In which Pomona and Helga share a glass of something stronger while Rowena faces Nagini.
Enjoy!
A_A
Harry, Helga, and Godric returned from the Badgers Keep in good spirits. Sirius was no longer a wanted man and returned to the oakwood without a word of protest. But Helga wasn't entirely finished with the day. The ill-considered escapade of Godric and Harry irritated her. It's not that she couldn't expect that to happen. She just hoped that Godric would take that seriously. But there was no threatened life, no endangered child, no battle to fight, so entertainment was a priority. Of course. Sometimes, he could be exhausting.
And he already forgot about the whole issue. As vehemently as he defended Audrey and their relationship from Augusta, as shortly he allowed the situation to bother him. He seemed to throw it out of his mind and soul, now discussing the Triwizard Tournament with Harry. It was bemusing that Harry had no prior knowledge about the existence of Durmstrang or Beauxbatons. He seemed to live in a bubble, completely ignorant of the outside world until the world bothered to inform him about its existence.
That was... well, that was simply unsettling.
She got to know Harry as a curious child who was interested in the world around him. Yet he seemed completely uninterested in seeking out any kind of additional information. And that wasn't the only contrasting behaviour. He seemed to have a tendency to melancholy, to be a little sullen and withdrawn (often more than a little), but sometimes full of excitement, seemingly ripped off his gloomy thoughts by something exciting. Interesting. The same thing she saw about his anger: abrupt and violent explosion of emotions. The general dejection with sudden spikes of emotions. And if he thought she was fooled by his smiles and 'I'm fine', then he was welcome to think so. Helga knew better.
But there were other issues. Highly irregular sleep was one thing. She noticed that he usually woke up early, but when disturbed, he could remain in bed until the early afternoon. That was normal for children his age. And no matter the time he woke up and the mood he was in, if he got out of bed, he was ready for the day. But that was during the summer. Suddenly, in Hogwarts, he stopped both and had a tendency to oversleep for his classes. Since the second day, he came to breakfast groggy and looked like he would rather go back to bed and stay there for eternity. He usually seemed better by lunchtime. She initially thought that it was caused by talking the late hours with his roommates, but she quickly discarded the ideas, as neither Gregory nor Vincent seemed overly talkative.
And that was another thing. She saw how easily Harry befriended Neville, but why only now, after three years? She also appreciated his helpfulness towards Gregory and Vincent, seeing the beginnings of an easy friendship there. So why did he have so little friends? Merely Ron and Hermione. Of course, the abuse he suffered while under the reluctant care of Vernon and Petunia made him rather withdrawn, twitchy and careful with people, but he made friends when presented with the opportunity. Had he only two during his three years at Hogwarts? That was absurd!
Not to mention that he loved his godfather and cared about him deeply. How - in Morrigan's name - could Harry forget about Sirius' hearing twice? That was unthinkable and so unlike him that it became one drop too many, and Helga became worried. The problem was that each of these could be explained easily by changes, age, upbringing, or other temporary and lesser issues. Just all together, it was... something was wrong.
Helga needed to know a little bit more. A go-to person was Pomona Sprout. She wasn't Harry's head of house in previous years, but she was far more attentive to the students than Minerva McGonagall. In all honesty, Helga had no idea what Albus Dumbledore thought, making this woman the head of the house. The teacher, the deputy headmistress - yes. But the head of the house? That was, to put it mildly, a misunderstanding.
"I'll see you at dinner," Helga said suddenly to Harry and Godric and didn't check whether they registered the information, just turned towards the greenhouses, hoping to find Pomona in their proximity.
"Hello!" Helga called lightly, sticking her head to the stuffy and humid greenhouse number seven.
"Here! Here!" came the answer. "Come in! We have quite a pickle here!"
By the laughter responding, Helga recognised Neville, and indeed, she found them together, both kneeling on the ground by the large patch. Neville held the green and thorny bulb the size of his thigh that actually looked like an overgrown pickle. If only it wouldn't tremble so wildly like a scared animal. Maybe because of the large slash on its side, one that Pomona carefully but swiftly smeared with sickly purple ointment.
