Chapter Text
It was the early morning before the fog that rolled in from the english channel cleared up. The beach was lovely. It wasn’t Mallorca or some French riviera vacationing hotspot, but I liked the crunch of the pebbles beneath my feet even if they would have hurt without shoes.
I wrapped my arms around my chest. It was always so much colder right here on the shore than at my current place. Even my wool jumper and coat did little when the wind went right through them both. As strange as robes and cloaks were, I found now that I was always in muggle clothes, I missed the excess fabric of a cloak that was never too hot or cool. I even missed the strange waxy texture of medi-witch robes we used at St Mungos. Most of all, I missed my job and not being terrified of talking to people without wondering if it would get me killed if they thought I was muggleborn, which I was but unlike the death eaters would have you believe, you can’t tell muggleborns just from looking at us.
I let out a breath. It was a school day for the kids in town. I’d walked by people heading to work on my way down to the beach. As usual, I kept to myself.
It was hard to go so long without talking to anyone. I’d always been introverted, but it had been months since I’d seen anyone. Letters weren’t enough. My brother might also be in hiding, but he was hiding out with his wife and another muggleborn family or something like that. For safety reasons, I didn’t know all the details.
I hadn’t gotten the Prophet in nearly a month, not that the war had shown any signs of ending the last time I’d managed to get my hands on the paper. I doubted the war would end as long as you-know-who was alive. His followers were fanatics, unreasonable people. Otherwise why’d they run around murdering people who had nothing to do with the war.
I let out a breath.
My arms are raised wide as I walk over rocks down the shore, heading to the cliffs. They blended into the grey fog seamlessly, looking more like clouds than cliffs. My balance had never been great, but this morning walk had done wonders for my stamina. It was something to do other than hole up in my cottage that still lacked more advanced heating than the stove in the year 1979.
I slept better, knowing that no one knew where I was; no one here knew I was a witch, but it was a heavy price to pay, to practically disappear from not one but both worlds. I climb over a rock as the waves come in, sea mist spraying on me.
The smell of salt fills my nose.
Rocks turn to pebble turn to rocks over coarse sand as I find myself under the shadow of the white cliffs of Dover still miles off. Close enough to see and enjoy without dealing with the daily ferries carting around tourists.
I’d chosen this town for its small size. There were no witches or wizards in town. There was nothing of interest to bring the war here.
Finding asylum on the continent might have been better. It was easier to immigrate as a medi-witch. And being a muggleborn would have helped my whole asylum case, but it also felt like giving up. I hadn’t put up with kids asking me why my eyes were weird before calling me slurs only to fuck right off as if they won. I hadn’t let the muggles get me, I refused to back down from the bloody blood purists.
Though the war had gone on for a decade, I had hopes it would end. Soon.
I missed the hustle and bustle of London.
Not that I'd ever had time to go out while in my medi-witch apprenticeship or while applying to go into the healer tract.
The waves rolls in, crashing into the rocks.
I make my way further up the shore, where the pavement snakes through forming a nice easy walk.
Catching my breath, I stand to the side, pretending I’m here on a gap year or because I want to be. Just another muggle among billions.
I never thought that the same wankers who called first years mudbloods would grow up to kill people.
Taking a path down to a sandy part of the shore, I kick off my trainers, not wanting to deal with the sand on my walk back. There was magic, but that probably wasn’t a good idea. Someone could see.
The sand is cold against my feet.
I suck it up. Bloody sand. It was more tiring to make it down to the water than it had been clambering over rocks. My feet would sink into the sand. It was a losing battle. The stuff always ended up everywhere.
The hem of my jeans were now caked with sand.
It got easier once I made it to the damp sand, all packed down.
I looked out at the sea.
Sunlight was starting to come in through the clouds. The horizon cleared up as the fog faded along with the morning.
The horizon was clearing up and there was a body laying among the waves like a piece of driftwood.
In fact, I wanted to write it off as driftwood.
I knew better.
I was a medi-witch for merlin’s sake.
I pulled out my wand as I approached.
Maybe it was just driftwood. Or some drunken muggle. Maybe this is what teenage muggles did for fun in this town? Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. There was no way that was it.
Second best scenario: dead body.
Dead bodies couldn’t hurt you.
There’d be some explaining to do to the police unless I apperated away. But people drowned for non-death eater related reasons. Muggles drowned.
