Chapter Text
They never thought that it would reach them.
Like a hurricane forming on the other side of the world, the dread was far away. It was a secret no one ever spoke about too loudly. It was a danger in the distance, one that hadn’t reached them yet and may never reach them at all.
And then, in an explosion of fire and light, it came.
The Leaky Cauldron was suspiciously quiet that evening. Everyone’s noses were dug deep in the newest Daily Prophet, silently reading about the rumored return of You-Know-Who as if none of them had really digested the information enough to speak about it yet. Many still didn’t believe it. Minister Fudge was arguing that it was all lies, put forth by some kind of conspiracy started by Albus Dumbledore himself.
Deirdre felt a pit in her stomach all day, unable to shake it even as she made tea, cleaned the tables, and quietly took orders from the usual patrons. She was distracted, even spacier than her usual self as her mind filled with a dreadful fog. The rumors she heard from the dark corners of the pub didn't help... sometimes she wished she could turn off her ears just to avoid getting herself spooked by listening in.
Luckily, her favorite patron had just arrived. An elderly witch, sweet Mrs. Gander came by almost every day and became a bright spot in an otherwise gloomy dining hall. As soon as Deirdre saw her enter, the stout Scottish waitress breathed a sigh of relief and headed her way with a pad of paper and a pen ready.
“Haw, m'um, what'll it be this evenin' for ya?” She asked, tapping the end of her pen. She was rocking back and forth on her pigeon-toed feet, a big gap-toothed smile on her face.
Mrs. Gander looked up with a bright smile. “Just a spot of earl gray before bed today, lovey. That’s my good lass.”
“With a pinch of fireseed and cardamom, as per usual?”
“That’s the ticket, my dearie.”
“Hold tight, hen, I’ll be right back, aye?” Deirdre winked and jotted down the order just as a new group of individuals caught her eye. Four people in dark cloaks were entering the pub, their faces covered. They seemed to bring in a cold chill with them, one that made the bones ache and the blood freeze in your veins.
As Deirdre stepped away, heading back to the kitchens, she pushed up her glasses and kept her eyes on the strangers as she watched them sit down at a corner table. They were involved in a hushed conversation, their heads pressed together.
“Some strange-lookin' folk just walked in,” she said once the kitchen door was closed behind her, leaning against it. “Real odd ones…faces covered, dark hoods, that sorta' thing.”
Effie, a tall young waitress with dark skin and tight curls on her head, was sitting at a table taking her break. She had just painted her nails a vibrant blue and was letting them dry. “We got all sorts of odd folks in here, you know that,” she said with a sweet giggle. “I thought you were used to eccentric weirdos.”
Deirdre stood on her tip-toes to look out the window that peered into the dining room, pushing up her oversized cat-eye glasses. She was at least a foot shorter than her friend, plump and somewhat frumpy-looking with short dark curls. “Not like this,” she said softly, her nose against the window. “These ones give me the heebies. And the jeebies as well, mind.”
Effie laughed again, standing up to join Deirdre at the door and take a look for herself. “Remember, your creepy boyfriend used to sit in the corner and bum around too, watching you work.”
Deirdre scoffed, giving her friend a look overtop her glasses. “Listen, Stan’s not a creep, he’s just…awkward. Nae, this is different. I don’t feel good about getting too close to 'em, like maybe I’ll interrupt something I’m nae supposed to hear.”
Effie was much bolder than her best friend - she was a classic Gryffindor. She gave Deirdre a little pinch to one of her chubby, freckled cheeks, earning a scrunched-up frown and a whine from the smaller woman. “If you’re spooked, then I’ll go take their order, ya lil' baby. Okay? Go make some tea and I’ll let you know how it goes.”
Deirdre hesitated for a moment. “...Fine,” she finally agreed with a crinkle of her nose, “Just be careful, you twit.”
“I never am, sweet thing.” Effie winked, tying her apron around her waist and leaving the safety of the kitchen with a pad of paper in hand.
Deirdre sighed in relief at first, feeling a weight off her shoulders as she finally turned away from the door and began filling a kettle with fresh water. She was jittery, drumming her fingers against the stove, rocking on her feet. That comfort didn’t last. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end and her eyelid began to twitch. Nervously, she cracked open the door to glance into the dining area, watching just as another group of individuals entered the pub.
They were just as odd-looking as the first. Her gaze locked onto a wild-looking man with a limp, one blue eye darting in every direction. A woman with blue hair was whispering in his ear, while another man with a scarred face looked suspiciously into the corner.
Something was about to happen. The ball was just waiting to drop.
All at once, Deirdre felt that sickening feeling again. It was the same feeling she had in her seventh year at Hogwarts, right after rumors of a mysterious ‘chamber’ began to spread. It was dread, plain and simple. She slowly stepped out of the kitchens, wiping her sweaty hands on her apron while her friend looked face-to-face with one of the hooded figures in the corner. One by one, they all looked up at Effie, their mouths forming into suspicious frowns.
“Eff?” Deirdre spoke up, trying to get her friend’s attention. Her heart was racing, her feet moving faster across the dining room as she squeezed by a group of patrons. “Effie, come here a moment. Effie–”
They locked eyes, but not quick enough.
