Disclaimer: The Harry Potter world is the property of J.K. Rowling.
The plot is of my own invention.
This isn’t good, Ron assessed quickly. He had heard nothing, felt nothing, and only traveled forty meters or so, but three of his teammates were missing and he didn’t have a clue what to do. He wasn’t even sure if Montel was still at the first branch and he didn’t want to waste time going back to check.
He could probably Apparate out of the cistern safely, but what about the others? Fighting a fleeting feeling of panic, Ron mentally reviewed the crash-course he received his first week with the Resistance: Gather information, assess the information, act on your assessment… and don’t screw up. The old bastard that had worked with him and Charlie was a veteran of the Second World War and a decorated member of the Marquis, as the French Resistance was known. The first thing he showed the two English ‘boys’ was a Fleur-de-Lis tattooed across his chest. “A good incentive not to get caught, eh? Not that Fritz would hesitate to kill you anyway.”
Independent thinking was critical in those days, the old soldier said, not just teamwork. “You get separated from your cell in the dark all the time, you MUST know what to do OR you must know how to learn what to do. Panic kills!” It wasn’t a daily theme, it was an hourly theme. “You panic and you die, and a lot of others, too.” Ron had felt panic’s tentacles reach out for him a couple times, but not like this. He had to focus on his objective.
Drawing a calming breath in the sewers was nauseating, to put it mildly, but Ron did it. The results were immediate. First he noticed that the cistern he was standing in was indeed the one he’d been in fifteen minutes earlier. Then he noticed something critical. The muck was only up to his ankles, not his chest. Something had to have flushed it away. Heartened by the discovery, he ran his hands up and down the sides of the cistern looking for any sort of door. Nothing.
That meant there was only one other possibility: The contents of the cistern has been washed away either by magic or… He looked up. Of course, you bloody berk! We were concentrating on the branches of the pipes and never thought to look up! He brightened his wand. There, just a meter above his head, was a round door of some sort.
Jumping up, with his wand still dimly lit, he could make out a handle. Now he had a dilemma: What to do? He could go back with his knowledge or go up and find out what happened to his team. The decision was made for him when he felt the ground shake. Somewhere above a battle had started. Seconds later, he heard more noise and didn’t hesitate. Ron cast his strongest blasting curse straight up. The door was demolished and artificial light poured into the cistern, temporarily blinding him. Ignoring the inconvenience of not being able to see, Ron stepped up, placing one foot in the entrance to one of the pipes and heaving his body up to where he could reach the empty door frame. In seconds he was up and in the room. The room was empty, he was only partially happy to see.
It was immediately apparent to Ron that the room was being used by the trapped Death Eaters as an escape route. Large pipes led into the upper rim of the cistern, just below the now absent door, and were used to flush the cistern clean, and, ostensibly for the escapees. The rumbling and crashing he’d heard seconds before were still going on and he realized that his entrance into the building had probably been masked by the other sounds.
Casting a locking charm on the door, Ron quickly stripped out of the rubber suit, leaving him wearing only shorts, t-shirt, no shoes and his face blackened with shoe polish. He hadn’t learned clothes transfiguration yet so he couldn’t put much of anything on. Feeling immensely stupid, he also took a few seconds to rinse and dry himself off. He justified the action by telling himself that he might be found easily by his stench. Not two minutes after entering the room, he was ready to move on.
First he went to the window. Nothing unusual was taking place outside, he even thought he saw one of the Resistance walking casually down a street, obviously on the watch for anything unusual. But the first floor window allowed little else to be seen. It was time to move on.
Cancelling the locking charm, he tried the door and found it unlocked mechanically. But before opening it, he listened with his ear to the cheap plywood door. Hearing no sounds, Ron threw the door open and jumped in, rolling on the ground in case someone threw a curse at him. This room, too, was empty, but he was getting closer to the action; he could hear the sounds of battle more clearly.
Running across the large empty room, he came to another door, but this time he did not have to put his ear to it to know there were people on the other side. He examined the door, it was older and sturdier than the one he had just come through, but there was clearly fighting taking place in the next room.
What should I do? Good question! Ron knew he ran the risk of upsetting a planned and coordinated attack, but he also knew one had not been scheduled. Either the usurpers had made a break for it, en masse, possibly due to their escape route being discovered. Or, perhaps, Rousseau had been planning this all along. Either way, there was no way to find out.
Suddenly, Ron was distracted from his thoughts by the sound of a number of bodies banging against the door. He immediately threw a locking charm. The split-second decision was the right one, the voices on the other side were all English, clearly the Death Eaters. Though he knew he had made the correct decision, he also knew the charm would hold only so long. Glancing around for anything to hide behind, he was disheartened to see nothing… to hide behind.
But there was something to hide on!
The noise and shaking Ron had heard a quarter hour earlier began when the remnants of his team, having been flushed down the cistern, (their safety line snapped by the mechanical closing of the cistern floor,) engaged two Death Eaters attempting escape. The firefight was short and intense but both Death Eaters were subdued with only a minor injury to Renard. Charlie sent him back to the Resistance Headquarters with the prisoners and to alert the others that the escape route had been discovered. In all likelihood, the remainder of those in the building would try to get away, too; their only secret route to freedom now having been discovered.
