Before I Knew You - Part Eight
Masterlist, Part One
Summary: You’ve spent years training under Madam Pomfrey in the hopes that you would join the Healers at St. Mungo’s at graduation. But in the aftermath of the death of Albus Dumbledore, you chose to join the Order instead. When you’re forced into hiding, you find yourself alone with Bill Weasley and his new wolfish tendencies.
Word Count: 3831
Warnings: 18+, sexually explicit language, medical procedure, major injury, blood, jealousy. Minors DNI.
A/N: If you requested to be on the taglist and found that you weren’t on it, it’s mostly likely because because there is not an indicator on your blog that you are 18+ which is a requirement for my taglists.
The world around you ceased as you hunched over the unresponsive wizard in the sand, spell after spell leaving your lips. Whatever had happened to him, it had been brutal. Bones cracked in his arms, contusions already forming across his face, a punctured lung, a brain bleed, broken ribs, and some dark magic of a curse in his veins. He shouldn’t have been able to walk let alone Apparate himself.
The injuries would have been easy to heal if you had even half the available resources at St. Mungo’s. He’d be walking and talking within an hour. But you didn’t have anything besides your wand and Dittany. Him living past an hour would be a miracle.
But you didn’t stop. Your mother was an ER doctor, father a trauma surgeon. They’d saved people on the brink of death with their bare hands, you could do it with magic.
You had too.
The brain, the lung, the curse: you worked from the most lethal down. He was alive and he was breathing, but he was still deteriorating. Blood. He’d lost too much of it. You had no potion to fix it.
An idea flashed through your head and a moment later, your patient notebook flew into your hand, parchment rustling as you skipped to your notes from the physical you’d forced on him in the days after Harry’s rescue. The laugh that escaped your lips was of frantic delight. Same blood type.
"There's really no reason to check blood types here," Madam Pomfrey had said one afternoon a few weeks into your training. "We've got potions for it. But my mother was a nurse during the Muggle war in the forties and she got into the habit even after she returned to the St. Mungo's. Always said it was better to be prepared."
But neither Pomfrey or her mother had ever used the information. They'd never even attempted a blood transfusion. It would be risky, the possibility of magical blood interacting differently than Muggle blood did. And the faint, cruel voice of Corbin sounded in your head. Dirty blood. What if there were some actual basis for his hatred? What if mixing your blood with a Pureblood like Kingsley messed with his magic? What if it killed him?
You shoved the thoughts out of your head. That was bullshit. Blood was blood.
He was stable enough to move and you brought him into the room you had been sharing with Bill—the stairs were too risky. Working quickly, you set up the things you would need during the transfusion and immediately after: a chair from the living room, transfigured tubes and needles, a sanitized blood collection bag, water, food, and bandages. Another round of spells to ensure nothing else was killing him and then you sat in a chair and stuck the makeshift IVs into both his and your arms.
The pull of it had your skin crawling. But you sat stoically, giving more than you knew was safe. One pint donation was the max for a healthy adult, two pints and you risked going into shock. More than that would be reckless but Kingsley was dangerously close to having lost four.
You didn’t stop the flow, but it still ceased as the world began to sway like a boat rocking on the waves. You managed to remove the IV from your own arm as you watched the blood dripped into the bag and before slowly draining down the tube connected to Kingsley.
You blinked, eyes growing heavy. Still you watched. Waiting for any indication that your blood, your dirty blood, was causing harm. That your attempt to save the dying wizard with Muggle methods had doomed him.
But he continued to breathe, his expression no longer one of agony.
So when your eyes shut again, you let the exhaustion pull you under.
-
Something warm and rough was touching your face. You wanted to open your eyes, see what it was, but they refused more than a flutter. A voice came, but it was far. Was it your name? There was a flash of red (or was it orange?) when your eyes tried to open again.
“Come on, please wake up, please.”
Finally, the world came into view and stayed. Or at least, Bill came into view. Your name left his lips in relief, his forehead coming to rest against yours.
“Are you okay? Do I need to bring Mum? Some kind of potion?” It was a rush of words, worry weaving through them as his fingers did the same to your hair.
“Kingsley,” you croaked, throat dry, “how is Kingsley?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I just got here. He was breathing, I think.”
You pushed Bill away and attempted to stand, but the ground tipped to the side. Bill caught you before you could hit it.
“Hey, hey, he can wait a minute.”
“No, I’ve got to make sure he’s okay.” You struggled against his grip until he let you at least let you face the other man. Bill was right. He was breathing.
Raising your wand, you tried to cast a diagnostic spell. It failed. Again. It failed again.
