Chapter 13 The Carrier
A/N: Thanks and praise to OzRatBag2 for checking this chapter for things medical (and if you think I'm mean to Draco, you can only imagine what she would have done to him!) and, as always, to excessivelyperky, beta extraordinary, for her logical and devilishly inventive mind! Blessed be! DN
Maura woke to the tune of the chorus of morning birds outside her window. For a moment she was disoriented by the bed-curtains around her, then she remembered: she was at Hogwarts!. There was a rattle of curtain-rings as the bed-curtains were drawn aside, and a turnip-shaped head appeared directly in front of her face. "You is to get up, Miss Maura," the elf said in his (her?) squeaky little voice. She sat up and took her dressing gown from its gnarled fingers. House-elves!
"Thank you," she said. "What's your name?" She put on her slippers and stood up.
"I is Whinny," the little creature answered. "Whinny help you to get dressed, Miss Maura," and the elf toddled over to the large armoire. It returned with its arms full of clothing, although she hadn't seen it open any drawers or reach in for anything. Maura knelt down for a good look: just as she had expected, wrinkled yellowish skin, huge blue eyes, and floppy ears, and wearing a tunic made of tea towels. "I is a girl, Miss Maura," the elf said. "I knows about clothing and hairdressing and makeup." She put the clothing on the bed, smoothing out Maura's skirt carefully.
Maura restrained an impulse to hug the little thing. They probably don't appreciate being called 'cute,' she thought. "Thank you, Whinny. "
Whinny held open the door to her bathroom. "You calls if you needs anything, Miss Maura," the elf said. Fifteen minutes later, Maura came out and began to dress, Whinny holding up each garment for her.
"I'm starving, Whinny," Maura said. "Will you take me down to breakfast?" She'd never negotiate those moving staircases by herself.
"Miss has to go to Infirmary first," answered the elf. "Then you has a good big breakfast." She held up Maura's blazer. "Come now, Miss Maura, Master Holmes and Master Snape is waiting." She took Maura by the edge of her jacket and toddled along importantly, as she made her way to the Infirmary.
I'm going to meet Sherlock Holmes. Imagine! Laurie R. King had given her readers many examples of Holmes' social skills, especially his suavity with the ladies. Of course, she was also going to meet Potions Master Snape, the infamous greasy git. She had only gotten a glimpse of him the night before, and that sour glare. Her heart hammered with excitement.
The Infirmary in daylight was exactly as she had imagined it: wide glass-paned doors opened onto a large, sunny room with curtained hospital beds along the walls, what appeared to be an office on one side, shelves and cabinets, and in the middle, a large table draped with white linens, with a chair next to it. A tall, thin man stood in front of the table, with his back to her. A red-haired woman in an old-fashioned nursing sister's outfit stood next to him.
The man turned around, held out his hands and favoured her with a devastating smile. Maura's heart jumped in her chest; her knees went wobbly. Wow. He is just charming. Of course, she hadn't quite written him that way – she hadn't known he would be reassuring, confident and oh, my goodness, he's hot! Hot!
"Miss McNicholas!" the Great Detective exclaimed. He took her hand and brushed his lips across her knuckles 'I may swoon', put his arm around her shoulders and conducted her to the chair. 'Oh yes, I will swoon'. A hand on her shoulder made her turn around; it was the redhead. She helped Maura to take off her blazer, which she hung on the back of the chair.
"Good mornin', Miss," the woman said. "I'm goin' to check your heart, your temperature and your pulse." She put her hand on Maura's forehead, nodded and said, "All's well, sir. Pulse a little quick- " she winked at Maura – "but ye can understand why!" She patted Maura's shoulder again. Sherlock Holmes took her hand and his long, slender fingers pressed the inside of her wrist. Her heart thudded in her chest. He's hypnotic and it's all too incredible! Holmes looked up at her, then turned around: "Bring some cold compresses, Sister Brigit," he ordered. "Miss Maura's pulse is too rapid, she must relax."
The nurse returned with a compress that smelt of lavender. She put it on the back of Maura's neck, leaned over and whispered, "He's a lovely man, in't he? Now, ye just sit and rest a bit." Holmes was fiddling with something on the table, and Sister Brigit went over to assist him. Maura looked around her: most of the beds had their curtains drawn back, and she could see patients in them. Some were sitting up, some were sleeping and a few were coughing or sneezing. She could see Hermione's mop of thick hair on her pillow; poor thing was still out of it. She turned around a bit to see who was causing a fuss on the other side of the large room.