While waiting for word from Rousseau, Charlie and Tyrone remained in the darkness for the next group to be flushed down. What they did not know was that the enemy had guessed, based on the sounds of battle below the building, that the sewer route to freedom was now compromised. While still arguing amongst them, trying to decide their next action, they saw dimly, through the window, a large detachment of the Resistance pass on their way to the front of the building. A moment later an explosion rocked the building and demolished the heavy front door. The assault had begun. Their only option was to counter-attack the assaulters and hope for a mass breakout.
The battle raged in the enormous entrance hallway, but the ultimate outcome was obvious. It was clear that anti-Apparition Wards and Silencing and Disillusionment Charms had been set, trapping them for one final battle and away from their only real protection, Muggle witnesses. With over half their number dead or subdued, the remaining Death Eaters panicked and broke up into three groups.
The first group ran up the stairs, but were immediately trapped on the third floor. In a final act of desperation, they started another escape attempt by having fellow Death Eaters levitate one after another to a small, thick copse of trees below the window. About half their group made it down but were quickly subdued. The rest of the group, still trapped on the third floor, pulled away from the windows and waited for the inevitable.
The second group, also trapped, but on the second floor, tried using an old fire escape to flee. This group met a similar fate as the first.
The final group, the smallest of the three with only nine wizards and two witches, raced around a corner, attempting to get in the room Ron was in, for one last attempt through the sewers. After trying the door for only a second or two, a desperate wizard threw a spell at the door and blew it inward and across the large room. The fact that he killed one of his own was ignored as the remaining ten ran through the doorway and towards the small room which held their last possible escape route.
They also failed to notice Ron Weasley perched precariously atop the broad door frame.
His first spell remedied them by knocking out the witch at the back of the scrum which had formed around the entrance to the sewer room. Half the Death Eaters were already in the next room, but four others turned and aimed their wands at the oddly faced figure wearing only shorts and a t-shirt. Four spells, one which Ron was certain was the Death Curse, flew at him. But all missed as he leapt off the fame and crashed heavily to the floor; the spot where he stood a second earlier exploding in a shower of wood lathing, plaster and centuries of dust.
Ron immediately rolled to his right, casting a shield where he would be at the end of the maneuver. It worked. Thee spells hit the vacant spot; one was reflected back at the attackers causing all four to duck. But while it worked perfectly the first time, he also knew it would only work once.
Where the bloody hell are the rest of the Marquis? Ron wondered, desperate, and still outnumbered.
This time he jumped up and onto a wide window stool, but it only tricked two of the Death Eaters, the other two fired slow-forming hexes that Ron was able to dodge. When he jumped back down from the window, however, searing pain shot through his ankles and shins, momentarily disorienting him and causing him to stumble and lose his wand.
He looked up, helplessly sprawled on the floor; only two of the enemy remained. He was dead, and he knew it. Both Death Eaters saw their chance and started to speak the Avada Kedavra curse.
Charlie and Tyrone stood on opposite sides of the drainage sewer as a number of voices approach. Just as his brother had done minutes before, Charlie concluded that the voices, speaking English, were more Death Eaters. With a squeak, trying to mimic a sewer rat, the team leader signaled the start of their attack.
“Solaris Maximus” shouted Charlie, pointing his wand down the tunnel. A brilliant, blinding flash of light effectively destroyed the eyesight of the four approaching enemy. Only a minute before, Charlie had turned his and Tyrone’s goggles into heavily darkened glasses and told his teammate the plan. And it worked perfectly. All four Death Eaters screamed out in pain. Even though the flash lasted a fraction of a second, their eyes would be useless for another ten minutes.
“Down, on your stomach. NOW!” Charlie commanded. Three did as they were told the other was blasted back ten feet by Tyrone’s Bludgeoning Curse when he made a threatening motion.
It was finished in seconds. Then, over the groaning of the prisoners, Tyrone could hear his team leader slapping one of the men, demanding to know where his brother was. But it was a wasted effort, this first group had no knowledge of Ron, having been the first into the sewer, just seconds before Ron attacked the rear of their group.
Tyrone secured the four and called out to a squad of approaching Marquis to follow Charlie; Tyrone continued out of the sewer with the latest batch of prisoners. In the distance, in the direction Charlie had run, the new arrivals heard and saw another battle begin, and end almost immediately with two powerful thunderclaps of raw energy that left everyone momentarily deaf. The arriving Resistance fighters slowed, not knowing what had just happened, until they saw the Englishman stumble back into their sight holding his side. Bloodied and singed, Charlie collapsed as he was met by his comrades.
“Four more,” he gasped, almost whimpering, “set off… Muggle bomb… roof fell... No Ron…” And that was as far as he got before slipping into unconsciousness.
A loud, crumbling sound broke the momentary silence and the Resistance men needed no further encouragement to act. Two carried Charlie and the rest retreated from the collapsing tunnel into the night air. Being the most seriously injured, Charlie was immediately moved back to the Resistance headquarters where Nettie cried out briefly, seeing his singed hair and torn, burned clothes. Then she noticed a pool of blood beneath him.
