Liz hated the waiting.
She'd never dealt very well with waiting for things in the first place — as oblivious as she could be sometimes, she wasn't so un-self-aware to not realise at least part of why that was. When she'd been little, being idle had been a risk. She'd always been expected to be doing something, had a whole long list of chores she had to deal with, if she was found not occupied with something that was always somehow her fault. Even if she'd already done everything she was told to do, which she'd always found frustrating — what, was she supposed to find more stuff to do on her own or something? Most of this had gone on when she'd still been very small — before she did better than Dudley in school and the lock was put on her cupboard — so the threat hadn't been physical punishment...for the most part. But the yelling would still freak her out, and of course dinner might be withheld, and if she was feeling off from not eating enough than she'd have more trouble doing what she was supposed to down the line. So she'd always needed to be doing something, if she finished what she was assigned often going to find Petunia to ask for more to do, because being idle made her an ungrateful burden or whatever, and that was bad.
Honestly, she'd never really given much thought to this before, but she'd realised recently that that discomfort with being idle had never really gone away. Even after her mind magic had kicked in, and she hadn't needed to do chores or anything anymore, she'd still always been doing something. A lot of reading, all kinds of things, mostly nonfiction books for adults — even if it wasn't for a particular purpose, learning was still accomplishing something — and spying on the Dursleys' minds, to make sure they weren't getting any ideas, practising her mind magic on random people, getting a better feel for what she was capable of. The times when she wasn't doing something were pretty minimal. It wasn't like she'd had friends to play with, or even really knew what to do with herself if she wasn't working at something, how to relax.
Even at Hogwarts, once she did have friends, most of the time she spent with them was, well, in the study group, when they were always working on something. Broken up with conversation about whatever, sure, but still. When they were purely meeting up for social reasons, weren't doing anything productive, that could still be confusing and stressful, because Liz hadn't really got people, what to do or say...so it kind of ended up feeling like work, in its own way. Like, trying to figure out how to be a normal person (or at least pretend), how to do friends, she'd still been working at learning something, even in 'off' hours. And getting into quidditch, and duelling, she did enjoy doing those, sure, but it was still arguably work, since she was learning and practising with a specific competitive purpose in mind. Even the fucking dancing lessons she'd had with Sirius were productive, for the Yule Ball and whatever other stupid noble parties she'd be dragged to in future, so that didn't really count as time off either.
Hell, even the stuff she'd done with Hermione didn't count, since the whole point was basically reprogramming her brain to not freak out over stupid nonsense, that'd still been work. It didn't count anymore, sure, but for the first couple months...
She might have been vaguely aware that she was bad at relaxing, but it hadn't quite fully clicked how big of a problem it was until she'd started having baths more regularly. Her general discomfort with her own body had been too overwhelming for her to notice, at first, but as her desensitisation scheme gradually wore down that problem, she came to realise how uncomfortable she was, just...sitting there, not doing anything. She'd normally at least bring a book or something, to keep herself occupied, originally because she didn't want to think too much about the physicality of what she was doing, but eventually just because she quickly grew uncomfortable if she wasn't occupied with something.
Relaxing was hard.
She was getting better at it now, bit by bit, finally. It'd helped when she'd discovered lesbian romance books in one of the owl-order catalogues. She had read plenty of fiction before that, but a lot of time those had still felt like learning something — like, the Ciardha Monroe books had plenty of stuff about cursebreaking and history and other magical cultures and the like, and Säde Karjalainen's went super in-depth in the history and culture and magic of the time, most of the stuff she'd been reading before she could at least find something productive in. Racy romance books? Not so much. Some of them, sure, if they were in a historical setting, and sometimes there would be magical culture stuff she wasn't caught up on yet, but that was only in some of them. And that wasn't really why she read them — she just enjoyed them...in, er, multiple senses of the word.
That was a new development, sure, but what tipped her off was when she finally started managing to properly relax in the bath. It did take effort to set it up, yes, bubbles and fragrances and candles and whatever the fuck — which she'd initially started doing to give herself other things to focus on besides the physicality of what she was doing, but also they were just nice — and she had to sit around and wait for her hair to soak in the potion stuff anyway, so it was arguably still a productive use of time. But she'd gotten to a point that sometimes she, just, didn't bother bringing anything to keep herself occupied anymore. Granted, she'd started doing that when she planned on masturbating anyway, so there was really no point to having a book on hand...unless it was a sexy book, anyway. But she didn't even do that every time, and even when she did it's not like that took the whole bath or anything, and she just...
It was nice. And she'd realised, when it clicked that she'd actually managed to relax for once, how much she was always finding something to do — and, thinking about it, the probable reason why. It didn't feel like that was healthy? Like, she realised she was still fucked up by her shitty excuse for a childhood in any number of ways, but she was getting better — she thought, slowly — and it seemed like having such difficulties, just, slowing down and not doing anything probably wasn't good for her. She was confident enough in that assumption that she felt she should try to do something about it.
Not like she had any idea what, the whole problem was that she was bad at relaxing. The baths were nice, and the silly unproductive romance novels, and, when she'd had Susan over for a few days, she'd made a point of trying to just...hang out. You know, not doing anything useful, just, doing friend stuff. It was easier when it was just one person, especially someone she already knew well and was aware of how much of a mess she was, much less stressful than a whole group. And it was hard not to be comfortable with someone after spending who knew how many hours learning to fight as part of a team, good for building trust, that. She wasn't sure how good of a job she'd done at it, but she was explicitly trying not to think about that — she didn't want to turn trying to relax into a productive thing she could do, because that'd kind of be defeating the point?
Now that she was aware of this problem she had, she was looking forward to spending more time with Katie. Looking back on it, she'd kind of been pushing herself with Daphne, that she'd wanted to get somewhere, to be a normal person who could do this stuff, and...it'd felt like work at times. Working on herself, on not being a huge fucking mess all time time, to be able to do things she wanted, which wasn't really a bad thing, but still. Daphne hadn't been pushing her, she'd been very understanding about it all the time (even if she couldn't stop Liz from picking up her disappointment when she just couldn't do something), but she'd been pushing herself, which in retrospect probably hadn't been very good for her. Or their relationship, she guessed. But, she thought she was getting better about it now, she could actually relax, and was aware of the problem, so she could try not to...well, try so hard. If that made sense. She had a good feeling it would turn out better, this time. Maybe unjustifiably optimistic of her, but she was better now, just in general, so that should make a difference, right?
That she'd also spent so much time learning to fight with Katie didn't hurt either — good for building trust, that.
So, she thought not dealing well with just sitting around in the waiting room was at least partially for that reason. She still wasn't good at relaxing just in general, and a hospital waiting room, while Severus was undergoing a serious emergency medical procedure of some kind, was not her idea of a relaxing environment. There wasn't even anything productive for her to do — obviously there was nothing she could do to help, and she hadn't brought her bloody homework or anything. She'd unthinkingly brought along the novel she'd been in the middle of, but even if she could summon the attention to concentrate on it at the moment it was another of her silly romance novels, so that wouldn't help with the feeling of, just...being fucking useless.
(Severus could be dying back there, right now, and she couldn't do anything.)
(She hated feeling vulnerable.)
But that wasn't the only reason she hated this. She was also just bad at waiting, unconnected from her problems relaxing, especially waiting for something bad.
It reminded her of sitting on the sofa while Vernon lectured at her. There was nothing she could do about it, there was nothing she could do to stop what was going to happen from happening, the specific words Vernon was saying didn't even really matter, there was no point in listening. She couldn't stop it, the dread certainty cold and sharp and heavy on her, crushing her tight enough it was hard to breathe, her skin crawling and the lines on her back burning and her thoughts reduced to thick meaningless fuzz...
She did not like it.
The echoes of that sofa and Vernon were too intense — hearing a hint of the rumbling of his voice on the low conversation meaninglessly burbling in her ears, the lines on her back flaring in anticipation — Liz hadn't been able to sit any longer, the memory too close, the chair feeling too much like that sofa. So she found herself on her feet, aimlessly pacing through the waiting room, tense and jittery. Clumsy enough that she teetered in place multiple times, too much of a mess at the moment to really be comfortable walking in these heels. She gave up when she almost turned an ankle — she plopped down on one of the chairs long enough to pull off her shoes, leaving them with her bag, and continued walking around barefoot.
She wasn't walking to anywhere, or even keeping the same circle around the room, at random, not paying attention to that. She was paying attention to the physical act of what she was doing, the scritching of the carpet against her feet, her dress swaying around her, the shifting of her potioned-smooth hair, the feel of the tug of muscles and the turning of joints. Which was uncomfortable — she was better about her body than she used to be, but she was still unreasonably neurotic about it, didn't like being aware of it — but focussing on physical stuff made the memory of Vernon's voice and that sofa feel further away, the throbbing of her scars and the itching of her pants around her ankles dying down.
It was uncomfortable for other reasons too, of course — there were other people in the room. In their group, people here for Severus, some of them were familiar to her, and some not, people he must know from somewhere. Since she was moving around, she kept attracting their attention, their eyes on her skin and their thoughts crawling over her. Or, maybe they'd be paying attention to her even if she weren't on her feet. People were worried about her, sympathetic.
It wasn't really a secret that they were close, Liz and Severus. Most of them only knew the public story, which went that she'd spent all of the summer after both first and second year at his house, and obviously there was the trusteeship and everything, and... Well, she'd kind of publicly said that he was the only adult who'd ever really given a damn, both at the Wizengamot meeting about her trusteeship and in that first interview with Rita, so, everybody knew about that. And it was obvious she wasn't handling this very well.
She didn't know what would happen to her if he died.
Being made to wait for news was fucking torture.
(She didn't know if she could do this.)
But she wasn't really close to anyone here, even if they knew Severus well, so they didn't know what to do about her not doing well. Some felt that they should do something, their eyes lingering on her, concern and guilt and something, clinging to her hot and prickly and sticky, making her skin crawl and her stomach churn. Awful, she unthinkingly brushed at the feeling with her hands, like their gaze were a physical thing she could physically remove...which did help, surprisingly. Not because doing that actually accomplished anything on its own, but that Liz could feel eyes on her had gotten into the papers at some point, her seeming obviously uncomfortable had reminded people of it, some of them started trying to avoid staring at her. It was only some of them, and they didn't all do a very good job, but it was better, at least.
It helped with the groups here for other people too, actually. Since Liz was the fucking Girl Who Lived, and she was in public, there'd been some staring...but weird celebrity-obsessed people who would recognise her at a glance would also have seen the stuff where her weird Seer-senses would have been described. There was still some staring, but it wasn't as bad as before.
And honestly, some distraction from her own thoughts and feelings wasn't unwelcome — as much as the eyes on her and the minds of other people weren't really a physical thing, her brain still mostly interpreted it as physical, so it drew her away from her own brain being shite. That was actually kind of nice, as long as it wasn't too overwhelming. And her drugs hadn't worn off yet, so, it was mostly manageable, if still kind of a lot.
