MAY 1ST, 1999 / WILTSHIRE. SOMETIME AROUND 2 AM

𝕿he night is quiet – the entire world is noiseless. It is as if the whole population of mankind stands still as the moon shines like a crescent in the clear sky. Stars twinkle above, a memorizing ball of beckoning light that seems welcoming to the residents of the dimly light muggle street.

Rows of picket-fenced houses stand approximately one foot and five inches from each other. The night air is sticky with the promise of summer; windows are left open as a gentle breeze hums across sleeping homeowners.

A cat slinkers across the paved road, travelling from one house to another. Orange fur shaking with its steps, coated with grim.

The animal makes the hidden girl in house thirteen feel a little less alone. Her nose twitches as she watches the cat stop with its paws still on the dewy grass from the rainstorm. Green eyes blink with tiny lines of black towards the hidden house; a breath tightens in the girl's chest as she makes eye contact with the stray.

A total of fifteen seconds pass before the cat continues its journey, tail high in the air as it walks away from the house and, by default, the girl sitting on the wooden porch.

Winnie Bulstrode blinks away the slight sting in her hazel eyes. Restlessness weighs down on her shoulders, eating away the fragile bits of her nails as she irritably picks and prods at the skin. She shifts forward, the bare of her legs scratching against the splintered wood. Winnie merely winches as she presses her knuckles into the middle of her spine. Pushing backwards until a crack settles in the night air.

Cracking her back is a relentless habit she picked up somewhere between being woozy at the sight of blood and not even blinking when it gets smeared across her person.

Out of all the things she could've gotten used to, seeing and feeling blood between her fingers and skin was not something she would've wished for.

Wishing was an act she hadn't done in a while; there are no wishes in a war.

A breeze curls through the air, running through the curls of her hair that rest just below her breast. Goosebumps prickle against her exposed flesh as she wraps her arms tighter around her jumper. Plaid pyjama shorts barely cover the skin of her legs, exposing arrays of scars. Sliver and uneven against her pale skin, if she touched it now, her finger would draw lines of a lost map.

Never-ending, never rewarding.

Remus Lupin would drag her by the point of the ear if he were to see her now. Sitting on the porch of a Safehouse was dangerous; not bothering to disguise herself was reckless. The soft bulb of her nose was the very same. The roundness of her features had slimmed since her seventeenth birthday. Her hair was no longer straight or as long. It was shorter, often left unbrushed and unmaintained. ( War was no place for beauty ). Three jagged scars run along the side of her features, exposed as her hair falls behind her shoulders. Sparkling in under the gaze of the blinding stars.

There is no denying who she is. Any Death Eater with half a brain could tell. There have been rumours about how Voldermort wanted her payback for her deficiency many years ago. It was somewhat laughable to her; obsession was intoxicating, and he wanted her dead of his own free will. Remus Lupin didn't find it so ridiculous, and he had become hyperaware of every whisper, every speculation. Winnie was to be careful, to be safe.

Safe hurts to swallow. If Winnie had been secure since the beginning, would everything be different? Would he be gone?

       – NO. DO NOT BE FOOLISH –

The voice pierces her brain in a command, jolting her from her gaze on the swaying trees. While she has never agreed with the wolf in her head over anything, Winnie could agree with this. Thinking about him was even more dangerous. Thinking about him wasn't a luxury she could even afford.

She returns to herself the exact moment she sees movement from the corner of her eye. Her left arm prickles with jolts of electricity as a figure steps into the wards, a black hood obscures the figure's face. Black trousers lose against their legs as a pale hand twirls a wand between long, bony fingers.

"Are you mad? Where have you been?" Winnie's voice is hushed, urgent as she snaps. Standing up barefooted as she makes her way towards the figure, trained in her right hand.

"I could ask you the same. You know we're supposed to stay inside." Draco Malfoy's voice is quiet as he drawls, tugging his hood down and exposing snowy hair. The Slytherin has grown since their deal back at Hogwarts. He has grown into his height, shoulders always straight, tense. Sterling eyes are hard like ice, a sea of emptiness as he flickers them over the blonde's features. He is detached from the ground he steps on, his lips a perfect scowl. Draco is staring at her, but she feels nothing as she looks him in the eye.

At another time, a more minor, more naive part of her remembers when a boy used to look at her like–

    – ENOUGH. –

Winnie blinks, letting him drag her by the elbow inside the quiet house. She shrugs him off, raising her wand to lock the door. It's unlikely anyone could get in with the notice me not wards they have planted around the entire house. Her blood is also splattered in tiny runes around the building, hidden by spells to other wizards and muggles. Winnie often tries not to think about the blood runes she drew. It isn't exactly sunshine magic. This is war, however, and sometimes dark magic is the only answer.

