Chapter 5

"All friends have secrets. We're like three-dimensional shapes on paper; we all have hidden sides. And there's some secrets we don't even reveal to ourselves." - Nenia Campbell

The infirmary itself was impeccably clean, well-stocked with everything she'd need, and organized to Bex's level of satisfaction. She went around to each row of hospital beds, stocking every bedside with four small basins – one for each element. One basin was filled with purified water from the Erinlẹ River, one with Everlasting Fire, one with stones of various sizes piled on top of dirt, and in the last, she placed a single Phoenix feather. Bex nodded after casting a modified stasis charm over all of the basins, proud of her work. She was certain few, if any, at Hogwarts would be familiar with the methodology she'd learned from Erinlẹ's. Most students returning this year would be used to receiving a fast-acting potion or a quick patchwork spell for their ailments; though she planned to utilize all available healing options for the best possible outcome, potions and quick spellwork weren't her modus operandi for many reasons. It was one of the qualities that secured her the position of Hogwarts' school matron – Dumbledore admired her "whole body" approach to medicine, which shined through her interview with him earlier in the summer.

By the time Bex was done acquainting herself with the Hospital Wing – which included her private office and a potions storeroom that came partially stocked – she was feeling reinvigorated, enthused about having a drink with her favorite great aunt (her only great aunt, really). She glanced out the window at the large antique clock on the looming tower, still visible from the infirmary, and made a noise before scurrying from the Hospital Wing.

The cold afternoon air snapped at Bex's face the moment she stepped foot from the castle. She'd grabbed a thicker set of matching, cream-colored robes with longer sleeves to combat the Scotland chill, but she hadn't expected it to turn out colder than it was this morning. Irritated, she conjured a scarf with her wand, and decided she was finally warm enough.

This was worse than Chicago. Bex dreaded to see how both she and the students would fare this winter. Thoughts of twelve-year-olds coming to her with frostbitten toes and fingers further injured from their attempts to heal it themselves entered Bex's mind, and she shuddered in a way that had nothing to do with the cold.

As she walked the path down to the front gates, Bex could see the small hut belonging to the gamekeeper, Hagrid – and just beyond his hut, the Forbidden Forest. Dumbledore had expressly warned her to steer clear of the wooded area without a guide. There was no need for words of caution; the copy of the Daily Prophet he'd sent weeks ago was warning enough. If she required entry for any reason, the Headmaster stressed bringing Hagrid or the deputy Headmistress as escort.

The chimney of the hut coughed out thick smoke that indicated someone was home and possibly cooking. Bex considered knocking on the door and introducing herself to the half-giant, but hesitated. If he'd been the one to recover Poppy Pomfrey's corpse, he may have reserved feelings about meeting a new matron right now. With that thought in mind, she continued down the grassy knoll towards Hogsmeade. They would meet in due time.

The Three Broomsticks was predictably empty, save for a spattering of patrons who looked up from their drinks when they heard the jingle of the bell above the door. Seeing that she was simply another witch who'd entered the wizarding establishment, they resumed whatever activities they were engaged in a few seconds prior. Amber eyes scanned the cozy tavern until they landed on the tall, dark-skinned woman chatting with who looked to be the barkeep. Bex smiled and, almost as though sensing her niece's joy, Septima turned to face her; she waved a "hello" and Bex tried her best to not trip over her own feet in her haste to reach her aunt. The barkeep grinned knowingly and touched the sleeve of Septima's robe before departing to the bar counter.

"It's so good to see you, love!"

"I'm so sorry I haven't written you at all this year, Auntie!"

There was a small whirlwind of movement as Septima stood to gather her niece into her arms, and the two exchanged greetings. Bex breathed in the comforting scent of her aunt – cocoa butter, mint, and patchouli – the same one she'd known since she was small. As they sat, the barkeep – introduced to Bex as Oswald, or "Ozzy" – returned with two mugs of something steamy and sweet-smelling.

"'is one's on me, ladies," said Ozzy in a thick rural Scot accent. He tipped his pointed woolen hat to first Bex, then Septima, and once again retreated to the bar counter.

"Oh, and don't worry about not writing, love," Septima said, waving Bex's apology away. She wore multiple rings on each finger, and the jewels caught the candlelight, shining brilliantly. Sipping her drink, she continued, "I was admittedly much too occupied myself the end of last term trying to keep the students safe from a madman."

