A Harry Potter/Throne of Glass/A Court of Thorns and Roses crossover

.19.

Professor Flitwick's illness did not generate the same amount of shock or outrage as Hermione's attack on Feyre had. Instead, plenty of people just reasoned it away, as though to make themselves feel better for not noticing how ill he was.

But for all the students from Erilea and Prythian, the news came as a tremendous shock. Professor Flitwick had been their champion from day one. He had been there for them all when they needed them the most. He had stood up for them to the Headmistress, had defended them to the rest of the staff and students. Still defended them, in fact, to Malfoy and posse in particular nearly every day.

"I don't know what I'll do if he dies," Aelin said miserably in the Room of Requirement one day. "I can't lose someone else. Too many people close to me have already died."

"If Professor Flitwick dies it won't be your fault, Aelin," Rowan said gently, wrapping his arms around her waist.

"Rowan's right," Aedion said, noticing that Aelin, near tears, still looked unconvinced. "When it comes down to it, I think that Flitwick has been dying for a while."

"What do you mean by that?"

"Do you remember at the start of the year, when we were planning on teaching the rest of the school about the worlds we come from?" Aedion waited until his cousin nodded before continuing. "Professor Flitwick said that he wasn't long for this world. I think he knew, even then."

"Are you sure, Aedion?" Aelin said softly. "I always kinda thought that Professor Flitwick might just have been trying to frighten us."

"I don't think so," Dorian said kindly, passing Aelin a hot mug of coffee. "Old Flitwick has been looking quite ill for several months now. I don't know how or why no one at all noticed before now."

At hearing that, Aelin seemed to sink down into her chair, slouching uncharacteristically.

"Why do you dread Professor Flitwick dying so much?" Rowan asked tenderly. He hated seeing Aelin so clearly upset, so obviously distraught.

"I – I don't know how to explain properly," Aelin muttered, staring determinedly at the ground.

"Take your time."

"Do you remember me telling you about my Great Uncle Orlon?" Aelin mumbled.

"Vaguely," Dorian admitted. "Didn't he die or something?"

"As a matter of fact, Dorian, Great Uncle Orlon was assassinated along with my parents, when your father invaded my kingdom," Aelin said in a tone of icy cold, tears threatening to spill.

At her words, Dorian hung his head embarrassedly. He was still deeply ashamed of his father's actions. He didn't care that his father had been invested and inhabited by the Valg for years. Who on earth would do such evil things? Who on earth could do such evil things without so much as blinking? Even though it was the demon inside him doing those things, not his father, Dorian still hated him with a passion.

"Professor Flitwick reminds me of Great Uncle Orlon. Personality wise, at least," Aelin said softly, voice barely above a whisper. "So kind and caring. Norturing and loving. I never heard a bad word from either Great Uncle Orlon, or Professor Flitwick. Nor a stern or rude or mean or nasty word either."

"But what does this have to do with you not wanting Professor Flitwick to die?" Dorian asked confusedly, ignoring the glares of Aedion and Rowan.

"I never... I never knew where Great Uncle Orlon was buried," Aelin whispered, starting to cry. "I never got to say goodbye to him. Not to him, not to my parents. I doubt Adarlan bothered to bury them in the royal cemetery. But ... I never got that last chance to say goodbye to them. And that hurts more than anything. You wouldn't understand, Dorian."