"Where were you?" Winnie questions, her voice is swirling like honey around them. Soft but louder, more evident as she watches him kick off his shoes, degrading them neatly against the beige wall.

"Out," he mutters, walking towards the kitchen and flicking the light on. It's the two of them once more at this Safehouse nobody else is willing to room with a literal ex-Death Eater as if any of those things truly matter now, almost two years later. Though secretly, they both preferred each other. It was easier that way; their vows to keep each other alive resulted in them standing side by side as two puzzle pieces met. Wherever she went, he followed by default. Company in a time where companionship barely existed.

"No shite Sherlock," Winnie snapped back, following him quickly as he opened the fridge. Grabbing the carton of orange juice before making his way to the cupboard, utterly unfazed by her glare. "Quit mumbling. It's beneath you, Malfoy."

"What's a Sherlock? And Malfoy again? I thought we made progress," Draco faked a frown before rolling his silver eyes and chugging back the contents of his cup. Winnie pinched the bridge of her nose, withholding from hexing him where he stood purely at risk of harming herself.

Instead, she turns on her heel, leaving him alone in the kitchen as she approaches the empty living room. There were precisely five bookshelves, all empty and filled with cobwebs and dust. No furniture greeted her as she entered. Winnie and Draco were directed to attend a raid the following day, meaning everyone in the Order was required to space out more. They needed to be staying longer to transfigure anything. Their time at this show house was just for the night.

Now, if someone were dying or choking on their blood, they would call her, even if her bones were cracked and torn. They would call her, and she would be there. Winnie wasn't exactly sure why that helped, which is perhaps why they never asked her to plan much.

Her finger opens the soft fabric of the curtain, the black fabric giving away to her pull quickly as she glances outside. Winnie's fingers on her other hand still gripped tightly onto her wand as she stood still, watching the dead of the night out.

"I was at the Manor," out of all the places Winnie could've guessed for Draco to be, she would've never imagined he'd be this daft.

"Are you bloody mental?" She hissed, turning on her heel and letting the curtain fall from her fingers. Draco's body leaned against the doorway, tension disappearing with the breaths she let out. A frown twisted onto his lips as he stared at the nearly empty contents of his cup. She wished to throw a million insults and demands at him, but they all tangled in her throat as she watched his shoulders slump. Her throat constricted with the swallowed taste of bitter coffee grinds, sour to her eyes as she pushed the taste away. Winnie ignores how her heart shrinks with the twist of his deep despair.

She has had enough of her own.

"I wanted to see if she was okay," Draco admits quietly as he slowly seems to return to himself. To suck the life of his feelings out of him, he flicks them off his heart with a shoulder lift. He looks at her then, grief so protruding it steals her breath away as she examines his scarred face.

It is easy to forget the pain of others, to remember you aren't the only one suffering. Sometimes, Winnie can fall so easily into her sorrow that she fails. It is mirrored right back at her from Draco. In moments like this, she remembers that boy who wanted to be dead not long ago. Winnie had stumbled upon a helpless, cruel boy in his sixth year, and she may have just saved his life.

Winnie surges forward, pressing her arms around his middle as her face presses into his chest. His arms wrap around her upper back, holding her like a lifeline. Draco doesn't cry or shudder against her with the pain of missing his mother. He doesn't need to do any of these things for her not to feel his agony. She feels it in the way he lets her hug him. Restlessly, unapologetically, not letting go until he lets go first.

They have been a team since that day in the bathrooms when his blood smeared on her hands, and she fixed a hole that was always broken.

In quiet moments like this, when the world is silent, she remembers there is still softness in the universe. That this world is still worth fighting for.

Draco pulls away. First, she allows his arms to loose against her back and will enable him to step out of her space as she steps back. His lips are twisted into a line as his eyes fall over her face, taking in the scars on the side to the cracked bottom lip from a raid a few days ago.

"You should sleep," he suggests, and somewhere in those words is a hidden thank you.

"You should sleep," Winnie repeats, rolling her eyes with a slight curve of her mouth. You're welcome.

"Pansy will kill you when she sees you. You have puffy, purple eyes, Winifred," Draco comments, poking her undereye as she bats his hand away. Pansy Parkinson is a puzzle she cannot figure out; she has spent nine nights with the girl since she and Blaise joined the Order. Each one is as untelling as the last.

"If you think I'm fazed about what Parkinson thinks, you're wrong, Ferret," Winnie retorts, poking Draco's shoulder as she steps around him. Heading for the staircase that leads to the bedrooms upstairs. Stairs are creaking in under the weight of her bare feet. "Night, ferret, don't randomly leave again. It'll do me no good if you disappear and die."