My God. It's Draco Malfoy, or is it Lucius? A gorgeous blond guy was sitting up in one of the beds, yelling at the top of his lungs. Has to be Draco; he's the same age as Harry, Ron and Hermione. She listened; he was furious. Standing next to his bed, well, it had to be Madam Pomfrey. She held a large flask, and she was definitely not amused.
"I'm not drinking that shite!" he screamed. "Look at it, it's disgusting! You've put, what, Flobberworms in it? Ewwwww! They're moving!" He pulled the sheet up around himself. "Uncle Severus! Where in the nine Hells is he? He'll hex you into a snail, Pomfrey, you just wait!"
Madam Pomfrey's lips compressed into a thin line. "Language, Draco. You've been infected with influenza, and you must take this medicine. Magic isn't working, or hadn't you noticed? Your Uncle Severus brewed this potion especially for you, and you do want to get well, don't you?"
The blond snarled menacingly. Maura could see his hands shaking even from across the room. He was scared! She stifled a giggle. Lo, how the mighty…and he called Snape "Uncle Severus?" Well, she had read several fics in which Snape was Draco's godfather.
"You don't fool me, Pomfrey," Draco shouted. "You gave Crabbe and Goyle some other stuff, they said it wasn't nasty – and you expect ME to drink THAT? You had it made on purpose just to torture me! Wait till my father hears about this, you'll be carrying bedpans in Azkaban!"
Maura felt Sister Brigit put a new compress on her neck; this one smelt sweetly of rosemary. She turned around. There, in front of her face, was a row of small black buttons up the front of a black frock coat. She followed the buttons upward to a glimpse of a white collar and then to the shaggy black hair and sallow, dour face of Severus Snape, Potions Master of Hogwarts. She caught her breath: I did a good job, didn't I; he's the dark side of Sherlock Holmes. "Professor Snape," she said courteously, extending her hand.
The Potions Master bowed stiffly, ignoring her hand. "We are ready," he said. Oh, that voice: that gorgeous voice. Sherlock Holmes approached her. He took her hand and gently put her left arm on the table, on top of a folded linen cloth. Carefully, and with a light and delicate touch, his elegant fingers undid her cuff button and rolled her shirt sleeve up above her elbow. She looked over at the tabletop; there was an old-fashioned metal hypodermic syringe, an array of flasks, a pile of small flannels and other things she didn't want to look at too closely.
"This will only take a moment, Miss McNicholas," said Holmes. He crouched down, directly in front of her, and took her right hand in his. "You will save many people with your generous participation," he said. "We could not fight this dreadful epidemic without you." He pressed her hand and smiled at her. "Master Snape, let us proceed."
Snape brought over a bottle of – yes; it was Old Ogden's Firewhiskey, eliciting a bellow from across the room. "Fuck! You're giving other patients whiskey, and you expect me to swallow that nauseating mess? Who's that? Who's that Mudblood bint over there? You're giving her whiskey! Uncle Severus!"
The Potions Master looked across the room. "Excuse me for a moment," he said to Holmes and Maura.
The Great Detective smirked. "This should prove interesting," he said.
Severus Snape approached his godson's bedside. "What's the matter, Draco?" He looked at Madam Pomfrey with a meaningful glance. "Won't take his potion?"
The mediwitch looked up at him. "No, Professor, he's refused to take this special medicine you made just for him. I'm concerned that his condition will worsen if he doesn't have it straightaway."
Snape considered for a moment. He loomed over Draco. "I expect you to not be a snivelling infant," he said. "Take your medicine." He turned to Poppy Pomfrey: "If he continues to refuse it, get it into him by whatever means you deem necessary." He turned on his heel and strode away, his cloak billowing behind him.
Draco's eyes were huge, and he had begun to sweat with abject terror. Madam Pomfrey approached his bed with a long rubber tube coiled in her hand and a knowing smile on her face. "By whatever means, Draco," she said. "Now, let's see, it could be administered nasally, and if that doesn't do…" The boy's eyes rolled up in his head.