“Stop,” Bill pulled on your arm, but you resisted. “He’s okay. Sit down and tell me what happened.”
“Do you know any diagnostic spells?”
“Enough.” The word echoed in the room, a command demanding to be followed as his hold tightened. “You are going to sit down or I will bind you to the chair.”
You let him guide you back to the chair, one of the glasses of water you’d prepared earlier shoved into your hands after you collapsed into it. He knelt between your spread legs and nodded towards the glass.
Satisfied after you took a long gulp, he asked, “What happened?”
“Kingsley showed up a bloody mess. Passed out right after he popped onto the beach. Had to have been a nasty duel, everything was broken and bleeding. So much blood. We don’t have any Blood Restore Potion. Had to give him some of mine like the Muggles do.”
“You did what?”
“Blood transfusion.”
“You just–just gave him your blood? Why? Why didn’t you contact me? Or Mum? Or Tonks? We could have gotten you a potion!” There was something different in his voice, something rough and jagged. You’d heard it before, the night in the kitchen when you’d let the stupid little word slip. His hands were on the arm with a forming bruise, fingers tracing over the needle mark. “What if something had happened? What if you gave too much? If I had come home and found you—“
“The mail is compromised. And there wasn’t time. He was dying.”
“You could have died.”
“How is it any different than the risk of you dying when you go on mission for the Order?” He didn’t respond, lips pressing into a thin line. “Besides, I knew what I was doing. I wasn’t in any real danger.”
If he believed your lie or not, he didn’t get a chance to tell you. A pained groan came from the man on the bed. Kingsley was awake.
Bill didn’t let you move from the chair. He wanted you to eat and ensure you wouldn’t pass out from simply standing. So you had to sit and stuff bread and roasted chickpeas down your throat while he checked over Kingsley and questioned him.
“I was following Rowle. Ended up somewhere in Durham. It—it was a trap. A dozen of them were waiting.”
A dozen? In Durham? That was over seven hundred kilometers away.
“Seven of them went down. Wanted to get the rest but Dolohov was there and he got me with something. This was the only safe place I could think of.”
Bill stood over the bed, arms folded and expression blank. “You had five Death Eaters on your arse and you risked them following you here because you couldn’t take an extra second to think of some other place?”
“Bill!”
“None of them had the chance to follow,” Kingsley responded, unbothered. “Your brothers’ inventions came in very handy.”
“Guess we’re lucky then, huh? Cause you would have led them straight to her otherwise.”
You pushed up from the chair, the bowl clattering to the ground and sending the legumes scattering over the floor.
“Sit down,” Bill growled over his shoulder.
That command you ignored. “Not until you stop harassing my patient.”
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“He’s right,” Kingsley said, attempting to sit up. He groaned and you rushed to his side, pushing him back down. His head hit the pillow, face twisted in pain. “One of them could have followed me. I should have gone somewhere else.”
You shoved Bill out of the way and grabbed a glass of water and a straw, bringing it to his lips and making him drink. “If you had gone anywhere else, you would be dead.”
Bill made a sound of disagreement behind you.
“Why don’t you make yourself useful and go visit someone who’s got a couple bottles of Blood Restore Potion to spare? Some stuff for pain relief and infections too, if possible.”
It was silent for a moment before Bill’s heavy footsteps stomped out of the room and slammed the door shut behind him.
“It’s necessary we ask questions like that,” Kingsley said as you took away the straw and set the glass down. “The Order is meant to protect you.”
You took one of the washcloths, wetting it before working on wiping off the blood on his face. “No it’s not. I think you and Bill are forgetting that I joined the Order. I signed up to be a Healer.”
He winced as you grazed a still open wound. “And that’s put you into danger already. Bill’s been on edge about it since the first attack, but the wedding spooked him. Especially with the amount of questions Yaxley and his son asked about you.”
“They were asking about me?” Bill had never mentioned that. You’d never asked, but that was because you assumed the entire raid had been about Harry.
Kingsley seemed to sense the tension setting in your jaw. He sighed, eyes closing and grimacing again at another wound being cleaned. “He didn’t tell you.”
“Nope.”
—
When Bill returned, Kingsley had fallen asleep and you were in the small overgrown garden surveying what you could salvage.
“You should be resting.”
You didn’t respond, continuing to focus on the plants in front of you. Mostly vegetables, none of them properly maintained but there were strawberries still able to be harvested. A job for tomorrow.
Brushing past him, you headed back inside to the kitchen to wash your hands. The water masked the small sounds as he moved through the kitchen, setting down the potions you’d requested in your line of sight. His hands rested on either side of you, caging you against the sink as his breath rustled your hair.
