Chapter Twelve - Returning Angel
My definition of an expert in any field is a person who knows enough about what's really going on to be scared.
PJ Plauger
“You’ll have to find out his address for yourself.”
“How?”
“I don’t know,” Cho said dismissively. She had a thousand other things she should be doing. “Ask Dumbledore.”
“He’s fighting.”
Cho could hear the soft murmur of footsteps and squeaks from the protesting stretcher. Moody was coming. “McGonagall, then, or one of Robert’s friends. Just find someone.”
She ran to help them bring Moody in, and lay him down gently. Cho was filled with even more despair as she examined him, if that were possible.
Deep gashes covered his skin, all coated with dirt and mud from falling on the ground. Any fragments of whole skin among the bleeding map of contours was drained of all colour. Not just pale, but white like sugar. And, most disturbingly of all, some of his wounds were oozing a thick yellow-green pus.
“What happened to him?”
“No one knows. We just found him lying like this.” Cho realised that one of the boys carrying Moody’s stretcher was Harry. He smiled encouragement at her. “We’ll bring the rest up now, shall we?”
“Are any of the others going to die?” It sounded horrible and callous now it was out of her mouth, but she needed to know.
To her relief he shook his head, and hurried off after the others.
Cho tried to think calmly. The first thing she should do was wash the wounds, and try to stop the bleeding. What did she need? A sponge, a bowl of water and lots of bandages.
As she touched Moody’s scarred forehead, she almost withdrew her hand in surprise. He was burning up. His forehead felt like it was on fire. What was wrong with him?
Cho tried to keep focused on one small task at a time, so she wasn’t overwhelmed. As she bandaged his head, Moody became conscious for a few seconds. He scowled at her. “What’re you doing? I don’t want to be treated by a nurse. Where’s Moore?”
“He’s coming,” Cho whispered, praying that it was true, and his eyes flickered shut again. She worked quickly, her fingers now expert at tying bandages. In her peripheral vision, she was vaguely aware of more casualties being brought in. They’d have to wait. Moody was just growing worse, as his temperature rose, and he started to shift and mumble and whimper. The faint traces of movement seemed to bring him more pain than relief.
He was dying, right in front of her eyes. And she had no way of preventing it. Where was Moore?
There had to be some way to lower his temperature, or he’d never last until Robert arrived. Cho considered for a moment, then found an idea. She used her wand to freeze some of the water, then wrapped it in a towel and laid it on his forehead “ more patchy bandages than skin. Then Cho retrieved a fresh sheet, soaked it in cold water, and laid it over him.
Ricky Lewis sped back in. Relief burst through her heart, until she realised that he was alone. No comforting, prepared, capable figure came through the door after him.
“I couldn’t find anyone.”
It had been a stupid idea. The Order was in the middle of a crisis. No one had the time to baby-sit her, she had to do it herself.”
“Go into his office. Look on his desk, there should be a bit of parchment somewhere on there. I remember him fiddling with it, and screwing it up. If you can’t find it, search the drawers. Maybe he has an address book or something.”
Cho turned her attention back to Moody. The few scraps of skin still in tact were now tinted green. He was sweating madly, so she dipped a cloth in water and wiped his face again. Then she noticed all his bandages were rapidly turning crimson. And each bandage was several layers thick! Normally, even the larger wounds would be starting to clot by now. There shouldn’t be this much blood.
Wounds that wouldn’t stop bleeding, high temperatures, green skin, puss. It all meant something. Poison! Of course, why had she misread all the signs? It was so completely obvious.
But that was bad, that was terrible. This seemed to be a fast-acting venom, which meant that Moody was going to die very quickly. Would they find Robert in time? At the rate Ricky was going, it seemed doubtful.
How could she help? Cho didn’t have the vaguest clue what poison it could be. The symptoms weren’t close to any of the antidotes she’d learnt, either from Robert or Snape. There was no possibility that she could help. If she attempted to, she would probably just make it worse. But how could Cho just sit around, waiting for him to die?
