole Weasley family," he added, his voice light but sincere.
Her cheeks warmed at the compliment, unsure how to respond. She opened her mouth, but Harry continued, a faint blush dusting his own cheeks. "You’re ridiculously smart, kind, and loyal. I’ve been meaning to thank you for everything you said last night," he said, his words tumbling out with the kind of awkward sincerity that only made them more genuine.
Thalia’s smile grew, and she felt the tension in her shoulders ease a little. "None of them could shut up about you over Christmas," Harry added, his tone teasing but fond. "Mrs. Weasley is your biggest fan, and she’s never even met you. She seems to think anyone who can wrangle the twins deserves her appreciation."
Thalia laughed, the sound light and genuine, a balm to the lingering pain in her hand. "I didn’t realise how much time you spent with the family," she said, the conversation easing her mind from darker thoughts.
Harry shrugged, his brow furrowing as he considered his response. "I’ve spent every summer with them since first year," he admitted, his voice quieter now, tinged with something heavier. "My living situation outside of Hogwarts is... far from ideal. I live with my aunt, uncle, and cousin. They’re Muggles, and they don’t particularly like magic."
Thalia’s heart clenched at his words, the quiet vulnerability in them striking a chord. "I get that," she whispered, her voice barely audible. A lump formed in her throat as emotions threatened to overwhelm her again. "I live with my grandfather, and... that setup doesn’t always work for me either," she added, her tone faltering.
Harry turned to her, his green eyes searching hers. "I heard what Umbridge said back there," he said softly, his voice filled with quiet conviction. "I’m sure your grandfather doesn’t think you’re a disappointment, Thalia. You’re pretty incredible, if you ask me."
His words, so earnest and unguarded, caught her off guard, and she laughed softly, the sound carrying a hint of relief. "Don’t worry about that, Harry," she said, her tone lighter now. "That was a compliment. I have no intentions of being like my grandfather or living up to the Winterbourne name."
Harry tilted his head, curiosity flickering in his eyes as though he wanted to ask more, but the two had reached the portrait of the Fat Lady. The sight of the familiar painting brought a sense of calm, and whatever questions lingered between them seemed to fade into the quiet understanding they shared.
"Password?" the Fat Lady asked, her voice breaking the stillness.
"Phoenix," Harry replied, his voice steady.
The portrait swung open, revealing the warm glow of the Gryffindor Common Room beyond. Harry stepped aside, gesturing for Thalia to go first. Laughter and conversation spilled out, a stark contrast to the oppressive silence of the Great Hall. Thalia hesitated on the threshold, suddenly feeling exposed and unsure, but Harry gave her a reassuring nudge.
"Go on," he said with a small smile. "They’re waiting for you."
As Thalia stepped through the portrait hole, the warm glow of the Gryffindor Common Room should have been comforting, but the heavy silence that greeted her was anything but. Conversations faltered, laughter died mid-note, and all eyes turned to her pale, drawn face. The weight of their collective gaze pressed down on her, and for a moment, she felt frozen in place, her legs heavy and uncooperative.
The room was crowded—far more than it should have been. Half of the DA had somehow found their way into the sanctuary of the Common Room, their faces a patchwork of worry, anger, and guilt. By the fire, Nova and Kristen sat close to Ginny, the three of them huddled together like a trio of conspirators plotting silent vengeance. Across the room, Ernie Macmillan leaned over a trembling Cho Chang, murmuring soft words of comfort as she wept into her hands. The air was thick with unspoken tension, a current of shared outrage and helplessness that seemed to hum just beneath the surface.
Before Thalia could take another step or fully process the scene, she was swept into a fierce embrace. George’s arms wrapped around her tightly, his chin brushing the top of her head as he pulled her close. The suddenness of it nearly knocked the wind out of her, but she didn’t resist. She let herself sink into the warmth of his hold, the steady beat of his heart against her cheek grounding her in a way nothing else could.
His hands lingered on her shoulders as he pulled back, his brown eyes scanning her face with an intensity that made her throat tighten. "You alright, Lia? She’s—" His voice cracked slightly, and he quickly cleared his throat.