"Next time I plan a late-night walk with the ghost of my past, I'll be sure to let you know." As the word ghost slips off his lips, his hand lifts in a scarily, almost innocent manner of imitating a ghost. For a second, she is no longer standing with her feet grounded on the chilled wooden floor. She is back to being a naive thirteen-year-old in third-year Magical Creatures. Back to when her biggest problem was pretending her parents and sister loved her more than anything, back to when he hadn't fully eclipsed the very corners of her brain.

She was suddenly thirteen in a world where Voldermort was still gone. When she had bangs that swiped annoyingly at her eyebrows, enough to make her itch, the skin red and irritated like bugs had made a home beneath her skin. She was thirteen, and Draco Malfoy stood on the side of a field, a terrible joke about Dementors leaving his lips at the expense of Harry Potter.

Back when the world was theirs. When the scariest idea of Winnie's life was to let down her parents.

It was to be alone.

Her fingers grow numb, stinging with pins and needles, waking her very mind from a distant memory she keeps shut deep

deep,

deep

down in her mind.

Her voice is being distantly called upon. Maybe in another memory, she can not afford to let loose from the restraints.

Even memories of times when her entire world was Cordelia Flint were avoided.

Cordelia Flint scratched knees and sticky fingers stained a painfully bright red from sticking raspberries in their mouth. When trees were their sanctuary, they could transport them to another place, another time.

Far away from ...

Cordelia Flint had been her best friend. Winnie had loved Cordelia more than her very being herself. In the sense of a world, everything to her. If anyone had hung the sun and the moon in the stars, it was Cordelia.

But she changed. She lied.

She feels a fire burn around her skin. Heat licks at her forehead, nipping at her flesh and creating a more profound sense of breath.

Is she breathing?

Can I breathe?

She thinks she hears her name again.

Memories about him were more precious. Every memory has been seared into her very being and the magic that flows through her veins.

How could she forget?

He was the very star in the sky that kept her steady. She thinks that every interaction she had ever had with him from the moment they met was the start of a path she could never escape. Winnie craved his attention and couldn't shake the obsession of not having him approve, not having a look that flickers in his eyes whenever they talk. Like she was a toy, he already knew she was his, even if she hadn't. She had spent most of her early years at Hogwarts pretending he was the dirt on her shoe as if she didn't look for him in a crowded room, hoping to spot him so she could insult him somehow. When he entered her life with a hand held out with help, her life suddenly felt complete. Like her entire being had been running her real life, she suddenly could when he was there.

He was the very light she breathed. Even if she pretended it wasn't.

These memories are kept the furthest away, buried deep under secrets she can't whisper. Of friends, she grew to cherish, to care for beyond layers of everything and everything that isn't Cordelia.

Her chest feels like it's burning now.

It's as if her lungs have short-circuited.

Breathe.

Winnie is trying to remember if she knows how to do that.

Moments of sharp clarity come back to her like this: it is in the short nails scratching against a chalkboard voice that makes her heart rate plummet. It is not the steady hand rubbing soft circles against her back. It is not the whispered words of "breathe" against her ear that bring her back from a memory lane she could not stop herself from tumbling into.

It is the wolf in her very brain yelling at her to BREATHE. Commanding her to lock the books in her mind and throw away the key.

Draco Malfoy stares at her with deep-set eyes, twinkling with worry that is no stranger to her. Winnie welcomes his gaze with deep gasps of oxygen. Sucking in the air like she had been robbed of the fundamental right to breathing since she was a babe.

It hurts to breathe, but it hurts to remember more.

This is their first time down this road, and it certainly won't be the last.

"What are five things you can see?" Draco nudges her creased face, her eyes blinking away the fog that coated her very being as she swallows. Feeling her saliva run down her throat in a heavy lump, hurting as it goes.

"You," she starts, voice shaky as she tries to focus on her breathing, on fixing the holes in her brain. It's dark in the room, illuminated only by the moon trickling in from the line in the curtain. Winnie finds herself focusing on the man in front of her, "Your jumper, the bump in your crooked nose-"

"Oi-"

"You have a scar above your left eyebrow, and uh..." she pauses, eyebrows crinkling as her fingers tighten heavily against the wooden beam. "Your ridiculous hair."

If Draco is at all fazed by her insults, he does little to show it, "four things you can touch."

"Uhm, this beam," she speaks, unwrapping her fingers from it, wringing her aching fingers out as she feels his hand still steady against her back. "Your hand touching my back. I can feel my clothes against my skin. I can feel the cold floor underneath my feet." She shifts her bare feet against the step for extra measure, feeling the coldness shift up her shins and settle into her bloodstream. Grounding her in time.

"Three things you can hear," the comment leaves his mouth with a slight smirk this time. For some frightening reason, Draco Malfoy had found her heightened hearing fascinating. He was a far cry from the boy who would call her a dog in Hogwarts, a meer thought that soothed the harsh tempo of her heart.