A chill traveled up Bex's spine. "He's still out there, isn't he?" She took a drink, immediately filled with a warmth that began in her tummy, and fanned out to fingers and toes. The beverage was creamy and tasted of rum and pumpkin, with hints of nutmeg. Bex licked the froth from her lips, savoring the treat – it was delicious.

"Unfortunately, yes," replied Septima, taking another sip. She was warming up now, and decided to take off her woolen cap, releasing frizzy curls that were tucked into a neat bun at the base of her neck. "Which – any sane person would therefore consider extraordinarily unwise to host a tournament that pits children against each other to the death."

Frowning, Bex nodded in agreement. "I was thinking the same."

Septima sat her mug heavily on the sturdy wood table between them. "I've heard rumors of dragons – dragons!" She pitched her voice ever lower, and Bex had to lean forward in order to hear her next words. "If Sirius Black still wants Harry Potter dead – and I've no doubt he does – it would be as simple as unlocking a few cages as soon as those beasts are moved near school grounds."

Bex felt a bit queasy, but kept her composure. "Potter is nowhere near seventeen – that should keep him well away from dragons, at least, and whatever else they're cooking up for the champions."

The face she made at the word "champions" left her aunt in a fit of chuckles.

"I'm happy we see eye-to-eye on this shite."

"It's complete shite!" exclaimed Bex, the slang feeling foreign and clunky on her tongue, adding to the hilarity of the moment.

"Also, don't be surprised if Potter doesn't come out of this year unscathed in some way. Like I've said, trouble has a way of finding that boy wherever he goes."

Nodding, Bex took in the advice, making a note to check in with Potter after she'd read through his file. The warmth of her drink had every inch of her being nice and toasty, so Bex decided to shrug out of her long-sleeved top robes to reveal smooth, toffee-colored arms that glimmered slightly in the afternoon light filtering gently through dusty windows. Both she and Septima sat in companionable silence for a few minutes before Ozzy returned yet again, two bowls of piping hot stew floating at his side.

"Thank you!" said Bex graciously. "This looks and smells lovely."

"Mum's recipe," replied the barkeep, chest puffed with pride.

When they were alone once more and digging into their late lunch, Septima inquired about her niece's standing in the residency program at Erinlẹ's – which Bex was more than delighted to share, considering she was now a little over a year and a half away from completion. She nervously mentioned how bringing elemental healing to Hogwarts would present a challenge in some ways for many students, and Septima couldn't agree more.

"This lot is certainly set in their ways," said the Arithmancy professor, spearing a potato. "But if there's anyone who can open their eyes to exploring new thoughts, ideas, and people, well… that's you, Rebecca."

The sincerity of her statement was punctuated by the usage of her niece's name – something she rarely employed. Bex smiled softly, and after a whispered, "I hope," redirected the conversation to the ins and outs and living at Hogwarts. They'd both finished their lunch by the time they inevitably ran out of things to talk about before Septima finally raised The Question.

"How are the nightmares?"

Groaning inwardly, Bex cast a muffling charm around their small table. While there had barely been a handful of people scattered about when she'd first arrived, the Three Broomsticks was now alive and bustling. A group of middle-aged wizards sat nearby, taking shots of Firewhisky, and Bex didn't want her condition to be overheard.

"The same as always," she deadpanned.

Septima studied her closely, and Bex found herself fidgeting under the steady gaze of her aunt.

"You've begun using more complex forms of Occlumency to control them, then?"

"To some degree. It's… hard to describe, Auntie. You know I'll never have full control."

"You could."

"I won't." Bex's tone spoke of finality, and she worked to take some of the harshness out of her voice. Auntie cares. This is what it's like to have someone around who cares.

Silently conceding (for now – Bex knew they would be revisiting this topic again and again over the school year), Septima continued talking without missing a beat.

"How much of your ability do you use in your practice?"

There was no hesitation. No need to cloak this answer in mystery and lies, because this was something Bex could be proud of. Consequences be damned.

"Whenever I can – whenever it's needed"

Septima's brows raised minutely – something Bex would've missed had she not been looking for it.

"What?" the Healer said defensively. "I understand if you think I'm incapable –"

"Not incapable," Septima interjected sternly.

"– but I'm alright. Honestly. I promised you I wouldn't overextend myself, and I haven't."

