Bills and Fellow Patients

When Gavin woke, it was completely dark outside.

Nights at St. Mungo's were nothing like nights at Hogwarts. Hogwarts had fires in the hearths, candlelight, and people in the portraits still talking softly. Even after lights-out, it always felt as though plenty of things had yet to fall asleep.

At St. Mungo's, it was as if every sound had been treated with a Disinfecting Charm, leaving only the medicine-scented quiet of a hospital ward.

The first thing he saw was a white ceiling.

Then the edge of bed curtains, strange yet familiar.

Only after that did it slowly sink in that he was still alive.

"...Not bad. Another day survived."

Gavin took stock of his body. He felt fairly all right.

At least this time, he hadn't woken to find half the Astronomy Tower on top of him, or his arms and legs broken.

Then he turned his head and saw someone beside the bed.

It was Cordelia.

She had fallen asleep with her head resting on the edge of the bed.

It clearly wasn't a comfortable way to sleep. Her arms were tucked beneath her chin, her long hair had fallen loose, and the ward lights made her face look very pale—and very beautiful.

When she was awake, her eyes always held a little wariness, a little caution, and sometimes a stubborn streak. Now that she was asleep, all of that was gone. She looked like nothing more than an impossibly thin, impossibly beautiful little girl, as delicate as a porcelain figurine that might shatter at a touch.

Gavin watched her quietly for a while.

He had to admit, Cordelia looked a little more well-behaved asleep than she did awake.

She was the sort of person who always pretended to be aloof, but the moment she fell asleep, it became easy to see that she was still just a child.

"She looked after you all day. She's a little tired."

Dumbledore's voice came from the other side of the room.

Gavin turned and only then realized the old man had somehow appeared in the ward. The light caught his white beard and half-moon spectacles, making his blue eyes shine. He looked nothing like an ordinary old man who ought to have been asleep at this hour.

"...Headmaster." Gavin nodded, then immediately remembered something more important. "Um, Headmaster, is the Astronomy Tower all right? Were any students hurt?"

Before losing consciousness, all he remembered was doing his best to direct the surge of magic toward the sky and away from people. He had no idea what had happened afterward.

Dumbledore studied him for a moment.

"I'd rather you called me Professor," he said. "But I'm glad you thought to ask so soon."

He stepped closer, his gaze sweeping over Gavin as though confirming the boy truly was unharmed.

"I can see that you chose an unusual time and an unusual place for your dangerous experiment, and that you had other precautions in place." He began by acknowledging what Gavin had done, much to Gavin's surprise. "Even I could not have done better on my own."

"But something still went wrong." Gavin had trouble meeting Dumbledore's eyes. He had broken dozens of school rules, at the very least.

"Indeed." Dumbledore nodded. "But before we get to that, I'd like to hear your explanation."

Lying in bed, Gavin thought for a moment.

Then he said with complete sincerity, "I think you probably know everything already, Professor."

Dumbledore didn't deny it.

He simply looked at Gavin, inviting him to continue.

So Gavin gave him a clear, concise account.

He told him how his research had reached a dead end and how he had decided to use himself as the test subject; how he had gone from avoiding spellcasting to amplifying his emotions, then settled on hypnosis after reading Divided Consciousness; how he had devised five kinds of Anchor Points and Self-Induction, come close to becoming an Obscurus atop the Astronomy Tower, and finally lost control when he reconnected with the white magic.

He tried to make everything clear and concealed nothing.

Because he knew that if anyone in the world wanted him to succeed, it was the old man before him.

Deception and concealment would accomplish nothing. Honesty was the most powerful weapon he had.

Besides, he had started this to help Cordelia, not to study and exploit Dark Magic. His conscience was clear.

Dumbledore didn't interrupt him once.

Only now and then, at certain details, did his gaze sharpen slightly.

When Gavin finished, silence settled over the ward.