The pub burst into action in an instant, filled with smoke and fire and the screams of scared customers. The hooded figures were laughing and shouting as they lit up the room with curses and spells, the sounds of roaring flames and electricity filling the air. Cups burst, chairs flew against the wall, tables were overturned, and lights were flickering overhead until the pub was plunged into darkness.
Deirdre dropped down to the floor, crawling underneath a table to watch as two groups of strangers engaged in an all-out battle from opposite sides of the room. The one-eyed man was dueling with one of the hooded figures, the woman with blue hair was trying to shield a pair of school-aged kids. Deirdre covered her head as glass fell from the ceiling, a chandelier bursting to pieces.
She saw Effie at last. Bleeding, crouched in a corner, her eyes were open with shock while she trembled from head to foot. Deirdre crawled towards her as fast as she could, avoiding a stampede of feet on the way.
“Effie? Darlin', look at me. Are you alright?” She grabbed her friend’s face, patting her cheeks as she tried to wake her from a state of shock. Effie didn’t answer at first, staring forward at the wall with an expression of frozen terror. Deirdre looked at the blood on her forehead, the wounds on her skin - she had gotten hit and was still bleeding down the side of her face. “I’ll patch that up, aye? But you have to walk with me. We have to leave. ...Eff?”
Deirdre knew where her medicine kit was. She knew where to find the herbs stored in the back of the kitchens. Two years as an intern in the Hogwarts hospital wing had given her the knowledge she needed for this sort of thing, but getting to safety was going to be the biggest challenge.
Effie, however, hadn’t budged yet. She looked up at Deirdre, reaching both hands out to hold her face. They shared an intense, dreadful stare.
“They belong to him,” she said softly, her voice a quiet and trembling hiss. “...They’re going to kill us all.”
For the first time, the true gravity of the situation caught up with Deirdre at last. The realization flooded over her like a dark cloud, bringing that pit back into her stomach. If these were indeed Death Eaters, everyone in that pub could have been living their final moments already. There was only one goal left to consider: escape.
“It’s after dark. We’ll call the bus,” Deirdre said shakily. “But you have to stick with me. Okay? We have to move quick.” Her voice was timid and frail, on the verge of tears. She wasn’t brave - she had never been brave. She was just a shy waitress, a former Hufflepuff prefect, and a goddamn potions tutor. She wasn’t a hero.
Effie nodded, and both she and Deirdre looked up at the window behind them. It was their last chance to get out undetected. Effie quickly got to work flipping the table over like a shield, covering them from view while Deirdre took out her wand and pointed it at the window glass. “Finestra,” she uttered quietly as the window shattered into millions of tiny pieces.
Effie went first, crawling through the frame that was left behind. She helped her smaller friend get through the window next, Deirdre’s knee hitting a shard of glass on the way down. She fell into a crumpled heap on the cold cement below, blood splattering onto the stone.
“Up, up! You dunce...” Effie whispered hoarsely, grabbing Deirdre by the underarms and helping her back to her feet. She was limping, blood running down her leg as the two women rushed to the corner of the road and into the chilled night air.
Without hesitation, Deirdre threw out her dominant hand, wand held to the empty street. The effect was immediate, as it always was. The pavement rumbled and the wind picked up as a mighty horn blared, followed by the bang of an engine. Bright yellow lights were blinding the two refugees to herald the arrival of the Knight Bus.
Moments before arriving, Stan Shunpike had his nose pressed into that day’s Prophet. It was the usual bullshite with the Minister arguing back and forth with Dumbledore’s believers, but the gossip articles were where the real interesting stuff was hidden. Stan was just about to tell Ernie about a column regarding a man who accidentally shrunk his own head when the bus suddenly lurched forward.
“Where we ‘eaded?” He asked, squinting out the window as London streets flew by.
“Leaky Cauldron,” Ernie grunted. “How much you wanna bet it’s the same drunkard we had on last night?”
Stan cackled sharply to himself, folding up his paper and shoving it inside his jacket. He fondly remembered that night, listening to the ramblings of a conspiracy theorist as he marched up and down the aisle. It kept the night interesting. “Aye, remember wot 'e was sayin', bout Dumbledore? Ministry coup, buildin' a centaur army...Nutter, 'e was. Eh well, ‘is money’s as good as anyone’s. Ain’t that right, Ern?”
Ernie didn’t answer. Through the windows, the red light of a flaming building was casting an eerie glow on the bedposts.
Before they even slowed to a stop, Stan felt his heart sink. There was smoke, there was fire, there was broken glass in the street. How long was Deirdre working tonight? Was she home yet? As the door hissed open, his eyes were too focused on the destruction to notice who had called them in the first place.
He and Deirdre stared at one another for a very tense second or two, before the conductor hopped down onto the pavement and was immediately grabbed by the terrified witch. She was shivering, gripping his shirt with a white-knuckle hold as she babbled something about dark, hooded figures.