The big exception was Sirius, he was really the only person here who knew her very well. And he was worried about her — kind of unique in that, other people were primarily concerned about Severus and then worrying about her on the side, but Sirius only cared about Severus so far as what it meant for her, the other way around — but he was also more aware than most what her Seer shite was like. It'd come up in their lessons during the Tournament, they'd talked about it. He was very consciously not looking at her, she hardly ever felt his eyes on her at all. Which didn't mean his mind wasn't still loud, since thoughts directed at her were far more tactile and attention-grabbing than ones that weren't, but that was less imposing than actually staring at her. And also he was trying to keep at least some of his occlumency up, which prevented it from getting too loud. So, yeah, that he was just sitting there and not even looking at her, while she was obviously unwell, might seem cold and cruelly distant to someone on the outside, but honestly Liz appreciated the effort.
She was exhausted.
She didn't know how long it'd been — she'd been too out of it when they came back from the room to check the time, and as jumbled as her mind was she honestly doubted she'd be able to remember. She'd never bothered checking the time, she had no idea. It was late, probably? It'd already been around sunset when Sirius had picked her up, and then they'd waited a while before Liz had been brought back to see Severus, and then it'd been... They'd probably been waiting longer now than they'd been waiting then, but it was honestly hard to say. She didn't think she'd lost much time since she'd started paying very close attention to the feeling of walking around the room, but at a certain point that blurred together too, and nothing was happening, her sense of time was basically a total shambles.
(Not that she'd ever had that great of a sense of time anyway. Blame that one on being locked up in the close darkness of the cupboard for too long, she thought.)
(So many things came back to Privet Drive, when she thought about it. She wondered how long it would take to get over all of that...but, honestly, she didn't think she ever would, not completely.)
And she was tired. She'd been walking around at random through the room enough that she'd started to feel it...which was a little weird, she was fit enough she didn't think that'd normally be a problem? Even if she'd been at it for a while, between getting around at Hogwarts and duelling practice she'd think she wouldn't even notice a little bit of walking. But she was very tense, nerves spanging so thick and harsh that her movements were still stiff and unsteady, even after who knew how many steps, maybe it was just taking more effort than it should. Aches building in her joints especially, in her back. And she noticed that subtle burning in her eyes, at first she'd thought it was tears — she still hadn't cried yet — but no, with the dull heaviness in her head and the vague dizzy feeling, she thought she was just sleepy.
Also, thirsty. Her throat was still all sharp and hot and tight from feelings shite, she hadn't noticed at first, but she was pretty sure part of the discomfort there was thirst. Someone had come back with snacks and tea a bit ago, but she'd waved it off when she was offered — she honestly wasn't certain she'd be able to keep anything down just now, she'd rather not sick up in public, thanks. Knowing her luck, pictures of it would probably end up in the Prophet in a day or two.
So she hurt, not just for emotional reasons, but also for physical reasons too. And still they waited, on and on and on...
She didn't know how much longer she could wait, she was barely holding herself together at this point already. Any more pressure and she might just crumble.
(She didn't know if she could do this.)
It had to have been hours, she had no idea. How long was this cursebreaking shite supposed to go? Had someone come out with an update at some point, and she'd just missed it somehow?
She glanced in Síomha's direction — straight at her, didn't have to look to spot her, aware of all the minds in the waiting room — finding her just as she'd always been this whole time. Her occlumency was too perfect for Liz to pick up much of anything, and she was shite at figuring out what people were feeling without mind magic, but she certainly seemed calm, or at least reasonably so. Sitting in the same chair Liz had seen her last, elbows on the arms of the chair and hands folded in her lap, legs crossed at the knee, one foot steadily bobbing in the air. Someone had joined her at some point, she hadn't noticed — people had come and gone with time, Emily Scrimgeour was here now, she'd found, sitting with Deirdre on one of the sofas, Deirdre leaning in close tucked under Emily's arm — a young woman Liz didn't recognise, in a Gaelic-style linen dress, reddish-orange hair tied back with a glittery ribbon. A cousin or something, maybe? They'd been lowly talking, but she hadn't picked up any of it, the words too quiet, disappearing in the low noise of the waiting room, her head too jumbled to try to pick it out.
She was kind of jealous, honestly — Síomha seemed so calm. She had no idea how she could do that, Liz was practically falling apart over here...
Time dragged on, slow and grating, Liz focussed intently on the physical feeling of each step as she aimlessly paced around, the shifting of her clothes and the subtle tugs of muscles and turning of joints, the dully throbbing aches building from the effort. Tried not to think about anything, about Severus, what would happen to her if he didn't make it, about Vernon, just, her mind a jumbled mess, things flaring up only to fade away again. Probably at least partially just because it was late, she was tired. She remembered, ages ago now, Severus explaining that feeling things took energy, she didn't remember the context, explaining something she'd been complaining about at some point — she wondered if it was really that late, or if she just felt so bloody exhausted because she'd spent however long wavering on the edge of freaking the fuck out, and that took a lot out of you. Her head was starting to feel really thick and fuzzy, like how it could get after she'd been studying something brain-intensive for too long, so maybe that was at least part of it...
Distantly, she wondered why she hadn't actually cried yet. She kind of felt like she should be, but it just wasn't coming, the pressure building up with nowhere to go, burning hot and sharp in her chest.
Liz was startled out of her aimless wandering, both physical and mental, when she felt eyes suddenly crash on her, sharp and purposeful. She'd felt people looking at her pretty much the whole time, but this felt different, an odd unpleasant thrill shooting through her — she glanced over her shoulder, following the collection of gazes focussed on her to see the group here for Severus had all gathered together. They were on their feet all of a sudden, clumped together facing—
He wasn't in the same uniform Saint Mungo's healers, but he was in professional dress, trousers and a long jacket, the sleeves tailored close to his forearms, to stop them from getting in the way. Light colours, soft and gentle despite the stiff-looking material, highly enchanted and/or alchemised. Liz didn't recognise the man, but he was on the side of the group facing the halls going back, meaning he'd probably walked up to them from that direction.
People were looking at her, expectantly, some of them wondering if they should come over to collect her, or if her looking this way meant she already realised...
This man was one of the cursebreakers. He'd come out to give them news about Severus.
Her breath froze in her chest, panic sizzling down her spine, the lines on her back lowly burning.
But she lurched into movement anyway — without quite realising what was happening, she found herself approaching the group. There was some talking, words meaninglessly burbling in her ears, before long the cursebreaker was pulling away from the group, Síomha guiding Liz to follow with a hand on her shoulder. They weren't moving toward the halls back again, instead toward a more empty corner of the room, for privacy. There were probably rules about who they were allowed to tell private medical information to, she wasn't surprised when, as they neared an empty corner of the waiting room, the cursebreaker's wand was in his hand, palings snapped into place with a casual wave.
She felt a little bit of tension go out of her shoulders as the feeling of eyes on her declined somewhat. The rest of the group had been watching them walk away, simmering with tense curious concern, but the privacy spells the cursebreaker cast must be thorough enough to partly cut off her Seer shite. Without so much shite pressing in on her, the cotton filling her ears cleaned out somewhat, enough that she could suddenly make out voices better.
"—will do it," the cursebreaker was saying, his wand vanishing back into its holster somewhere. Liz wasn't sure where the holster was, the gesture had been very subtle — this bloke must get up to some shite, the only reason you'd make a habit of hiding where your wand was kept was if you expected to need to protect it from someone. "I know you've already been waiting for some hours, and I wouldn't wish to leave you in suspense any longer than necessary. Severus will recover, given time."
For a long second, Liz could only stare up at the cursebreaker, her head suddenly a cool numb blank.
...Oh.
Oh, that was good.
Relief shivering through her, hard tension that had lingered for she didn't even know how long now reluctantly beginning to shake apart, something itching at her throat and behind her eyes, good, good...
Síomha had said something, maybe asking a question, but her head was too full of nothing for her to quite process it. (Still jealous of how well Síomha was handling this, how was she doing that?!) She focussed back in time to catch the cursebreaker's response, though. "Reasonably confident, I would say. There were a number of curses clinging to Severus—" First name, she noted, said casually, this bloke must know him from somewhere. "—some far easier to cleanse than others. There was a progressive curse that took us by surprise, in fact — it seems Severus was suppressing its spread somehow, it hadn't properly registered on the hospital healers' preparatory analysis. He did not warn us he was doing so, but I suspect he may not even have been fully conscious of it. Severus is a mind mage, and quite experienced with certain Dark Arts — I wouldn't be surprised if he was suppressing the curse subconsciously, as a reflexive self-defence instinct."
A progressive curse, he meant one with integrated subsumption elements, which used the energy of the victim's own body and magic to fuel itself as it spread. By certain Dark Arts, he probably meant subsumption, actually, that Severus had somehow prevented the curse from working correctly by resisting the process, without even thinking about it. Or maybe it was a mind mage thing, just, being aware of and having such control over himself that the curse couldn't get a grip on anything. That was kind of neat, actually, she wondered if Severus could teach her how to do that...though probably not, if it was something he'd just done, without thinking about it, Liz had things like that sometimes and she sure as hell couldn't explain how to do them...
"This particular curse did do some additional damage as we scrambled to isolate it, as surprised as we were by its presence, but we succeeded before the progression was irreversible. There is some residue left behind from the various curses he was struck with, which will complicate the healing process. The healers are working to reconstitute the damaged tissues as we speak, and I imagine, given the extent of his injuries, that they will be at it for some time. However, as no critical organs were severely affected — most of the damage is quite superficial, so far as the maintenance functions of the human body are concerned — the likelihood of a critical emergency during the process is minimal. He'll be in for a long recovery, but he will recover. I cannot make firm guarantees, but I am as confident of that as I reasonably can be."
Good, good, that... That was good.
That was basically the only thought Liz was capable of summoning at the moment, too overwhelmed with stuff to even think, just...
But since Síomha was weirdly calm, somehow, she was actually capable of asking questions for them. "You said you were not able to fully cleanse the curses, that there was residue left behind which will complicate the healing process. What kind of complication? What do you mean by a 'long recovery'?"
The cursebreaker hesitated, glancing away for a second — his mind was relatively well-contained, but Liz got the feeling the hesitation was less worried how they'd react, and more uncertain how much to share, and how to word it for laymen. Eventually, his voice a little slow and delicate, "The most significant damage is in the region of his left hip and thigh, from the progressive curse I mentioned before. The primary mechan– It seems to be transfigurative. It acted on the bone, transforming the material into... You may think of it as a sort of flower, spreading open—" He made a gesture, the palms of his fists pressed together, twisting his hands as his fingers unfolded. "— the petals made of razors. The material was transfigured into some sort of steel in the process, very strong and sharp."
Liz grimaced at the description, suddenly feeling nauseous. That sounded...rather bad. Just imagining that was very unnerving...
"As I said before, we were able to isolate the curse before it could progress very far. However, the damage to the impact site was quite extensive. A section of the femur, about this long—" He held his hands up, palms maybe six inches apart. "—was entirely unrecoverable. That is, the original material was too thoroughly corrupted by the curse and could not be returned to its natural state — the only option was to excise it. Specifications have already been sent to an alchemist here on-site, who will design a synthetic replacement. The bone will have lost some functionality, related to the marrow which was destroyed in the process, but the healers will attempt to induce the surviving marrow to grow to replace that which was lost, and the long-term health effects should be minimal.
