CHAPTER FIFTEEN:
TAME THE DRAGON

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WHEN FREYA WAS SIX years old, she tripped over at school and broke her arm in two places. Her grade teacher, a middle-aged woman with greying red hair and stern green eyes, had freaked out when Freya came bounding back into the classroom after lunch with her arm twisted in the wrong direction, an array of bruises blooming across her skin. Freya, despite claiming she was fine and that it didn't hurt one bit, was rushed to a nearby muggle hospital where Freya's father was quick to meet her. She hadn't understood the sheer panic she saw on his face then, the way he sprinted down the sterile white corridor towards her like he was running on borrowed time. Not until she accompanied the Weasleys on their visit to Mr Weasley at St. Mungos.

There was a certain level of uncertainty every time someone was admitted to a hospital. How serious was their injury? Was it a fatal accident? Was the last thing you ever said to your loved one going to be something stupid like 'take out the trash!' Something so meaningless. Not an 'I love you so much' or a 'how on earth am I going to exist on this Godforsaken planet without you in it?'

The thing about life and its fragility was that you'd never know when yours was going to end. Sure, six-year-old Freya had only broken her arm, but Fraser McKinnon was so lost in his grief that a broken arm to him was a stab wound to the heart.

Watching the Weasleys head down the corridor towards their father's room was like watching a funeral procession. Not once did George let go of Freya's hand; instead, he held on tight like letting her go would somehow determine his father's death. Freya didn't mind the touch, but she longed to see George smile again, to know this withdrawn, desolate version of him wouldn't be around forever. He tried his best to grin every time their eyes met, but Freya could see right through him.

At last, the group arrived outside the floor the receptionist had directed them to. Creature-Induced Injuries was printed across the double doors in bold letters. Mrs Weasley merely shoved them open, herding the group inside and down yet another series of narrow corridors to where they eventually came across the Dai Llewellyn: Serious Bites ward. Once again, Mrs Weasley lead the charge to where Mr Weasley was propped up in bed shovelling down the remains of a turkey dinner laid out on a tray.

"Everything alright, Arthur?" she asked as she leaned down to kiss her husband on the cheek.

"Fine, fine," he waved off her concerns, beaming with delight as the rest of the group crowded around him holding his Christmas presents. Even Freya had a gift bag hanging from her arm. George had told her not to worry about getting him anything but it didn't feel right. "You, er, haven't seen Healer Smethwyck, have you?"

At that, the group went quiet, tentatively watching as Mrs Weasley's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "No. Why?"

"Nothing, nothing," he said, just a bit too quick to be believable. An amused smirk tugged at George's lips as he and Fred exchanged a knowing glance. Freya couldn't help but smile too. At last, George's mood had brightened. "Well, is everyone having a good day? What did you get for Christmas?"

For a moment, Mrs Weasley was distracted from her husband's strange behaviour as she directed each of the teens to hand over their gifts. Freya in particular was happy to see Mr Weasley beaming in excitement over the muggle tool set she'd found at a nearby hardware store. He sat there for ten minutes straight searching through the kit, picking up objects and asking her, Harry and Hermione questions about them. In fact, it was when he got to the set of screwdrivers that Mrs Weasley's suspicions were provoked again. Mid-conversation with Ginny, she froze, then furiously reached over to peer at the bandages beneath his night-shirt.

"Arthur, you've had your bandages changed," she stated through pursed lips, prompting the room to fall silent. "Why have you had your bandages changed a day early, Arthur? They told me they wouldn't need doing until tomorrow."

Mr Weasley was quick to pull the bed covers higher up his chest, but it was too late. Mrs Weasley was like a shark in bloody waters, and had already seen too much. "No, no-- it's nothing, Molly, it's... I--"

"Arthur."

"Well, now don't get upset," he sighed, to which Mrs Weasley's eyes merely narrowed, waiting. "But Augustus Pye had an idea. He's the Trainee Healer, you know, a lovely young chap and very interested in... um, complementary medicine. I mean, some of these old Muggle remedies-- well, they're called stitches, Molly, and they work very well on-- on Muggle wounds..."

Freya knew almost immediately that he shouldn't have said anything. She winced sympathetically as Mrs Weasley let out a sound somewhere between a shriek of horror and a roar of rage. Poor Mr Weasley. "Oh, you did not--"

"Well, would you like at the time?" Freya heard Bill chuckle nervously as he peered down at a watch she knew didn't actually work. "Anyone want a cup of tea?"

"Do you mean to tell me that you've been messing about with muggle remedies?"

"That sounds great, Bill," Freya responded with just as much enthusiasm, quickly tugging at George's hand so that he and Fred would catch the hint and follow her. They did so without complaint, knowing firsthand what their mother's lectures were like. "But make it a coffee. Tea tastes like piss."

"Not messing about, Molly, dear, it was just something Pye and I thought we'd try, though it doesn't seem to work as well as we'd hoped..."

"How do you know what piss tastes like, McKinnon?" Fred snickered as the three Weasley brothers followed her towards the door, their mother's voice raising with every breath she took.

"Meaning?" she nearly screamed at a trembling Mr Weasley.

"Well... well, I don't know whether you know what... what stitches are?"

"It sounds as though you've been trying to sew your skin back together," said Mrs Weasley with mirthless laughter. Freya wanted to point out that stitches were exactly as they sounded, but figured the spitfire of a woman wouldn't appreciate it. "But even you, Arthur, wouldn't be that stupid."

"Uh, hey, wait up," Harry suddenly cried to Freya and the boys. Right behind him was Hermione, Ron and Ginny, the four teens nearly sprinting towards the door as Mr Weasley sighed in defeat. "I fancy a cup of tea too."

