Chapter 17 The Lovely Man
"Is there anything I can do to help?" Maura sipped at her glass of pumpkin juice; she was developing quite a taste for it. After Mr Holmes had taken her blood, he and Professor Snape had disappeared, into the dungeons, or so she imagined. She had helped herself to juice and a good hunk of excellent chocolate from the refreshments table, and stood sipping and munching, watching the well-ordered activity around her.
Madam Pomfrey certainly knew how to run an infirmary. The patients were tucked into clean, tidy beds; one of them only had to raise a hand or murmur, and the mediwitch or one of her aides was at their side. Sister Agrippina had recovered almost completely; she was still weak, but she was sitting at Hermione's bedside, placing cold compresses on the girl's forehead.
"I'd like to do anything I can to help Hermione," Maura told the mediwitch. Maura looked over towards her friend's bed; Hermione had been sick longer than anyone. It seemed that infected Wizards were in rum shape for about five hours, then they recovered swiftly – but Hermione still ran a considerable fever; she was still hacking with a dry, unproductive cough, and drifting in and out of consciousness. It had been more than a day since she had fallen ill.
. "You're a Muggle, you're immune to the influenza," said Madam Pomfrey. "Well, I can always use an extra pair of hands. Here, you can relieve Sister Agrippina, who should be having a nap. The disease seems to affect Muggleborns more severely," She looked over at Hermione's still form. "She'll be glad to know you're with her." They walked over to the girl's bedside. "Up, Agrippina, to bed with you. Miss Maura will take over for a while."
Maura rose and stretched, her hands at her back. Hermione had wakened briefly, smiled at her, and then suffered a fit of coughing. Maura turned her on her side and thumped her back briskly; her mother used to do that for her when she was a kid. It seemed to help; Hermione's cough rattled a bit, indicating that it was breaking up. "Maura…" Hermione whispered.
"Yes, I'm here. I'm going to grab a bite of lunch, then I'll be back."
Hermione nodded and a ghost of a smile flitted across her face. Maura propped her on her side with pillows, and covered her up snugly with the white blanket. A house-elf tugged at her skirt, then hopped onto the chair next to Hermione's bed. It took up the basin of compresses and poked them with skinny fingers, to see if they were cool and wet enough. Then, it changed the compress on Hermione's forehead for a fresh one, crooning a little tuneless song in its squeaky little voice. You're in good hands, Hermione, Maura thought.
At least the infirmary was quiet. Severus Snape had come roaring in, bellowed at his godson Draco, who had fled the medical ward, and then gone over to Hermione's bedside. Maura had watched with puzzlement as the Potions Master sat on the side of the bed and took Hermione's hand in his – and kissed it. Madam Pomfrey had gone to him; they had conferred briefly, and she had drawn the curtain around the bed.
Intrigued, Maura edged a little closer, but could hear nothing. After a few minutes, Snape put back the curtain and left the ward. He looked dreadful (well, more dreadful than usual). He looked as if he had been weeping. Well, after all, how many hundreds of fan fiction stories had gone on at length about a love affair between the Potions Master and the Know-It-All? How romantic, she thought. I can see him bowed over her still form, his face vulnerable, confessing his love…oh, get shut of it, Maura. You didn't write this part, after all. This isn't your familiar fanfics Snape, who looks like Alan Rickman and talks like Yeats. This is JK Rowling's greasy git, all right? Good enough that I wrote Holmes…not exactly the sex god of the Edwardian age, hey?
She was starving. She had never gotten to the "good big breakfast" promised her by Whinny, and the pumpkin juice and chocolate had only served to whet her appetite. I've been eating too much, she thought. The food here is outstanding, and that's what I'll be doing – standing outside of my clothes – unless I watch it.
Sister Brigit was making notes in a book of parchment pages. She looked up as Maura approached. "Ye must be hungry," she stated. "Come out to the balcony, the house-elves will bring us some luncheon and we can get a breath o'fresh air."