A few seconds passed before Dumbledore let out a soft breath and murmured,

"Incredible."

The praise and astonishment were heartfelt.

A first-year student, not even half a year into his schooling, had actually built a path to something that had seemed impossible—and managed to walk it.

He had pushed himself toward becoming an Obscurus by avoiding spellcasting and using self-hypnosis, then pulled himself back with Anchor Points.

It would have been outrageous even for an adult wizard to attempt.

And Gavin had succeeded.

Halfway, at least.

"I had thought," Dumbledore said slowly, "that the hardest part to understand would be why you dared to do it."

"And now?" Gavin asked.

"Now I find it harder to understand how you managed to get this far," Dumbledore said.

Gavin considered that.

"Maybe I'm good at making plans?"

"I noticed," Dumbledore said.

Just then, Cordelia stirred beside the bed.

It was barely noticeable.

First her eyelashes fluttered, then her fingers curled. She was clearly about to wake.

Dumbledore glanced down at her, the faintest smile touching his lips.

"We can discuss the details in the Headmaster's Office once you've recovered a little," he said. "For now, you have a more immediate problem to deal with."

He finished speaking, then added as naturally as if the thought had just occurred to him,

"By the way, repairing the Astronomy Tower will cost three thousand five hundred and eighty-seven Galleons."

Gavin had still been distracted by Cordelia. His head snapped around.

"How much?"

"I'll round it down to three thousand five hundred and eighty," Dumbledore said pleasantly. "Consider it your punishment for conducting a dangerous experiment at school."

"What?" Gavin's voice rose to an unusually high pitch. "But Professor, isn't there a Mending Charm?"

"There is," Dumbledore agreed.

"Then why—"

"Under the Five Exceptions to Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration, magical instruments cannot be transfigured. Good night, Gavin."

"Professor, wait—"

But Dumbledore had already turned and left.

Quickly.

Without the slightest intention of looking back.

Gavin lay in his hospital bed, panic plain on his face. Compared with nearly turning himself into an Obscurus, the bill had dealt him a far more immediate blow in an entirely different way.

Gavin wasn't short of money, exactly, but having to pay such a huge sum out of nowhere was never pleasant.

Just then, Cordelia finally woke.

Her eyes opened blearily. At first, she seemed confused about why she had fallen asleep leaning over the bed. Then her gaze slowly focused on Gavin's face.

She froze.

Gavin was still wondering whether the 3,580 Galleons might be reduced a little. He smiled at her without thinking.

"Long time no see, Cordelia," he said. "Looks like we're fellow patients again."

At first, Cordelia's expression went blank.

Then delight appeared.

But little by little, something else pushed it aside.

Her eyes reddened and filled with tears. She looked on the verge of crying from hurt, yet also as though fear and anger had overwhelmed her so completely that even her breathing trembled.

"You..."

She opened her mouth, and her voice came out hoarse.

"How could you do that?"

Gavin's smile faltered.

"I—"

"If you want to study an Obscurus, study me!" Cordelia's voice rose sharply, tears already spilling down her cheeks. "Why did you have to hurt yourself? Why would you do that?!"

As she spoke those last few words, something like black smoke began seeping out around her.

The Obscurus hadn't erupted outright.

But it was far from a harmless sign.

Black magic surfaced along her shoulders and the ends of her hair. The air in the ward grew heavy, and even the lights seemed to dim.

Gavin knew at once that something was wrong.

There was no time to think. Almost by instinct, he pushed himself up and pulled Cordelia into his arms.

"Don't get upset. Just take a breath," he said. "I'm all right."

Cordelia was trembling all over.

With anger.

With fear.

It was as though she had been dragged back five years, made to see that accident again, the black marks on her mother's body, and that death that smelled of blood and burning.

"That's how my mother died..." she sobbed in broken bursts, clutching the sleeve of Gavin's Hospital Gown. "I saw you lying there... those injuries... they looked just like hers... I can't go through that again. I really can't..."

