Tell me, is this just a dream? 'Cause I'm really not fine at all.

Keiran wasn't confused about what had happened. Honestly, he wasn't. He was just confused about what was going on with his students. As far as he could understand, the train had been attacked during his trip back to the school to teach. He really should have apparated to the school, and was having trouble understanding why he hadn't done so. He wasn't even in his quarters at Hogwarts, which was all the more confusing. Indeed, he opened his eyes, and found a different room surrounding him. Across the room, large brown eyes were watching him. Keiran blinked in surprise, pushing himself up very suddenly.

"Careful," the brunette warned, sitting up straighter in reaction to his strong wince.

"Adrienne," he started, brows pulling together, "What are you doing here?"

What on earth? His student should not have been able to get into his rooms, nonetheless be sitting there watching him. She may have been something of a Transfiguration nut, and he understood her mindset when it came to that. He honestly did. But he was staring at her like she was insane, and Adrienne seemed to be waiting for him to fall apart before her eyes. Yeah, okay, he was kinda hurting just then, but he wasn't entirely sure why. It was probably because of the train.

"Look, you were really.... out of it, Keiran," she replied, clearly not expecting him to lift his eyebrows when she addressed him differently. "Oh. Um. Right. So, Baldric and Millie brought you up here a while back and you just... you didn't have a clue what was happening. See, there are some things that you'll need to understand before you leave this room."

Keiran shook his head slowly, trying to figure out what exactly she thought he wasn't privy to. "I'm sure it's fine, Miss Reynolds."

Adrienne frowned, her expression immediately becoming one of sorrow. "See, that's what I mean, Keiran. That's what you called me earlier."

"That's your name..." He replied slowly, giving her a look that clearly said she was acting mental. "Why wouldn't I call you that?"

"It's not my name anymore. It hasn't been for... almost a year now," she attempted to explain, pushing herself forward in her chair to rest her elbows on her knees. "Tell me what today is."

Keiran scoffed, pushing himself up against the backboard and crossing his arms over his chest. "September first, twenty twenty-six."

"Wrong."

He blinked, shoulders relaxing. "What, I've been out for a few days? That makes sense. I didn't miss class, did I?"

"Kieran, you're not teaching this year," she began slowly. "I am."

He grew angry then, uninterested in arguing with a student who was clearly messing with him. He rolled his eyes, throwing off the sheets and moving to stand. "Keiran-" she started, standing immediately. He passed her a confused look but quickly found out what she was upset about. His left leg gave out, and he sank back onto the bed. His eyes shot to hers, lost and confused.

"What happened to me?" he asked immediately, tone short and aggressive. Adrienne looked torn, her eyes darting towards the door and then back to him. "Adrienne. Tell me."

"It's a really, really long story, Keiran." She attempted, shaking her head slowly back and forth. "I think you need to talk to Millie."

"Excuse me?" Keiran asked, once again unsure of what was happening. He only knew of one girl with that name, and she was one of his students - though, really, she wasn't often in class, so he wasn't even sure about that part. "The... Gryffindor, is it?"

Adrienne bit her lip before pouting to some extent. "You don't remember the Ministry's law, do you?"

"Why wouldn't I remember that? It only just happened. I may have been in an accident or something, but I'm not that ridiculous that I'd forget something so recent."

Why couldn't she just be straightforward? Why could she just tell him what the problem was instead of hedging things? Reaching to his bedside table, Keiran took up the glass of water there, looking over the rim of the glass at Adrienne, a little too obvious in his wish that she would leave and leave him to his own devices.

"Keiran, just... You're right about the day. It's the first of September. But it's twenty twenty-seven." Adrienne paused, watching him hesitantly. "I tell you this as someone who cares about you: There are some things you need to know before the opening feast tonight. And I'm going to lay it down, and then get Millie in here to talk to you. Because it affects her just as much as it affects you. See, the train accident was a lot worse than you believe it was. You nearly died, and it definitely seems like you lost about a year of time somewhere in that whole deal. See, last year, you were matched for the Marriage Law with Melissa Finnigan. You've been married to her for almost a year now. The Ministry calls you their first success story, because while you weren't the first ones married, you were the first who seemed to work. The first to publicly stand together without fighting.

"So you two were brought back to help with counseling the students going through the law and those looking for apprenticeships. See, you resigned at Christmas when the Ministry passed a law saying that half-breeds, for lack of a better word, were no longer allowed at Hogwarts. And you started up your own school," she explained, admiration evident in the tone of her voice and her expression. Keiran could see it staring back at him as he watched her, eyes wide with confusion and fear. "It was this huge secret and not many people knew about it. You had it at your mum's house and took such good care of those kids. My husband and I helped after coming into it as students, and you're the one that taught me how to be the professor I'm going to try to be this year."

Keiran blinked at her, the let out a confused huff of breath. "You're married, too?"

"Yeah," she laughed, finally seeing some of the tension leave him. He was starting to get it. He had lost a year, but he was starting to get some of the pieces. Soon, hopefully, he would be able to add it up for himself. Things would start coming back. "Now, we've got a couple hours before the feast starts, but you need to talk to Melissa. She's a professor, too, for Divination. So she'll be around all the time, and hopefully you'll just go right back to loving her as you so clearly... um, did. Do, I'm sure. I'm gonna go get her, yeah?"