"The true difficulty arises when considering the surrounding tissues. As this curse was progressive, the blades themselves contained and spread the curse, and so the wounds they caused are themselves curse damage. There are major blood vessels in the region, but those are relatively easily replaced with alchemical prostheses. Tendons and muscles are a greater problem, however. Some of the damaged tissues will be recoverable; some of them will not. There are alchemical substitutions for these tissues, but they are somewhat limited in their ability to replicate full functionality. There is also an issue with persistent pain along the join with natural tissues, which may often require the regular use of analgesic potions to manage."
"And what does that mean in plain English?" Síomha asked, an edge of...maybe exasperation? Hard to tell without any hints from her mind.
"Ah, of course, I apologise. Given the location of the damage, the range of motion of his hip will be reduced. It is hard to say at this time by how much. It depends on how the healing work proceeds — how much of these tissues need to be replaced, how well the anchors take, various such details — and how well Severus takes to the recovery process. I suspect, having seen the damage for myself, that Severus will never be able to walk unaided again."
...Oh.
Oh shite.
"The best case scenario," the cursebreaker continued, his words almost seeming to echo in her ears, distant, "is that he will be able to walk with the use of a cane. Thankfully the damage to his left hand and wrist is minimal, so that won't be an impediment — there will be some scarring, but it's only superficial, the functional structure is unaffected. Now, I did say this is the best case scenario, but I also believe it's the most likely outcome. I cannot say for certain until he can begin physical therapy. The complicating factors will be if the damage is so extensive that the leg cannot hold enough of his weight even to be supported with the use of a cane, or if the pain is too severe to manage. We will have to see, but having worked on the injury myself, I'm optimistic."
Severus brewed standing up.
Most people did, really. It often involved enough moving around to reach for different equipment and ingredients and shite, stepping back and forth between the cauldron and the cutting board, or wherever you're preparing ingredients, that it just wasn't practical to sit down through it. And Severus would sometimes have several potions going at once, because he could just do shite like that, he'd be moving all over the room all the time...
That was going to be almost impossible if he couldn't bloody walk.
And the way he'd drift around the classroom, looming over everyone working...
The way he moved all smooth and sharp, his robes billowing around him all dramatic...
It was honestly hard to imagine him...not being like that. He'd hardly be Severus without it, that's just what he was like.
She tried to imagine Severus walking with cane, like the Chief Auror or Moody or something, and it was just...
(She felt like she should be crying, the pressure building hot and sharp in her chest, but with nowhere to go.)
Spacing out a little bit, she missed part of the conversation. Síomha had asked something about, um...the long recovery part, how long Severus might be off his feet. That might seem like a cold question to be concerned with right away, but Liz was aware how important taking care of the Slytherins was to him, and he did like brewing, and there was all the healing consulting and shite he did, Severus was busy. Liz thought he'd be miserable if he couldn't keep up with all that stuff, it wasn't a surprise that Síomha might figure that out too. The cursebreaker wasn't sure, by the sound of it. He should definitely be mentally back to normal in a couple weeks, but using a cane took some getting used to, and there were pain management concerns...not to mention all the bloody stairs in the Castle. It was possible he might need help from the elves to get around, luckily that was an option, and he'd probably have to take it a little slow on the brewing for a while...
Good thing they had junior professors now — Liz didn't think Severus would be able to stock up the Hospital Wing, with how...hurt he was.
She was trying to remind herself that he was alive, he was going to be fine. Even if it was a little hard to get that idea to fully sink in, because his leg was so badly hurt they'd needed to replace bone with alchemised substitutes, and he wasn't going to be able to walk on his own...
Replace.
"Hey, wait." The cursebreaker had been in the middle of a sentence — something about setting up Severus's house for him to stay at during his recovery, since Síomha assumed he wouldn't want to stay here, Liz hadn't really been listening — but he broke off and turned to her with a raised eyebrow. He opened his mouth to ask if she had a question, but before he got that far, she said, "You said there's curse damage, so things can't be healed, and... They're replacing things, with alchemised stuff. Couldn't you just use blood alchemy instead?"
There was a funny lurch through the cursebreaker's head, his lips tilted in an expression she couldn't read. "I'm certain the healers will be using the best methods available to them here."
...The implication being that, yes, obviously blood alchemy would be a better option than this weird alchemised synthetic shite, but it was stupidly illegal in this country, so they couldn't do it here. Right. So, once Severus was recovered enough, he could just go down to France or somewhere and have it fixed? This wasn't so bad then, when she thought about it that way.
Even if Severus being that injured was scary.
Somehow, she'd never really seriously considered that Severus might be hurt. Like okay, sure, with the Dark Lord being back and all, she'd realised he might be in danger, she'd tried to protect him, but...
She'd known it was possible something might happen to him. She'd just never really considered what that meant. Not seriously.
He would live, though, that, that was the important thing. It was freaky as hell that he was badly cursed enough that his leg wouldn't work, but, he could get that fixed with blood alchemy. He'd be fine, everything would work out, it was fine.
She tried to convince herself of that, anyway, but she didn't think she was doing a very good job. At least she wasn't on the edge of freaking out anymore, that was something.
There was some more talk about what was going on and what Severus's recovery was going to look like, but she missed most of it, her focus coming in and out. She did catch that the cursebreaker expected the healers to be at it for at least another twelve hours, and possibly longer — the hospital even had multiple teams ready to swap in and out, because healing was too mentally and magically exhausting to safely go that long without rest. He recommended they go get some rest, the hospital would contact them if there were an emergency (which he thought was unlikely). That was honestly very silly, like Liz would be able to rest right now...
(She was so tired.)
The cursebreaker was done talking to them eventually — he said something to Liz before leaving, but honestly she didn't hear it. If it were important someone would tell her later. Then they were back with the group, Síomha reading them in on...stuff. The words were going all burbly in her ears again, probably helped along by there being too many minds around and too many eyes on her, hard to concentrate. She was pretty sure Síomha was giving them rather less detail than the cursebreaker had them, which was probably the right thing to do? Severus was super private and all, he probably didn't want the specifics being gossipped about between too many people.
There was some more talking, she wasn't really paying attention. She actually split off from the group while they were still going on, made her way back to her old chair, identifiable by her bag and her shoes sitting on the floor in front of it, plopped down to sit. The aches she'd accumulated with her pacing around gave off little shivers of releasing tension, Liz let out a sigh, she leaned back in the chair, her head tilting up over the back to stare blankly at the ceiling. The angle was making her a little dizzy, the ceiling tiles seeming to swirl a little, making her nauseous.
She still hurt, pounding aches some sharp and some dull, like her whole body had been wrung out, but her head had mostly gone numb, stuffy and unfocussed, muffled like cotton in her ears. And she felt heavy, like gravity was suddenly two or three times stronger than it should be, dragging her harder into the chair, hard to move.
Severus would be okay. That was the important thing.
Liz had been sitting there for a while, she wasn't sure how long, when she noticed Síomha was crouching down a little in front of her — her mind still smooth and cool, expression illegible. It was almost like she was waiting, as soon as Liz's eyes focussed on her properly she said, "Come on, fhéileacáin, it's time to go."
For a couple seconds, she just silently blinked up at Síomha — the nickname was still weird, she didn't know what was up with that. "Go where? Did something...?" She trailed off as, glancing around, she noticed that the group that had been here to wait for news about Severus had disappeared. A couple minds were still at the edge of her awareness, out in the hall and gradually retreating, she must have just missed them. "Oh. Everyone's going home?"
"They are. There isn't going to be further news until midday tomorrow, maybe even well into the afternoon. I'm sure some will drop by again, now and then, but for now there is little reason for them to stay."
Right. Yeah, that made sense. "Um. Where are we going?" As much as Liz was sick of waiting, she was so tired, she didn't really think she wanted to go home just now. It wasn't... She didn't know, that just felt like too far away, she didn't want to miss it if something happened.
But apparently Síomha realised that. "There's a hotel attached to the hospital, for the families of patients. It's very late already, but it's still worth trying to get a little bit of proper sleep."
"...I'm not sure how well I'm going to be able to sleep just now."
There was some kind of flicker behind the smooth shell around Síomha's mind — Liz couldn't directly feel it, but her mind seemed to ring, like a stone striking a bell or something — her lips pulling into an expression Liz couldn't make sense of. "I know, but you should still try. Let's go."
...
Fine. She was fucking sick of this room anyway.
A little stiff and shaky, Liz got up to her feet, slung her bag over her shoulder. Síomha led her off, starting with a hand light on Liz's arm but letting go after a few steps, once it was clear that she was present enough to follow. It wasn't until she stepped into the hallway that she realised she hadn't put her shoes on, the tile cool and smooth against the bottoms of her feet — she grasped at her bag, noticing the shape of her shoes through the cloth...which was odd, because she didn't remember putting them in there. Whatever. Síomha had surely noticed that she wasn't wearing any shoes, but she hadn't said anything, so it must not be a big deal. When she thought about, the implications of walking around in public without shoes on was more of, like, a class thing, and also had some cultural signals, to do with the weird agrarian cults and stuff. She knew from Muirgheal that it was pretty common for Gaelic priests to go about barefoot too, but it depended on which cult they were in, and what exactly their role in it was. Point was, she didn't think mages had as much of a no shirt, no shoes, no service thing. The people at the hotel might think it was weird that she didn't have shoes on, but probably wouldn't make a big deal about it.
Well, actually, mages would make a big deal about not having a shirt on, but that's because they thought it was indecent, even for men. Not the point.
Síomha led them back toward the elevator, pushed the button to bring them up to the top floor, the direction Liz and Sirius had come in through. The hallway was even quieter than it'd been last time she'd been here, but to her surprise it wasn't completely closed down — it had to be well after midnight by now, right? There was a teashop/newsstand kind of place that was still running, visible through the glass front a few people sitting at tables, even the gift shop was still open...
They walked all the way along the hallway, feeling cool and still and empty, the few minds around mostly quiet, behind the magical materials of the glass fronts making them feel fuzzy and distant. It took some minutes, she had no idea how long, but eventually they reached the end, going through a set of doors to leave behind ceramic tile in white and blue and green and the funny floating light-orbs in favour of reddish-brown carpets and wood-panelled walls and sourceless flamelight enchantments. The lobby they found themselves in was rather small, a wide desk with a bunch of drawers and cubbies set into the wall behind it, a few armchairs and sofas around, a hearth with a fire lowly crackling, a hall leading back into the hotel...and that was really it, the space honestly almost seeming cramped.
The room was also empty, there was no one behind the desk. Síomha walked up to ring a bell sitting there — not one of those little round ones with a button on top like muggles had, instead a full swinging bell hung on a little frame, like might be up a fucking church tower or something, miniaturised. A sharp poke at it from Síomha's finger set it ringing, and Liz could feel some kind of magic on the tone, probably projecting the sound into the staff areas or something. It was only like thirty seconds or so before a man was sweeping out of a side door, rushing over to clamp his hand down on the bell, ending the ringing.