Montel, the man in the Sewer Rat’s team who had been left behind at the first branch of the pipes, felt his security line go tight and then slack. This did not bother him; it’s common to momentarily snag your line. After a few seconds he began to take up the slack in the rope and it became obvious that something had happened. When he reached the end of the severed line he knew the plan for the night was history. Crawling forward as quickly as possible he found the empty cistern and the four other team members missing. Jumping into the hole, he turned around and crawled back out, all the way to the entrance. Had he remained in the cistern for another two minutes, he would have seen Ron’s return.
Colonel Rousseau was waiting at the access to Charlie’s team’s sewer when Montel unexpectedly popped out. Havoc ensued for a few seconds while everyone present began asking questions. It only took him a half-minute to explain what had happened… and for Rousseau to walk away in a visible state of shock and confusion. But Montel was not terribly surprised by his colonel’s action; he looked at the senior captain who ran off to speak with Rousseau about a possible rescue. The single squad Rousseau had tasked for the job clearly would not be enough. Eighty percent of Montel’s team could be dead or incapacitated; they would need at a minimum three more teams.
Then hints of a battle taking place were felt. The first firefight between Charlie, Renard and Tyrone against the escaping Death Eaters in the sewer had started. By the time Montel had gathered a sizable rescue force, Renard had returned with the prisoners and the situation became clearer, except for the location of Ron Weasley. Throughout these discussions, Nettie sat at a corner of the room, trying not to scream Where is Ron?
The ranking captain of the force, Bryan Del Rue, unable to spark Rousseau into action, sent out a general alarm and issued the orders Ron had been begging for over the past two weeks, an all-out assault. Sending Montel to backtrack to Charlie and Tyrone’s position with a half-dozen men, Del Rue prepared to assault the front of the building with the remaining force at his disposal, about two hundred men, and not a few women. First he posted a number of his best wizards and witches to keep up the anti-Apparition, silencing and disillusionment spells that were sealing the Death eaters in and the Muggles out. Then he reinforced that group with fifty others to cover all above-ground escape routes. The final one hundred and twenty Resistance fighters were tasked to follow him.
Despite the nearly total lack of coordination and communication between the various parts of the assaulting forces, some surprise was achieved and the battle began with an explosion destroying the front entrance to the building. The Resistance fighters poured into the huge entrance hallway and had little trouble with the surprised and outnumbered defenders. Within a few minutes, the defenders were retreating and Del Rue split his forces three ways, one to pursue each group of Death Eaters.
But Del Rue was not able to see the path that the smaller, third group of retreating defenders. Believing they had also withdrawn to an upper floor by way of some unseen stairway, it was not until a half-minute later, hearing Ron exchange fire with that third group, did Del Rue realized he had made a mistake. This understandable blunder, made in the fog and excitement of battle, nearly cost Ron Weasley his life.
Del Rue shouted to four other Marquis, the closest to him and all wounded in the first assault, to follow. Limping, hopping and crawling, the team of cripples, led by their sprinting captain, entered the nearly empty ball room piecemeal. The captain saw the telltale green light of the killing curse building at the end of the enemy’s wands and he did the only thing he could to save Ron’s life, he threw a quick blasting curse next to his prone form hoping the concussion would be strong enough to push him out of the spells’ paths but weak enough to keep him from serious harm.
He got half of what he wanted, or, perhaps, three-quarters. Ron was moved, but the blast was so powerful it threw him into the air, nearly to the ceiling. He had avoided two killing curses only to face death from blunt trauma by falling from the eight meter ceiling. But more luck was with the younger Weasley in this final battle than with the older one. One of the injured Marquis made it into the room just in time to cushion Ron’s fall. It was still a rough landing, but he was alive.
The last two Death Eaters had ducked into the sewer room, hoping to make their escape, but it was to no avail. The explosion one of their comrades had set off in the sewer below, the same explosion that had nearly killed Charlie outright, destroyed the tunnel, its access and the floor of the room above it. One Death Eater was shot out of the access pipe like a cannon ball and crushed into the ceiling, the other was knocked unconscious.
The liberation of France was, for all practical purposes, complete.
The Chief Healer entered the room and pointed to a desk turned make-shift operating table. “Put him there,” he barked, as if they should have done so already. “Antoinette, scissors, NOW!” he snapped, again.
But instead of scissors, Nettie pulled out her wand and expertly cleaned the injured man and then transfigured his clothing into air so he could be swiftly examined. The Healer looked at her in amazement. “Excellent! Now, roll him over.”
The two soldiers, the same two who had carried Charlie in, rolled his slightly shaking body onto its left side. Nettie gasped; a hole, twice the size of her fist, had been blasted out of his back. Blood was coming out at an alarming rate. She glanced at the Healer and saw he was worried, but he instantly had his wand out and started probing the damaged organs and tissue, looking for the artery that had to be the source of the blood.
“Girl, find the entrance wound and fix it… no, there’s no time.” Nettie looked back. Charlie’s skin was nearly white and the flow of blood from his back was slowing. She froze as the Healer used his wand to open a large incision. Blood, pooled in his abdomen, poured onto the desk and floor.