Keiran looked conflicted for a moment, but nodded far quicker than she had expected him to. Giving him an encouraging smile, Adrienne stood once more and moved to the doorway. Closing the door behind her, Adrienne looked up at Melissa with a grin. "I've given him a bit of a rundown, but he wants to see you."

Adrenaline. It was what had gotten her through. It was what had muted the sounds, numbed the pain and focused her mind. It had given her the strength to haul Keiran out of the mud and the sand, from the icy waters and into the scalding furore of the castle. Once sat, though, left for a second to gather herself, the adrenaline began to ebb away. Her heart began to settle. Her blood ran cold in her veins. The sound returned. The screams. The cries. All of it. The pain returned, blistering through her like molten lava. She gasped, her hand darting out to grasp around Baldric’s. She squeezed her eyes shut. He called her name. Millie. Millie. Millie. Over and over. His hands shook at her, grasping her desperately, willing her to focus upon him. His voice joined the cacophony. The sound rose to a clamour. Exploded. Washed over her like a burning wave and she crumpled into his arms. A mess of blood, dirt and dust. Tears.

Somehow, between them, James and Baldric got her to the Hospital Wing. She could recall the blood staining the starched sheets. Between shouts for someone to find Cael amidst the mayhem Theodore’s face swirled before her gaze, bringing a potion vial to her lips. Then Cael was there, a dizzy version that occasionally split into twins. His work was fast paced, or perhaps slow and methodical – she didn’t know. Suddenly she was a flurry of bandage, of blood slipping into water to clean her, of pieces of her favourite set of robes, of skin. Then, as though she was a clock missing a gear she was put back together again. Having been taken apart her pieces were replaced into her. Her skin was tugged to its close, the lips of the lacerations brought together, and another potion was passed through her lips, utterances about her collar bone flying overhead.

Then, the world was silent. Hauled onto the sofa in their rooms, Baldric was given the dubious honour of puling a t-shirt over her head, surrounding her overtop with one of Keiran’s jumpers before tugging a pair of sweatpants up her thin legs. James tucked a blanket around her having studiously avoided looking at her ropey frame and Cael assessed her, shining his wand light into her eyes, coaxing her slowly but surely into a more wakeful, aware reality. She blinked at him, leaning her head into the hand he cupped around her chin and she looked at him with abject weariness – a kind of tiredness that penetrated far deeper than the arguably more normal, conventional feeling.

“There you are,” Cael murmured as clarity began to spread into her gaze. He lifted his hand and smoothed back her hair fondly, curling bits behind her ear. “Are you okay? I think the potions are beginning to take the shock away now.”

“Where’s Keiran?” She asked softly.

The spark of a match broke the silence that stretched out after her question and Cael lifted his gaze to see Baldric bring the flame to the end of the cigarette between his lips. The first scraggly bits of tobacco hanging from the end ignited and Baldric lifted himself up into the window seat, pulling the window itself open to let the smoke tumble out through it into the night air still thrumming with the activity that had transpired below in the grounds not so long ago. Cael knew no help would be sourced from that man who was nursing his own twinges. Theodore abandoned himself in one of the arm chairs, bringing a hand to his forehead as fatigue overtook and Cael knew that from him, too, he’d find little contribution.

“Bedroom,” Cael explained, putting his hand down on her injured shoulder. Millie winced. “I’ll get you some whisky for that,” he promised, reluctant to give her any more pain potions than he already had just in case that triggered all of the others to kick in all of a sudden. Whisky would have to do and he knew the young woman wouldn’t begrudge it. He pressed his fingers over the tape covering her jaw and crisscrossing her cheek.

“He can’t remember, can he?” Millie asked after a moment, shrugging herself out of Cael’s light hold.

“No,” Cael sighed, bringing a hand to his forehead. He scratched his fingers through the front of his hair and bit down on his lower lip. “No, I don’t think he does.” He decided gradually.

Millie dropped her head into her free hand, the other immobilised by the sling that Cael had put her arm in. She dug her nails briefly into the skin of her temples before pulling her head back up, exhaling a brief acquiescence to that ideal before getting herself to her feet. Cael reached out a hand to steady her but she batted him away, making her move over to the sideboard where she retrieved four glasses for firewhisky. Sloshing a good amount into each glass she flicked her wrist and sent the glasses to each man in the room. It settled by Baldric on the windowsill, clinked down on the table next to Theodore’s chair and Cael reached out to get his. The last one she left for Adrienne – if she so wished for it when she came back.

“Cheers,” Millie toasted glibly before knocking back the amber liquid, relishing the numbing burn of it as it rumbled down her throat.

It was then that Addie returned and Millie looked at her almost unseeingly. Millie nodded after a moment, half chucking down the glass much to the despair of Theodore who glared at her out from under his hand. Baldric finished off his cigarette and began to roll another, ignoring the pointed look from Cael which implored for him not to. She sighed and sobered herself as much as she could – countenance wise, that is. She fully intended to polish off the decanter once the boys had given up and given into their fatigue. Each would probably stay where they were now, Cael having dropped into the other arm chair by the fire which was crackling in the heart. A blanket over each of them would do now. She’d be the last one standing.

“You going to the feast?” Baldric called out over the room as Millie began to worm through the living area towards the bedroom on somewhat unsteady feet.

“Yeah,” she nodded and dropped her hand to the door handle, opening it up with a twist of her wrist.