"The chopping cabbage escaped from number six," she explained, not lifting her eyes, "and bit this poor little fellow. I guess you haven't worked with emberthorns yet?"
"I can't say that I have, no," Helga confirmed, coming closer, "I haven't even heard of them."
"Truly?" Pomona looked utterly surprised. "They're so popular!"
"But they were brought from North America," Neville dared to notice quietly, and Helga smiled at him with encouragement, so he continued, "Plenty of plants were brought, like potatoes and corn. Emberthorns among them. They are usually very well-behaved plants, but when agitated, they can be a trouble. It's hard to hold them, as you can see," he chuckled, strengthening his grip on the plant. Pomona was almost finished. "They are used to cure plenty of lung diseases."
"Very well," Pomona praised, stepping away. "You can let it go now. If I'll see the Weasley twins snooping around my greenhouses again, I'll swear I'll give them a week worth of detention. Stealing Murkroot... Where do they get those ideas from?! You better warn them, Neville."
"Yes, ma'am," Neville tried to hide the knowing smile. Helga had a feeling that the twins could carry out the whole greenhouse on their backs, and they wouldn't get much more than a reprimand. Well... never mind now.
"May I help you somehow?" Helga asked, "I wanted to speak with you, but this can wait, and you can as well use my hands in the meantime."
"That would be lovely!" Pomona smiled broadly. "We were just about to check the mandrakes that the second years replanted this morning. It's not much work, but will go significantly faster with one more set of hands."
It did. No longer than twenty minutes and eight readjusted mandrakes later, Neville got an additional five points for his help and left, while Helga offered, "If you don't have anything important to do, what would you say for a little bit of something stronger?"
Pomona had nothing important before dinner, and so they left for Helga's 'office'. Although, in all honesty, it wasn't much of an office. It never was and she saw absolutely no need to readjust it to the current standards. The room she used to meet with her students or other people, where she worked and found refuge, was split in two. First, significantly more spacious, held a long wooden table with two benches without so much as a backrest. The tabletop was scarred with multiple knife cuts and stains. There was no desk as such, only a scriptorium standing close to one of the many tall, slender windows devoid of glass panes and next to the excessive bookshelf. The opposite wall took a massive hearth, able to fit two cauldrons of a significant size. And herbs. The whole wall was lined up with rods designated to hanging and drying herbs, but only some of the colourful ribbons held freshly harvested plants. The neighbouring shelf was filled with meticulously labeled boxes and jars.
The second part differed significantly and was clearly meant for comfort. There was a cupboard filled with wooden and silver tableware and two large benches on which one could not only sit comfortably but even sleep, both overthrown with skins of large animals. Soft, fluffy, and pale in colour. Three walls were covered in tapestries depicting dryads. Third had a collection of embroidered pictures. In the corner stood a small weapon stand, supporting two swords. Both slender, one short, one long. Both had scabbards decorated with yellow ribbons.
As Helga and Pomona walked in, the hostess summoned two smaller goblets and a bottle. Pomona settled on the bench after carefully scourgifying her robes to see if there were any remains of work in the greenhouses.
"That's something I was known of a millennium ago," Helga admitted, filling the goblets. "The way to Salazar's heart and the only certain measure to placate him. Here, give it a try."
The herbal liquor was quick to make Pomona gasp and redden a little before she chuckled.
"That is something," she admitted eagerly. "Is that elderflower?"
"Among various others," Helena waved her hand. "I will be glad to give you a bottle if you'd like."
"I'd like a recipe!" Pomona laughed heartily. "But I heard you were a cook. There was never any mention of liquors."
"Everybody was a cook a millennium ago if they weren't too important for that sort of work. No, I can't cook anything extraordinary. But herbs and liquors are a passion of mine. For medicinal purposes, naturally," she winked at Pomona, nesting herself on the second bench, her feet under the fluffy fur. "And if any of us is especially gifted in the kitchen, that's Rowena."
