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girlyswotTitle: The Wolf At the Door
For:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
moonette1
From: Your Secret Santa – you’ll never guess – not in a million years, no way, no how.
Summary: When the wolf is at your door, that’s when you know what’s truly important.
This is the story of William Wood (an OC ofstmargarets ) and Catherine Lawson (an OC of moonette1 ’s) set during the events of Deathly Hallows.
Rating: PG – 13
Warnings: Look how long this is! Your eyes will fall out!
Word Count: For which Part?
Part I – 4, 000 words
Part II – 5, 000+words
Part III – 5,000+ words
A/N: Catherine is introduced as Remus Lupin’s love interest in the story, Lonesome Love by moonette.
Will and Catherine are first brought together in this story: http://community.livejournal.com/quillerfluffers/2461.html
Will and Catherine’s story continues in moonette’s wonderful story about Oliver Wood, called Air.
moonette asked:
I would love to read a story about William Wood that is on the serious side. I don't need injuries and scars. (It's really not a true obsession) But I would like something that is more drama than fluff and shows Will in some sort of situation that touches him emotionally, but one of the serious emotions, not one of the fluffy ones. A little display of a fiery Scots temper at some point would be nice, too. The story doesn't have to be totally about romance, but I would like at least a bit of his interaction to be with his romantic partner - your choice of whom he is shipped with.
Could you please make William Wood a real person?
Secret Santa says:
There is a more than a bit of interaction with his romantic partner, but I tried to make up for it with some action and drama. I hope you like it.
William Wood is real to me after 15,000 words. Hope it doesn’t take too much time for you to read it.
Love,
SS
P.S. Santa knows about your true obsessions! No fibbing at Christmas.
Editor's note This story will be posted in three parts, today, tomorrow and Sunday. *grins wickedly*
Part I
“Do stop pacing, Will. You’re wearing out my rug. I got that in Persia –“
“On your honeymoon. I know, Gran.” Will managed to stop his feet from moving, but he brushed his hair back in agitation. “Tell me again what Catherine said.”
“I told you.” Clara’s eyes flashed behind her spectacles. “She was not happy that I had shared her letter about a dream apothecary with you.”
“Gran, she wasn’t angry with you when she saw the apothecary – she was angry with me.” He took a deep breath and asked the question even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. “What did she say about me?”
Gran’s mouth twitched. “Do you want me to pass you a note in potions and tell you all about it?”
“Gran! This isn’t funny!”
“I’m trying to give you some perspective.” Gran shook her finger at him. “You already know what Catherine thinks about this gift –“
“Aye, I do,” he bit out. “An easy, extravagant gesture bought with easy, extravagant Quidditch money.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Is that what Catherine said when you showed it to her?”
“Not at first.” He looked away. “I probably goaded her into it.”
“Probably.” Gran sounded amused. “That girl has the patience of a saint.”
“Well, I don’t,” he exploded, feeling the same bewildered hurt that had overwhelmed him after Catherine had rejected his gift – rejected him. “I can’t win, Gran. I’ve backed off – I’ve tried to be professional in our interactions.” He started pacing again. “But it’s bloody difficult when we’re living in the same broken-down castle in the middle of bloody nowhere twenty-four hours a day.”
Gran shook her head in disgust. “When you start to understand that this isn’t about winning or losing, then perhaps you’ll have a chance with her.”
“Wait.” He felt the first stirrings of hope since Catherine had accused him of looking for a convenient relationship. “You think I still have a chance with her?”
“Will –“ She stopped and then narrowed her eyes at him. “How much do you know about her ex-husband?”
Gran obviously didn’t want to betray confidences, but Will sincerely hoped she would. Catherine was a beautiful enigma – so warm and loving toward everyone - the patients, the caretaker and the old herb woman down the road for Merlin’s sake – but not toward him, the overconfident, Quidditch star who ‘flirted out of habit.’ “Um. I know he’s a werewolf.”
Gran nodded.
“And that he left her.” Bloody, stupid oaf broke her heart.
“Anything else?” Her tone was carefully neutral.
“He took up with a much younger woman – an Auror. We – Catherine and I - saw her when were being interviewed after Fenrir Greyback attacked St. Mungo’s.”
“He just married the Auror,” Gran said flatly. “It was in the paper, so I’m not gossiping. A lot of couples married after Dumbledore was killed.” She tutted. “You’d think Albus Dumbledore was the only one keeping the world together.”
“It’s starting to feel like it.” All summer the newspapers had been full of Death Eater attacks and unconfirmed reports that the Dark Lord’s minions were poised to take over the Ministry. It didn’t seem possible, but magical Britain was definitely under siege.
“So how do you think Catherine feels about his second marriage?” she questioned.
Rejected. Betrayed. Relieved. Angry. Jealous. Hurt. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh.”
Will frowned. “But dinna kin – “ He took deep breath. His Scottish burr always surfaced when he was upset. “Why would a custom-made apothecary make her so angry? I did it for her – and for the patients at our clinic.”
“Put it together, boy!” Gran rapped her cane on the carpet. “He was a werewolf – he couldn’t work and she had no training. They had nothing – not a Knut between them. He left her because he couldn’t take care of her.”
”He was right to set her free.” His hands clenched at the thought of Catherine – lovely gentle Catherine - living as an outcast and in poverty. “He never should have married her if he couldn’t take care of her.”
“No! You still don’t understand!” Gran thumped the cane on the floor. “You think you’re the better man, don’t you?”
His laugh was bitter. “Who knows? Catherine obviously doesn’t. But I know I could at least afford a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. I could take care of her.”