"I’m fine," Thalia interrupted, her tone firmer than the shaky resolve she felt. She forced a small, reassuring smile as her gaze shifted to Fred, who stood just behind George. His arms were crossed, but the hard set of his jaw and the flicker of worry in his eyes betrayed his usual air of nonchalance.
Fred stepped forward, his sharp gaze dropping to her hands. She instinctively tucked them into the folds of her robes, but it was too late. "You’re still bleeding," he said quietly, his voice low and taut with barely contained anger. "We should’ve stayed—"
"No," Thalia said quickly, shaking her head as panic rose in her chest. "You did the right thing leaving when you did. She was already looking for an excuse to punish someone further. I couldn’t let that be you two." Her voice softened as she added, "I wouldn’t have forgiven myself."
George exchanged a look with Fred, their silent communication speaking volumes. Fred’s lips pressed into a thin line, and George let out a heavy sigh before pulling Thalia into another hug. This one was less fierce, more tender, as if he were trying to shield her from the world itself. He rested his chin on her head again, his voice low and almost inaudible. "You’re too stubborn for your own good, you know that?"
Thalia let out a soft, muffled chuckle against his chest, the sound tinged with exhaustion. "So I’ve been told."
George’s grip tightened slightly, and when he spoke again, his voice was barely above a whisper, meant for her ears alone. "I’m sorry I couldn’t do more." The raw emotion in his words, the guilt and frustration that laced them, pulled at something deep inside her.
She pulled back just enough to meet his gaze, her hands resting lightly on his arms. "You couldn’t have done anymore, George," she said softly, her voice steady despite the lump in her throat.
"Alright, let’s not get too sappy in front of everyone," Fred said with a half-hearted grin, though his eyes were just as concerned as his brother’s. "Lia’s tougher than she looks. She’ll be fine."
Thalia smiled weakly, grateful for Fred’s attempt to lighten the mood. "I’ll be fine," she echoed, more for their sake than her own.
Fred gave her a small nod, holding up a small vial of shimmering salve between his fingers. "We were just doing our rounds," he said, his voice carrying an air of forced lightness that didn’t quite mask his concern. "Looks like we’ve found our next patient," he added, trying to inject some humor into the moment, though it came out strained.
George, standing beside Thalia, cast his twin a quick look. "I’ve got this, Freddie. Could you go help Susan and Hannah?" His tone was firm but gentle, his focus already shifting entirely to Thalia.
Fred hesitated for a moment, his eyes flicking between them, before giving a small smile. "Of course, Georgie. You’re in good hands there, Winterbourne," he quipped, his attempt at levity more convincing than before. With a quick wink, he headed toward a small cluster of trembling students, Lee Jordan was already there, valiantly trying to lift spirits.
George turned back to Thalia, his arm still securely around her waist. He guided her toward an empty armchair near the fire, his touch steady and reassuring. "Sit," he said softly, gently pressing her down into the plush chair.
As she sank into the seat, George knelt before her, balancing on the balls of his feet as he reached for her hands. He cradled them delicately, his rough fingers barely brushing her injured skin as his eyes scanned the cuts with a mix of sadness and anger.
"You inspired this, you know," he murmured, pulling another small jar of salve from his pocket and uncorking it with a quiet pop. The faint scent of mint and something herbal filled the air. He carefully balanced the jar on the arm of the chair, his movements precise and deliberate. "That little outburst of yours before our first detention—it stuck with me. Longer than I’d like to admit," he admitted with a sheepish smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.
Thalia tilted her head, her curiosity piqued despite her exhaustion. "What do you mean?"
George rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, his gaze flickering to hers. "Fred and I wanted to do something to help you after we got you in trouble then tortured by the she-devil. So we worked on this," he explained, nodding toward the jar. "We thought it’d only take a few days to figure out. Turns out it took months. But it works—really works." His voice carried a quiet pride, though it was tinged with frustration, as if the memory of why they’d needed it in the first place still stung.
He held up his hands, his expression softening. "Do you mind?" he asked, gesturing toward hers.
Thalia shook her head, a small chuckle escaping her lips. "Of course not."
George’s lips quirked into a faint smile as he scooped a generous dollop of the salve onto his fingers. "It might sting a bit," he warned, his voice low and gentle.