“Get this in his mouth, immediately!” The Healer had reached around to his bag with one hand while cauterizing something deep in Charlie’s back with his wand in the other hand. Grey smoke and the stench of burning flesh made one of the soldiers gag.
Nettie took the blood restorative potion and began to pour it in the patient’s mouth, a job made particularly difficult with him lying on his side. She then used a spell to force it into his stomach but panicked when she noticed that Charlie was no longer breathing. She checked for a pulse.
“Doctor, his pulse is very weak and he’s not breathing,” Nettie informed the Healer as calmly as she could.
He answered without looking up. “Put another restorative in him then start artificial respiration… quickly!”
Nettie grabbed another potion bottle and forced it in. When finished she had to improvise to perform her next duty. Since the patient was on his side, it was difficult to clear his airway completely. She pressed her mouth to his to breathe, but Nettie also had to cradle his head with one arm and pinch his nose with the other, lest the air being forced in escaped through the sinuses.
The Healer was cursing as Nettie began her second minute of assisted breathing. But then she felt Charlie’s body go limp and knew his heart had stopped. “Did you seal off the bleeder?” she asked the Healer.
“Yes, but there’s so much damage. I don’t know…” There was a hint of desperation in his voice.
“No! We must restart the heart, he has the potions in him, and it’s just loss of blood that caused the arrest.”
But the Healer just shook his head; he wasn’t so certain.
“NO!” Nettie screamed, pushing the Healer aside. “I will NOT let you become another ghost, Charlie Weasley.”
“What are you doing, child?” the Healer asked, momentarily frozen by her actions. In just seconds, Nettie had taken her wand, temporarily closed the gaping hole in Charlie’s back, rolled him over, made an incision across the entrance wound and began poking around, looking for more damage. One minute had passed since Charlie’s heart had stopped.
Nettie turned to the Healer and spoke calmly. “Come, Doctor, show me where he can bleed. I am not completely familiar with the circulatory system, yet.” He continued to stare at her in shock. “Doctor, please!” she begged.
In seconds, both Healers had their wands probing the wound, it took another precious minute but they found it together. A small piece of shrapnel had punctured cleanly through the large abdominal artery. The older Healer had repaired the exit wound minutes before, now he would repair the previously hidden entrance hole. When finished, both worked together to seal the other damage. Two more minutes had passed. Time was up.
Nettie cleared her partner away, even before he’d finished all his work. She pointed her wand at Charlie’s chest and muttered a quiet incantation. When she finished, she counted to four, shouted “Clear,” and touched the tip of her wand to Charlie’s chest. His body jumped as the electric charge stimulated his heart.
“Another potion, doctor! And you,” the student turned to a bystander, “breathe for him.” The soldier restarted artificial respiration on Charlie while the Healer obeyed Nettie’s first order and put two more potions into Charlie’s stomach.
Another discharge, nearly four minutes had now passed and both Healers knew their time was almost up. They might be able to restart the heart after five minutes, but Charlie would have suffered irreversible brain damage by then. Nettie prepared a fifth shock but was distracted by a small fountain of blood squirting out of the still-opened abdomen wound. If blood was flowing, that meant…
“Stop!” both Healers shouted at once and the soldier stopped breathing for Charlie. Nettie checked the pulse and respiration. Both were weak, but it was, literally, better than nothing. And his blood pressure was still dangerously low, too.
“Oh, God…” Nettie cried out, her voice shaking, as they both attacked the bleeder near the liver, removing the tattered remnants of Charlie’s spleen. When finished a few minutes later, Charlie’s pulse and respiration were much improved and his blood pressure was just above the danger zone. Nettie stood shakily, her face in her bloody hands.
The Healer walked her over to a chair. “You rest, doctor, I will clean and close your patient.” But Nettie hadn’t heard him, her mind was in turmoil. What have I done? Her actions had broken far too many rules for her to count, not the least of which was unlicensed surgery. But, she told herself, my sister will not lose her friend. And I can always work for Doctor LeVasseur…
Then she remembered Ron was unaccounted for.
The Marquis fighters injured in the final attack were sitting in a hallway waiting their turn to be treated. Eight had been killed in the assault and thirty wounded, including Charlie and Ron. The Death Eaters had suffered heavily: Thirty-nine killed, including seven by their own comrades’ hands, and over a hundred injured. Nettie went down the hall of injured and began separating the more seriously injured from the easy patch-up jobs. Practiced throughout the Muggle and Wizarding worlds, this process was called triage.
As she worked her way through the wounded, each soldier increased Nettie’s anxiety. But she finally spotted Ron, lying on the floor, near the back of the line. He was in obvious pain but was able to wave. A quick examination showed two fractured ankles and bruising all over his body. None of the injuries were life-threatening so she gave Ron a sedative and a quick kiss that set the soldiers nearby feigning additional injuries. Smiling, Nettie returned to assess the final few injured.