It could be hours before they managed to contact Robert, she had to try something. But what if she gave him the wrong cure, and Moody got even sicker? Or what if Cho killed him? She couldn’t do that
But if she abandoned him to die, it would be just as much her fault. More. At least Cho would know, if she tried to cure him and failed, that she’d done her best, and no one could blame her.
Her mind made up, Cho leapt out of her chair, and tried to work out what to do. After dismissing several ridiculous ideas, Cho remembered something that Robert had once told her about curing poisons. He called it the ‘Cure-All Cocktail’, used to buy time either so an antidote could be located or, as in this case, to keep the patient alive until a Healer could be found.
It basically consisted of all the herbs that cured each individual symptom that the patient suffered from. A few others were added, to give the immune system a boost. They were all soaked in boiling water to remove all the juices. One or two other ingredients were added to the liquid, and then the patient had to drink it as fast as possible for the best effect.
This seemed to be her best option. Cho began her preparations to make it, thankful that Robert had forced her to learn her plant cures yesterday.
***
It didn’t take her long to realise that in order to cure his fever, she’d have to “ as Robert said “ ‘make it break’. This meant putting Edella in the cocktail. It was a plant with small, dark leaves and an almost floral scent, but its effect on the human body was horrific. For some reason, which Robert had probably explained, but she hadn’t been paying attention to, it caused the fever to grow worse and worse, until the patient felt like they’d been transported to hell. If the person was strong enough, the fever would burn itself out, if not, they’d die.
Cho’s hand hesitated as she was about to drop the Edella into the boiling water. This addition could easily kill him. But Moody had survived so many duels, battles and Death Eaters, he was almost indestructible. How could a little plant with small, heart-shaped leaves harm him in anyway? And if she didn’t add it, reducing the other symptoms wouldn’t really help anything. He was strong, and used to rough treatment. He’d pull through. Cho took a long, refreshing breath, and dropped the Edella in with the rest of the ingredients.
It was kill or cure now.
***
Cho brought the glass, brim-full of life “ or death “ giving potion, to Moody’s mouth. She tried to slosh as much down his throat as possible before he realised that it wasn’t alcohol. Droplets splashed everywhere, but she carried on until it was all down.
Moody was only semi-conscious. He blinked up at her face, surrounded by a halo of dazzling light from the lamp above her. “What was that muck? I want a Firewhiskey.”
“I’ll see if I can find one,” Cho said, tears sliding down her cheeks. She could have just given him something as dangerous as poison.
“You’re not Moore, are you?”
“What?”
“Moore would never let me have Firewhiskey when I was in hospital. Didn’t seem to realise it did me more good than all his potions put together.”
Cho nodded, adjusting his pillows. He’d be as comfortable as she could make him. They would both need every tiny scrap of strength they possessed during the next hour.
She’d only witnessed Edella in a person once before, and that had been with Robert’s comforting presence by her shoulder. How was she going to cope by herself? When she really, truly needed Robert, where was he?
Cho stuffed her hand in her mouth to stop the rising flood of panic, as Moody showed the first signs of the Edella’s effect. She would carry on, and not loose her head, for Robert. And when he returned, Cho swore she’d punch him as hard as she could in his face.
***
In far too short a time, the Edella took hold of Moody’s body. His temperature soared, and what made it so frustrating was the fact that Cho couldn’t try and lower it. She wanted to open all the windows, and dab the sweat off his skin like a mother during her child’s first illness. But she couldn’t. She had to let the fever break, even if it killed Moody in the process.
All Cho could do was try and keep him hydrated. And watch as the absolute burning agony caused him to cry out in pain. Having feelings at the moment hurt too much, so she tried to block them out, like when the moon eclipsed the sun. Cho focused instead on her patient. He was more dependant on her than any other person had been. She had to find the strength for two.
Moody yelled again, his voice twisted like a knotted rope, rapidly fraying and shot through with pain. She found herself grabbing his scarred, knarled old hand with her soft porcelain one.
