Being a passerby in HP female protagonist fanfiction

I had many dreams throughout the night.

I was in a daze, my mind was hazy and confused, and many fragmented memories were flooding my brain. So much so that the first thing I did when I woke up was to wonder why I was in the medical wing and why I had something strapped to my hand... I lay on the hospital bed in a daze for a while before I gradually regained my normal state and my memories came back.

Oh, right, I got blown into the medical wing by fireworks.

I silently straightened up.

There wasn't much people around; it seemed everyone had gone to class, which gave me time to sort out my thoughts.

Before I went to sleep, Harry and Dumbledore both called me, so I didn't sleep very soundly. In my hazy state, I seemed to hear many voices: Madam Pomfrey changing my bandages, Hermione, Ron arguing in hushed tones, and...

My expression gradually froze.

—Little Barty.

While I was asleep, Little Barty came.

Not only did he come, but he also stayed by my bedside for a long time. I heard him call my name, which was strange. I thought he would prioritize dealing with Sirius Black's matter, as it was a stepping stone for him to advance further in the Ministry of Magic and a good opportunity to separate his new identity from his old one... but he didn't do that.

He sat by my bedside, touching my wrist every few minutes, until Mrs. Pomfrey couldn't stand it anymore and kicked little Barty out. I even remember his voice, as if it were a hallucination from a dream.

“Please, let me watch her…” Little Barty pleaded.

“No, sir, what Claire needs most right now is rest. You’ll know when she wakes up, but please don’t stay here any longer.” Mrs. Pomfrey was determined to maintain order in the medical wing and not let the anxious guardians take root there.

"..."

As my memories gradually became clearer, I remained silent for a while. The noise of getting up quickly attracted other medical staff. One of them was someone I recognized; she was a sixth-grade Hufflepuff senior who often came to the medical wing to work as a caregiver. Apparently, she wanted to work in St. Mungo's in the future and wanted to get used to the environment in advance.

"Can this be untied?" I gestured to the strap on my wrist.

"Do you still feel itchy?" the senior student asked carefully.

"A little," I said honestly, "but not as bad as yesterday."

"Oh, maybe not yesterday." My senior looked at me sympathetically. She didn't know what had happened to me, but the injuries were real. She told me, "You've been asleep for two days."

I:"……"

(*???)!!

Wait a minute, I've already skipped two days of class!

Perhaps it's a habit, but my first thought was still how to make up for the missed lessons, and how to tell Snape that I needed to hand in the homework later under his gloomy gaze... It took me several minutes to stop overthinking.

Ugh, getting back to health should be my top priority no matter what. I can worry about homework later.

Mrs. Pomfrey's treatment was quite practical, and the damaged skin healed very quickly. The side effect was itching, which was both itchy and painful. Fortunately, she tied my hands in time. Even when I was awake, I found the itching unbearable, let alone when I was half asleep and unable to control myself. When I woke up, the edges of the wound were covered with fingernail marks.

A kind senior helped me loosen the bandage so I wouldn't feel so uncomfortable. I had just thanked her when I felt a gaze fixed on where I was.

I instinctively looked in the direction the gaze came from, and froze when my eyes fell on the familiar young man.

For a fleeting moment, I even had the idea of ​​lying down and pretending that I was still asleep.

Reason told me not to do this, that I wasn't a child, but my emotions made it hard for me to face this terrible situation. My nominal guardian was right in front of me, and I had just done something I was unsure about that I needed to explain myself to repeatedly. The location was the school's medical wing, and the regional factor made me shrink back for a few seconds.

It's like a horror movie.

“Gavin…”

After hesitating for a few seconds and preparing myself mentally, I called out to Little Barty. My voice wasn't loud, and it was even a little hoarse from sleeping for so long, but the call seemed to have some kind of magic on the young man standing at the door. He took a step forward and stared at me as he approached.

When my senior saw that Little Barty had arrived, she immediately prepared to leave. Before leaving, she told me how worried my friends and roommates were about me, and that I should take good care of myself and could borrow their notes.

Little Barty just stood there watching, and only spoke after things quieted down around us.

“Claire,” he said, his breathing steady, “how are you feeling?”

"It's alright, just itchy," I said. "What about you, Gavin?"

I rarely call Gavin by his name directly. I knew Barty's identity from the very beginning, and I had to be careful when we were together to avoid revealing my information. Barty was the same way. He and I both received a script without details, which meant that Barty and I would both avoid certain aspects of our relationship.

He always presented himself as a guardian to the outside world, but in private he was just a friend made up by his non-existent parents. Calling him uncle or brother felt awkward, and calling him by his name seemed too intimate... What's more, Gavin wasn't even his real name.

"How are you doing?" I asked.

It's somewhat contrary to the natural order; I was the one who was injured, but when I took in all of Little Barty's features, I suddenly felt that perhaps Little Barty needed such a greeting.

He has changed a lot. In fact, when he first became my guardian, Barty was already trying to change his appearance to be more and more like me. This was a disguise for him, but it could also be seen as a kind of transformation. Without relying on Polyjuice Potion, he had the courage to enter Hogwarts in person and even deal with the professors. Barty had naturally mastered the art of disguise, making him indistinguishable from others.

Dark circles were faintly visible on Little Barty's tired face, and I guessed that he probably hadn't had a proper rest in the past few days... But even so, he seemed to be intentionally maintaining his youthful appearance, with a clean-shaven beard and well-maintained facial features, looking like a tired but gentle young man.

Oh, he remembers that I don't really like getting close to older men.

“Not good,” said Barty.

He was surprisingly direct, his voice like a whisper in my ear: "I've been worried about you...ever since I received your letter."

No one understands the horror of Death Eaters better than Barty Jr. They may be foolish or impatient, but there is one undeniable and absolutely unignorable characteristic—they are cruel.

Even Peter Pettigrew—the guy Barty Jr. had looked down on a long time ago—caused an explosion during his faked death that killed 12 Muggles, and he showed no remorse whatsoever.

Before Claire truly matures, the harm she suffers from confronting Death Eaters will be no less than that suffered by these Muggles.

“I’m so scared,” said Little Barty, his body trembling uncontrollably.

"What if something really happens to you because of this..."

He looked at my face, my neck, my arms... The wounds had healed considerably, and new skin was covering the burn marks; healing in the magical world always works quickly.

Actually, this level of injury is already considered a serious incident, but the "serious incident" that Barty Jr. is referring to is another, even worse possibility.

“If you really…” That was an expression I had never seen before. At that moment, Little Barty’s world seemed to collapse. “What should I do?”

She poured her emotions into the child, treating him as another version of herself, as if all the regrets of the past could be made up for, and even developed the expectation of creating a second heart.

This sounds despicable, but Claire is not a substitute for anything. She has her own ideas, she likes to read, she likes to take a break occasionally, she always feels guilty about some inexplicable things, she is decisive, she knows how to comfort others, and she likes everything warm and vibrant.

Completely different from the still-growing Barty, young Barty loathed almost everyone, was cynical, craved his father's attention, and his pursuits and goals were for others, while Claire—she never hated anyone.

“Yes, what should we do then…” Claire said.

Little Barty's breath hitched.

The sudden outpouring of emotion did not disturb Claire. She sat on the hospital bed, looked at little Barty, and smiled.

Her smile was like a form of tolerance.

"I can't imagine how heartbroken the people around me would be if I died. They really want you to be happy, but... it doesn't sound right to promise that I won't die."

“If I ever encounter a moment where I might die…” Claire looked into his eyes, “like right now, please help me.”

Protect me, trust me.

"Because there can never be another Gavin."