HEALER Dahlia Hawthorne walked purposefully through the relatively quiet corridor of the 'Dangerous' Dai Llewellyn Ward for Serious Bites, where her latest patient, none other than the former Hogwarts Headmaster, Severus Snape himself, resided unconscious in a private bed in his own room.
She waved her wand and the clipboard that hovered by her head to her right side gave a twitch, and with another rap of her wand, the quill lowered itself to the parchment and scribbled a few more notes on his care.
Blood loss was significant and life-threatening upon admittance into St. Mungo's at midnight, May 3rd, 1998. The throat will likely suffer tissue scarring as a result of the snakebites, even with Dittany applications applied. Will need constant supervision and three dosages of a Blood-Replenishing Potion, taken following consumption of food. Possibility of infection setting in. Recommend home visits from a Healer daily once the patient is discharged, at least a year. The patient has not yet regained consciousness since the time of admittance.
Her delicate footsteps echoed off the slick linoleum tile. She marveled at how quickly St. Mungo's had been able to provide aid to the wounded and deceased following the Battle of Hogwarts last night. Her mind flicked back to finding her father's body, old Hans, buried amongst the rubble near the courtyard.
No! She froze and forced her mind to grind to a halt, her brown eyes wide. She would not think of a man who she vowed to put from her mind the moment she turned seventeen and became a legal adult and moved out.
The moment she had stormed out the door of her father's townhouse in the Muggle neighborhood in which her family resided, with her purse and only suitcase in hand, she had forced that wretched chapter of her life to come to an end.
But even as she swore to leave her father in the past, there were still times when the abuse that she had suffered at his hands, both the physical and the emotional scars, would seep their way unbidden to the surface of her mind and render the young woman nearly unable to breathe.
Last night, shortly before locating the former Headmaster still alive in the boathouse, had been one of those times. Sucking in the cold night air as she had removed a chunk of rubble and had spotted her father's lifeless body amongst the wreckage pushed down past the lump that formed in her throat and filled the gaping hole in her heart.
She had tried to will her mind to think of nothing as she had conjured a stretcher and had moved the wizard's body to the Great Hall to join the countless piles of the deceased, all waiting for proper burials, for their loved ones to identify them.
She'd fought an onslaught of emotions as she had dropped off his body alongside the other lifeless corpses and coldly resumed her search for any among the castle grounds who might be left alive, with Healer Smithwick, the lead Healer in charge of the first floor.
It had been Smithwick who had assigned her to check the boathouse, having received word from the Potter boy and Granger girl that their former Potions Professor's body was there, and that the man had been bitten by a snake.
Throughout the long walk from the ruined courtyard to the boathouse, Dahlia had clung to the small shards of what little dignity Father had left her with, though her fists balled tightly against her anger, her chest heaving for calm. She had been grateful old Smithwick had not assigned her an escort, trusting her in her abilities to be able to defend herself, and whatever should still be waiting for her there when she found the man.
Following Severus Snape's recovery, and the discovery that somehow, miraculously, the man was still alive, though, by Merlin and God-given rights, he should be dead, as the amount of poisonous venom from the snake that had attacked him should be enough to kill anyone else, she had spent another long dark chasm of the nighttime fighting to keep herself from sinking into an anguished misery over conflicting thoughts swirling in her mind as they pertained to her father and his death.
Racked with the memory of Father and all that he had done, her heart was a hollow empty pit in her chest. Her very skin mocked her for the knowledge of Father's rough, calloused hands as they tried to touch places that he shouldn't and fought against the bitter despair she knew would claim her.
In the end, it was only when she had ensured that her newest patient to the Dai Llewellyn ward was settled in that she battled against the tears that stung at her eyes. She had bloody well cried enough over that man who had tried more than once to ruin her, the no-good-for-nothing mental wanker.
He was gone now, and she hoped, finally, after years, she would be able to put the man behind her and leave the past in the shadows, where it rightfully belonged, and continue to keep looking forward, to the light.
Even still, as she walked down the corridor now to appear at her supervisor's side, having been summoned to the man's office, she could not help her mind as it drifted yet again to thoughts of her father, how a funeral would need to be arranged. Her chest ached at that idea, and it made her hate Father just a little bit more almost as much as she still loved him, despite the monster that the wizard had been.