As he began to massage the salve into the back of her hand, Thalia couldn’t help the sharp intake of breath. The salve was cool at first, but the moment it touched the open cuts, a fiery sting shot through her skin. Without thinking, she grabbed the front of George’s shirt, her fingers curling into the fabric tightly as she rested her forehead on his shoulder.
George froze for a moment, his fingers stopping their gentle massage. "I know," he whispered, his voice laced with guilt. "I’m sorry. I promise it’ll feel better in a bit. Just... bear with me, okay?"
Thalia nodded, her grip on his shirt loosening slightly as she forced herself to breathe through the pain. "It’s okay," she managed, her voice trembling slightly.
George’s jaw tightened as he worked, his touch as gentle as he could manage. "Yours are deeper than anyone else’s," he muttered darkly, his anger barely contained. "She’s a monster, Lia. She shouldn’t be allowed to do this to you—to any of us."
Thalia sat up and reached out with her uninjured hand, lightly brushing his arm. "Hey," she said softly, her voice cutting through his simmering rage. "It’s not your fault. You’re helping, George. More than you know."
Thalia's gaze dropped to her injured hand, and her breath caught in her throat. The angry red cuts that had marred her skin were no longer bleeding, the salve working its magic with astonishing speed. The edges of the wounds seemed to shimmer faintly as they began to knit together, the torn flesh mending itself as if guided by an unseen hand. Her fingers flexed experimentally, and though there was still a faint ache, it was nothing compared to the searing pain she'd endured moments ago.
Her eyes widened in wonder, and she looked up at George, who was still focused intently on her hand. His fingers moved with such care, smoothing the last traces of the salve into her skin, as if he could will the pain away entirely. But his face was a storm of emotions. His brows were furrowed so tightly it looked as though they might never relax, and his lips were pressed into a firm line, his frustration simmering just beneath the surface.
“George,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.
He didn’t respond immediately, his hands stilling as he finally looked up at her. His dark eyes, usually so full of mischief and light, were shadowed with worry and anger. "It’s not right," he muttered, his voice low but fierce.
Thalia’s chest tightened at the raw emotion in his voice. She reached out with her uninjured hand, resting it lightly on his arm. "George," she said again, her tone firmer this time. "Look."
She tilted her hand slightly so he could see the transformation for himself. The cuts had nearly disappeared, leaving only faint pink lines where the wounds had been. The bleeding had stopped entirely, and her skin, though still tender, looked whole again.
George’s eyes flickered to her hand, and his breath hitched. His fingers brushed over the healed skin, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. "I told you it worked," he murmured, a note of relief creeping into his voice.”We hadn’t tested it on cuts as deep as yours,” he mumbled.
"It more than worked," Thalia said, her voice filled with awe. "George, this is incredible. You and Fred—you’ve done something amazing."
His gaze snapped back to her face, and for a moment, the tension in his expression softened. "We had to," he said simply. "You deserved something—anything—that could make this a little less awful."
Thalia’s lips curved into a small, grateful smile. "You’re amazing, you know that?"
A faint blush crept up George’s neck, but he tried to hide it with a lopsided grin. "Well, I do now," he teased, though his voice still held a hint of seriousness. "But, Lia..." His grin faltered, and his expression turned solemn once more. "I hate that you even needed this. I hate that we couldn’t stop it from happening in the first place."
Thalia squeezed his arm gently. "You can’t protect me from everything, George."
He studied her for a long moment, his dark eyes searching hers. Finally, he nodded, his grip on her hand tightening ever so slightly. "Alright," he said quietly. "But I’m not letting her—or anyone else—hurt you like this again. Not if I can help it."
Thalia’s heart swelled at his words, and she gave him a warm smile. "That isn’t your responsibility" she said softly, “you can’t wrap me up in cotton wool and lock me away. But this is enough, right here, you trying to make the world feel a little lighter, it’s enough.”
Though George looked as though he wanted to argue, his shoulders slumped in the realisation that she was right. For a moment, they simply sat there, hand in hand, the world around them fading into the background. Thalia couldn’t help but marvel at the boy in front of her, his determination, his kindness, and the fierce loyalty that seemed to burn within him.
The room was still alive with murmured conversations and the occasional sniffle, the flickering firelight casting warm shadows on the faces of the students scattered around. George’s weary eyes flicked toward Thalia, his smile soft but tinged with exhaustion.