“Arrogant!” Will looked at his grandmother in surprise. Her blood pressure was going up judging by the mottled color in her face. “Catherine didn’t want to be cared for. She wanted to be loved – she wanted to share everything with him! She would have gone to hell and back for that man, but he shut her out.”
“But he –“
“Forget the werewolf.” She shook her cane at him. “What does Catherine want?”
He stared at his grandmother and felt all the anger drain out of him. No wonder he was besotted with Catherine – he must have sensed the depth of her passions. To hell and back. No one had ever loved him like that – and probably never would.
“Well?” Gran demanded. “What does Catherine want?”
He swallowed against the lump of emotion welling up inside of him. “Not an apothecary,” he said.
“Will.” Her voice softened and she reached out her free hand to him. “Don’t –“
He tried to give her a reassuring smile before he Disapparated, but it probably looked more like a bitter grimace. “You’re right Gran, I’m not the better man.”
*
Will retreated behind his professional demeanor the rest of the summer. While he didn’t avoid Catherine, he didn’t seek her out, either. There were many long, beautiful green evenings when he wished he could have asked her to go out for a walk or broom ride, but he resisted the impulse. She was obviously still in love with her ex-husband and hurt by his second marriage. Anyone who could love like that would never love again. Why put her through having to reject him?
Catherine tried to apologize for her hard words, but he cut her off by admitting he had been arrogant in building the apothecary himself and not going through proper channels. He then suggested they think about the patients and use it for their good health. It was the right thing to say because from then on out they fell into a successful rhythm that played to their strengths. Catherine took over potion concocting and follow-up therapies; he did most of the diagnosing and wands-on healing.
In the days after the Ministry fell, they were busier than ever. The hardships inflicted on Muggle-borns and half-bloods were amazing for a so-called civilized country. Will never asked a patient their blood status as required by law for fear he would have to testify against them, but as he healed the injuries inflicted by the Snatchers, his anger grew. By the time the new government decided to open St. Mungo’s, Will wanted nothing to do with it.
“St. Mungo’s will only treat pure-bloods,” Catherine said grimly. “No monthly clinics for Wolfsbane, either, since the Dark Lord claims potion therapies are “unnatural” for werewolves and the public had no reason to fear them now that Fenrir Greyback has all of them under his control.”
Will wasn’t as worried about werewolves as he was about the Muggle-borns and the half-bloods. Where would they go for treatment? He decided to stay on at the clinic and so did Catherine. Maybe they would get lost in the administrative shuffle. That plan seemed to be working until the middle of November when they received three owls in one week. “We have to meet with the trustees tomorrow,” Will said, reading the third letter after a midnight shift. “To get our new assignments.”
“I don’t trust them.” Catherine hugged herself. “I don’t want to meet Lucius Malfoy and that Lestrange person.”
“I’ll meet with them first,” Will told her. “Maybe I can convince them to keep this clinic open. It’s not costing them any more to have us work here rather than in London.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Her eyes looked gold in the torchlight as she moved closer to him. “I’m worried something is going to happen to you. This is the third notice you’ve ignored.”
Will shrugged off her concerns. He had plenty of good excuses for staying on at the clinic – starting with the long list of patients they had treated. Plus he was a well-known Quidditch star. They weren’t going to sack him. St. Mungo’s didn’t want that kind of publicity. “What’s the worst they can do?” he asked.
*
“They snapped your wand!” Catherine gasped.
Will looked down at the broken wand in his hand. The break was not clean. The wood was still attached by a thin splinter and the Golden Abraxan hair at its core was sticking out. It looked like some sort of horrible wand compound fracture.
“Why, Will?”
His name on her lips broke the daze he had been in since Lucius Malfoy had triumphantly informed him that they weren’t going to arrest him for treason, or even torture him with the Cruciatus Curse for his disobedience. No, they were going to make sure he could never fit in the magical world again. Not only was he unemployed, he couldn’t do the simplest magic – in short, he was an outcast.
“Because . . .” He looked into her wide amber eyes and suddenly realized that her meeting with the trustees was next. She had stayed with him at the clinic in defiance of the trustees’ orders. They were going to snap her wand, too.
He grabbed her hand and started pulling her along the corridor. “Quickly,” he urged, his heart beating a frightened tattoo, his ears straining to hear footsteps behind them.
“Will –“
“Here,” he said, thrusting her in a broom cupboard and then closing the door behind them. “Lock it,” he whispered.
He saw the faint light of her magic as she locked the door.
“Will –“
“Shh!” He hauled her next to him since there was very little room in cupboard and he didn’t want to knock anything over.
“Where’s the witch?” He heard the harsh voice of one of Lucius Malfoy’s lackeys.
“Probably ran off with Wood.”
“They’re still in the building, though. Can’t Apparate out of here.”
Will and Catherine stood frozen on the other side of the door.
“Wood can’t Apparate anyway since he doesn’t have a wand.”
“He can’t do anything now.” The man chuckled. “I always hated the Kestrels.”
“Fenrir Greyback will sniff them out,” the other man said with confidence. “Stand at the end of the corridor. You’ll be able to see everything that happens on this floor.”
Will heard the retreating footsteps as the men moved away.
Catherine was trembling, but her voice was steady. “Will, what are we going to do?”
What were they going to do? When he broke his back in Quidditch and effectively ended his career – he had been helpless for months. But this was worse. Catherine was involved. He had to think. . .
“I don’t –“ If only he had an invisibility cloak! Or Peruvian Darkness Powder or something to hide them . . . But even if they managed to get past the lackey, how would they escape? He couldn’t even call the Knight Bus without a wand.