The door had only just closed behind them when Mrs Weasley finally erupted. "What do you mean that's the general idea!?"

"Well," Fred clapped his hands together, throwing one arm around Freya's neck and the other around George. Bill walked just ahead of them, looking awfully amused at the disgruntled expression that settled across Freya's face. "Looks like we've got some time on our hands."

"Mum's going to be pissed for a while," George added with a sympathetic shudder. "Poor dad."

"He should've never told her about the stitches."

"Rookie mistake."

"He'll learn sooner or later."

Shaking his head at them, Bill took note of the direction they were heading and asked, "Are we actually going to the tea room? I kind of just made that up to get out of there."

Freya shrugged. "I figured we should while we wait."

"But you said that tea tastes like piss," Fred pointed out, a teasing glimmer in his eye that glinted as he ruffled her hair. Freya glared and smacked his hand away. "Oh, come on, don't be like that."

"You're an idiot."

"Where even is the tea room?" George cut in over his brother and Freya. "Does anyone know or are we just walking in circles?"

"It's on the fifth floor," Freya informed him, then scoffed as Fred asked, "How do you know that?"

"I read the sign above the receptionist's desk," she stated like it was obvious, "Idiot."

Fred smirked. "Is 'idiot' your way of saying you love me? Freya, you're nice and everything, but I have a girlfriend."

Freya rolled her eyes. "As if I'd like you."

"Well, you seem to like my brother just fine, and we are identical--"

"Alright, that's enough, you two," Bill interrupted with an amused laugh. Freya was entirely oblivious, but both he and Fred spotted the way that George's cheeks flushed red when she didn't deny what Fred had teased her about. "I saw an elevator back that way. We'll take it up to the fifth floor."

It was only once they were inside and ascending through the levels that Freya realised a certain Golden Trio wasn't with them, and neither was Ginny. "Hey, weren't Harry and the others coming with us?" she frowned. "Where did they go?"

Bill just shrugged. "They'll be fine. It's a hospital, not a battlefield."

"Well, Harry is the Chosen One," she pointed out, wondering if it was a good idea to leave him on his own. Sure, Bill was right, but Harry Potter had a knack for creating dangerous situations wherever it was he went. "Maybe we should find him."

"I'm good," Fred declined as the elevator doors opened to the fifth floor, revealing a large open communal area cluttered with tables and a buffet of food. "Ooh, they have pumpkin pastries..."

Eagerly, the redheaded boy crossed the room to fill up a tray for himself, George and Bill not far behind. Freya hesitated, but allowed George to tug her out of the elevator by their intertwined hands. "Come on, Frey," he cooed, smirking. "We'll find Harry later if he doesn't turn up. You know you want to get yourself a pumpkin pastry."

Freya let out a sigh. "You're right. I hate it."

George merely laughed and lead her over to where Fred had bagged themselves a table. The identical boy had his mouth full of food, crumbs falling down onto his plate as babbled away to Bill, who at least had the sense not to talk with his mouth open. He turned at the sound of Freya's chair scraping across the linoleum, grinning and prompting the blonde-haired girl's nose to scrunch up in disgust.

"Sometimes, I seriously wonder why Solana likes you, Freddie," she said, then snickered when he made a sound of offence and struggled to swallow down the pastry.

"Hey," he whined after eventually coughing down the delicacy. "That's quite rude of you, Freya."

"What can I say? The truth hurts."

They stayed up there until Remus Lupin was sent to retrieve them. The man laughed when he saw them laid out, four large trays of food now empty. "You weren't kidding when you said you were coming up here," he chuckled once the group forced themselves up, Fred and George making a show of dragging their feet down the corridor.

"Better here than getting yelled at by mum," George retorted as Remus pressed a series of buttons on the elevator panels.

"Well, she seems to have settled down now," the older man assured them as they made their way inside. There were two other people in there already, a Healer in a white coat and what looked to be a medi-witch of some sort, but neither of them so much as spared the group a glance as they continued to pour over their clipboard of notes. "Still doesn't understand how the stitches are supposed to help, but it's not like your father can just take them out."

"Honestly, I'm surprised he didn't try them sooner," Freya commented as the elevator finally reached the Creature-Induced Injuries floor. "I would've thought the first thing Mr Weasley mind goes to is 'what would a muggle do about this?'"

"Sounds like dad," George agreed as they reached the man in question's room. Subconsciously, his hand found Freya's again, locking their fingers together. "Well then. Are you ready to face the dragon?"

Remus rolled his eyes and ushered them along. "Just go inside, you four."

Freya was surprised by the silence that met them on the other side of the door. In a shocking turn of events, Mrs Weasley was quiet, listening attentively as her husband attempted to explain the thick line of stitches running up his torso. She didn't look happy, but there was no attempt at an argument from her as Mr Weasley finished up with a proud smile.

"Oh, hello, dears," she greeted her sons and Freya as they shuffled towards the end of the hospital bed. "Did you have a good tea? Where are Harry and the others?"

At that, a matching sheepish look settled across their faces.

Freya knew they forgot something!

"Uh, well, you see, mum..." Fred began with a nervous laugh. Freya winced as a thunderous expression returned to Mrs Weasley's face. Fred quickly rounded on Remus in terror. "You said she calmed down!"

"Yes, well," the man retorted with a deadpan stare. "That was before you lost the Chosen One."

At the verbal confirmation that they had, indeed, lost Harry Potter, Mrs Weasley's face bloomed a dark shade of red. "How could the four of you be so irresponsible!?"

It was safe to say they should've stayed in the tea room.