"I guess there's a lot of misconceptions about the four of you," Pomona decided and fell silent, but she clearly wanted to say something more, so Helga waited patiently and topped both goblets. Finally, Pomona said, "Am I correct in saying that you wanted to talk with me about Hufflepuffs?"
"To a certain degree," Helga smiled lightly, "Only one. Harry. We could talk about the rest if you wish. However, I don't know them well enough yet to support you in this matter. But, of course, I will be glad to aid you in any way you'd like."
"Aid me?" Pomona looked surprised. "You are the Hufflepuff."
"Well... but you're the head of the house," Helga noted.
A silence fell for the moment when smiles grew, reaching the eyes. Both of them were certainly different. When it came to the physical aspect, the only thing connecting them was the short statue. The general roundness and softness of Pomona were countered by Helga's warm angels. But the spirit underneath was certainly kindred.
They raised glasses.
"For cooperation," they toasted almost in unison.
This time, Pomona refilled the empty goblets, her cheeks already a little reddened and eyes sparkling with excitement.
"I heard what you did with Oliver Wood this morning. I don't think even Dumbledore would dare. This boy..." she shook her head in clear amusement, "He defends the pitch like his home and the brooms like his children. The game is his life."
"Good. Then, he'll be motivated to follow the rules, or he'll be unable to play. I swear the Higgs boy almost killed me in passing!"
"He didn't!" Pomona looked astonished. She clearly hasn't heard this part of the story.
"Oh yes, he did!"
"Those Gryffindors. I swear they're untameable!"
"Of course, they are," argued Helga, "In general. But spoiled, they'll climb on your head and play Creaothceann! And I hear Albus spoiled them rotten. I believe that my punishment was appropriate for today's stunt, maybe even light, but they consider it enormous. And I'm not surprised. Harry tells me they wouldn't get as much detention for that stunt if Severus Snape wouldn't be the one to catch them red-handed."
The expression on Pomona's face clearly indicated that Harry was correct in his assumption, although there was something a little sour in it.
"Severus tends to be a little too rough with non-Slytherin students, that's true. Especially some former Gryffindors. I haven't heard any complaints this year... yet, but..." she shook her head and sipped a little bit of her goblet. "Severus is hard to like, but when you get to know him, it... well, it doesn't get easier, but you like him nonetheless. But Gryffindors... I started teaching during his seventh year, so... Oh, goodness! Seventeen years! How the time flies! Well, none of that matters. I didn't see everything, but I saw enough. And I heard enough about what he went through with Gryffindors. James Potter, Frank Longbottom, Molly Weasley," she looked at Helga pointedly, "to name a few. And Severus doesn't have a forgiving heart."
"But to take it out on children?" Helga raised her brows.
"Well... that's petty, I agree. But... You just need to get to know him better. He's a really good man. And it doesn't make it better that since his time, the grudge between Slytherins and Gryffindors only grew. He feels obliged to counter that in favour of his house. The Gryffindors... well... they don't make it easier either. Nor the Slytherins. I honestly hope the resorting will soften some of the issues. And your presence, for that."
"Godric will take care of Gryffindors. And Salazar won't allow Severus to continue. Just don't tell Severus."
"I wouldn't!" Pomona assured, almost in indignation, placing an open hand on her abundant bosom.
"Of course," Helga nodded, "You know how one never knows how the Slytherins work. It's better to let them establish everything between themselves. And, well, if Severus won't stop harassing Harry, he'll hear from me."
"Oh, yes, you wanted to talk about Harry," Pomona remembered.
"Yes, about Harry... I realize he wasn't in your House your student up to this year, but you're perceptive and invested in all the students, so I wanted to ask about... well... his previous years. What do you think of him? How did he interact with others? How were his grades and attitude? His moods? Have you noticed anything specific? I know about the main events, so you may, of course, skip that. I'm interested in him as a boy, not the whole mess around him."