Stepping inside the room made her think of the last time, when after being locked out she was finally allowed in to see him. It was different this time. This time it was the other way entirely. She’d seen him, although whether she’d perceived it all properly she didn’t know. Now? Now she really was locked out. She was a stranger. How much of a stranger, however, Millie didn’t know. She stood just inside, bringing up her hand to fiddle with the sling ties as the door clicked shut behind her and immediately she mourned the absence of the firewhisky which she’d left on the side table.

Looking up, Millie stepped in a little farther before taking to Keiran completely, unable to stop herself from needing to be near him. She reached out, grasping up his hand in hers and she looked at him, stared at him imploringly with her saucer eyes, trying to find reason amidst a sorry lack of it. If nothing else, she found her voice and with an almost-smile and a light tone she accused:

“You broke yourself again.”

Millie sat back, relinquishing her hold on his hand to bring her arm about herself. She wanted to wish herself away in part. She wanted to have a do-over – to go by train with him or make him not go at all. She should have been in his place, she knew. She was the more abled bodied of the two – although somehow now with a crunched up collar bone and a sliced up shoulder and neck they were tied once more. She looked at him hesitantly, not realising she’d dropped her gaze and she took in the slight sense of disbelief mired, of course, with confusion.

“So, um.” Millie swallowed, tasting the firewhisky in her mouth. “Are you feeling alright? No pain or anything? You’re going to wand a fresh pair of robes. The grey ones… with the sort of slate blue trimming are hung up. Then again, there are some greenie ones if you want to get your Slythie pride on.” She smiled despite herself, desperate to keep jovial in case she burst into tears for want of more pain potion and for a break for once.

“I don’t know where any of the hats are, though,” she went on thoughtfully. “I’ll find you out one. That said, though. I dunno if my hair is in the mood for hats.” She lifted her hand up to her head briefly before dropping it down. The hair needed some charms to be righted for the feast but Millie had no clue where her wand was. She spied Keiran’s on the bedside table, though, so she stood in good stead of being able to get something done with herself. They’d make it to the feast somehow.

“I’m sorry this is so shit,” she blinked up at him. “Like, it’s not fair… having all of this dumped in your lap like … ‘this is the way the past year has gone blah, blah, blah.’ But, um… what do you remember about everything? About us?”

Nothing was the answer she feared.

His eyes followed her warily, expression fairly bland aside from the moment when he caught sight of the wounds that were etched into her skin. Dismay colored his expression even as she sat down and took up his hand. Keiran's gaze lingered on her neck, then her arm before lifting to her face. She looked fairly downtrodden, but he could tell that she was striking on any normal day. He opened his mouth to ask after her injuries, but she started first so he paused and then frowned. "Again? I thought this all was from the accident," he replied, gesturing to his leg. Giving her a confused look, he added, "....what else happened..?"

She spoke very quickly, frightening him to some extent, and he felt vaguely overwhelmed. Keiran was quite tempted to get up and search for the robes in question, but he knew now that the blonde sitting in front of him was his wife, and it was his job to try and make them work as they supposedly had. Part of him registered the fact that she seemed really nervous, but there was somehow an air of comfort and even what Keiran would assume was affection as she spoke to him. Even as she looked at him.

Immediately, the guilt swept over him. He wanted to reciprocate, but he just didn't understand. Keiran wanted to look at his wife and know her, and be convinced of his adoration for her. The Keiran of a year ago had been waiting for someone he could attach himself to completely - someone who he could take care of the way his parents did for each other. But the new, confused and frankly scared Keiran just wanted to know the woman sitting in front of him. More than that, he supposed in hindsight, he wanted to know whether or not he had been good to her over their almost-year of marriage. She was still there, which he took as a good sign, yet something in the back of his mind told him that something wasn't quite right.

"I've never cared for those hats," he replied finally, feeling bad for the distance he could hear in his tone. "I doubt anyone will be concerned, considering I'm not teaching this year. But Adrienne said you are, though." Keiran offered a tight smile, wondering how exactly his wife had taken up teaching - not to mention something as absurd as Divination - when he was no longer relevant. He refused to allow any resentment, though, considering he clearly didn't understand the circumstances of the situation.

"Well..." Keiran began, tilting his head as he tried to filter through the haze that surrounded his mind. "I remember seeing you in classes sometimes. Though I can't say it seemed like you were around the entire time I've been teaching. Or maybe it's just being rattled like this. But um, Adrienne said that we're... married. Almost a year, apparently? A year when?"

His gaze fell to her arm again, and without actually thinking, Keiran shifted and moved closer to Melissa. Looking her over, his brows tugged together as a slight headache set in and he tried to dig through and find missing information. One hand reached out, hesitated, but then found one of her own, fingers twining between her own. Keiran peered down at their connected hands, a puff of air leaving him when something in his chest ached. His eyes jumped to hers, curiosity shining through.

"Um... What do I..." His eyebrows tugged together, embarrassed to even have to ask. "What do I call you, usually?"

For a moment, she was half convinced that things could wander along as normal – as though nothing had happened. In fact, for a moment she thought that maybe she could take back certain things and preserve other bits in a grossly manipulative but, she felt, necessary way. She hadn’t the heart to tell him things weren’t right – hadn’t been, either, for weeks. Months? She wasn’t brave enough to concede months when something within her wanted to vehemently point out that nothing had been right except when they were at Hogwarts. But that was all by the by now. He couldn’t remember.

