76 76: Cursed Wound

The walk to the castle was a bit of a walk of shame. 

After Professor Snape gathered the unconscious poachers with a swipe of his wand, he conjured a set of large, thick ropes to bind them. Alaric wasn't sure if he was in trouble but noticed that his professor seemed to be at least mildly impressed by what he'd done. 

"The countercurse, Grindelwald," Snape said. 

Reluctantly, Alaric approached the group and, one by one, placed the tip of his wand on their temple, chanting:

"Liberare Vitalis,"

The poachers seemed to stir in their sleep, verging on waking up, but remained unconscious as the professor conjured an uncorporeal Patronus to send a message to the nearest law enforcer building in Hogsmeade. 

As they left the forest and walked along the cobblestone path to the castle, trees loomed over them, forming a natural tunnel of leaves and wood. Alaric found it quite unnerving that Snape wasn't commenting about what he saw. The tree tops rustled, snow fell, and the moonlight shined upon them, but still, the professor remained silent. 

He thought he'd be taken to Albus's office and get a scolding from his uncle, who'd inevitably inform his mother, who'd send a howler in turn — Merlin knows he didn't want one — and be consequentially given detention for who knows how long, but instead, Alaric followed Snape up the deserted stairs to the hospital wing. 

Everyone appeared to be at the Halloween feast, so no one caught a glimpse of Alarc's burnt hand aside from a few roaming ghosts.

"Your friends have been informed of your well-being," Snape said. They turned around a corner, his cape flowing behind him. "They were... most distressed when you didn't return,"

"You told them?" The words left Alaric's mouth before he could think. His tone was much more aggressive than he wanted to.

Snape turned around, eyes narrowed, a scowl on his face. Snape wasn't tall, but he towered over the thirteen-year-old Alaric. 

"I. Will. Not! Have any impertinence from you, Grindelwald," Snape's greasy hair fell over his face like dark curtains. "You may think you're entitled to something in this school due to your... relationship with the headmaster. But I assure you, you're simply another student,"

They didn't speak any more until they reached the infirmary on the fourth floor.

The large oak door creaked as Professor Snape pushed it open. Rows of neatly lined beds stood against the walls, draped in white curtains that hung on silver frames. At the end of the wing, the fireplace crackled warmly with flames, and Alaric felt the warm air wash over his skin. 

Madam Pomfrey was there, tending to some sixth-year Hufflepuff student who'd gotten injured on their team's Quidditch tryouts. She was giving her a thick purple potion that seemed to straighten out the leg warped in white gauze. The matron's stern expression lightened when she saw Alaric. 

"Ah, Alaric," She said, tapping with her wand on the injured leg. The student's pained expression disappeared. "If you wanted to meet your sister, she's already gone down to the feast, dear,"

"I'm afraid Grindelwald's here for something else than family affairs, Madam Pomfrey," Snape said. "He was involved in a small altercation that left him with an injured hand. I'm sure it's well within your capabilities to treat him,"

"Is that so? Students nowadays have no safety awareness," She grumbled. Still, she kindly held Alaric's hand to the candlelight. "Alright, let me see that hand, dear,"

Now that he saw it with proper light, the injury was much worse than he thought. Perhaps the pain-numbing charm he did had him under the impression that it was no more than a burn and that it could be easily treated. But it was not the case.

The skin was charred with a leathery appearance, a mix of black and deep red, resembling a burned scarlet fabric. Blisters had formed, and fluid that left his damaged skin wetted the end of his sleeve. Luckily, the curse didn't burn every inch of his hand — the edge of the wound was sharply defined, and there was a clear contrast between damaged and healthy skin. 

"Merlin! A cursed wound!" Pomfrey exclaimed. "Are you sure a student did this, Professor?"

"Quite," Snape answered as he left the room.

Snape's simple answer didn't quite satisfy the matron, because she grumbled something about safety and respect under her breath. She led Alaric across the wing, past the injured Hufflepuff girl, and made him sit on a chair beside one of the beds. With a twirl and a flick, bandages left Pomfrey's wand and a thick-looking ointment appeared from a nearby shelve. 

"Just a moment, Alaric," She said, getting up and walking into her office. "We'll need something more to get that hand into a proper condition," 

The moment Pomfrey disappeared behind the bright door of her office, Snape appeared again and approached the chair, peering down at Alaric. 

"Two weeks of detention for you, Grindelwald," He said without any real emotion. "It would have been a month if not for the headmaster wanting to shorten it due to the help you've provided the school's gamekeeper. However, I think your punishment with me shall be the least of your worries,"

Alaric could guess what he meant but didn't want to think about it. He'd never gotten a scolding from either of his uncles, but it surely wasn't long before the first one. He blamed the Bloody Baron for it. How could Alaric guess the ghost would follow him out of the school grounds? 