"Well… good. I've already lost one niece. I cannot lose you as well, love."

At the sudden mention of her mother, Bex shifted uncomfortably. She tried to speak but faltered, unused to this level of sentimentality from her aunt and definitely still unused to anyone alluding to her late mom. Nearly an entire decade later, and there was still a grab bag of conflicting emotions that surrounded the period of her life when Aurelia Kakudō had finally succumbed to the disease she'd been battling all her life. That Bex had sought to revive her mother immediately following her death was a detail she would carry with her to her own grave – she'd toed the line of necromancy, almost unknowingly, before snapping out of it and ceasing all revival efforts. Septima had arrived on the scene only moments after and could only gauge the situation for what it was. She'd guessed, but never, not once, voiced those suspicions aloud. The lack of judgment and inherent understanding was always what endeared Bex to her great aunt.

"You won't lose me," Bex urged, grasping one of the older witch's hands. "At least, not due to… what I am. In an accident involving a duel between Snape and McGonagall – now that seems more likely."

She couldn't help but smile at her own little joke, but it was one her aunt did not return.

Septima squeezed Bex's hand lovingly, frown remaining firmly in place. "This is no laughing matter. I know you don't want me to worry, but I'm going to… although, I will a lot less now that we're on the same continent."

"Ah, so this was all just a clever ploy to get me to move closer then?"

"Exactly," Septima winked.

Their shared laughter was still muffled by the silencing charm, so to anyone watching, they actually appeared quite comical.

"All joking aside," said the professor, "that was part of the reason, yes. I'd like to keep the little family I have left close to me… especially seeing as she's Vītālinare."

That last part was said in a hushed tone, despite the Muffliato spell and in contrast with their raucous laughter only moments before. The worry in her voice was evident, and Bex bit the inside of her cheek before speaking.

"You must be alluding to those 'dark forces' again."

Septima harrumphed and sat back in her seat, arms folded.

"It's not much more than a feeling right now, but I can tell something is going on around here that has little to do with the Triwizard Tournament; the Headmaster isn't giving the staff any answers at all – rather odd, even for him, if you ask me – and the Ministry has been more hush-hush than normal about Madam Pomfrey's death."

"Murder," Bex corrected delicately.

Septima nodded. "Murder. Still not convinced that bastard Fenrir Greyback wasn't somehow behind the attack – he's been evading capture since the fall of You-Know-Who."

"But, Auntie, why would Greyback even be near Hogwarts at all?"

"Therein lies the question of the hour, love. Why would Sirius Black want to kill a thirteen-yea-old child? Why are there people who still support You-Know-Who, though he's supposedly gone for good?" The older woman knocked back the rest of her drink in one swallow, earrings dangling and tinging together like wind chimes, before sending two shiny Galleons to the bar counter to settle the tab. She then turned to her niece, a fierce protectiveness flashing in her eyes. "Promise me you'll keep your ability quiet here, for the time being?"

Bex nodded soberly.

"I promise."

RK + SS

Minerva had been right – the castle truly was a different beast at nighttime. Had it not been for the Dreamless Sleep that Bex consumed nearly every night, she was certain she'd have tossed and turned in her hallowed bedchambers through the evening, into the early dawn. As it was, she still woke with dark circles and swollen eyelids that she concealed – along with the runes that decorated her body – using an altered glamour charm. The mirror of her vanity called out to her as she turned away, alerting her to the runes along the back of her neck which she'd failed to cover.

The quiet in the Hospital Wing was particularly voluminous with no occupants but herself. So much so, Bex transfigured a potted plant into a record player to tune out the unending noise of her own thoughts. With the soft and grungy sounds of Deftones filling the air, she could finally sit at her desk and begin looking through the decades' worth of files, scrolls, and notes left on the students by Madam Pomfrey. The former matron's handwriting was neat, swoopy, and (most importantly) legible.

Surprisingly, Harry Potter's file wasn't the thickest – although his was a close runner-up. The honor of Frequent Flyer in graduating year 1997 would probably to go to Neville Longbottom, another Gryffindor boy. Bex rolled her eyes.

Great. So Gryffindor is the "rowdy" house. Noted.

Upon further inspection, it seemed as though Longbottom was simply a little more accident-prone than intentionally delinquent. Potions accidents, flying accidents, accidents in Charms class, an incident with a Dementor…

"Sweet Circe," Bex whispered, as she flipped through everything.