“Accident is right,” Millie found her words gradually. “But not this one. Your noggin getting knocked around is this one. No, the leg and you’ll see in the shower that …” she took a breath. “You got hit with a curse, Keiran. A particularly nasty kind of cutting curse. Did Addie tell you about the school?” Millie’s lips lifted proudly. “It was attacked and you got hit but Baldric and Theodore brought-”

Millie stalled and she stared at him. A year. A whole year. He still thought Theodore was headmaster, didn’t he? Nothing upon nothing was in his mind about what Theodore was excluding that consideration – about what he was to him. Baldric. He was another student. Like Addie was. Like she was. None of them were family to him. Their children. Their children weren’t either. They weren’t as much as a twinkle in his eye. Aiden. His father. The one who was gone was the one he recalled. The loss was muted. Unfelt. Unrealised. Millie blinked desperately, trying to order her thoughts, hindered herself by the pain potions beginning to enact within her little frame.

“Brought you home,” she finished. “God, I thought you were dead Keiran. I really did. I was beside myself I couldn’t…” Millie shook herself. “I couldn’t imagine a world without you in it. I suppose I should’ve because in a way this is that reality. Some Divination professor I’ll be, eh?” She smirked and reached up, curling her hair behind her ear thoughtfully before deciding to elaborate a little bit more on the subject.

“Cael and Theodore fixed you. Cael, you know, Robin’s cousin? Theodore your-” she blinked again. “That’s a whole different story for another time,” she decided. “Maybe Bridget would be better… or Theo himself … I dunno.” She nibbled idly on her lower lip. “They healed you up as much as they could that night then gave me the dubious pleasure of sewing you up properly because they were slapdash, really, and just wanted you to stop bleeding all over the new rug.” She smirked, finding a little bit of humour in it now, in hindsight.

“S-so… we had a bath,” she perked up a little at the thought. “And I made sure you were going to look great for Halloween ‘cause you were looking very Frankenstein’s monster by that point. And then Cael sort of identified what was wrong with your leg – post bath, that is. Sort of … nervey-wervy stuffs that sucks balls, basically, but we are going to build up an exciting range of canes. I did order the hollow one you can put booze in but it’s not come. Godric’s taking his time.” She sniffed derisively before amending, “my owl, that is. He’s probably negotiating a price, the bum.”

Millie looked at Keiran with a bit of muted humour as he mentioned his disdain for the hats. She raised a brow, wondering how he could be so calm even in this incarnation. She hadn’t been blind – he hadn’t liked it. He had, however, for her sake put on his contented little face and though she’d seen right through it she’d appreciated it all the same. He wanted to teach himself and she was sure that being bereft of any memories of doing so didn’t change any of that. If anything, he’d probably be more irked now than he had been before. But then he’d have the – no. No, not yet. That’d be a sure-fire way of finishing him off. As if announcing they were married wasn’t bad enough. No, she would wait to tell him about the babies – regardless of whether it was right or wrong to do so.

“They’re a bit thin on the ground when it comes to decent Diviners, it seems. It was actually one of the few things I passed. My only ‘Outstanding’ so … I suppose for this curriculum a slightly duff Seer will do, eh?” She laughed a little bit, bringing up her good hand to rub at the back of her neck, wincing as she aggravated some of the tape. Hastily she replaced her hand back down onto the bed. “I learned a lot off of you, anyway. I mean. I was a rubbish student and I don’t have an excuse but there was a lot going on with me so … you know. No you don’t.” She rubbed her palm across her forehead groaning to herself. “I’m sorry. Babbling. It’s the pain potion, I think.”

Millie watched as he took up her hand with mixed emotions – half of her wishing he hadn’t robbed her of her ability to easily fidget. She couldn’t help but squeeze at his fingers, though, and rub her nails softly over the back of his hand, feeling the warmth and familiarity of his grasp. He was still her husband. For all of the stupid things she’d done, he was still hers. Now whilst this could never be classed as his fault it was still her turn to remind him that she was his wife. She’d stay – through sickness, health and all the rest. He’d done the same for her, after all – especially when she hadn’t deserved it.

“A year next month,” she murmured. “October. It wasn’t one of our finest moments. I wasn’t happy but you were great. You were understanding and it was all very orange.” She laughed a little, remembering the even which seemed like a lifetime ago now. “We went … I say we, I’m pretty sure we just turned up and stood there and went ‘oh my god’ at each other but literally I do not know to this day who picked orange but it was nice… really nice. I’ll find out the pictures. It was just a bit awkward, I suppose. We didn’t love each other. Pretty sure we were so ambivalent towards each other it was just a nice day out. Going through the motions was necessary for the law amongst other things so yeah, October. I did always want to do it again. Like … properly. With the love that was supposed to be there in the first place but um…” she winced. “Okay, that wasn’t fair. Scratch that comment from the record.”

She sighed heavily. She was messing this up exponentially. She could’ve blamed it entirely on the potions but she wasn’t entirely sure she’d have been much help if she hadn’t been hit with the wolfie equivalent of a dozen wall bricks. Her left side ached like nothing on earth and really she just wanted to go to bed and sleep until the world caved in around her. She couldn’t, though. There were demands on her time now. She had responsibilities. She’d sleep off all of the cumulative hurt at a later date. She had a whole evening with her firewhisky waiting for her and classes tomorrow, no doubt. Christmas would probably be the earliest she’d get to actually sit for a while and be broken. And that was a long time to keep up a charade.