Yeah, it was an accident I thought to myself, holding my wand out reading to cast a stupify if I needed to.
The body looked terrible. The man looked around my age which wasn’t saying much as I’d only really started to feel like an adult when I’d finished my apprenticeship just months ago. And I was pretty baby faced to top it off. Or it could just be the Korean thing. My dad didn’t have nearly as many lines in his features compared to my mum.
The lad was dark haired, with a face right of a renaissance painting of a saint in the process of being horribly murdered. Bloody scratches covered his exposed skin, and his dark clothes were torn and singed with what appeared to be fire.
He looked dead.
My healer instincts kicked in. With my wand pointed at the body, I reached for the blokes hand, looking for a pulse. He might be alive. I’d taken the hippocratic oath. I’d worked my arse off to get into a medi-witch apprenticeship despite having no connections to speak of.
I push his sleeve up and out of the way. It's awkward as I’m still pointing my wand at his throat. He was probably a muggle. But better safe than sorry.
Thumb over his pulse point, I glance around like a gremlin hoping no one comes by. It would raise too many questions. Morgana’s tit, I should've just left.
There’s the slightest pulse, faint, but steady. He’d live with some medical attention.
I let out a sigh of relief I didn’t know I was holding.
Right then. I needed to get the muggles in on this. I had some change for a payphone but it might be quicker to go into town. I could just apparate.
Starting to push his sleeve back down I notice the start of a tattoo peeking out. Only-it’s not a muggle tattoo. Like wizarding photographs, it moves. . .on his arm. . .
Fuck.
I shove his sleeve up roughly, as far as it’ll go.
The dark mark.
Death Eater.
I swallow thickly, mind racing as lead forms in my feet, rooting me down to the spot. I still had my wand.
“Accio wand,” I mutter under my breath experimentally. There was no way he would get up and kill me at the moment according to my expertise, but-a wand flies into my hands from further down the beach where it had gotten stuck by some rocks. Definitely a wizard then and not some fucked up coincidence.
It was still a pretty messed up coincidence.
I pocket his wand.
I could just leave him here.
If no one came by, he’d die. Serves him right. It wouldn’t be like I was killing him, just letting nature run its course. He was a death eater.
He’d probably killed loads of people for fun.
He was a terrible person for joining some weird racist supremacy organization that was terrorizing the wizarding world.
But I wasn’t a terrible person.
And I couldn’t live with myself if I did nothing. He should rot in Azkaban. Death was too quick to pay for his crimes, whatever they are.
Wrinkling my nose, I grab onto the fabric of his shirt. With a crack, we’re in my cottage. The curtains are shut, everything is as I left it. I kick off my shoes a second later. It was bad enough apparating inside with shoes on.
He doesn’t have a wand, I remind myself, letting go. I turn my back, fingers tightly wrapped around my wand as I go get my potions kit. The choice was made. I would see it through.
But first, I run into my room, shoving his wand into the case where my pads were. There wasn’t much to speak of in my room. My school trunk was at the foot of my bed with most things shoved inside, ready to be shrunk and stuck onto my charm bracelet at a moment's notice. I was paranoid.
The potions kit full of mostly healing slaves and restoring draughts was set up in my oven. It made for convenient storage.
The cottage was frigid.
I’d resisted the urge to use heating charms, convinced using too much magic would give me away like in Sleeping Beauty. Somehow they know.
He’s still collapsed on the floor when I get back. Unmoved. Unconsciousness.
Okay. “Okay,” I mumble to myself. Healing time.
The blood was the first issue. An easy fix. There was no way to access his state with it. I was surprised how it had survived the water. Maybe there had been a lot to start. Blood loss could explain the slow pulse. He was also cold to the touch, but that could just be exposure.
“Tergeo,” I say with a flick of my wand, getting most of the blood off his face, before repeating at his hands. There didn’t seem to be any blood on his chest, the clothes ripped but not exactly in a way that suggested blood, more torn at.
Could it be a redcap? They were more of a freshwater species. . .mermaids generally didn’t attack unless provoked. . .it might not be a creature at all but an apparition gone wrong and whatever had caused the scratches had been left behind. I needed more information so I didn’t accidently kill him.
His skin was leached of blood, the skin surrounding his mouth had gone purple. I needed to get that sorted.