The black magic churned around her for a while. But between the embrace and the sobs she could no longer hold back, it gradually subsided.

As her emotions poured out another way, the black magic lost its hold and began to dissipate.

Gavin didn't let go.

He simply held her tight and let her cling to him, as though he could make Cordelia feel that he was still there.

"I can't bear to lose someone again," Cordelia cried. "I already have nothing... You're the only friend I have... It took me so long to make even one friend..."

Gavin's arms tightened slightly.

"At the end of my life," she said through tears, her eyes red, "can't you just let me go happily? Please, don't do this again..."

Gavin was silent for a few seconds.

Then he said quietly,

"I'm close to succeeding."

Cordelia kept crying. She didn't believe him at all.

"Next," Gavin continued, "I just need to find a way to help you."

To him, that was true.

But to Cordelia, right now, it sounded almost exactly like, It's fine. I'll be more careful the next time I nearly get myself killed.

She immediately raised her head, tears still on her cheeks, trembling with anger.

"That doesn't make me feel any better!" she said.

"I didn't—"

"You still want to keep experimenting on yourself!"

Gavin opened his mouth, then found he couldn't deny it with a straight face.

Because she was right.

And his silence amounted to an admission.

Cordelia stared at him. The sheer anger on her face slowly overtook the anguish of moments before.

"If you do it again," she said, her voice trembling but perfectly clear, "I'll donate myself to the Department of Mysteries so you can never find me."

Gavin went cold at those words.

Because he knew she wasn't joking.

It might have sounded like an angry threat from a child, but coming from someone who had lived in St. Mungo's since she was seven and felt almost no ordinary attachment to her own life, it wasn't just something said in anger.

It was a threat.

A very effective one.

For the first time, Gavin understood clearly—

He was actually a little afraid.

"...All right." He spoke slowly, his tone uncharacteristically gentle. "I understand."

Cordelia kept looking at him.

"I won't use myself as a test subject again," Gavin said.

He tried to sound sincere.

Because he knew perfectly well he couldn't stop, and wouldn't. For now, all he could do was calm Cordelia down.

Cordelia studied him for several seconds, as if judging whether he meant it. At last, as though she couldn't hold herself up any longer, she rested her forehead against his shoulder and cried for a while longer.

Gavin said nothing more.

He just held her and let her cry.

When quiet returned to the ward, only her faint sobs remained, along with the soft sound of the night wind slipping past the window frame.

Over the next few days, Gavin didn't upset Cordelia again.

At least, not openly.

He stopped bringing up the Obscurus, the experiment, or how he was "close to succeeding." Nor did he explain what he had originally planned to do next. He cut that subject cleanly out of their conversations, leaving only the most ordinary, everyday things.

Meals.

Books.

Complaining about St. Mungo's and Hogwarts.

Sometimes he told her what ridiculous thing the twins had done lately, or how Cedric was still being tormented at Quidditch practice by his "temporary coach."

At first, Cordelia remained visibly wary, as though she expected any casual remark to reveal that he was steering things back toward danger.

But days went by, and Gavin never brought any of it up.

He simply rested, lying down or sitting up, letting her look after him. He drank the warm milk Dibby brought, complained that the food at St. Mungo's was bland, and even solemnly thanked her as "fellow patient" when she handed him a book.

"Call me that one more time," Cordelia said, "and I'll throw this milk in your face."

"That wouldn't help my recovery."

"Then you'd better shut up."

But her voice was much gentler than before.

At least she no longer sounded as though she might actually throw the milk.

Still, Gavin knew she hadn't quite forgiven him.

For now, at least, they had made it past that hurdle.

As for the bill, the Obscurus, the Astronomy Tower, and what they were supposed to do next—

They would have to deal with those things later.

Winter in the hospital room was still white and quiet. For once, the two of them enjoyed their own Christmas holidays like ordinary children.

On the surface, at least.