Pride & Prejudice
Chapter 16: Pride & Prejudice
As promised, Blaise was the last to arrive through the Floo, landing in the main reception area of St. Mungo’s. Theo had marched ahead, dragging Harry by the elbow to the front desk alongside him. Any qualms the check-in witch had with Theo were immediately soothed by the presence of the great Harry Potter. She gave them the room number without a fuss, and the group proceeded to the spell damage floor.
They twisted and turned, navigating around mediwitches, Healers, and visitors, finally ending up in front of the room they’d been looking for. Several sets of lime green robes hovered in the room, casting diagnostics and murmuring over an unconscious Augusta. Neville was shifting around and pacing in the corner, too upset to sit down and too nervous to stand still. The sterile white room was much too crowded to fit their oversized cohort, so Theo and Harry entered alone.
Sliding along the wall, so as not to disrupt the Healers, Harry reached Neville first, accepting an emotionally charged hug, holding his friend as he finally let himself process the moment.
Becoming a werewolf hadn’t changed Neville as much as Harry had been trying to believe. Of course, he’d never judge or discriminate against his friend. He’d loved Lupin as an uncle figure, and Neville would always been his friend. What he had forgotten, however, was how sensitive his friend could be. Perhaps the wolf was better at hiding every minute emotion, but Neville was someone who felt deeply and loved genuinely, and those kinds of feelings couldn’t stay buried for long.
“Nev,” Harry said gently, not wanting to break the hug until Neville was ready, “what happened?”
Neville pulled away, wiping his face haphazardly with the sleeve of his shirt—the same one he’d worn to the funeral that morning. “Gran got this sudden burst of energy as we were leaving Hogwarts, and she took off ahead of me once we got to Godric’s Hollow. I was trying to catch up when she turned down our front walk, but I heard her yell at someone who must’ve been waiting there. He said that she’d been warned and then he cast the same curse they used on Blaise. It has to be related right?” He looked at Harry, pleadingly.
“Well, it’s highly likely…” Harry admitted, not wanting to say too much in front of the Healers. He still didn’t know who could be trusted in places such as this or the Ministry. The Wizengamot was obviously case and point.
“Mr. Longbottom?” A Healer, not much older than them turned to give Neville the update on his grandmother, when Harry recognized her as Alicia Spinnet.
“Alicia?” He took a step forward to look at her properly.
She turned her tired eyes toward him and blinked a few times before the recognition hit. “Harry! Sorry I didn’t recognize you, I’m closing out what was supposed to be a twelve hour shift that turned into more like eighteen,” she yawned. “How are you? I catch glimpses in The Prophet, but we all know how reliable that can be.”
“Yeah,” Harry rolled his eyes, “things have been chaotic. I’m not even sure what they’re saying about me now either.”
Neville cleared his throat.
“Oh! Sorry, Mr—well, Neville, since we’ve established we all know each other,” she fumbled awkwardly. “Your grandmother is temporarily being sedated while her body tries to heal. We were able to close the wound, thankfully it missed any vital structures, but her magic was a bit weak when we did our last scans. We’ll be back to check on her in an hour, but if you need anything before then, there’s a blue button on the side of her bed that will page me and the rest of her team.”
“Thanks, Alicia,” Neville said, dropping heavily into the chair against the wall.
“Not a problem, I have one more case to attend to before my shift is finally over. I’ll stop in and introduce your next Healer before I go,” she smiled sleepily, exiting the room and leaving the door open for the rest of Augusta’s visitors to come in after her.
As Draco and Hermione passed her, Alicia did a double take, shaking her head and muttering about desperately needing sleep since she was seeing dead people now. She drifted into the room next to Augusta’s, not even closing the door completely behind her as she stifled another yawn.
“What’s up with Spinnet?” Draco asked as soon as Blaise had closed the door behind them.
“Too long of a shift,” Harry shrugged.