“'Ey, hush now. S'alright, luv.” Stan tried to calm her as he wrapped his arms around her shoulders, but he felt his own heart already racing with fear. His eyes were locked on the flames. “Ay, Ern! Ern! Get out ‘ere!... Deer, wot ‘appened? Oh blimey, lookit you, yer bleedin’ all down yer–”
“Shh!” Deirdre clapped a hand over his mouth as soon as he raised his voice. She whispered to him swiftly. “Listen. The p-pub’s under attack. There’s people still in there. E-Effie, she’s hurt, you have to take her home first–”
“I’ll be fine!” The other waitress argued. She stepped forward, joining the quiet conversation. “It’s Death Eaters. They…they just opened fire.”
Ernie Prang was standing in the doorway now, watching the chaos unfold with concern written on his brows. Stan grabbed Deirdre’s hand, pulling it away from his mouth. They were all watching the blaze grow, windows bursting with explosions as smoke billowed into the sky. It was a war in there.
“Mrs. Gander’s still inside.” Deirdre sniffled, tears running down her plump cheeks and fogging up her glasses. “Sh-she’s just a sweet old witch. She was w-waiting for me to bring her a c-cup of tea…”
Stan was staring into the pub’s busted windows, his heart racing and his brain spinning in circles. He had an idea. A stupid one. A stupid, bull-headed, overly-confident idea that would probably get him killed...but it might get his name on the news too. He hesitated, trying to talk himself out of it, but the impulsive thoughts won in the end. Finally, with a decisive, deep breath, he cupped Deirdre’s cheeks in both shaky hands and roughly pressed a kiss to her open mouth, catching her teeth.
“Go on now, get in," he said. His voice was trembling, unusually frail. He was terrified. “I’ll go get ‘er, you stay. Get in.”
“Wh-what? No!” Deirdre squeaked, voice breaking. “No, you are not! Y-you...you get back here, ya' dumb shite!”
Stan was already slipping out of her grasp, just as Effie took over holding Deirdre in place. She pushed her onto the platform, shoving her one step at a time before she had a chance to wiggle back out into the street.
“I’ll be right back!” Stan yelled over his shoulder, stumbling over the curb. “Promise!”
“You dolt!” Deirdre screamed back at him, fighting both Effie and Ernie in a struggle to get into the vehicle. “Ya don’t even have a wand!”
Stan was already too far away to hear. The sounds of screams, explosions, and curses firing in each direction was deafening to his ears. As soon as he crawled through one of the broken windows, he was already regretting his decision. He wasn’t a fighter, he wasn’t a duelist. He had his wand taken away years ago after failing so badly at all of his classes that Hogwarts couldn’t teach him anything anymore. But he was also a foolish blowhard, and the thought of getting his name in the papers for doing something heroic was…a bit too tempting to resist, even if it meant his bird would kick his ass seven ways to Sunday.
He was choking on the stale, dusty air as soon as he dropped into the pub. His first mistake was not ducking down to hide, as a curse was already flying straight toward his head. He avoided it, just barely, as broken glass flew over him and a lightbulb burst.
Damn, he didn’t even know where to start looking. He stumbled over collapsed bodies, people lying motionless on the floor. His skin began to crawl when he realized they weren’t merely unconscious. Suddenly, he felt sick, the situation catching up to him in a massive gut-punch that left him fearing for his life.
And for good reason, too. Stan found himself backed into a corner, watching one of the hooded figures stomp towards him with a wand outstretched.
He didn’t hear the words that were spoken. He only saw a bright red light and felt stabbing pains a split second later. When he looked down, hands at his stomach, he saw blood pouring between his fingers and dripping to the floor. It was coming from everywhere - his torso, his chest, his throat. He choked as the metallic taste filled his mouth and his head grew light and dizzy. Before he could even process the idea of his own death, Stan was collapsing onto the floor atop the dust and broken glass, bleeding out onto the hardwood next to all the others.
Deirdre felt arms circle around her shoulders from behind. Effie was holding her, shushing her softly as the smaller woman hyperventilated. She was in hysterics, terrified and heartbroken as they watched the smoke rise from the roof of the Leaky Cauldron.
“It’ll be okay,” Effie said softly, squeezing her friend tighter. “Everyone will be alright, Little Bit…”
Her words did nothing. Deirdre continued to sob and curl her knees up, making herself small on the floor of the Knight Bus.
She remembered a fear like this only once before.
It was the first thing she felt when she awoke in the hospital wing, sore and confused with her heart racing out of control. One moment, she was looking in the bathroom mirror, and the next she was staring at the reflection of cold, yellow eyes as the hiss of something inhuman filled her ears. Everything else was a blur…Then it was a brand new day, a brand new time, a brand new place.
It all came flooding back to her. She was in her seventh year. She should have been thinking about exams and what to do about graduation. But before she knew it, she was lying in a hospital bed looking at a pot of violets at her side.
Her mother and father had sent a bundle of daffodils from their garden in northern Scotland. The note was signed with only their names, and the names of her two younger sisters. Professor Sprout and the rest of the Hufflepuff House had sent a small Wiggentree sapling with a card attached, all their names crowded onto it in tiny, cramped writing.
But then, there were the violets. It was just a small pot with no note attached, sitting quietly among the rest. And yet, someone must have known that violets were her favorite.
“Look!” Effie exclaimed, pointing out the window. “Someone’s coming out.”
Deirdre looked up, catching her breath and wiping the tears from her face. As she cleaned her glasses on her apron, several forms were rushing toward the bus.