“Millie,” she explained. “Everyone calls me Millie. You, um. You call me Missie too. You also try to make Melissa a thing no matter how much I hate it.” She rolled her eyes. “But bless your heart you do give it a good go. But Missie. That’s my favourite at least, Mr-I-like-full-names-because-you-bludgeon-anyone-else-to-death-who-uses-it.” She grinned. “I totally missed the window to get you to start calling me ‘supreme highness’ or something, didn’t I?” She laughed despite herself. “Damn.” She squeezed his hand again and playfully leaned forward without really measuring her actions. She popped a kiss to his cheek regardless and though it did show on her face that she wasn’t sure whether or not she was overstepping the mark a little bit by doing it, she sat back happy enough, determined to make this right.

“Keiran you are such an arse,” she complained, giggling amidst the words. “You want to kill me, don’t you? I’m going grey, you know. D’you see this?” She released his hand and lifted it up to her hair, pulling out a lock that was a pale white-blonde unusual in comparison to her golden locks and certainly unusual enough for her mind to immediately decide it was grey. “You’re ruining me! I’m aging prematurely!” She cast her hand over her forehead dramatically, breaking into an insatiable grin before twiddling her fingers back through his. “You better still see the undeniable sex appeal when I’m all grey and stressed, okay? Otherwise I might have to finish you off – though you’re doing a bloody good job of it yourself, mind you. So stop it. This summer coming I’m putting you on a beach somewhere and by God you are going to shut up about how much you hate sand and for a minute relax enough to see why trying to get yourself killed is really, really problematic for everyone who loves you. Plus, y’know … look how pasty we are. We’ve been naff. We didn’t even go to Cornwall to go surfing. Gah!”

Somehow, Millie had a feeling that they’d be alright. Even if, for a while, she would have to be the one that kept them semi-normal.

His chest burned as he watched her struggle over the tale. He very nearly stopped her, but then she implied that she wouldn't know what to do without him. That definitely woke him up a bit. Keiran lifted her hand, pressing a kiss into her palm. He wasn't sure how to comfort her really, except to try and show her that he was the same man from a year ago. If she had grown to attached, perhaps he would be there more quickly than he expected.

Keiran deflated, his shoulders sagging visibly. Their wedding sounded like a train wreck, no matter how much she tried to spin it so it wasn't. She must have been miserable, he mused silently, a wave of guilt sweeping over him even though he couldn't remember it. "I'm... I'm sorry. I wish I remembered, even if it wasn't brilliant. Maybe those pictures will help," he mused quietly.

He wanted to suggest that they just do it over, but he wouldn't be able to claim that the love he hadn't had back then was just suddenly there, now. He couldn't say that, couldn't lie to her or fill her with hope if he couldn't promise to get better. And how desperately he wanted to as Melissa looked up at him. His frustration manifested itself in a sharp pain in his leg, but Keiran refused to acknowledge it because of what had happened to his wife. He had to keep using that title when he looked at her, otherwise he wasn't sure everything would stay.

Millie, then. Not Melissa. He understood why he would have attempted using it, though. But Missie... Something about it struck him as important, and it was almost like her could hear himself saying it. Feel what it was like to form the name. It didn't register until she spoke again, though.

You may be the death of me, Missie.

A sharp intake of breath later, Keiran was blinking down at the sheets, trying to add up the words and the distinct sound of water. He swallowed hard, eyes darting back and forth as he tried to conjure up an image of what had happened. His free hand lifted to his temple, trying to block out the pain behind his eyes.

"Sorry," he muttered, shaking his head. "I thought... I don't know. I thought I had something. I'm trying. I am, I just don't know how to..." A frustrated huff escaped. "I'm sure there was something."

There was a part of Millie that wanted him to stop. There was something within her that wanted him not to hold her hand. She wanted him to take back the way he brought her palm to his mouth and brushed those all-too familiar lips to her skin. As she looked at him, her heart sank and lifted and began to ache within her all at once. She wanted to steal her hand back and tell him that he shouldn’t because it was wrong, because he didn’t know her let alone love her. But she still wanted him to. Even though she resented it because it came not out of love but out of something else entirely, she wanted his kisses. She did want to feel it, even if it wasn’t there. She still needed him. That she couldn’t switch off for his sake. He was still Keiran.

“After the feast I’ll get them out,” Millie promised, rubbing her thumb across the back of his hand. “It’s okay, you know. Really. You’re not going to remember everything in a flash. That’s alright. We have time. Just relax.” She smiled in a manner she hoped was reassuring and edged closer to him instinctively, wishing she had her other arm free, flapping it against herself in frustration when she realised that had it been mobile she would have reached out for his face. She sighed heavily and pulled against the sling, wincing as her collarbone howled at her. She closed her eyes briefly before quirking them back open at him.

Her pained expression left her in favour for one directed towards him when she saw his face changed and she sat forward on her knees, lifting her hand out of his to bring it to his cheek. Her other palm still ached after him and though it nursed the irritation within her she knew nothing could be done. Millie affixed her imploring gaze to her husband and she brushed her thumb across his cheek, leaning her head briefly against his forehead before reaching up to press her lips there between the furrow of skin betwixt his brows.