"I hear the clock ticking in the kitchen," Winnie's eyes fluttered shut as she grew to focus on her hearing, finding it increasingly easier to breathe through her strangled lungs. "I can hear the trees brushing together... There's a cat across the street. His nails are clicking against the pavement." A slight lift upon her lips, a distant memory of a black cat her mother –

She stops that thought quickly.

"Perfect, now tell me two things you can smell."

"You stink like shite, Malfoy," she teases, watching Draco's eyes crinkle in amused annoyance. His finger flicks her on the shoulder as his hand falls from her back. "It smells like lavender in here," she decides after a moment, nose wrinkling in distaste.

"One thing you can taste?" He questions, lifting his eyebrow as Winnie sighs, running a hand through her hair.

"Mint, like toothpaste," she answers, licking her bottom lip. The panic that settled over her shoulders grew as another distant memory, flicking in her bones as a dull ache.

"Do you want to talk about what just happened?" Draco questioned softly, inclining his head to the side as Winnie suppressed a sigh. Pressing her lips together, she shrugged, her pointer finger running along the silver ring she still wore.

"Just memories better left forgotten," her voice is quiet, dry from lack of water as Draco nods. Both understand the cost of remembering, it makes you weak, and there's too much to lose in a war, let alone remembering what you lost already.

There is an innocence in remembering. A fragile state where once life was simply carefree and wasn't full of dead bodies and curses that wracked her mind and soul as she tried to find a cure.

Remembering makes you weak, and the weak don't survive in war.

༺♥༻

MAY 1ST, 1999 / MIDDLE OF OXFORD, 1:15 PM

𝖂innie crouches behind a lump of rumble, the familiar feeling of adrenaline pumped through Winnie's veins, her ears ringing from explosions, muffling the sounds of curses being flung in all directions. The smell of magic in the air was intoxicatingly sweet. It burned her throat each time she swallowed, tasting candy she would shove in her mouth as a toddler in the safety of her home.

Winnie picked not to find the irony of Dark Magic smelling like sweets.

"Bulstrode! A little help over here?' Draco's voice cracks through the air, muffled by explosions as more debris flies around them. Winnie moves quickly, her face splattered with grim and blood as she runs towards Draco. Sending a bat bogey hex toward a masked Death Eater who spots her isn't as impressive as Ginny's hex, but it does the trick long enough for her to reach Draco.

Her eyes meet a set of steel grey as she settles into a crouch once more; his pupils are blown wide, unlike the same calm eyes that decided her last night. Draco's entire composure was on edge, eyes flicking over her shoulder every few seconds. Snow white hair tousled with dirt and blood as his fingers held a cloth to the throat of an injured person below them.

"What is it?" She questioned, unstrapping the medic kit that was tied to her waist. Her fingers were steady and calm despite the growing blood that sank into the once-white cloth.

"His throat was slashed," Draco answered quickly. "Whoever did it nicked an artery! It won't stop spurting blood long enough for me to close it."

Winnie nodded, listening as her eyes flickered from his fingers to the face below the cloth. Her stomach tightened as recognition of Neville Longbottom's blond hair caught her eye. "I have an idea. I-"

"Well, hurry the bloody hell up before he dies," Draco snaps, eyes dancing over her shoulder as another explosion drifts through the air. The Order had received information on behalf of Imogen Bulsdtrode – Charlotte Nott – of a Death Eater holdout in an old historic manor. They were keeping muggle women and children here.

Winnie also chose not to overthink what the Death Eaters were doing here. But the lacerations on some of the muggle women and children she managed to get a look at before they were sent back to one of the Orders infirmaries were sickening enough to make her puke.

"Arresto Momentum," Winnie spoke softly, her wand aiming at the cut in Nevillie's throat. The bleeding from his throat slowed, making Winnie sigh a momentary relief.

"Brilliant," Draco spoke appreciatively, a grin fastened on his stoic face for a mere second before he continued. "Heal the artery while I keep pressure. He's already lost a lot of blood, and sending him to the infirmary in this state will surely kill him."

"I... I don't w-w-wanna die-e-e," Nevillie's voice wavered between them in shallow pants, tears mixing with smeared blood against his rounded face. Winnie's heart clenched tightly, remembering the meek boy in her year with his plants and kind words.

Winnie has made many promises to witches and wizards on their deathbeds, each she had sworn to keep. "Neville, I swear you will not die, okay, I swear it," Winnie promises, her eyes staring into the watery depths of his light blue ones. Her hand squeezes his shaky one, holding on as if his life depended on it. In a way, it did. "Okay, move your hands to the side," Winnie commanded Draco, ignoring the look he gave her.

