Hogsmeade's healer
A young woman was walking briskly down Hogsmeade's main street, a wicker backet at her arm. Her long emerald cloak was gathered at the waist by a leather belt. She had plated her hair, but several copper strands danced wildly, untamed.
She stopped by Rhonda's Remedies and pushed the door open. A rusty bell rang feebly as she stepped inside a small, wood-paneled shop. Shelves and alcoves of various sizes were covered with vials, bottles, earthen pots and tin boxes. Behind the counter, a wooden cabinet with multiple small drawers ran along the whole length of the back wall. A whole assortment of dried plants hung from the rafters.
"Morag! I have nae seen ye in weeks. Have ye been away on the moors?"
A stout woman with ruddy cheeks, smiling eyes and a messy grey bun stepped from behind the counter and embraced her visitor warmly.
"Guid morning to ye, Rhonda. I got back aboot two weeks ago. Heard there was a proper fight at the school and I thought mebbe they could use an extra healer tae help Poppy."
"Aye, ye heard right. But no one told me aboot ye being up there, though?"
"I never made it tae the castle. I came across someone who was severely wounded. I bin tending tae his injuries the whole time."
"Och, have ye noo? Who is it? Is he all right?"
"Ye ken I heed ma patients' privacy, Rhonda."
"But his family will be looking for him, thinking the worst! Ye cannae just – "
"Somehou I dinnae think anyone will claim him", Morag cut in.
The other woman eyed her suspiciously.
"Ye have nae been healing a Death Eater, have ye? Asclepius' oath or not, that lot dinnae deserve – "
"It's nae for us tae decide who gets tae live or die." There was a sharp edge to her voice and Rhonda knew not press the matter.
"So whit's been happening up there then?" Morag enquired. "I didnae see any of them scunners in masks on me way here, and things look a whole lot calmer."
The shopkeeper filled Morag in on the battle of Hogwarts. "Noo that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named is gaun, an' with Minerva in charge of the school, I reckon we can aw get back to oor lives. It's been a rough year for everyone."
"Hopefully", the young healer sighed. "Anyway, I brought ye the usual brews an' dried herbs. I will get ye more once I get a chance fer another collecting trip, but I thought ye'd need stocking up on the essentials."
The shopkeeper lifted the lid and gave a satisfied click of the tongue. She lifted out the contents: several boxes, carefully labeled with the name of the remedies and which ailments they could cure.
She handed Morag a handful of coins and the healer left with a friendly wave. Rhonda watched her walk away, thoughtful, as Morag headed for the busy morning market.
The healer had appeared one day in the village some ten years earlier, selling remedies that she made herself. No one knew exactly where she had come from and she never said much about her past, except that her mother had been a healer too, in a different shire. Although her golden brown skin suggested mixed heritage, her shock of red curls and her speech definitely identified her as a Highlander. At first, the inhabitants of Hogsmeade thought little of her: a slip of a girl, barely eighteen, with unkempt clothes and often barefoot. She had not been educated at Hogwarts – none of the teachers knew anything about her, and if she possessed a wand, no one had ever seen her use it. Yet within a few years, she had built herself a solid reputation not only as a herbologist, but as a healer too, thanks to her unique ability to soothe patients with her gentle touch. She had the respect both of Rhonda, the village apothecary, and Poppy, the school matron. They recognized skills in both potion-making and healing that were rarely seen in a witch so young. Indeed, Rhonda had come to rely on Morag's remedies quite a lot to stock up her shop.
Rhonda, like all the other villagers, often wondered what the healer's story was, but no amount of kindness and coaxing could entice Morag to confide in her. She seemed quite content to sell her potions and care for patients. Several times a year, she traveled to wilder parts of the Highlands to gather the plants and herbs she needed. She would stay away a couple of weeks at most, then return to Hogsmeade.
About an hour later, Morag's wicker basket was filled up with some fresh bread, beetroots, carrots and broad beans. She headed back to the Shrieking Shack, glancing back every now and then. Satisfied that she had not been followed or spied on, she pushed the battered wooden door and walked in. Severus lay on the sofa, his dark hair plastered to his sallow face. Morag lay the basket on the table and walked to him.
"Hou are ye feelin' noo?"
"Better." His face seemed to belie this statement.
She pulled back the covers slightly and unwrapped the heavy bandage on his neck. An ugly wound showed as she removed the last layer of cloth, two great gashes across his throat that were covered with a thick dark red scab.