"I've got a few more people to heal, then we can relax," he said, his voice low and steady, though the weight of the evening clung to him like a cloak.
Thalia gave him a resolute nod. "Okay," she said, standing up and brushing imaginary dust off her robes. "Let me help."
George’s smile widened, a genuine warmth lighting his features. "Or," he teased, grabbing her hand to stop her, "you could sit here and recuperate? Maybe let me do the heavy lifting for once?"
Thalia rolled her eyes, a playful smirk tugging at her lips. "You make me sound like a 92-year-old woman with a failing memory who forgets to feed her 14 cats regularly," she quipped.
George’s laughter rang out, a rare, lighthearted sound that seemed to lift the heaviness in the room, even if only for a moment. The mischievous glint returned to his eye, the George she knew peeking through the fatigue. "Sorry," he said, still chuckling, "I would really appreciate your help. You’re a better nurse than me anyway."
"Doctor," she corrected, her tone mock-serious.
"Right, Doctor Winterbourne," he said with a grin, running a hand through his messy hair. "Dobby brought a couple of packets of biscuits up earlier. Maybe you could offer comfort and a biscuit? You know, bedside manner and all that."
Thalia gave him a playful salute. "Yes, Doctor Weasley."
George chuckled again, his gaze drifting to a corner of the room where Colin Creevey sat hunched over, his small frame trembling slightly as he cradled his hand against his chest. His tear-streaked face was pale, his wide, glassy eyes staring blankly at the floor.
"Maybe you could help me with Colin?" George asked, his voice softening. "He’s been in tears since he came back. Won’t let anyone near him, not even Fred or I to heal him."
Thalia followed George’s gaze, her chest tightening at the sight of the younger boy. "Of course," she said, her voice quiet but resolute.
George gave her hand a grateful squeeze before letting go. "Thanks, Lia. I’ll be right behind you if you need backup."
She nodded, steeling herself as she approached Colin. The closer she got, the more fragile he seemed, his small shoulders shaking with silent sobs. She crouched down in front of him, careful not to startle him, and spoke in a soft, soothing tone.
"Hey, Colin," she said gently, her voice barely above a whisper. "It’s Thalia. I just wanted to check on you, see how you’re holding up."
Colin didn’t respond, his gaze fixed on some invisible point on the floor. Thalia’s heart ached for him. She reached into the pocket of her robes and pulled out the packet of biscuits, holding it out to him with a small smile.
"Dobby brought these up earlier," she said, her tone light and encouraging. "They’re really good. Maybe you’d like one?"
For a moment, Colin didn’t move. Then, slowly, his eyes flicked to the packet in her hand. His lip quivered, and he looked back down, more silent tears flowing down his cheeks.
"Colin," Thalia said, her voice a little firmer but still kind. "I know tonight was awful. It’s okay to feel scared or upset. But you don’t have to go through it alone, alright? We’re all here for you."
Colin sniffled, his lip trembling as he finally glanced up at her. "It—it hurt so much," he whispered, his voice cracking. "And—and she just smiled while we... while we—" His words dissolved into a choked sob.
Thalia’s chest tightened. She carefully set the biscuits down on the floor beside him and reached out, her movements slow and deliberate as she placed a hand on his arm
"I know,” she said gently. "And it wasn’t fair. None of this is fair. But you’re so brave, Colin. Braver than you know."
Colin’s eyes filled with fresh tears, but he didn’t look away this time. "I don’t feel brave," he mumbled.
"Bravery isn’t about not being scared," Thalia said, her voice steady. "It’s about doing what’s right, even when you’re terrified. And you’ve done that, Colin. You stood up for what you believe in. That’s what makes you brave."
For a moment, Colin didn’t say anything, his gaze darting between her face and the packet of biscuits. Finally, he reached out with his uninjured hand, taking one of the biscuits and holding it tightly.
Thalia smiled encouragingly. "See? Chocolate makes everything a little better," she said, earning a tiny, shaky laugh from him.
George appeared beside her, crouching down with the vial of salve in hand. "Hey, Colin," he said softly. "Mind if I take a look at your hand? This stuff works like magic—well, it is magic—but you get the idea."
