Ch. 22: The Assistant

Song For This Chapter: Lucky Ones by Lana Del Rey

[thank you to @fiery_redhead
for the cover featured above ^-^]

I was surprised by how happy Blake was once the holidays were over for good. The last couple of days we had spent at the Shell Cottage had been getting to her and an antsy Blake was something no one enjoyed. The longer the holiday lasted, the longer her spastic episodes did too.

With the end of the holidays, there was also an end of false normalcy. I had been out of touch with the real world for so long that once I was back inside Weasleys Wizard Wheezes I was practically slammed with danger.

That danger was Blake Hall.

"All right, Elle." Blake scooped up her loose curls and tucked them tightly up into a bun, her facial expression hardening as she placed her hands on the Twins' work desk. I paused at the doorway to the room and watched as she stared me down, her gaze solemnly boring into my own. "Are you absolutely positive you want to work with me?"

"I am about ninety-four percent sure."

The corners of her lips curved up with a small humor, but she kept her face steel, not wanting to laugh. "I ask because it will be dangerous. The risks of being caught for me are enough to make someone back out. For you, well," she let her voice trail off.

I inhaled sharply and crossed my arms over my chest. "I'm sure."

Almost immediately, Blake's demeanour changed. A lightning flash of a smile cracked across her mouth and she slammed her fists onto the poor, old work desk. It creaked in response to the abuse and she grinned even wider. This was the face of a madwoman.

"Fabulous!" She boasted, using her long fingers to entrap a flyaway curl on her brow and tuck it behind her ear. It sprung back almost as soon as she did, but Blake didn't seem to notice. Instead, she gripped my shoulders and looked down into my eyes. "All right. You'd best take a nap for the next few hours, Elizabeth Granger. Come night, we're gonna be in business."

I swallowed the nerves that swelled my throat and smiled. "Exciting."

"You've sold your soul, you know," Fred said, him and George carting in a large wooden crate that seemed heavy by the way their foreheads strained under pressure.

Blake merely waved off their comments with a flippant hand and motioned upstairs. "I'll be taking the bed in the extra room, Weasleys." I would need to get used to that last name, I realized as she motioned to each of us present. "Eliza, you'd do well getting some rest too. It's going to be a long night."

Fred and George placed the heavy box on the ground in the midst of the shop as Blake ran up the flat stairs. Glass could be heard clinking around inside of it and I turned my attention onto it with mild curiousity.

"New products?"

George flicked his wand at the lid and it popped open, showing the empty vials and bottles inside for potions, draughts, and elixirs. I opened my mouth to tell them that they could have used magic to bring in the heavy box as well but thought better of it as Fred groaned and rolled out his shoulders.

"New glassware," George corrected me, "we've been gettin' low on supplies."

Fred chimed in agreement. "You wouldn't believe how busy we've been, Elle."

I rubbed my arm as I stared down into the glass, seeing a warped version of my reflection shine back, a ghost of a smile on her face. Fred and George were doing things to brighten people's days. In times like these, sometimes a little bit of fun is all one needs.

"As long as you're not making love potions," I joked.

Fred smirked and pulled me close to him by my elbow, planting a soft kiss on my lips before winking. "As you wish, Mrs. Weasley."

The night was as thick and as dark as being pulled under the covers of a black, wool blanket. Except, there was not a shred of warmth to be found. Silently, Blake and I made our way down the quiet street of Diagon Alley, cloaks drawn over our heads as we moved through the darkness.

We had no lantern to guide our way so we moved cautiously, but as quickly as we could to try and avoid detection from patrolling Death Eaters. Every few minutes, Blake would glance behind her shoulder. I wasn't sure if she was checking to be sure I was still there, or if anyone was following us. I kept close to her side, no matter what her reasoning.

I could feel my heart, thick and pounding, in my ears. Despite that, in my head, I was humming dramatic movie music.

A small, weathered sign with the words 'Pygmy Turn' scrawled in black lettering directed our path to a branch off of Diagon Alley. It was not very large and almost all of the buildings lining the turn seemed to be abandoned.

Blake cast one last glance over her shoulder before reaching the most run-down building. Even in the dark, the place looked like a mess. With broken glass panes and boarded up windows, the dusty shack was certainly a place no one would be interested in visiting.

Gently touching the warped glass pane on the front of the door, Blake pushed the entrance open with a low, creaking sound. The inside was, as I had expected, much nicer than the outside. But, not by much.

