Chapter Text
The second time Edith managed to wake, it was with a start; a strangled half yelp that stuck in her dry throat like gristle; the firm mattress beneath her squeaked in protest.
Her heart was racing and she could feel the sweat on her face, some noise must have escaped her because the next thing a cup was brought to her mouth. She shied away from it before she realised what it was and allowed the liquid to run down her throat.
“Easy there, sweet girl.” The voice was gentle, like someone talking to a scared animal. “Do you know where you are?”
“N-.” She tried before just shaking her head as much as she could. It was barely anything but she could see the woman at least. She was a tall kindly looking woman in a white dress almost as white as the walls, her blonde hair swept back one of the more severe styles.
“You are in St Mungos, dear. It’s a Wizarding hospital.” The nurse went to brush her hair from her face but stopped when Edith flinched.
She hadn’t meant to, she knew the nurse wouldn’t hurt her but then she hadn’t thought her parents would either…
“I’m Alora and I will be taking care of you today.” Her voice was kind and reassuring; it matched how she looked somehow.
“Ni- nice to meet you.” The polite response was automatic but her voice couldn’t keep up and she stumbled over the words.
The tired was coming back again. A few minutes and a handful of words were almost more than she could handle.
“You should sleep now.” This time Edith couldn’t flinch away from the hand that stroked her head. It was calloused but gentle, she hated it a brief shard of panic stabbed through her but her body was frozen and her mind was already drowning.
__________________
The third time Edith woke up, it was to the unwelcome sensation of someone playing with her hair. She ripped herself away in blind panic, wounds tearing open as pain flared through her. The floor seemed to rise up to meet her as she nearly fell off the creaky hospital bed.
New hands from the other side steadied her, and the scent of dittany leaves and smoke filled her nose.
“Calm down, no one is attacking you. It’s just Professor Weasley.” The husky tone of Professor Sharp was reassuring; the hands on her shoulders however, were not.
The blood that ran down her back tickled, leaving a cold rivulet that made her shiver. The air was cold too; it carried a sterile smell that burned the back of her throat.
“I’m sorry, Edith. I didn’t think that would wake you.” The hands in her hair had really been Professor Weasley’s, she looked guilty.
“Please don’t touch me.” She replied, feeling bad for making Professor Weasley feel bad.
“I’m afraid that isn’t possible. You are in a hospital and still healing, however I can promise I will not play with your hair unless you are awake, but it will still need brushing eventually.” That made sense, she supposed.
A noise drew her eye to Professor Sharp who was now digging in his coat jacket; he pulled free a small lime green vial with barely a mouthful inside.
“Is that going to be safe, Aesop?” Professor Weasley asked, seeing what he was holding.
“Yes Matilda, this is exactly what the Nurse would give her if we called her in. We’ll just let them know about it when we leave.” Professor Sharp shrugged. “It won’t completely fix your wounds, they’re too severe but it will stop the bleeding and put the healing back to what it was at.”
“I’m afraid they’re going to scar, dear.” Professor Weasley started comfortingly as Edith took the vial. “But once the wounds are healed and the scars are pink there is a potion that will get rid of them.”
The potion smelt the way Professor Sharp smelt, of dittany and smoke. The taste left a lot to be desired though, it tasted like green pond slime mixed with dirt and the barest hint of mint.
“Can I keep my scars?” Edith asked already guessing what the answer would be.
“I can’t see why you would want to but yes, if you want your scars you can keep them for as long as you like. The potion will work for non-magical scarring no matter when it’s taken.” Professor Weasley explained confusion and concern written all over her face.
Wasn’t magic supposed to be magical? Edith glanced down at her thin bandaged arms; she understood now why she had seen some wizards or witches with scars before despite magic. She’d always wanted to ask but hadn’t known how to without offending. It couldn’t fix everything.
“Why can’t magic fix it all in one go?” She asked. Wondering what the limits were, her wounds weren’t magical in nature, so why not?
“Over healing a child is just as dangerous as not healing them at all. Your infection is deep and you had a lot of other injuries. The healers have had to prioritise, starting with your infections and punctured lung. Your body just isn’t matured enough to survive a full healing.” Professor Sharp explained running his fingers through his hair.