Madam Pomfrey made sure to include astonishingly detailed notes on all the students who had ever passed through the Hospital Wing, and that included Longbottom. Family histories, health assessments – it was all there. It seemed he was a mostly shy, clumsy little introvert whose family had worried immensely he would be a squib before his magic came in. He was currently being raised by his grandmother, Augusta Longbottom, because his parents were… they were currently being hospitalized for –

Oh.

A shuddered sigh escaped Bex's lips. Oh, poor, sweet thing.

The files Madam Pomfrey left in her wake revealed achingly similar traumas for many students across all houses, all years. Bex was indeed no stranger to the wounds that the war had inflicted upon the youngest and most marginalized of the wizarding community – and, so it seemed, neither were the children of Hogwarts. There were numerous students without one or both parents; whom were being raised by other members of their family. No students were wards of the state, but, based on Madam Pomfrey's notes, those most affected suffered the same post-conflict repudiation as the orphans Bex had worked with in her year post-graduate. Her heart went out to these ones, tearing a bit at the edges. Most appeared to be Slytherin.

She sat, pouring over scroll after scroll, committing every possible detail she could to memory. She'd long forgotten – or, perhaps, it simply moved to the back of her mind – that she was technically supposed to be waiting for someone. Sipping the coffee brought to her by a house elf named Dibly earlier that morning, Bex read and highlighted and notated, and it was in this state of determined concentration that Snape found her.

Moments passed before she realized she was being watched – studied. Bex looked up, a stray curl bobbing with her head. Professor Snape was mere meters from her desk, staring at her and holding a box of what she assumed to be potions. His face was expressionless – a standard for him, it seemed – and she was caught so off guard, her mouth formed a small "oh" as her quill dropped from her hand. His sudden presence was especially jarring, as he'd been absent at dinner the night previous, to her disappointment.

"I do have other, more pressing, matters to attend to today, if you don't mind, Healer Kakudō."

For the second time in only twenty-four hours, bottomless black eyes locked with warm amber. Bex took the box of potions with gentle hands, quickly surveying the contents and making a noise of approval.

"I'm sorry about that," she said, gesturing with her chin to the mountains of parchment scattered about her desk. "It'll help me treat them, having as thorough background as I can."

"It seems that would be standard practice for any stand-in matron," Snape drawled, a sneer beginning to form.

She would've been taken aback by his rude callousness had she not been half-expecting it. Instead of playing his game by his rules, she simply raised a brow and charmed the box to follow her as she stored each potion away in its respective place. Some would be stocked at each bedside for accessibility; others were destined for the potions storeroom beyond the locked door to the right of her desk. While she worked, his eyes moved with her, scowling at the new changes in the infirmary – the elemental healing stations and even the record player that continued playing Deftones. Still, Bex ignored him. Without so much as a word to him, she immersed herself in the task of taking inventory of every potion, draught, and serum in the Hospital Wing. A clipboard and quill floated along behind her, scribbling her murmured dictations with an ease that showed she'd done this before – many times.

Ignoring Snape completely seemed to do the trick, if his reddened cheeks were anything to go by. Bex didn't even notice he'd worked himself into such a state until she exited the storeroom and was immediately greeted with his harsh scowl, hands clenched into fists at his sides.

She decided to relent. "Oh! You're still here?"

"What the hell are you playing at?" he snapped.

"Excuse me?"

"You know damn well I was still here."

Bex blinked innocently, and then again before she said, "Well?"

The professor looked as though he wanted to murder something, and Bex had to stifle her smile (though it didn't go unnoticed, and added to his indignation).

"The Headmaster wanted me to give you this," he said through gritted teeth, and thrust a slip of parchment into her hands. Bex briefly scanned the paper – a list of names?

"A group of seventh years," he continued in that same disinterested voice he used yesterday. His frustration vanished in the blink of an eye, to be replaced by carefully composed boredom. "Madam Pomfrey frequently enlisted the assistance of the highest-skilled upperclassmen who appear to be on a mediwizardry track in their studies. You'll have dozens of potential volunteers for the apprenticeships this year, I'm sure, but these are… the least inept."

Bex frowned now. Merlin, what's his issue?

"Thanks." Her tone was now dismissive, no longer teasing as it had been a few moments ago. "Is there anything else… Professor?"