Because, in her own, twisted way, she did still love him. She could pretend all she wanted that Hans Hawthorne meant nothing to her, that he was just another page in the book that was her life. But that wasn't the truth, and Dahlia allowed herself just a moment to take some small pride in the fact that she could at least admit that much, at least. She was no bloody coward. She had never been one to hide from the plain truth.
She loved her father, she knew that. No matter what he had done to her and Mother that had caused her mother to leave her alone with him when she was only six years old, no matter how badly he had laid a hand against her and hurt her, how bad he broke her heart.
And, despite her misgivings, she always would. She wasn't sure how she hated the most: herself, for loving him, or him, for all that he had done, and still, she missed the man.
Dahlia sniffed and furiously blinked her lids a few times before hastily reaching up and wiping the edges of her sore and stinging eyes with the overly long sleeve of her lime-green robes. She blinked back the tears that threatened to escape and swallowed down past the lump in her throat that was tightening her lungs, rendering her feeling rather lightheaded. She stood rooted to her spot in the middle of the deserted hallway for a while, willing her heart to stop pounding, willing herself not to picture her father's pale face.
The young witch wondered if she would have felt anything upon digging her father's lifeless body out from beneath the rubble, hoping that there was some sort of inner strength she could take from the utter sadness and truly pathetic feelings that she suffered now following the wizard's death.
But Dahlia chided herself for her foolishness when she felt nothing of him and busied herself in tending to the wounds of those still left alive, her focus on that of her patient that Healer Smithwick had assigned her. She might not have been able to save her father, but she could still try her hardest to save those left alive.
Her father, she was told, had died at the wand of none other than werewolf Remus John Lupin, a fine man, recently married, whom she was on friendly enough terms with, considering she slipped him vials of Wolfsbane Potion seven days a week, two weeks a month. She warned him.
She had warned the man what would befall him if he allied himself with the Dark Lord and look what had happened to the man. His choice had killed him, just as Dahlia had predicted it would, and she was no Seer.
Dahlia shook herself out of her musings of her dead father and tried to focus on her newest patient, quickening her steps in her haste to appear at her supervisor's door. She did not want to keep Healer Smithwick waiting any longer, as he could be impatient.
Healer Smithwick had summoned her to his office about five minutes ago, following her administering another Blood-Replenishing Potion to the former Potions Master, having to open his mouth and force the disgusting-smelling liquid down his throat. She could not help but wonder what the reasons were behind his wanting to see her. She had heard rumors of the hospital quickly becoming overwhelmed with patients, victims, and their family members who had suffered harrowing injuries during the Battle of Hogwarts.
It seemed the hospital was quickly running out of room and was reaching its maximum capacity limit.
Her stomach tightened at the thought as she thought of the many poor souls who still needed treatment, and the plain fact of the matter remained was, that they simply lacked the adequate space to treat everyone.
She still worried about the aftermath that was sure to come now that the Dark Lord was vanquished, now that lightning had struck, and Harry Potter had killed him.
Dahlia had heard there were still a few Death Eaters who, even following their master's death, were eager to take advantage of a weakened Ministry of Magic and a fresh Minister in Kingsley Shacklebolt to attempt to further their own interests.
She worried for the future of England, all of Great Britain, really, as she slowed her stride upon reaching the entryway to Healer Smithwick's office. She raised her knuckles to knock on the old oak door's side paneling as the door was already open to announce her presence but had no need to.
Healer Smithwick sensed Dahlia before he spotted the witch. He greeted her instantaneously almost before she had set one foot over the threshold of the doorway.
"Miss Hawthorne." Smithwick nodded, lifting his gaze from studying a piece of parchment, his expression placid, though his eyes softened somewhat as he spotted the young redhead lingering nervously in the door. "Please, do come in, dear. I don't bite," he joked, his lame quip falling flat, considering Dahlia's main station was the Dai Llewellyn Ward for Creature Injuries.
Dahlia tried to smile at his ill humor, though her smile felt strained. She could feel her cheeks' reluctance to be molded so falsely, though if her supervisor was aware of her discomfort at the joke, he ignored it.