Liz barely heard the conversation between Síomha and the staff...person. She should probably offer to pay for the rooms — the Ailbhes did have money, she knew, but nothing like the Potters — but it went so quickly, before she knew it the man was retrieving something from one of the drawers and then they were following him down the hallway, Síomha's hand on her shoulder to make sure she didn't fall behind. She felt the man notice she wasn't wearing shoes, but he didn't comment, led the way down the hall to a junction, the hallway continuing on ahead and to the right, at the centre of the T a spiral staircase leading both up and down. The man led them up a flight to a more or less identical-looking set of hallways, they went a short distance down one of them before stopping at a door.
The keys were interesting, little chips of ceramic that were inserted into a slot above the door handle — maybe some enchantment that held the door closed, the key being slotted in interrupting it somehow? Except, no, then any key would work in any door, and she assumed they must be different. Whatever, not important. Anyway, they were waved into the room. The place was subtle and warm, carpeted floor and wood-panelled walls and wood-frame furniture, everything in deep reds and oranges, with the low intensity of the flamelight enchantments soft and easy on the eyes, nothing really jumping out as glaring. Just inside the door was a little sitting area, a few chairs with side tables and shite, a set of shelves with books and what she recognised as boxes for board games. The opposite side narrowed a bit, but there wasn't actually a solid barrier between the sitting area and the bedroom, an open gap left somewhat larger than a door would be.
Bedroom, because there was only one. There were two beds, set with the heads against the walls to the left and right, their feet leaving a narrow passage down the middle of the room. It was somewhat darker in here, lit by lamps on bedside tables, city glow coming in through the window along the opposite wall — the curtains were only partly closed, a view of muggle London visible outside, dozens of electronic lights speckled against the dark of night. There were a couple small dressers in the far corners, a couple armchairs between the beds and the windows, and that was really it.
...She would have preferred separate rooms, but she guessed this was fine. At least there were two beds.
Not like she really expected to get much sleep anyway...
There was some talk between Síomha and the man, Liz wasn't really listening, idly looking around the room. Before too much longer, he was gone. And then Liz was standing alone in the hotel room, with Síomha.
...This was awkward. She barely even knew this woman, they'd only met a handful of times. There'd been the few days before the Final Task when she'd been around a lot, but still.
She stood in the threshold between the sitting room and the bedroom, watching, her hands absently twisting at the strap of her bag. The green and white cloak had already been draped over the back of a chair, along with the weird sash thing, Síomha plopped down into the chair and picking at the leather wrapped around her forearms. Probably enchanted to help catch spells and shite, with a built-in wand holster in there somewhere. Once they were off and dropped onto the coffee table, Síomha bent over to pull at the laces of her boots. She didn't look back at Liz, hadn't said a word since they'd been left alone, just, seemingly at ease. Like there wasn't anything out of the ordinary going on.
Without thinking, she blurted out, "Severus asked you to watch me, didn't he." She'd been able to feel it, when they'd been brought back to the operating room thing to see Severus before they got started, Síomha had let him through her occlumency somehow. They'd had a silent, mental conversation, Liz hadn't been able to see any of it.
Síomha glanced over at her for a second, before reaching down to tug off one of her boots. "He did."
"Sorry." She didn't know what she was apologising for, exactly, it just sort of came out. Not like it was her fault or anything. Just, she was aware Síomha was busy, with Saoirse and all — especially while they were not-so-subtly preparing for possibly making a move for independence in the near future. She was an adult, with things to do, and was probably also having feelings about Severus being hurt (even if she wasn't showing it at all), it didn't seem like she'd be so happy with randomly being saddled with looking after the complete mess of a teenage girl her boyfriend was legally responsible for.
"Don't mind it, fhéileacáin, I'd be here anyway. He didn't need to ask."
...Liz kind of doubted that, but whatever. But before she could do anything else embarrassing, she decided to go hide in the bathroom — besides, with how long it'd been she could probably use the toilet anyway. She was a little surprised to find the place very simple, the usual ceramic tile mages liked but without a bathtub or a shower or anything. There was a drain in a corner of the floor, separated from the rest with a low wall a few inches tall, a faucet over it, a place to rinse off like back at her house, if you got messy in the garden or whatever. That meant this place was probably old, perhaps redecorated at some point over the centuries but the skeleton dating to a time before the enchantments to make it easy to put full baths in every room had been developed. There must be a bathing...place somewhere else in the hotel, she guessed she'd missed that part while spacing out.
By the time she stepped back out into the sitting room, there was someone else in here — a girl, maybe a few years older than Liz, with some kind of ceramic-sided trolley she'd pushed in to settle next to the coffee table. The thing had been folded open, trays on racks accordioning out to display their contents, turned toward Síomha standing by the table, Liz couldn't see very well from here. There was a wine bottle already sitting on the table, wrapped in a cloth with runes stitched into it that she knew meant the contents would be warmed up.
Síomha's eyes flicked up to her, her head tilted at the cart. "Go ahead and pick something."
"...I really don't know if I could eat anything right now."
"I know, fhéileacáin, but you should still try."
She glanced over at the girl, but she didn't speak Gaelic at all, just meaningless noise to her. Good, because Síomha calling her butterfly like that was still weird (and also slightly embarrassing). Walking around to the right side of the cart, she saw that it was, like, a dessert cart they could bring around to the rooms, or something — cakes and puddings, some of which she recognised and some she didn't, whatever. As soon as she saw it, though, she was immediately very disinterested. "Those all look like sweet things, I don't think I can have them anyway."
The girl's mind was much louder than Síomha's, but not really any different from any other random person, just seemed like it by comparison. Also, some of the faint sparkliness Liz noticed on magical minds was absent — she thought she was maybe a squib. But anyway, she was eyeing Liz, frowning to herself, a soft, unfocussed kind of confusion turning in her head. She was pretty sure she recognised Liz from somewhere, but she wasn't quite figuring it out. Which was much better than dealing with someone being silly about the Girl Who Lived, not complaining. "I'm sorry, is there a problem?"
"I'm a Seer — sleeping is going to be hard enough without giving myself nightmares for no reason."
"Ah! Hold on, there is one..." The girl leaned around to scan over the racks of things, a few flitters of blonde hair escaped from her bun swaying a little. "There we are!" She plucked up a little plate with some kind of crumble on it, set it down on the table, followed by a fork and a little cup of...clotted cream or custard or something, Liz wasn't sure. Turning back to shoot Liz a smile, she said, "Give that a try. If you can't stomach it, just leave it here, and someone will be by to clean it away."
...It didn't really seem like there was much point in arguing. "Sure. Thanks."
The girl folded the cart closed, there was a brief exchange with Síomha — it was subtle, but Liz noticed Síomha pass the girl a coin, which the girl then slipped into her pocket, presumably a tip — and then she was rolling the cart back toward the door. She pushed the door open, and with a final little friendly wave to Liz and Síomha stepped out into the hall, pulled the door closed behind her. Leaving her alone in the room with Síomha again.
Síomha had divested herself of most of her uniform by this point, left in linen shorts and vest. Dropping down into one of the armchairs around the table, she reached for the bottle, started pouring some kind of yellowish drink into one of the glasses. "I can't speak for the streusel—" She used the German word for some reason, said with a very obvious Gaelic accent. "—but the cider should be clean. I know this cidery."
"...Right." At least Síomha had thought of that, she guessed. And, maybe at least trying the cider wasn't a bad idea. She'd finished pouring the one glass, pushing it across the table near the plate with the crumble, started pouring the second one — the pouring had disturbed the stuff enough that she could smell it a little now, definitely spiced. Even if her stomach wouldn't cooperate with eating anything just now, she could probably get a liquid past her throat, and, it smelled good, and the alcohol might help her sleep. After another short moment of hesitation, Liz sank down into the chair near the crumble, opposite Síomha.
Okay, yeah, the cider was good — they'd used honey at some point, she could taste a faint tang from it, but it wasn't too sweet, and the spices were...fine. Maybe missing something, but she'd learned recently that it could be hard to get certain spices in the magical world, especially Seer-friendly ones, so. She thought they'd attempted to replace the difficult ones to shoot for the same flavour profile, it just didn't quite work out. And the warmth was nice, easing the tension still constricting her throat and pooling in her twisting stomach, soft. So the cider was a good idea, at least.
Síomha had a slice of chocolate cake, with maybe some kind of berry sauce drizzled over it? It looked good, but Liz just knew that that would set off her Seer shite, unfortunately. It was so hard to find chocolate that didn't fuck her up...which was frustrating, honestly, she liked chocolate...
They sat in silence for at least a few minutes, Síomha's mind smooth and calm and her face expressionless, the chocolate cake gradually vanishing as Liz sat in her chair sipping at her cider. She had the glass going on half-empty before she decided she might as well try the crumble...though honestly she was mostly just looking for a distraction. She'd caught herself eyeing Síomha's legs, forced herself to focus on the crumble instead.
Síomha was pretty, Liz had noticed that before — she wasn't blind — and it was rather more obvious when she was...rather underdressed. She tried not to pay too much attention, because having pervy thoughts about Severus's girlfriend was just kind of weird. Couldn't help it sometimes, though, apparently even when she was still all messed up from Severus being hurt, because her brain was just fucking impossible like that sometimes.
(Honestly, as much as she was anxious about having to deal with periods again, not fully convinced that they wouldn't be just as bad as they'd been before, she was kind of hoping being on a normal person cycle would make her less, er, distractible, at least part of the time. There was a point at which being constantly horny just got irritating.)
It turned out it wasn't bad, actually, the crumble. The filling was mostly some kind of cheese, surprisingly, but it wasn't a proper savoury pastry either, since honey had been drizzled over the top after baking. There was a little bit too much sweetness for her tastes, and she thought there was something slightly off about the dough, the faintest lingering coolness she thought might be some kind of echo she was picking up, but it was subtle. The custard cream stuff was not edible, though, she dipped in a finger to test it and quickly chased it down with a sip of cider, and then didn't touch the little cup again. She thought they'd used sugar, or maybe it was the eggs?
Of course, that didn't mean it was very easy to eat anything at the moment. The warm cider had managed to loosen up her throat a bit, but she still felt stiff and... She didn't know. She wasn't hungry, and while the crumble was pretty decent it still wasn't especially appealing. It took more effort than it really should to make herself chew and swallow, the motions almost mechanical, numb, her stomach and throat tensing with each swallow as though threatening to reject it. She was slowly poking away at it, trading small bites with sips of cider — she hadn't actually gotten very far through it when Síomha reached over to refill her glass, empty already. Two glasses should be enough to get her more than a little tipsy, especially since it'd been a while since she'd had dinner, but that was fine, she expected she could use the help getting to sleep anyway.
She was a bit over halfway through the thing when she gave up. It hadn't even been very large to start with, she, just...didn't feel like eating right now. Dropping the fork, she leaned back into her chair again, hugging the cider close with both hands.
Síomha eyed her for a moment, but apparently that was good enough, because she didn't say anything about Liz not finishing it. Not like Liz really gave a damn if she didn't like it anyway.
"We're in the same room."
In the middle of one of the final bites of her cake, Síomha looked up to her with a raised eyebrow. "Hmm?"
She hadn't really meant to say anything, but now that she had, she might as well. It wasn't something that came up very often, but she knew from Hermione that... Well, things happened. "There's only one bedroom, you know."