"It's healing nicely", she noted. "Ye'll bide weel. Ye'll always have a scar, but ye are free of both the venom and the infection noo." She grabbed an earthen bowl filled with a greenish ointment and rubbed it on the wound very carefully, before wrapping it in fresh bandages. He grimaced in spite of himself.
As she had done before, the healer placed her hand on his collarbone and started to draw the pain out of him. Severus closed his eyes as the pain gave way to a dull, throbbing ache, which was, at least, bearable.
"The school. The Dark Lord. What happened?" he asked.
"Dinnae fret. The Dark One's bin killed fer guid", Morag reassured him. "It's over."
"The boy? The Potter boy? Was he killed?" the man enquired anxiously.
Her eyes went up to his face. "Strange story, that. I've bin told he was killed by the Dark One, who brought the boy's body tae the school, tae taunt those who had fought him. But then… the boy came back from the dead, an' fought the Dark One, an' destroyed him."
Severus' eyes widened in shock, then he slumped back on the bed and let out a long sigh.
"He lives," he murmured. "Lily, your son lives".
His body gave a great shudder. Morag rolled the end of the pain thread and disposed of it in the fire, then came back to the bed and gently laid her hand on Severus's bare chest, over his heart.
"Ye talked quite a lot in yer sleep. I pieced it aw together when hearing what the Potter boy did. The son of the woman ye loved so much."
"That pain is a lot harder tae heal, A'm afeared," she added. "A'm sorry". At her gentle touch, some of the unrest he felt began to leave him, as if travelling from his skin to hers, and a soft warmth spread over him like a blanket.
A couple of days passed in a quiet routine. Severus was still in acute pain, and he slept a lot: his body seemed incapable of staying awake for more than a few hours at a time. Every morning, Morag inspected his wound and rubbed some salve unto it. Afterwards, she took his pain way. The process still intrigued him greatly.
"I'm not familiar with this kind of magic. How does it work?" he enquired.
"It's difficult an' very hazardous. I call the pain oot and intae me hands, without letting it latch untae me. It's a fine-tuning thing, really, and I really gotta concentrate. If I dropped the pain it would rebound untae us both an' cause us a lot of harm."
"Could you teach me?"
"I doot it. Ma Mam taught me. Frae what she told me, it's a skill practised by witches only, nae wizards."
"I am perfectly capable of learning." He replied, haughtily. "I have excellent healing skills, I'll have you know."
She raised an eyebrow.
"Och, vexed, are we? Nae matter. Me Mam said men cannae withstand pain the way women can. I could try an' teach ye, Mister Excellent Healing Skills, but dinnae blame me if it all goes wrong. Ye have tae git better first, I reckon, anyway."
One morning, she cleaned out her cauldron, warmed some water in it and stirred in some boughs of heather, and brought it over with some towels. "It'll soothe yer aches", she explained, and made to pull back the covers. He blanched and clung to them. "What, pray, do you think you're doing?" he asked in a sharp voice.
"Ye stink," she stated bluntly. "Ye need a wash."
"Absolutely not!" he thundered. "You are not washing me!" Mortified, he could feel his ears grow hot and red.
She stood, her arms crossed, a stern look on her face, but he could see the corner of her mouth twitch in amusement.
"Och, aye? Ye've been oot fer two week, d'ye think I tended tae ye blindfolded? Sorry tae break it to ye, pal, but ye don't have much tae hide frae me anymore."
She paused and repressed a chuckle. "But ye're right, ye can handle things on yer ain frae noo on, so here's a sponge an' a towel. A'll be back in half an hour."
With that, she walked out of the shack, leaving Severus flustered.
Glossary
A'm – I'm
aboot – about
afeared – afraid
ain (on yer ain) – own (on your own)
aither/naither – either/neither
aw – all
aye – yes
cannae/ dinnae/isnae/shouldnae/willnae… – can't/ don't/isn't/shouldn't/won't…
doon – down
doot – doubt
faither – father
frae – from
gaun – gone
guid – good
hou – how
intae – into
ken – know
ma - my
Mam – Mum, Mom
mebbe – maybe
naw – no
nae – not, no
noo – now
Och – Oh
oor – our
oot – out
scunner – a person who disgusts the speaker or who is a nuisance
somehou – somehow
tae – to
weel – well
whit – what
wis – was
ye, yer, yers, yersel' – you, your, yours, youself