Roots

05:00

“Good morning, Potter.”

Selwyn.  Back from wherever he'd disappeared to after helping to shut Mrs. Thistle up in one room - then shutting Harriet up in another.  They've been modified, of course - the rooms, that is.  How could they not be - with the number of people now packed into a single floor?  The room Harriet's in now is a third the size of an average patient room on any other floor - a third of the size of the average patient room on this floor just last week - the bed takes up most of the floor space, and there's no attached loo.  If she were to get off the bed - and she's most certainly not going to - she wouldn't be able to fully extend her arms in any direction, probably, before touching wall or door.  And there's no window - no natural light - the only light, in fact, is from a single lamp suck by a charm on one of the posts at the foot of the bed - but she's not about to complain.  She's certainly not about to demand preferential treatment.  Not with how frightened the other patients must be - she's a Healer.  She can suck it up and stay in this tiny bloody room quietly for as long as it bloody well takes.

Harriet doesn’t bother sitting up when Selwyn squeezes more fully into the room and shuts the door behind him.  Keeps her eyes on the ceiling - her back flat on the mattress.  Is it childish?  Perhaps.  But she thinks she's allowed this minimal amount of grace -

"It's now been approximately six hours since you were potentially exposed - how are you feeling?"

How is she feeling?  Is he fucking serious?  How is she feeling - she's fucking stressed, is what she is - she's been vomited on - violently - and she hasn't changed out of the robes, and she looks like a bloody living crime scene.  The fabric of her robes - her underclothes - has dried sticky and stiff - harsh against her skin.  Tacky and uncomfortable.  Not to mention she's fucking worried - about Mrs. Thistle, frightened and ill.  About Severus.  About Ginny, who'll wake up wondering where she is - wondering what the fuck happened to her.  About Malfoy - who's probably at this point delirious and suffering from various organ failure.  About everyone and everything and everywhere -

It's such a stupid question, though she knows, of course, why he's asked it - and she bites down on her tongue to keep herself from replying with something vicious - if only because of that.  As for the first of the expected symptoms -

Does she feel feverish?

She doesn’t know.  She really, truly does not.

“Good morning,” she mutters - as he's her boss, and she's not in the mood for a row, however fucking stressed out she is.  "I feel fine."

Selwyn is silent for a dragging moment.  He looms over her awkwardly - his eyes are heavy on her face - she keeps her own gaze pointed straight up.  Keeps her breathing as regular as she can.  Her hands, folded over her stomach, sweat the slightest bit under the scrutiny.  The dried vomit is rough against her palms.

"Very well.  We will be - checking in with you, of course.  Periodically."

"Of course," Harriet says to the ceiling.  And then - because she has some self control but not unlimited self control, and she simply cannot exist for another second without knowing: "Does he know?"

Another pause.  Long enough - strained enough - Harriet lifts her head to look at Selwyn where he's - he's bloody squirming in the impossibly small gap between the wall and the bed.  The layers - she'd estimate four of them - of protective charms wrapped around his person warp the pinched look on his face horribly.

"Not yet," he admits - very much like he doesn't want to.  Harriet starts to push herself upright - opens her mouth, outrage rising rapidly in her chest - swelling - it must be showing in her face -

He then - there's simply no other word for it.  He does not wait for her to speak - to shout at him - to admonish him - to beg him.  He just - stumbling - almost panicked - he flees.

--

07:00

"Harriet, my dear girl."

The headmaster lets the door swing shut behind him, shuffling closer.  As much as he can, anyway, in such a confined space - though, despite his age, he's still somehow more graceful than Selwyn had been - than Harriet herself had been when she'd first crab-walked onto the bed just after midnight.  Harriet sits up immediately this time - pulls her knees to her chest - wraps her arms around them - and watches him as he maneuvers to sit at the end of the bed himself - just beside the lamp.  Though he's just as layered with protective charms as Selwyn had been, his don't flicker his appearance nearly as much.

“How are you feeling?”

She shrugs.  She truly does not know.  Again.  Still.

Albus is quiet for a moment - perhaps giving her time to gather her thoughts?  A wasted effort - she doesn’t have any at the moment.  Well - no, that’s not strictly true.  She does have thoughts, but they’re for other people.  Still.  The people she loves - both infected and not.  The people she doesn't know.  The people trapped inside the hospital - the sickly panic hovering in the air must be pushing its way inside them the way it's pushing its way inside her.  The people outside it - the creeping fear she knows they must be experiencing -

And Severus -

“Does he know?” she asks again - before she could possibly think better of it - before she can consider who she's asking - and why his relationship with Severus is so fractured.  The - and while she herself has forgiven him, there's no other word she can use - the lies he told - right to Severus's face.  Piles and piles of them - growing and swelling and suffocating over years and years and years.  She understands Severus's resistance to just - blanket forgiveness - and she'd never tell him he's wrong for it.  And Albus - he, like Selwyn, hesitates - though differently - as with Albus, there is no true hesitation - and it's warning enough. 