It almost looked like he was searching for something else to say. He crossed his arms, black robes skirting the cold stone. His eyes narrowed as he thought about how he would answer her – whether or not he would address the shift in her attitude.

"I usually return with a resupply a fortnight into the new term," he said, voice rich and deep like molasses. "You will use Tilli to send me depleted stock lists, and I'll see to it that the potions are replenished."

"Tilli is…?"

He sighed impatiently. "A Hogwarts elf. I imagine you'll meet her soon. Now, if you don't mind…"

With a flourish of his robes, he departed, leaving Bex standing in the middle of the Hospital Wing, the folded parchment crinkling between her fingers as a look of confusion stole across her face. Instead of calling goodbye to his retreating backside, or even teasing or taunting him as she had yesterday, Bex watched him go – for one usually so fluid, his movements were again jerky as he opened the large doors and slipped through them. The only sound between the two was the infirmary door shutting with a loud THUD.

What an infuriating man…

RK + SS

Brewing typically had the benefit of taking Severus' mind off of things – he could zone out almost entirely while counting clockwise stirs or crushing beetles under his knife. Today, it just wasn't happening, and he swore viciously as he ruined yet another serum he'd been working on. This was the second time he had to vanish the mess he'd made from the pewter cauldron in front of him, and he sighed despondently as he decided to call it quits for the evening; ingredients were scarce enough as is, he'd be a fool to continue wasting them like this.

It was a week into the new term, and Dumbledore's announcement for the Triwizarding Tournament had the anticipated affect of three-quarters of the school sinking into a rabid frenzy. Private discussions regarding the Yule Ball and other such prattle leaked into every class (including Potions, much to Severus' dismay). Getting the useless twits to actually concentrate on something other than jewelry and hair and dress robes was stressful in and of itself; added to that was the looming fear that one day soon, the Dark Mark would again wriggle painfully against his flesh.

When would it come?

When would he wake up and once more be a servant to the darkness? Would the Dark Lord call to him when he was in the middle of teaching? Eating breakfast in the Great Hall? Taking a shit?

Severus cleared his workspace and, with it, his mind. There was no sense in going over the what-ifs; if he gave into that compulsion, he'd drive himself mad before the four champions – he sneered in disgust at the implication that Potter was his champion – lined up for the First Task. A look at the clock on the wall told him it was nearing midnight. Staff patrols lasted another half hour before the post-midnight round, and though he wasn't on duty until the night after next, Severus decided to trade-in the cold dampness of his private potions lab for the moonlit corridors of the school above the dungeons. Catching students out of bed past lights out always did wonders to lift his mood.

The halls were only slightly warmer than the dungeons, and Severus made a mental note to nonchalantly check fingers tomorrow during lessons. Frostbite was always a bitch to deal with in these pre-winter months, before the imbeciles remembered to carry a pair of dragonhide gloves with them between their classes. Silent as a sleeping boa, he glided over the cool stone, passing the Hospital Tower and refusing to spare it a glance. He failed in his endeavor to keep his eyes forward, and sneered in her… its direction.

Their new matron was an arrogant little chit who deserved not another thought, and (despite her impressive taste in music), Severus was pleased that they wouldn't be spending too much time together this year. Merlin willing. As it was, he hadn't seen much of her since before the start of term – here and there during meals perhaps, but that was it. And he much preferred it this way. He could not stand seeing that… child stand where Poppy had stood, moving about the Hospital Wing and changing things around as though she somehow belonged there. What gave her the right –?

Severus shook his head, to clear his mind of such thoughts. Bitter as he was about Poppy's death, it wasn't Kakudō's fault that circumstance had brought her here. And at the very least, she wasn't entirely incapable; as in, she wouldn't accidentally poison a student or vanish all the bones in their arm. She was methodical in her approach and he begrudgingly admitted to himself that he respected this simple characteristic about her. When the matron had initially arrived at Hogwarts, in those flouncy white summer robes like she was meeting a suitor for a picnic on the beach or something, he'd pegged her as a boorish wannabe – irregardless of her alleged credentials. Now, after a week of eleven-year-olds flying in and out of the infirmary for one reason or another, be it homesickness-induced nausea or a bloody nose from some schoolyard squabble, Severus had to consciously acknowledge Kakudō knew what she was doing. Elemental woo aside. She'd even tended to one of his own little snakes – willingly, readily, and showing neither an ounce of prejudice nor a shadow of contempt for them.

