Huffily Puffily || Golden Trio

All's Well Ends Well|| xxiii

Lucy was glad to see that the hospital wing was nearly empty when they arrived, save for Ron, who was laying unconscious in a hospital bed, battered and bruised. As Madame Pomfrey started tending to Harry, she looked worriedly at her ginger friend. She turned her eyes to Dumbledore for explanation.

"Mr. Weasley sacrificed himself so that Mr. Potter and Ms. Granger might go forward," Dumbledore said sadly. There was also a hint of admiration in his tone. "I imagine you had the same treatment as him?"

She nodded. She didn't think she had to point out that Quirrell sacrificed her— the Greatest Wizard of the Modern Age could gather that much for himself. "How's Hermione?" She asked at once.

"Not a scratch on her. Although, I imagine she is very worried."

"Did you know, Headmaster? What I was doing, I mean," Lucy said, rubbing at her throbbing temple. It was hard to think at the moment. She knew Snape had to have told him something, but she was surprised Dumbledore never approached her about it.

"Severus kept me very informed," Dumbledore confirmed. He gestured for her to sit on a hospital bed and unwillingly, she did so, mostly because the room was still spinning. "I worried approaching you may alert Quirrell."

"That doesn't explain why you didn't stop him before he decided to go after the stone," She argued, growing frustrated. Why did she have to spend the whole year lying if he and Snape knew Quirrell was trying to steal the stone all along?

"I hate to trouble your young mind with this, but you've very well earned it," Dumbledore said with a great sigh. Her eye twitched when he brought up her age. Her age didn't stop her from spying on Quirrell and Lord Freaking Voldemort for a year straight. "As you know, that night Mr. Potter got his scar, Voldemort disappeared. The wizarding world presumed he was dead— I was not so optimistic. I know he's been combing the Earth, not quite alive, but not quite dead. I've always kept a carefully trained eye for Lord Voldemort... and Professor Quirrell offered quite an opportunity. If he knew I was suspicious of him, he would have disappeared, giving Voldemort another chance to come back to full power. There were risks in allowing you to spy on him, but I never thought they would have been so high. Believe me, Lucy, if I'd have known for even a moment Voldemort was attached to Quirrell, I would have removed you from the ordeal entirely. I cannot offer you anything other than my greatest apologies."

Lucy took all of that in. Begrudgingly, her anger subsided. She wasn't mad at Dumbledore, not really. If she had been in his position, she would have done whatever was in the world's best interest as well. "You know what, Headmaster, I think since you told me I'm a wizard and turned my bed into a cat, we can call it even," she said, and she let a smile creep onto her face.

Dumbledore looked pleasantly surprised. He seemed to have expected her to be sullen with him. "Lucy, you are a remarkable girl," He chuckled. He caught Madame Pomfrey's eye and stood from the bed. "I had better leave before Poppy decides to use force. Sleep well, Ms. Rochester. And remember— you have done me a great service."

Lucy watched him leave until Madame Pomfrey stood in front of her, an unpleasant looking potion in her hands. She grimaced. "What are the chances that tastes good, Pomfrey?" she said, not sounding very hopeful.

Madame Pomfrey shoved the potion into Lucy's hands. "Not good, Ms. Rochester. Not good at all."

Lucy was released from the Hospital Wing the next day, just in time for lunch. Ron left earlier than she did mostly because he'd been given his potion earlier. She spent the whole morning at Harry's bedside, monitoring any gifts he received in case they were dangerous— which Madam Pomfrey seemed to appreciate— and that was all in good fun, but she was happy to leave the hospital wing. She practically skipped out of the room.