She shuts her eyes.

“Daniel has ordered silence,” he finally murmurs.  At first - jarring, to hear Selwyn's first name - to remember he has one - to remember he is just a man underneath all of his bloody mystique as a leader - same as Albus is.  It doesn't last long.  Albus's delivery is even - measured - almost too much so.  But Harriet knows him well enough at this point - and she hears it clearly - he disagrees.  She opens her eyes again - lifts her head from her knees enough to look at his face - at the frown there, tugging very gently at the corners of his mouth. 

“But you’re going to tell him anyway?”

This - she asks on purpose.  With forethought and intent.  Sees no reason not to - wants to know - needs to know, besides.  She holds his eyes through the question - holds her breath a little, maybe, once the words are out in the air between them. 

Albus looks at her over his spectacles.  Pauses - hesitates - is it true hesitation, this time? 

"I must confess," he says quietly, "that I have been struggling with this."

Harriet blinks - opens her mouth.  Nothing comes out - probably for the better.  She hasn't a clue what she might have said as a knee-jerk reaction.

"Daniel," the headmaster goes on, "does not believe Severus will be able to handle it.  The worry - for you.  He believes he will lose focus."

"That's bullshit," Harriet says - perhaps more forcefully than intended - a small smile flickers across Albus's face.  But it is fucking bullshit - and here she'd thought Selwyn has fucking respect for Severus - what the fuck she'd been thinking, she no longer knows.  "We both know that's not - "

"No, it's not accurate at all," Albus inclines his head once.  "Severus - I don't think it's appropriate to say he thrives under intense stress.  But he does survive it - with such profound stubbornness, might I add."

Stubborn.  Harriet can't help the smile that fights its way onto her face - if only for a moment.  Albus is still smiling back at her - but she cannot disagree.  Yes, he is such a lovely, stubborn man, isn't he - their Severus?

Her Severus.

"I understand Daniel's worry that he will attempt to get into this room - if only to see with his own eyes that you're stable and whole.  He will not trust Daniel's word - he will certainly not trust my word.  Yet - it's entirely selfish, but I know he will not forgive me for this.  This silence.  This will be - a bridge too far.  And I am afraid."

Silence.  Harriet blinks some more - her throat is closing up a bit.  More of that worry - for Severus.  For Albus.  For both of them - together, separate.  Her own bit of selfishness - she'd very much like Severus and Albus to - be friends again.  She would.  Not for herself.  For Albus - she doubts there's anyone who can possibly understand him as well as Severus can.  For Severus - she thinks - she knows - he'd be happier with Albus as a friend.  That's not to say he's not happy now - he is - she knows it - she sees it - she feels it - but he would be happier - and that's all she wants.  She wants him to be as happy as he possibly can be.  Because he deserves it.   

"Forgive me," Albus finishes quietly.  "It's not my intention to unburden myself on you, my dear, especially not under these circumstances.  I certainly don't intend to force you to carry the weight alongside me.  I knew the choices I made would shatter his faith in me - frankly, I did not believe I'd live to see the consequences."

Harriet presses her chin to her knees.  Tightens her arms around her legs.  Looks at him - his eyes are so very blue behind his half-moon spectacles, even in the shadowy room.  So very blue, and so very - sad.

"If it makes it any easier," she offers, speaking just as softly, "if none of you tell him, I'll find a way to tell him myself."

Albus smiles again - warm.  Not - cruelly amused - simple, light amusement.  "You haven't a wand, Harriet."

Harriet scoffs, rolls her eyes in the most exaggerated way possible.  "I don't need a wand," she says. 

Albus's smile grows.

--

10:00

The room is boring. 

Even with waiting for the - the inevitable?  The eventual illness - even with waiting for the symptoms to start.  For the sweat beading at her brow.  For her hands to start shaking, perhaps.  The feeling of wrongness - no one has been able to adequately describe it, so she spends her time wondering how it may manifest rather than fixate on things outside of her control - Albus.  Severus.  Selwyn.  She thinks about the illness - about how to recognize when it finally starts.  She takes stock of herself constantly - tries, in her head - muttering out loud to herself - to make constant, updated notes on the state of her body.

It gets her, of course, bloody fucking no where.

Albus stops in once every hour.  He seems to be the person who does the most consistent rounds - that, or he's stopping in her room constantly because she's - Harriet Potter.  Because she's the Savior - because she and Severus are together - because morale would certainly be damaged both inside and outside the hospital if she were to suddenly keel over and die - the reason doesn't really matter - all that matters is he does consistently come back, which keeps Harriet from outright climbing the walls.

