Author's note:
One of my readers wondered why Draco was in Hogwarts, since he was a seventh-year. We have to remember that the 1997-1998 schoolyear was seriously disrupted, first because the Ministry was taken over by Death Eaters, who then adjusted the curriculum to suit their agenda; indeed, some students did not attend school that year. Moreover, the battle of Hogwarts happened in early May, meaning students could not complete their year. Younger students were sent away while the older ones stayed to fight. This is canon. In addition, I assume that exams did not take place that year, since they would have happened in June. It would therefore make sense that seventh-year students went back to Hogwarts in 1998-1999 to complete their studies; the harrypotter dot fandom dot com website (invaluable source of canon information) seems to suggest as much.
Coming back to my story, as I mentioned in chapter 10, some students, including Draco, stayed after the battle to help with repairs, and once the 1998-1999 year start, I intend to have most seventh-years retake their year.
Jenny Greenteeth
At the end of June, the remaining Hogwarts students had finally returned to their families, leaving the building experts to carry on with the repairs. It would take years, no doubt, before the castle recovered its magnificence, but at least, come September, classrooms and dorms would be ready for a new academic year. The Headmistress had suggested that all seventh-years came back to complete their education, as the previous year had been seriously disrupted, and formal tests cancelled. Most students were happy about the arrangement, although a few decided they would prepare their NEWTs independently and only come back to the school in June to sit their final exams.
Severus had gone up to the castle a few times, although he and Morag spent most days together, visiting her steading, or expanding each other's knowledge of plants and herbs. She had also started teaching him how to draw pain out the way she did, beginning with minor bruises. The process was a lot harder than he had expected: he could feel the pain ripple on the palm of his hands like a living thing, struggling to get inside his skin, and often found himself covered in sweat from the effort it took. A couple of times, he lost control and the pain shot right through his hand and arm. She was a patient teacher, though, and soon he got the hang of it. In return, he taught Morag the Brackium Emendo spell, and was amazed to see how quickly she mastered it. Behind her unassuming demeanour, he sensed a strong, fierce magic that the young witch channelled with great proficiency. In the evenings, they would sit together and read from books he had brought from his office. The young healer was fascinated by magical theory and keen to broaden her knowledge; she also devoured any novels she could lay her hands on. As she read, a whole range of emotions passed on her face, her lips parting in laughter as she was engrossed in a humorous passage, or her brow creasing in anger or sorrow at some tragedy the heroes faced.
Severus revelled in the simple wonder of intimacy: the warmth of her body against his, the smoothness of her skin, the way her supple limbs would wrap themselves around him. He would trace figures on her skin, sending just enough magic to make the patterns glow softly in the darkness, then run his hands over her back, her waist, her legs, his awe never abating, lingering over every detail of her, the freckles like so many seeds of pleasure sown on her body. Sometimes he would just hold her, curled up against her, breathing in that sweet scent of fern he adored.
One afternoon, after they had come back from home visits, Morag suggested going fishing in the river Orrin. She fetched a wicker basket and wrapped an old woollen cloak in a towel.
"What about a fishing rod and bait?" he enquired.
The young Highlander chuckled. "Have ye never gone guddling, Sassenach?" She teased him.
"I would not know if I had, as I have never heard that term before."
She laughed again. "Och, if ye had ever done it, ye'd ken what it means. Ye'll see – just make sure ye take a change of clothes, as we're likely tae get verrrry wet."
Severus shrugged. He could always dry himself off with a spell, even though the young healer seemed to frown upon any kind of magic that was used, however remotely, for one's self-interest.
A light, yet persistent drizzle of rain had been falling over the past few days, but as they set off, a warm summer sun was tearing open the clouds. Whisps of mist rose from the glens and dissolved slowly, curling around the hills and peak. Among the tall, swaying cocksfoot grasses, pink or white orchids grew, while clumps of white clovers huddled together against the rocks. As they reached the river, Morag pointed to a small, rocky ledge overlooking the water. She led them several yards downstream, then set down her rolled-up towel on a mossy rock.
"Noo we're going tae get wet. And cold," she said. She took off her laced-up leather boots, rolled up her trousers, and Severus did the same. "Ye need tae be as slow and quiet as ye can manage." She waded in the water, as silently as fish herself, and he followed her, as she inched towards the rock in a painstakingly slow manner. Once they reached it, she turned to Severus, put a finger to her lip, then pointed to the pool of water, shadowed by the ledge. Right underneath, a large fish was hiding. Morag slowly leaned against the rock, the ice-cold water soaking through her clothes. Her hand and arm slid under the surface, causing not a ripple, not a stir. Her fingertips found the belly of the fish, and slowly, slowly, she started tickling it. Severus watched, fascinated, as the creature let Morag's hand slide upwards. Gradually, the witch grasped the fish, but still it did not react, as if it had been hypnotized. In one swift movement, she seized it with both hands, fingers clasped in the gills, and heaved her prey out of the water. It was a brown trout, dotted with black, yellow-circled dots, and looked as if it weighed at least 3 pounds.
Severus looked at her, incredulous. "What magic did you use?"
"Nae magic, strictly speaking," She laughed, placing the fish in her basket. "The tickling does something tae the fish, puts it in a sort of trance, an' it lets ye handle it. Ye just have tae be real slow an' silent." She patted herself dry with the towel and wrapped the woollen cloak around herself.