Again, he motioned for her to sit with a wide flourish of his arm as he gently set aside the parchments he'd been poring over. Dahlia could only comply, covering the distance from the entrance to the man's desk in relatively short order, the pads of her fingertips grazing the back of the chair that was perched in front of his desk, intended for employees whenever summoned or visitors.
She lowered her head as she saw no other choice but to sit, though she felt uncomfortable in doing so. She could not quite shake the feeling she was about to be reprimanded, though, for what, she hadn't the faintest idea. She was meticulous in her duties and documented every action ever taken when it came to her patients, for her sake and theirs.
She was still at a loss as to what it was that Healer Smithwick could need of her for.
However, considering all that he had done for her in terms of where she was today in her career, she was eager to do anything she could if it meant she could keep her position.
"You sent for me? Sir?" Dahlia asked. Healer Smithwick motioned for her to take what appeared to be a lemon drop candy from the bowl on his desk, shoving it towards her.
She rose her eyebrows at the strange gesture, wondering if he was trying to supplicate her some. But again, she did not want to come across as ungrateful, so she accepted and unwrapped the candy and popped it into her mouth and sucked on it while she waited for her supervisor to elaborate on why he had called her to his office in the first place.
"No doubt, Miss Hawthorne, you are wondering why I have asked to see you," he answered, eliciting a shy smile from Dahlia by way of response. She was a bit embarrassed, wondering if the obvious question could be detected in her eyes. It was as if the wizard had heard the thoughts running through her mind.
To the best of her knowledge, the man was no Legilimens, but that did not stop Dahlia from thinking that Smithwick was a wizard who seemed to know the thoughts of others before they ever had a chance to give them a voice. Perhaps he was just intuitive.
Healer Smithwick was thoughtful for a moment, propping his elbows up onto the polished, immaculate surface of his mahogany desk and lacing his fingers together, resting his chin on top of his hands as he studied her.
It was a moment before the man spoke.
"Yes, sir," she confirmed. "What can I do for you?" she asked, shyly meeting his gaze.
"I would ask you for your service to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, my dear, though admittedly, in an unusual way." His brows creased together in thought.
Dahlia was instantly concerned. Her senses tingled and she grew alert.
"The wounded, sir, we've accounted for everyone," she murmured quietly, alarmed and confused.
"Yes, we have," Healer Smithwick agreed with her words, his expression unreadable, and Dahlia was almost afraid to try to read it. "However, I was speaking in regard to your newest patient, Miss Hawthorne. I speak of Severus Snape, dear."
Dahlia's brown eyes flicked away from her supervisor, but only for a mere fraction of a second. She was sure the man had noticed it. He was her boss, after all. Nothing escaped Smithwick's attention, and nothing went by him unnoticed, particularly the behaviors of the Healers that he supervised.
"What about my patient, sir?" Dahlia asked, trying to keep the alarm and defensive note out of her voice, and failing. "Have you perceived a problem with his care?" she questioned, confused, and hurt.
"Not presently," Healer Smithwick reported. "However, it is his presence here in the Dai Llewelyn ward that could be of greater threat in the future than expected." A shadow of regret crossed the older wizard's angular features as he continued addressing her. "I could not have asked for a better Healer in my hospital, Miss Hawthorne. But it is with a heavy heart that I must ask you to relinquish your duties," he spoke softly.
Dahlia gaped at him, feeling her stomach drop and her knees go weak.
She was grateful she was already sitting down, or she might have actually collapsed from shock. She had always dreamt of such a position as this one, considering how hard she had to work to achieve it, of carrying these types of responsibilities on her shoulders. She felt that her role as the lead Healer for the Dai Llewellyn Ward and her expertise in all things magical creatures was the very role for which she had been born to do.
She was good at it, and she loved it here. After all that she'd been through, she needed this job. She felt the fear well up inside her as her chest constricted angrily.
Without her duties here at St. Mungo's to consume her, what was she going to do when thoughts of Father, finding his body amidst the rubble, the memories, and painful emotions, all came flooding back to her?
If she had nothing to distract her from her own mind, and from thoughts of him, she feared thoughts of Father would consume her. Yet, somehow, the worst thought of all was thinking she'd somehow disappointed Smithwick at some point along the line throughout her tenure as a lead Healer.
"H-Have I done something to warrant dismissal, sir?" she asked, quietly and confused, unable to keep the faltering crack out of her voice. "I—I can assure you, sir, that any oversight on my part was unintentional, sir."