Tré had been at Vernon with her family the past few days, their estate finally having been secured and re-occupied for the first time in almost two months. Sitting at her desk early on the morning of the attack in Paris, she saw Louise, her sister’s owl, pecking on the window for admittance. The note she delivered was short but succinct:
Essie, Charlie and Ron injured, can you come? Nettie
The note was sufficiently lacking in detail to make Tré forget, for a moment, her official duties and ring for assistance. Within a half hour she was ready to Apparate to Paris. A security detail, required by her new government position, grumbled about the lack of notice but Tré ignored them. By eight o’clock she was in the Apparation room of the Resistance Headquarters in Paris. The guard on duty was not familiar with the identity of the new Minister and briefly challenged her. When Tré’s two-man security team arrived a few seconds later, all was explained and set right.
The three visitors made their way to the commanding officer’s office and found the door locked. But Tré took no time to think about this, Nettie had appeared at the end of the corridor and called out, “Essie, this way.”
She wasn’t sure what shocked her more when she entered the infirmary, seeing her sister covered with blood or Charlie, lying almost naked, with two tubes coming out of his abdomen draining blood and other fluids. When she stepped closer she gasped. Charlie’s stomach had been cut open. The hair on his chest had been singed off and the skin reddened beneath. His face, arms and neck were a mass of bruises and both hands had splints on two fingers. A male orderly was just pulling a piece of wood out of his arm, too. When he held it up, not knowing he was being observed from behind, Tré recognized it as a part of his new wand. She could barely comprehend the damage his body had suffered.
“We had… I had to shock his heart,” Nettie said softly, “he had lost too much blood and he arrested… I’m sorry, Essie.”
Tré put her arm around her sister. “How is he doing?” she was barely able to ask.
“He’s in very bad shape, but we’ve been able to keep his blood pressure up and stop most of the bleeding. The shrapnel came in here,” Nettie pointed at the two entry wounds barely visible next to the large incision she’d made. “The small piece opened his abdominal artery, the other just tore his gut up and made a huge exit wound on his back.”
When Nettie showed Tré the size of the exit wound she gasped. “What about internal injuries? You said an artery was cut?”
“No, not cut, the metal went cleanly through it. The Healer fixed the exit wound but it took us so long to find and close the entrance hole, that’s why he lost so much blood. His stomach, liver and kidneys were all damaged to some extent. We also removed his spleen, it was too damaged to save and he was losing a lot of blood through it, also. He was in cardiac arrest for almost four minutes. Any longer and…” she trailed off.
“What about Ron?” Tré inquired hesitantly, hoping his condition was better.
Nettie sighed with relief. “He will be fine. I’ve mended his legs and he’s asleep now.” She pointed to a bed in a corner. Tré laughed when she realized the background noise echoing in the ward was Ron snoring.
“Good.” Pausing, trying to think of what to say, Tré noticed her sister’s hands shaking. “How do you feel about your first experience with emergency Healing?”
“Wonderful! Horrible! Scary! I probably got into trouble with… with… I don’t even know his name! The Healer…”
“My name is Propone, Ms. Mellanson, and you don’t have to concern yourself with any of your actions.” The Healer had walked up behind the Minister and her sister. “You performed superbly, and I will be writing a letter of recommendation to the University.” Turning to Tré, he said, “She will make an outstanding surgeon some day. Her natural ability is impressive.”
Nettie thought her heart would stop. Surgeon? Me? Surgeons were the pinnacle, the elite of the Healers. She looked back to Ron, wishing he were awake so she could share her news. But then she remembered surgery was a specialization requiring at least three more years of schooling after Healer’s school. She slumped back, sitting her bum on a bedside table.
Three years? Perhaps. But six, no, I cannot…
Tré saw her sister look off towards Ron and her face fall as the Healer left to check a patient. “I think you are going to have more trouble saying goodbye to Ron than you think.”
Nettie ran a finger under each eye and nodded.
“So, my baby sister is in love… FINALLY!”
Nettie, suspecting Tré was sensing her feelings, (and accurately, too,) filled her mind with dark visions, the only real way for one Empath to rebuff another. But this only worked so well, and Nettie knew it. Tré picked her sister’s chin up and spoke softly. “I wish I could do something. Unfortunately for you, my little Bookworm, love isn’t something books can help you with.”
The younger sister took the older sister’s hand and pulled her into a large closet being used to store linens. She was able to close the door before breaking down completely. Tré held her, providing what comfort she could.
“How can I be so happy and sad at the same time?”
“Get used to it, that’s a part of life.” Tré whispered, caressing Nettie’s head gently, trying to lessen the impact of the truism.
After a few minutes, Nettie composed herself and looked hopefully to her sister, the Minister. “When will the University reopen? Do you know?”
Tré knew the question would be asked, and she knew the answer, too. “Next Monday; the Assembly informed all ministers last night. Beauxbaton will probably open the following week, the faculty was hit hard at Chartres last month. Thank God no one was killed.”
“And Jacqueline?”
“She and Marc are fine; they will try to stop by before leaving.”