And so, maybe perhaps she had good reason to be arrogant. In spite of the fact that she was clearly hiding something, based on the glamours that enveloped her skin and the clear-as-day dark circles under her eyes.

Severus stalked through the fourth floor of the castle, letting swatches of moonlight from large-pane windows guide him on his wandering journey. He wanted to know her secret – surely it couldn't be so damning, could it? Perhaps she had an ugly scar or embarrassing acne. But then, why would the glamours reach and expand outward from her neck and decolletage to the very tips of her fingers?

Portraits snored as Severus walked silently by them, intent on taking the shortcut to Gryffindor Tower that hid behind a tapestry of a centaur posing proudly, bow in hand. Thus far, he'd not caught any students out of bed, but he knew the higher he climbed, the higher the chance of catching one of McGonagall's little cubs outside the boundaries of their dormitory. He tried quieting his thoughts of Healer Kakudō, recalling that he wasn't supposed to hold her in any sort of esteem, and that she herself cared for him none too little. She could keep her secrets – as long as the quality of her work did not suffer, she could stay shrouded in mystery. It wasn't as if Severus didn't have enough secrets of his own to burden his every waking moment – classified morsels of information that Alastor fucking Moody couldn't wait to get his claws on.

Gritting his teeth, Severus pushed on and soon found himself on the seventh floor, where a wicked grin suddenly split across his face.

"Shh! What was that?"

"Nothing, you're just paranoid!"

Transmuting his grin into something straight out of a horror film, Severus had no choice but to follow the snickering half-whispers round the corner on a group of a three unsuspecting second-years.

RK + SS

Severus' stomach begged for actual nourishment, but he just couldn't eat (and he'd certainly tried). His belly felt hollow, and he knew the All-Nutrition potion he'd begun consuming every other day would only do so much to satiate his needs.

As of the other night, more potions ingredients were missing from his storerooms, and as much as he wanted to blame Potter, Severus knew the idiot boy couldn't make it past the wards he'd put in place following the Granger Cat Incident of '92. At least, not without assistance; and if Granger was as intelligent as Minerva boasted, she'd stay out of whatever convoluted schemes that idiot had planned this school year.

He narrowed his eyes from his desk, looking out at the few N.E.W.T.-level Potions students he had this year. A single Gryffindor, Michael Crandon, a handful of Ravenclaw and Slytherin students, and twins who both happened to be in Hufflepuff. An uninteresting bunch – surely none of them would even think…? No, it couldn't be a student, not even a seventh-year; it had to be a grown witch or wizard who'd made it into the storeroom – his wardedstoreroom near his private office. Whomever the cretin was, they had significantly dwindled Severus' own personal supply of lacewing flies, and he was livid for it.

So consumed was he in the theft of his precious ingredients that the professor didn't notice Crandon adding his Flobberworm mucus about five minutes too soon. By the time Severus saw the antidote turn a foul shade of gray and bubble to the rim of the cauldron, it was too late; as a result, he decided to let experience be the imbecile's teacher.

"Crandon!" Severus snapped, swooping in for rescue, just as the seventh-year boy looked up at the mess he'd made. His hand was too close and he was unfortunately burned quite horribly by the grayish-brown sludge. The ruined potion was vanished hastily, but not before the corrosive substance ate through the bottom of the copper cauldron and dripped to the dungeon floor with a hiss.

"My hand!" the boy screamed, holding it up.

Shit. "It's not as bad as it could have been, you foolish boy." He grasped the child gently by the wrist, murmuring a few healing spells under his breath to stop the traveling burn.

"Am I going to lose it?" asked Crandon, looking quite green in the face. "Am I going to lose my hand?"

Severus rolled his eyes. "If you were in possession of even the smallest amount of assiduity, you would not even be in this position. Look at your hand, boy – does it appear to be falling off?"

Crandon shook his head minutely as the other students snickered and whispered. Glancing, Severus saw that the rest of the class was now nearly bottling their own brews. He felt confident in leaving them to escort the lone Gryffindor to the Hospital Wing. For good measure, he threatened them all with three months' detention should anything go awry in his absence. That should hold them accountable to each other.

