#healer reader

Rivendell’s calm, its stillness usually unperturbed, was now disturbed by something you couldn’t quite put your finger on. Everything was still the same but slightly out of place. Like the leaves were rustling louder than before, the crystal clear steam hurried and the air simply different.

Heavier with something. A burden.

You couldn’t analyse further, thought. But you knew someone who could. As you crossed a bridge, here he was right in front of you, appearing just like magic when you thought of him. He had this habit of being at the right place at the right time without even knowing it, which made you look out for him more than you ought to. Fair long blond hair flowing in motion with his stride and piercing blue eyes crossed you on the bridge without even acknowledging you. That’s how you knew something was definitely up.

“Legolas?“ you called, turning back towards him. He stoped and turned to you as if he didn’t see you before. You offered him a smile and stepped forward. “Hi, where are you going like that?“ you asked.

“Only attending a meeting, they are waiting for me“ he replied, making no move to leave nevertheless.

“Can I ask you something?" he looked at you expectantly. “What is happening? I can feel something is wrong, out of place in the very air, but I cannot tell what,“ you explain, looking up to him.

“I am sorry, my lady, but I cannot reveal anything. It is a private affair concerning the king.“

You looked at him with furrowed brows, not expecting this kind of answer. Legolas always told you about what was being prepared. The number of soldiers in the troops, his own departure when a quest called upon him. But not this time. You smelt the musk coming off of him dragged by the wind to your nose, and a feeling of panic clung to your skin, irrevocably. The feeling of never seeing him again if you let him go without further ado. The feeling of waking up in the morning and knowing, in your skin, he left without saying goodbye.

You were friends, close friends some might say, courting even if you were crazy enough to think an elven prince interested in a modest healer, as good as she was. You had spent your teenage years together, always somehow in each other’s circle because your apprenticeship as a healer led you to tend to multiple surface wounds he would bring home from his travelling. You had spent your teenage years dwelling over a prince, just like any other girl would because he was so nice and charming, and moreover he acted like he wasn’t heir to the throne. But when duty called you west, in Rivendell, you forgot all about your dreams of elven princes and pinewood scents and bid your adieux, thinking next time you’ll see him you will have to bow to another woman hanging at his arm.

And here you were years later, the royal healer of Rivendell and close friend of the blond boy you so deeply liked hundreds of years before. As always, he was constantly off to something : a mission, a quest, but he came by Rivendell often enough; even lingered there when he had the time. And if you had known he came by so often just for you, you wouldn’t have believed it anyway. With the years Legolas had taken a liking to you, you two were so different yet so similar. Back in Mirkwood, when he was young and reckless and sometimes mean, you were soft-spoken, tender and firm all the same. Now in Rivendell, now that the grief had washed off his face at last, you were the one with burning fire in your heart, yet always so gentle and reassuring when reassurance there needed be. And Legolas he was everything he wasn’t before, calmer, still a bit arrogant but so much more sure of himself, you observed.

You sighed, you would get no information from the elf this time, it seemed.

“Well, be careful will you? It is my day off tomorrow and I would like to spend it in bed, not stitching you back to pieces, yes?“ 

“I will make no promises, my lady,“ he said, the ghost of a smile torturing at his lips before you rolled your eyes and walked away, back of the neck burning because you were sure you could feel his piercing eyes watching you leave.

You could feel them watching you every time he was in the room, observing your every move, noting your every mistake probably (not that there were many, but to that you will never admit). He resumed walking to his meeting, unaware that you had stopped behind a column to follow him.

If curiosity was a fault or a blessing, you couldn’t say, but it brought you to hear multiple men talk about a ring and a quest. Mentions of Mount Doom were made, of Mordor and Isengard even ; of Sauron. You quickly understood that something was on the verge of happening. Something much bigger than you, something Legolas was a part of. Something you strangely wanted to be a part of too, because your heart called to it. Or maybe it called for something —someone else.

So when the men took their oath, giving their weapons to the cause, you jumped over the wall you were hiding behind and offered what you had too.

“And you have my powers,“ you said confidently, everyone now ogling you like you were an unknown creature bestowed upon earth for mischief. The king opened his mouth, ready to ask you to take your leave probably, firing you in the process, you thought, but you’d have none of that. “Forgive me, for spying on you so. But I understand you are leaving for a dangerous quest, one where the possibilities of getting hurt are grand. One in which you will get hurt,“ you looked at everyone, pausing for a second to catch your breath, heart pounding in your chest. You couldn’t believe in what you were doing. “I am Rivendell’s best healer, surely you’ll need someone to stitch you up and keep you from dying. Pardon me again, for intruding so uninvited, but in my heart I feel I must come with you. This is a task above a simple matter of war ; this is the destiny of the people I love and of everyone else. I won’t stand in the dark waiting and doing nothing while you are off dying for Middle Earth. This is what my powers were given to me for."

A wave of looks were exchanged but none of them asked you to leave. In the gathering, you easily found Legolas standing next to a dark haired man and a tiny other. His facial expression was grave, ocean eyes digging right into yours. You could decipher nothing behind it, but you would have if you had heard the way his heart thumped in his chest; like an army of orcs marching towards their enemy. You would have if you had heard the buzz inside his head and known the frown on his face was from worry and not discontent. The tension in his shoulders grew like the cord of a bow ready to snap, but he let out nothing.

Heading back to your quarters after the meeting for the last time before long , maybe for the last time ever, a gentle yet firm hand took ahold of your arm. It spun you around and you fell face to face with the one man you didn’t want to confront. The one you knew had something to say about this. Eyes severe, as calm as a never ending ocean yet burning with something fierce, something that dragged a storm undercover, Legolas handed you an object : silver and heavy.

“Take this. Don’t leave the group, don’t engage in battle, and don’t think my eyes will stray from you for a second“ he said, and the fire in his eyes felt like he was eating you alive and licking at your skin to sooth the burning at the same time.

You took the dagger delicately, fingers brushing his in the process, held it in your hand and examined its shimmery blade under the moonlight.

You smiled, hoping your reddening carnation would fall unknown to the man in front of you in the shadows of the night.

"Well then don’t die on me. That would defeat the purpose of my coming to the quest".

He sighed, a sigh that looked like a laugh in disguise. It was one, but he couldn’t bring himself to laugh seeing the situation and the fact that you willingly put yourself in it. He came by Rivendell so often to make sure you were all right, to put to rest his racing mind when he felt once to many times he was away for too long and you had forgotten all about him. And now he had dragged you in the deadliest mission there was. All because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. All because when you asked him a question nothing came to him but the truth to satisfy you.

Younger, you would ask so many questions about what was happening in Mirkwood, what was it like to be heir, what were all the grand feasts like. And Legolas would tell you all about it. He would let you know about things you shouldn’t have known; now reflecting upon it, about things that might have gotten you hurt.

Things changed when his mother died.

He shared nothing, replied politely to your greetings but never inquired. And then he was gone for months; months without an end it seemed. He had bid no goodbyes, no nothing, and let your heart ache with worry a bit more with everyday passing. So when he came back to you, you couldn’t say if you were still close. It seemed all the years you had spent together had been for nothing, erased so easily by the grief eating him alive.

You couldn’t possibly understand the pain of losing a parent. You would have never understood how the prince felt now, waking up every morning with a part of him missing. Worse, his very own father, the only one left to love him, became obsessed with finding back memories of his wife in a necklace, only to forget about the only treasure she left behind: her son.

In the following months you took your leave for Rivendell, and with time and many visitings from his part at last, things begun to look like they were before. Only now, you weren’t just a teenager pining for a prince anymore: you were a woman in love with a man so secret in his feelings you sometimes wondered if he perceived you as anything else than the kid you were. A childhood friend, a nice girl, but perhaps not much more.