It was the man with one eye, the blue-haired woman, and three patrons. One was clearly injured, being carried by another. The last one, hobbling along next to the lady with colorful hair, was old Mrs. Gander.
The one-eyed man loudly knocked on the door, and Ernie pushed a button to make them hiss to life. The man stomped into the bus in a frenzy, looking furious and barking orders at the others to get in as quickly as possible.
“Set her down! Set her down!” He was yelling at another man, the one with scars across his face. He had been holding a young girl, fourteen at most, who was wrapped in a blood-stained blanket. “Tonks, get her to a healer. St. Mungo’s, if you have to. She’s badly busted up.”
“Deirdre’s a healer!” Effie shouted without a second of hesitation, pointing at her friend. They shot each other an intense look between the two of them before the one-eyed man stomped his way over.
“No, no I’m not–I was only an intern–” Deirdre tried to argue, but it was too late. The man already grabbed her by the arm and dragged her toward the bed, gesturing to the young girl bleeding on the mattress.
“Excellent.” He said. “I’ll leave her to you, then. Tonks! Go with Remus, help him get the rest. Start bringin’ ‘em in here.”
They were already gone before Deirdre could protest, leaving her with a group of wounded patrons all doubled over and groaning in pain. She took a deep breath, sitting at the young girl’s side and whispering: “Okay, it’s okay. This is fine…”
But as soon as she saw the teenage girl, her mind was made up. She was so small, so petite, wearing a yellow scarf. She looked up at Deirdre with the sweetest blue eyes, fear and horror written in her expression and her tear-stained cheeks. “A-am I going to die?” she asked, blood forming in the corners of her lips.
Deirdre put a hand to the girl’s shoulder, swallowing hard. “No…No, wee duck, you’re nae gonna die. You’ll be alright. Just lie still, okay? I-I’m gonna take care of you. M-my name’s Deirdre McIntyre, what’s yours?”
“Willow.” The girl said quietly, her voice growing weaker. Deirdre smiled as she waved her wand over the girl’s wounds, starting with a long slash mark across her chest. “Vulnera sanentur…” she whispered softly, focusing on knitting the wounds shut and drawing the blood back into the girl’s body. Deirdre didn’t understand how anyone could curse a young girl. A child. How was anyone so sick?
As Willow’s eyes began to flutter, Deirdre tried to keep her talking. She whistled sharply and the girl's eyes flew open again.
“Stay awake, lamb. Look at me. We’re almost done. Keep talkin', aye? Keep yer eyes on me.” She was squeezing her wrist, feeling her pulse while knitting her skin back together. “Are you on your winter break, my love?”
“Yeah…” Willow whispered. “W-we go back in two weeks. I’m…in Hufflepuff.”
Deirdre’s eyes were stinging and she sniffled softly between whispered spells. “I was in Hufflepuff too.”
Willow inhaled sharply, a sound that almost could have been a little chuckle. “I know,” she said. “I remember you…You gave us the tour first day, wh-when I was…when I was a first year. Remember? You...you showed us the greenhouses.”
Deirdre wiped her face with her sleeve, putting pressure on one of the larger wounds. “That’s right…” Then she went silent, focusing hard on the worst offender: a deep slit in the girl’s stomach that was still pouring blood out into the sheets below.
“Did you see that man?” Effie asked, her face pressed against the window. “The man with one eye…It’s Alastor Moody, I think. He’s an Auror, a famous hero. He–”
“Effie, not now,” Deirdre said sharply, sniffling. “I…I need to focus. Please.”
“Right. I’m sorry.”
Deirdre was holding the young girl’s hand as she waved her wand slowly over her stomach, whispering her spell and watching the open, gaping sounds close up one by one. Eventually, Willow’s trembles began to calm. The pain was going away.
“There.” Deirdre squeezed her fingers. “Better?”
“Yeah. I-I think so.” Willow said, taking a deep breath while tears rolled down her cheeks. She looked more awake now, the color back in her cheeks. “C-can I stay here?”
She was so frightened, so small and scared. Deirdre nodded her head as she drew a blanket over her body, tucking her in at the shoulders and brushing strands of blonde hair out of the child’s eyes. “Sure you can, lovey. When everyone gets on board, Ernie will take you home. Right, Ern?”
She looked to the old man, who was still standing near the door and watching the flames. He spared Deirdre a smile and a nod of agreement, but it was weary and haggard. Tired. As grumpy as he tended to be, she could tell he was just as worried as everyone else, eyes stuck on the doorway and waiting for someone - anyone - to come out of the blaze.
“Stan’s gonna be alright, lass,” He said after a moment, sensing the question that was hanging in the air. “He’s got a thick skull and hardly two thoughts to rub together in that head of his, as ya’ well know. But he’s lucky. He’s like a weed in a garden - hard ta' get rid of the fella'. He’ll be fine.”
Deirdre wiped her face, brushing away the sweat on her brow but leaving a stain of blood instead. She grimaced when she realized that her uniform was covered in stains, her stomach flipping at the thought. “I hope so, Ern.”
There was no time to rest. Another window was shattered and more people were pulled out of the pub. The young woman, Tonks, led another group of patrons onto the bus, all of them covered in ash and blood.