As the anger and panic rose within him, he tried to calm himself by paying attention to his immediate surroundings. He was in the dark. Catherine’s soft hair was tickling his chin, there was a broom sticking in the small of his back, and he hoped he didn’t knock it over –
A broom! He wanted to laugh. Of course there was a broom in a broom cupboard. And he could fly them out of there – he wasn’t injured, for Merlin’s sake. He could fly.
“I need light,” he said quietly.
Catherine lit her wand without a word. Her face was pale and her eyes questioned him, but she didn’t look as frightened as she had when she saw his broken wand.
“We’re going to fly out of here,” he said, selecting a sturdy push broom.
“That’s a janitor’s broom! It doesn’t have Flying Charms.”
“I can make it go,” he said, feeling more confident now that he had a plan. “And I’m sober.” He grinned.
“What?”
“My misspent youth,” he explained, still whispering. “I can’t tell you how many pub bets I won by charming mops and brooms to fly.”
“Will.”
He was heartened to hear the laughter in her voice in spite of their predicament.
Then she sobered. “How are we going to fly past that Death Eater – and all of the other ones we’re bound to encounter?”
She had a point. He ran his hand through his hair as he looked around the crowded broom cupboard for some sort of window or exit. Then he saw it – a flap door in the wall. He remembered asking about those mysterious openings when he first came to work at St. Mungo’s. “We’re not going to fly past anyone. We’re going through this chute,” he said opening the flap and peering inside.
“That chute?” She stared at him and then at the square opening in the wall.
“Remember? St. Mungo’s used to be a Muggle building. That chute goes to the underground. I think the Muggles used it to throw out their rubbish.”
“Rubbish?” she squeaked.
“Rubbish,” he repeated calmly as he held the broom parallel to the floor. He liked the way it was balanced, but the twigs needed trimming. “Catherine – make a diagonal cut right here.”
Her mouth tightened, but she immediately bent to trim the twigs according to his instructions. He restrained himself from grabbing the wand out of her hand and doing it himself. Catherine was much more methodical than he was, and they were running out of time. If she sensed his impatience, she didn’t show it as she haltingly repeated the incantations that would make the broom fly.
“Those incantations aren’t Latin,” she said in surprise.
“Italian,” he said. “I spent my first summer after Hogwarts playing Quidditch there. I learned how to drink wine, play Air Bocce and cast Ferrari Flying Charms. It was heaven.”
She raised her eyebrows at this information and finished the charm. Will looked at his watch. They had only been in the broom cupboard for ten minutes - it seemed longer.
“See anyone?” It was the harsh voice from the lackey.
Catherine whispered, “Nox” and they were plunged into darkness again.
“Nah. I’ll reckon they’re in the stairwell or hiding in a cupboard or something.”
“Could be. Malfoy has everyone looking. We’re to check every door in this corridor.”
“Let’s slide down the chute,” Will whispered in Catherine’s ear. “You go first with the broom. If we’re separated, you take it and fly away – or better yet – Disapparate if you’re away from the building.”
“But –“
“What?” he snapped. There was no way he was going to go first and leave her here to confront the Death Eaters.
“I can’t Apparate.” It sounded like a sob.
“That’s okay,” he soothed. “You’ll have the broom.”
“I really can’t fly very well, either.”
“Let’s worry about one thing at a time,” he said firmly, vowing then and there to teach Catherine how to fly as soon as possible. “Cast a Silencing Spell.”
Her wand arm was trembling, he could tell that in the brief light from the Silencing Spell.
But there wasn’t time to comfort her; he had also seen the doorknob turning in that brief light.
*
The metal chute buckled under his weight as he climbed through the flap door after Catherine. He should put his arms at his side and keep his head down, he thought as he slid down the steep incline feet first, but he couldn’t do it. There was nothing to hang on to, nothing to see – unless he lifted his head. Then he could see Catherine’s flickering wand light below him.
He was putting a huge strain on his back, but he couldn’t let go of the need to see that light.
They were making a lot of noise. Would the Death Eaters hear the racket on every floor they passed?
The chute was dusty; the grit stung his eyes and filled his nose. But he wouldn’t put his head back.
How was he going to stop when they hit bottom? He might hurt Catherine.
Suddenly he could see light ahead. The nightmare fall through St. Mungo’s was abruptly over when the chute gave way and he fell heavily – painfully - on his back. His teeth clashed together and he almost bit his tongue from the impact.
“Will?” When he didn’t move, Catherine hurried to him. “My God, your back.” She knelt over him. “I forgot about your Quidditch injury. Are you all right?”
Pain radiated from the bottom of his spine and down his leg. Damn.
“Just a bruise –“ he gasped.
She pushed him onto his side and then ran her wand across his back. The pain subsided to a dull ache.
“Better,” he breathed, carefully rolling on to his hands and knees so he could stand up. It bothered him that Catherine had to help him up, but it bothered him even more that twenty hospital elves had witnessed the whole thing. Hopefully they weren’t under orders to report anything unusual in the laundry room.
He fingered the wand and crossbones insignia on his green healer’s robes as he addressed the house elves. “We’re inspecting all the Muggle features of this building. The Dark Lord doesn’t think they are – er - healthy for the patients.” The elves trembled at hearing ‘Dark Lord.’
“Are there any other exits?” Catherine asked the elves. “That only the Muggles used?”
It turned out that there was a huge rolling door that opened to a loading dock. It was so rusted from disuse that the elves could only open it a few feet, but it was enough for them to crawl through.
Will’s back protested, but he ignored the pain. “We’ll just look around out here,” he told the elves as Catherine shut and sealed the door with her wand.
