Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter. All rights go to respective owners.


Equal Exchange

'All magic has a price. And you, High Priestess and Queen of Avalon, are now being called upon to pay your debts. Even you cannot escape Fate and its plans for you. You will soon learn what I mean.'

That little tidbit of information — more like a prophecy, a little voice in the back of her head nagged — had been given to Morgana by a three-eyed Raven in the early spring. Time passed without any action seeming to follow the ominous foretelling. And as crimson and gold leaves swirled around her, she had thought she could have avoided her Fate.

Apparently she was wrong. How … inconvenient.

Morgana sighed in frustration. On countless occasions, she had defeated her greatest enemies and ultimately won her rightful place on the Isle of the Blessed. She was the most powerful sorceress to walk this earth! And now, of all times, she was forced to pay the price? She was above that!

Stupid, bloody magic.

She growled, her irritation boiling just beneath the surface. The Raven could only have meant, well … this when it was talking about cost and Fate. She gazed dispassionately down at the man — a Camelot knight, if the lion insignia on his cloak was anything to go by — lying on the ground before her. He was unconscious, bloodied, and most likely going to die from his wounds; everything she would typically hope for and wish upon the lackeys of her greatest foe.

'You will heal him, Morgana of Avalon.' A voice, one she quickly identified as the Raven, spoke softly into her mind.

"Or I could let him die from his injuries," she snapped out loud. The chilled autumn breeze whipped and twisted her hair. "I could even help him along … after all, it would be cruel to let him suffer."

'You will heal him, Morgana,' the Raven chided, 'and begin to balance the scales of light and darkness in your life.'

Grumbling about useless birds that had high opinions of themselves, she pulled out her cypress wand and levitated the knight. Her home — more of a hideout really, but it was all she had — was not far from where she was now. She rolled her eyes and began to trek through the woods.

The knight may have hit a few trees along the way.

On accident, of course.

.oOo.

Groaning, Tristan opened his eyes. The first thing that he saw was a thatched roof, etched with what appeared to be runes. He groaned. His head hurt. What had happened to him? The last thing he remember was being attacked by a Questing Beast, while on his hunt for—

Oh no!

His eyes widened in panic. Morgana. He had been hunting Morgana on the King's orders. Bolting upright, he almost collapsed back in pain. Tristan felt his side and winced. It was probably a broken rib. Now he had no chance against—

"Petrificus Totalus."

The incantation was said lazily, almost as if it was an afterthought. Tristan felt his limbs snap to his side; his body was forced into a plank position. He fell back on the bed, which he absentmindedly noted was incredibly soft. His heart pounded in fear as the Darkest sorceress in history came into view.

"Hello."

Her voice was soft, not at all what he was expecting. Tristan internally frowned. Had she charmed him somehow to be more at ease around him? Or was she really this kind?

"I am going to modify the spell, so that you may speak. Alright?"

She raised what Tristan assumed was her wand and she waved it over him, muttering under her breath. He felt the muscles from his shoulders up relax — although, he still couldn't lift his arms.

"What did you do to me, witch?" he demanded.

"I incapacitated you. Obviously," she responded. It looked like she was trying to refrain from rolling her eyes. "I cannot have you undoing all of my hard work."

"Like I said," Tristan snarled, "what did you do!"

Okay, now she actually rolled her eyes. "I'm healing you. Here, eat this." She lifted a bowl to his mouth.

"What is it?"

"Soup."

He glared at her suspiciously. "What did you put in it?" he questioned.

"Rabbit."

"And?" he pressed.

"Carrots. Look, are you going to eat this or not?" she snapped. He studied her intently, trying to decided if she was going to poison him or not. Deciding it was worth the risk — and he found that he was starving — he opened his mouth and allowed her to feed him.

"So," he ventured after a few tense minutes, "are you a Healer now or something?"

"Yes. Now shut up and finish your soup."


Prompt (Tiggerific Times — The Golden Snitch): (occupation) Healer

Word count (not including title and author's notes): 781

Name: Dessie / School: Castelobruxo / House: South

Total Points: 5