It was another sleepless night for Eliza with those terrible dreams, remembering dreams that plagued her slumber and often woke her up to a splitting headache. She hated those nights, reliving the past, and although a simple potion could stop these dreams from occurring, it was all that remained of the family she no longer had.
Eliza clutched her head as she fumbled through her medicine cabinet searching for the headache potion she had brewed the day before. Lately, she had been going through the potion at an alarming rate, and fresh batched had to be brewed weekly. Since she was wide awake, Eliza headed downstairs to have a cup of tea and to watch her neighbor also bide his time, waiting for the wakefulness to pass. She was quite surprised that night to find his window dark for she had seen him in it every sleepless summer night for the last fourteen years.
She paced the living room, wondering where the man could be, horrible images floating in her head as her imagination tried to piece together the mystery of his whereabouts. Eliza heard swoosh followed by a thump outside. Not knowing what else to do, she dug her wand out of the kitchen drawer and ran out the front door. In her neighbor's yard lay dark figure illuminated by the street lamp. She knew that this was her neighbor and as she ran over to help him up, a sick sense of dread settled in her stomach: something was very wrong.
Eliza quickly assessed the damage, her healer senses kicking in not a moment too soon. She could see that he was barely breathing and his black robes were covered in blood. In the past, she had seen people like this, mostly when they were brought into St. Mungo's after an attack by Death Eaters. But that had been years ago and Voldemort had been defeated by the baby, Harry Potter, so that couldn't have been the cause of his injuries. Using all of her strength, Eliza hauled up the man, pulling his arm around her shoulders and grasping his waist, as she dragged him towards his house. There were no charms or wards protecting his door, making Eliza wonder if he had expected this to happen or if he had a false sense of security, so she was able to take him directly inside and lay him on the sofa.
It had been so long since she had used magic to heal, and Eliza wasn't sure that she still processed the required knowledge, but there was no time to waste. The severity of this man's injuries was such that he would soon die if she did not treat him. Without more than a moment's hesitation, the spells came to mind and she was able to cease the blood flowing from his wounds and cast a numbing charm to ease his pain while she worked. Eliza carefully removed his cloak, vest, and shirt and examined the damage that remained. He had deep cuts across his stomach and arms while a dark purple bruise covered his right side. Cautiously, she pressed his ribs under the bruise, feeling the broken bones underneath.
She examined his arms and found nothing more that bruises and mild cuts. But his left forearm caught her eye and she saw the skull and snake embossed on his skin. The Dark Mark. The same mark that laced her dreams and made her sick just seeing it. She quickly drew away from him, closing her eyes and breathing in sharply. She was repulsed at the sight of his allegiance to Voldemort and yet she could not bring forward the hatred he deserved. Despite all the rage she felt towards Death Eaters and the terrible crimes they committed, as she looked at his pathetic form lying on the sofa, she knew that she could not refuse the treatment he needed.
Baffled by her own charity, Eliza continued working on the man. She kept telling herself that Voldemort was dead and the Dark Mark on her neighbor's arm was residual. The man wasn't much older than she was, so he could have easily been swept up in the Dark Lord's ardor. So many of her classmates had given themselves over to the terrible man, each of them enamored with thoughts of power and strength. Even members of her own family sought the Dark Lord's favor, although her cousin Regulus had abandoned the cause shortly before his death.
Yes, Eliza could see the draw that Voldemort had, but she still condemned those who were too weak to resist it. Perhaps it was because of her success at St. Mungo's that Eliza was able to push away the Dark Lords bequest. Her ambition's cravings were filled by promotion and seniority at work, discovery and research, rather than hatred and murder. She didn't need to cut down others to feel worthy, like so many of her fellow Slytherins and most of the Black family.
But the man before her, still lying sedated on the sofa, didn't radiate with the same hatred and dissatisfaction that the Death Eaters possessed. True, he definitely exhibited the same tendencies with his scowls and general lack of manners, but the source of his hatred seemed to lie in another location. Eliza sensed that his anger followed a narrow line, that perhaps it was a few people or events rather than an entire half of wizard society that had propelled him into the Dark Lord's lair.
Eliza finished her work as quickly as possible, careful not to release the man from his magic-induced slumber. By waving her wand and muttering a few words, she knitted his bones back together and sealed the open wounds on his torso. She also summoned necessary potions from her house, the little bottles floating through the open windows, so that she could replenish his blood supply, ease his pain, and give him a night of dreamless sleep.
Giving him one final check to make sure she had healed all of his injuries, Eliza decided that her work was done. She covered him with a blanket she found in the first bedroom down the narrow hallway and made her way to the door.
Pausing just before stepping outside, Eliza looked back at her neighbor. In his rare moment of slumber, he looked peaceful and calm. Warmth swelled out of her chest and caught in her throat as a wave of emotion crashed down on her. All the feelings she had ever experienced when healing at St. Mungo's had returned only intensified by the years that had passed.
Afraid of the elation she felt from using her skills after such a long sabbatical, Eliza scuttled across the yard and into her safe, cozy cottage. She rushed upstairs and dove into her bed, shivering under the covers from excitement rather than cold.
As she tried to put the night's events from her mind and to forget the momentary joy she had using magic again, Eliza's thoughts drifted to the Dark Mark on her neighbor's arm. She knew that he was not the kind of person to cross but she was rather nonplussed about his membership to the terrible organization. It had been fourteen years since the Dark Lord was defeated and people can change in that length of time. Voldemort was no longer a threat, right?