Draco scoffed, “Right because a Healer who can barely keep her eyes open is of real use to people who could die if she did something wrong…”
Hermione glared at him, but Pansy stepped in. “For once, just forget about standing up for every bleeding Gryffindor and use your brain. Spell damage is a tricky floor to work on, Granger, she needs full use of her faculties so she doesn’t accidentally kill someone.”
“You know she’s right, Mione,” Ron said, crossing his arms over his chest.
Hermione rolled her eyes, but backed down. Pansy patted Ron on the head like a good little lapdog. “Thank you, Ronald,” she cooed. The tone only annoyed Hermione further, but she didn’t comment.
“So did you see who it was, Nev?” Harry asked, ignoring the weird tension brewing across the room.
Neville shook his head, “He was wearing a black, hooded cloak, nothing special or unique. I’d say he was about my height but I couldn’t even describe his build, Harry.” He dropped his head into his hands, sniffling.
“Did you recognize their voice, maybe? Or…scent?” Harry tried to prod gently.
He sighed, “It wasn’t one I recognized, but it’s possible I’d be able to identify it if I smelled it again…I’m sorry Harry. I was so focused on getting Gran here—“
“Don’t worry, we’ll figure it out,” Harry put a comforting hand on his shoulder.
“At the risk of sounding insensitive, who would want to attack your grandmother, Longbottom?” Draco asked skeptically.
Harry counted off the obvious on his fingers, “Burke, Mr. Parkinson—sorry Pansy,” she shrugged and he continued, “pretty much anyone who was anti-werewolf and anti-Death Eater.”
“Why do you say it like that?” Ron questioned.
Luna untucked herself from Blaise’s protective arm, “Don’t you see? It’s someone who fought for the Light. Who else would be anti-Slytherin,” she corrected Harry with a calculating look, “because they attacked Blaise and he’s always kept his distance from the Death Eaters. His mother even fled during the first war.”
“And we’re sure it’s the same person?” Pansy was biting on her perfectly manicured nails now, increasingly worried her father had potential to be the attacker.
“It would be quite the coincidence if not,” Hermione mused aloud. “The exact same curse, wearing a dark cloak and hooded with no real witnesses to identify them…they’re probably younger or a professional if they can move that quickly and not be seen.”
“That’s definitely not Burke…,” Harry mumbled, “but we can’t rule out the possibility he has someone working for him.”
Draco huffed. “Keep the list going Potter. Burke, Parkinson, who else?”
“Gran has a knack for pissing people off, Malfoy. The list is as long as this room,” Neville sighed, rubbing his eyes again tiredly.
Pansy crossed her arms, “Well I don’t believe my father would harm Blaise—he’s one of us! Besides, neither of your two scapegoats are on your side, Potter. Both Burke and my father were somewhat in league with the Death Eaters, so what exactly is their motive to attack Blaise, hmm?”
“Maybe one of them crossed Burke? Now he wants revenge on anyone still connected with them?” Ron shrugged.
None of it made any sense, and Hermione made a point to let them all know it. “We have to be missing something…”
“Maybe it’s a woman? Was there anything that distinctly made you believe it was a man?” Harry asked in a last ditch effort.
“It was definitely a man’s voice—“ Neville started to answer when the door to the room next to Augusta’s flew open and Alicia came barreling out as the patient inside berated her.
“I SHOULD BE IN A MORE PRIVATE ROOM! DON'T YOU KNOW WHO I AM?!” he blared.
She slipped back into Augusta’s room, closing the door firmly behind her and slumping against it in relief. “I can’t believe there were two attacks so similar and at practically the same time.” She rubbed at her temples soothingly. “Sorry about that, he’s a bit fussy.” She side eyed Draco and Harry snickered at the implication.
“Any relation of yours?” Harry prodded Draco’s shoulder, earning him a look that could most definitely kill. It was Hermione and Theo’s turn to chuckle.
Draco sneered. “Definitely not. One of the few perks of my entire family being deceased with the exception of my mother.” Narcissa gave him a look of irritation, and immediate guilt flashed across his face.