Healer Smithwick studied the young woman seated on the opposite side of his desk compassionately. He had been afraid that Miss Hawthorne was misunderstand his intents and had jumped to conclusions regarding his decisions before he could elaborate further.
"Miss Hawthorne, please," he beseeched. "Allow me a moment to explain my decision. You are more skilled, stronger, and more honorable than any other Healer I have employed in years, dear. My request that you leave has nothing whatsoever to do with any failure on your part. Please believe that you have more than lived up to the high expectations I set for you when you started here. More so, as it happens," he said softly.
The furrow between Dahlia's thin dark eyebrows only deepened, and her bewilderment grew on her pale face.
Healer Smithwick knew that he could not allow the young witch to think that her performance in the institution was anything less than exemplary, which was remarkable considering her lack of formal education and where she came from, what limited knowledge he did have of the young woman's upbringing.
He attempted to diffuse the sense of defeat he sensed in the young woman.
"The truth is, that we are in desperate need of your medical expertise elsewhere, Miss Hawthorne, particularly as it pertains to Mr. Snape," he retorted. Dahlia's dark brown eyes bore into him as the witch keenly followed her supervisor's every word, suddenly interested. "I must call upon you to further your patient's recovery process outside of the institution, for obvious reasons," he sighed, pinching at the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger, as though fighting off the beginnings of a bad splitting headache.
"Reasons? What reasons, sir, I...don't understand?" Dahlia repeated, confused as she leaned forward in her chair, her knuckles white with the effort to steady her shaking as she gripped onto the edges of the hard chair.
Healer Smithwick hardened his jaw and fought to rein in his frustrations, though his mounting annoyance that started as a tingling in his chest had nothing whatsoever do with Dahlia Hawthorne's questions she'd posed to him, but of the ruckus that was already starting outside the corridor, down the hallway. Impatience was never a part of Smithwick's virtue, though he was trying harder to improve, for his employees' sake. He shot Dahlia a reproachful look.
"Miss Hawthorne, consider who your patient is, for just a moment. You are an intelligent young witch and smart enough to know better," he sighed, his tone clipped. "Professor Severus Snape seems a surprising man, a man of many masks if you will. Now that his truth is coming to light as Potter prepares to testify on the man's behalf, so I'm told, in the next coming weeks. Reporters, journalists, Rita Skeeter in particular, have been hounding poor Norah downstairs for the last several hours following Snape's admission into the hospital, Miss Hawthorne," he growled through gritted teeth, referring of course, to the short-haired blonde Welcome Witch that manned the reception desk in the front lobby. "According to her, they are becoming increasingly more insistent and almost to the point of violence, demanding to be let past her for interviews for the last several hours and refusing to follow Norah's protocols by signing in and blatantly ignoring our security measures. I have done my part to do what I can to keep them away from his room, though I fear their constant presence in the ward will be detrimental not only to his health but the other patients that are residing here as well." He paused for a moment to draw in a breath, sensing the young witch had at least a dozen or so questions she wanted to ask, judging by the glint forming in her eyes, but did not let her ask them.
He carried on, eager to make her understand that what he was about to ask of her was no small feat, indeed, and highly unorthodox for one of their own, but it was a necessary caution for now.
"I would ask that you further your patient's own recovery, as well as that of the others here in the ward, by becoming his personal Healer and accompany him home, Miss Hawthorne," he said, at last.
Dahlia felt what little color was left in her face drain as she looked at her supervisor with steely, narrowed eyes.
Dahlia paused as she thought over her words.
"Is there really no other way?" she asked at last. "What you suggest is out of line, Smithwick, forgive me, sir, but to stay with him, in his own home, it's—it's—" she trailed off, unable even to finish forming that thought in her mind, her tongue feeling thick in her mouth, and it was a miracle she could even get anything out at all.
Healer Smithwick paused as he steadily lifted his gaze and met her eyes.
There was something about Dahlia Hawthorne's voice that made him listen to her and heed the witch's words. There was something strong, determined, and unfazed about her tone. Had she been granted the opportunity to attend Hogwarts, he would have pegged the young witch as a Gryffindor, though now he was beginning to think perhaps she'd have been better suited for the Ravenclaw house, as smart as she was.
