𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟕 - 𝟓

"Hermione, I've never been more glad to be friends with you," I said, voice weak, eyes still closed against the assaulting bright sun.

"What happened?" Potter asked desperately, still not letting go of me. "I thought we were going back to Grimmauld Place."

"We were there, we were there," Hermione began crying again. "But Yaxley had hold of me and I- I knew once he had seen where we were we couldn't stay, so- so I brought us here, but Alexandra got Splinched."

"I think he grabbed me just as I jumped into the Ministry fireplace," I swallowed. "I felt him grabbing my arm, and I was trying to twist away from him, and I lost focus, and..."

Potter shushed me gently, and even Weasley, who was determinately staring anywhere but my exposed skin, patted my arm reassuringly.

"It's all right," Hermione said, standing up and pulling out her wand. "It wasn't your fault. But I need to cast protective enchantments around us or we'll be found by Snatchers." As she began muttering spells and waving her wand in arcs through the air in front of her, she called back to us. "Ron, you can set up the tent."

"Where in the bloody hell am I supposed to find a tent?" He asked in disbelief. Hermione's small purple bag seemed to be taunting him from a few feet away. He glanced at it and mumbled, "You have got to be joking."

As he pulled the mess of white canvas and wooden sticks out of the minuscule purse, I looked at Potter and braced my free hand palm-down next to me.

"Help me sit up," I said, struggling to lift my neck.

"No, you have to rest," he replied, carefully pushing me back down by my shoulder.

"Potter, you help me sit up right now."

"Right."

Weasley snorted from behind us.

Potter slowly helped me up halfway, and then placed his hands on my back and pushed me into a complete sitting position. 

"And now help me stand," I added, trying my very hardest not to wince.

"Alexandra-" he protested.

"Hermione can I stand?" I shouted over to her.

"No!" She shouted back.

"I didn't Splinch my legs off," I grumbled under my breath.

Ten minutes later the tent was set up, we had something like a bubble of every protective enchantment Hermione could think of around us, and Potter had helped me slowly put a new shirt on. Weasley appeared very relieved that he could look at me again.

When I really had to stand so I could walk into the tent, Potter tried to help me.

"I can walk on my own," I waved him off. Then I proceeded to take a step forward, swayed dangerously, and nearly fell over again. I frustratedly gave him my arm.

That night, every time I turned in the already uncomfortable bed or Potter's arm brushed against my side in his sleep, I tried to hide my hiss of pain. I couldn't help thinking that if I went on like this, I would turn into more of a burden for everyone then someone who was valuable in helping find Horcruxes.

The thought filled me with so much guilt. I already had a Death Eater father, brother, mother, and aunt. I already proved how useless I was when Dumbledore gave me an old teddy bear from his will instead of a Deluminator or an important book. And now everyone would feel like they had to take care of me, which wasted time that we didn't have. 

Still, I shoved my worries down to the pit of my stomach and focused on the rise and fall of Potter's chest against my back. I used my old trick—I matched my breathing to his like I had so many times before. And I hadn't only done it to him, but also to Draco, Hermione, Ginny, and anyone who was sleeping close enough to me. It made me feel like I was connected to someone. Safe and tethered to a body that loved me.