But this is war. Only some promises can be kept. No matter how much she tries.

Winnie's wand moved over the gaping slice in Neville's neck, murmuring healing charms over the wound. Her ears zoned out the cry of pain that radiated from Neville. The calming words Draco mumbled to the boy were ignored.

Healing was both her sanctuary and her personal hell. She had never asked for this, never asked for the blood of others against her fingers, never asked to be in charge of saving the lives of schoolmates she had known since childhood. Never asked for her own heartaches. She pushes down each time she loses someone. She can not save them all.

She tries so fucking hard to save them all, no matter the consequence.

A small smile trickles up her face as she watches the artery stitch back together, her free hand squeezing Neville's reassuringly before she lets go. Winnie pulls out a blood-replenishing potion from her pack, uncorking it as Draco helps lift Neville's head.

"It tastes bloody awful, but it will help," she directs, pouring the precise contents down Neville's throat, watching him grimace but swallow with a wince. "Sending him to Maggie, she'll know what to do," Winnie adds, nodding towards Draco as she throws the empty bottle in her bag.

Screams shout around them as black smoke curls around the air. Winnie pushes herself up, her ears heightened as she feels the heavy weight of Draco behind her. Shoulder to shoulder now as Neville was transported away to the infirmary off sight, where all the injured who were now in decent state disappeared to Margaret Warner, where she finished healing them from the safety of blood wards.

"Winnie, he's coming," Draco seethed, his fingers twitching as he reached out to grasp Winnie's forearm. Order members retreated into thin air, regrouping in whatever safe house they had a portkey to as Death Eaters appeared around them. "We can't be here," he added as Winnie's eyes caught onto a Death Eater whose mask had fallen away, their body crouched as they wiped the blood from their face. It wasn't until blue eyes glanced up from the ground that Winnie felt herself stumble back into Draco. His body grew rigid underneath her as they spotted Cordelia Flint several feet away from them, a masked Death Eater next to her as the girl's eyes widened for half a second before she turned.

Whatever she was doing next was lost upon the pair, for Winnie acted quicker than Draco. Her fingers wrapped around Draco's forearm and apparated away from the scene. Leaving behind the memory of Cordelia Flint in her Death Eater robes and crazed hair sleek with blood and mud.

The two appeared in the infirmary in Grimmuald Place. Where the truly injured witches and wizards go, and where she was left to deal with them.

Shouts and screams prickled her ears, smelling of alcohol wipes and sterilized tools as she quickly let go of Draco's forearm, feeling her body shudder as she walked down the rows of beds with people missing body parts, unconscious or screaming their heads off.

Since the death of Pomfrey, members of the Order have started volunteering to become media wizards and witches. It still remains that Winnie is one of the few most experienced. She had spent hours slaving over medical textbooks – both muggle and magic – her eyes strained, and her lips cracked.

It had started as a search for a cure. Now it seemed to be her entire life.

There aren't enough words in the world to describe the feeling of failure when it comes to another life. To watch the light filter out of another eye as you stand with their blood and bodily fluid is another feeling altogether. It transports you into another life. You feel yourself disconnect the moment it happens, as if the tears streaking your face couldn't be real because this wasn't happening.

But it was. It was always happening.

Justin Finch Fletchy had approached her the moment he saw her tracing the faces of the injured as they were attended to. He reached for her like a ghost, fingers shaking and tears streaking his pale cheeks. Justin was always a soft person, words quiet when spoken, touches gently as he hugged or shook another hand. He had shown to be a pretty excellent healer in times of great stress, but this, the tremble of his lip and the glossy gaze across his brown eyes were enough for Winnie to understand.

"She-she," Justin trembled, his hands clutching Winnie's forearms tight enough for his fingers to dig into the skin against her bone. Stretching the flesh in the unyielding matter, turning the surface white under the pads of his fingers. "Susan, she..."

"Go. I'll see her." Promises didn't leave her lips as she squeezed the sweaty skin of his bare forearms. Watching his lip tremble more, he nodded with a shiver on his form as his hands disappeared from her arms. He retracted, stepping around her as quickly as possible. Disappearing into the hallway included rooms where recovering wizards and witches slept peacefully.

Winnie watched him leave with her heart thumping. The look in his eyes wasn't a stranger to her, she had seen it mirrored in her own face more times than she'd care to admit.

Her eyes landed on Draco, watching him disappear behind a white hospital sheet shielding a particularly severe injury. The mere glimpse of his face she had seen was stoic, focused purely on the task ahead.

Taking a deep breath, she turned her attention towards the white sheet Justin had first approached her from. She had seen injuries much worse than her nightmares could ever conjure. This was just another day. Another memory she would push down until it became blurry and frayed with her efforts.