He closed his eyes before looking across the way at the young woman.
She really was a pretty little slip of a thing. Red hair that fell in layers to just above her shoulders, a wispy fringe, brown eyes that seemed to sparkle and light up with intrigue whenever Dahlia stumbled across something new and exciting to her. He paused, frowning.
No, there was more to this witch than just her looks. She was beautiful, yes, in a subtle sort of way. In the sort of way where if one was observant like he was, you would look twice and see a fierce spirit. This was a good thing. It meant that she would survive a year there, or however long it took the man to recover.
But it also meant that it would make it that much more dangerous for Dahlia.
But it also made it a possibility.
Dahlia narrowed her eyes until they almost resembled that of a pit viper snake's pupils, as she noticed her supervisor staring at her melancholically.
"Why are you suggesting this to me specifically?" She spoke in a guarded manner, as something about Smithwick's tone felt off to her.
Never in all the years that she had worked here had she heard him like this.
Smithwick hesitated, chewing on the wall of his mouth. He was not quite sure how to explain away the witch's calming effect that she had on others.
How, whenever she was around him, in her presence, he felt a strange sort of peace wallowing in his soul.
It was an effect she had on people and did not even know it.
He knew that a broken man like Severus Snape was bound to need such a gift. In the end, however, his courage failed him, and he chose the diplomatic response and spoke in a calm, professional tone that was sure she could not refuse his plea of needing her help.
"Because, Miss Hawthorne, you are the most capable Healer that I can think of that is suited for a task as this," was all he could think to say in the end. "And…considering your father's death, my dear, the time apart would be good."
Dahlia stiffened in her chair as she straightened her posture and lifted her chin, jutting it out slightly defiantly in a rather challenging manner.
"I hope you don't intend to pry any information out of me, Mr. Smithwick, because it won't work," she answered, almost coldly. "You might be my supervisor, sir, and can make decisions as they pertain to my career and future here at St. Mungo's, sir, but you have no control over my emotions." Dahlia's jaw clenched in frustration as she willed her expression to give away nothing of the conflicting emotions waging within her.
Healer Smithwick's eyes took on a dangerous glint she wasn't sure she liked. "Ah. So, you do still harbor some small measure of love in your heart for your father, don't you, my dear Dahlia, despite...what he was, then?"
Dahlia angrily regarded her boss with steely eyes that darkened in color until they were almost black.
She was not about to confess anything to this man who would rip her away from her duties here and force her to spend an entire year's time with a man she did not know.
Her feelings for her father were just that and that alone, her feelings, and she had no intention of sharing them with anyone, not to Smithwick, and not even to her new patient, should Snape awaken at some point and try to take an interest in her life. The walls of her heart were put up for a good reason.
"My father betrayed everything that I ever stood for in his final moments," Dahlia answered coldly. "He abandoned all that was good and went to the Dark Lord in exchange for promised riches and power, sir. How could you think that I would hold even the slightest bit of affection for a man who tried to ruin his only child, is beyond me, and that you think I could let thoughts of that man affect my work?"
She was not quite shouting at him, but she was panting heavily, and she realized only a fraction of a second too late that she had accidentally raised her voice without meaning to. She felt a bright pink blush creep along her cheeks and she instantly clamped a hand over her mouth, surprised as to her own sudden boldness.
"That may be true, Miss Hawthorne," Healer Smithwick said slowly. "But that doesn't mean you don't love him and mourn him, in your own way," he said after a lengthy pause.
Dahlia clenched her teeth and fought to rein in her growing anger. She had always been soft-spoken and even-tempered. It's what made her a good Healer, particularly when dealing with patients who were less than cooperative. But Smithwick was baiting her on purpose. She did not know what he wanted out of her, why he was trying to make her confess her true feelings, but she suspected her father's death was another reason for her sudden dismissal, that it had nothing to do with Snape. Whatever his reasons, Dahlia was clever enough to know she wanted absolutely no part in it if she could help it.
"Only a fool could love him after what he did," she answered stiffly, hating hearing the faltering crack and dip in her tone as she came to understand she was more or less lying through her teeth now. "You aren't calling me a fool, are you?" Dahlia spoke in a low voice that could only be described as a low-sounding growl.