"Have you slept?" he asks on - perhaps the sixth or seventh visit?  She's lost count - not a good sign, though she hasn't been spending much brainpower on trying to tell the time.  Harriet looks at him flatly.  "I understand it's difficult," he goes on.  "But - forgive me for saying, my dear.  You look exhausted."

Yes, well, it's been rather difficult to get adequate sleep under these circumstances - really, what the bloody fuck does he expect?  For all they'd been connecting quite deeply hours ago - that's just it.  It's been hours, and he's been free to move about the building - to see people - to know that they're okay, and she's been stuck here.  And she knows nothing about what's happening, still, outside this claustrophobic nightmare of a room.  She glares at him - he merely gazes back - not quite serene but as close as someone can get with all that latent worry leaking into the lines of their face. 

And, also - the other worry.  The thought - Severus, sneaking off to go check on her - and finding her gone.  Scouring the remaining floors - all but this floor - finding her nowhere.  She can picture it too clearly - the look on his face -

"Have you told him?" she demands instead of responding to this at all - she's given him plenty of fucking time - to actually do it, and to volunteer the information - and Albus doesn't quite flinch, though his expression does undeniably flicker.

But: "I have," he murmurs.

Her stomach twists in on itself.  She'd been flat on her back again - she sits up sharply.  Albus continues to gaze at her - silent. 

"And?"

Is that - is that a sarcastic smile?  Is it truly?  On Albus Dumbledore's face?

"As poorly as you might imagine," he replies softly.  "Both Severus and Daniel are quite lucky that Daniel was somewhere else entirely when I told him.  And I am quite lucky Daniel has not forcibly removed me from St. Mungo's for my, and I quote, insolence."

Harriet snorts - to try to distract herself from that horrible sinking sensation in her chest.  It falls horribly flat - and though Albus's expression flickers again, he doesn't call her on it.  "As if he could," she says.

Albus smiles - just as strained as every part of her body is beginning to feel.  Is this - the start of it?  The - ache in her muscles - her arms and legs and chest.  The - prickling at her fingertips.  Is this the wrongness - or is it the result of more worry - more stress - all of it layering on top of each other - pressing down on her torso.  It's no wonder it's so difficult to put into words, that wrongness - she can't tell.  She can't tell what's - physical.  What's an - emotional response.

If it is the start - she seals her mouth shut.  Doesn't say it.  Doesn't offer it. 

Not yet.

--

13:00

She does doze.  Sort of.  Just barely.

She wakes only a few hours later - still feeling - not quite normal but still quite normal, all things considered.  She still hasn't slept enough - that, she's feeling - an uncomfortable and unpleasant taste at the back of her throat.  Her lids heavy - her blinks long.  Her awareness - maybe not up to par.  It takes her several seconds too long to recognize why she's woken at all -

The voices rising just outside her door.

And when she does -

" - stand aside.  Now."

Harriet's heart plunges out of her body - through the floor beneath her - through the pavement and dirt beneath the building - and straight into the center of the earth.

"I cannot do that, Severus," Albus replies - sounding remarkably calm - given everything.  Yes, he is Albus Dumbledore - but he is capable of being vulnerable.  He'd proven that just that morning.  It's probably a good sign he seems so level at the moment - but, still - Harriet lurches off of the bed for the first time since she entered the room - the door is warded - visibly now where it hadn't been before, light dancing in the minuscule space between the frame and the door itself, and she wonders, distantly, if Albus intends that warning for her, for Severus, or for both of them - though she has no intention of opening the door.  Not with Severus out there.  She simply - "And I believe Harriet would agree with me - "

She can picture the look on Severus's face perfectly.  Vividly. 

"You cannot believe you can keep me from her," he hisses - sounding possibly as wild as she's ever heard him.  He's undoubtedly baring his teeth.  "You will move, or I will move you - "

"Severus - "

"Stand aside, old man - "

A silence.  Charged - every hair on her body is standing up, she thinks.  The top of her head must look bloody absurd.  At least one of them has their wand lifted - possibly both of them.  Harriet swallows hard - gets closer to the flickering of the ward.  Breathes in through her nose.  Out through her mouth.

"She is not showing symptoms yet," Albus finally says.  Severus makes a noise - vicious - disparaging -

"You cannot expect me to believe you - " he snarls.  "With how many shameless lies you've told me about her - ?  You've lost your mind, Albus - "

She hears it - feels it pulse through the ward - the little breath Albus lets out at those words.  Her skin prickles - her heart beats a two-step, tattooing itself all over the insides of her chest cavity.  And if she feels like this - well, she can't imagine.  For either of them.  She does know - without seeing it - merely feeling it - hearing it - at a distance - this can’t go on.  It can’t.

