A healer's burden
The Shack was the first place Aberforth checked, but it was deserted, as was Morag's cottage, where Jeannie the goat stared at him with mockery in her golden eyes before resuming her grazing. "Merlin's bollocks," Aberforth muttered angrily. There was nothing for it: he would have to look for them in the remote villages that Morag called her steading.
In days long gone by, when the Wizarding World had not been so neatly organized under the formal rule of the Ministry of Magic, a healing witch took the responsibility of a local area, much like a priest looks after his parish. She was the midwife, she tended the sick and injured, and sometimes would settle disputes in her own clever way. It was a dangerous duty, however, as local populations could turn against their witch when spurred on by an overzealous ecclesiastic, frightened by natural disasters, or simply envious of her skills. Those witch hunts where one of the reasons the Statute of Wizarding Secrecy was signed in 1689.
Consequently, the concept of steading seemed to have been forgotten by modern-day wizard and witches. However, Morag seemed to uphold the tradition. She had not explicitly told Hogsmeade folks what she was doing, but Aberforth had been smart enough to read between the lines: her frequent trips outside the wizarding village were not just for gathering herbs. Overtime, the young healer had come to trust him and mentioned the names of the villages under her care.
Abertforth did not feel inclined to take a long, cold flight over the rocky peaks; besides, searching the villages would take long enough as it was. Time was precisely what he had little to spare: he had to find Severus and Morag before the Aurors did.
After Apparating behind the Strathconon church, he stepped into the main street, and he addressed a young mother holding a stocky, grubby-faced toddler.
"Excuse me, I'm looking for Morag Duncan. Have you seen her?"
The woman swept her gaze from his dishevelled grey hair to his dirty, crumpled shirt and crossed the street without answering.
"Well, thanks for nothing, hen," he grunted under his breath. He kept walking briskly, asking passers-by, who all regarded him suspiciously and refused to answer. As for Morag and Severus, he could not see them anywhere. He had no more luck in Glenmeanie, and moved on to Carnoch, where he was again met with hostility.
"Whit d'ye want with oor Morag?" a ruddy-cheeked woman finally asked.
"I need to talk to her. It's urgent, and private," he answered.
"Weel, jus' leave a note fer her under a rock on yon cairn, like we all do. She always checks, and she'll be round yer hoose tae help," she said.
Aberforth grumbled a quick thanks, and, stepping behind a sheepfold, Disapparated again. The smallest village was Inverchoran; if he could not find them there, he would have to give up altogether.
Beyond a low stone wall, a woman wearing blue overalls was feeding her hens. Aberforth walked up to her. "I'm sorry to bother you, but I am looking for Morag Duncan, the healer. Have you seen her today, by any chance?"
Beady black eyes bore into him. "And who's asking, pray?"
"Look", Aberforth sighed desperately, "I'm a friend of hers. Known her since she moved in the area ten years ago. My name's Aberforth…"
"Och, why did ye nae say? She's talked of ye before. Aye, I did see oor lass. She was with a priest."
"A priest?" asked Aberforth, confused.
"Aye. Wearing a black cassock and all. Thin face with a big nose."
"Where did they go?"
"Ye only jus' missed her. She was headed home, by the looks of it."
"My thanks, lady," Aberforth. He hurried out of sight, muttering a string of choice swearwords, and Disapparated as soon as he was sure no prying eye would notice him.
As he reappeared in front of the Shrieking Shack, he knew he was too late. Morag was sat on a stone, her face streaked with tears.
"They arrested him, Aberforth! Is it true? Is it true he killed yer brother?"
"Merlin's beard, lass, I know you don't really keep up with wizarding news, but surely you knew?"
"I kenned yer brother'd been killed by a Death Eater, but I had nae idea it was Severus, Aberforth!" The young witch was shaking all over, her eyes wide in dismay.
"You'd better come home for a dram, Morag. I'll explain what happened, yeah?"
They headed to the Hog's Head and Aberforth set two glasses of firewhisky before them.
Morag sat and grabbed the old man's hands. "Tell me it isnae true. Please."
"I thought it didn't matter to you what people had done, that you would heal them no matter what? Do you regret saving him, lass?"
"It isnae aboot healing, Aberforth. Healing him was mah dooty and I would have done it regardless." She breathed deeply, trying to calm herself. "Aberforth, I done the most stupid thing a healer can do. I've gone an' let maself fall in love with him!"
Dumbstruck, Aberforth stared at her. Merlin's beard, all he knew was how to serve drinks and care for goats. Comforting an emotional young woman was beyond his capabilities for sure. He squeezed her hand hesitantly.
"I kenned he was a Death Eater, I saw that ugly mark. But I thought his Death Eater days were long gone!" The young witch was gnawing her nails restlessly. "How could I be so daft, Aberforth? Why do I fall for bad men?"
"Severus Snape is not the villain you think he is, lass. He turned his back on the Death Eaters long ago," the barman sighed. "I'd better tell you the whole story. See, Snape was in love with Lily Evans – Harry Potter's mother."
"Aye, I ken that."
"Well, when You-Know-Who set his mind on killing the Potters, Snape asked Albus to protect Lily, and promised to do whatever he asked in exchange. Snape's been doing my brother's bidding ever since, and spied on the Death Eaters once You-Know-Who returned to power."
"But ye said he killed him, Aberforth! Why – "
" – because my fool of a brother laid his hands on a cursed ring and decided to put it on. The curse affected him immediately, spreading from his finger to his hand like a cancer. Snape, being a powerful healer, was able to contain it somewhat, but couldn't stop it. Albus would have died from it eventually."
"So t'was some kind of mercy killing?"
"More than that. You-Know-Who had ordered a lad – young Malfoy, he's the same age as Potter – to murder my brother. Long story short, Albus didn't want the lad to taint himself with such a horrible crime. So he asked Snape to do it instead."
Morag's face drained of colour. "So yer brother asked Severus tae kill him, and he kenned everyone would think him a cold-blooded murderer? That's horrible."
"Aye, lass, it is. My brother never cared much about collateral damage to his grand plans."
The young witch gave a long, shuddering sigh. "Aberforth, we have tae help him."
"I was thinking that. Snape is a sour git, but he doesn't deserve to be treated like a criminal. And I won't have you flood my pub with your crying, either." He scratched his beard. "The Potter boy might help us."
"What d'ye mean?"
"He's the one who told me about the whole thing – Snape's feelings for Lily Evans, his loyalty to my brother, the cursed ring. He could testify. Plus, apparently, he still has Snape's memories in a bottle. If the members of the Wizengamot could see what Potter saw, they might be persuaded to pardon Snape, or at least show some leniency."
"Severus will hate that," Morag stated, her thin fingers buried in her copper mane. She was no longer crying.
"Aye, he will. But surely that's better than a life sentence in Azkaban."
"That it is."
Glossary
aboot – about
aye – yes
cairn – a heap of stones, usually to mark a path or a particular spot
dooty – duty
dram – a glass of whisky
hen – dear/love/honey
hoose – house
ken – know
mah – my
maself – myself
nae – no, not
och – oh
oor – our
tae – to
weel – well
whit – what
ye/yer/yers – you/your/yours
yon – that … over there