But then came the looks. Looking at each other across the street, searching for him in the crowd when a party was leaving only to find that his eyes were already on you, feeling observed every time he was in the room. But you weren’t a teen anymore and you couldn’t assume things off of looks; looks like the one he was giving you right now: deep and unreadable, like he was holding the world and you with it. Or maybe it was soft and relieved, like he could finally breathe because he knew you safe with him.

"I will try, my lady, but I think the others will give you plenty of work," he replied, hint of sarcasm in his tone.

"Don’t be so smug, I am well inclined to know you have an habit of getting hurt when you ought not to, even when it’s just scratches," you smiled, matching his tone.

"I apologise, miss. Unless, I wouldn’t if you weren’t so good of a healer."

For a moment, the smile tugging at his face and the fire wave crashing onto you feel like old time again. Like nothing had changed and you were still exchanging back and forth in Mirkwood’s realm.

You felt the tip of your fingers tingle and your ears turn red. « if you weren’t so good of a healer », what he meant by that, you couldn’t possibly know. Did he mean he was getting hurt on purpose to see you? Or was he implying that he didn’t fear getting hurt if you were mending his wounds? You shook your head and led him off with a gesture of the hand.

“Good night, Legolas. Go rest, now.“ you said before walking back to your appartements first, thumb playing over the dull edge of the blade and its decorated flanks.

Maybe things were slowly returning to the way they used to be. Maybe fear needed not be if he could watch over you like he said he would.

The road was long and restless, it has been several days since your departure from Rivendell and by chance, you had encountered very few problems. It’s been hours now since you first entered the forest you were in. Gandalf said it should only take you a day to cross it but you were starting to doubt, and your legs were beginning to call for rest. Everything was more dark in a forest, the trees protecting you from the light of the sun. So when it began to set, you had but a few minutes until full dark.

“Lassie!“ called Gimli. You had spoken very few with the dwarf, but you had a feeling he was nice enough. “I heard you already knew the pointy-eared princeling over here,“ he said, pointing his chin at the blond.

You laughed softly at his antics, “Yes I do, sir. I am from Mirkwood myself, we spent our childhood together,“ you explained.

“Aye, a brave girl you are then! Keeping up with him for so long!“ he laughed loudly, too loud to escape the impeccable hearing of the one you were talking about.

Legolas, who was walking in front, turned around and stopped in his tracks to wait for you two, frowning slightly at the dwarf while you were still laughing.

Your eyes met as you spoke, “He is not half as disagreeable as you think him to be, don’t worry.“

Something in Legolas’s eyes set calmly at your words, gaze never tearing away from you.

“Ha! Would you hear that, princeling not disagreeable? All elves are by nature disagreeable, girl! In fact, you are the first fine one I ever met!“ he declared, his compliment making you laugh once again.

“Because you think yourself agreeable, dwarf?“ a voice cut through your laughter. The elven prince asked, obviously arrogant in his tone, eying him down.

You contain your giggles from the silly argument that is about to happen and almost roll your eyes, but a voice cuts the quarrel short before you can and Gandalf advises that the fellowship sets camp here for the night. You all apply yourselves to the task, quarrel long forgotten on both parts, it seems.

Few hours later, as everyone is already fast asleep, you maintain a vigil by the fire camp. Sat on a log, the flames lighten your skin and warm up your toes, even if elves don’t feel the wrath of the elements as much as others creatures do. Behind you, footsteps on the leaves. Undetectable for everyone else but obviously not for you; you have the same hearing as their author. You don’t turn around. Such lightness of foot could only be one person, and so could the fire burning in your neck.

“Are you planing on observing me all night or should I invite you to sit with me?“ you ask, playful.

You know a smile plays on his face, and it is but a matter of seconds before the elegant body of the blond sits right next to you. A respectable distance, as always. An etiquette of politeness and good behaviour you respect in front of each other. You are not kids anymore, you had learnt growing up. The prince was not to be handled so convivially or played with now, touching was rare for elves. Your gaze turns to his face, his features enhanced by the glowing orange light of the fire: sharp jaw and perfect skin, aquiline nose and powder pink lips. His lips you ought not to dwell on. You do nevertheless and hope he doesn’t see it when your breath comes out a bit more quickly than intended.

He does. Of courses he does. But he lets nothing be known of it.

“So you think I’m agreeable?“ he asks.

What a stupid question, you think; surely he must know. Now it is his turn to observe you under the dancing light in front of you. It’s his gaze that destabilises you, and the way he never stops playing with the feathers of the arrow he has in hand with his pointer and middle finger. He is an example of composure while you melt under his hold. You curse yourself for not being as calm as the other elves. Such is the price to pay for your power, it seems.

“Surely, you know what I think of you, Legolas“, you say without looking away, earning a quizzical frown on his beautiful face.

“Do I?“

“You should,“ you reply.

The discussion falls silent and the forest resumes its song of leaves rustling and birds chirping. A blowing of the wind brings to your nose the familiar scent of musk and pine trees, a hint of mint behind it maybe. It reminds you of your teenage years, when he would come to you for stitching and bandages. It was the only time you could be so close again, touching his skin and inhaling his scent once too much, hoping he didn’t notice. He always did. And the teenager he was always took great pride in it. You even wondered if he didn’t lean closer on purpose sometimes; like that one time you were bandaging his arm and froze in the air when you straightened up to find yourself only mere inches from him, eyes instinctively darting to his mouth. You didn’t mean for it to happen but the feeling of his breath crashing onto your nose made you lean closer for a nanosecond more of the warmth he was radiating of. Or perhaps he was the one leaning down to you. You could swear on everything that was dear to you that there was a shift at your waist, like the fabric of your tunic was being grazed by the ghost of a fingertip, and that you were suddenly so close your nose were brushing. You never had the answer you longed for. You never knew if Legolas was really going to kiss you, because the noise of someone entering the corridor leading to the room you were in made you jump away from each other in a beat. Nothing ever ensued. You never talked about it.

Your breath fell out of your mouth quivering again.

“Are you cold?“ he asked. He knew you weren’t, obviously.

“A little, perhaps,“ you replied. You knew he knew, but you took it as what is was : testing. An invitation.

A second later his cape was draped around you and his skilled archer’s fingers were clasping the fibula at your neck, knuckles tracing unnecessarily the skin here on their way. The goosebumps that woke on their path he also noticed, just like everything when it came to you. Your hand fell to your side on the wooden makeshift bench and you could feel the warmth of his right next.

“Tomorrow we begin the ascension of the Caradhras. Stay close, will you?“ but it’s more of a command than an ask when he bore his eyes into yours like that.

“I will. You said your eyes wouldn’t stray from me for a second, and I know they didn’t,“ you added.

His ocean gaze found yours, deep and steady, like erasing everything else around you; no forest, no fellowship, just you and him and Mirkwood again. You tore yourself away from the memories, still too close to your heart. Closer than you’d like. You straightened up and wished him goodnight, not giving the cape so generously given to you back. He wouldn’t know if you reminisced at the scent, would he?

If things were going to get better, you were unaware of it. You now had but small hopes of the fellowship succeeding, even if the wood of Lothlorien were giving you a small break. Through the Moria, you had lost Gandalf. The one you all looked up to. Without him, the cause seemed too grand to accomplish, the road too dark with questions you couldn’t answer. Galadriel had welcomed you into her domain for the night, the first night in a while you could spend in beds. Here, you were immune to danger, yet you couldn’t rest your eyes one bit. Elves didn’t sleep that much, but lately you felt like sleeping for a thousand years would still not be enough.