“Stop apologising,” she admonished lightly. “It’s fine. It’s really, really fine. It’s not your fault.” She brushed her hand down his cheek briefly before returning it back into his grasp, curling her fingers around his. “I love you,” she piped up despite herself. “I’m sorry this happened. I should’ve been there. Or you should have been here with-” she amended herself quickly, “it just should’ve been different.”

Sitting back a little, Millie closed her eyes, ignoring the distinct lack of relief she was getting in her body despite the pain potion really doing a number on the way her mind was beginning to order things. She knew the whisky had been a bad idea really but so too had been any more potion. Theodore had been quite liberal with it and Cael had added some more on top but the pain persisted against all sense and necessity. So she needed to take her mind off of it. Willing herself to get up, however, was another thing entirely.

“I swear to god,” she grumbled. “I’m going to gut every last werewolf that looks at me funny in future.” She gave a groan, hauling herself up back onto her feet, relinquishing Keiran’s hand as she went. “House colours?” She asked, moving over to the adjoining wardrobe door. She fetched a set of robes for each of them and hung them up on the door frame as best she could with only one hand before looking at her own robes, scarlet and sort-of-new but still nice. She enjoyed wearing them too – the only issue was that she had no idea how she was going to do so with her arm.

Millie rubbed her hand over her face, feeling the resolve and desire to go to the feast weakening within her with every passing moment. She couldn’t not go, though. She was not so ruined as some people. She still had her life. She hadn’t any right to complain. She hadn’t any choice, either. All she felt she’d do is have another vial of potion, regardless of what Cael said, eat and then slink off back to the rooms to crash out. Unless she did that, she wasn’t entirely sure how she was going to get through the coming weeks. In fact, she wasn’t sure how either of them were in truth.

Keiran stared up at her as she spoke, trying to reconcile her words with the missing time. She wasn't just saying it for the sake of talking to him, and wasn't just trying to comfort him. Keiran could feel it as she said the words, and he found himself veering towards her even as she stood to gather up their seemingly coordinated robes. "You're hurting," he observed, concern lacing his tone. "Did anyone... did they give you anything for it?" It certainly seemed like they hadn't.

She seemed to struggle, torn between the options she had for her dress robes. "Um," he started, searching around for a cane, which Millie said he had. Unable to locate it, though, he used the bedside table to right himself. "Um, do you want me to... I can just transfigure what you've got on into that." He offered gently, eyeing his wand where it sat next to the glass of water.

His free hand reached for his robes, taking them and laying them out over the mattress. His mind wandered briefly to what would happen after the feast when they returned, but Keiran pushed it away and turned back to Millie. "It sounds like you've spent a lot of time fixing me up. It's my turn, now. Maybe we can use it as a sort of... bonding thing? I dunno how to make this easier. I mean, you'll sit with me at the feast, right? We can talk there, too? I'm not a professor, apparently," Keiran reminded himself, only partly disguising his bitterness regarding that, "but I don't suppose I sit somewhere besides that main table...?"

He meant it to come out confident and able and all the rest, but he wasn't sure of anything anymore. Wasn't sure of himself and thus wasn't sure of what he had believed to be true. Now he had a new version of 'the truth' and he needed to piece it all together in his mind. Who was he, exactly, this new Keiran he was meant to be? The man they described seemed too good to be him, too accomplished despite the accidents. And yet something in their tones - or, Adrienne's at the very least - suggested that the true, able-minded Keiran was not sure of himself, either. That he wasn't convinced he had been doing the right things. That just made him all the more curious.

But it clearly wasn't the right time to go diving into his personality or drive or anything else he could no longer comprehend. Millie, his wife, was hurting - much more than he was, Keiran deduced - and here he was trying to determine if he was a bad guy or not. "Tell me how to help you, Millie," he requested, catching her gaze again. "I want to help."

To her, the concern was almost quite funny because yet again he was tricking her. If not for the slight insecurity in his tone and the worry etching itself into his smooth features then she would have been forgiven for thinking that nothing had happened to her husband at all. Yet, as Melissa Hayes perceived Keiran through her heavy lids she knew that he wasn’t the same person. Husband or not, he was a stranger to her now just as she was to him. The compassion, though, that was so very Keiran was what reminded her that he was still himself somewhere amidst the confusion and the hurt. He was still the man she knew; the man she loved.

“I am indeed,” Millie returned lightly, hazarding a smile for his sake. “Theodore was heavy handed with the potion and Cael gave me another but I’m not the best of patients, I don’t think - it doesn't really work on me anymore. It’s not the worst pain I’ve been in, either, it’s just … it’s been a while, y’know? On the plus side, I am headache free.” She grinned at him as best she could, ignoring the twitch of pain in her jaw as the tape began to give and the fibres of it tugged on the sore skin of the cut which was, there, less troublingly deep and fierce but still it hurt on, though a damn sight less than everywhere else on that side.

Millie looked over from the robes, taking a hasty step forward in case Keiran lost his balance. For his all his furtiveness, he seemed level enough and she drew back her hand down to her side once she knew he wasn’t going to buckle and fall. Those scarlet robes really did fit the colours of her personality. Gryffindor. The self-sacrificing, terrifyingly reckless house that would call upon any and all bravery within them in order to protect those that they loved. Everything within that castle held something of what she loved. She had been desperate to defend it – and had, at her peril. But then, that was her. That was the Gryffindor way. There was no other.