Her fingers pulled back the sheet, stepping past the silence barrier that Winnie had suggested they placed upon the white sheets during the early development of the infirmary in Grimmuald Place. When the sheet was pulled close, nobody could hear anything that happened inside. It was both a curtsey for the victim and their loved ones on the outside.

Screams of agony filled her ears instantly, almost railing her backwards as she tightened her hold on the white sheet for a split second before she swiped them shut behind her.

Susan Bones lay writhing on the cot. Her fingers scratched and tugged at her face, arms, stomach, and anything she could reach. Susan's skin seemed to move below its surface. Winnie watched with a never fading horror as bumps shifted and melted in under her skin. Upon closer inspection, Winnie noticed that Susan's gums were bloody, causing the redhead to have blood trickling down her chin, pooling on the pristine white sheets below her. Susan's bright cerulean eyes were surrounded by crimson, leaving nothing in its space beside her pupils, nearly overtaking the blue, mixing with the red that covered the whites of her eyes.

Winnie's wand slipped through her finger, taking measured breaths as Susan continued to wail below her. With a mutter of an incantation, she watched as gold symbols danced over Susan's body.

Susan's entire magical core was disintegrating. Her body temperature rising rapidly at concerning rates. Their lungs shrank inside her chest to the point that breathing was becoming erratically more challenging as the seconds passed.

Susan's body coiled upwards, her back arching as a blood-coiled scream left her mouth, leaving Winnie in the crossfire for blood to splatter across her face and arms.

The heat struck her as it sizzled on her flesh, creating an awful aroma of burnt flesh and decaying gums. It was almost enough for Winnie to turn to her side and throw up the contents of her quick breakfast earlier that day.

It was a smell she had dealt with before – she had dealt with this before. She had seen it twice, and only once had she accepted the fate of this curse. There was no cure, no way around it. Susan's magic was attacking her from the inside out, melting every organ, every working part of her, until it was nothing but slush and blood inside her.

Susan was boiling alive like Colin Creevy, like Theo.

It was a jarring moment of realization as she watched Susan tremble, spending the last moments of her life in torture.

Winnie's fingers shook as she tried to block down the mountain of emotions that sliced through her. There was nothing she could do, just like last year when this happened to Colin, just like she could do nothing when Theo died.

At least this time, she could accept defeat before it got too far, accept it and try to make this easier for Susan.

Winnie pulled out a pain relief potion from her bag, uncorking it before she slid over a metal chair from the side of the cot. Dragging it with one hand next to where Susan lay before she gently threaded her fingers through the back of Susan's head. Ignoring the blistering heat and sweat that coated her palm as she lifted the girl's head. Pouring the contents of the potion down Susan's bloody throat.

Slowly, Susuan's scream drifted to silence. Her face was stoic, a serene look taking over her freckled face as Winnie placed the empty phial on the bedside table. Winnie's hand slipped into Susan's tense one. She massaged Susan's hand with gentle swipes of her thumb and fingers, trying to undo the tight muscles and joints.

With Colin Creevy, the outcome hadn't been pain relief potions. It hadn't been hand massages or calmness as he died. It had been tears and blood splattered across her face and hands. The echo of his screams and sobs of "please, please, I don't want to die" followed her for weeks.

It had been Winnie standing void of emotion as Draco Malfoy cleaned the blood off her face and hands, quiet as her mind. He forced her to shower, where she only crawled into herself on the bottom of the tub, hot water pouring down over her as she sat with her knees pressed into her chest, guilt eating away at her very core.

It was only after the water turned bitter cold, biting her skin until her teeth clanked in her mouth, that she got out. Wrapping herself in a towel, her hair dripping cold water beneath her feet as she padded her way to the kitchen.

"I should've done more."

Winnie hadn't been talking about Colin's death, and Draco, who seemed to clue into her thoughts, had replied.

"You can not save everyone."

As she smoothed back Susan's hair, watching as the redhead blinked slowly, Winnie could hear his words now in his head. She couldn't save everyone, and sometimes trying hurts more.

"I'm sorry," Winnie whispered, her fingers ghosting over Susuan's freckles. A tear trickled down the surface of her cheek. Winnie ignored it, letting her tears fall freely in the room's quiet.

"Justin..." Susan's voice was hoarse, and the sound croaked around the. Pain flashed through her eyes as Susan choked up a cough, her broken lips trembling as more blood trickled down her chin.

"I promise I won't let him see you like this anymore. I swear to you," Winnie swore, clutching the girl's weak hand as Susan nodded weakly. Winching from the movement. Susan's skin was still bubbling. Winnie could hear Susan's insides shudder, the way they bubbled and steamed into nothing. "I'm so sorry, I'm so sorry," Winnie whispered again, watching Susan's eyes dim. The blue had returned in her eyes. Twinkling bright blue-like summer skies for a mere few seconds before they slowly disappeared. Susan's chest stilled, her body temperature skyrocketing above in the gold symbols.