Now that they were outdoors, his plan to fly to safety didn’t seem like a good one. They were in the heart of Muggle London and it was still daylight. Catherine shivered next to him in the chilly November air.
“Knight Bus?” she suggested.
An all-points bulletin probably had not been issued for them yet. His punishment had already been meted out; Catherine was simply missing an appointment. He nodded.
*
It made sense for two Healers in St. Mungo’s robes to travel to a potion supply company during business hours. It also made sense that a younger brother would turn to his older brother in times of crisis. What didn’t make sense was the stomach-churning nervousness Will felt upon entering Jonathan’s book-lined office with Catherine trailing behind him.
What had he done? He was leading the Death Eaters straight to Jonathan. Jonathan had every right to berate him in front of Catherine.
Was that it? He didn’t want Catherine to know all of his mistakes and weaknesses?
As head of the family, Jonathan could recite Will’s every indiscretion chapter and verse as he had often done when Will was growing up. As Gran said, Will was the brother who played Quidditch and Jonathan was the one who kept score.
“Will?” Jonathan dropped his quill on the desk and sprang to his feet. “Is everything all right? Is it Gran?” He started to approach them and then stopped at the corner of large mahogany desk. “Oliver?”
“Oliver? No, Jon –“ He pushed his hand through his hair and felt another sharp pain in his back at that sudden movement. Why had he brought more troubles to his brother? Jonathan was worried enough about his son being mixed up in some sort of Order. “Oliver is fine as far as I know.”
“And so is your grandmother,” Catherine added.
Will had forgotten Catherine was right behind him. Trust her to read the stricken expression on Jonathan’s pale face and rush to reassure him.
Jonathan’s color was returning. He smiled at Catherine. “You must be Catherine.”
Two rosy patches appeared on her cheeks. She held out her hand. “You must be Jonathan.”
They both said together. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Then they laughed and turned to Will as if he was the culprit.
He grinned. “Don’t look at me. Gran’s the one who gossips.”
Jonathan was still holding Catherine’s hand. “Now that’s not entirely true. Will talked about you when we were building the apothecary for your clinic.” He put his free hand over their clasped hands. “How did you like it, my dear? I never did hear back from Will after we installed it, but then I know how you Healers lose track of time.”
Catherine’s eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise, but she recovered quickly. “It had everything we could have needed.”
Jonathan raised his eyebrows. “Had?”
Jonathan never missed a trick, Will thought with grudging admiration. “They’re closing all the clinics,” he said. Then his throat tightened as he remembered his wand.
“That’s why we’re here,” Catherine said. “Lucius Malfoy snapped Will’s wand and I was next. We just got away on the Knight Bus.”
“Snapped your wand?” Jonathan asked sharply.
Will didn’t want to meet those keen blue eyes – didn’t want to acknowledge his own inadequacies to his brother. He mumbled something about having a difference of opinion about St. Mungo’s and then studied the intricate design on the carpet.
“What are you going to do?” Jonathan asked.
What was he going to do? He had hoped Jonathan would have an idea.
To his surprise, Catherine spoke up. “We’re going to continue healing, of course. Half of our patients this summer were on the run and wouldn’t give their real names. There’s no way they’d go to London to hospital. Of course, we’d have to have some way to let the right people know . . .”
“Catherine.” Will hadn’t planned beyond escaping from St. Mungo’s – but the thought of trying to heal patients without a wand was ridiculous – as was the idea of Catherine being mixed up in treasonous acts.
“You’ll need gold,” Jonathan said as if this was what they had been planning all along. “I’m guessing they’ll freeze your Gringott’s accounts.”
His left temple started to throb. He hadn’t thought of that, but Lucius Malfoy could easily seize his Gringott’s vault. But he didn’t want to take money from his brother.
“And you’ll need contacts,” Jonathon continued. “My son, Oliver, knows people. I do think it would be a good idea if you kept moving.”
“Yes,” Catherine said. “We could go to the patients who need us.”
Will was startled out of his pain. “Catherine, you said you can’t Apparate and you said you can barely fly.”
She blinked at his hostile tone.
Part of him regretted saying those harsh things to her, but the other part was happy to continue. “So how do you think you could you reach anyone in a timely manner?”
“Will.” Jonathan’s voice was full of reproach.
Will felt the muscles in his back spasm. He gritted his teeth through the pain. “And may I remind you that I don’t have a wand.” Cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
“Will!” Catherine rushed to his side as his knees buckled.
“I’m useless to anyone who needs healing.” The agony in his back canceled out the sensation of his shoulder crashing into the carpet. “Dinna kin -” he tried to explain as waves of pain bore him away to darkness.
For:
moonette1 From: Your Secret Santa – you’ll never guess – not in a million years, no way, no how.
Summary: When the wolf is at your door, that’s when you know what’s truly important.
This is the story of William Wood (an OC of
stmargarets ) and Catherine Lawson (an OC of moonette1 ’s) set during the events of Deathly Hallows. Rating: PG – 13
Warnings: Look how long this is! Your eyes will fall out!
Word Count: For which Part?
Part I – 4, 000 words
Part II – 5, 000+words
Part III – 5,000+ words
A/N: Catherine is introduced as Remus Lupin’s love interest in the story, Lonesome Love by moonette.
Will and Catherine are first brought together in this story: http://community.livejournal.com/quillerfluffers/2461.html
Will and Catherine’s story continues in moonette’s wonderful story about Oliver Wood, called Air.
moonette asked:
I would love to read a story about William Wood that is on the serious side. I don't need injuries and scars. (It's really not a true obsession) But I would like something that is more drama than fluff and shows Will in some sort of situation that touches him emotionally, but one of the serious emotions, not one of the fluffy ones. A little display of a fiery Scots temper at some point would be nice, too. The story doesn't have to be totally about romance, but I would like at least a bit of his interaction to be with his romantic partner - your choice of whom he is shipped with.