Whenever you closed your eyes, visions of Gandalf clinging to the bridge came back to you. Wicked memories of the small moment you thought he was out of danger, and then the flitting hope that maybe you were fast enough to run and save him. You would have; ran across the bridge and died with him, if it wasn’t for Legolas holding you back in his arms the moment you moved. And you would have stayed deep into the Moria if he didn’t lead you out, whispering in your ear not to look back, that everything was going to be all right now.

But you were still in the Moria. Every time you closed your eyes and darkness engulfed you once again, the Moria held your heart.

Against your better judgment, you were now roaming the place at night, trying to find solace and peace amongst war waging in your brain. Away from everyone, a few meters deep into the forest, you found Legolas sitting on a rock. You made your way towards him, gently, without noise, and it surprised you that he didn’t spot you before you sat right next to him. He turned, startled.

“Peace of mind seems hard to find, these days“, you said.

“Indeed,“ he simply answered, now looking at you softly.

The distance between you wasn’t what it was then. You sat so close to him your shoulders brushed and the warmth seeping of his body smeared over yours.

“Do you remember our time back in Mirkwood?“ you asked. But it felt like a crown of thorns embalmed with nostalgia clinging at your heart.

“I remember getting hurt on purpose just to see you,“ he admitted. Your heart skipped a beat.

He admitted to it. That he wanted to see you too. That back in the days, you weren’t crazy for thinking, maybe, he liked you.

“And I remember sneaking out of royal gatherings to be with you,“ he added with a faint smile.

Your heart swelled, and then it sinked again. There was something you never out-grew, something still clinging to your heart like a leach whether you liked it or not. Now wasn’t probably the best time to bring it to the conversation, but what if you had no other time? What if he was the next to fall? What if you both were?

“I remember waiting days after days for months when you left, thinking maybe you’d come back because you forgot to say goodbye. You never did. You never talked of what happened, you never said you carried your grief still,“ you said. And it came out harsher than you wanted it to be. You sucked in a breath, ready to apologise for having taken it this far.

Too far, you thought.

He didn’t answer. Just took your wrist and rested his thumb upon your pulse, a small gesture, a silent elvish language of the heart that said nothing, yet talked louder than words. It meant sorry. It meant I didn’t know what to do, it meant I didn’t say goodbye so I had to come back to you; it meant I miss my mother.

“Legolas-“ you begun.

“You are tense,“ he observed. He pointed to the space on the ground, between his legs, “Here,“ he motioned.

You kept quiet, the silence between you sacred-like, as you moved between his long legs. Gently, he brushed your hair out of your back, draping them above your shoulder. His soft hands, gentle and expert found their way to your shoulders, electricity dragging between your bodies like fire to your loins. Without a word, he begun working on the knots in your shoulders, skilled hands working them loose again above your shirt. The sigh you left was trembling, more unabashed than you wanted it to be. It made you bite your lips, the way his thumbs were sometimes circling at your very skin, hot licks of flames in their wake. You could swear he was laughing behind you. And when he slipped his hands in your back past the fabric of your collar, it seemed a deliberate way to make your countenance crumble. Hot burning hands against hot burning skin. Never a massage had you feeling at loss for words, yet, here you were. His breath crashed upon the shell of your ear and you caught the way it quivered just the tiniest bit.

You couldn’t help but lean into him, the back of your head resting against his chest, and god help you, you had to stop yourself from cursing when you felt how the years of training shaped him. The air felt thick with tension, like trying to breathe underwater. A tension from hundred years ago. One that followed diligently for years, always here but thin enough to be skimmed over. There was no skimming over it now, though. You could hear its restrains cracking like the trees in the forest.

One of his hands slipped to your jaw, making you tilt your head back to look at him. That’s when you saw the look on his face. Pupils blown wide, breath ragged like he was caging a wild animal inside.

“Tell me to stop,“ he sighed, thumb tracing over your lower lip.

“You know I won’t,“ you only said, breath trembling like a dam threatening to break.

“Please, tell me to stop.“

But you said nothing.

All sense of manners were lost the moment his lips crashed onto yours, hungry for flesh and the inside of your heart, it seemed. He spun you around to get a better grip on you, hands clawing at your hips to bring you close, flush against him. Grabbing the collar of his tunic, you yanked him closer too. You couldn’t feel anything but him all over you, and his lips lashing onto yours, bitting at your flesh like a hungry beast kept inside for far too long. He pulled you up and, blindly, you followed until you felt your back hit against a tree. For a split second, his lips left yours to take the road down your jaw instead, probably to your collarbone, and the sound that passed your lips when his teeth grazed at your skin felt unholy.

You had never seen him so disheveled, so unprincely; he looked good bathed in desperate want and hunger. Your hands got lost in his hair pulling at the roots, and the growl he let out was more than you could manage; head buzzing with white noise, fireworks lighting up in your belly.

“Do you know what hundreds of years of waiting do to a man?“ he manages to ask between kisses. You feel as if his voice, suave and dripping, is a hand that crushes your heart until it’s ready to implode, before releasing it again.

“I can imagine,“ you hush.

The monster in your heart gnaws and claws at the bars, it creeps out in hope to crawls inside Legolas’s mind: to plague him just as he plagued you. Your head falls back against the bark of the tree, his kisses trail up your neck to get to your mouth again, and at the sight of his Adam apple bobbing you have to keep yourself from lavishing onto his throat. His perfect pale throat that seems to beg to be covered in colours for once. His lips, you thought, were the greatest of poisons. Your skin lights ablaze behind his hands that go up and up past your shirt. His thumb traced the outline of your rib, just under your breasts, and that’s when a split moment of clarity hits you. You cup his jaw and make him look at you, half-lidded blue eyes and puppy look suddenly not so sure of themselves. If you didn’t know him so much, you could have thought his eyes had turned brown with how wide his pupils had expended.

“I can stop if you want me to,“ he says immediately, frowning and searching for any sign of discomfort in your eyes, whatever made you push him back.

“It’s not that I want you to, princeling, it’s just that we are in Lothlòrien. The lady of the woods sees all,“ you explain, thumb drawing soothing circle over his jaw.

Legolas closes his eyes and sighs, a long heavy sigh, before letting his forehead fall against the bark of the tree just above your shoulder. His right hand still rests on your lower back, thumb going back and forth over the smooth elven-skin of your body.

“Galadriel… Right,“ he kisses the bridge between your neck and your shoulder. “We should probably keep it for another time…“.

A giggle escapes you at his words, “We should.“

You only heard about it back in Heaven, whilst replenishing your energy. A passing conversation from citizens told you that the Council stripped him of his Holy Light and held the threat of death over his head unless he found the Machine and killed it.

After returning to Hell, that's when you realized the rumors were true, and you began to see his flaws.

When he addressed the angels patrolling the City of Dis, he didn't speak with elegance nor grace...but rather with language considered most unholy by your superiors. His wings didn't glow as bright, and his posture was constantly tense, rigid. As if he had a lot of suppressed anger writhing beneath his armor, waiting to burst out.

Yet it didn't actually horrify you, to hear and see him act nothing like "God's Will".

In fact...it was intriguing to you.

He was experiencing the same tidal wave of emotions you've typically seen in mortal humans: fear, desperation, confusion....and hatred. But this wasn't an ordinary kind of hatred.

This was pure, raw hatred fueled with vengeance. Specifically towards the Machine who cost him his holy light, and everything he's ever built and maintained within Hell.

You couldn't blame him, though. His life was on the line, after all.

Not wanting to be the next "punching bag", you simply continued to work quietly in the shadows while he sought out his rematch.

And eventually, within the depths of Heresy, he got what he wanted.

Finally, this was his chance to right his wrongs, to learn from his mistakes back in Gluttony, to prove himself worthy of the light, and to restore his people's faith in his duty as the Righteous Hand of the Father.