Harry couldn’t help but feel the similarities then. If Muggles were allowed in the place, he’d have been worried it was Uncle Vernon, but as it stood…his entire wizarding family besides Hermione was dead too.
“Alicia? You said the other patient came in around the same time as Mrs. Longbottom?” Hermione chewed her bottom lip in thought, her eyes darting between the door and Neville.
The Healer nodded gravely, “he showed up maybe five minutes after she did. I really shouldn’t tell you any of this—privacy rules and such—but he’s lucky whoever cursed him did it nonverbally…probably what saved his life. His poncy arse’ll be discharged in no time.”
A new Healer in fresh, lime robes entered the room, knocking Alicia into the chair beside the door.
“Oh! Healer Spinnet! Pardon me, ma’am! I was told to report to you for rounds and shift change—“
“It’s fine, Bitsy,” Alicia huffed, pulling herself back to her feet and smoothing her disheveled ponytail. “Everyone, this is Healer Moran. She’ll be taking over for the evening, and I’ll be back for rounds in the morning.”
“Wait, Moran? Are you related to Saoirse Moran on the Irish national team?” Ron cut in.
“Hello!” Healer Moran waved eagerly, taking in the ridiculous number of visitors that had made their way into the room. “Just married, actually.” She blushed but more in a proud way than in actual embarrassment as she flipped her hand over to flash the ring in his face.
“Oh, uh, congrats,” he murmured slightly less enthusiastically than before.
Alicia rolled her eyes, “George already has her autograph, so you can forget about asking for another.”
Ron looked away sheepishly,
“The attacks have been the talk of the floor since I got here, mind filling me in?”
Alicia led Bitsy from the room, going over treatment details and the similarities between the attacks. Just as Draco was about to close the door behind them, the patient in the next room began to shout again. “HELLO?! IS ANYONE GOING TO CHECK ON ME? I DONATE THOUSANDS OF GALLEONS EACH YEAR AND YOU IMBECILES CAN’T EVEN TEND TO SOMEONE GRAVELY INJURED?!”
“Okay, I’ve had enough of that,” Draco swung the door open, surprising the two Healers still standing outside the room, flipping through a medical chart. Before he could take another step toward the other patient’s room, Hermione snagged the back of his collar and yanked him back into Augusta’s room.
“Oh, no you don’t. Hardly anyone knows we’re alive, and with all these attacks,” she gulped, her eyes landing on Narcissa’s for the briefest moment, “you really don’t need to become a target.”
Draco, who had been braced to fight her on the matter, let his shoulders drop and reached out to hold her. “You’re right, love.”
“Well, I was already attacked so can I go?” Blaise smirked as he slipped out the door, not waiting for a real answer much to Luna’s annoyance.
“Harry can I speak with you out in the hall?” Hermione asked, her focus still bouncing between Neville and the door.
“Er, sure,” he adjusted his glasses and started to follow her out the door.
It only took about thirty seconds before the shouting started up again. The other man’s voice grew angrier and angrier, yelling over Blaise’s own voice, making the ‘conversation’ difficult to decipher.
“LISTEN HERE, YOU LITTLE DEATH EATER FUCK! GET OUT OF MY ROOM BEFORE I HAVE YOU ARRESTED!”
Harry had heard enough. He, Draco, Theo and Hermione stormed the few feet down the hall, ripping the door open, wands drawn.
“Perfect!” the other patient clapped as Harry entered the room, pleased. “Mr. Potter, right on time!”
His smug grin only grew when Hermione stepped in just after Harry. “Miss Granger! But you were—“
“Dead. Yes. I know,” she replied snarkily, not swayed by his intoned praise in the slightest. “And you are…?”
“Sullivan Fawley,” he bowed his head slightly in her direction, sneering as he raised his head and noticed Draco and Theo had joined them. “Rounding up the remaining riff raff? I’m glad to see someone’s finally going to cart them off to Azkaban.”