"If it will bother you that much, I can sleep out here."
"It's not that." Not that she was thrilled about the angle she assumed Síomha was thinking of, especially since she didn't have an extra layer between her knickers and her dress at the moment. It'd probably be fine if she just turned the lights off before getting into bed. "Your occlumency is really good, but I don't suppose it'll stay up while you're asleep."
Síomha frowned a little, a flicker in her mind Liz couldn't read through the cool smooth nothingness. "It won't, no. I can't imagine why that would be a problem."
"When I'm sleeping in the same room as someone else, we...get in each other's dreams, sometimes."
Instead of answering the question right away, Síomha let out a low hum, took a slow sip of her cider. Setting her glass down, she asked, "Even from the other side of the room? I am familiar with dream-walking, but with Severus it takes skin contact."
...She didn't need to think about Severus and Síomha sleeping together, euphemistically or literally. "Childhood mind mage thing, I broke my brain when I was little — it's always on, even in my sleep. Even out here, you'd still be in my range, since the wall isn't solid. Um, sometimes in magical buildings, walls have enough magic running through them to block me off, even without a wardline, but it doesn't work if there are big openings like that." Belatedly, she realised she was rambling, oops. Blame that one on the alcohol, must be hitting her system already.
Síomha stared back at her for a moment, calm and impassive, before letting out a light sigh. "Maybe I should have gotten a second room. I have a feeling my dreams tonight will be...intense."
"Your dreams?" Honestly, Liz had mostly been worried about pulling Síomha into one of her nightmares, she hadn't given any thought to the other way around. "But, you're so calm."
One of her eyebrows ticked up, in a very Severus expression — she wondered if Síomha had always done things like that, or if she'd just copied it since they'd started dating. "Thank you, Elizabeth."
"...What for?"
"For the compliment on my skill with occlumency. Honestly, I didn't expect to be able to hide so well from an empathic legilimens."
"Oh." Obviously she'd realised Síomha wasn't actually totally calm — they were both super private and stuff, so she didn't see much of it, but she knew they were close enough that Síomha should have some reaction to Severus being hurt — but it really didn't seem like Síomha should be freaking out bad enough to be having intense nightmares about it, or whatever it was she was worried about. "Um. What is going on in there? I mean, you don't have to tell me, but, if you're worried about my stumbling into it while we're asleep..."
After another moment of staring at her, the cool smooth shell surrounding Síomha's mind abruptly dropped away. Surprisingly, Síomha's aura actually got louder — she hadn't realised that she was holding in some of her magic while she was at it. The human body got gradually better at channelling magic with use, building resistance, and there was a point that it got so efficient at it that a mage could constantly give off enough magic, at rest, that people would be able to feel it. That was normally what they meant when they said "sorcerer" in Britain, someone who was powerful enough you could tell just standing in a room with them. She could always feel Síomha's aura like that, but it was relatively subtle, a faint cool energy, like before an autumn storm...
...which, when she thought about it, was a lot like how Katie described Liz's magic. That didn't mean anything, magic felt different to everyone, it was just a weird coincidence. Temperature-wise, Síomha's magic was in the range where Liz's perception of dark and light magic overlapped — dark magic came in a spectrum from hot to cool, light magic from cool to biting cold — but that didn't mean it was less dark, necessarily. Like, it wasn't that dark magic got hotter the more intensely dark it was, it didn't work like that. Síomha's aura wasn't as dark as Liz's, or even Severus's, but it was more dark than, say, Hermione's — Hermione's aura did lean somewhat dark, which was weird, it didn't seem like there was any particular reason it should, but magic was just like that sometimes.
When she wasn't holding it in as hard, her magic was louder, and bigger, tickling at Liz's skin. It was somewhat warmer, but not by very much — what it was was much more active, less like a thunderstorm on the horizon and more like lightning. Not a single strike going off, but, like, a fucking tornado made of the stuff or something, a constant snapping and crackling pulsing off of her in twisting little waves, copper tingling on Liz's tongue and the hairs at the back of her neck standing up.
Her mind didn't reach outside of Síomha's body the same way that her magic did, but her aura wasn't so thick that Liz couldn't still reach it, now that the shell hiding it was gone. While her aura was cool and electric, her mind burned, hot and roaring and voraciously clawing like fire, the feeling making Liz's chest tighten and her limbs tense—
She'd sort of expected...she didn't know, for Síomha to be worried, or... Maybe not freaking out as badly as Liz was, but similar? She didn't know what was normal to feel when your boyfriend was in hospital, but scared and concerned seemed reasonable. Less than Liz, since she was still obviously functional, and could ask the cursebreaker intelligent questions, and deal with everyone who'd shown up, and the girl with the dessert cart earlier, whatever...but then, maybe it wouldn't be that different — it was possible a less fucked up person would just deal with it better, and it would turn out Síomha was just as panicky on the inside as Liz was, and she was even more of a mess than she'd realised.
But no, even at a glance Liz knew what that was.
Rage.
Síomha was concerned — not so much about whether Severus would live or not (though there was a subtle hint of that), but more about how he'd handle the recovery. Severus was very stiff, and private, and prideful, but with the severity of his injuries, it would take time for him to be fully mobile again. He would need people to do things for him, for at least a little while. She didn't expect him to deal with that very well. Or with effectively being crippled, for that matter, that was going to be a problem too...
And it wasn't just Severus, she was concerned for Liz too, though that tinted with a bit of nervous awkwardness. Severus had been able to tell Síomha a bit of what happened, through direct mental contact, he—
Oh, that fucking idiot. He was worried about some of his Death Eater friends, he didn't— He'd met up with some of them, and had tried to talk them into defecting. They hadn't taken the 'betrayal' very well, there'd been an argument, and then it'd gotten very personal, and it'd eventually escalated into spellfire. Just, that was such a stupid thing to do, what the fuck had he been thinking...
(She was the fuck up, Severus was supposed to be smart.)
But anyway, Síomha was a little worried Liz would do something stupid and try to get back at the Death Eaters who'd hurt Severus, which would break her truce with the Dark Lord and maybe get herself killed — which she primarily gave a damn about because Severus wouldn't take it well, but it wasn't like Síomha was completely neutral for Liz's own sake or anything. (She did like Liz well enough, but they still barely knew each other at this point.) And, since Severus was out of commission at the moment, and she was keeping an eye on her for him — which she would have done even if Severus hadn't explicitly asked, Liz could see now that she'd meant that — if Liz ran off to do something stupid then Síomha might end up getting roped into it, which the Dark Lord might then read as Saoirse Ghaelach acting against him, which, Saoirse was hoping to stay out of it, playing the Death Eaters and the Ministry off of each other to get what they wanted, but that might be more difficult to pull off if Síomha went around killing Death Eaters to protect her boyfriend's reckless daughter (Síomha's word, because of course). That Síomha thought she could and would kill Death Eaters to back up Liz if she ran off on some crazed attempt at revenge she found kind of amusing despite herself, but that wasn't really the point at the moment...
There was that reason, sure, but also it wasn't really a secret that Liz was...not okay. There'd been the shite about the Dursleys that'd been plastered all over the Prophet, but also there were hints all over Rita's interviews with her, and the articles on the Triwizard Tournament, apparently Síomha had even managed to pick up stuff from her body language — before meeting her in person, just from pictures in newspapers, which was wild. Her show for the Seventh Task had been beautiful — apparently Síomha had attended, in the stands with all the guests, Liz hadn't known that until just now — but it'd also hinted at some...fucked-up mental issues, to put it bluntly. In particular, Síomha lingered on how Liz had decided to portray the character who was obviously supposed to be herself as not even being human, which she thought had implications. And the tone of her encounter with the boggart had been—
Great, now she had another person who assumed Vernon had sexually abused her. That was just great — why the hell did people keep getting that idea?!
(Some traitorous part of her own mind pointed out that, while Vernon had never actually touched her, in retrospect there was a...certain vibe. And given the particular hang-ups she'd ended up with, well, maybe the reason why people kept getting that idea because there was something to it.)
(It wasn't the first time that that'd occurred to her, but she didn't like thinking about it, if she could help it.)
The point was, Síomha suspected, for various reasons, that Liz was more fragile than she seemed — how she'd behaved ever since getting to the hospital had made that obvious in a way that it normally wasn't. And, Síomha was not equipped to deal with her emotional issues, even if she thought Liz would be receptive to Síomha trying to comfort her, which she assumed she wouldn't be, because they barely knew each other, and she didn't think, like, hugs and shite would be taken well, which was the first and only idea she had when it came to dealing with emotional children, so she really had no fucking clue what she was supposed to do to help. Honestly, she wasn't sure even as much touching as she had been doing was a good idea, but she'd noticed that Liz kept spacing out, didn't know how else to deal with that either...
(It turned out it was very obvious to Síomha that Liz didn't like being touched, but she wasn't sure if it was for Seer-related reasons or sexual abuse -related reasons. Which was vaguely annoying, but at least she hadn't said anything about it out loud, so Liz could pretend she hadn't seen it.)
So. Concerned, but also awkward. Which, she never would have guessed, Síomha hadn't given any external sign that she hadn't been entirely confident in what she was doing...
There were also other thoughts in there, people's minds tended to be busy places. Though, a lot of that came back to Severus, actually — she expected to be here for a few days, at least, she'd need to get a message out to her family and a few friends, and also she'd need to get some time away from her duties with the militia. She didn't know how much time that would be, either. The plan was to arrange for Severus to recover at home, since she doubted he'd want to stay at the hospital, but he would need someone to be there basically all the time, since he wouldn't be able to take care of himself yet. Which was kind of interesting, from Liz's perspective, because Síomha kind of just...assumed she'd be doing that. It didn't seem like something she'd even questioned herself on, jumping straight to figuring out the practical considerations...
Of course, noticing that just made Liz feel more confident in her prediction that they'd be getting married. Though it was also kind of funny, because apparently Síomha couldn't really cook at all, so the plans forming in her head involved getting a lot of take-away for the two of them, for however long it took Severus to get on his feet again. She didn't know why, just, it amused her was all.
But the primary thing, louder and more pressing than anything else, was rage. Like a firestorm burning away in her mind, making it difficult to think about anything else, it took conscious effort to act normal. It took conscious effort to hold herself back from storming out of here, getting a few of her friends, and going hunting.
Some bastards tried to take Severus from her. And she wanted them dead, and for it to hurt, her head halfway filled with vibrant, vicious images of blood and fire.
It was hardly the first time Liz had looked into the mind of someone fantasising about murder, but it was still slightly shocking — she was reminded that, no matter how relatively normal she might seem a lot of the time, Síomha was actually a very dangerous person.
After a moment — it was impossible to tell how long, actively using mind magic tended to mess with her already flimsy perception of time — the cool smooth walls swept back over Síomha's mind. And the room was quiet again, no sign left behind but the faint cool tingle of her muted aura...which, honestly, that was almost kind of eerie now? Now that she actually knew what that thunderstorm on the horizon felt like close up, just, fuck. Casually, like nothing had happened, Síomha took a slow slip of her cider.
Liz just blinked across the coffee table at her, feeling rather dazed. Even after a few breaths, the only thing she could manage to say was, "Oh."