Pomona considered the question. Her brows furrowed, lips pursed.
"Are you asking as his... relative or the founder?" she decided to inquire.
Helga smiled.
"As his family. And the legal guardian."
"You're his legal guardian?" Pomona asked disbelievingly. "And what happened to his uncles?"
That lit Helga. She didn't, up to this moment, talk about that with anybody. She considered it a private issue for Harry, and they decided to keep the whole problem among those present in Amelia Bones' office until Harry decides otherwise. And as much as Augusta shared Helga's feelings about the issue, they only talked about what to do, not about what they felt about the matter. And the longer that lasted, the angrier Helga became, so now, with the herbal liquor freely flowing in her body, she downed her goblet and spat, "These are the worst possible people to care for the magical child. I cannot believe that Petunia is my family! And she had the audacity to complain about how the magical people hurt her and her family," she snorted. "Of course, I took Harry. He's mine, after all. By magic and blood, however, diluted by time."
Helga did make an impression when angry. And it wasn't the impression of an angry little woman, crying and stomping her feet, arousing sympathy, amusement or simple irritation. Angry Helga Hufflepuff was a cause for fear. Her warmest honey-brown eyes became the coldest frozen amber, and the magic leaked from her in the vicious ambers. Imperceptible, but informing all around that it was a time for fight or flight. Pomona paled slightly, and Helga calmed herself.
"Please forgive me," she said gently.
"Yes, yes... naturally," the woman replied tentatively, "But... But they were... hurting him?"
"That is for Harry to say or not, I shouldn't have said what I said," now Helga sounded apologetic, and with quiet laughter she added, "Godric's blabbering must be catchy these days. Let's go back to Harry. What could you tell me about him?"
"And wouldn't you prefer to talk about it with Minerva? She surely knows more than I do."
Helga scrunched her nose.
"I sincerely doubt that," she declared, surprising Pomona and causing her to stir uncomfortably. After all, Minerva was her friend, not only a co-worker.
"Minerva is undoubtedly a very talented transfiguration master and a successful teacher," Helga decided to explain. "And I believe her to be a dutiful deputy for Albus. As the head of the house, however, she cannot be very supportive. Harry, Hermione and Neville never mentioned her in this context, which leads me to believe that she has quite... sparse contact with her students."
The silence that fell was a little uncomfortable as Pomona considered the words. She finally slipped from her goblet again, minutely pursed her lips, and sighed through her nose.
"She's very dedicated to her students," she declared. "And she cares about each and every one of them."
Loyalty. Helga didn't argue the words. What was said didn't really go against her opinion. Minerva McGonagall might have cared. And be dedicated. Yet, in the distance. What made her ineffective and an unreliable source of information. One that was additionally biased, perceiving the world by the half-moon spectacles.
"What I've noticed about Harry..." Pomona undertook, apparently having satisfied the demands of friendship and finding no more reasons to defend Minerva or linger with the answer. The tension disappeared.
"He's an average student. Doesn't really apply himself. I saw him in a library a couple of times, though rarely seeking more information for his classes. They go on the rampage for information. Ronald Weasley and Harry, when once in a while they join Hermione Granger in the library. I cannot be sure what they are looking for in those books, but I heard, for example, that they were invested in saving that hippogriff last year... Anyway, their grades only suffer on those that library sprees, rather than increase. The boys', not Miss Granger's. Other than that, if I see them in the library, it is mostly to just change the scenery for chit-chat. The grades... I don't really understand, to be perfectly honest. Harry clearly doesn't lack talent. Last year, he learned the Patronus Charm, for Merlin's sake! And I also don't believe he's lazy. He always works neatly in my classes. He is not a herbology enthusiast, but he's good with plants. Yet the assignments are sloppy, often jumping from one thought to another without finishing the previous. And dreadful penmanship. I usually teach the muggleborn Hufflepuffs the basic skills demanded in our society they lack, like using the quill," here Helga indicated that she knows about it and very much approves, and Pomona continued with a prouder expression, "Harry seems to never be taught. As half-blood but Muggle-raised... It's not common. I suppose nobody included him in such lessons by mistake."