“Thank you, Essie.” Sighing, and looking at her wristwatch, Nettie pointed at the door. “Well, I better get back to the ward.” She put on her ‘mature face,’ as Ron had taken to calling it. “You can stay with Charlie, just don’t touch him without gloves. He was in the sewers when he was injured and we have to check him hourly for infection.” And with a cool kiss on her sister’s cheek, Nettie went off to finish her rounds.
Tré leaned up against the door frame, looking over the ward. “No, little sister, I have to report to the Assembly about why I put a buffoon in charge here,” she said quietly to herself.
Headmistress Minerva McGonagall received and Owl from Tré mid-morning briefly explaining the injuries to the two Weasley men and asking that Ginny be allowed time to visit her brothers. With the fall of the Ministry building, all anti-Portkey barriers had been removed and McGonagall arranged for the emergency visit. She also stubbornly refused to allow her an escort, citing the fall of the final stronghold of Voldemort’s supporters. When Ginny came running into the Great Hall for lunch, already carrying a travel bag, Harry, Hermione and Diane listened to her shakily explain where she was going and why. With a quick kiss goodbye to Harry, she was off to the Headmistress’s office for her journey.
As Harry and Diane sat back down they realized Hermione had left the Hall. Diane offered to find her but Harry thought it might be better if he went; knowing Hermione better, he claimed, would probably make his search faster. Besides, he had the Marauder’s Map with him.
As soon as he’d left the Hall, Harry activated the Map, “I solemnly swear I am up to no good,” and found the Hermione was heading back to their suite. With his usual trepidation at the prospect of facing a crying female, he plunged forward and reached the Head Girl/Boy Suite shortly after his friend. But unlike other times when he’d found Hermione upset, she was not in her office seeking consolation from her books and school work. This time she was seated on the couch in the common room staring at the cold fireplace.
“All right there, Hermione?” asked Harry.
She looked up and threw Harry’s favorite response back at him. “I’m fine.”
“Er”yeah, I’m sure. I was irked McGonagall didn’t include us, too. I’m sure he’ll be ok; Ginny said Charlie was hurt far worse.”
Hermione harrumphed. “That doesn’t make me feel much better,” she said, bitterly.
“Why don’t you write him a note? You can use Hedwig and I’m sure he’d appreciate knowing we’re thinking of him. I’ll even send something, too. What’d you say?”
She hesitated, but Harry could tell she liked the suggestion. “Yes, that’s a good idea, Harry, thank you.” Hermione regarded the Head Boy for a few seconds. “Ginny’s very lucky.”
“How so?”
Jumping up, she gave Harry a hug. “To have someone like you, you dolt!”
“Oh, well, you have… you had Ron. You’ll find someone else, I’m sure.”
Who says I want to? Hermione thought grumpily.
The note from Hermione and Harry’s gift of chocolate frogs was well received that evening in Paris. Ginny and her parents, Bill, Fleur and Percy were all chatting with Ron in his corner of the ward. Fred and George were expected the next morning. The lightly wounded had been released. Charlie and two other less seriously wounded were all who remained in the ward, and Ron, who stayed only to be close to his brother, and Nettie, of course. Tré had returned briefly to Vernon to collect the papers she had been working on, and her official ministerial clothes. In two days she would face the Assembly and answer for her poor decision of choosing Colonel Rousseau to lead the final battle.
Charlie’s condition had been up and down all through Wednesday, Molly and Arthur Weasley learned. Healer Propone had moved him to a hastily constructed isolation room until space could be made for him at the Paris Wizarding Hospital the following day. Propone’s main concern was that Charlie had not regained consciousness and the drainage tubes from his abdomen were still showing too much blood seeping out. More blood restoratives had been administered in the early afternoon when his blood pressure had started to fall. But Charlie’s own natural healing mechanisms needed to take over soon, he told Tré and Nettie; potions and magic could do only so much.
When Bill and Fleur had arrived, Nettie cried out to her old schoolmate. They greeted each other warmly and traded stories for a few minutes until the young Healer’s duties pulled them apart.
But the second biggest surprise of the evening, by far, was when the Weasley’s learned of Ron’s girlfriend. It came up casually in conversation late that evening, though Ron had planned it that way when he heard the twins would be arriving the next day. He was happy Nettie wasn’t around when he told his family, he received blank stares from everyone except Fleur who threw herself at him, kissing his cheeks and running off to find Nettie.
“So, Ron,” Bill started hesitantly, “then you and Hermione are definitely through?”
Ron nodded with a stupid smile on his face, still under Fleur’s Veela spell.
“How long has this been going on, son?” his father asked.
“Huh?” Ron replied, trying to bring himself back to the topic being discussed. Bill sniggered.
“I said, ‘when did this start’?”
“Oh, when Charlie was in Iceland.”
“When was your brother in Iceland?” Molly cried out, a bit too loudly.
“Calm down, Molly. Ron, is that when you sent us the note about him getting back safely?”
“Yeah, dad. And sorry, mum, we really couldn’t say too much at the time. We weren’t sure how deeply the communications were compromised.”
“Was it really that bad, Ron?” Bill asked a bit skeptically.
“Yes! Until the battle at Chartres last month, at least. We may have come out on top eventually, but it would have taken months, or years. France had become a magnet for every Voldemort or Death Eater wannabe.”