The corner of Síomha's lips twitched, maybe amused. "I have a feeling I'll be having violent dreams tonight."
"...I don't really think fantasising about murdering the people who hurt Severus will bother me much."
"Maybe not," Síomha admitted with a little shrug. "But when I'm in this kind of mood, it can... I was nearly killed by vampires once — I'm still brought back there, sometimes. That may not be pleasant for you."
Oh, well, no, maybe not. "What happened? Was that the fight with the Glasgow Seven?"
"No, this was earlier than that, while we were tracking them down." She hesitated for a second, eyes flicking to the side. "We were offered information, I went to meet our contact, but it was a trap. I was outnumbered. I managed to kill one of them, but then I was disarmed on the floor, my wand arm broken in multiple places. They snapped my wand. They were beating me, toying with me, when Fionn came with help."
Okay, that did sound freaky as hell, yeah. "Is that the Fionn I met, when I was copying Gaelic? The one in Bríd's priesthood."
"That's the one. Lucky he is a priest of the Mother, he was there soon enough to save my wand arm. Hurt like hell, though." The implication being that he'd done some kind of ritual healing magic to prevent any nerve damage so Síomha could still use her wand like normal afterward. Given that Bríd was a goddess of fire, Liz had a guess why it'd hurt so badly.
But anyway, the point of the conversation. It was getting hard to stay focussed on what they were talking about — Liz still wasn't confident she'd be able to sleep very well, but she was tired. "Um, but yeah, I'll be fine. That shouldn't be too bad. Honestly, I wasn't even thinking of your dreams, I was, er..."
Another funny ringing carrying through the stillness shrouding her mind, Síomha's eyes dipped down to her cider, taking a sip. Her thoughts were too thoroughly hidden to actually see it, but Liz was still pretty sure she understood that she was thinking of Vernon. Regardless of why she was having a nightmare, they did tend to go back there. "Don't be concerned on my account, fhéileacáin. I'll be fine."
...And she was saying that despite the assumptions Liz had picked up earlier. Honestly, she was probably thinking it was worse than it actually was — most people who came to the conclusion that she'd been sexually abused tended to. That didn't seem like it would be a fun kind of nightmare to be dragged into. She didn't want Síomha to see that shite — she couldn't put her finger on why not, exactly, what emotion was motivating that — but she knew from sleeping with Hermione that it only happened sometimes anyway, and...
Liz was tired. At this point, she simply didn't have the energy to argue anymore.
"Whatever, never mind." She drained the rest of her cider, set the glass back down on the table...probably harder than she needed to, but the glass didn't crack, so. "You get in bed first — I'm going to need to turn the lights off before..." She didn't quite know how to finish the sentence, but by the way Síomha eyed her and the agreeable little nod, she got the feeling that Síomha had guessed why anyway. It really wasn't fair for someone she barely even knew to understand her this well already.
She hoped Severus hadn't been telling Síomha stuff about her, fuck, she was going to be paranoid about that now...
፠
Liz didn't manage to sleep, much.
It took forever to fall asleep in the first place, despite how bloody exhausted she was — it was honestly rather frustrating. She guessed her anxiety over Severus hadn't died down enough, and having another mind in the room was distracting. It didn't help when Síomha fell asleep before she did, her occlumency crumbling as she relaxed before finally dissolving entirely. Her magic was louder than her mind, true, but Liz's own mind reached that far, so she could still see it, as unfocussed and fuzzy as thoughts got in sleep. After what felt like fucking hours tossing and turning, she eventually managed to drift off.
Unsurprisingly, she was startled awake by a nightmare. She had no idea when she'd fallen asleep, but it'd probably been well after midnight — and through the window she could see the sky was beginning to glow pinkish-orange from approaching sunrise, so she couldn't have been asleep for more than a few hours. Feeling chilled and gross from sweat, her skin crawling and nerves spanging tense and sharp, Liz quick double-checked Síomha was still asleep before slipping out of bed, snatching up her dress, and padding over to the bathroom...
...only to be reminded their room didn't actually have a shower or a bath or anything in it. Son of a bitch. Whatever, she stripped off her pants and vest and rinsed herself off in the little foot-washing basin thing anyway. It was super awkward, since the faucet was too low even for her tiny self to get most of her body under the faucet, having to cup water in her hands and splash it places — cheating a bit with wandless magic, which made it easier. It didn't work very well, but she only wanted to rinse off the sweat, and she was getting water everywhere but that was easy enough to clean up with a couple quick charms. Once she was feeling less gross, Liz dried herself off — carefully, too aggressive of a drying charm could fuck with her skin, or just make her feel very cold — and got dressed again.
She didn't bother returning to bed, there was no way she was getting back to sleep. The adrenaline from the nightmare had done far too good a job of waking her up, and she still felt all tense and twitchy, eyes on the back of her neck, like someone was going to jump out and start tossing hexes at her at any moment. Not a Seer feeling, she was pretty sure she wasn't actually in danger, something lingering from the dream was still fucking with her. So instead she just got her book out of her bag, and settled down in one of the armchairs by the window.
It was maybe a little awkward to be reading a sexy book with Síomha right over there, but she was asleep at the moment anyway, so whatever.
Her brain wouldn't let her fucking sleep, but she didn't do a very good job of reading, either. The twitchy anxiety the nightmare had left her with made it hard to focus, Liz fidgeting and shifting in her chair, sometimes needing to read the same sentence multiple times to make sense of it. She spent as much time, just, staring out the window as she did trying to read. They were in the City of London proper, she thought, somewhere there were a lot of tall blocky buildings, modern concrete and steel and glass, the details coming into sharper clarity as the sun rose (she missed it, the window facing south-west-ish), the street some levels below increasingly busy with vehicle and pedestrian traffic as the beginning of the work day approached. She wasn't watching any particular thing, just, spacing out, seeing but not taking in the cars and busses and people going by.
She thought it was odd how completely ignorant mages were about the muggle world, sometimes. In some cases, they literally just had to look out the window.
A couple times, her eyes were drawn to the occupied bed as she felt an uptick in activity from Síomha's mind, still fuzzy but much louder, colourful and jangling. Liz knew what that meant, she'd felt similar things from sleeping people before — Síomha was dreaming. It wasn't a steady, consistent thing as people slept... Well, their minds never really turned off when they were asleep, still doing stuff, but much slower and vaguer, and proper dreams tended to come in bursts. Like, roughly every hour or two? She'd never kept track. She was vaguely curious what was going on in there, and it's not like Síomha would notice her peeking while she was literally asleep, but the feelings coming off of her weren't very pleasant — unfocused, but still sharp and hot and skin-crawly — so she held her mind back through it and tried to focus on her book instead.
By the time it was getting to full light outside, still early in the morning but well past sunrise, Liz had gotten barely anywhere with her reading. Like, it must have been a couple hours, but she'd only made it... She didn't remember what page she'd been on when she'd started. Whatever, it'd only been a couple scenes, so she couldn't have managed to read very many pages, far too slow and distractible, and she honestly wasn't sure how much of what was happening she'd remember by the time she picked up the book again. Síomha was in another one of her dream bursts when she suddenly snapped awake, hard and sharp enough she startled Liz a little, twitching badly enough she fumbled with her book, nearly losing her spot.
Síomha had jumped upright as she woke, jerkily scanning the room — not just with her eyes, sizzly fingers of cool dark magic grasping over her surroundings, Liz gritting her teeth as they crawled over her skin. Blearily, her eyes still not quite coming into focus, her gaze slid over to Liz, carrying with it some harsh clangy tense feeling. Síomha blinked at her a few times, and the tension started to dribble out of her shoulders, as the remnants of whatever dream she'd just been having finally faded away.
It wasn't until her hands came down to limply settle in her lap that Liz realised Síomha's wand had somehow found its way into her hand.
Letting out a heavy sigh, Síomha reached up to rub at her cheek with her free hand. The last thing Liz picked up from her before the smooth solid walls came back over her mind was a twinge of embarrassment — over her moment of panic on waking up, presumably. Once her mind had gone quiet, her magic hidden away again, she said, "Good morning, Elizabeth. Did you sleep at all?"
She shrugged. "Some. I've been up for a couple hours already, I think."
"What time is it?" That must not have been a real question, because Síomha cast a time charm for herself with a little twitch of her wand. Sighing again, she muttered, "Less than I hoped for. This is going to be a long day."
Liz didn't have anything to say to that — Síomha wasn't wrong. She was still kind of freaking out about Severus — the nerves had started right up again once she'd been awake enough to remember where she was and what she was doing here — and she hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep. It was still early in the morning, and she already felt miserable.
"Well, we might as well get moving, if neither of us are getting more sleep. I could use some breakfast — besides that slice of cake before bed, I haven't eaten anything since mid-morning yesterday..."
Síomha shuffled her way out of bed, Liz caught herself staring and awkwardly averted her eyes. Because she could be such a perv, and Síomha was still just in those shorts and vest she'd stripped down to last night, distracting. She hesitated for a moment, sitting in her chair by the window, fingers idly playing with the corner of a page. While she knew she probably should eat something at some point, she didn't really feel like it. It didn't help that her stomach had gone a little squirmy with anxiety again — the nerves weren't so bad as last night, now that it'd sunk in better that Severus would be fine, but it was still noticeable — and also she hadn't slept well. Everything always felt a bit numb when she was tired, so food didn't sound very appealing, but also she often ended up feeling vaguely nauseous for no apparent reason. She really didn't feel like eating anything, or even leaving this bloody hotel room, if she was being honest.
But she knew she'd just feel more miserable down the line if she didn't. So Liz let out a heavy sigh, reached over to drop her book onto her bed, and got up to follow Síomha into the other room.
She stopped at the threshold, blinking in confusion — Síomha was going through the contents of a sizeable bag made out of plain greyish cloth, which Liz was certain hadn't been there the last time she'd been out here only a couple hours ago. Maybe the hotel had some kind of post system that brought things to people's rooms for them? She hadn't felt the magic working either, but maybe she'd been distracted and just missed it. "What's that?"
"I asked Uainionn to send me some things." Before she could ask who the hell that was, Síomha added, "My cousin — I'm sure you saw her with me last night, but I don't think you were introduced."
Oh, right, the younger woman Síomha had been sitting with in the waiting room. Almost forgot about that, okay.
"I'm going to get dressed, and then we can go to breakfast," Síomha said, standing with a bundle of clothes folded under her arm. "Did you need to send for anything first?"
Liz shook her head. She didn't care about wearing the same clothes two days in a row — presumably Síomha didn't feel like walking around in the militia uniform all the time — and there should be a nutrient potion in with the things in her bag. There wasn't anything important she could think of she'd need immediately.
A few minutes later, Síomha stepped back out of the bathroom, hair let out of the plait she'd put it in before bed to tumble over her shoulders, now dressed in black denims and a tee shirt in green with a yellow harp on the chest, with some text that, um... Liz thought it might be for some muggle sports association in Leinster, football or hurling or something, she wasn't sure. Unless she'd mixed something up, the Ailbhes actually lived in Connacht, and she kind of doubted Síomha followed muggle football. More likely, she'd picked it for the colours and the political symbolism on the magical side — the harp was actually on symbols for Ireland approved by the Ministry, but putting it on green instead of blue had implications.