And yet....he failed again.

Just like before.

But this time, it wasn't humiliation he felt...or even anger.

Not even as he tasted his own blood in his mouth, laying upon the steps of the organ room like a wounded animal while the Machine stood over him--damaged, yet still functioning.

Instead, he gained a new perspective on things, on his very life and everything he had done up to this point. His retreat was swift, as he needed time to reflect on some things and vowed to meet the Machine again soon.

Without him being around to judge, the rest of Hell's denizens were doomed to fall prey to its insatiable bloodlust. Heresy, Violence, Fraud...and Treachery.

Then again, Heaven was doomed to fall too.

For a different reason.

Gabriel came to realize that the Holy Council had forsaken God long after He left, justifying their grave misdeeds as His "will"...and using him to do it, making him dirty his hands while they sat on their high and mighty thrones.

They were corrupt from the inside out, ruling the masses through fear and compliance.

But in whose name exactly? The one who abandoned them unexpectedly? The one they could no longer hear?

He couldn't believe he allowed them to deceive him this whole time. Committing a sin most great that they all should be sent to Fraud and live out their punishments, trapped in a prison of their own design.

Yet...merely adding to its numbers wouldn't do.

Why not enact his own sense of divine justice? The same kind that enabled him to slay Minos and quell Sisyphus' insurrection? He's slain leaders of demons before.

Angels would be no different.

And that's exactly what he did, beheading the last Council member despite his cries and pleas for mercy...knowing he too would be dead in a matter of hours, as his chance to reobtain his light would be gone forever.

He was willing to accept it, broadcasting his final message to every citizen far and wide before leaving paradise for the last time.

After Heaven descended into chaos shortly afterwards, Providences were given their vision, and assisted the Powers in helping them search for him left and right, up and down...and every other way within Fraud.

They tried to stop the Machine in its tracks, knowing it had something to do with his "disappearance", yet many have failed, with five of his own disciples being slaughtered, reduced to worthless remnants of abandoned armor.

You too were called to hunt him down, ordered by those who were barely able to scrape together what little order remained in Heaven, but you didn't seek to capture him.

Sure, what he did initially sounded horrific. Although after hearing his message, you understood how he saw the Council: broken and flawed, corrupted from the inside out.

Of course, you've had your suspicions about its system that deemed some angels less "worthy" of acknowledgement than others, and who deserved to be granted their vision and who to keep blind eternally. But until now...you never would've thought anyone--especially an archangel--would speak up about it.

Now you were even more fascinated by him.

He should get to live out his last few hours free of duty.

Even so, though...you wanted to see him at least once more before he departed.

It didn't take you long to find him tucked away within the layer of Treachery, where he was supposedly awaiting one final duel with the machine.

Within this domain lied blankets of snow and towering glaciers, delivering icy punishment to sinners who shattered the bonds of those closest to them and betrayed their trust, leaving them forever frozen in time.

Gabriel must have seen it as a befitting place for his own demise, considering the crime he had committed against his fellow angels was indeed an act most treacherous. He believed he deserved to be condemned here more than anyone.

He was sitting alone, deep in thought. But upon hearing the sounds of metal boots behind him, he jumped to his feet, certain that the hour of his death was finally at hand.

"So your endless pursuit has brought you to--"

"Lord Gabriel. I'm sorry, but-"

A small gasp got caught in his throat, and he pull out one of his swords, swinging it close to your head. You ducked out of the way instinctively, wings flapping with frantic, erratic movements as you tried steadying yourself. "My liege, please! I am a humble medic and do not wish to fight you!"

"Then you'd be wise to leave me alone! I thought I made that clear!!" He spat coldly, the white pieces of his armor glowing red. Although he paused to stare at you for a moment. "Wait. You...." His head tilted slightly. "I know you."

"You...You do?" You blinked behind your helmet.

"Yeah. You're not just some "humble medic". No, you're capable of much more than that. You know how to save lives....and take them away in an instant."

"Well...th-that, I do. But only if those I tend to are being threatened." You're stumbling over your words, astonished that he knew about you all along. "If I may ask....when did you start-?"

"I've always noticed your work. The way you quietly move around, thinking I wouldn't see the miracles you perform. Of course..you're conditioned to enact them in secret. You've been great at that." You hear his dry chuckle as the glow of his armor fades away, and he sits back down, sighing. "Alas....there's no miracle you could perform on me...none that could save me from what's to come. So go. Forget you've ever seen me here. Let me serve my penance on my own terms."

For a few seconds, you remained quiet, wondering if you should obey before he changes his mind and decides to rend you apart.

But you noticed a deep flesh wound on his torso, one that clearly didn't heal properly as the skin around it was becoming frostbit.

Of course, the longer he's gone without his light....the more susceptible he became to common injuries. Even trivial "mortal shortcomings" such as exhaustion were starting to wear him down considerably.

How could you neglect him when he's in such conditions?

"Forgive me for defying your orders, but I cannot in good faith leave that injury of yours unattended. It could become infected and be very painful." You kneeled down in front of him, keeping your wings neatly folded at your sides. "Above all else, my duty is to heal. And heal, I shall."

"........"

"Please, just let me do this one thing for you, and then I will go. You will never see me again."

A sigh reverberated through the hollowness of Gabriel's helmet. He was annoyed that you wouldn't leave, but not annoyed enough to want to spend his energy trying to make you leave.

"Would you be so eager to mend the wounds of a known traitor? The one whose hands are stained with the blood of the Council?" He asks, his voice low in tone, hesitant, as if he was...worried about what your answer might be.

Surely you heard his message too, and you must believe him to be the worst kind of scum.

Were you waiting for him to lower his guard? To catch him off-guard with a surprise convoy of Providences? Or-

"Without a doubt."

".....what?"

"Your speech helped me understand why things seemed so...off in Heaven." You smile. "You're right. The Holy Council was just...acting like they know what the Father wants. But they knew nothing. They were so cruel and unkind to my fellow angels, and they had to be put in check. So if you believe even their morals to be twisted and corrupt...who am I to question your judgement?"

"Wow, I...did not expect that." Gabriel hummed in amusement, his shoulders slightly relaxing. He didn't even realize they've been so tense all this time. "Still..I will be dead soon. As I've stated, no amount of divine healing will-"

"Forgive my interruption, but if you intend to face that Machine once more, you ought to be at your best. With nary a wound blemishing your fighting form." Your hands began to glow with light green energy, and you looked up at him, waiting for permission. "Let this be my last act of service to you, my liege, for helping me see the truth about our flawed empire."

Finally,....he relented, seeing as you were too stubborn to leave him like this. He now understood that you weren't here to capture him or convince him to return to Heaven, and he could confide in you during his last hours.

He honestly didn't care what would become of it in his absence.

Nothing else mattered...except for that glorious final battle with the Machine who was surely on its way.

You made a good point.

If he was going to fight it here within Treachery, he shouldn't let something as trivial as frostbite hinder him from giving it his all.

“I—” he started, then stopped, because you were already frowning at the wound, already pulling him inside like you’d done it a hundred times before.

“Sit,” you said, voice calm, unafraid. “You’ll bleed on my floor.”

“I don’t mind,” he muttered.

“I do.”

That was how it always went. He came to you injured—sometimes truly, sometimes just enough to justify the visit—and you healed him with your hands and your herbs and the quiet, careful magic people whispered about behind your back.

Witch, they said.

Dangerous. Unnatural.

Not fit for a prince.

Bucky had heard it all. He’d grown up hearing it. The court loved you when they needed you and feared you the rest of the time. A healer was useful. A woman with power was unsettling.

So he stayed quiet.

For years.