“Merlin’s beard but it’s a miracle you survived at all. Another day or so and you would have been completely beyond even our best healers.” Professor Weasley added with something like a choked sob. She fished out an ugly tartan handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes.
“Why… how did you find me so fast?” Edith asked as the thought occurred to her.
She hadn’t thought anyone would realize until term started, but she also hadn't had any concept of time in that house, at least not since the notice for the new term schedule had arrived.
That had been the last straw for her parents and their attempts to purge what they called the Devils influence. After that, time lost its shape; the days bled together until she could no longer tell one from the next… so maybe that was how they'd found her. She had expected to die in that room; welcomed it, almost.
“Mr Ominis Gaunt and Miss Lenora Everleigh realised you hadn’t arrived at school and searched for you. When they couldn’t find anyone who had seen you on the train, Mr Gaunt came and reported it to me.” Professor Sharp’s face suggested he thought Ominis had started the search and Lenora had just been roped into it.
Was it ungrateful to Lenora to agree that Ominis had likely played more of a part in saving her than her Hufflepuff housemate? It was; she wasn’t sure she would have noticed a missing student in the start of year confusion.
Ominis however, noticed everything with that wand of his… and it had saved her. Tears slid down her cheeks, for the first time since she had begun to wake; it had been a long time since she’d had the strength to cry.
“You should lie back down and get some more sleep.” Professor Weasley urged handing her a clean handkerchief pulled from another sleeve. “You have a lot more healing to do and need more rest.”
“Will you be here when I wake up?” Edith asked the tears in her voice as she lay back down as gently as she could. The sheets had already grown ice cold.
The bed creaked with the movement, the white metal head frame shaking slightly. She had so many more questions. What was she going to do now? Would she be able to return to school? Where would she even go? What was going to happen to those people?
“That depends, dear. We can visit you in the evenings after class.” Oh of course, how could she have forgotten? Of course they had classes to teach. “I think Professor Garlick will be visiting you tomorrow.”
That was going to be exhausting, Edith thought unkindly as her eyes grew heavy. Professor Garlick was lovely but she could be very overly affectionate… she had used to love it but now it sounded draining.
__________________________
The following weeks since the start of term had been surreal to Ominis. Hogwarts Witchcraft and Wizardry was exactly the same as it had been the previous year.
Ghosts still flew out of the walls and through students, causing them to squeal, the suits of armour in some of the hallways still got into fights and scattered their pieces across the floor. Peeves was still a menace that haunted the boys’ toilet and threw things.
Outwardly everything was the same, but a tension brewed just beneath the surface, waiting to break free and ripple outward like waves across a lake. It spilled most noticeably into the Hufflepuffs, the second-year students above all. Normally jovial and good-natured, they were now gloomy and sullen… quiet in a way that spelled trouble.
Arthur Plummly, of all people, got detention for punching a third-year Gryffindor who had dared to ask why they were moping after a mudblood. He struck him squarely in the nose, smashing it flat, much to the horror of those who witnessed it. Ominis decided to take his own revenge, sending the Gryffindor tumbling down the very steep staircase on the way back from the hospital wing. Two other students had to carry the howling idiot back up, this time to have his legs healed by the muggle-born Nurse Blainey. Ominis hoped the boy appreciated the irony: a mudblood he so despised was healing him… not once, but twice. The ripple of tension didn’t stop with the Hufflepuffs… it spilled into the teachers, who began deducting points for things they would have let slide before.
Sometimes a student was unable to find a particular teacher for hours, only for them to reappear, with what Ominis judged to be a sour mood. One unfortunate student had discovered Professor Garlick weeping amongst her mandrakes, and was promptly docked ten points for her impertinence.
More than once, it reached the ears of the students that Professor Weasley, stern, matronly, and wielding a tongue sharper than any blade, had been heard shouting at Professor Black in his office. Her words were muffled by what must have been a noise-dampening charm, so no one could say precisely how Professor Black had provoked her wrath, though it was widely agreed that he had probably deserved it.
Students insisted that the decorative ceiling of the Trophy Room had rained stone dust upon the lush carpet, and several trophies had tumbled to the floor, requiring immediate repair. Ministry officials made frequent visits as well, striding down the ornate hallways with grave expressions and heaps of paperwork in hand.