"Severus," Harriet calls - perhaps a little louder than intended - and her voice cracks a little around his name.  There's the sound of sharp movement outside - though neither of them speaks.  "I am okay - I promise - "

More silence.  Heavy - crackling with that same energy.  She can still see his face - quite clearly, as if he's standing right in front of her.  That - cornered, animal look.  That fury.  His wand - it's sparking, undoubtedly, if it's in his hand -

The terror beneath all of it.  Suffocating - as it is for her.

"She'll be fine, Severus," Albus murmurs.  "And she and I both have absolute faith in - "

- you.

He breaks off.  Harriet doesn't have to wonder why.  She can hear it quite clearly.  Severus - turning on heel and stalking away.  His footsteps heavy - echoing.  Furious.

--

18:00

"Mrs. Thistle - the poor dear - does not appear to be infected.  She has thrown up six more times since last night."

Harriet blinks at Albus - at Selwyn, hovering behind him, looking quite sullen.  Her eyes are heavy in her face - her cheeks prickle, and her nose feels rather full.

She hadn't slept more - after.  After that - row, for lack of a better word - after Severus had stormed away, and Albus had come inside the room once more, and Harriet had refused to say anything to him - not out of any anger but because words- they wouldn't have helped.  Not then.  Not now, either.

Still -

"She - was getting better.  From that - absurd little curse," she says.  Her voice - catches in her throat.  Selwyn grimaces - and fucking why?  She manages a stab of annoyance - though it doesn't, unfortunately, linger.  She's quite sure her glare is rather pathetic - she doesn't bother with it for longer than half a minute.

"She was," Albus agrees.  "A backslide, I think, last night.  She is beginning to recover again.  She has no symptoms of any other infection - and you, of course, have not shown anything either.  You do not even have a fever."

"So you think," Harriet starts - swallows around the growing lump in her throat, "it was a false alarm?" 

That I fucked up?  That I scared everyone for no reason?

"I think it's very possible, yes."

Harriet nods.  She can do nothing else.

--

22:00

"My dear," Albus says quietly - approximately 23 hours after she was first not-actually exposed.  "Because we have need of this room - I believe it's time to send you back upstairs."

Harriet nods again.  Takes her wand when he produces it from his own sleeve - layers on protective charms to match his.  She doesn't stand until this is done - there's simply not enough space for it with them both in the room.  But stand she does.  She doesn't speak - there's nothing, really, to say.  Alone with her thoughts these last few hours - she's considered, from every possible angle, the ways in which she might have been a fool.  She can't find any - not without tilting her head and squinting her eyes and altering the quality of her glasses - because, truly, she's not a fool.  The circumstances - she could have gone on - potentially exposing Ginny - Frankie - Severus - sweet Merlin, no.  Caution - necessary.  Safer.  She can't regret it.  She won't regret keeping them all safe - as safe as she can.  She can't.

She leaves the floor without protest - she could pitch a fit and demand to see Severus, but she's not fool enough to think that'll do anything for either of them.  Well - anything good - Severus probably has enough on his mind at the moment.  He'd said he was close the last time they properly saw each other - he clearly needs more time, or this would be over.  Harriet can't risk delaying it more - making things worse for him - for all of them.  It would be unspeakably selfish - she'll allow it of Albus, apparently, but now, with things as they are -

She rides the lifts alone and in silence.  Doesn't go to her own office - maybe should, to see Ginny.  Can't bring herself to.  It's been 23 hours since she last properly slept, and even at the time, she hadn't gotten nearly enough - given she'd been woken in the middle of the night.  She goes to Severus's office instead.  She can't see him at the moment - but she can feel close to him.  She can smell him and feel his lingering magic - in his private space.  She still has the horrible, stained robes on - strips them off and leaves them in a pile in the center of the room.  She rifles through his cabinet - shamelessly - and if he wants an apology later, she'll give it.  For the mess.  For the possible invasion of privacy.  All Healers have spare clothing - Severus is no exception.  She finds an old collared shirt - rather Muggle-looking, really - slips it on.  It's softer than she would expect.  Uncle Vernon's had always been stiff - a bit crusty, even.  Severus's is - pliable.  Worn.  She might even be tricking herself - that it's still warm like him - that it's layered in his scent.  She lays down in only this and her knickers on the makeshift bed - she knows from looking he hasn't used it since they last used it together.  Just over a day ago.  It - somehow - feels like weeks have passed since then.

Shuts her eyes.  Settles herself.  Presses her face into his pillow.

Still doesn't fall asleep.