ℒℯ𝓈𝓈ℴ𝓃 ℴ𝒻 ℒ𝒾𝒻ℯ 𝑒𝑛𝑔𝑙𝑖𝑠ℎ

❀ 𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉ℯ𝓇 𝓉𝒽𝓇ℯℯ ❀

❤︎𝓣𝓱𝓮𝔂 𝓼𝓪𝔂 𝓽𝓲𝓶𝓮 𝓱𝓮𝓪𝓵𝓼 𝔀𝓸𝓾𝓷𝓭𝓼, 𝓫𝓾𝓽 𝔂𝓸𝓾 𝓳𝓾𝓼𝓽 𝓰𝓮𝓽 𝓾𝓼𝓮𝓭 𝓽𝓸 𝓽𝓱𝓮 𝓹𝓪𝓲𝓷❤︎

Silently, lest I attract attention, I stealthily traverse the threshold, venturing into the cool and dimly illuminated labyrinth of the dungeons. A sigh escapes my lips as I lean against the aged stone wall, surrendering to the solace it provides, allowing the silent tears to cascade unabated. In this moment, my tribulations appear diminutive and ludicrous, mere trifles in the wake of the lingering scars left by the ravages of war. Aches and strains sporadically assail my weary muscles, reminiscent of the afflictions borne from the wretched Cruciatus Curse. The deathly rune, etched upon my flesh by the vile hand of Antonin Dolohov, stands as a somber testament to my fated demise. Nightmares, albeit dwindling with time, and mercifully fewer panic-stricken episodes, have plagued my restless nights. Yet, steadfast friends have guided me through these abyssal depths, and their unwavering support persists, even in the face of impending cataclysm. At least, I fervently hope so. Lost in contemplation, a gentle hand alights upon my trembling shoulder.

"How is he?"

A melancholic smile adorns the lips of the witch, wearied by sorrow, as her gaze wanders aimlessly through the now vacant and dimly lit corridor. With a heavy heart, I lower my lids and shake my head.

"He does not deserve this suffering."

Seeking to evade the healer's quizzical gaze, gradually transforming into one of beseeching entreaty, I offer a nod of consent as she broaches a query.

"May I pose a question?"

"Indeed."

"Watch over him, for I must return to the hospital wing, and I cannot bear the thought of leaving him alone in his afflicted state."

Before I can ascertain her reasons for entrusting me with this charge, the elder healer proceeds, unbidden.

"You are among the few privy to these debilitating attacks, and I am certain you shall not exploit his present vulnerability."

Furrowing my brow inquisitively, I am met with a gentle smile from the enchantress.

"The Penderus herb grants respite from pain for a duration of eight hours, yet it plunges the imbiber into a state akin to intoxication, wherein emotions may fluctuate with capricious volatility. I... there have been instances where individuals, consumed by grief, have succumbed to the allure of self-inflicted oblivion."

Suppressing a sob, I instinctively bring my hands to my mouth, gazing at the matron in disbelief. What if he were to contemplate such a dire path? What if I prove incapable of halting his descent? Resolutely, I cast these distressing thoughts aside, bolstering my resolve.

"Very well. I shall attend to him. Is there anything I must be mindful of? Are there any activities one ought to avoid while under the influence of this herb?"

A faint smile graces the healer's countenance as she gently shakes her head.

"None, save for the admonition against consuming alcohol, though I suspect you harbored no intentions of indulging in revelry. Oh, once he succumbs to slumber, you may safely leave him be. The herb shall maintain his repose until its effects gradually wane."

Chuckling softly, I offer a nod, prompting the healer, after one final scrutinizing glance toward the door, to pivot on her heel and hasten down the deserted corridors, retracing her steps toward the hospital wing. Taking a series of deep breaths, I turn my gaze to the door. You are equal to this task. The onus rests upon you, for everyone, particularly him, relies upon your steadfastness. Silently, I close the door behind me and cautiously survey the room. The dark wooden floorboards creak beneath my tentative steps as I venture toward the austere grey stone wall adorned with shelves brimming with sagacious tomes. It is no wonder this man possesses such erudition; if but half of these volumes have graced his discerning eyes, one could verily declare him a prodigious savant, without a shred of falsehood.