Molly sighed, dabbing a tissue to her eyes. She went to get another and noticed a small box on Ron’s nightstand. She picked it up. “What’s this, Ron?”
“Oh, er, just something Tré gave us… it’s nothing, really…”
But before he could take it away, Molly opened it, read it and gasped. It was the other big surprise of the day. “Arthur, children, look at this!”
“Really, mum, just put it away.” Ron was mentally kicking himself for leaving it out.
Ginny, who have been very quiet all afternoon and evening, tried to look over someone’s shoulder, but she just could not get high enough. “Mum, read it!” she finally blurted. But Molly had started sobbing and could not oblige so she handed it to Bill.
“It says: ‘Lieutenant (2nd class) Ronald Weasley is awarded the Croix de Guerre (Cross of War) and Le Médaille de la France Libérée (French Liberation Medal).’ There’s a big letter in French here, but I’m sure is just full of rubbish.” But Bill was smiling broadly, as were the others. Ron soaked it in, mainly because he knew that the next day the twins would find some perverse translation of the letter to publicize.
“Well done, Ron!” his father said, a huge smile on his face, he shook his son’s hand.
“Excellent, Ronald!” Percy said with sincerity, also shaking his hand and giving him a clap in the shoulder.
“My boy, an officer! Oh, Ron!” Molly broke down sobbing again as she squeezed him and kissed his cheek.
Next it was Ginny’s turn. She approached and gave him a warm hug, whispering in his ear, “I’ll tell Harry and Hermione. I’m sure they’ll be so proud of you, too.”
“Thanks, Ginny,” he replied quietly. Then addressing the others: “But you all must know, this rank was just for the duration, as soon as I return to England these medals mean nothing and I go back to being a civilian. I’m an English citizen and these,” he thumbed at the box, “are French medals. Besides, Charlie has them, too, and he’s a full lieutenant.”
Molly threw herself at Arthur and started sobbing again. “Our boys, Arthur, did you ever think…?”
“Yes, Molly, they all turned out splendidly.” Then Arthur looked around with a mischievous smile on his face. “Although, the jury is still out on the twins.” Everyone broke out in laughter at the jest, even Percy smiled broadly. While his family was distracted, Ron quietly slipped the box with his medals into a drawer and out of sight.
Tré put the Weasley’s up at a Muggle Hotel just two blocks from the Ministry building. There were two fine Wizarding Hotels in the city, but neither was close and Molly insisted they be near the Wizard’s Hospital should Charlie awaken. But that didn’t happen the following day, Thursday, much to the annoyance of Healer Propone who was on the Hospital staff and remained in care of his patient.
The next day, Friday, Ginny had to return to Hogwarts by nine that evening. Also, Tré was going before the Assembly to report on the final days of the war. (Fred and George had arrived Thursday morning and Percy, Bill and Fleur had left the same afternoon.) Ron was up and about with nothing more than a few lingering bruises from his adventures early Wednesday. While Tré was at her hearing, and their parents with Charlie, the two youngest Weasleys, guided by Nettie, strolled around Paris. Their host was an excellent tour guide, but with their limited time, the three only saw a few of the most famous sites in the city.
Upon returning to the hospital near dinner time, they ran into Tré who was signing in as a visitor. Nettie immediately asked about her day and all were relieved to hear that things went well. And things got better when they reached Charlie’s room; he was awake.
“Oh! Ron, Ginny, there you are, finally!” Molly cried out. “We were about to send someone to look for you.” Grabbing her two youngest in her arms she gave them both a brief embrace and then gently nudged them towards their brother.
Charlie wasn’t smiling, he barely moved and his eyes were glazed over, but he gave a small wave with his hand and croaked out “Hi.” Tré, who was obviously about to burst with happiness, and not acting at all like a senior Ministry official, clasped his hand and gave him a kiss on each cheek.
“He woke up a couple hours ago,” Arthur informed them. Smiling down at his son, he felt his pride swell as it had with Ron two days before. A moment later he turned and blew his nose.
“So, no more brain damage?” Ron asked his brother in a rather loud voice, just to make sure he could be heard. As Molly moved to clobber her youngest son, Ginny noticed Charlie’s hand give Ron a one finger salute. She covered her mouth and laughed.
Then Mrs. Weasley broached the subject none of them wished to address. “Charlie, Ron, will you be returning to the Burrow?”
The room fell silent and Tré could tell that Charlie was slipping off to sleep, as he was still heavily sedated. Taking his hand, she announced that Charlie would be staying in Paris with her while he recuperated. This proclamation seemed to rouse Charlie a bit and he nodded his agreement before succumbing to his body’s need for rest.
“Ron?” Mr. Weasley asked in a way that said he would not be receiving the same privilege.
“Yeah, I’ll be coming back in a few days. Nettie starts at the University Monday...” Ron answered with a noticeable degree of unhappiness. His friend squeezed his hand and clung to his arm.
Essie was right, this is going to be a lot harder than I thought.