He sat on your narrow table while you cleaned his wounds, watched your brow crease in concentration, memorized the way your fingers trembled just a little when you were tired. He brought you books he claimed were “old junk from the library” and apples from the palace orchards. You talked about small things. Weather. Herbs. Stories from the village.

Never about the way his heart stuttered every time you smiled at him like he was just a man and not a crown.

Never about the way you went very still whenever someone called you a witch too loudly.

Until one evening, he didn’t bleed at all.

You noticed immediately.

“You’re not hurt,” you said, eyes narrowing slightly as he stood awkwardly in the doorway.

“I know.”

“Then why are you here, Your Highness?”

He flinched at the title. You rarely used it. Only when something was wrong.

“I couldn’t… keep pretending anymore,” he said quietly.

You stared at him, really stared, and something in your expression shifted. Wariness, maybe. Or hope. He wasn’t sure which scared him more.

“Bucky,” you said softly. “If you’re here to tell me the council’s decided I’m too dangerous to remain—”

“No.” He crossed the room in three long strides, then stopped himself, hands curling into fists at his sides. “God, no. I’d burn the whole throne room down before I let them touch you.”

That earned a sharp inhale from you. “You can’t say things like that.”

“I can. And I will.” His voice shook. “I’m done being quiet.”

Silence stretched between you, thick and fragile.

“I love you,” he said finally. The words fell like a confession and a crime all at once. “I’ve loved you since I was nineteen and you healed my ribs and told me to stop apologizing for bleeding on your floor.”

Your breath hitched.

“I didn’t say anything because you’re not royalty, and because they think you’re a witch, and because I was raised to believe duty mattered more than want.” His eyes burned. “But I don’t care anymore. I can’t keep standing in your doorway pretending I don’t dream about a life where I get to choose you.”

You laughed once, breathless and disbelieving, and then your eyes filled with tears.

“Bucky,” you whispered. “You don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“I do,” he said. “I understand exactly.”

“They’ll hate me,” you said. “They already fear me. If you choose me, it won’t just be whispers anymore. It’ll be open.”

He stepped closer then, slow, giving you time to pull away. You didn’t.

“Let them fear,” he murmured. “You heal with your hands. You save lives. If that makes you a witch, then so be it. I’d rather rule beside a witch than alone on a throne built on cowardice.”

Your fingers caught in his tunic, knuckles white.

“And if I say yes?” you asked.

“Then I stop visiting you in secret,” he said, voice rough with relief and longing. “Then I take your hand in the open. Then I tell the court that the crown does not make me whole—you do.”

You pressed your forehead to his chest, magic humming faintly in the air, like the world itself was holding its breath.

“I’ve loved you too,” you confessed. “I just didn’t think I was allowed to.”

Bucky cupped your face with reverent care, thumbs brushing away tears.

“Neither was I,” he said. “But I’m done asking permission.”

When he kissed you, it wasn’t hurried or hungry. It was steady. Certain. A promise.

And for the first time, you didn’t feel like a witch in the dark.

Healing magic was known to be one of the more…difficult forms of magic, and had been since the first magic user discovered their powers. Fire, earth, water…while those could be difficult, the living creatures of the world never had an easy time performing even the smallest acts of healing. You had to be acutely aware of the injury, and not use too much or too little energy to do so. It drained the user, nearly rivaling the injured subject as much as they had initially been before the magic was cast. 

You learned this in numerous of your classes at Night Raven College, note even hardly bothering to take the notes on it. You couldn’t use even the simplest forms of magic, since being brought here a year ago. Many things have happened since then. Made friends, learned more about magic than you’d ever even considered before. Each student you encountered knew of your lack of magical abilities, but you never let it get in the way of your studies. 

Magic had absolutely fascinated you, though you had never anticipated being able to use it. The first time you used healing magic, you were just as surprised as Grim was. He had slipped in the dorms, scraping his knee. At first, he wouldn’t let you near it. But after a firm scolding on how you just wanted to help, and a closer look…your hand glowed, a white light emanating from it. Within seconds it had fully healed. 

You and Grim shared a wide eyed expression, before laughing and celebrating together. At the time, neither of you thought much would come of it. But the longer you spent around the other students, the more it became apparent you weren’t just some magicless student anymore, and many openly displayed pride and excitement for you at the new discovery. You could still remember the dormwardens reactions like it was yesterday. 

Riddle:

It was approaching a celebration in Heartslabyul, and many students from other dorms were assisting as well…albeit reluctantly. Everyone knew Riddle was a tyrant of sorts, but he could be understanding and knew when to give respect when it was due. You were rushing around, helping set up with a smile on your face. The celebrations here were always fun once they began, tea and all kinds of delicious treats, most made by Trey of course. 

A quick slip up and you’d scraped your finger while cutting off the thorns of the roses. You hadn’t noticed Riddle observing, but as he opened his mouth to scold you for your carelessness, you performed the quickest magic spell he’d seen. Not only was it quick and efficient, you didn’t even seem to notice you’d done it. Sure you nodded in acknowledgement, but a healing spell, even without an incantation? It was practically unheard of. 

Riddle rushed forward, taking your hand in his as he held it up close to his face to observe where the former injury was. His eyes were wide, jaw slightly agape. The only sign of any injury was the slight dried blood around your finger. He cleared his throat, standing up and questioned you as if you’d done something wrong. With a twinge of respect coated by disbelief in his tone, he leaned closer and narrowed his eyes at you. 

“How did you do that? Was it a trick of the light? How long have you been able to see magic?” As he went to continue, you waved your hands in front of yourself sheepishly. 

“Uh…so a couple weeks ago I was able to heal Grim’s leg when he’d scraped it.” You let out a near nervous laugh at the intense questioning from the dormwarden. “I haven’t had much practice with it yet, this is only the third time I’ve done anything with healing magic.” Your eyes widened as Riddle’s did, confused by the incredulous stare he was giving you. 

“YOU?! YOU managed to perform effortless healing magic after only a couple times?” He nearly screamed, baffled by how you could go from being completely unable to use magic at all to performing healing magic overnight. And you didn’t even seem to care much! “Why aren’t you proud? Do you even have any idea how many students here can’t perform healing spells AT ALL?!”

You shrunk in on yourself, and seemed to look almost embarrassed at his lecturing. He seemed to note this, and sighed as he looked at you with a hesitant glare. “Look…it’s a difficult magic to perform for even the strongest mages. It’s no small feat, okay? You need to hone it. It could be more useful than you could even dream of. Just…” He crossed his arms, huffing. “Be careful who you show it to. It could make you a target of some of the scoundrels of the school. I suggest talking to Crowley.”

With one final huff, he walked away, leaving you with far more questions than you ever got the chance to vocalize. 

Leona:

The next time you used healing magic, it followed Leona’s overblot. It certainly wasn’t expected from anyone, and you nearly had to drag the injured Leona to the side of the arena. Everyone was worried, not only because of the danger surrounding an overblot, but because Leona had gotten injured in the fight. It was to be expected, there wasn’t a safe way to bring him back down to Earth. He growled, protesting any help. 

You could tell he was inwardly beating himself up over the whole situation, and hated the attention of you, Jack, and Ruggie surrounding him. You swatted his hand away when he tried to pry your hand away from his injured abdomen. Ruggie in particular was trying to snap at him, but paused when you held up your hand to silence him. 

“Hold on!” You commanded, “I need to focus.” A huff, and you closed your eyes, opening them as you felt the magic swelling through your body, channeling it to your hands as you held them above Leona’s injuries. Everyone seemed completely shocked, especially Leona. Within only a couple seconds, his wounds were closing up. A few moments after, his injuries were all completely healed, as if they’d never been there in the first place. 