"I'd love that," replied Maura, following Brigit out onto a wide balcony with small tables and chairs on it. Little Professor Flitwick, still recovering, was sunning himself on a chaise longue on one end, his hat over his face, a blanket tucked snugly over his wee form.
The two women sat down at a little round table, and in a moment, a house-elf brought them a large tray with sandwiches, tea and the small red and yellow Hogwarts apples. "Thanks," Maura said, and helped herself.
The door to the infirmary opened, and Sherlock Holmes looked out onto the terrace. When he saw Maura, he hastened over to her. "How are you, Miss Maura? No ill effects?"
"No, Mr Holmes, I'm fine, thank you," she said. The Great Detective was wearing robes decorated with splotches and stains; he had come from the laboratory. "Are you and Professor Snape getting along?"
Holmes grimaced. "As well as can be expected," he stated. "He is at a loss without Miss Granger, and I'm a poor substitute. Nevertheless, we must press on." He bowed and left the terrace, closing the door behind himself.
Sister Brigit looked at Holmes' retreating back. Hmmm. She liked the looks of him; tall, slender, with the hawk-nosed profile that some Roman ancestor had bequeathed him. His shoulders were broad, his long back tapered down to narrow hips, and she had noticed that the back of his jacket curved over a lovely rounded bum. Long, long legs, too, and as for his hands, well, they were the long, graceful hands of a bard, or a poet – or a lover…
Nevertheless, Brigit well knew that it was something else that had attracted her. The man had a glowing green aura, crackling with energy. Green; an Earth sign, most likely Capricorn. He was lively, intense, powerful. Ah, yes, such a man was to her liking.
"Oh, he's a lovely man!" enthused Brigit. "Och, Maura, d'ye not feel that he likes women, and that is the beginning, is it not?"
Maura looked at Brigit; the red-haired Druid's eyes were shining, dimples framed her mouth. "You're amazing, Brigit; you've barely met him; would you bed the man already?"
Brigit nodded her head emphatically. "Yes, yes, I would indeed, he knows how to please a woman, and the Mother knows, I've been teachin' those that don't have a glimmerin' for the longest time. I could use an experienced shag."
Maura looked down at her hands, folded demurely on her lap. She had to be so careful. Brigit had accepted her without question, but one slip could bring everything down around everyone's ears and possibly maroon her here forever. Although, she thought, I could think of many worse alternatives.
"Now, Brigit," she said, "he has a sweetheart waiting for him at home. It would be sorry indeed if you bewitch him away from her, and leave her grieving for him." Oh, no, Maura thought. That's all we need, to have Brigit seduce Holmes. I've got to straighten this out. I have to talk to the Headmaster. Hermione said she had a computer…
Brigit bridled. "Indeed I would not do such an unco thing! I don't want to keep him, I just want to borrow him for a little while – and Maura…" Brigit looked at her wistfully. "When he goes, he'll not remember me."
"Ah, but you'll remember him. Brigit, it's not fair; his sweetheart's very far away, but he loves her terribly."
Brigit's eyes snapped. "Maura, in this day and age those what aren't dead, wed or queer are daft or drunken, and as for lovers, they're useless!"
"Do you mean to tell me that in the whole of the Druid community there's nobody you fancy? What about the two men who drove me here from the airport, Finbar, or Jack- he's so handsome…"
Brigit stuck out her lower lip. Maura put her arm around her, tucking a carrot –red curl behind the woman's finely pointed ear. "You can tell me," she whispered. "I'll keep your confidence."
"A pretty face an' a big Willie don't make a good lover, and I should know, I've tried 'em all," said Brigit despondently.
Now I'm in hot water, thought Maura. I've got to get find out what happened to Brigit before I totally blow my cover, or give her the wrong advice. This whole business isn't going well at all; I've got to get to a computer – and quickly. Please, Hermione, get better!