The ghosts, while they still startled the students were also quieter, not that many students noticed. They were also the largest source of information in the castle for gossip to any student quiet enough to be able to listen in and lucky enough to find them.
Ominis had followed an echoing whisper down a flight of steps to the secret wall that led to the story about lycanthropes. Sebastian had explained the tapestries in detail to him, and together they had discovered that lumos had changed the story.
His wand told him there was another student at the base of the stairs, crouched in the corner of the corridor. It was Poppy. Faster and quieter than he had expected, she moved instantly upon noticing him, like a silent ghost herself, and clamped her small hand over his mouth. He had missed the beginning of the ghostly conversation, but if he and Poppy stayed quiet, they would catch the rest—at least until someone else came down.
“—changes at the Ministry! I heard one of the officials saying there’s going to be new laws for this. Terrible amount of paperwork!” The tone was pompous, self-absorbed. Ominis could tell the ghost was close; the voices seemed to drift only a short way around the corner. Nearly Headless Nick, ever the gossip, floated nearby with another ghost, thrilled by the tidbit. This was exactly the kind of information Nick thrived on… and evidently, it was worth listening to for anyone interested in what was really happening. Ominis needed to know too… any clue about what had happened to her.
“Shh - be quiet.” She hissed her tone low, almost inaudible. “Listen if you want to but don't ruin it.” Ominis nodded, and her hand let go of his mouth, pulling him against the wall. He'd never experienced her interest in a conversation that wasn't about magical creatures but judging by her the tensing of her small frame; she would probably feed him to a Hippogriff if he made a noise and scared the ghosts away.
“Well - of course! A child nearly died due to her muggle parents' superstitions. And that was the good option! It's like the witch burnings all over again," The fretful voice belonged to the ghost of Rowena Ravenclaw. “I heard they're being sent to Azkaban, the Minister has pulled some strings due to the backlash and mistrust in the muggle judicial system.”
Just what had those monsters done to her to put them in a Wizarding prison? Ominis wondered grimly - he felt his head swim and a sharp noise piercing his ears. It went away as quickly as it came; thankfully, because there was more he needed to hear while he could.
“An example does need to be set; we can't have muggle parents thinking they can harm their magical children.” Nick replied haughtily. “You know what else I heard?” he seemed to pause for dramatic effect. “Professor Black has unilaterally decided that Professor Sharp is going to be her guardian, though it's to be a secret within these walls. We shall have to tell the others so they don't spread it around where the students can hear.”
Ominis could have sworn he heard Poppy mutter, “Idiots” softly.
“No! Oh, how inappropriate! He's not even married! The scandal! Her reputation could be ruined. What was Professor Black thinking?” Rowena gasped in horror. “No wonder Professor Weasley has been in a terrible mood.”
Anyone would be able to tell that Professor Black was thinking of getting rid of the problem as quickly as possible. He also would have doubled down if the mistake was pointed out to him, or worse; worried that Professor Weasley would have less time to do his work if she had guardianship of a child.
“I heard she threw an entire marble bust at Headmaster Black. I can hardly imagine it though between you and me; such a polite lady.” Whispered Nick, in a theatrical tone. Ominis thought it was a shame she obviously hadn't been trying to hit him. “I also witnessed her telling Professor Sharp that his guardianship is shared with her no matter what the paperwork says. She gave him a rather long list of things he must contact her for.”
“I'm not surprised. How horrible, a girl that age –” Rowena began before there was a loud crash and a curse from the stairwell behind them.
“Helga - curse that flat-footed idiot! They're gone, I'm leaving,” Poppy cursed angrily as the ghosts went silent; they had probably floated off quickly, fearing eavesdroppers.
The idiot in question was a first-year, crouched on the steps at the top of the landing, picking up his textbooks as Ominis and Poppy left the passageway and began climbing the stairs.
Poppy muttered -“idiot”- just loud enough for the flustered boy to hear, passing by without offering any assistance.
“Do be more careful,” Ominis couldn’t help but admonish the first-year as he paused mid-step to quickly pick up one of the books from the cold stone before continuing his climb.
“Sorry,” the boy replied, embarrassed, as Ominis handed him the book.
He had so much to think about, and how he was going to approach this. Was there anyone in the castle that would tolerate his inquiries when he wasn’t even a member of her own house? When his family had a, decidedly, anti-muggle reputation?