"Not at all, Miss Hawthorne, far from it," Healer Smithwick replied. "I think you are the most level-headed and intelligent individuals I've ever had the pleasure of knowing. I think you are smart and practical and see the world as it really is and not how you want it. That, my dear, is why I would have you attend to Severus Snape in the comforts of his own home, in an environment where he can heal from his wounds in a place that is familiar to him. And as for the matter of staying with him, my dear, think of what you are saying. We would not ask that of you, good heavens, no! We would ensure that you are given comfortable lodgings, perhaps in a room above The Leaky Cauldron," he stated.
She frowned at hearing that. Oh great. The Leaky Cauldron. The rooms in the inn were decrepit and little more than tumbledown. She would have thought, given the hospital's budget thanks in part to generous donators throughout the years, they could have afforded her better accommodations. She forced her thoughts of her father to the deepest corner of her mind, not wanting to give his specter any more cause to haunt her.
His death was still too fresh. She was slowly realizing that what her boss was asking of her was of far greater importance than simply remaining here as a Healer for the Dai Llewellyn ward. She had heard of Severus Snape and his impeccable abilities for not only brewing potions, but magic as well, his name had come up in conversations a couple of times, back when she and Father were still on speaking terms, if she could call it that, but never had she imagined she'd meet him, much less be the one to heal him. As much as she truly relished her work here in St. Mungo's, as much fulfillment as she had found in her otherwise mundane and crappy life, she understood the opportunity Healer Smithwick was giving her was one that she could not refuse.
Suddenly, there was nothing more that she wanted than to undertake perhaps what would be the greatest challenge yet in healing one of the most brilliant minds in the arts of Potions-brewing, as well as the most stubborn, if she was to believe Father's words of the man, what she'd heard of him.
As her excitement grew, she nodded.
Perhaps this was a chance for a fresh start, after all, and the difficult task of undertaking healing this man would give her the distraction her mind desperately sought, to keep her from thinking of him.
"I will do as you ask," she murmured in a voice that was barely audible as she nodded her head. "I will heal him, Mr. Smithwick. You can put me up in The Leaky if you want. The reporters and journalists you mentioned, won't be bothering my patient, sir. You have my word, Mr. Smithwick, I can give you that much."
Dahlia hesitated, unsure whether or not to ask this of her supervisor, but she had to get the question out, and the words tumbled out of her lips before she could even think about stopping herself from saying them.
"But…is my…reassignment because of my father's death, sir? Is that the reason?" She nearly choked on her words. The memory of her father's death was still painful, too visceral, that it nearly stole her breath.
"Partially," Healer Smithwick confessed, a troubled look upon his lined and weathered face. "But more so for the good of this ward, her patients, and your patient, Miss Hawthorne. But I must ask, what would you have done to your father, had he survived the battle, dear?"
Dahlia blinked, forcing her eyes to refocus on her supervisor, his words suddenly pulling her back to the present as her mind was already running through a checklist of what she would need, both for herself if she was to leave her flat in downtown London and take up a semi-permanent residence in one of the rooms above The Leaky, and for Snape.
"What?" she exclaimed sourly.
"Your father. What would you have done, if he had somehow managed to make it out of the battle unscathed, what would you have done to him? Would you have welcomed him back into your life with open arms, or would you have spent the rest of your life disowning him and pretending he did not exist?"
Dahlia was more than a little bit taken aback by Mr. Smithwick's query.
Not because she hadn't ever thought about it, but because she had never expected her boss would ask such a thing. When Father had made his choice, she had spent days, weeks, imagining what she would do if he ever attempted to contact her and beg her for her forgiveness of all his past acts against her.
Sometimes, in the thick of her grief, she imagined forgiving him, winding her arms around him, and holding him like she'd used to when she was a little girl before he'd started sneaking into her room at night.
Other times, she had imagined turning him away and letting the Aurors arrest him for crimes against humanity, let alone heinous ones against his own daughter whom he was supposed to love and let the Dementors take him, and perform the Kiss, and she would not forgive him, no matter how much he begged her.
She wasn't sure how to answer.
He was her supervisor, after all, and she owed him a reply if she wanted to remain in the wizard's good graces, and it was in her best interest to stay on his good side.