Winnie's lip trembled as she leaned down, pressing her forehead into Susuan's limp hands as Winnie squeezed her eyes shut. Susan Bones was the one who made fresh cookies for sharing at every Order meeting. She was the one who smiled in dark moments, the one who hugged you without even knowing what was wrong.

Susan was kind. She deserved more than this.

Winnie didn't know how long she stayed like that. Hunched over with her elbows digging into her knees, silent sobs raking her chest as she held onto Susuan's limp hands. She hadn't heard anyone slip into the room's quiet, pulling the white sheet close. It wasn't until a comforting hand started rubbing circles on her midback that she jumped, startling herself. She wiped furiously at her face, pushing back strands of blonde hair that loosened from the tie in her hair.

Her heart did a leap, lodging itself in her throat as she swallowed thickly. A tremble left her lips as Remus Lupin pulled her into a hug. It had been nearly three weeks since she had last seen him. The Order had been keeping him busy, keeping him away.

Winnie never resented him for it, but the world was always a little less heavy when he was there. When her dad was there.

"There was nothing I could do," her voice shook as she pressed her face into his chest. Breathing in scents of chocolate and a familiar smell of parchment and baked pastries that reminded her of home. Winnie always felt incredibly small in Remus' presence, not in the sense that she felt like everything she did wasn't enough. In the mind that everything she did was too much like she didn't have the share the weight of her head and heart alone because he would protect her. Because Remus would take the world off her shoulders and remind her that she is a child.

Winnie was twenty, but her heart still shuddered like her seventeen-year-old self on that tower.

"You did everything you could," Remus spoke softly, pulling her away to cup her face between his calloused hands. His thumbs wiped away her tears. Winnie's lips twisted into a frown, her heart squeezing as she sucked in a shaky breath, feeling the air jump in the back of her throat with a hiccup. "Can't save them all."

"But I-"

"But nothing," Remus cut her off, his tone wavering on a command. Winnie watched as his eyes sparked gold, rimming themselves in honey before fading away the familiar chocolate brown of his eyes. "This is war, and the Death Eaters have reached past their point of simply wanting to kill people. They are creating new curses and ways of dying that are meant to be painful. You did the best you could with what you have, don't put the blame on yourself." Brown eyes poured into her lighter hazel eyes, making her nod as she felt her shoulders slump forward.

Winnie unwrapped her arms from Remus' back, looking back at Susan, whose eyes were still open, unseeing.

"I should clean her," Winnie's voice came out as a whisper, soft as her heart clenched. As much as the pain reliever had stopped her screaming, Winnie doubted that her death was painless. Susan deserved that much. She earned to look like she died without pain.

Susan was just braver than most, stronger than most.

"I can help you," Remus offered, standing on the cot's other side. His worn and scarred face looked down at the girl, once his student. His wand glowed softly, humming with magic as the blood stuck to Susan's fair skin vanished. It was a sobering thought as Winnie watched Remus frown, his wand raising as he mumbled a spell.

Nobody got away with not feeling a loss. Even the slightest interaction in the past was enough to handle it.

Winnie reached out with her wand, scourging the dirt and blood smeared across Susan's body and clothes. Together, they healed and cleaned Susan as much as possible, making her appear like she was sleeping rather than lying dead.

It wasn't enough, but it was something. It was all she could.

༺♥༻

MAY 1STH 1999. GRIMMUALD HEADQUARTERS. 6:30PM

𝕳ealing took more out of Winnie Bulstrode than she would ever care to admit. It was harder to conceal her heart in moments when her mental barriers were blocked. Winnie had gotten better and had dissociated herself, disconnecting herself from the emotions around her.

The agony was pure emotion. It was natural, putrid and demanded to be felt. Her fingers pressed to bruises and aches in people's bodies, sucking up every agonizing pain into her own bloodstream. On particularly long days and nights, when she only ever left the infirmary when someone finally begged her to, Winnie would spend her entire time soaking in everything she could.

It was pretty easy to ignore the aching of bones and joints and the splitting headache she endured each day if it meant someone else didn't have to.

Winnie was an asset, but these people were more battle-compact skilled than her. She could hold her own perfectly well, but Winnie spent most of her time on the battleground, healing others.

The others would be remembered for their action and willingness to fight when the war ended. Winnie would fade away in the background.

A sigh left her lips as she finished another walk between the cots of the injured. It was mostly just people who had bones to be mended left now. The rest were either gone to another safehouse, cleared of all injuries or in other rooms. Granted the privacy they deserved as they healed.

Only Susan died that day, and it was a small victory she would never cherish. One death is too many.