"You are dismissed at the lunch hour. Come along, Mr. Crandon." The professor jerked the paling child by the sleeve, thanking the deities for the short walk from the Potions lab to the Hospital Wing. His student tripped and stumbled, but Severus was unrelenting in his pace. Crandon's hand was oozing yellowish-green pus from the burns and torn skin. If anymore time was wasted, the fool may actually lose a finger. Possibly two.

Damn anti-Apparition wards.

At last, they reached the infirmary. Severus opened the doors with a flick of his wand, causing them to ricochet off of the stone walls with a BOOM. It startled… no one. He looked from bed to bed, and saw that the Hospital Wing was devoid of any life whatsoever. Before he could stifle it – lock it away wherever the hell if came from – a surge of worry for Kakudō shocked him cold. Surely –?

Of course, he was a fool himself for worrying. She came blasting out of the storeroom closet, concern and indignation mingling on her face.

"Professor –!"

"There isn't any time!" he hissed, directing Crandon to lay down on the nearest cot. Kakudō was at his side in an instant, waving her wand over the boy's right hand and arm, all the way up to the shoulder, and even checking the right side of his ribs. He continued, "He seems to have dropped his Flobberworm mucus too soon in a bid to… finish early. Third degree burns and it's already become necrotic."

She spared him only a single glance, her focus entirely on her new patient, who was blushing wildly from embarrassment.

"What's your name, hon?" she asked the idiot in soothing voice. In one fluid motion, she'd sheathed her wand, and began to loosen the buttons on the sleeve of his school robes by hand.

"Um – Crandon. Michael Crandon."

Kakudō nodded, full lips curved into a small smile. "Ah, yes! You have a little brother in Hufflepuff, right?"

Some of the fear clouding Crandon's eyes seemed to dissipate at the mention of his younger sibling.

"Yeah," he replied shakily. His gaze never left his dying hand. "His name's Lionel."

"That's right! Poor thing came in here with the tummy rumbles just last week. He's a second-year, if I recall… I think I'm getting rather good at this." She winked at the boy, and to Severus' utter disgust, Crandon smiled weakly in return.

"Okay, Michael, it looks like Professor Snape was able to stop your wrist from undergoing necrosis past the wrist, so we'll just treat this lower region of your forearm. Then we'll give you some pain relieving potion and monitor you until suppertime. All sound good?"

"I won't lose my hand?"

"You won't lose your hand."
Severus couldn't help but hover by the bunched privacy curtain, even as the lunch bell rang. His eyes watched closely as Kakudō dipped her hand into a basin of… mud? She then murmured something to the boy, and as soon as he nodded his assent, she was spreading the mud all over his hand, up his forearm, rubbing it gently into his wounds. She hummed while she worked, and Severus felt the raw power radiating from her. Whispers slipped between hums and the mud glowed faintly. Crandon had finally stopped perspiring, a relieved smile sliding into place as his eyes closed. This was clearly no ordinary healing work – certainly none that Severus had ever seen in his time of study. He made a mental note to brush up on the more obscure forms of elemental magics.

"We'll wait for the healing mud to harden and break away," she spoke softly, using her wand to tidy up the area and refresh the basin. "Twenty minutes tops. And then we'll move onto the next and final step of the procedure. Sound alright, Michael?"

Crandon nodded once. He cracked one eye open. "You know… you're as nice as everyone says you are. You're quite pretty, too. I can see why Lionel likes you."

This time, Severus scoffed audibly, letting his repulsion be known. Kakudō shot him a glare (quite comical, if you asked him), but quickly redirected her attention back to the boy. She smiled kindly down at him in an indulgent sort of way that, for some odd reason, turned Severus' stomach.

"Thank you, Michael," said the Healer, and she sounded sincere. "I appreciate the compliment. I'm going to go speak with Professor Snape and make a few notes on your chart. I'll be just a moment."

Then she was marching towards him, and Severus nearly stumbled uncharacteristically as he took a step back from her sudden advance. She drew the privacy curtain behind her and cast a very subtle silencing charm so that Crandon couldn't eavesdrop.

"Professor?" she inquired, crossing her arms rather annoyingly. "Was there more about the incident you'd like to report?" The unspoken question was there: What the hell are you still doing here?

Opening his mouth to retort, Severus found there was nothing he could say. Why in Merlin's name was he still standing around in the infirmary? It was now well into the lunch hour, and his Advanced Potions class was long dismissed. His dunderheaded student was obviously in capable hands, so why wasn't he down in his private office, enjoying the measly hour and a half he had to himself for lesson planning?