Silence surrounded you, but you didn’t pay it any mind. You clapped your hands together, sighing happily. “It’s okay now. I couldn’t just leave you there. You feel okay?” You stood, holding out a hand to him. Everyone was shocked when Leona even extended your hand to take yours as you helped him stand. 

“Since when did you get the ability to use magic?” He said, a rumbling noise in his chest almost akin to a soft growl. With a raised eyebrow, he gazed at you skeptically. “And are YOU feeling okay after that?” There was a slight glimmer of concern in his tone, nearly completely hidden by caution and faux irritation. 

“Huh?” You tilted your head at him. “Yeah? I’m fine. It’s no big deal.” You grinned at him, clearly just happy he wasn’t hurting anymore. He was a friend in your eyes, and even if the magic injured you, it wouldn’t matter in the slightest because you were able to help him. 

He scoffed, “It is a big deal though. Not many people can use that much healing magic and even be conscious.” He let out a soft growl at you, before turning to the side and walking away, but not before looking back to make one final comment. “I’ll come to you if I’m injured again, if you think you can handle it.” He smirked over his shoulder, covering up any further emotions of vulnerability and going back to his carefree attitude. 

And to you? That was enough. 

Azul:

It had been a while since you’d used your healing magic, and the opportunity arose a few weeks later. You hadn’t really practiced it, without a good means of doing so. It annoyed you briefly, but the irritation was always settled quickly. If you could only use it when someone was injured, maybe it was for the best you didn’t get to practice it much. 

That thought was running through your mind as you went to the cafe in Octavinelle. You had taken a seat, Jade bringing your order to your table. You exchanged basic formalities, not engaging in much conversation due to the busy day they were having. It was a weekend, so many students were showing up for their day off in hopes of a good drink and snack to celebrate. 

Because of how busy it was, Floyd was complaining constantly. Jade was lecturing him between orders, but at one point he had bumped into Jade, a cup flying through the air and shattering at the feet of another student. Jade rushed over, taking a look at the ankle injury with concern. Floyd grumbled, saying he was going to get Azul to discuss the incident. 

Seeing the cut and slowly swelling injury, you rushed over. Jade smiles at you with his eyes twitching in irritation at his brother’s mistake. “Don’t worry, it doesn’t appear to be detrimental. Should heal within a week or two.” He went to comfort the student, but you knelt and held the ankle in your hand.

Jade was about to stop you when your hands started glowing dully. You hadn’t noticed Azul standing behind you, observing with wide eyes. Jade looked equally as surprised as the injury healed before their very eyes. Azul’s jaw dropped at the sight, impatiently waiting until you finished to grab your arm and lift you until you were standing before him. 

“W-when did you learn to do that?!” He practically yelled. “You did it so effortlessly, we need to talk. NOW!” He demanded, dragging you into his office. He nudged you into the seat and sat across from you.

“But seriously, that was…” He cleared his throat, trying to find an appropriate word for what he was feeling without stroking your ego. “Impressive.” He spoke. “Would you like to work for me? Your skills could be valuable to the business.” It was clear he had an ulterior motive, wanting to study your skills in a feeble attempt to be able to recreate the magic. 

“O-Oh! I’m alright. Uh…I gotta go.” You rushed out the words, scrambling for the door. It felt odd to be the center of attention when you didn’t feel like what you did was all that special. And you’d be a fool not to know Azul was always yearning to make deals that may help the subjects of the contracts benefit temporarily, but really only aided him in the long run. It was definitely for the best you got out of there. 

“Wait! Let’s make a deal!” He called, holding out his hand as you scurried out of the room. You heard him groan, disappointed he wouldn’t be able to use your magic to his own advantage. 

You didn’t plan to come back for a while. He could be stubborn, and you definitely didn’t wanna be his makeshift test subject when it came to your magic. Maybe someday, but you wouldn’t if you could help it. The cafe would move on just fine without you there, and sighed as you went back to your dorm. 

Maybe you’d show him your magic again, but hopefully not anytime soon. 

Kalim:

Kalim…didn’t even really need you to show him your magic for him to believe it. After talking with him for a while in Scarabia, he clapped his hands and bounced excitedly. “I knew you had magic inside you somewhere! There’s no way you wouldn’t have been brought here without any!” He patted your shoulder, ushering you to sit beside him on the lavish and comfortable seats. 

Jamil was glaring from the corner. He scolded Kalim, “You can’t just believe anything he tells you. You’re too trusting.” He scoffed, crossing his arms over his chest and sitting across from you as he glared at you. He leaned back in his seat and continued. “Just what all have you done with your magic.” He was clearly skeptical, but his eyes widened only slightly when you mentioned the few times you’d used it. 

While you recounted them, Kalim leaned closer as he beamed at you, enthralled by your admissions. “Woah! That’s awesome! And super impressive!” He bounced in his seat, seeming like a small child excited to hear of their fantasy stories their parents would tell them before bed. 

Kalim was still glaring, but you could see an almost overlooked glimmer of respect forming in his eyes. “Kalim, it’s more impressive than you seem to think. IF he’s being honest, he’s within the 1% of the population capable of honing and using healing magic. It’s extremely rare, and highly sought after in the magic world.” He leaned back in his chair, but allowed you to talk of the feelings of the healing magic. How you didn’t feel drained, or even fatigued in the slightest as you used it. 

Kalim confidently proclaimed, “But I had five servants capable of using it!” He was clearly unaware of how rare it was, and it made Jamil grumble in annoyance. 

“That’s because you’re privileged.” His following words were only just barely loud enough for you to hear and went over Kalim’s head. “Spoiled brat.” But it was quickly covered up by him waving his hand dismissively. “Regardless, I don’t think anyone from our dorm has that ability. It could be useful during training regiments. Would you mind displaying your skills if one of our students got injured?” 

He seemed to be talking business, still not fully believing you, and instead wanted you to display that you were capable of using healing magic. Jamil seemed like he WANTED to believe you. His reluctance showed his skepticism, but he knew you well enough by now that he knew you could be an extremely honest person when the time came. When you nodded, he did the same.

“Alright. We have some stuff to prepare for the dorm meeting tonight. You’re welcome to help us set up.” He stood, Kalim whining, wanting to continue the conversation. But after a moment they both got to work and you headed back to your own dorm. 

Besides, it was always far too warm for you in Scarabia.

Vil:

When you went to visit Pomfiore, you weren’t expecting to see Vil in an even more irritated looking state than usual. He looked annoyed more than anything, rubbing his neck as he worked out the knots that had been slowly getting worse. When he saw you though, he resumed his usual posh appearance. 

Vil cleared his throat and addressed you. “Hello. What brings you to Pomfiore today?” He clasped his hands in front of him, still subtly trying to work out the knots in his neck. “I’m quite busy today, I don’t have time for any additional things you came to seek help for. Unless…you were intending on asking for fashion advice.” He lightly scoffed, “It is something you need to look into. You don’t style anything. I understand uniforms are mandatory, but you make no attempts at looking your best every day.”

You tilted your head, letting out a carefree laugh. “I just came to check up on you. Rook mentioned you’d been feeling worse for wear after your flight lessons.” Concern was laced in your voice, mixed with mild amusement as he tried to play off his obvious uncomfortability. 

Vil’s eyes widened slightly as you expressed your care, before narrowing them and grumbling under his breath. “He needs to stop telling people my personal matters.” He crossed his arms over his chest and turned his nose up at you. “It’s nothing to concern yourself with. I can handle my wellness on my own.” 

You scrunched your nose, “I just wanted to see how you’re doing. Let me look, please?” Overwhelmingly demanding undertones laced your voice, and you didn’t even wait for an answer. You approached him, moving to his side and glancing at where the sore muscles were. “No bruises…” You muttered, thinking briefly that your healing magic may not help if it wasn’t technically a formal injury. 