They both put on shoes, Síomha pulling on a flannel button-up (though she left it hanging open), and then they stepped out into the hallway. The instant the door closed, Liz jumped, reaching to grab at the now immovable handle...but then she realised Síomha had left her bag of stuff in there, and her Saoirse uniform. She must mean to come back, never mind.
"Did you forget something in there?" Síomha asked.
"No, I just, um— I left my book on my bed, I wasn't sure if we were coming back." Taking a step away from the door, she shrugged. "It's fine, I don't need it right now."
"Sure. I payed the room out for three days, we can see what things are looking like with Severus before deciding what to do from there."
...She guessed that made sense. "I've got money, I can help pay for things."
"That was Glasgow dialect, at the start, you meant I have." Oh, oops, her Gaelic must have slipped — she had gotten both from Muirgheal, she guessed it wasn't so weird that they might bleed into each other a little. But Síomha obviously knew what she meant, immediately moving on to, "And don't worry about it, fhéileacáin, I have money too."
Well, fine, forget she'd offered, then...
The two of them walked in silence, along the hall and down the spiral staircase at the junction. Liz's feet were a little unsteady on the stairs, but she thought that had more to do with not having gotten enough sleep than just trying to walk in heels. When they were on solid ground again, making their way toward the lobby, Síomha said, "I think we should check in with the healers to ask if there is any news before heading back upstairs to find breakfast. Unless you would prefer eating first."
"...No, I'll just be nervous about it if we don't ask first." Now that Síomha had pointed it out, anyway, it actually hadn't occurred to her that there might be news until she'd said something.
The walk from there passed in silence, through the hotel lobby and into the weird shopping hall place on the top floor. It was far busier in here this time, countless minds packed into the different shops or cafés or whatever the hell all this shite was supposed to be, people moving around in the hall, Síomha needed to slow down or zig-zag as they got in the way. It was also cooler in here than in the hotel, for whatever reason, and it didn't take very long before Liz felt uncomfortably cold — not surprised, that happened sometimes after she didn't get enough sleep. Without missing a step, she drew her wand and covered herself with a warming charm, continued following Síomha along.
Eventually they reached the elevators at the end of the hallway. They didn't get one to themselves, unfortunately, crammed in here with a man struggling to manage three young children — their father, the mother was a patient here, potion-brewing accident — and a couple other single people. Liz crammed herself deep into the back corner, trying to breathe...which then made getting out a pain, because their stop was only one floor down and they were the only ones leaving. Squeezing through, she grimaced each time she was nudged by one of the occupants, minds slamming hard against hers, the shrill chatter of the children ringing in her ears...
The actual hospital part of the hospital was also busier than last night, but it wasn't a huge difference, mostly just a handful of visitors coming in to see whoever every now and then, here and there healers hanging around the hall chatting. They weren't paying Liz any particular attention, so it wasn't too loud in here — the gradually building nerves simmering at the back of her mind and down her spine, her stomach churning, had nothing to do with the minds surrounding her. Before it could get too bad, she fished one of her tablets out of her bag and tucked it under her tongue.
Thankfully, when the drugs kicked in she didn't end up nearly as overwhelmed as she'd gotten last night. She was tired, it was difficult to summon the energy to get too worked up, but it probably also helped that that cursebreaker had said that Severus would be okay. That he was back there having twelve-hour-long magic surgery, whatever the fuck that involved, was freaky as hell, but... Well, she guessed the idea that he would recover had had time to sink in by now. If nothing else, at least her shitty night of sleep had been good for that much.
It wasn't very long before they got to the Artemis Black Curse-Breaking and Reconstitution Centre, whatever the fuck that meant, being in the same room as her freak-out from last night making her skin crawl. Which was a weird reaction, but her brain did weird shite sometimes, whatever. Síomha talked to one of the people behind the desk for them, they were told to wait while he went back to ask the healer in charge if there was an update for them. He got up and vanished into the hallway leading back, leaving Liz and Síomha standing out here.
...Well, that wasn't the response Liz would have liked — she hated waiting.
At least it wasn't very long, she only had a couple minutes to nervously simmer — her hands wringing at the strap of her bag, swaying back and forth on her toes (the drugs making her head spin a little), trying to take slow, steady breaths — before the man showed up again. It turned out he didn't have much in the way of details for them. Severus was still in intensive healing at the moment, and likely would be for another four to six hours, at least. He was still doing fine, though, the healers said everything was going according to plan, so she guessed that was good news?
Honestly, she kind of wished Síomha just hadn't brought it up — the stress of coming down here and waiting hadn't been worth the update being, just...nothing. Everything's going normal, you just get to keep waiting! Aren't you glad you asked? She got that Síomha was anxious about how Severus was doing herself — though she was much better at hiding it than Liz was — and had probably been compelled to check in for that reason. Maybe it would have bothered Síomha all through breakfast if she hadn't asked. But still, really didn't think this had been worth it...
Going back the way they'd come, down the hall and up on the elevator and back another hall the opposite direction, and Síomha led Liz through a set of doors into one of the shops up here, seemingly picked at random. Except, she assumed Síomha must have known this was here, probably remembered from a previous visit to the hospital — the open space through the doors was much larger than the closeness of the shops to either side would suggest, and looked to be a cafeteria of some kind. It didn't quite look like a muggle one, the wooden furniture coming in different shapes and sizes, the natural materials and the greater degree of variation making it seem less sterile, helped along by the combination of the weird coloured light orbs and a flamelight enchantment for lighting, softer and warmer and more colourful than harsh incandescent bulbs. It was somewhat crowded, scattered feelings and thoughts thick on the air, the chatter loud enough to ring in her ears, but there were still plenty of empty tables, hopefully it wouldn't be too bad for however long it took to get through breakfast.
...There was something vaguely familiar about this place, but she couldn't remember where she'd seen it before. She was certain she'd never been to Saint Mungo's, so, maybe she'd Seen it before? It must not be anything too bad, if it were she thought it would have made more of an impression. She didn't feel like she was in danger, so...and if she were Síomha would probably curse the fuck out of it anyway — powerful battlemage actively participating in a nationalist militia and all that.
At one end of the oversized room was a long counter they were selling the food at, signs with lists of shite and prices or whatever overhead. It was very cafeteria-y, platters of stuff people could pick from set in rows, some finished plates, drinks and whatever. Much of it was very English stuff, various kind of bread and toast with an assortment of jams and porridges or whatever, alongside the heartier stuff like sausage and eggs and beans and fried mushrooms and a few different kinds of blood pudding — a few things here and there that might seem a little odd to muggle eyes, like the pressed beef alongside the bacon or the fruity mincemeat buns alongside the scones, but it was very similar to breakfast at Hogwarts. Some of it looked a little more Continental in style, but Liz was aware that could be more popular among certain more worldly segments of society, so not a big surprise. Some very French-looking pastries, cold sliced meats and cheeses and fruits that was maybe more common in central Europe or Italy or something, whatever. There were kind of more food sitting out than she'd expected, but she did spot some healers around, maybe the staff ate here too? Not like it mattered, just a little odd.
Of course, Liz wasn't particularly enthusiastic about eating anything at the moment, but she was aware she should try, so she sucked it up and followed Síomha to the counter anyway. Some things they were allowed to just grab — she snatched up a sausage roll, wrapped in a layer of crinkly paper, presumably to insulate the contents from the fingers of however many people had gone by before her — but other things were being dished out by the staff here, she guessed so people didn't make a big mess. The beans were one thing, Liz handed the woman there a bowl she'd gotten from by the porridge, which she then added a scoop of mushrooms to. That was good enough for her — depending on how her stomach was cooperating, she thought she might be able to get down one or the other at least, they'd have to see. Oh, and coffee too, obviously.
Síomha got out her money first when they got to the end of the line — Liz had been halfway planning on springing out her draft book before Síomha could object, but between her awkwardly-balanced plate in one hand and her coffee in the other, she was too slow. Once that was done — her feeling was that the food was kind of cheap, but Saint Mungo's did get a lot of financial support from the Ministry, and they probably bought in bulk — Síomha led the way off, after a short hesitation angling off toward one of the emptier corners of the room. She set her things down on a small table, ringed with four chairs, though it'd probably be difficult to fit plates for four people in the available space. Maybe if they were only having tea, she guessed. Getting in place herself was something of a production, the coffee set down first so she could use both hands to set down her plate, the bowl with the beans and mushrooms rattling and slipping a little, lifting the strap of her bag over her head so she could hang it off the back of her chair, and then finally sitting down.
It looked like Síomha was assembling herself some sandwiches. She'd gotten a couple of croissants, toward the smaller end, they were cut in half the long way — with a wandless charm of some kind, Liz eyebrows ticking up at how smoothly and easily she did it — and then she started layering things onto the bottom halves, fried eggs and white pudding and slices of dried beef and some kind of cheese she'd gotten from the Continental side. The top halves were spread with some kind of jam (she wasn't sure which) before Síomha pressed them down over the sandwiches which, um.
Idly stirring the mushrooms into her beans, Liz shook her head to herself. Was that a weird food thing to do? She realised she had absolutely no right to judge other people's tastes, but that seemed off to her, that particularly combination of things. But then, maybe Síomha was a little weird, it's not like it really mattered.
Liz stalled for a couple minutes, while Síomha started in on her funny sandwiches, taking slow, deep breaths to try to calm her nerves. Their little trip down to check on Severus hadn't made food seem any more appetising — it might sound a little pathetic, but she felt like she needed to psych herself up for actually trying to eat. Once she thought she was settled enough, she took a bite of her beans...and frowned to herself. Something about them seemed a little off. They were fine — sweeter than she'd prefer, and they'd maybe gone a little light on the spices and herbs, but it wasn't bad — whatever it was that was wrong with them subtle enough she couldn't quite put her finger on it. They hadn't put mint in this stuff, had they? That would have been weird.
It wasn't until she took a sip of her coffee — the off feeling much stronger, a cool sharp echo on her tongue and tingling down her throat — that she realised what it was. Grimacing to herself, frustration suddenly clawing through her chest, she took a tentative bite of her sausage roll, just to confirm what she'd already guessed.
With a groan, Liz sharply slid the plate aside (the bowl of beans slipping, nearly overturning from the force), and then leaned forward to rest her forehead on the table, crossing her arms over the back of her head, the weight smooshing her nose against the wood.
Just, fuck, she was so fucking stupid. Why hadn't she just thought about what she was doing for three fucking seconds, she should have known it would...
"Elizabeth?" Síomha said, her voice sounding a little thin through the noise of the crowd and the arms covering Liz's head. "Is something wrong?"
"I'm a fucking idiot."
There was a brief silence, before Síomha said, "I'm sorry, fhéileacáin, I didn't catch that."
Liz was pretty sure Síomha had heard her, but she didn't know how to respond to Liz bitterly calling herself an idiot, so she'd decided to give her the opportunity to pretend she'd said something else. Her occlumency was still up, but it seemed like a reasonable guess. "I can't eat this, it— I wasn't thinking, it's not clean. Seer shite, I mean, it slipped my mind that I can't even eat normal people food because I'm such a..." She didn't notice it was coming until she heard the croak on her own voice, she cut herself off, gritting her teeth, hissing at the knot in her throat and the prickling in her eyes.