The dirt floors were swept and kept orderly. Pale, dirt riddled, wooden floorboards lined the whole room, their cracks filled to the brim with irremovable earth. The broken, boarded up window panes had thick curtains drawn tightly over them, to keep prying eyes at bay without suspicion. White sheets were hung from the ceiling to section off each of five cots, giving little privacy for the patients in the room.

As Blake led me past the beds, I tried not to stare too much at the three patients in the little store. One we passed was drooling, his black eyes rolled up as far as they could go without disappearing into his skull.

'Cursed,' I made a mental note in my head.

Another patient, an elderly woman with a sweet smile, sat on her cot with a painful gleam to her face. Third-degree burns scorched her arms that were tightly wrapped at the sides of her.

"A practical joke," the woman explained, using her chin to nod at her limp arms. "These two little boys thought it would be funny to put a fire charm in my gardenias. The whole thing lit up in a puff, along with my arms, I fear."

"How horrible," I balked. Blake stopped in her escorting of me so that she and I could talk a little bit more. "Why would they do that?"

Her eyes fell from mine and she frowned. "I'm a Squib. And, while I may not be a muggle-born myself, it's almost worse."

I cast my eyes down to the floor not wanting her to see the pity in my eyes. I had never met a Squib before, that I was aware of, and the thought of this elderly woman being hurt because of that made me feel sick.

Blake and I moved along, passing the final patient in the wide room. Covered in large, purple splotches, she was still fairly pretty with a happy smile on her lips as she flipped through some pages of an issue of Witch Weekly.

"Good evening, Mrs. Belvedere," Blake addressed her, grabbing a clipboard that was beside her cot. "How are you feeling today?"

"I'm better," she said, though she was looking at me with a curious brow instead of at Blake. "You've got some help I see?"

Blake nodded and set the clipboard down, motioning at me. "This is Elle, she will be helping me in the back and with some patients from now on. Why don't you tell her a bit about yourself while I grab some things."

"All right," she agreed as Blake walked away, setting the magazine on her lap. Her thin nose was sprouting with purple spots, and one of her eyes seemed to be welded shut by a massive bruise. I couldn't tell if she was suffering from a skin affliction, or if she was riddled with bruises.

"You're probably wondering what happened to me."

I tucked some hair behind my ear as I nodded. I didn't want to sound too interested in her problems and come off nosey, but I also didn't want to come off disinterested and rude. This was going to be something I had to work on. "If you don't mind my asking."

"Oh, not at all!" She waved her hand as if I shouldn't even let the thought settle in my brain. The young woman, probably only six or so years older than myself, sat up straighter on her bed and brushed her straw blonde hair bangs from her eyes. "It's not because of anything vicious," she explained. "It's actually because of simply a potion gone wrong."

"Oh?"

"Yes, you see, I work as a chemist in the Muggle world, you know the ones that give people their drugs? Well, I wanted to try my hand at a magical cure for the chicken pox that would be almost undetectable as magic for Muggles." She waved a hand over her face with a smart frown of dismay. "It didn't work out, as you can imagine."

I arched a brow, shocked to find that as we had been talking more purple splotches had been sprouting across her arms and face. "Do they hurt?"

"Not unless I breathe," she wheezed out with a pained crease to her forehead. "Don't worry though, they don't hurt too bad."

"Eliza," Blake called from the back of the room, a bundle of cloth in her hands. I apologized to the woman and made my way to Blake, watching as she unfolded, what seemed to be, a pair of pants and a shirt.

"You'll want these," she said, handing me the clothing. "Scrubs."

I ran a hand across the thin material and nodded. If Blake told me to do it, I would. She was the boss after all.

Quickly, I changed in the backroom. Surrounded by vials of different colored potions, a stone grinder, and a large pewter cauldron, it felt oddly comfortable.

There was a race to my pulse as I followed Blake on her errands, meeting each of our three patients and getting to know more about them and how Blake was treating them. I couldn't help but notice the glow in Blake's face as she worked. It was something that she truly enjoyed and found pride in doing.

I was just hoping I would have the same enthusiasm too. Currently, I felt that I was merely running on adrenaline, finding her lifestyle dangerous — definitely more dangerous in many ways when I considered it compared to being on the run with Harry and Hermione and Ron.

I shook my head at that thought, to clear my mind. My sister was still in grave danger. And, while all of us were fighting for some reason, it was exciting. Horrible and dangerous, but exciting nonetheless.

