Faerie Folly and Wizard Wands

Chapter Nineteen

Saquoya didn't have the faintest idea what she was doing. A lot of her pixie witchcraft had come to her by accident, and if her masteries failed her, she would not know how to cure Severus.

She laid her hands flat, the palms skimming two inches above his body. His eyes watched the movements as she floated over his arms, shoulders, head, and torso. Her eyes were closed, and sweat soon began to mix with the blood on her nightdress where it clung damply, and her red gold hair became plastered to her neck and face. Still, her hands remained steady.

Although she wasn't sure what she was doing, her blood seemed to swirl in her head, and zoom through her fingers, and course through her heart. Suddenly, ancient wisdom awoke in her mind, a subtle knowing, just as it had when she learned how to make twigs grow and flowers die. This was the language of her power, and her mother's people. This was the earth that created her.

In that instant, Saquoya stopped questioning.

It was the most pivotal moment in her new life.

Her being could not stop to wonder any longer. She stopped questioning, thinking, considering.

The ancient wisdom took away her doubt about her world.

Everything existed simply because it did.

There would be no more hesitation.

All happened because it was part of fate, and now only the facts remained.

There were wounds deep inside the wizard beneath her. There. One inside his stomach; a deep bruise. Pausing her hands, she felt a cool power flow from her fingertips, to grow warm and then hot. Severus shifted under her, but could not move away.

"Saquoya!" he rasped, but she could hardly hear him. Power spoke into her ears, and made her deaf and dumb. Healing poured from her very essence, and stopped her again at his ribs, and along his diaphragm, and again at his wounded arm. Deep wounds and flesh injuries pulled at her hands, and yanked healing from her, and she gave it willingly.

Without knowing what she did, she rolled him roughly onto his stomach, and began to ravage his back, where the ropes of torture had beaten him. The ragged cuts and even past scars disappeared beneath her power, and when her blood sensed no more pain, it stopped, leaving Saquoya suddenly empty and breathless.

Gasping briefly, she slumped to her knees, and opened her eyes after many long moments.

Severus had sat up on the bed, and was looking at her with suspicion and flabbergasted anger.

"Damn you, wizard," she said wearily. "Go back to bed."

"Saquoya, what did you just discharge?" His voice was tinged with appalled disbelief.

"I don't know. Pixie magic. Now will you please not undo what took half the life from me?" She stood very shakily, as he slung his legs over the bed, and sat there with as much dignity a Potions Master in underwear could muster. He glowered.

"I'm healed, faerie. Look." He began to unwrap his bandages to display a scar-free body, completely cleansed of blood. The skin was smooth and unbroken, except for the black eyes that snapped with too much to be said.

"Very good. You will leave, then?" She was too tired to demand recognition for her work. It took all her strength to continue to stand.

"Where are my clothes?"

"In the other room," she gestured faintly.

Saquoya did not like this feeling of extreme fatigue, and resolutely remained standing as he swept pompously past her to retrieve his garments. Though her mind had ceased to question as much, she still held her pride and personality.

He returned almost immediately. "They're in two pieces! Where's my wand?"

"I have it."

As she moved past him to retrieve it from her pure silver and powder blue robe, he followed her in indignance, still carrying his ripped clothing.

"Why did you take it?" he asked, spitting as he spoke in a controlled voice barely hiding his righteous fury. "That's mine."

"I do not have one," she said simply, handing it over to him.

"Why not? Dumbledore hasn't given one to you? Doesn't trust you with it?" he sneered half to himself as he quickly repaired his black clothes and robed himself.

"My father trusts me just as much as he trusts you," she put pointedly. "And it seems as if you are still given a wand."

Severus stared menacingly at her. She could feel his principles were struggling within his indignance. He was indebted to her, which only confused him more, as he was more than prepared to shout his head off at her instead. It was amazing how connected she felt to him, as if her very body was part of his.

His wounds had been hers, in a way she could not describe.

"I must report to Dumbledore," he said imperiously in return to her barb. "There is much I need to tell him."

Before he could Apparate, she asked quickly, "What did you tell them when you were tortured?"

Severus hesitated and eyed her up again with suspicion. "Nothing. Nothing they wanted."

"Should I believe this?"

"I have no concern over what you believe. Of course, I told them of a faerie enchantress who could heal whatever wounds they inflicted."

With a dry laugh, he looked at her again with a sweeping, piercing gaze, and Apparated.

She believed that was the closest expression of flattery Severus Snape would ever give her.