Could you please make William Wood a real person?
Secret Santa says:
There is a more than a bit of interaction with his romantic partner, but I tried to make up for it with some action and drama. I hope you like it.
William Wood is real to me after 15,000 words. Hope it doesn’t take too much time for you to read it.
Love,
SS
P.S. Santa knows about your true obsessions! No fibbing at Christmas.
Editor's note This story will be posted in three parts, today, tomorrow and Sunday. *grins wickedly*
Part I
“Do stop pacing, Will. You’re wearing out my rug. I got that in Persia –“
“On your honeymoon. I know, Gran.” Will managed to stop his feet from moving, but he brushed his hair back in agitation. “Tell me again what Catherine said.”
“I told you.” Clara’s eyes flashed behind her spectacles. “She was not happy that I had shared her letter about a dream apothecary with you.”
“Gran, she wasn’t angry with you when she saw the apothecary – she was angry with me.” He took a deep breath and asked the question even though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. “What did she say about me?”
Gran’s mouth twitched. “Do you want me to pass you a note in potions and tell you all about it?”
“Gran! This isn’t funny!”
“I’m trying to give you some perspective.” Gran shook her finger at him. “You already know what Catherine thinks about this gift –“
“Aye, I do,” he bit out. “An easy, extravagant gesture bought with easy, extravagant Quidditch money.”
She raised her eyebrows. “Is that what Catherine said when you showed it to her?”
“Not at first.” He looked away. “I probably goaded her into it.”
“Probably.” Gran sounded amused. “That girl has the patience of a saint.”
“Well, I don’t,” he exploded, feeling the same bewildered hurt that had overwhelmed him after Catherine had rejected his gift – rejected him. “I can’t win, Gran. I’ve backed off – I’ve tried to be professional in our interactions.” He started pacing again. “But it’s bloody difficult when we’re living in the same broken-down castle in the middle of bloody nowhere twenty-four hours a day.”
Gran shook her head in disgust. “When you start to understand that this isn’t about winning or losing, then perhaps you’ll have a chance with her.”
“Wait.” He felt the first stirrings of hope since Catherine had accused him of looking for a convenient relationship. “You think I still have a chance with her?”
“Will –“ She stopped and then narrowed her eyes at him. “How much do you know about her ex-husband?”
Gran obviously didn’t want to betray confidences, but Will sincerely hoped she would. Catherine was a beautiful enigma – so warm and loving toward everyone - the patients, the caretaker and the old herb woman down the road for Merlin’s sake – but not toward him, the overconfident, Quidditch star who ‘flirted out of habit.’ “Um. I know he’s a werewolf.”
Gran nodded.
“And that he left her.” Bloody, stupid oaf broke her heart.
“Anything else?” Her tone was carefully neutral.
“He took up with a much younger woman – an Auror. We – Catherine and I - saw her when were being interviewed after Fenrir Greyback attacked St. Mungo’s.”
“He just married the Auror,” Gran said flatly. “It was in the paper, so I’m not gossiping. A lot of couples married after Dumbledore was killed.” She tutted. “You’d think Albus Dumbledore was the only one keeping the world together.”
“It’s starting to feel like it.” All summer the newspapers had been full of Death Eater attacks and unconfirmed reports that the Dark Lord’s minions were poised to take over the Ministry. It didn’t seem possible, but magical Britain was definitely under siege.
“So how do you think Catherine feels about his second marriage?” she questioned.
Rejected. Betrayed. Relieved. Angry. Jealous. Hurt. “Oh.”
“Yes, oh.”
Will frowned. “But dinna kin – “ He took deep breath. His Scottish burr always surfaced when he was upset. “Why would a custom-made apothecary make her so angry? I did it for her – and for the patients at our clinic.”
“Put it together, boy!” Gran rapped her cane on the carpet. “He was a werewolf – he couldn’t work and she had no training. They had nothing – not a Knut between them. He left her because he couldn’t take care of her.”
”He was right to set her free.” His hands clenched at the thought of Catherine – lovely gentle Catherine - living as an outcast and in poverty. “He never should have married her if he couldn’t take care of her.”
“No! You still don’t understand!” Gran thumped the cane on the floor. “You think you’re the better man, don’t you?”
His laugh was bitter. “Who knows? Catherine obviously doesn’t. But I know I could at least afford a roof over our heads and food in our bellies. I could take care of her.”
“Arrogant!” Will looked at his grandmother in surprise. Her blood pressure was going up judging by the mottled color in her face. “Catherine didn’t want to be cared for. She wanted to be loved – she wanted to share everything with him! She would have gone to hell and back for that man, but he shut her out.”
“But he –“
“Forget the werewolf.” She shook her cane at him. “What does Catherine want?”
He stared at his grandmother and felt all the anger drain out of him. No wonder he was besotted with Catherine – he must have sensed the depth of her passions. To hell and back. No one had ever loved him like that – and probably never would.
“Well?” Gran demanded. “What does Catherine want?”
He swallowed against the lump of emotion welling up inside of him. “Not an apothecary,” he said.
“Will.” Her voice softened and she reached out her free hand to him. “Don’t –“
He tried to give her a reassuring smile before he Disapparated, but it probably looked more like a bitter grimace. “You’re right Gran, I’m not the better man.”