"Not at all. But why wouldn't you just use a salve on the boy? Or a normal healing spell without all the pomp?" Of course, the first thing he chose to do when he finally found his voice was to blurt something stupid. He immediately wanted to hit himself.

Her eyes – those bronze eyes that appeared almost golden in the sunlight streaking through the windows – narrowed suspiciously. "I like to work with the elements where I can, whenever I can; I suppose you can call it my specialty. You don't have to worry though – your potions will still be put to good use so that your time brewing them wasn't wasted."

Severus mirrored her stance, crossing his arms only a bit more dramatically than she. "I will be the judge of whether or not my time is wasted, Healer Kakudō. As it were, I was simply curious as to your methods."

Some of the suspicion left her face, and she pushed an exasperated breath through her nostrils.

"You wouldn't be the first. Nor, I suspect, the last. Flitwick sure can talk your ear off if you let him."

Almost. She almost had him. Severus would have chuckled at her little jab had he not been waiting to catch his composure the moment it began slipping. Instead of huffing a laugh, he rolled his eyes, and diverted the conversation.

"Allow me to speak to Crandon a moment," he said nonchalantly. "In addition to assigning the nitwit two weeks' detention for rushing and nearly killing his peers, I'll also need from him two feet on the dormant necrotic properties of Flobberworm mucus."

While he spoke, Kakudō nodded along like she was listening, but Severus could sense the immense dislike and disapproval oozing from her pores. He practically wrote the book on patronizing practices, so when she conjured her clipboard to begin making notes on what he assumed to be Crandon's chart (all while he was still speaking to her), Severus nearly snarled.

She stopped her brisk note-taking to look him in the eye. Behind amber, flashed steely resolve. Something Madam Pomfrey would have no doubt loved to witness from her successor.

"My apologies, Professor Snape. You'll have to find Michael once he's discharged."

His eyes flashed back at her arrogance. "Excuse me?"

"You're excused," she said dismissively, clearly not taking the hint to stand down.

"Listen here –"

"No," she snapped, vanishing her clipboard once again so she could place both hands on her hips. Her eyes were now like fire. "You listen, Professor Severus Snape – I will not allow you to belittle, mock, or in any other way harass any of my patients, especially in my presence. Once he steps foot out of this Hospital Wing, he's all yours. Until then, back. Off."

So shook was he at the full usage of his name, dancing so eloquently off her tongue, that Severus tried to stutter out a reply, failed, and settled at last on a glare. As if his inability to speak was somehow her fault.

He felt rooted under her gaze. She studied him carefully, like he was some kind of exotic animal that she was trying to understand the habits of. That damnable glamour shimmering around her eyes stretched and curved down the sides of her face, her neck, and disappeared down her robes, traveling her decolletage. He swallowed, feeling exposed, even though she was the one with the secret most visible.

"When was the last time you ate? Or slept?"

Those simple queries into his health – from someone who barely knew him and therefore shouldn't give a damn – struck a chord within him. Sharper than it would have, had she not just finished telling him off. He almost would have preferred she insulted him – called him an arse or something of that nature. And so, as he often did when any confusing emotions arose inside of him, Severus lashed out.

"You needn't worry yourself with my sleeping and eating habits, Healer Kakudō," he seethed nastily. "Perhaps what you should be more concerned with is the fact that your glamours aren't as… inconspicuous as you believe them to be."

That got her. But he didn't even get the chance to revel in this small victory. As the color drained from her face, Severus could see the disconnect that occurred behind her irises, and wondered, for the first time, if she was perhaps an Occlumens like himself. Gone was the extra sparkle that gave the amber orbs their ethereal glow, and he found that… he didn't like it.

At all.

"I appreciate the observation, Professor Snape. It is duly noted. I admit glamour work never was my strong suit."

He wanted to take the words back.

"If you don't mind, I need to return to Mr. Crandon."

There was only a small handful of times in which he'd ever regretted the poisonous words he slung at others as a defense mechanism.

"Please feel free to stop by at any point if you run out of All-Nutrition in your stores."

This was definitely one of those times.

She turned her back to him, opening the curtain with a serene smile for the boy, and effectively dismissing the Potions professor. Severus slithered out of the Hospital Wing, feeling angry and confused, and trying – fighting – to keep his head from being pulled down by the weight of his deficiencies.