“Broken leg,” she pointed to an older man as she caught her breath. “Lady in back hit her head real hard. There’s more inside. I’ll be right back.” She raised her voice. “Listen up, if you don’t need medical attention, go upstairs ! One at a time, watch your step.”
They did as she said. Some people were crying, others were whispering, many were holding each other close. Tonks rushed back out the door and Deirdre took over, helping a man with a bloodied leg ease down into one of the beds near Stan’s chair. The bone was sticking out, snapped clean. It was a nasty bit of work but it wasn’t anything Madam Pomfrey hadn’t taught her how to handle.
The flow of people just kept coming. A broken arm, a snapped rib, a slashing curse. One after the other, Deirdre rushed up and down the aisle to control the flood of injuries and find places for the civilians to rest. All the while, Mad-Eye Moody remained inside the pub, where everyone could see the flash of spells and curses being lobbed from one side of the building to the other.
That is, until they took the fight to the streets. Anyone who was able to walk crowded near the windows as the four hooded figures rushed out into the road, forming a cloud of black mist around them. They cackled wildly - madly - as their figures erupted into dark smoke and flew off into the cold night air. Sparks flew as a nearby lamp post burst, Moody aiming a spell and missing just as the Death Eaters disappeared from sight.
Their laughter echoed through the dark, and suddenly, the street was quiet once more. But as they departed, they left a token of their work - a mark looming in the sky, wriggling and glittering against a dark and starless night. The Dark Mark.
Effie tried to grab Deirdre by the arm, but her friend was already jumping down the steps and onto the pavement before she could reach her. Mad-Eye and Remus were stumbling toward the bus, both covered in dust and dark bloodstains.
“Get back on the bus, lass, we’re gettin’ outta here.” The gruff voice of Moody spoke up under the shadow of the building.
“No, I-I have to go back,” she answered, pushing her way past him and muscling toward the busted pub door.
Mad-Eye gave an exasperated grunt and grabbed her by the arm, his grip strong and giving her a moment of pause. He pointed at the bus with a glare in his eye.
“Back. On. The bus,” he grumbled. “We’re not waitin’ up for you. We’ll come back to claim the dead when everyone is safe, not a moment sooner.”
The dead, he said. So no one was left alive.
Deirdre felt sick. With a swift motion, she wiggled out of Moody’s grasp and pushed by him, ducking into the pub door and coughing on the ash and smoke as she did. Inside, it was a disaster. The floor was covered in a thick layer of dust, splinters of wood scattered everywhere from broken furniture and flames still engulfing the tables and chairs. There was broken glass everywhere, crunching under her feet. And bodies…So many bodies strewn about, their faces twisted into expressions of permanent terror as they lay lifeless among the chaos. She recognized some of them. She worked with some of them.
“Stan?!” She called out, her voice breaking. She didn’t get a response - only the sound of crackling flame. Her voice came out even weaker the second time. “Stan? C-come on, say something, please…”
The room was devoid of all other life and sound. The dust rose around her feet as she kicked aside pieces of broken seating, the smell of blood thick in her nose. Her heart began to race, her breath labored - she spotted a familiar pair of black shoes half-hidden beneath an overturned table.
He wasn’t moving.
“So, foxglove is for ‘ealing–”
“No, foxglove is poisonous. You will die . You’re probably thinking of fluxweed.”
“Tha’s bollocks.”
These tutoring sessions weren’t going as well as Professor Snape had hoped. Stan was scribbling in his notebook, scraping his quill raw with all of the rough, aggressive lines he was scratching across the paper. Deirdre was sitting next to him, yawning in the dim candlelight as the library began to grow quiet and abandoned in the late night hour. They had been at it for hours, but Stan was no closer to passing his mock exam.
“What will help ye remember?” Deirdre asked, propping her head up with a bent elbow. “Notecards? Rhymes? Should I spritz you with water every time ya mess up?” She giggled and gave her wand a threatening little tap against Stan’s shoulder.
“Might as well jus’ toss me in the lake at that point,” Stan said with a frustrated pout. He looked like a nervous wreck: green and silver tie loosely draped over his shoulders, hair tossed around, his face redder and more acne-scarred than usual. He was not handling the stress well. “Ugh…I fink I jus’ don’t care anymore. If the next two years are jus' exams an' papers, I don't wanna be 'ere.”
He smacked his head against the table with a loud thud and Deirdre grimaced. Ouch.
“Come on, nae, don’t say that.” She rested her chin against his arm with a little pout. “If we throw you in the lake, the merfolk will eat ya and then I’d have no one to study with. I might even miss you a wee bit.” When Stan peeked up at her, she gave him a poke to the middle of his forehead, crinkling her nose sweetly. “Think of an incentive, yeah? Like a reason you wanna pass. A reward or something. Honeydukes?”
Stan sat thinking long and hard for a moment, squinting down at the end of his quill with partially-crossed eyes. Deirdre could tell he was deep in thought - she could smell his hair burning and everything. Finally, he came up with one thing - a single thing worth staying at Hogwarts for.
“If I pass, will ya let me take you on a date?” he asked, wearing an awkward, crooked-toothed smile.
