She’d tried to stay away, really she had. The relationship – if you could call it that – that she’d had with Oliver was over. They were nothing to each other now. She had no claim on him, no business injecting herself into his life. None of that mattered, though. She had to see him. She needed to know the reality of his situation before her imagination drove her insane.

Romy walked confidently to the reception desk, flashing her badge at the woman behind it and hoping fervently that she wouldn’t notice the word ‘trainee’.

“May I help you?” the woman asked in a disinterested tone.

Nodding curtly, Romy fixed her countenance into one of authority. “Yes ma’am. I’m Romilda Vane with the MLE. Can you direct me to Oliver Wood’s room?”

The receptionist’s eyes narrowed even as she plastered on a fake smile. “I’m sorry, Miss Vane, but visiting hours are over. You’re welcome to stop in between the hours of nine and five.”

“That’s Auror Vane,” Romy spat, her face thunderous. Auror, Auror Trainee. Same difference. “And I’m here now. Mr. Wood’s room number, if you please.”

“Mr. Wood is in a coma. I really don’t see what would be so urgent that you couldn’t come back during regular visitation hours,” the woman replied snippily. She was seriously starting to grate on Romy’s nerves.

Romy put her hands on her hips, a deep scowl etched on her face. “Thankfully, I’m not relying on your comprehension skills in this matter. Now are you going to give me the information I’ve requested, or do I need to speak with your supervisor about uppity hospital staff interfering with MLE business?”

Grudgingly, the woman gave Romy Oliver’s room number and in a few moments she was closing the door to the darkened room behind her and making her way to his bedside.

He looked terrible. Swollen and bruised, with a large bandage covering the wound left by the bludger that hit him. The skin that wasn’t discolored from contusions had a grayish pallor. There was little sign of the strong, vigorous man she’d been with just two weeks before.

“Oh, Oliver,” she breathed, feeling tears begin to well in her eyes.

He was just so still. Between the injuries to his face and the lack of his usual effervescent mien, she could almost pretend it was someone else laying there. It was him, though. In body, at least. His effusive personality quieted by a dirty play in the game he lived for.

I’d like to get my hands on the son of a bitch who pulled this trick. The cheating bastard fuck!

Reaching out, she took his hand, a watery smile appearing on her face as she felt the warmth of his skin. At least that was familiar. She bent down and kissed his abraded knuckles, crying softly.

“You have to wake up, Oliver. It doesn’t matter that we’re not running around together anymore. I can’t stand for you to be like this. You have to wake up.”

“Please.”