Ginny returned to Hogwarts Friday evening after the family said goodbye. They had celebrated Charlie’s improving condition with a picnic dinner in his room, even though he slept through most of it. After brushing the soot off her school robes in McGonagall’s office, Ginny went straight to Head Girl/Head Boy suite; Harry was not there, but Hermione greeted her warmly. Then she sat her down and made Ginny convince her that Ron (oh, and Charlie, too!) were ok. When her story was finished, Hermione was calmed - and it showed.
“Ginny! I told you they were back!” Diane shouted, entering the room a few minutes later with Harry in tow. Remus and Tonks were right behind them, also. Ankaa trilled in annoyance as Harry looked in on him. I’m trying to sleep.
“Hi, Gin. Ron and Charlie alright?” asked Harry, embracing his girlfriend.
“Ron’s fine and Charlie’s a little better. I have some stories for all of you. Oh, hi Remus... I mean, Professor Lupin... Tonks.”
“Wotcher, Ginny. Glad to hear Charlie’s better.”
“’Remus’ is fine in here, Ginny. Welcome back. We were getting worried about Harry, he was pining away without you.”
Harry scoffed at the barb and gave Ginny a kiss. “Don’t believe them, Gin. They’re all barmy.”
Diane looked like she was going to add something juicy, but held her tongue.
Over the next hour, Ginny filled them in on the situation in Paris, both political and personal. For Hermione’s sake, she tried to leave Nettie out of the stories but eventually slipped, saying how Tré’s sister showed them around Paris the previous day. Hermione then asked a barrage of well disguised questions; Ginny had left Nettie completely out of her earlier version of the story so Hermione deducted that the girl was more than just a friend of Ron’s. But she let the matter drop, and was surprised, along with the others, to hear that he would be returning to England in three days.
“Is he coming back to school, Gin?” asked Harry hopefully.
“He says no, but I don’t know what else he might do. He’ll drive mum spare living at home.” Everyone laughed and agreed with that prediction.
Finishing the stories, Ginny told them about how Ron and Charlie had received temporary commissions in the French Resistance and their decorations for bravery and freeing the country of the Death eaters. Harry stole a glance at Hermione; her eyes were welling but she had happy look on her face. When Ginny told them how proud everyone was of Ron, even the twins, Harry also felt a wave of pride for his best mate. Ron had been trying to become something other than the ‘little Weasley brother’ for a long time. Now he had done it.
“Well, I hate to break up this party, but we better start packing,” announced Remus.
“Pack! Where are you going?” Harry asked, leaping up.
“I received word earlier today that Madam La Porte will be arriving tomorrow or Sunday, so my substituting days are numbered.”
Having become accustomed to seeing Remus on a daily basis, his reminder shocked Harry, as well as the others. Remus and Tonks made a quick exit, saying they would talk again, soon.
This last minute announcement dampened everyone’s spirit for a while until Diane distracted them by bringing up her and Ginny’s trip to the United States the following Tuesday. The four Housemates, including Hermione, spent the rest of the evening talking about their previous two trips across the Atlantic and reminding Ginny about things she should try to see. By the time they were ready for bed, Ginny’s list held far more locations than she would ever be able to visit, but she folded it neatly and put it safely away.
Harry and Hermione remained up another hour, doing the rounds of the castle and then talking. When Harry posed a direct question to his friend he knew she would not be surprised.
“Thinking about getting back together with Ron, aren’t you?”
“No! Well, maybe... a little. I’ve been trying to sort my life out the past few days, and I have to make sure any feelings I have for Ron are appropriate, and not due to his injuries or heroism. I just can’t go through the past month again.”
It was a fair answer, Harry thought. “Have you gone out with anyone else, since... since, you broke up?” he asked, though he was quite certain he would have known if she had.
Hermione gave a sigh of frustration. “No, Harry.” She paused, obviously wanting to say more. “It’s difficult to feel interest in one person when there’s still so much holding on to another.”
“Didn’t bother Ron, did it?”
Hermione shot him a hurt look.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean it that way. But at some point you need to move on, Herms...” She hit him with a pillow, but laughed, too. “Who’s that bloke you went to Slug’s Christmas Party with last year?”
“Harry, please! Cormac McLaggen? You’ve got to be kidding!” she shot back, a look of horror on her face.
“Oh, yeah, I forgot it was him. How about, er, Ernie’s, he’s ok.”
“Bad personal hygiene.”
“Oh, right then. What about Seamus or Dean?”
“They gossip too much.”
“Fred or George?”
“Get real, Harry!”
“I know, what about Dia...”
“Don’t go there, ‘Chosen One’!” she snapped before Harry had finished, having anticipated the question.
“Ok... ok... I know! What about Jack Sloper?”
“Too into Quidditch.”
Scratching his head pensively, Harry started naming ever male in their year he could think of. Hermione just shook her head. “Well, there must be someone who interests you in the tiniest bit!” he shouted out in both frustration and amusement.
Hermione had had enough and stood up to head off to bed. “Thanks, Harry. I’m sure I can think of someone, but it wouldn’t work. Goodnight.” With that, she gave Harry a pat on the arm and walked to her room.
Left standing, and a bit confused, Harry mumbled goodnight in reply and sat to read.