Helga understood it for what it was: an excuse for Minerva. One that only proved her point. Muggleborn, muggle-raised, or perfectly pure-blood with years of private tutoring, if the student cannot write properly, who is there to teach him if not his teachers?! But only Helga's nostrils flared. She said nothing. And Pomona appreciated it.
"Their friendship of Harry with Mr Weasley and Miss Granger is tight, impenetrable, I would say. They rarely include other children and mostly while working during the class. If they fight... And they fight pretty often. It's vicious. They shout at each other, Ronald and Hermione, after which she cries in the bathrooms, and he is very vocal about her faults to everybody who wants to hear it. Last year, they spoiled the atmosphere everywhere they appeared. I had to punish them for the loss of points a couple of times. It was about their pets, initially. Later, Ronald was furious because Hermione came to Minerva with information that Harry got an expensive broom for Christmas. One that had no signed card, and they didn't know who sent it. Hermione was right to suspect that someone with ill intentions might have given it, Sirius Black, specifically. But the boys were furious with her. Especially Ronald. Minerva took the broom, and they checked it to the single twig and beyond. It was all right; there was nothing menacing about it, and he got it back before the game, of course. But still, I believe Miss Granger did the right thing... Other than that, they are in constant conflict with Mr Malfoy. Again, Ronald is leading the assault, whilst Harry, in all of this, tends to be rather... careful, I would say. I've never seen him provoking those or retaliating. He defends himself and his friends, but that would be it. I think he avoids conflicts if they can be avoided. My students during the second year... Well, they were rather harsh on him. He tried to placate the situation, I believe, but it ended up in a fight, which he also escaped pretty quickly."
"You know about the... happenings around him. He's often in the Hospital Wing. Poppy is always complaining that he ignores his health and safety and would run away from her if he could. He had some serious injuries over those three years, but she says he's taking it like a true Gryffindor. Never cries, never complains, never moans about what hurts. Just stays quiet in his bed if he doesn't ask to be released. As if Poppy would eat him alive!" She laughed at her joke but noticed the serious expression on Helga's face, thought about what she heard just a moment ago, and her smile faltered. "Well... I suppose that may be justified behaviour..." she cleared her throat, "What was I about to... ah, yes. The weird things around him. He often catches the attention of other students, either exceedingly negative or positive. For losing and gaining ridiculous amounts of house points. Or because of weird things happening around him. Like Parseltounge... That was unsettling, to be honest, especially given the circumstances. When this happens, positive or negative, mind you, he has a tendency to avoid corridors and the pick hours of meals, if not meals entirely. Becomes quieter in classes, and he's not particularly active. You may think he does not exist."
Helga clenched her teeth, acidly congratulating Petunia in her mind. She heard that phrase in Amelias' office a couple of times. Harry was expected to disappear, to pretend he did not exist. Of all the things, that seemed to be the most cruel in her opinion.
"I'm not sure what else I may tell you," Pomona admitted. "He, of course, always got special attention from Albus. He's polite with other teachers, except for Severus, according to Severus' words. I've never witnessed their interaction personally. He's modest, shy and careful in general, although I saw him erupting in anger in corridors, mostly during fights with Mr Malfoy... well, I start to repeat myself."
"Thank you, Pomona," Helga smiled at her. "You gave me a lot of what I needed. And you confirmed some of my observations. There's one more thing... has he ever seemed forgetful to you?"
"Forgetful?" The woman looked confused. "No, I haven't noticed anything alike."
Helga nodded and changed the subject to something lighter shortly after. The herbal liquor quickly drew them out of the seriousness and pushed them towards more trivial matters and gossip about teachers and founders. That was why, when they arrived for dinner late, both were in splendid moods. They were both met with enquiring looks from some teachers, especially when they erupted in giggles at the mere sight of Severus Snape.