Deirdre snorted loudly, wearing a dimpled grin hidden behind one hand. She thought he was joking, but her face flushed a deeper pink the longer he waited for her answer. “You’re kidding, right? That’s your incentive?”
“Wot?” Stan shrugged, starting to grow red in the ears. He looked embarrassed, perhaps a little ashamed to have asked. He shrank back in his seat. “I-I was bein' serious, I was. But if you really don’t wanna, I mean, fine, jus’ tell me straight. Sheesh...Let a fella' down easy--”
“No, it’s nae that,” Deirdre laughed, tucking her hair behind her ears. “I just mean, we hang out all the time anyways. I thought ye’d want something different.”
Stan was chewing on his bottom lip anxiously, his mouth starting to grow dry. His lip was chapped and red. “Well, I know, but…a date is different , yeah? A real one, I mean. Not jus’ bummin’ around. I-I’m talkin’ about…y’know…the real thing?”
Deirdre’s little heart was racing. No one had ever asked her on a date before. Sure, her friends teased her for hanging out with Stan all of the time and she knew the Slytherin boys were always on his case for the same thing, but they were just best friends. Study partners. Right?
“Is that what you really want?” she asked quietly, wearing a bashful little smile.
“Yeah.” Stan had a crooked grin on his face. His hand crept across the table, his pinky finger wrapping around hers. “Yeah, tha’s what I really want.”
She looked down at his hand, gently lacing their fingers together. He had nice hands, and she found herself wishing she had tried to hold them so much earlier. “Okay, sure…But only if you pass your O.W.L’s, got it?”
“Got it.”
Deirdre’s heart was like a hummingbird caught in her chest as she pushed aside the rubble and gave the overturned table a good shove. She was afraid to know, but she needed to know.
Stan’s pale face was the first thing to greet her, speckled with blood and staring blankly at the ceiling. Blue eyes looked cold and empty, his skin starting to lose its warmth. He didn’t blink, he didn’t breathe.
“Stanley?” She whimpered, a lump forming in her throat. “Honey? N-no, no, c-come on, look at me, please…” Deirdre pressed her hands against the sides of his face, holding it tightly as she begged for a reaction that didn’t come. “Please?”
There was so much blood staining his clothes, his skin, the floor…It was beginning to dry and turn dark, his face devoid of color and his eyes beginning to lose their shine. When she saw the slit in his throat, she knew. The realization hit her slowly, but when it did, it was like an icy, bitter stab through the gut. He was already gone. She was a few minutes too late.
A hoarse cry tore through her throat as she wrapped her arms around his body, holding him in her lap and rocking back and forth. Once she started crying, she couldn’t stop, even when her throat felt like it was going to bleed. She didn't even register the sound of the crumbling roof, the smell of falling ash - it was distant and far away. As she squeezed Stan's lifeless body and kissed his cold face, all she wanted was for him to hold her back.
“Y-you idiot–” She cried, hands tangled in his hair as she held him against her chest so tightly that it hurt. “Why’d you do it? You g-goddamn idiot...please come back...m-my baby, please...”
On the other side of the room, hushed voices were speaking and heavy feet were stomping through the rubble. Alastor Moody nudged one of his companions and grunted, gruff and impatient. “We’ve gotta get the others to safety. Grab her and let’s go before the roof collapses.”
Remus gave a regretful sigh and he stepped forward, grimacing at the sight of the blood and the sounds of Deirdre hyperventilating and choking on dust. “We’ll tell the driver, then. He’ll want to know about the boy.” Kindly and patiently, he knelt next to the young woman and put a hand on her shoulder, soft but assertive all the same. The gentle touch only seemed to make her cry harder. “Deirdre, right? I'm so sorry...But listen, we need to get back on the bus and–”
“No!” She shrieked, shaking Remus’ hand away. “No, I-I can fix it, I c-can do something! Please, I–”
“We can’t wait any longer.”
“J-just fucking let me try!” She looked up at the older man with big, glassy green eyes, red and irritated while still flooded with tears. She put her hands to her forehead, hyperventilating as she tried to think. In the back of her mind, there was a whisper of a spell. It was just a vague memory, far away and hidden in the back of a textbook she had never really gotten to test. It was the only thing she had left.
“Baubillious!” She cried as she pointed her wand at Stan’s chest, hand shaking violently. Only the tiniest spark left the end of the wood. She tried again. “ Baubillious! Dammit! Shit!... Baubillious!”
That time, a stream of electricity met Stan’s motionless body. It shook him, causing his rigid form to jump before he fell back onto the floor. Deirdre wiped tears away from her face and spoke the spell again, and again, and again, that tiny glimmer of hope growing stronger every time she saw his body twitch.
“Work, p-please work, please. Baubillious!”
One last time, the lightning bolt hit Stan’s chest, leaving a scorch mark against the fabric of his shirt. This time, something changed. His chest inflated and a rattle of breath left his lips, strained and hoarse through his torn throat. Deirdre dropped her wand, eyes wide with shock as she grabbed his shoulders and shook him, watching his cheeks slowly flush back to life. His eyes fluttered and began to dart around the room - he was alive, but barely.
