The Day After Tomorrow

WHAT'S FORGIVNESS?

07 - WHAT'S FORGIVNESS?

MADAM Pomfrey hadn't changed, Ron thought. Over the years she'd been a warm comforting constant.

He couldn't remember how fast he'd run, he'd gone as fast as he possibly could, checking up on her every few meters to see if she'd awoken. She hadn't, and it was cutting a hole in his chest the size of her wound.

He had stumbled into the infirmary, gripping Parkinson close and calling for Madam Pomfrey and she had appeared in a starched white apron, grey hair pulled back in a neat bun. She hadn't looked alarmed, only dismayed and Ron figured this was the standard reaction of anyone in the healing business.

He had stood, startled and worried in a corner out of the way as Madam Pomfrey peeled away the layers of Pansy Parkinson's robes. In any other situation he would have blushed and turned away but not now. She laid still on the bed in her blood stained bra and skirt, her chest puffing in painful audible gasps. Ron hadn't seen so much of a girl, ever and found himself frozen in the delicate sweep of her collarbone and the spill of dark hair that fell against the softness of her chest.

At that thought he blushed as bright as his hair and decided to do the gentlemanly thing and turn around. He could still hear those awful little gasps and Madam Pomfrey's chanting healing incantations quietly. What if Parkinson's gasps stopped altogether, surely Ginny hadn't killed in cold blood.

His mind was alive with possible scenarios, the calm of battle had faded and with it the silence in his mind. It had been this way for a while, and he was reluctantly used to the constant buzz. How had he gotten here, with he smell of blood and burnt herbs?

They had been on their way back to the common room, walking through a silent hallway when she'd appeared. He hadn't even been paying attention to her till she had accused him of chasing Hermione away. They'd all been smarting from Hermione's disappearance and Parkinson's words had felt like another blow. But that didn't warrant Ginny's reaction, after all they had endured how could his sister react with such a curse at such a close range.

The image of Fred rose in his mind unbidden like it often did, and with it came a wave of emotion. How could you miss someone this much, he wasn't sure. And like Fred, Pansy Parkinson was someone's child, someone's friend someone's sibling. He didn't know if she had siblings, he had never given her much thought but now he wished he had because he wished he could tell them.

•••

When you built a wall against the world, you sometimes forget how to take it down.

You sometimes forget how to cope with the rising panic, the worry and the startling realisation that you care.

Draco hadn't realised he'd cared enough about Pansy Parkinson till he had found himself sprinting, Harry Potter of all people on his heels his heart thumping. The bitter taste of panic. He hated the taste of it, but here it was again and the only thought he could formulate was for Salazar's sake, don't take another from me.

And then they'd skidded into the infirmary, there were the neat lines of beds, linen sheets tucked expertly and all empty. All except for one at the far corner of the long room, beside the still form Draco spotted a figure with red hair the colour of an old carrot sitting hunched in a chair, head in his hands. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

Harry had briefed him on what had happened and now he was wearing the expression of someone who wished they hadn't.

"He carried her here remember?" Harry offered, eyes wary as he watched Malfoy stalk towards the bed. Pansy wasn't moving, and that thought was scaring him, the implications of her wellbeing were scaring him. That's why Harry had chosen to return with Malfoy, he had to see for himself what Ginny had done, he had to see if it could be undone.