*
Will retreated behind his professional demeanor the rest of the summer. While he didn’t avoid Catherine, he didn’t seek her out, either. There were many long, beautiful green evenings when he wished he could have asked her to go out for a walk or broom ride, but he resisted the impulse. She was obviously still in love with her ex-husband and hurt by his second marriage. Anyone who could love like that would never love again. Why put her through having to reject him?
Catherine tried to apologize for her hard words, but he cut her off by admitting he had been arrogant in building the apothecary himself and not going through proper channels. He then suggested they think about the patients and use it for their good health. It was the right thing to say because from then on out they fell into a successful rhythm that played to their strengths. Catherine took over potion concocting and follow-up therapies; he did most of the diagnosing and wands-on healing.
In the days after the Ministry fell, they were busier than ever. The hardships inflicted on Muggle-borns and half-bloods were amazing for a so-called civilized country. Will never asked a patient their blood status as required by law for fear he would have to testify against them, but as he healed the injuries inflicted by the Snatchers, his anger grew. By the time the new government decided to open St. Mungo’s, Will wanted nothing to do with it.
“St. Mungo’s will only treat pure-bloods,” Catherine said grimly. “No monthly clinics for Wolfsbane, either, since the Dark Lord claims potion therapies are “unnatural” for werewolves and the public had no reason to fear them now that Fenrir Greyback has all of them under his control.”
Will wasn’t as worried about werewolves as he was about the Muggle-borns and the half-bloods. Where would they go for treatment? He decided to stay on at the clinic and so did Catherine. Maybe they would get lost in the administrative shuffle. That plan seemed to be working until the middle of November when they received three owls in one week. “We have to meet with the trustees tomorrow,” Will said, reading the third letter after a midnight shift. “To get our new assignments.”
“I don’t trust them.” Catherine hugged herself. “I don’t want to meet Lucius Malfoy and that Lestrange person.”
“I’ll meet with them first,” Will told her. “Maybe I can convince them to keep this clinic open. It’s not costing them any more to have us work here rather than in London.”
“That’s not what I’m worried about.” Her eyes looked gold in the torchlight as she moved closer to him. “I’m worried something is going to happen to you. This is the third notice you’ve ignored.”
Will shrugged off her concerns. He had plenty of good excuses for staying on at the clinic – starting with the long list of patients they had treated. Plus he was a well-known Quidditch star. They weren’t going to sack him. St. Mungo’s didn’t want that kind of publicity. “What’s the worst they can do?” he asked.
*
“They snapped your wand!” Catherine gasped.
Will looked down at the broken wand in his hand. The break was not clean. The wood was still attached by a thin splinter and the Golden Abraxan hair at its core was sticking out. It looked like some sort of horrible wand compound fracture.
“Why, Will?”
His name on her lips broke the daze he had been in since Lucius Malfoy had triumphantly informed him that they weren’t going to arrest him for treason, or even torture him with the Cruciatus Curse for his disobedience. No, they were going to make sure he could never fit in the magical world again. Not only was he unemployed, he couldn’t do the simplest magic – in short, he was an outcast.
“Because . . .” He looked into her wide amber eyes and suddenly realized that her meeting with the trustees was next. She had stayed with him at the clinic in defiance of the trustees’ orders. They were going to snap her wand, too.
He grabbed her hand and started pulling her along the corridor. “Quickly,” he urged, his heart beating a frightened tattoo, his ears straining to hear footsteps behind them.
“Will –“
“Here,” he said, thrusting her in a broom cupboard and then closing the door behind them. “Lock it,” he whispered.
He saw the faint light of her magic as she locked the door.
“Will –“
“Shh!” He hauled her next to him since there was very little room in cupboard and he didn’t want to knock anything over.
“Where’s the witch?” He heard the harsh voice of one of Lucius Malfoy’s lackeys.
“Probably ran off with Wood.”
“They’re still in the building, though. Can’t Apparate out of here.”
Will and Catherine stood frozen on the other side of the door.
“Wood can’t Apparate anyway since he doesn’t have a wand.”
“He can’t do anything now.” The man chuckled. “I always hated the Kestrels.”
“Fenrir Greyback will sniff them out,” the other man said with confidence. “Stand at the end of the corridor. You’ll be able to see everything that happens on this floor.”
Will heard the retreating footsteps as the men moved away.
Catherine was trembling, but her voice was steady. “Will, what are we going to do?”
What were they going to do? When he broke his back in Quidditch and effectively ended his career – he had been helpless for months. But this was worse. Catherine was involved. He had to think. . .
“I don’t –“ If only he had an invisibility cloak! Or Peruvian Darkness Powder or something to hide them . . . But even if they managed to get past the lackey, how would they escape? He couldn’t even call the Knight Bus without a wand.
As the anger and panic rose within him, he tried to calm himself by paying attention to his immediate surroundings. He was in the dark. Catherine’s soft hair was tickling his chin, there was a broom sticking in the small of his back, and he hoped he didn’t knock it over –
A broom! He wanted to laugh. Of course there was a broom in a broom cupboard. And he could fly them out of there – he wasn’t injured, for Merlin’s sake. He could fly.
“I need light,” he said quietly.
Catherine lit her wand without a word. Her face was pale and her eyes questioned him, but she didn’t look as frightened as she had when she saw his broken wand.
“We’re going to fly out of here,” he said, selecting a sturdy push broom.
“That’s a janitor’s broom! It doesn’t have Flying Charms.”
“I can make it go,” he said, feeling more confident now that he had a plan. “And I’m sober.” He grinned.
“What?”
“My misspent youth,” he explained, still whispering. “I can’t tell you how many pub bets I won by charming mops and brooms to fly.”
“Will.”
He was heartened to hear the laughter in her voice in spite of their predicament.