Despite your wondering, you held out a hand. Vil nearly slapped your hand away when he saw the white glow flowing from your hand to his neck. You both stood in silence, as you focused on the areas where the sore muscles were. You wondered if it even worked, but Vil’s mouth was slightly open in shock as he massaged the area softly. 

“How did you manage that?” His voice was quiet, his usual composure giving way to traces of awe as he spoke. After he realized he had dropped his usual demeanor, he cleared his throat once more and looked at you with narrowed eyes. 

“I’ve been able to use healing magic for a while. I don’t think I’m super good at it or anything, but I wanted to try and help out.” You gave him a genuine smile and made a quick thumbs-up motion. It was hard to hide how sheepish you were feeling. You liked Vil as a person, but he could be overwhelming and intimidating, so you were worried he’d snap at you for even helping him without his consent. 

He let out a deep breath, still looking reluctant to speak as he tried to find the right words to say. “I feel better. It seems you’re full of surprises, aren’t you?” Trying to act nonchalant, he looked at you with a small amount of respect in his expression. “I’m all healed.” He groaned softly, hating to say the words as he tried to be in control of the situation. “Epel seems to get injured often. He could use your help from time to time. You’re…welcome to visit whenever you’d like.”

You grinned, knowing this was his makeshift way of saying thank you. He seemed nearly nervous over your magic abilities, and you took it he hadn’t seen many people who could use healing magic in the slightest. It was refreshing to hear the subtle praise from him, whispering a soft, “you’re welcome,” as you left when he rushed to get back to his duties. Most of which were organizing the makeup closet, throwing out anything expired. 

He could be intimidating, but he was still a good person. You’d be more than happy to help out any of your friends if they needed it, including Vil himself. 

Idia:

It was always difficult to spend time with Idia, seeing as he hid in his room at any chance he got. You were slowly building a friendship with him. You learned that if you wanted to hang out with him, he doesn’t mind you chilling in his room as long as you don't talk to him. It was somewhat like body doubling, as you’d study on his bed while he worked or played games on his handheld gaming device. 

Today was one of those days. He seemed intent on taking it apart and putting it back together with modded chips to do who knows what in the game he was playing. You never really understood the concept of modifying games into a different version, but he seemed to thoroughly enjoy it. You weren’t about to question it, and focused on the homework assignment you planned to finish today. 

You heard him yelp before grumbling annoyances under his breath. It makes you distracted from your work as you let out a quiet, “hey…are you okay?” You sat up straighter on the bed, looking over at what he was doing. He was cradling his hand to his chest, and he snapped his head at you with a glare. 

You stood from the bed, walking over to him as if approaching a startled animal. He was certainly glaring like one. “It’s okay, let me see.” You let out in a soft murmur as he clutched his hand even closer to his chest. It was clear he got injured, and you wanted to heal him if at all possible. 

He huffed, trying to act like he wasn’t bothered as he extended his hand to let you see. It looked like he got shocked by the technology he was working on. “I was just being dumb. It’s not a big deal. Just forgot to unplug the power source first.”

You gave him a reassuring smile, cradling the back of his hand to get a better look at the injury. Without hesitation, your hand glowed as the injury disappeared right before his eyes. After it was completely healed, you looked up to him to see the most shocked expression you’d ever seen on his face. Eyes wide, jaw dropped, the whole deal. 

“H-How did you do that?!” He asked, loud enough that it made you jolt. His hand shook as he held it closer to his face to look at where the injury was only a few moments ago. He turned it, bending his finger as if testing if it was just some trick, maybe even a slight of hand trick somehow. 

You shrugged, “I still don’t really know how it works. It just kind of happens when I think about someone I care about being injured.” He didn’t seem to accept that answer in the slightest, and instead narrowed his eyes and leaned closer to you with extreme skepticism on his face. 

“Yeah right...people you care about? You can’t just care about anybody. Why would you even bother with healing other people? Some students are rivals, you might even WANT them injured to get ahead of them.” He scoffed before leaning back, reclining in his desk chair as usual. 

You shook your head, answering earnestly. “I wouldn’t want anyone injured. I never had magic before, and now it seems like healing magic is all I can do.” You let out a soft chuckle. “What’s the point of having healing magic at all if I don’t use it to help people? That’s what it’s all about.” 

He looked surprised by your answer, before scoffing and waving his hand dismissively. “Yeah, whatever. You’re a real sappy…mage, you know?” He sniffed, not looking at you as he spoke. 

Despite the rude tone, you smiled wide. You hadn’t even thought about it much, but some other students had called you a mage too. Before, you were just the new guy. The boring one, and even the powerless one. But things had changed now that you’re able to use magic…it made your heart swell to be called a mage by Idia. It showed he was more welcoming. 

You weren’t an outcast anymore. And you’d keep using your healing magic, helping anyone you can with the powers you’d only recently discovered. Whatever happened, you’d get better. Stronger, and maybe one day you’ll be able to help all of the people you cared about. You didn’t want them injured at all, but knowing you could finally do something to help…

That was more than enough. 

Malleus:

Malleus had called you to his dorm. It wasn’t often he reached out to anyone, even you so this was a surprise you weren’t prepared for. He shut himself away pretty often, and while you’d talked several times before, this was completely unexpected. It was hard to tell what he was thinking, you could just hope for the best and pray that there wasn’t something seriously wrong. 

You showed up as he asked, and you sat across from him as he tilted his head at you quizzically. “So…I’ve heard you’ve been performing healing magic. That’s no small feat. Would you mind a demonstration?” He spoke matter of factly, but you could hear the teasing undertones in his words. It was clear he believed you were capable, but wanted to mess with you as much as he could. 

His request had you tilting your head as well. “How do I demonstrate if no one is hurt?” You furrowed your brow, wondering what was going on in that head of his. “I’ve only done it a few times, but I don’t know how to show it if someone wasn’t injured.” You murmured quietly. 

He gave a small smile, calculating your reactions to your own magical abilities. “Here, I’ll show you.” He reached out his hand, closing his eyes in concentration and emanating the same white glow you saw each time you used your magic. “Focus on the feeling, not the magic itself.” He huffed, taking a deep breath. “If you think about healing, it may trigger the response.” He opened his eyes, looking at you as the magic flowed and spun around his hand. 

His instructions weren’t very clear, making it difficult to process. But you might as well give it a shot. You turned your palm up, following his example as you closed your eyes and tried to focus on the feeling. You could feel the magic surging through you, and opened your eyes to see a sphere in your palm. It was perfectly circular, even and completely solid. Surrounding it was wisps of white magic, making designs in the air as it swirled. 

Looking up at Malleus, you could see a bead of sweat dripping down his forehead, before he dissipated his own magic with a quick motion of closing his fist. Despite his magic stopping, yours seemed to flow effortlessly. You looked between him and your own palm. Wondering if you’d done it right, you asked, “Uh…like this?” Before feeling another small surge of power as the sphere began spinning in your palm, almost with a mind of its own. 

He looked impressed, a smile on his face as he nodded. “Exactly like that.” His smile turned into a smirk, respect coating his expression. “I’ve never seen healing magic as smooth and powerful as yours. Not in the entirety of my long existence.” He seemed to be proud, impressed by your display. 

You tried to mimic his method of ceasing the flow of the magic, closing your palm around the sphere until the glowing stopped. “Is it really that strong?” You asked, noting his heavy breathing as he tried and failed to conceal his exhaustion. “Are you…okay?” You asked, concerned as he seemed to struggle to catch his breath for several moments. 