“That’d be great,” she conceded softly, closing her eyes briefly before reopening them, affixing him with a thankful look. She really just wanted to stay in his hoodie and her sweatpants and curl up somewhere where she couldn’t be found for at least a week, and preferably with him, too. There had to be some show of defiance, though. Their heads were bloody but unbowed; they were unconquered.

Slipping forward, Millie reached out for his hand again, entwining her fingers with his. Swallowing a lump that she hadn’t realised had gathered in her throat she squeezed his hand and nodded, blinking back the watery tears that had gathered at the edges of her eyes. She licked her lips absently and steeled herself, straightening her shoulders and lengthening her spine much to the dismay of her neck which had taken an unholy amount of stress on it from the talons that dog had in its paw and the force of her shoulder being crunched to pieces. It was that repairing process she could feel happening that hurt, rather than the pain from the actual injuries.

“We can have another bath if you want,” she laughed a little, bobbing her head against his shoulder. In fact, that was on her list of things to do when they got back anyway. The hottest bath in existence was one she intended to slip into with the whisky along with her, preferably.

“Like a date?” she wiggled her eyebrows cheekily. “Of course we’ll sit together, you muppet. What sort of question is that?” But then, she conceded, it was a sensible one. “We’ll talk there,” she added in a gentler tone. “At the main table, of course, unless you want to be amongst the students. But don’t worry, okay? You’re going to teach again, Keiran. I promise. I’m not quite sure how yet, but you will.”

There was an infinite amount of guilt on Millie’s part. She should’ve known. And yet, when Addie had come she was in the nursery, unaware of what the crystal balls were doing, unaware of the sneakoscope. It was all whirring, clouded, and she hadn’t seen in herself. That was what terrified her: she hadn’t known. The whole world was falling apart and she should have known about it. But she didn’t. Whilst there wasn’t anything she could’ve done in the moment, she knew she’d be burned with that guilt. That she hadn’t seen. She wouldn’t let herself forget - she’d failed him.

“Just be you,” she whispered to him. “Don’t worry about anything. But I could use a hand, if you want. If you could do the transfiguration thing, I’d love it if you could then help with my hair.”

It was cosmetic what she asked of him but she couldn’t go down into the Great Hall looking anything less than completely presentable. She couldn’t afford to exude the way she felt and that was not just for the students but also for Keiran, too. For reasons unto herself she needed him to see that she could deal with this curve ball. Even though it had hit her in the face rather than gotten anywhere near her bat, she wanted him to know she could deal with it, that she could protect them. As much as she wanted to lean on him, Millie knew she couldn’t do it yet. She didn’t know if she could come back from it if she did. No, she needed to keep strong and perhaps in the small hours she’d allow herself a little bit of private weakness. Until then, however, the façade of personal strength had to go on. She could do this, or so she thought.

Keiran wasn't quite sure what Millie was on about when she claimed that the potions wouldn't work on her, but he held back his confused frown surprisingly well. But then, she requested that he indeed fixed her robes for her, so Keiran nodded, and crossed his wand through the air in front of her, hoping that he wouldn't jostle her arm by doing so. Watching her closely, he bent down to tuck his wand into his robes' inner pocket.

His gaze jumped back to Millie as she approached, his eyes widening fractionally at her words. Was she kidding? Keiran couldn't tell. He remembered, after a moment, that she had mentioned it earlier as well. The surprised tension left his shoulders, though he wasn't actually convinced that their doing as she suggested would be a good idea. He didn't really do the whole physical thing with people he didn't care about in that way - even if his best friend was the sort to not even think twice before taking someone home from the pub when they went out.

But he was supposed to care about Millie that way. A year later, they hadn't killed each other - though, an onlooker might assume that they had just tried to (what with the injuries and all). He was meant to, and a part of him wanted to. A large part. She'd said she loved him, and he felt some obligation to return it. No one had ever said that to him before - well, outside of his family. Then again, he supposed she would have said so during the past year, even if he couldn't recall. It hadn't come hesitantly, which implied that he had returned the sentiment during their time together. That, of course, just made him feel all the more guilty about not being able to, now.

"Yeah, I can try," he agreed with a nod. Turning to his own robes, he ignored the option of just changing, instead draping them over what he already wore. Keiran sank onto the bed once more, gesturing for her to sit in front of him.

---

The door to the Hayes' quarters swung open, revealing a surprisingly pleased Slytherin graduate and his wife. He held back to let her enter first, but Keiran honestly wished they were both in their normal, healthy condition. He could've just picked her up and spun her, memories gone or not. A part of who he was had been returned to him, and yet was still new and exciting. As much as he tried to hold it in, the words were practically bursting out of him.

"This- Missie," he started, not even catching his own use of the name, "this is brilliant. I mean, it's not exactly what I'm aiming for, but if this isn't a step in the right direction, I don't know what is." A bemused smile worked its way onto his face, and Keiran shook his head in awe. He was halfway - more or less - to becoming Headmaster, as he had always wanted, and although he had lost a year in the past twenty-four hours, he had Millie to set him straight and his students back.