Then she sobered. “How are we going to fly past that Death Eater – and all of the other ones we’re bound to encounter?”
She had a point. He ran his hand through his hair as he looked around the crowded broom cupboard for some sort of window or exit. Then he saw it – a flap door in the wall. He remembered asking about those mysterious openings when he first came to work at St. Mungo’s. “We’re not going to fly past anyone. We’re going through this chute,” he said opening the flap and peering inside.
“That chute?” She stared at him and then at the square opening in the wall.
“Remember? St. Mungo’s used to be a Muggle building. That chute goes to the underground. I think the Muggles used it to throw out their rubbish.”
“Rubbish?” she squeaked.
“Rubbish,” he repeated calmly as he held the broom parallel to the floor. He liked the way it was balanced, but the twigs needed trimming. “Catherine – make a diagonal cut right here.”
Her mouth tightened, but she immediately bent to trim the twigs according to his instructions. He restrained himself from grabbing the wand out of her hand and doing it himself. Catherine was much more methodical than he was, and they were running out of time. If she sensed his impatience, she didn’t show it as she haltingly repeated the incantations that would make the broom fly.
“Those incantations aren’t Latin,” she said in surprise.
“Italian,” he said. “I spent my first summer after Hogwarts playing Quidditch there. I learned how to drink wine, play Air Bocce and cast Ferrari Flying Charms. It was heaven.”
She raised her eyebrows at this information and finished the charm. Will looked at his watch. They had only been in the broom cupboard for ten minutes - it seemed longer.
“See anyone?” It was the harsh voice from the lackey.
Catherine whispered, “Nox” and they were plunged into darkness again.
“Nah. I’ll reckon they’re in the stairwell or hiding in a cupboard or something.”
“Could be. Malfoy has everyone looking. We’re to check every door in this corridor.”
“Let’s slide down the chute,” Will whispered in Catherine’s ear. “You go first with the broom. If we’re separated, you take it and fly away – or better yet – Disapparate if you’re away from the building.”
“But –“
“What?” he snapped. There was no way he was going to go first and leave her here to confront the Death Eaters.
“I can’t Apparate.” It sounded like a sob.
“That’s okay,” he soothed. “You’ll have the broom.”
“I really can’t fly very well, either.”
“Let’s worry about one thing at a time,” he said firmly, vowing then and there to teach Catherine how to fly as soon as possible. “Cast a Silencing Spell.”
Her wand arm was trembling, he could tell that in the brief light from the Silencing Spell.
But there wasn’t time to comfort her; he had also seen the doorknob turning in that brief light.
*
The metal chute buckled under his weight as he climbed through the flap door after Catherine. He should put his arms at his side and keep his head down, he thought as he slid down the steep incline feet first, but he couldn’t do it. There was nothing to hang on to, nothing to see – unless he lifted his head. Then he could see Catherine’s flickering wand light below him.
He was putting a huge strain on his back, but he couldn’t let go of the need to see that light.
They were making a lot of noise. Would the Death Eaters hear the racket on every floor they passed?
The chute was dusty; the grit stung his eyes and filled his nose. But he wouldn’t put his head back.
How was he going to stop when they hit bottom? He might hurt Catherine.
Suddenly he could see light ahead. The nightmare fall through St. Mungo’s was abruptly over when the chute gave way and he fell heavily – painfully - on his back. His teeth clashed together and he almost bit his tongue from the impact.
“Will?” When he didn’t move, Catherine hurried to him. “My God, your back.” She knelt over him. “I forgot about your Quidditch injury. Are you all right?”
Pain radiated from the bottom of his spine and down his leg. Damn.
“Just a bruise –“ he gasped.
She pushed him onto his side and then ran her wand across his back. The pain subsided to a dull ache.
“Better,” he breathed, carefully rolling on to his hands and knees so he could stand up. It bothered him that Catherine had to help him up, but it bothered him even more that twenty hospital elves had witnessed the whole thing. Hopefully they weren’t under orders to report anything unusual in the laundry room.
He fingered the wand and crossbones insignia on his green healer’s robes as he addressed the house elves. “We’re inspecting all the Muggle features of this building. The Dark Lord doesn’t think they are – er - healthy for the patients.” The elves trembled at hearing ‘Dark Lord.’
“Are there any other exits?” Catherine asked the elves. “That only the Muggles used?”
It turned out that there was a huge rolling door that opened to a loading dock. It was so rusted from disuse that the elves could only open it a few feet, but it was enough for them to crawl through.
Will’s back protested, but he ignored the pain. “We’ll just look around out here,” he told the elves as Catherine shut and sealed the door with her wand.
Now that they were outdoors, his plan to fly to safety didn’t seem like a good one. They were in the heart of Muggle London and it was still daylight. Catherine shivered next to him in the chilly November air.
“Knight Bus?” she suggested.
An all-points bulletin probably had not been issued for them yet. His punishment had already been meted out; Catherine was simply missing an appointment. He nodded.
*
It made sense for two Healers in St. Mungo’s robes to travel to a potion supply company during business hours. It also made sense that a younger brother would turn to his older brother in times of crisis. What didn’t make sense was the stomach-churning nervousness Will felt upon entering Jonathan’s book-lined office with Catherine trailing behind him.
What had he done? He was leading the Death Eaters straight to Jonathan. Jonathan had every right to berate him in front of Catherine.
Was that it? He didn’t want Catherine to know all of his mistakes and weaknesses?
As head of the family, Jonathan could recite Will’s every indiscretion chapter and verse as he had often done when Will was growing up. As Gran said, Will was the brother who played Quidditch and Jonathan was the one who kept score.