"Your patient will be Mrs. Belvedere," Blake motioned to the cot with the woman covered in a magical pox. She looked up at her name and waved with a smile, unsure of what we were talking about from the distance. I smiled and waved back before turning to Blake with a slight panic.

"What?! Already?" I whispered, being sure not to let any of them know that I was nowhere near qualified enough to even be around them, let alone trying to fix their problems. "Do you think that's a good idea? I had thought I would be helping you with like... coffee and sorting your drugs."

"No," Blake honestly replied, placing the clipboard with everything about Mrs. Belvedere in my quivering hands. "But, you came at the best time." I could tell she was trying to assure me, her tone sweet and light like one trying to coax a scared animal into submission. "It's not too busy and they all have minor problems that can be fixed."

Playing with my hands, I flipped through the pages on the clipboard, nervous and lost, eyes scanning for some kind of instructions. Dummy's Guide to Healing Mysterious Purple Pox would nave been nice. "W-What should I do?"

"What you do best," she shrugged and motioned at the back room. "Make some potions."

"Elle," a ruff whipser called.

Groaning, I rolled around in the bed and clutched tighter to my pillow, nestling back into the warmth and loving embrace of sleep. I had been spending every night for the past few days working with Blake in the little, make-shift hospital and it was making my sleep cycle drastically change.

"Hey, wake up." He shook my shoulder this time, chuckling as I flipped my middle finger at him, too tired to really care what Fred wanted this time. Fred poked my exposed cheek and I groaned out an aggrivated yawn.

Picking myself up off our bed, I rubbed at my eyes and looked into the beaming face of my husband. "Shrivel up and die," I said, my voice thick with sleep.

"How rude," Fred chuckled, "and after I made all this."

Frowning, I turned to look at whatever he was pointing towards to find a breakfast cart loaded with toast, eggs, and plastic flowers. Immediately, my frown was replaced with a burning blush. "For me?" I could taste morning breath in my mouth as he went to peck my lips.

Ducking my head, I grabbed the glass of orange juice and downed a few mouthfuls in the hope that it would mask the taste. "Sorry," I told him, raising the glass as a gesture, "morning breath and all that."

Fred rolled his eyes and pressed his lips against mine before standing up and bringing the cart closer to the bed. "You and Blake have been working so late that we've hardly seen each other when we're awake."

"You're right," I sighed. Grabbing the breakfast from the cart, I pat the bedside next to me. "Come sit down. You can have some of my toast?"

Fred adjusted his collar, turning to look out the open door to our room before shrugging. "All right," he said, closing the door. "I've got some more time on my lunch break."

"Lunch? What time is it anyway?" I frowned, pausing to take a bite from the toast, spreading crumbs across the sheets. I would have to clean these now.

Fred grabbed a slice of toast from the tray on my lap and weighed the thought in his mind, moving his head back and forth with uncertainty. "About three or so in the afternoon."

"I'm all messed up." I chewed somemore on the slightly burnt toast before using the fork to stab into the yellow yolk of the egg. Gold streamed from the sack and dribbled across the rest of the plate, soaking my toast.

Fred grabbed the last piece of toast, earning a protest from me. Still chewing his last slice, he kissed my cheek, leaving wet bits of crumbs on my cheek. Wrinkling up my nose, I brushed the residue off my face with a small giggle.

He swallowed his bite. "So, how's it, working for Blake I mean?"

"It's... It's not what I'd imagined it would be." Fred arched a brow at that, jamming the last bit of toast into his mouth while wiping his hands on the bedsheets. I eyed the grease stains he left.

Yup. I'll definetly need to wash these.

"How do you mean?"

"I don't know," I could feel my forehead crumple as I fought for the right words. "It's... It doesn't feel like I thought it would. I know it's dangerous for me, for everyone there, but it's not crazy. I thought we would be keeping people from the brink of death every day. I figured our hands would be full. But, it's been pretty mellow."

Fred pulled me closer to his side, wrapping an arm around my waist. "Then, that's good. Don't jinx it."

"You're right."

"Of course I am. It's me."

I pushed myself away from his embrace with a curt laugh. "HA! Alright, don't get too big-headed now."

"It's like you don't even know me."

Turning back to him with a wicked grin, I grabbed his collar, pulling his face closer to mine. As our noses softly touched, I kept my voice hushed. "God, I hope so."

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[^^ my favorite comment from the last chapter LOL]

hey guys ! i hope you like this chapter !

remember : get your one-shot in :D the deadline is coming soon!