His feet carried him to the short end of the bed, where he sat and looked over at Millie. "I'm starting to believe your skill in Divination. You said I'd go back to teaching soon, and here's my chance." Were it not for his leg, Keiran would have just let himself flop onto the mattress, but instead he just shook his head again. When his gaze found Millie again, though, he realized she was probably still hurting. "Oh," he began, extending a hand towards her. "Here, let me take your hair down. You wanted a bath, yeah? I could start one up while you find the pictures...? Or, if they're somewhere hard to reach, considering, I can do that while you're in there. Then when you're done we could look over them, unless you'd rather do that tomorrow."

Returning to the rooms was a blessed thing, indeed. Once the door shut behind them with a click, sealing out the world and all of its troubles, the shoulders of Melissa Hayes which had been angled so proudly and drew her spine up so tall, sagged and she reached out for the sideboard to brace herself lest she give in and crumble to dust and robes upon the floor. She took a few shallow breaths, her ears twitching absently, her mind processing the words streaming from her husband’s mouth – the excitement in his stance, his frame.

She followed slowly but surely into the bedroom, one hand unbuttoning her robes clumsily, the speed with which she was trying to do it faltering her fingers. She took another breath and closed her eyes briefly before steadying her hand, endeavouring to unbutton the robes more slowly. Once she finally got enough slack to start to wiggle out of them she pulled and grabbed at the material, not caring for the stitching that gave or the cloth that began to whine as it threatened to rip.

Upon perceiving the change in tone of her husband’s voice, Millie blinked up and looked at him, her hand stalling in the midst of trying to pull the material off of her injured shoulder. His words came out all in a rush and she looked at him wearily. A bit of her wanted to tell him there and then. She wanted to spill out everything and bat him back down again so he was as miserable as she felt. But then, there was always a difference between wanting something and acting on it.

“Just…hold on,” her words came gradually as she twisted her arm, squeezing her eyes shut as the first stabs of pain struck through her. Soon enough the arm was out of its socket however and she gasped out her relief. The arm was limp, half-useless by her side and bound up in bandages that were, here and there, specked with blood. She didn’t care to worry after false modesty or the rest of it. Instead she shimmied out of the robes and she stood in her underwear, jaunty and boyishly youthful once more, as though in that state she’d lost all of the swell of health pregnancy had given her. It was almost as though his amnesia was leaking out, affecting them all.

“Whisky and pain potion would be a gift,” she hinted, ripping the wax and bandage which had been meant to keep it all together. Like a cotton ribbon, it all unravelled then and Millie turned her head away, wishing she didn’t have the joy of wearing what it was she saw before her. In short, she was a mess – like a sheet ripped to shreds. Where she wasn’t sewn up, trussed like a piece of lamb, she was split and bleeding. The swelling at her shoulder was intolerable to look at and bruising made its way all across her torso, not kept exclusively for her arm.

“Shit,” she uttered, twisting her wrist a little. There, at least, it didn’t look so bad. “Make it a double of both, in this case.”

She’d felt unsettled and dirty even as she’d sat in the hall. She could feel the blood smudged on her skin, the dirt and all the rest. Whereas on the patches of skin on show she looked presentable, pristine and all of the rest, she didn’t feel so wonderful, so pure and good. What little effect the potions from before had, it had been dashed by the end of dinner. She leaned over to pick up her clothes and threw them towards the hamper by the tall chest of drawers and she walked as ably as possible into the bathroom. Her wand she found there and she used it to fill the bath with piping hot water into which she dropped herself, wiggling out of her under things as an afterthought. Her skin sizzled and she desperately wanted to cry out but couldn’t find it within herself, deigning instead to throw her wand away before sliding under the water.

When Millie emerged, she took a few gasping breaths and sat up properly. Blood mingled in with the water and she shook her head, wondering whether once again this was one of Cael’s rushed jobs. It wasn’t, she knew. A glance at the stitching and she knew it wasn’t but magical wounds were always difficult to contain. Nothing about them could be controlled. Besides the blood spitting out of the sewed wounds, the ones that hadn’t been, too small or slight to be dealt with in that way, had split in places to weep themselves.

Blinking open one eye, Millie extended her hand up out of the water and took the whisky from her husband’s hand. She slid back down into the water but this time didn’t fully immerse herself. She let the water lap up to her chin, soothing her jaw with its warmth, and with the whisky, after taking a grateful glug, she pressed the cool glass to her temple, warding off the headache beginning to encroach upon her.

“I’m proud of you, y’know,” she pointed out hoarsely. “You deserve a break. Who knows, eh, soon you’ll be sat in the Headmaster’s chair just like you’ve always wanted.” She smiled weakly and took another greedy sip of the whisky. “Charms will do for now, won’t it? It’s not about what you’re teaching it’s all about knowing that you’re making a difference… right?” She blinked up at him. “Probably, hm?”

“Pictures tomorrow,” she decided finally. “I am going to get very, very drunk tonight. With a bit of luck, I’ll forget my name and that’ll make the pair of us.” She laughed hollowly, wincing as it disrupted her shoulder. “Bloody hell.” She coughed, whining all the more for it, tipping her head against the side of the bath.

“Or, in a minute,” she offered. “They’re in the living room anyway. On the knick-knacks bookshelf. If you want to go and fetch them, you’ll see what I mean.” Millie finished off the whisky and held it up to him. “Refill?”