“Oh god, Stan, mo chridhe...” Deirdre sobbed and laughed at the same time, touching his face. She pulled his head up into her lap, wrapping a hand around the open wound on his neck. “L-look at me. It’s okay, I know it hurts. I-it’s gonna be okay, j-just breathe...”
Stan was drifting, only half-alive, as his pale gaze fluttered about the room. He couldn't speak, he couldn't breathe, his throat still torn all the way across. As Deirdre began to whisper her spells, his eyes rolled back again and his heart rate began to slow to a near-stop.
"No, no, no, stay awake, honey..." Deirdre was brushing her wand over his wounds, whispering incantations to knit the torn skin and bring the blood back into his veins. All the while, she had one palm on his chest, pushing roughly against his heart every few seconds. "Shh, stay with me...stay with me...stay here..." she whispered, her wand carefully knitting the delicate tubes and channels in his throat. Slowly, the blood began to sink back in and the color returned to his cheeks. As soon as Stan's severed vocal cords had been repaired, he started to blink and to move. He touched his throat, still in shock from the whole ordeal.
“W…Wot ‘appened?” he whispered hoarsely. One shaky hand reached up, touching Deirdre’s face as if to make sure she was real and not just his imagination.
Mad-Eye Moody was stomping over, his false leg thumping against the floor as he kicked debris out of his way. “Yer lady brought you back to life from the looks of it, and just in time too. You were lookin’ rather cold, lad. Now, I ain’t a fan of repeating myself. Get on that damn bus or we’re leavin’ without ya. Both'a ya. Remus, carry the boy, will ya?”
Remus inched forward far more politely than his companion did, gently sliding his hands under Stan’s shoulders and knees. “I’ve got him, it’s alright.” He reassured, giving Deirdre a weary smile. “Well done, dear.” He pulled the bus conductor up, lifting with his knees while Stan groaned in discomfort. He complained all the way, asking where he was and why everything hurt. For the first time, Deirdre was relieved to hear him bitching and moaning about something.
She took off her glasses and wiped them on her stained smock, looking for a spot that wasn’t covered in blood. She was still catching her breath, sniffling as her tears began to dry at long last. Her wee heart was going at the speed of light, but she could finally let the weight fall off her shoulders. When she finally stood, Tonks was waiting for her at the door, helping her back to the bus while she limped on her wounded, bleeding leg. The hour was late and the sky was dark by the time everyone was safely crowded into the Knight Bus, the vehicle racing away from the charred remains of the Leaky Cauldron.
“Oh, lovey!” Effie exclaimed as soon as she saw Deirdre at last. She ran forward, immediately throwing her arms around her best friend and shoving her face into her chest forcefully. Deirdre protested and whined as the life was squeezed out of her. “I thought the roof was going to collapse on you! Little Bit, you scared me!”
“You wouldn’t get so lucky.” Deirdre joked weakly, wiping her nose on her sleeve. At the back of the bus, Mad-Eye and Remus were putting Stan down in an empty bed, quietly talking amongst each other.
“Is he gonna be okay?” Effie asked, arms still wrapped around Deirdre’s shoulders.
Deirdre nodded, her voice breathless and weak. “Yeah, he’s gonna be fine.”
Effie gave her friend a kiss on the top of her head. “Good girl,” she said softly, finally releasing her, but not before glancing down at the blood still running down her leg. “Now do something about that knee!”
St. Mungo’s was fuller than usual that night. On the ground floor, injured witches and wizards were pulled in one at a time and fussed over by healers in green robes. Some were immediately discharged with nothing more than a few scrapes and bruises, others were taken to the Janus Thickey ward in varying states of psychological shock.
Mad-Eye was at the front desk, speaking quietly to the receptionist. There was a blanket of dread that fell over the room, putting everyone on edge as they wondered what would happen next. Already, the news of Death Eaters was spreading. Whether or not anyone would believe it was another story.
Stan was one of the few who had been admitted quickly, taken straight to a bed where he continued to float in and out of consciousness. His outer wounds were healed, leaving him with only a few scars and bruises, but there was more to worry about than that. Deirdre stood next to Remus and Tonks, growing anxious until the moment the healers said she could finally go and see him.
“He was dead for several minutes,” one of the healers explained quietly to the three of them. “When that happens, sometimes they don’t…come back all the way. Understand?”
“Like brain damage?” Deirdre asked quietly. The healer nodded her head in response. “C-can I go see him?”
With a mild smile on her face, the elderly woman in green robes nodded and pulled open the curtain, allowing Deirdre to enter and sit down at Stan’s bedside while he slept. As she sat there, watching him and waiting for a response, she could hear Remus talking to the healer in a hushed, secretive voice.
“Is she one of yours?” He asked.
“No, I don’t believe so.” The healer said, glancing over at the young woman now holding Stan’s hand and kissing his knuckles. “She did a decent enough job though. Resuscitation is one thing, but fixing a slit throat? Not bad for an amateur under pressure…”
The minutes ticked by and Stan hadn’t stirred yet. Deirdre was watching the other faces in the room, hollow and traumatized as they held their loved ones tightly. People were exhausted, crying, mourning the lives that were lost that day. It was so surreal, to be thrown into the middle of a nightmare that shook the world. Something wicked and terrible was brewing, and it had finally reached them.