The potions laboratory in Riddle Manor was a spacious and well-ventilated room, even if located underground. The equipment was pristine, and the storage contained the highest quality supplies, stored with utmost precision to satisfy every single demand for the most fragile of the most exotic ingredients. It wasn't as pleasant of a place as the library, but it was a close second and the best-taken care of rooms in the entire manor.
Rowena never worked here before, so it took her a little while to accustom herself to how the space was organised. She carefully chose the appropriate cauldron and the best station for it. She prepared the necessary components for her potion: human bones, phoenix ashes, sea serpent's mane, amaranthus flowers, and - finally - the maledictus venom. On the side she placed the silver mirror. Setting the spring water to boil slowly, she appreciated the location of the laboratory next to the kitchen.
Sitting by the long wooden table, Rowena drank herbal tea and made notes and calculations for the potion. When finished, she took her time to wash the cup and braid her hair. The last thing she wanted was a hair in the cauldron. Talk about embarrassing!
The process afterwards was tedious and magically draining, so every now and then (at the appropriate moment), Rowena stepped back to the kitchen to brew herself a rosemary tea. Every time she went back and forth, she passed Voldemort's body lying on the floor. She wasn't exactly sure what his wishes would be after he died, and it didn't feel like she was the correct person to make the choice.
However, when the potion was nearly ready, and all that was left was to wait for it to cool down before reheating it for the ritual, she decided to move the corpse upstairs and place it in one of the unused bedrooms. It seemed... respectful. Or at least more appropriate. After all, it was unreasonable to talk about respectful after murdering someone. And she was under the impression that Tommy-boy wouldn't really care. Yet, for the peace of her own mind, she decided to do that.
And that was her mistake. Because the bedroom she chose wasn't unused, it belonged to Nagini.
The snake raised the head from her coils before Rowena noticed the beast's presence. She realised only hearing the unmistakably angry hissing.
"Dearest Ecne..." Rowena whispered, stepping backwards. For a heartbeat, her brain was unusually empty save from fear. Then, it was filled with information on maledictus. The cursed woman, destined to lose her body, mind and self for the body and mind of the snake. Slow, unrelenting, unbreakable curse of unknown origin. Passed from generation to generation. Possibly passed by maledictus venom. Always deadly for men. Sometimes deadly for women. What with those who didn't die? No one has ever studied such a case. Unfortunately.
Possibly. Not certainly. Possibly.
Rowena would rather die than lose herself. Lose her mind.
And there was always the Horcrux. If she wouldn't die, if the worst happened, Sal could kill and resurrect her. He would do that. Surely.
'Compose yourself, woman!' Rowena thought to herself, wondering why the snake hadn't attacked yet. She had time. She could already do that. But, allegedly, she could understand. She, allegedly, wasn't a mindless beast. Ecne, have mercy! But who should Rowena trust to have the best knowledge of snakes if not a Parselmouth?
"It's fine," she said to the snake, trying to limit the tremor of her voice, trying to sound soothingly, "It's fine. It's only temporary. You know that, he must have told you. You are holding a piece of his soul, he can't just die."
The snake moved forward but slowly; Rowena stepped back equally slowly.
"I promise, he'll return," the woman assured, "He'll be back before you even start to miss him..."
Nagini snapped her jaw, and for a brief moment, Rowena saw the fangs and the rest of the teeth, feeling how fear freezes the blood in her veins.
"He'll be back today," Rowena said quickly, "I'm working on it. I'm almost done. I swear. I just need to go downstairs and finish. It won't be long. The potion needs to cool down, and then I'll perform the ritual, and he'll be back. I swear."
As she spoke, her voice got higher because the snake kept moving, and Rowena couldn't step back any further, feeling the wall just behind her back. There was a moment when she was certain that Nagini would attack. But she tore her eyes from Rowena and slithered onto the bed, coiling next to Voldemort's body.