But nor could she lie to him, and she did not want him to know just how undecided she was about the answer to his question. So, she shrugged her shoulders and said the only thing she could.
"I'm sorry, sir, but I can't answer that. I don't have a suitable answer," was all Dahlia could think to say to him.
Healer Smithwick nodded. "Thank you, my dear, for agreeing to the nature of my request. I trust that Hogwarts's former Headmaster's life is in good hands with you, and I would entrust it to no other. Thank you to for this little chat. I enjoy them. We should have them again."
"I don't think you'd want that," Dahlia immediately retorted, her tone flat.
He chuckled, the sardonic noise escaping from the back of his throat. "I'll take that as a maybe, then," he said with a shrug. "But—" he started to say, though was cut off by the appearance of a novice Healer, one under Dahlia's command, looking winded, and as though he'd been hit by one hell of a Stinging Jinx, as his left browbone was swollen immensely until it almost resembled a growth above his eye.
Red in the face, the young apprentice Healer by the name of Garrett, a good kid, freshly graduated from Hogwarts a year or two ago, dark-haired, and handsome, lifted his gaze.
"Merlin's Beard, Mulberry," Healer Smithwick barked as he studied the young wizard over the rims of his rimless spectacles. He looked aghast to find the young apprentice in such a right bloody state. "What happened to you?"
The blush that colored the kid's cheeks darkened at hearing the question. He nervously lifted his gaze and looked to Dahlia, with her having already risen from her chair, her wand held in hand.
"P—Pardon me, mum, b-but you'd better come quick. It's Snape, there's…a problem," he wheezed, still doubled over and gasping for breath, one hand clutching onto his ribs, the other, desperately trying to hide his contusion that only increased in size as time passed.
If it had been Snape who'd jinxed him, it was one hell of a good hit. Her lips twitched, fighting back a smile. Garrett was an exceptional dueler, and only one with considerable skill would be able to best him.
Dahlia nodded grimly and turned on her heels to follow the young apprentice out, her mind working to piece together what must have happened. He's likely regained consciousness and I would be willing to bet he's managed to find his wand. He did this to poor Garret, I'm sure of it, a voice chimed in the back of her mind.
"Lead the way, Garret," Dahlia commanded in a crisp, professional tone, though as she turned to follow him out, she was halted in her progress of attending to her newest patient as Healer Smithwick called after her again.
"Miss Hawthorne." He temporarily pulled her attention back to the topic of conversation at hand. "Preparations have already been made for your accommodations at the Leaky Cauldron as of tonight. Will the few hours remaining on your current shift be enough time to settle your affairs here?"
She nodded eagerly. "It will, sir," she confirmed. Apparently, Smithwick had been certain she would accept the job. He nodded and turned towards Garret, his expression turning somber.
"Very well. It is settled, then. Merlin speed to you, Miss Hawthorne. You're going to need it around Snape," he barked, an odd expression overcoming his face that for a moment, Dahlia did not know what to think of as he strode from his chair and moved around his desk to follow Garret out the door, though he went in the opposite direction.
He paused once Dahlia was out in the hallway and called to her again before she could head towards Snape and see what in Merlin's name the commotion down the hall was all about, but whatever had happened, it was enough to attract the attention of three Healers and she could hear the agonized moans and shouts of the other patients.
"I am grateful to know that Hogwarts' former Headmaster is in your capable hands, Miss Hawthorne." Healer Smithwick smiled at Dahlia with a coy little half-smile that made her raise her eyebrows in alarm and curiosity.
He headed down the hall, clipboard in hand, likely to see to his next order of business and leaving Dahlia to deal with her patient. She was left in the hallway for a moment to ponder the events of the last few moments, and the possibilities to come. She had thought her destiny was to remain here in St. Mungo's, forever.
But perhaps she had been wrong.
Despite her determination to project an air of professional detachment, as she quickened her strides and darted down the hallway, she could not help but not bother to stifle the beginnings of a hopeful smile. It would be one of the greatest accomplishments she could think of, healing a broken man like Snape, both in body and mind. She followed after the apprentice Healer, on her way to confront the former Headmaster of Hogwarts, Professor Severus Snape himself in the flesh now that he was awake and seemingly somewhat coherent.
She could only hope that she could get him to calm down, or else what would happen, she didn't like to think.