“It hurts.” His voice was cracked like dry earth.
“I know,” Cho said, hating herself for what she’d done, hating herself even more for how much worse it was going to get.
She gave him another drink of water, and tried to make him more comfortable. If that were possible with the sweat-drenched sheets and desert-like air.
Time passed, but Cho didn’t notice. She felt like she was walking through a thick mist made from heat and pain. The only things she could see clearly were her patients, who all needed something of her. A glass of water, an extra pillow, or just a comforting presence. She wouldn’t have been surprised to find that parts of her body were missing. She gave everything she could.
Finally, hours later though that didn’t matter, Cho found herself sitting by Moody’s bed. He had both hands enclosed around one of hers, and she felt so hot that, at first, she didn’t notice the small changes. Moody was quieter now. His head rested wearily on the pillow, as if he knew the worst was over. In the dim light, Cho couldn’t see his expression properly, but she felt a sense of hope returning.
He was alright. He was going to pull through. The heat in his hands was receding slowly. It would take a while to return to normal, but it was going to eventually.
Break the fever, break the fever. Those words sounded more beautiful than life to Cho. Break. Snap. Stop.
Moody began to snore. He’d fallen into a gentle, peaceful slumber, unlike earlier. His fitful tossing and mumbling had been almost as bad as when he had been awake.
Cho sighed, relieved to every tip of her body. She rested her head on her free hand, trying to ignore the fact that her bones were turning to jelly. Now she wasn’t being powered by adrenaline, she didn’t seem to be running off everything. But Cho had to stay awake, in case Moody needed anything. The fight wasn’t over yet.
It was hard to remind herself of that. She tried to force her eyes to stay open, but all the shapes and colours were blurring together. If she could just…
***
Cho must have fallen asleep, because the next thing she could remember was a light. A clear, sharp, shining beam of pure whiteness that stung when it hit her eyes. She blinked stupidly, and raised a hand to try and block it.
“Cho, are you alright?” A voice breathed, close to her ear.
She sat up straighter, fighting against her drained body’s protests.
“Robert!”
She found herself clinging to something soft and cool. His hand.
Then she gasped. “Moody?”
“He’s alive.” Robert’s voice was soothing, gentle. “I’ve sorted him out. He’s still very ill, but he’s going to live. And I think he has you to thank for that.”
“Oh,” It was difficult forming the words inside her skull. “I need to-” what had she been going to say? “I’m so tiered, Robert.”
“Of course you are.” The words sounded like a lullaby. “You’ve done so much today. I only wish that I’d been there to help you,” regret coloured his voice. “You’ve gone through so much today. I’d have liked to spare you from some of it.”
“I want-”
“Shh,” he whispered, banishing all my prowling fears. “I’ll be able to cope on my own. You need to sleep.”
She felt the world wrench away from underneath her. Cho almost screamed, until she realised that Robert’s arms were around her. Everything was dark. She couldn’t see where they were heading. He set Cho down more gently than she thought possible, and felt him pull soft covers around her.
“Sleep well.”
Cho felt a soft touch run through her hair. She still had a hundred questions she wanted to ask, but she couldn’t remember them anymore. Everything was slipping away…
***
White. That was her next sensation. A feathery white with a certain warmth to it, not sharp and piercing like before. Cho felt so snug and comfortable, it seemed a pity to spoil it by opening her eyes. She was lying on something soft and cosy “ a cloud? “ that seemed almost to envelop her.
Cho realised that she felt…refreshed. Almost as if she’d had a great, crushing weight removed. She shifted slightly, and found she was still wearing her jeans and jumper from yesterday. This wasn’t normally how she felt after sleeping all night in her clothes, but still.
With a huge effort, Cho forced her eyes open. She was lying in a cream-coloured room, stuffed with occupied beds. It was relatively clean, so it couldn’t be her bedroom at home. Ah yes, she realised. It had to be the Order’s Hospital. She was lying in one of the beds.