'Cold,' Rowena thought, 'He's cold. He smells of death. If she's just a little bit less intelligent than Tommy thought, she'll kill me now. If not now, then she won't. Then she understands and believes me... Or she understands nothing, and I'm a naive imbecile believing that I can convince a snake of all creatures... Sal always said they were rather disappointing conversationalists… But that's a maledictus. That's different.'
Nagini didn't attack. She seemed to settle on the bed, although her eyes were still glued to Rowena.
"I will... go now," Rowena said carefully, slowly moving towards the doors, "I need to finish..."
Step by step, Rowena backed out of the room. As soon as she was outside, she closed the doors and enforced them with a collection of spells.
Forget the rosemary. She needed lemon balm!
It took quite some time for Rowena's hands to stop shaking and for her thoughts to return to the normal pattern. Calm and sharp. When it happened, the potion was cold and ready for the ritual, and Rowena was in an adequate state to perform it.
She expected everything to go smoothly, and it actually did, with one exception. The potion, or rather now, the essence in the cauldron, should fill with Voldemort's magic; the Horcrux should pull the main part of Voldemort's soul and assemble it together to create the body. However, it should be clear of any other magic. Yet it wasn't.
If she were to compare it, it was like a polypore stuck to the trunk. Like singular, alien threads in the tapestries' pattern. Like false notes in bard's song. Like warm days in the middle of the winter. Wrong.
Rowena acted immediately, whispering and chanting incantations to extract it. The rapidly materialising magic was easy to catch, yet difficult to extract, so entangled, so attached to Voldemort's very soul. But it wasn't impossible, not for Rowena, anyway. One after the other, she pulled the strands out, locking each in the jar. They felt... familiar. Like something she had worked with already, even if she was too tired now to recognise them. And it wasn't the time to study the foreign magic.
She finalized the ritual and waited as the magic, soul, and essence formed slowly into the human. Not a human-like, snake-like creature, but a normal human. A man or rather a boy that just entered adulthood. How old was he while creating his fifth Horcrux? Twenty-three? Maybe twenty-four. Young. Very young, considering what he had achieved. Because for Rowena, creating five Horcruxes was an achievement. She didn't count it in bodies needed for such a feat but in magical prowess and determination.
The young man before her shook not only from the cold he felt, which she knew so well from her own resurrection. The moment of forming out of the heat of the boiling mixture into the mere room temperature was dreadful. But he shook because he was weak. Not thin, but gaunt, sickly, underfed. She knew almost nothing about Voldemort's life, but it must have been harsh at the point when he created this Horcrux. He started coughing violently, and his eyes found her, now just brown, not red like previously. And much more alive than previously. His face was contorted in pain, hurt, and reproach.
"You killed me!" he croaked, and she had to purse her lips to hold back the laughter at the accent. It definitely wasn't the same as what she was used to. It was... well, she knew nothing about modern accents, but it sounded much less sophisticated now.
"Of course I did," she replied, "How long do you think we should wait for you to admit this was the only way to fix the ritual? You had to be killed and the ritual redone. There. It's done. You're welcome."
"I'm not thanking you!" He snapped. "I would have found another solution!"
"Now you don't have to. And get dressed, for gods' sake! You'll catch a cold. Even without it, you look like you are dying just after your resurrection. And that would be a shame since you have not only a nose but also hair this time. So don't waste my work. Off with you!"
"I'm not a child!"
"You certainly speak like one."
He huffed, staggered, and caught his balance on one of the tables. Rowena turned towards the jars to collect them.
"I will come back tomorrow in the evening," she informed, "I'm tired, and I won't ever again rest under one roof with your snake. She might not be a mindless beast, but she's a beast."
And with that, Rowena left, not looking back, leaving Voldemort to take care of himself. She might have mustered a little more out of herself if he'd act nicer and show a little bit of gratitude. The modern youth!