What, she couldn't cry over Severus maybe dying, but she fucked up getting food she didn't even want, and she could cry over that? Ugh, what the fuck was even wrong with her...
While Liz struggled not to break down like a fucking baby over forgetting she was stupidly sensitive to shite for no— Honestly, she didn't used to be nearly this bad! She kind of regretted going out of her way to cut out as much toxic stuff as she could, because it seemed like it was just making her far more sensitive than she used to be. Eating normal people food didn't used to bother her much, or at least she didn't notice, but she couldn't even just... Except no, she didn't regret that, not really. A few weeks after she'd set up getting clean meals made special for her, it'd been obvious how much of a difference it'd made for her sleep, and also her mood just in general, she'd started feeling a lot better, even with the stress of the Tournament and everything going on. As much as it was fucking frustrating that she couldn't have normal food like a normal person, and extremely embarrassing to be almost randomly dissolving into tears over it, the trade was worth the costs. Just, she wished she hadn't been so distracted it'd slipped her mind, that was all.
Anyway, there was quiet for a moment at their table, the noise of the cafeteria washing over her — hopefully covering up the sounds of Liz struggling not to cry for no fucking reason. If Síomha noticed she didn't do anything about it, but she knew from her peek into Síomha's mind last night that that didn't necessarily mean anything, uncertain about what to do with her. There'd been a good long pause before Síomha finally said, "I'm sorry, I forgot too. You should try to eat something, though, we can try to figure out something else."
...Liz continued to be an idiot. "Nilanse."
It seemed like it took longer than normal, maybe she'd caught Nilanse in the middle of something, but before too long her familiar glassy mind appeared to Liz's left with a sharp little pop. "Hello, Liz. Ehh, are you needing something?"
She blinked — that sounded...weirdly uncomfortable. There was something a little off about her mind too, though it was hard to read the feeling exactly, jittery and flashing with colourful sparks. Pushing herself partway upright, she turned to the left, to find Nilanse standing sort of hunched in on herself a little, her hands fitfully wringing, big eyes flicking past Liz to...
...to all the other people in the room. She'd just called Nilanse while she was out in public — Nilanse had hardly ever left Clyde Rock growing up, and she didn't exactly get out much, rarely saw any humans besides Liz and Severus whichever of her friends might be around when she was called. She'd completely forgotten.
"Oh! Um, I'm sorry, I didn't think—" She cut herself off with a groan. She'd already fucked up, at this point explaining herself wouldn't accomplish anything. "Could you bring me some breakfast, please?"
Nilanse perked up a little. "Yes, I can do that." She hesitated for a second, glancing between Liz and the rest of the room. "Are you being well?"
"Yeah, I'm just tired. I'm sorry for calling you out here, I wasn't thinking."
"It's okay." Plain present tense — if Liz was following how the elves' dialect worked correctly, Nilanse was saying that calling for her when other people were around was okay in general, not just this one time. It was obvious she was a little uncomfortable with a whole bunch of strangers around, so, Liz would try to remember to avoid it anyway, just because. "I will go now." Nilanse waited a breath, in case Liz had anything else, before disappearing with a snap of her fingers.
Liz pushed herself up the rest of the way, ducked her head and quickly wiped at her eyes. Her fingers did get a little damp, but it wasn't that bad — by the subtle burning feeling she suspected her eyes would be pretty red anyway, so it'd still be obvious. She took a thick breath, tried to clear the knot still lingering in her throat. She started reaching for her coffee, thinking a sip of something would help, but then abruptly remembered why all this had just happened in the first place, her hand falling limp to the table and another frustrated hiss escaping through her teeth.
Before she could gather the will to fix the problem herself, Síomha's wand was in her hand, she conjured a cup of tan ceramic, filling it with water with a tap on the rim. "Thanks," Liz mumbled, reaching for the cup.
Síomha nodded. "Sure."
The water was a bit warmer than Liz had expected, but she guessed Síomha thought that'd be easier on her throat. Slumped back in her chair, the warm cup of water held close in both hands, Liz waited for her clean breakfast to come — it shouldn't be long, they'd prepped breakfast pastries for the week just yesterday — trying to work the hot tension out of her throat. It was still a little embarrassing that she'd almost fallen apart for no fucking reason, especially since she hadn't yesterday, didn't know why she'd almost lost it over something so relatively small. Feelings were stupid and her head was such a fucking mess, she didn't know. Eyes wandering around, she found herself staring at her plate, a tiny bit taken out of the end of the sausage roll, a streak of gravy on the side of the bowl where it'd spilled a little as she pushed it aside. "Sorry. For, you know."
"You don't need to apologise, fhéileacáin — your father nearly being murdered is a very good reason for being a bit emotional."
...She'd meant for wasting the food Síomha had payed for. But making clear what she meant to be apologising for might just go to the obvious point that being a Seer wasn't her fault, and the only reason she'd forgotten in the first place was because she was a bit out of it at the moment. So, what she actually ended up saying was, "Severus isn't my father."
Eyeing her over her second sandwich (the first one had disappeared at some point), Síomha gave Liz a flat look she didn't know how to read. The occlumency made it fucking impossible to figure this shite out. "Isn't he?" she said, her voice flat and simple.
...
No? obviously?
Before she could figure out how the fuck she was supposed to respond to that — this wasn't even the first time she and Síomha had done this same exact thing — her breakfast appeared on the table with a pulse of elf magic and a tight series of popping noises. It was a bit more than she'd expected, actually. Since she'd gotten home this summer, it was normal to just have some kind of a pastry and coffee for breakfast, followed by a somewhat more substantial lunch a bit before noon, but this was kind of halfway between the two? There was coffee, obviously, and a slice of some raisin swirl loaf stuff they'd made — they were working up to a proper pain aux raisins, but Liz's baking skills weren't quite up to the task of making that kind of flakey pastry yet — but then there was also a shallow bowl of mushrooms mixed with onions and some kind of shredded meat she thought might be leftover duck, and a cup of berries that she knew, at this time of year, would have come straight from Clyde Rock. Maybe Nilanse had noticed what she had been having (or trying to have) and assumed she wanted a bit more substantial of a breakfast this time, or maybe she thought Liz might miss lunch, or maybe she'd just noticed Liz looked miserable and was trying to help in some small way, it could really be anything.
Whatever, it didn't really matter. Liz slid the bowl a little to the side, focussing on the raisin cake and the coffee for now — she thought she could use the caffeine. Though the cup of berries reminded her that she hadn't taken her nutrient potion yet, she quick dug that out of her bag, ugh, washed out the aftertaste with a gulp from her water...
She was picking her way through the raisin cake, trading bites with sips of coffee, when Síomha spoke. "My father didn't want want me to join Saoirse."
Her fork partway up to her mouth, she froze, blinking up at Síomha. She wasn't even looking at Liz, leaning back in her chair, holding her cup of coffee in both hands, staring unfocussed in a seemingly random direction. "Huh?"
Síomha's eyes flicked over to hers, her lips twitched a little. "Maybe saying he didn't want me to is too strong. He wasn't comfortable with it. Still isn't, if we're being honest. He was very young then, but he remembers the final days of the communalist revolt, the sight of British Hit Wizards in the streets. He remembers funerals, for aunts and uncles, some of his friends lost parents. As young as he was then, it left an impression on him — he may support the cause in his heart, but what it might look like may we try to shake off the Ministry, if we fail, that frightens him. He was never comfortable with my interest in duelling, he wishes I weren't to fight. That I might be called to a quieter, safer life.
"But he didn't try to stop me, when the time came. When I was to leave for some weeks, for training, he took me aside. I expected a lecture, that he would try to convince me of the danger I was putting myself in, that we would have that same argument all over again. Instead, he gave me advice. To be merciless with our enemies, to hold nothing back, lest they survive long enough to curse me in the back. But to be judicious in my ruthlessness, to spare from violence those innocents in our path — so the fight may not corrupt me into as great a monster as those we oppose, that I may not be confronted with their faces in dreams, that I may still love myself when the fighting is over. He told me to be careful, to mind my life, and to mind those of the men and women alongside me, so they may mind mine in turn. And, shall I find myself in some position of leadership, to not lose sight of that fellowship, to value the lives of those I lead as precious as my own, that they may respect and honour me in turn.
"He told me that he was proud of me, and that, no matter what may come to pass in the years to come, he always will be."
Focussed down on her plate, breaking the rest of her raisin cake into bite-sized pieces, Liz frowned in confusion. It was a perfectly fine story, she guessed — she'd heard a little bit about Síomha's mum from Severus, he knew Raghnailt through healer circles, but she didn't really know anything about her dad — but bringing it up now just seemed so random. "Okay? And, why are you telling me about this all of a sudden?"
"I was abandoned at a sanctuary held by the priests of Ailbhe, when I was an infant — nobody knows who my birth parents are."
"Oh, yeah, Severus mentioned that." Liz realised what she said after a second. "Um, was he not supposed to tell me that?"
Síomha shrugged. "It's common knowledge. There's no shame in being a foundling, there are plenty of us around. It's not unusual for someone to leave a child they feel they can't care for somewhere they'll be safe — the major priesthoods and institutions like this hospital get a slow but steady trickle of us."
...Right, she remembered someone had explained that to her before, but she wasn't sure what the context of— Oh! It'd been when the article about the Dursleys came out, her friends had been talking about the legality of, just, leaving infants places, that was it. (Which had come down to there being a proper way to do that sort of thing, but what Dumbledore had done definitely hadn't been, and she could probably sue him into destitution over it if she felt like it.) She hesitated for a moment, not sure how Síomha would feel about the suggestion, before saying, "You know, it'd be pretty easy to find out. I have a formulation for a really good heritage test."
"I've considered doing something like that before, but I decided against it. With some thought, I realised it doesn't matter to me where I came from. My parents can't have children of their own blood, and not for lack of trying." Liz might wonder whether that was meant to be a sex joke about her own parents, but she was pretty sure Síomha meant that they'd tried medical treatments, or like fertility rituals and whatever. "Whoever it is I was born to, they abandoned me; but when I was found, my parents were eager to claim me. I don't share their blood, but that doesn't matter to me, not in the slightest — they have acted as my parents, for longer than I can remember, and that is more important to me than blood.
"I may not be his daughter by birth, but that day he acted as my father. That's what matters."
Oh. She got the point of Síomha bringing up that little story now — she hadn't changed the subject, not really. Her raisin cake gone, Liz reached over to drag the mushroom stuff closer to her, the motion a little stiff and jerking. "You're saying that's like me and Severus." It obviously wasn't the same situation, Síomha had been a literal baby and they—
"I'm not — you're the only person who can decide what your relationships mean to you. I'm only saying you should think about it, what Severus is to you. That's all."
...
Well.
Liz had no fucking clue what the fuck she was supposed to do with that. So she wordlessly focussed on her breakfast, and tried to put this...stuff Síomha had just said out of mind.
(She didn't do a very good job of it, niggling at the edge of her attention for the rest of the day no matter how hard she tried to ignore it.)