“You should be resting.”
You finished rinsing your hands, drying them with a dish towel.
“Ignoring me won’t make me go away.”
There wasn't much space between you when you turned, your shoulder brushing his chest. His face was hard, the same clenched jaw from earlier. “Maybe not, but give it a couple weeks and you’ll be running out of here with your dick stuffed between your legs.”
“This isn’t a joke. You could have died. You need to rest.”
"I'm fine."
His eyes shut as his forehead came to rest on yours. "Do you have any idea what it felt like to come home and see blood soaked sand? To run into this place, calling your name and getting no response? I saw you in that chair and I thought—Godric, you looked like a corpse."
The urge to wrap your arms around his neck and comfort him was strong, but you resisted. "But I was alive, wasn't I?"
His cheek twitched.
"I'm not some incompetent damsel in distress. I'm a Healer and a damn good one at that. This is my contribution to the war. What I signed up for. Things may not have gone to plan at the farm or at the Burrow, but I still want to help. I can't—I won't be some girl locked in a cottage doing nothing but waiting for you to come home while other people fight. You don't get to take this away from me because you were scared for a few minutes."
The blue of his eyes became visible as he opened them. “I’m not trying to take anything away. I just want to keep you safe.”
“Do you?” you scoffed. “Cause all you’ve done is keep things from me and run when it got too overwhelming. Don’t you think I deserve to know when my ex-boyfriend's blood purist father who threatened to kill my parents starts asking questions about me?”
He pulled back, letting his arms fall to his side as he stepped away. A half assed attempt at an excuse slipped from him, but he didn't even seem to think the excuse was good enough as he kept his gaze down.
"You keep leaving me in the dark, keeping me out of things or giving me half truths. That's not any better than lying to me. I want to help. You, Kingsley, everyone else risking their lives to protect people like me. If I can't do that here then I can't stay here."
It wasn't an empty threat this time. You could actually walk outside now. Maybe a few days to recover from the blood loss and ensure Kingsley didn't have any surprise conditions popping out, but then you could go.
The thought stung.
His head shook and, for a moment, you thought he was going to cross the space he'd just created. But he stayed planted an arms length away. "You don't have to leave."
Exhaustion began creeping up on you just like it had the night before. Rubbing your eyes, you fought a yawn. "I don't feel like having the conversation again. Not tonight." You moved to the living room, feeling him following behind. The couch had already been made up for the night as you wanted to stay near Kingsley in case he needed help.
"I think it's best we sleep separately," you said, facing him.
Bill looked as if he’d been slapped.
“At least tonight.”
“I—okay.”
That was the last thing he said before he disappeared up the stairs.
-
Kingsley was good company. It made the days go by quicker as you continued to watch over him while he healed. He was out of bed by the third day, slowly and with help. When he was resting, you were in the garden ridding it of the overgrown vegetation. And when Bill came home…
He didn’t talk much.
Not to you or Kingsley. He was civil, sharing news he’d heard at work or at an Order meeting. But he would turn in early for bed and stay there until right before he had to leave for work. The days he didn’t work, he’d flee to the Burrow or on a mission.
“Are there others staying in safe houses ?” you asked Kingsley one day. Sweat was forming on your brow under the unusually warm late August sun as you began to prepare the soil. “Other Muggleborns or Undesirables?”
“Me,” he laughed, watching you from the steps into the kitchen.
"That's it?"
"Everyone else disappeared or chose to go off on their own."
The pleasant smell of the earth greeted your nose while you continued to rake it and let that information sink in. Only two of the Ministry's Most Wanted were in hiding with the Order and one of them was actively leading it. You, on the other hand, had been doing nothing for weeks.
"Where are you going to go when I give you a clean bill of health?"
He thought for a moment, head leaning against the door frame. "There's been a lot of activity up in Scotland. It seems like they may be planning something big at Hogwarts. There's a safe spot near there that I can hole up in for a while."
The rake hit something solid in the ground and you tugged until a large rock unearthed itself. Throwing it to the side, you wiped your forehead. "Maybe I should go with you."
"You want to trade this beautiful house with plumbing for a cave?" he joked.
"I want to do more. For the Order, for the war."
Kingsley stood, walking towards you. He smiled down kindly. “You saved my life because I knew where you were when I needed you. I think keeping you in one place for emergencies is the best use of your talents.”
“Is this your way of telling me you’re sick of hanging out with me?”
A deep chuckle rumbled as his arm raised, the sleeve of his robes swiping across your forehead. “I’ve enjoyed your company. It’s been refreshing.” As his arm pulled back you could see it streaked with dirt. “But you being somewhere accessible to everyone in need is important. His followers are getting more bold and it won’t be long before someone else needs you.”