Colin hesitated, his eyes darting nervously between George and Thalia.
"It’s okay," Thalia said gently, her voice steady and soothing as she crouched beside Colin. "George is really good at this. Look at my hand—it’s practically healed already." She held up her hand, turning it slowly in the firelight. The faint pink scars, still fresh but no longer bleeding, caught the glow, their puckered edges a testament to the salve’s effectiveness.
Colin’s wide, tear-streaked eyes flicked to her hand, then back to her face. "Did it hurt?" he whispered, his voice barely audible, as though afraid of the answer.
Thalia hesitated for only a heartbeat before answering, her tone honest but comforting. "Only for a second," she admitted, not wanting to betray the trust she had worked to earn. "But I’ll be here the whole time. You’re not alone, Colin."
The boy looked between her and George, his small frame trembling slightly. After what felt like an eternity, he gave a hesitant nod and slowly extended his injured hand, his movements tentative and unsure.
George knelt down beside him, his expression softening as he took Colin’s hand with practiced care. "Good lad," he said, his voice low and reassuring. He uncorked the vial of salve, the faint herbal scent wafting into the air as he dabbed a generous amount onto his fingertips. "This might sting just a little, but I promise it’ll feel better soon."
As George worked, his touch featherlight, Thalia stayed close, her presence a steady anchor for Colin. She kept up a stream of light conversation, her voice warm and encouraging. Whenever Colin winced or his face tensed in pain, she quickly offered him another biscuit, her smile never wavering.
The salve worked its magic swiftly. The angry, red cuts on Colin’s hand began to fade, the edges knitting together as though the wounds were being rewound in time. By the time George finished, the boy’s trembling had subsided, and the tears on his cheeks had dried. He looked up at them, his eyes still glassy but filled with something new: relief and a glimmer of hope.
"Thank you," Colin said softly, his voice shaking but sincere.
"Anytime, Colin," Thalia replied, ruffling his hair with a gentle hand. The small gesture brought the faintest hint of a smile to his lips.
"You’re really cool, George," Colin said, his gaze shifting to the older boy with open admiration.
George chuckled lightly, his smile warm and genuine. "You’re cool too, Colin. Braver than you know. There’s no way I’d have had the guts to stand up to that tyrant at your age."
Colin’s cheeks flushed faintly, and he ducked his head, a shy smile tugging at his lips.
Thalia rose to her feet, brushing off her robes and glancing toward the group of girls huddled by the far wall, their faces pale and drawn. She turned back to Colin, her tone light but caring. "We’re going to help some of the girls over there. Give us a shout if you need anything, okay?"
Colin nodded, clutching a biscuit in his hand like a talisman. "Okay," he murmured, his voice steadier now.
As Thalia and George approached the group of girls in the corner, she instinctively reached for his hand, finding comfort in the steady warmth of his palm against hers.
Nova and Kristen sat amidst the huddle, their postures protective, voices low as they spoke to the younger students. The girls looked small and fragile, their wide eyes darting around the room as if expecting another threat to materialize. Ginny sat nearby, perched on the arm of a chair like a sentinel, her expression unreadable but her presence grounding, a quiet strength radiating from her.
“That went well,” George murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as they stopped a few paces away.
Thalia nodded, her lips curving into a faint smile despite the weight in her chest. “He’s tougher than he thinks,” she said softly. “It’s amazing how resilient they all are.”
George’s gaze swept over the room, his brow furrowing. “Still, no one should have to be resilient in the face of... that.” His voice tightened, and for a moment, his jaw clenched. But then he shook his head, forcing himself to focus. “Alright, let’s see who’s next.”
Thalia followed his gaze to Nova and Kristen. “Let’s start with them,” she suggested. “They’re probably trying to keep everyone calm, but they need help too.”
He nodded, and they moved forward together. Kristen looked up as they approached, her face lighting up with relief when she saw them. “Hey,” she greeted, her voice a little hoarse. “You two okay?”
“We’re fine,” Thalia assured her. “How about you? And the others?”
Nova glanced at the younger girls, who huddled close together, trembling. “They’re scared,” she admitted quietly. “We’ve been trying to keep them distracted, but... it’s hard.”