“'Ey, love..”
Stan’s voice was hoarse and dry, coming out as a weak croak. He squeezed his sweetheart’s hand, making her jump before she sighed with relief and scooted a little closer.
“Hey, you,” Deirdre said, her voice quivering. She wore a gap-toothed smile and brushed Stan’s hair away from his forehead. “H-how are you feeling?”
Stan took a deep breath, blinking a few times as the room around him spun. He was still dizzy and confused, trying to make sense of where he was on how on earth he got there. “Sore,” he answered at last. “Got me arse proper kicked, didn't I? I-I remember…black hoods, someone wif a wand pointed at me, lots’a blood after that. I was dreamin’ about…drownin', I fink.” He stared into space for a moment, lost in thought as those visions after death flooded back to him. “D…did Mrs. Gander get out okay?”
Deirdre nodded with a sniffle. “Yeah, she got out okay. She’s fine.” She cupped Stan’s cheek in her palm, his face warm and clammy. He instinctively leaned into her hand to soak up the comfort of her touch. “You did good.”
Stan chuckled, wearing a weak and crooked smile. “I fink that was one of the stupidest moves I’ve made recently.”
Deirdre couldn’t argue. She snorted with laughter and nodded her head. “They did say you might have suffered a wee bit'a brain damage.”
“Oi, they been sayin’ that 'bout me for yeeeaaars,” Stan joked with a dismissive wave, and strangely enough, it was exactly the kind of comment that reassured Deirdre that he was completely in his own mind.
“It wasn’t one of your good ideas if we’re being honest. But you were very brave. I’m proud of you…even if you’re the thickest git I know. Just...never do it again, okay?” She leaned down to kiss the top of his head. “I’m just glad you’re still here.”
Stan groaned as he sat up, using one of his elbows to recline and stretch his back. “It’ll take more than a few creeps in hoods t’get rid of me,” he said with a grin. “I got me a full schedule of annoyin’ you to worry ‘bout. Tha's a full-time job, innit? 'Oo else is gonna' keep yer blood pressure up?” He reached a shaky hand up and pinched Deirdre’s chin, his thumb brushing along her bottom lip. “Come ‘ere…”
She followed the pull of his hand, leaning in until their lips met in a soft kiss. Stan’s mouth tasted like blood, his skin smelling like ash and dust. Deirdre still didn’t hesitate, holding his face and feeling reluctant to break the kiss as if she’d never get another chance.
“McIntyre?” They both heard a gruff voice speak from the other side of the curtain. Deirdre sat up straight, just as Alastor Moody was stepping through the cloth and gesturing for her to come with him. His hair was covered in dust and ash, his face dirty and his clothes tattered from the war he had just been through. Still, he was remarkably uninjured. “Sorry if I’m interrupting…Come talk with me a moment, will ya?”
Deirdre brushed her hand through Stan’s hair one more time before she stood, straightening out the front of her stained apron and following Mad-Eye out into the hall. A moment later, when they were out of earshot, he handed her a small piece of folded paper.
“I wanted to give ya’ somethin’.” He said quietly, his eyes shifting from side to side with suspicion. “Listen. Yer good at what you do, there’s no doubt about that. We’re always lookin’ for folks without… affiliations if you know what I mean. I had a talk with Albus Dumbledore tonight and he seems to trust my decision, so don’t make me regret that.”
“Who’s ‘we’?” Deirdre asked, but Moody just put a finger to his lips in secrecy.
“Not now…But lass, if what happened tonight sticks with ya’ the way it sticks with us, there’s a place you can go, a place that could use work like yours. But ya’ won’t find it unless you’re serious about it.”
Deirdre looked at the piece of paper, just about to unfold it and read its contents when Moody clapped a hand over hers to keep it shut. “Not now,” he whispered hoarsely, looking over his shoulder. “No one needs to see that paper ‘cept for you. Keep it hidden, don’t speak a word to anyone. Understand? Now, I’m gettin’ out of here before any of these green smocks try to put me in a hospital bed.” He chuckled - it was a low, dark, aged sound. “We’ll talk again, perhaps. Or perhaps we won’t.”
He limped away, his leg thumping with each step that he took. Tonks and Remus went with him, the three disappearing through the double doors and into the dark of night. Deirdre put the folded note in her pocket, all the while feeling an ache of anxiety in her chest. What on earth had she gotten herself into?
When she returned to Stan’s bedside, he was lying flat once more. He reached out for Deirdre’s hand, bringing it up to his face to kiss her knuckles as soon as she was near.
“Wot was that all about?” He asked sleepily.
“Nothing important,” she lied, pushing hair out of Stan’s eyes. “Just rest, okay? I’ll be right here.”
And rest, he did. Within moments, his eyes were closed and he was breathing deeply in an exhausted, much-needed sleep. Deirdre just watched him for the longest time, listening to his breathing and watching his chest rise and fall. It was all that she could do to remind herself that he wasn’t going to leave her again - at least, not tonight.
As the first rays of sunlight flooded in through the windows, she knew she wouldn’t sleep that night. Any chance of rest would be haunted by images of dark hoods, green mist, and blood as those memories crept back in where they didn’t belong.