You considered asking if there were any other safe houses you could move too. But you’d only asked about joining Kingsley because, at least subconsciously, you were certain he would say no.
“Am I interrupting something?”
Bill’s voice made you jump, taking a step back from Kingsley. You hadn’t heard him Apparate in. The look on Bill’s face made a pang of guilt shoot through you, like a child caught doing something they shouldn’t.
“We were just discussing my plans for when I leave,” Kingsley said smoothly, either unaware or unbothered by the cold fury in Bill’s face.
“And when will you be leaving?”
Kingsley’s hand rested on your shoulder. “Whenever our little Healer decides to cut me loose. It should be soon, perhaps a couple of days?” his voice raised a hopeful question.
“If the diagnostic is good tonight and tomorrow morning, I’ll give you the all clear.”
“Then I can leave tomorrow night.”
You bit your tongue. It felt far too soon for him to leave, but he’d had no complications and things needed to be done.
Bill nodded, heading inside after a lingering glance at the hand on your shoulder. He was quiet through the rest of the night, like he had been, but he didn’t disappear upstairs as soon as he could. He stayed well after dinner, sitting on the couch with a book until Kingsley bid goodnight after getting a clear diagnostic.
The silence was thick as the click of the bedroom door reverberated between you.
“I’m going to go to shower,” you said after a few minutes. It was becoming unbearable. Perhaps you should have asked about another safe house.
The book shut with an audible smack, Bill staring blankly at you. “Okay.”
You took a long, freezing shower not knowing if you hoped he would still be on the couch when you were done or not. But when you came out to an empty living room your stomach sank. Sulking up the stairs, you wavered in front of the room he had been staying in. The tiny, closet-like bedroom had its lights out but there was a fair chance he was still awake.
Fuck it, you thought taking the knob and twisting it open before you could chane your mind. Bill stood in the small space beside the bed shirtless and seemingly about to pull on a clean shirt. The scars on his pale chest were prominent, unchanged from when you'd seen them weeks before. But there was something different about seeing him this way. You're mouth went dry as you stammered out, "We need to talk."
"Come in and shut the door."
You expected him to pull in the shirt while you turned to close the door, but he’d simply discarded it on the bed and leaned against the wall. “What did you want to talk about?”
“The full moon. It’s getting close.”
He looked down, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Is that why you wanted to leave with Kingsley?”
He’d heard. Of course he had. “I asked because you’ve been a prick. You haven’t even bothered to speak to me outside of Order updates and news. You think I’m gonna want to stick around when it’s clear you don’t want me here?”
“Don’t put it on me like that. I’ve always wanted you here.”
“You’ve had a pretty shit way of showing it.”
His hand pulled out of his pocket and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Look, I–I know that I haven’t been the most…forthcoming about things. That was wrong.”
“And the cold shoulder you’ve been giving me? It’s like that first week at the Burrow all over again.”
There was a pause as he shift, crossing his arms and taking a deep breath. “You smelled like him.”
You blinked in confusion.
“Like Kingsley. His scent has been all over you and it just—it set off this overwhelming urge to get it off you."
Oh. Oh. Oh. You shifted on your feet, thighs pressing closer together.
"I thought that only happened around the full moon."
He chuckled, a strained smile on his face. "So did I. But I can still smell him on you, lingering under the vanilla soap. I can still see how close he was too, his hand on your shoulder and it's driving me insane."
"So do something about it."
Bill stared at you mouth agape in shock. You were in shock at yourself. But you straightened your back and held your head high. It was an option you had briefly considered during that first conversation, but had refrained from.
"What?"
"Let's have sex."
A choking cough sputtered from him, eyes bulging. "No!"
"We're both adults. I'm consenting." It was your turn to look down, heat rising to your cheeks matching the one in your core. "And, you know, you're attractive and it's been a while for me. I think it would be good for both of us."
You glanced up meeting his blue gaze. The shock had faded into something else, something that felt barely restrained. His head began to shake. “I can’t. Not like this.”
The rejection was heavy against your throat as you tried to swallow it without reacting. “Okay. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“No,” he said, pushing off the wall and crossing the small space. “What I meant,” his hand came up, shaking, and tilted your chin to look up at him, “was that I can’t right now. I think that…that being intimate is a good idea. But I won’t let the first time be when I’m not fully in control of myself. And not when we have to be quiet.”
“Oh.”
He chuckled again, but this time fondly. “Oh.” His fingers dragged against the skin of your cheek. “We can discuss it more tomorrow. After he leaves.”
Next
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