George crouched down, his movements calm and deliberate as he pulled out another vial of salve. “Let’s get those hands sorted first,” he said. “Kristen, you’re up.”
Kristen hesitated, her gaze darting to the younger girls. “I’m fine. Help them first.”
“Nice try,” George said with a small smirk. “But you’re not fooling anyone. Show me your hand.”
With a reluctant sigh, Kristen held out her hand. The angry red cuts etched into her skin made Thalia’s stomach twist, but George’s expression softened as he set to work. His touch was practiced and gentle, and he applied the salve with the same care he’d shown Colin earlier.
Meanwhile, Thalia knelt beside Nova, offering her a biscuit and speaking softly to the younger girls. She asked them about their favorite classes, their pets back home, anything to draw their focus away from the lingering pain. Slowly, their tense shoulders began to relax, and one of the girls even managed a small, shy smile.
By the time George finished with Kristen, the cuts on her hand had begun to heal, the angry lines fading into faint, puckered scars. She flexed her fingers experimentally, a genuine smile breaking through her tired expression. “Thanks,” she said, her voice soft but warm.
“Anytime,” George replied, already turning to Nova. “Alright, your turn.”
Nova rolled her eyes but held out her hand. “I was hoping you’d forget about me,” she teased.
“Not a chance,” George said, grinning as he reached for her hand.
As George worked, Kristen shifted closer to Thalia, leaning her head on her shoulder with a weary sigh. “Your boyfriend’s pretty amazing, Lia,” she whispered, her voice low enough that only Thalia could hear. “I approve, " Kristen continued as she sent her a cheeky wink.
Thalia’s cheeks flushed, and she murmured, “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“Yet,” Kristen replied, her tone playful but her smile kind.
Thalia let out a soft laugh, shaking her head as she felt the heat rising to her cheeks. "Kristen, you’re ridiculous," she whispered, nudging her friend lightly with her shoulder.
Kristen just grinned, her exhaustion momentarily forgotten. "I call it like I see it. And what I see is a guy who’s completely smitten." She gestured subtly toward George, who was focused on applying the salve to Nova’s hand, his touch gentle and his expression intent.
Thalia glanced over at him, her heart skipping a beat. There was something about the way George poured so much care into his actions that made her chest tighten. "He’s just... kind," she said softly, more to herself than to Kristen.
"Kind and head over heels," Kristen teased, her grin widening. "You’re lucky, Lia. Don’t let that one get away."
Before Thalia could respond, Nova let out a soft hiss of pain, and George immediately paused, his voice gentle. "Sorry, Nova. Almost done, I promise."
Nova gave him a weak smile. "It’s okay. You’re better at this than Madam Pomfrey, honestly."
George chuckled. "Don’t let her hear you say that. She might hex me out of the hospital wing."
By the time he finished, Nova’s hand looked significantly better, the cuts faded and the swelling reduced. She flexed her fingers cautiously, then gave George a grateful look. "Thanks, George. Really."
"Anytime," he said with a warm smile, standing and brushing off his hands. His gaze flicked to Thalia, and his smile softened. "How’s the biscuit distribution going, Lia?"
Thalia rolled her eyes playfully. "Very successful, thank you. Though I think I might need to start charging for them. Demand is high."
George laughed, the sound easing some of the tension in the room. "You’re a natural entrepreneur. Fred and I should bring you on as a partner."
Kristen smirked, leaning closer to Thalia. "See? He’s already planning your future together."
Thalia groaned, covering her face with her hands. "Kristen, stop," she mumbled, though she couldn’t hide the smile tugging at her lips.
George raised an eyebrow, looking between the two of them. "What’s so funny?"
"Nothing," Thalia said quickly, shooting Kristen a warning look.
Kristen just grinned innocently. "Oh, nothing at all, George. Nothing at all."
Shaking his head, George reached out and took Thalia’s hand, giving it a light squeeze. "Come on, partner. Let’s keep going. Still a lot of people to help."
Thalia felt her heart flutter at the gesture but managed to keep her voice steady. "Lead the way, Doctor Weasley."
As they moved to the next group, Kristen’s knowing smirk followed them, but Thalia chose to ignore it, focusing instead on the warmth of George’s hand in hers and the way his presence made everything feel just a little bit easier to bear.