I take a vial of blood replenishing potion. It was my last one. Bollocks, I’d have to start brewing more as soon as the next new moon.
I tip the contents into his mouth, levitating his body slightly so it’ll go down. Now, before I went on, I needed to check for more symptoms, something that would let me know what had happened. “Diffindo minor,” I cast down his chest, slicing through the layers of clothes. It's easy to shove them off his shoulders as I check for any visible signs of trauma.
Nothing.
Poison then?
I frown.
Standard procedure suggested using the antidote for common poisons first and then waiting. Unfortunately I only had the antidote for uncommon poisons.
I couldn't just give him that. The fire seeds in the uncommon poisons brew could accelerate some poisons.
Looks like I was going to brew it then.
It would only take about two hours. My kit was plenty full between foraging and attempting to garden to take up my time.
Casting a warming spell over the bloke, I reach for my mortar and pestle to start grinding up ingredients. The whole chopping and mincing taught by Slubhorn was archaic in comparison. The potion is mostly grinding up bezoars into a fine powder and slowly simmering it until all the stones were incorporated. The stone of course didn’t like being incorporated so it took a while.
I set the cauldron over the stop, charming a ladle to stir the potion as it simmered.
Potion making was tedious.
I go back to check on him. Still on the floor.
The couch in this cottage came with the place. It was older than my grandparents, probably. The stuffing poked out and when you sat, you sunk right down to the frame. Really, I was doing him a favor leaving him on the floor.
I take his pulse again.
“You better not try to off me,” I mutter under my breath, “I’d hate to undo all my work with some hexes but I will.”
Still slower than I would like it.
Fuck, I think, realizing I never bothered to dry the clothes he was still in. I could be so bloody daft sometimes. It's so easy, I cast nonverbally.
There's the tell tale red pin pricks around his eyes of asphyxiation. Having found him near water, I go with drowning.
Maybe it had been mermaids.
Maybe the bastard had been idiotic enough to go after mermaids. It was funny how purebloods hated creatures yet banked at gringotts and all had house elves. Fucking hypocrites.
I sit down on the floor besides him. I should just let him die. Right? No. He was already here. I’d made a choice. An insane choice but a choice nonetheless.
I fidget.
My brother would’ve left him. In this war, the way things were, I should’ve too.
I check on the potion.
It needs to cool. There was no point in using a cooling spell, it would interfere with the potion.
I blow on the cupful of potion, taking a seat beside him again. I didn’t recognize him very much, but that didn’t mean anything. He could’ve been a year below or above me. I didn't know every student in the castle. Just the incredibly annoying ones in my house. Sometimes it seemed like Gryffindor was less brave than just a bunch of loud wankers.
Looking at his features, I try to remember the students at school. It had been a moment since I’d last been there, having really only kept in touch with a few by owl and moved on to my coworkers at St. Mungos. With heavy lidded eyes that dropped down with a touch of melancholia like Paul McCartney’s, a sturdy straight nose, and a slightly haughty mouth: he was giving me deja vu, but I couldn’t remember what the deja vu was about. He was familiar enough, but then there were plenty of all right looking English boys at Hogwarts.
I pour the antidote down his throat. If it had been redcaps, this should take care of any venom left behind.
It seemed to me like it was some sort of poison or else the blood replenishing solution should’ve been enough for him to at least wake up for a bit. Internal trauma could also be a factor. . .I’d do an anatomical locator spell to be sure.
Once again, I pour the potion down his throat, tilting the back of his head up with my hand. He smelled as pungent as nori, more sea salt than a seaweed snack. He must’ve been on the beach the entire night. It was a small miracle he hadn’t died of exposure.
Still, he doesn’t stir.
The effects are immediate. Not any common poison. Not a common creature either then.
I check his internal systems with a spell, casting the net of yellow lights carefully over his form, watching to see if any turned red, a tell tale sign of internal bleeding: blue for broken bones. His chest lit up.
All over his heart and lungs--red.
Fuck. I should’ve checked this first.
I was only a medi-witch fresh out of training. Not even a healer--yet. I scramble through my potions, looking for the bottle of revitalising elixir. That should take care of any internal bleeding. The elixir was the color of an oil spill, hardly appealing. I pour it down his throat. There are scratches. I’d assumed the blood from them, even as I sat here, blood had scabbed over the scratches. I wasn't off, but some of the blood must’ve been coughed up.