“So much for keeping a low profile,” Ron mumbled as he walked up behind Hermione and Draco.
Harry’s jaw had dropped exponentially more with each word that flew out of Fawley’s mouth. He couldn't believe what he was hearing. The man had seemed so kind, and willing to make some good changes when they’d last met. Harry prided himself on being a good judge of character, but clearly he had been wrong.
There was no doubt, surely, in any of their minds that Fawley had something to do with the attacks. If nothing else, he had to be involved with Blaise’s. The vitriol he spat was reminiscent of Umbridge, and Harry made a mental note to check into any links he might have had with the hateful woman.
He would need to take control of the situation before Hermione or Draco—or Theo—decided to snap and beat the man to a bloody pulp. Draco and Theo would definitely go to Azkaban for something like that…Hermione not so much, but he didn’t want to chance it.
“Sullivan, I think this has all been one big misunderstanding, don’t you?” Harry tried to ease the tension, turning slightly to put himself between Hermione and the injured wizard who seemed to not notice the protective formation his visitors had naturally shifted into.
Hermione, however, did notice and huffed in irritation at being “protected” by all the brutes in her life. Harry prayed she didn’t do anything stupid like giving up her position and trying to prove herself should spells start flying… Fawley’s wand was sitting on the closer end of the side table next to his bed.
“Misunderstanding? I think perhaps it is you, Harry, who doesn’t understand,” Fawley said gravely. “Why do you stand there, side by side with those criminals? Don’t you know what they’ve done? Who they’ve killed?”
“We’ve never killed anyone, mate,” Blaise rolled his eyes in exasperation like he’d tried to explain this very thing several times already.
“LIES!” Fawley shouted. “I watched you! All three of you—you, in your black cloaks and hoods, your silver masks! You broke through our wards, into our home!”
Draco stepped forward, hands raised in surrender. “Look, I can see where this is going. Fawley, is it? Blaise and Theo were never Marked. They don’t have masks or cloaks and they certainly never broke into anyone’s home—“
“YOU’RE A DEATH EATER! YOU KILLED DUMBLEDORE!” Fawley sat up jerkily, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, his palm resting on the handle of his wand, not drawn but ready.
“No—,” Draco shook his head, “I didn’t kill him, Snape did. Ask Potter, he was there.”
Harry shot Draco a look to shut him up. Arguing with someone clearly dealing with a severe trauma and a broken mental state wasn’t going to get them anywhere. If anything, he had a feeling this whole confrontation was making it worse. He just hoped Draco understood the sentiment.
Fawley didn’t take the bait. His eyes, so full of hate and fire, never left Draco’s. “You killed my family! All of them! I was finishing up at the office, like I always did. Mum had asked me to come home for dinner, but I had to stop at my flat first to change. By the time I got to their house, I saw you all apparating away as my home went up in flames! I could hear the screams—my parents—my little sister!” He broke into sobs, his strained posture crumbling with each heave of his shoulders. “She was fourteen. I tried to put it out…nothing was working. There was nothing else I could do—the fire was too hot, I couldn’t get close enough… No one came to help us—the Dark Mark—His mark was hovering over the house. They were too afraid…”
Harry crept forward, trying not to startle the grieving man. He reached out to place a comforting hand on his uninjured shoulder, attempting to put space between Fawley and his wand. He was unstable, and Harry had an educated guess as to what would happen if he decided to enact his revenge now.
As Harry’s fingers reached the fabric of the hospital gown, Fawley’s closed around his wand. “They were afraid of YOU!” He slashed through the air, “Sect—“
“Silencio!” Hermione silenced him, anticipating the same move Harry had. However, just like the Department of Mysteries, she wasn’t quick enough.
They all watched as Draco looked down at his chest in shock, the crimson seeping through his shirt. He brushed it gently with his hand before falling limply to the ground, Theo catching his head just before it hit the tile below.