They stepped out of the river and kept walking downstream until they reached another boulder. "Yer turn, Severus," she smiled. "Make me proud."
Severus took off his shoes again and rolled up his trousers, then waded in and approached the boulder cautiously. He could see the dark shape of another trout in the shadows. Just like Morag had done, he leaned on the rock, slowly reached out for the fish, but as soon as his fingers touched the smooth skin, it darted away.
"'t was too fast, too soon," the witch said. "Dinnae fash yersel'. It's a tricky thing tae learn, and it dinnae always work. Sometimes the fish willnae have it. I was lucky just then."
He stepped out, his clothes dripping with water.
"Ye should take them off an' let them dry on a rock. Ye can have my cloak if ye like," the young witch said.
"If I did not know you better, I would think you are attempting to get me undressed, Morag Duncan," Severus whispered hoarsely as he pulled her close; under her cloak, the shirt clung to the swell of her breasts. They slid to the floor, the fishing quite forgotten.
Afterwards, they lay in the sun for a moment, gazing at the every-changing clouds, before setting off again downstream. The river became wider, and long, dark green algae billowed in the water.
"Almost like a woman's hair," Severus remarked.
"Aye," Morag replied. "I kenned a boy once who thought hags hid in the water, who would grab an' eat bairns."
"When was that? When you were a child?"
Culligran, Scottish Highlands, summer 1980.
Here is 8-year-old Morag, walking along a narrow, deep stream. Her shock of fuzzy ginger hair is tied in a high ponytail. She's wearing a faded cotton dress that's become a bit too short, revealing long, tanned, skinny legs, and cuffed leather boots. Her searching eyes scan the water, darting to the darkest, deepest pools. Suddenly, she sits, takes off her boots and tucks her dress in her knickers before wading in the stream.
"Ye shouldnae wade in the water," a small voice says. A dark shape suddenly darts from the pool and swims away as a blond, tousled-haired boy emerges from behind a gorse bush.
"Och, Billy, that wasnae clever. Ye scared mah trout."
"Well, ye should get oot of there all the same", the boy says sullenly. "Jenny Greenteeth will get ye."
"What're ye on aboot? Who's Jenny Greenteeth?"
"Ye dinnae ken nothing if ye dinnae ken who Jenny Greenteeth is. All bairns ken tae stay clear of the river on account of her. She's got slimy green skin an' her hair's riverweed. She'll grab ye with her long claws an' drag ye underwater tae eat ye with her pointy teeth."
"Dinnae tell me ye believe in water witches, Billy Fearghas. Ye're old enough tae have more sense than that."
The boy shrugs. "Mah Mam says there are hags in the river, but I reckon she just wants me tae stay well away frae the water, in case I'd drown."
"Well, I'm nae planning on drowning. I'm planning on catching dinner, so there. Want tae try?"
"All right, then." Soon the boy has his shoes off too and follows her lead, chewing his cheeks nervously as he watches her.
"Is it true yer Mam's a witch?" he finally asks.
"Aye, she is. An' she'll turn ye intae a slug if ye're rude tae me, too," Morag teases him.
"She'll nivir! Naebuddy can turn people intae beasts, anyway!"
"Och, even if she could, she willnae do it, Billy. She isnae hag, mah Mam, ye ken that well enough. Did she nae heal yer Mam when she had a fever?"
"Aye, she did. Mistress Maisie is a guid and kind witch, all right."
"Ye'd better nae say otherwise, anyway, or I'll turn ye intae a slug."
"Och, aye? Ye'll have tae catch me first, Morag."
The children run and splash in the river, scaring away the fish, and the glen echoes with their laughter. After a while, they lie on the bank and let the sun dry them.
"Why's yer skin brown?" Billy asks.
"'coz it's beautiful," she replies defiantly.
"Is it true yer father was frae Africa?"
"Aye. One day we'll cross the seas an' go live with him, an' it'll be always sunny an' ne'er cold, so mah Mam said." The little girl stares ahead dreamily, wet copper locks stuck to her brow and cheeks.
"Can I come with ye when ye go?"
"Why d'ye wanna come with us, Billy Fearghas?" the little girl shrugs and laughs.
The tousled-haired boy bites his lip and says nothing.
"Maybe little Billy was in love with you, then," Severus smiled.
"Aye, mebbe he was," Morag said, a shadow passing on her face. "I'm cold. I think we've enough fish. Let's go home."
That night, Severus woke with a start as Morag cried out in her sleep. "Mam! MAM!" She sat up, shaking, eyes wide.
"Morag, what happened?" he asked, wrapping his arm around her.
"A'm all right. Just a wee nightmare," the young witch replied as she breathed deeply, inhaling, exhaling, her body relaxing slowly.
He held her until sleep took them both.
Glossary
aboot – about
arenae/couldnae/dinnae/isnae/shouldnae/willnae – aren't/couldn't/don't/isn't/shouldn't/won't
aye – yes
Dinnae fash yersel' – don't worry
bairn – child
frae – from
guddling – fishing by hand
hag – witch (evil one)
intae – into
Jenny Greenteeth – in British folklore, a river hag that preys on those who get too close to water
ken – know
mah – my
Mam – Mum, Mom
mebbe – maybe
nae – no, not
naebuddy – nobody
nivir – never
noo – now
Sassenach – an English person
tae – to
wee – little
ye/yer/yers – you/your/yours