Shouldn't more have come up at some point?
I cap the elixir after only seven drops. It wasn’t the quantity but the quality of this particular potion that mattered. Still, it would take a few hours for the internal trauma to clear up.
Scrunching my nose, I remind myself he’s unarmed. He’s unconscious and likely to stay that way for the foreseeable next few hours.
Why wouldn't there be blood if he was internally bleeding? Had nothing ruptured? That would explain his still being alive.
He’d need more blood replenishing potion then.
I pocket my wand and place my hand on his bare chest. I should’ve brought my thermometer and stethoscope into hiding along with me.
The smooth skin over his heart, the expanse of his upper chest, it's all noticeably warmer than the rest of his icy skin.
Whatever it was, it had sapped his blood like an infection.
The elixir should take care of it.
Then. . .then what? He’d wake up. What would I do with him then?
I sit back on the balls of my feet, looking down at the bloke. I couldn't just let him go. He knew where I was. He was a death eater. Should I hand him over to the authorities? That would paint a target on myself for the death eaters to really come after. There was always the possibility of obliviating his memory.
I didn’t know.
He might still die. . .
It would be so much easier if he died.
I close my eyes. I felt like a terrible person thinking it. But it was true. His lot were actively killing people. How many people would live if he died right now? Justice. . .would it even come through if I handed him over to the ministry or did you-know-who have moles there already?
Morgana’s tit I was well and truely fucked.
I get up to try and at least drink something. There was no way I could eat right now.
My foot steps on a jagged piece of stone.
“Fuck,” I hiss, wincing. There was a ugly old locket on the floor. It must have fallen out of his pocket, whoever he was. Pitch black like my Hogwarts school robes, it gleamed even in the low cottage light.
It was gaudy. The chain is overly large, more costumey than pretty.
I pick it up.
Right at the clasp, there was a decorative snake that looked more like a worm than snake, but the S carved in gold on the back of the stone could not be anything other than Slytherin. Or maybe there were lots of copycat families with snake fetishes. I didn’t know. Whatever secret book the purebloods all recognized each other from, I was out of the loop.
I try to open the clasp.
It remains securely closed.
“Alohomora.”
Nothing.
“Aberto.”
Still, nothing.
“Stupid locket,” I mutter, shoving it into my jacket pocket. It weighed more than I expected,my jacket slumping down to accommodate the locket. Another thing I had to hide before he woke up. Maybe it was dangerous.
Likelier, it was some terribly overpriced ugly piece of jewelry from Borgin and Burkes.
I glance down at my gold charm bracelet. A gold baby ring had been clipped on next to a tiny stonehenge. It had been my mother’s idea. It might be a little kitsch, but it wasn’t anywhere near as atrocious at the locket.
I pop the kettle on the stove, next to the cauldron.
It was stupid to turn my back on him. My shoulders were all hiked up to my ears with tension. I could see his prone form from the kitchen. Fuck.
What was I going to do?
I should have thought things through first.
Send a patronus to the aurors. Fat chance, first I’d have to summon a corporeal patronus. Owl them then? Needed an owl.
Bollocks.
I take a deep breath.
Right.Next move.
The elixir would restore him. He might wake up at any time in the next twelve hours. If it took longer he’d need a second dose.
I wasn’t going to stare at his unconscious body. So. . .I’d have to tie him up. Right. I could do that. I’d do that and garden. Only I really hated how all the dirt managed to get stuck under my nails even when I wore gloves.
Gardening would take my mind off things, so long as I remembered to kill any magical plants before I left. . .best not. I could walk into town. Have a nice five minute chat with the muggle at the til: the thrilling extent to my socializing these days.
I could finally read Hogwarts, a history. I’d gone seven years at Hogwarts without cracking the hand me down book from my brother open. As much as I loved him, he was such a nerd. Who cared about history? Who got detention for reading history books in Transfiguration?
Nerd.
With a flick of my wand, rope ties up the lads wrists together. Then I do his feet. There. Right.
I could spend a couple hours in a mall.
But I also wasn’t okay with just leaving him here.
I should’ve invested in a telly.
I slink off to my room to read various magazines I’d nicked from work and never got around to finishing. Finding out what pro Quidditch player was my soulmate seemed like a good edition of Witches Weekly to start on.