Winnie chewed on the skin inside her mouth, flipping through pages of documents she had finished filling in fifteen minutes ago. Details of every injured person were held on these pages, spelled so only trained healers could see.

The door opened with a creak, causing her to snap her head upwards just as a head of shaggy, raven hair walked into the dimmed lite room. Everyone else was asleep besides for her, her bones aching and her head pounding as Winnie's eyes widened.

It had been months since she had last seen Harry Potter. He had left once more with Hermione and Ron on whatever top-secret mission the rest of the Order, besides Remus and Kingsley, were privy to.

Winnie would lie to herself if she wasn't sick to her stomach every day, just thinking about where they were. The locket that tied them together was a temptation she would never willingly take, but sometimes, late at night when worry would eat away at her spine. Winnie would finger the locket and think about how easy it would be to slip away to wherever Harry was.

"Harry!" Winnie smiled, speaking quietly as o be careful not to wake anyone. She quickly placed the papers on the small desk before she walked across the room toward him. Throwing her arms around his shoulders, squeezing her eyes shut as Harry wrapped his arms around the middle of her back. His nose poked the crook of her neck, freezing to the touch as she held him tighter.

Each time he returned, it felt like she was looking at a new, skinnier version of him. Whatever he was doing for months on end drained him. She could feel it from the little tug on her magical core. His body slumped into her, holding onto her like life could tear her away.

"What are you doing here?" Winnie questioned, leaning back and cupping his face between her hands. Tanned skin sunken against his bones and violent bags made the green of his eyes appear duller. Life seemed to suck the happiness out of him, and her heart clenched as his hands came up to clutch her wrist, his thumbs moving against her veins.

"I need your help," he admitted, voice hoarse as he cleared his throat. Winnie forced a smile on her face as she nodded, meeting his dull eyesight.

"Anything," she replied, watching as he grimaced, letting go of her wrist. Harry stepped back, running his hands through his raven locks, causing them to stand up.

"I was afraid you would say that," Harry sighed, running a hand down his face.

"Did you think I'd say no?" Winnie questioned, frowning as Harry let out a defeated chuckle.

"Kind of hoped you would be honest," he sighed, a bittersweet grin twisted across his features as Winnie raised an eyebrow. "We're bloody well fucked, and I actually would feel better if you were to run away right now and never come back here."

"Harry, I-" Winnie paused, frowning as she stepped forward, clutching her friends' shoulders and making him look her in the eye. "What's wrong? What's happened?"

"Do you know what a Horcrux is?" Harry questioned slowly, flicking his eyes around them at the sleeping people. Winnie didn't miss the beat of guilt that itched across his face before disappearing. Harry reached out to touch the crook of her elbow, leading them outside the infirmary into the empty hallway.

Winnie had a little memory from the sixth year when Harry, Hermione and Ron always whispered together. Head joined and mentioned souls and Horcrux's reaching her ears unintentionally. It had never crossed her mind since those conversations ever meant anything. "I overheard you guys talking about it during the sixth year. I don't know what it means, though."

Harry puffed out a breath of air, stepping away from her as he began to pace in front of her. Leaving her standing alone, watching him as he ran his hands through his hair repeatedly. Winnie wondered when he picked that up; perhaps, Harry had never been this stressed. He was a child, too, the face behind Voldermort's entire purpose for war. Everything in his life has been given and then stolen by Voldermort.

"Erm, it's where one kills someone and well," Harry paused, turning to face her as his shoulder slumped. "You-Know-Who placed his soul into several objects. Without destroying those objects, he can't be killed. He's immortal."

Winnie's world spun as she backed herself into the wall. She knew Voldermort to be cruel. She knew him to be unforgiving. Winnie had heard enough from her infrequent encounters with Charlotte Nott, but this... this was another bridge of insanity she could've never dreamed of.

Winnie's eyes floated from the floor, her body pushing herself up from the wall as her chin tilted upwards. If Tom Riddle split his soul into different pieces, there is nothing left inside the body that is Voldermort besides a monster with no humanity. Winnie's heart shuddered as she swallowed thickly. She had lost nearly everything she had loved to him to a war that targeted kids.

"What do I need to do?"

—o long time no see!! how is everyone? i've missed you all so much <3
—o this chapter was primarily to set the tone of the first act. there will be some cute moments, this act is focusing on winnie and the relationship with herself and the people around her. as well as fleshing out more of the war and the characters <3 things are really far from canon this way out!
—o i'm currently exhausted from work and university but i just wanted to get this up. there's no updating schedule yet as i wanna get a few chapters ahead before i decide to stick to one!
—o what are people's opinions about the new harry potter show? i truly don't know how to feel. also i'm so so in denial about taylor and joe breaking up. it feels like parent's divorcing 💔💔