Blaise and Ron shot back stunners, but Fawley was out of the bed now, throwing a whole host of nasty hexes and curses that ricocheted off the walls and shattered the lamp on the bedside table.
Harry threw himself to the floor beside his once-rival. He had barely been in time for Blaise, but he would make sure Draco came out alright…again. “Vulnera sanentur. Vulnera sanentur.” He repeated the sing-song chant, drawing his wand across the lines that had formed in Draco’s chest, filling in the spaces left by the scars from Harry’s own curse last year.
Several more spells went off and it was impossible to tell what was friendly fire anymore. Ron had knocked the side table over and was using it as a sort of shield, while Blaise screamed obscenities at Fawley who danced around the room avoiding spells like a trained, albeit unhinged, acrobat. Hermione was to his left, holding tightly onto Draco's hand, muttering a slew of threats if Harry didn’t save him and if Draco didn’t make it. Someone must have finally hit the overhead lights, though, as they were suddenly plunged into complete darkness.
Harry felt Theo’s shield surround them on the floor. It was like a soft blanket laying on top of him, and he had to stop himself from reaching out for the man covering his back in the middle of a fight. He needed to focus on Draco, or the healing spell wouldn’t work properly.
The skin was knitting itself back together, and several spots had re-opened by the time he had finished the initial pass, but the blood flow was slowing. There was a pop and then the lights were back on just as a flash of green appeared in the corner of his eye, signaling that help had arrived.
“We’ll take it from here, Mister Potter,” Healer Moran gently pulled Harry away from Draco’s unconscious body while another Healer poured a blood replenishing potion into his mouth.
Narcissa’s heels clicked on the tile, stopping short at the doorway with a gasp, “Is he—?”
“He’s alive. Thanks to Mr. Potter’s quick action. Is anyone else hurt?” Bitsy asked, visually checking over the rest of them.
Theo tucked Harry into his chest, nearly suffocating him in the process. “You can’t be an Auror. I forbid it. What if it had been you? No one else here knows the counter curse! No. No Auror training for you, Potter.”
Harry pulled his face away from Theo’s chest embarrassed by the concern his boyfriend was showing in front of everyone, “Can we talk about it later?”
“Promise? Promise me you’ll at least think about it?” Theo pleaded, turning his puppy dog eyes on him.
Harry caved, “I’ll think about it.”
Ignoring the chatter, Narcissa was knelt next to her son, bossing around the mediwitch assisting Healer Moran. “Put something under his head. He needs fluids—not just another blood replenishing potion, actual fluids. Do you even know what you’re doing? Why hasn’t anyone started applying dittany yet?”
“Mrs. Malfoy, please,” Bitsy sighed. “Mr. Malfoy will be okay. I’m not sure where Mr. Potter learned his healing spells from, but the curse was right over the heart. By all accounts, he should’ve been dead on contact from the spell, but the diagnostics show his heart tissues appear untouched. The damage has been limited to the more superficial and muscular layers, which won’t be difficult to treat. Mr. Potter’s done most of the work already.”
Kingsley and a few other Aurors marched into the room, wands drawn and scanning each person present. “Where’s Fawley?” the Minister questioned furiously as he spotted the empty hospital bed. “I received an owl this afternoon that two members of the Wizengamot had been attacked.”
Narcissa was helped to her feet by Theo as she addressed him, “I hadn't realized that you’d been notified already. I just sent for you about Augusta’s attack, but it seems Sullivan Fawley was not a victim but, in fact, the attacker. He nearly killed my son only moments ago.” Her voice quivered near the end.
Harry couldn’t imagine the roller coaster she must be on. She was about to bury her only son just this morning, only to find out he was actually alive and then nearly have him ripped from her yet again.
“How—?” Kingsley asked, perplexed, looking to Harry for answers. Fawley had fooled them all, it would seem.
“Actually, it was Hermione. She silenced Fawley before he could finish the incantation—“ Harry looked around suddenly realizing something no one else seemed to yet. “Where’s Hermione?”
“No,” Ron said under his breath.