And then she remembered.
“Robert!” she called, jumping out of bed. Her foot caught in the tangled nest of bedclothes, and she stumbled. Out of the window, she could see the sun was at the highest peak of its journey through the sky. How long had she been asleep?
“What is it?” he came through the door from his office, carrying a bottle filled with violet liquid.
“What happened?” Cho demanded. “How is Moody? And who won the battle?”
Robert didn’t answer at once. He handed the medicine to one of the patients, a fragile-looking witch, with instructions to drink it slowly, one sip at a time. Then he turned around to face her.
“Come into the office.” He made it sound like a request rather than a command.
Mystified, Cho followed him. Robert sat her down in a chair, and pushed a plate of food across the desk towards her.
“Hungry?” he asked, smiling mischievously as he seated himself opposite her.
Cho nodded, realising that she was starving. How many meals had she missed? Two? Three? Her wilted stomach twisted uncomfortably. She attacked the meal that Robert had saved for her with enthusiasm.
Between mouthfuls, Cho managed to ask, “Well? What happened?”
Robert folded his arms. His cold grey eyes flickered over her, as if he was inspecting her, to make sure she was well enough to take his news. She obviously passed his test. “From what I’ve heard, both sides retreated. There was a huge amount of blood shed that neither the Order or the Death Eaters could afford.”
“So it was all for nothing?”
He deliberated. “Well…not for nothing. We found out a lot about the strength and numbers of the Death Eaters. We also took some prisoners.”
“…And…the Order. Who did we loose?” It was ridiculous to feel sick and nervous about his reply. All of it had happened, and she couldn’t change anything by worrying.
“Six people died altogether. Marylyn Horton, Casper Godwright, Tim Fletcher, Christina Johnson and her brother. Oh, and Francis Proctor.” Even though his voice was mild, his eyes burned like flames made from stone.
Cho swallowed. There was no one whose name she recognised. She knew she was lucky “ how many were grieving today for people who’d been taken from them? These names had families, friends, acquaintances, enemies. Maybe even boyfriends and husbands or wives and girlfriends.
Cho tried to shield herself from these too-painful thoughts. She would think about them later, when she could begin to understand.
“It would have been seven without you,” he said quietly. Robert took her empty plate with a slight smile, and pushed it on top of a grungy filing cabinet.
“And what about-” Cho tried to put her finger on the question she wanted to ask. It was elusive, but was like a constant presence, silently bothering her. “How did you know I needed you to come back?”
“Ricky found the address,” he said. “I should have left it somewhere easier to find, but I just didn’t think about it. I didn’t realise that this was going to happen while I was away.”
Cho nodded. Feeling like living dangerously, she asked, “And the wedding? Was it ok?”
Robert’s almost sunny face immediately clouded over. He shrugged, looking so much like a monosyllabic, grumpy teenage boy, that Cho had to suppress a smile.
Time to change subject, she decided. “So,” said Cho, standing up and tucking her chair under the desk. “What can I do to help?”
“Are you sure? I can cope perfectly well if you want to-”
“No. I couldn’t sleep when there’s so much work and no one to help you.”
“You’re becoming like me.” He grinned. “Workaholic.”
We both laughed, despite all the patients we would have to deal with. Even though we were both tiered, and the Order were missing six witches and wizards.
Robert gave me some bandages, so I could go and change Jack Foster’s wrappings. “Oh and by the way,” he glanced over his shoulder. “Thanks for clearing out those storage cabinets for me.”
Cho glowed. It was silly, but the fact that Robert had noticed her tiny gift, among all the death and destruction that encircled them, made her feel ridiculously elated. They both squared their shoulders, prepared for the huge mound of tasks that had accumulated.
Despite this, just being here with Robert, and having the power to heal at her fingertips, it just made Cho happy to be alive.
Roses and Thorns by Phoebe Gruzelier
Chapter Notes: So...hope you haven't all been dying of suspense!