“It is. Stronger than any I’ve seen. There have been mages who can create a physical form out of their magic, but it’s temperamental. The shape changes, swaying until the mage can’t maintain it anymore.” He leaned back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest as he finally managed to regain some semblance of composure. 

“You don’t even appear to be fatigued, worn down or anything of the sort. It’s immeasurably impressive. You haven’t had the ability to use it for long at all, and somehow have surpassed what any mentor could teach you.” His pride seeped into his words, a small smirk on his face. “Keep using that method I showed you. It will slowly help you understand the process and show you how far you’ve come.” He stood, escorting you out. 

Once you’d left, Lilia stepped out of the shadows with a chuckle. He turned to Malleus and spoke teasingly. “He’s better than you at that, and I’m certain of that.” He nudged Malleus’ shoulder. “You’re worn out entirely. You need to rest before you do much else. Can’t risk you passing out.” Another chuckle and he started to walk out. “Be more careful next time.” He waved to Malleus as he left. “He may end up being a stronger mage than you one day. Better watch out for that one.”

Despite the teasing and truth in Lilia’s words, Malleus smiled. In a way, he hoped it was the truth. You were a good friend in his eyes, and he couldn’t wait to see you change and grow, honing your abilities and becoming as strong as you possibly could be. One thing he was certain of…

You hadn’t seen George since he unfortunatly dislocated his shoulder, and honestly you had hated seeing him in that much pain. His strong mask of indifference and comedy had worn off and the reality of his injuries shined through.

Oh, there were tears. Short, fat droplets fell from his cheeks as he shielded himself in your body, holding your hand firmly as Madam Pomphrey counted down.

It was humanizing truthfully. The young man had taken several falls that season, each only resulting in a few scrapes and a defining migraine but nothing he wasn’t able to walk off within the day.

But he had always been seen as untouchable, not just to you but to most of the students around. The long healing journey ahead of him only bolstered his reputation and his ego as well.

After the replacement of his shoulder, Mamam Pomphrey inclined she wanted him to stay overnight to monitor his status, though you knew it was more of a punishment in order for the boy to not jump back on the broom.

“Overnight, possibly the weekend depending-“ You repeated, rereading the chart Madam Pomphrey had left.

”Ohhh brother, I'm fine!” George wined, sitting up in the cot abruptly, unable to hide the stiffness and pain in his body. The soft cloth cast kept his arm in place, tightly bound with the help of magical knots. There was no way he could untie it himself-

“You know it's for the best.” You laughed, walking around his bedside adjusting his blankets. Goerge rolled his eyes, slumping lazily into the sheets. “You know she cares a lot for you and your brother.”

”Hmph.” George replied, looking off into the distance. The closer you stood to him, the faster his heart beat. The previous hours of hand holding, had lasting intimate thoughts trickle through his mind.

How you leaned into his body as he wept, holding his hand tightly. He had been consistently repeating the memory, hoping he could feel the sensation of your body on his again.

”Meaning-“ you added, patting his leg flirtatiously as he grunted. His head turned quickly towards you, as if awoken by a daze. “She knows you well enough to keep you in her sight so you don't get injured again.” You stood at the end of the cot with your hands on your hips, your head cocked slightly to the side.

George’s large brown eyes looked up to you, a soft joking pout settling on his lips as he watched you.

”That won't work on me.” You stumped, turning away and walking over to the windows. The sun was setting and it was time to turn over the hospital wing for the night. Goerge let out a large sigh, leaning his head back on his pillow and staring at the ceiling.

A moment of silence passed between you two, only the sounds of your heels hitting the stone floor echoed quietly though the empty hall.

You stole quick glances at him, seeing him almost lost in his own mind. You couldn't tell if he had a hundred thoughts going through his head or none at all.

“What are you thinking about?” You asked casually, hoping he wouldn't catch the shake in your throat as you asked. His eyes stayed firm on the ceiling, his lips tight into a thin smile. He caught himself quickly, ashamed that he was thinking of how your hand felt in his, and how embarrassed he was to be crying in your arms just hours prior.

Clearing his throat, he racked his brain for something to say.. something normal.

“Do you sleep here? At hogwarts.. I mean..” He spoke quickly, each word falling off of his lips as if he wasn't sure how the sentence would end.

You chuckled at the question, surprised at its nature.

“I sleep over there.” You pointed across the hall at an unsuspecting door, a small placard placed just adjacent with your name engraved in bronze. Georges eyes bulged almost at the thought that you'd be sleeping just a room away while he stayed in the large open space.

“Why.. Worried you might get scared of the dark all alone?’ You asked jokingly, watching his body stiffen as he sat up to get a better look. His cheeks reddened, almost shoving himself back down into the cot as if he wasn't interested.

“No? I mean.... pshhhh. Just curious.” He raptured, playing off his eager inflection poorly, rubbing his hands across the bed sheets anxiously. You laughed to yourself, walking over to his cot and taking a seat next to the bed, placing a single lit candle on the nightstand.

“What other questions do you have..” You asked, leaning back in the chair. “You’re my only patient and ive got time to kill.” You crossed your hands on your lap, interlocking your fingers. You hadn’t relatives how clammy they had gotten-

“I can ask anything?” Goerge asked, looking at you suspiciously.

”The world is your oyster.” You shrugged.

Goerge thought for only a moment, scheming several things he would love to know about you. His breathing was shallow, surprising you with hkw serious he took this offer.

Finally, after what felt like forever. He spoke,

“Where are you from?”

The question was simple, yet took you off guard anyway.

“Cambridge.” You responded simply.

“England?” Georges eyes bulged

“Last time I checked.” You chuckled, his face was screwed up in confusion, almost not believing your answer.

“Why didn’t you go to Hogwarts?” He asked plainly. His face was confused, almost jealous. He day dreamt for a moment how you’d look walking the halls.

“My mum got a job when I was young in France. We moved and I was already settled and accepted into beaubaxon.” You shrugged, pursing your lips. It was a plain answer, but not one to quench his thirst for knowledge.

A glimmer of dissatisfaction spread across George’s face.

“Well I believe you’d have a better time here.” He folded his arms across his chest, nodding his head approvingly.

“Riiiiigh.” You drawled on, rolling your eyes jokingly. “I got a fantastic education which made me end up here anyway.” You huffed, dramatically motioning around the hospital wing aimlessly.

“And what a gift that is.” George sung, smiling at you sweetly. You smiled back, stuck in the moment. Only the soft glow of the candle light lit up the space between you; the sun finally set over the horizon.

“Believe me. The pleasure is all mine.” You stood abruptly, feeling a rushing sense of butterflies in your stomach the longer your eyes locked. As you turned, George pouted behind your back, realizing that night was coming and you would have to part.

Brushing your uniform robes down, you glanced up at him briefly, clearing your throat.

“Alright. Is there anything I can get you before bed?” You smiled cheerfully, using any attempt to cover the sudden flush of color you felt rising to your cheeks.

“I wouldn’t mind a good sponge bath - I don’t think I’ve gotten rid of all the dirt under my nails.” He joked, lifting his hands and examining them closely.

“No nooo, not gonna work.” You took a step back, wagging your finger. George thought for another excuse, the wheels in his mind working in overtime as you took another step away from the cot.

“I’m quite afraid of the dark you see—“

“That’s what the candle is for!” You smiled, pointing enthusiastically at the growing flame on his nightstand. George huffed, leaning over pretending to blow out the candle.

“Don’t you dare.” You threatened, pointing your finger firmly at the boy. He leaned back over and stayed still in the center.

“Alright alright.” You chuckled, turning on your heel and walking with your back towards him. “

Madam Pomphrey will check in with you first thing tomorrow.”

“You can’t deny I’m good company!” George shouted after you, even though your back was turned you could hear the grin through each word.

Sleep tight!”