“Will?” Jonathan dropped his quill on the desk and sprang to his feet. “Is everything all right? Is it Gran?” He started to approach them and then stopped at the corner of large mahogany desk. “Oliver?”
“Oliver? No, Jon –“ He pushed his hand through his hair and felt another sharp pain in his back at that sudden movement. Why had he brought more troubles to his brother? Jonathan was worried enough about his son being mixed up in some sort of Order. “Oliver is fine as far as I know.”
“And so is your grandmother,” Catherine added.
Will had forgotten Catherine was right behind him. Trust her to read the stricken expression on Jonathan’s pale face and rush to reassure him.
Jonathan’s color was returning. He smiled at Catherine. “You must be Catherine.”
Two rosy patches appeared on her cheeks. She held out her hand. “You must be Jonathan.”
They both said together. “I’ve heard a lot about you.” Then they laughed and turned to Will as if he was the culprit.
He grinned. “Don’t look at me. Gran’s the one who gossips.”
Jonathan was still holding Catherine’s hand. “Now that’s not entirely true. Will talked about you when we were building the apothecary for your clinic.” He put his free hand over their clasped hands. “How did you like it, my dear? I never did hear back from Will after we installed it, but then I know how you Healers lose track of time.”
Catherine’s eyes widened and her lips parted in surprise, but she recovered quickly. “It had everything we could have needed.”
Jonathan raised his eyebrows. “Had?”
Jonathan never missed a trick, Will thought with grudging admiration. “They’re closing all the clinics,” he said. Then his throat tightened as he remembered his wand.
“That’s why we’re here,” Catherine said. “Lucius Malfoy snapped Will’s wand and I was next. We just got away on the Knight Bus.”
“Snapped your wand?” Jonathan asked sharply.
Will didn’t want to meet those keen blue eyes – didn’t want to acknowledge his own inadequacies to his brother. He mumbled something about having a difference of opinion about St. Mungo’s and then studied the intricate design on the carpet.
“What are you going to do?” Jonathan asked.
What was he going to do? He had hoped Jonathan would have an idea.
To his surprise, Catherine spoke up. “We’re going to continue healing, of course. Half of our patients this summer were on the run and wouldn’t give their real names. There’s no way they’d go to London to hospital. Of course, we’d have to have some way to let the right people know . . .”
“Catherine.” Will hadn’t planned beyond escaping from St. Mungo’s – but the thought of trying to heal patients without a wand was ridiculous – as was the idea of Catherine being mixed up in treasonous acts.
“You’ll need gold,” Jonathan said as if this was what they had been planning all along. “I’m guessing they’ll freeze your Gringott’s accounts.”
His left temple started to throb. He hadn’t thought of that, but Lucius Malfoy could easily seize his Gringott’s vault. But he didn’t want to take money from his brother.
“And you’ll need contacts,” Jonathon continued. “My son, Oliver, knows people. I do think it would be a good idea if you kept moving.”
“Yes,” Catherine said. “We could go to the patients who need us.”
Will was startled out of his pain. “Catherine, you said you can’t Apparate and you said you can barely fly.”
She blinked at his hostile tone.
Part of him regretted saying those harsh things to her, but the other part was happy to continue. “So how do you think you could you reach anyone in a timely manner?”
“Will.” Jonathan’s voice was full of reproach.
Will felt the muscles in his back spasm. He gritted his teeth through the pain. “And may I remind you that I don’t have a wand.” Cold sweat broke out on his forehead.
“Will!” Catherine rushed to his side as his knees buckled.
“I’m useless to anyone who needs healing.” The agony in his back canceled out the sensation of his shoulder crashing into the carpet. “Dinna kin -” he tried to explain as waves of pain bore him away to darkness.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-22 12:30 am (UTC)Oh hell, whom am I trying to kid? Scrolls back up immediately to start reading.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-22 12:42 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-22 01:14 am (UTC)Back for more comments later. I'm just in total shock that I have such a long story to look forward to! (Although I must think of a very painful revenge for Ros, since you are meting this out so, terribly, painfully, torturously slowly...
But even still, I'm grinning from ear to ear.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-22 03:29 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-22 08:10 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-22 08:17 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-22 04:11 pm (UTC)The story will still be here after Christmas for you to enjoy at your leisure.
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-22 07:16 am (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-22 08:20 am (UTC)can't wait for parts 2 & 3
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-22 02:06 pm (UTC)(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-22 03:23 pm (UTC)I am just enjoying every single line in this one. I love Will's interaction with Gran. (Poor Will, he's got a lot to learn.) Catherine is perfect - just how she is in my mind, physically and characterization-wise. Jonathan is the capable big brother, just like I envisioned, and his concern about Oliver rang so true from my Air story.
As head of the family, Jonathan could recite Will’s every indiscretion chapter and verse as he had often done when Will was growing up. As Gran said, Will was the brother who played Quidditch and Jonathan was the one who kept score.
Great line. And yes, Jonathan is pale. You even remembered that Will calls him Jon in Air.. *grins*
Oh, and this: I never did hear back from Will after we installed it, but then I know how you Healers lose track of time.” LOL!
I love all of the little details I'm learning about Will (You'd think I'd know this stuff already after dating him for so long!). :) Love the Italian stint, love the pub broom charming stuff.
I also loved how you built up Will's tension and stress - which of course led to worse back pain - in the last scene. That was done very well. I love torturing poor Will (see icon). And now I can't wait until the next part to see how he is, after passing out!
Thank you so much, Secret Santa. This is the best present ever!
(no subject)
Date: 2007-12-22 04:43 pm (UTC)The first segment was delicious. More! More! More!