Finally, after a long time that Alaric spent trying to distract himself from his gruesome burn, Madam Pomfrey emerged from her office, carrying a small flask with silvery liquid. 

"I hope you're prepared to spend the night here, Alaric," She said. "We might as well forget the feast because that wound is a nasty business,"

__________

The school talked of nothing but the Halloween feast and Hogsmeade for the next few days. Flitwick had apparently enchanted a small colony of orange paper bats to fly and dance across the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall. 

At least, it took some of the attention from Alaric. As much as he wanted, he couldn't spend every waking moment trying to conceal his now bandaged hand that peeked from the sleeve of his robe — and he'd rather transfigure himself into a fish than transfigure his hand; it hurt just to move it. 

Madam Pomfrey placed him under a tight schedule of regular visits to the hospital wing. She wanted to change his bandages at least twice a day, not to mention the dozen different concoctions she had him take. 

Regularly visiting the infirmary came with another problem. Lysandra. She'd sometimes change his bandages, and then he'd find her staring at him with her arms and legs crossed, making it awkward. 

But if there was one thing that was bothering him, was the fact that Albus hadn't spoken to him about his little outing in the Dark Forest. To be honest, he didn't speak to Alaric at all! The few times Alaric managed to see him, it was either at dinner or when the headmaster appeared at the end of some class to talk to the respective professor. And in both of those occasions, if Alaric tried to speak to his uncle, Albus would smile at him and mouth the word "Later,"

Luckily, he found himself busy enough to be able to shove his uncle's attitude to the back of his mind. And his friends were first.

"If not Dementors, what was it then?" Daphne asked worriedly, softly reaching for Alaric's injured hand so he wouldn't wince from the pain. 

As the treatment wouldn't take a night but at least a month, Alaric had been dismissed from the hospital wing to his dormitory in time to catch some sleep. Blaise and Theodore had been sleeping, so only by the evening of the next day did he get to tell them what happened. 

Alaric, Daphne, Tracey, Blaise, and Theodore all sat on a large but hidden ledge of a window on the fifth floor. People walking in the corridor couldn't spot them from below as it was so high up on the wall, but they could see if anyone was coming. It was one of the spots Alaric had found while mapping out the school that the Marauders had missed or didn't exist in their time. 

They could see the snowy grounds and the Dementors flying around from the large mosaic window with the image of a wizard raising his wand on top of a mountain. Alaric thought he could see Hagrid moving around his hut from there. 

"I slipped on a frosted stone and fell," Alaric said, flipping the page of the book he was reading with his good hand. 

"Then why do you need so many bandages?" Tracey asked. She was reading a magazine, and on the cover was some man named Bowie. Alaric was sure he was a wizard. 

"It was a pretty hard fall," Alaric shrugged. He felt warm at the fact they cared so much for him, but there was no point in telling them the truth and having his friends worry even more. 

Theodore, who was engrossed in looking at the same magazine as Tracey, curious about muggle music, looked so fast at Alaric that Blaise almost dropped the muffin he smuggled out of the kitchens. 

"That means," He started. "You won't be able to play for our match against Gryffindor..."

Alaric could hear some guilt in his tone for thinking about Quidditch after he was injured, but in Theo's defence, he had to admit it was a legitimate worry. 

"I would've liked to say I'll find a way to play," Alaric said. "But if Madam Pomfrey catches me messing around with the bandages, she'll want my head on a stake,"

"I wouldn't mess with that woman in a million years," Blaise muttered. 

"The team must have some reserve Seekers, no?" Daphne asked, still inspecting Alaric's hand. 

"You saw the tryouts," Tracey said, closing the magazine. "The only passable player that could play Seeker is Malfoy. And he's only decent because he has a Nimbus 2001,"

He had forgotten Tracey was a Quidditch nut. She was right. With him injured, there was no proper replacement for the Seeker. Zoe Carrow was about to have a rough start to her year of captainship. 

"Well, it's only the first game," Alaric assured them. "I should be up and flying around the Christmas one,"

"Let's hope so," Blaise sighed. "I can already imagine what Carrow's going to put us through,"

While it was true the Slytherin Quidditch Team was in a pinch, Alaric had a few more pressing matters to attend to. The Maledictus. It was only by the end of the week that he found himself alone on the newly renovated Gremlins workshop on the fifth floor. The twins' stuff was spread across the room, similar to a junkyard of prank items. 

A casual wave of his wand later, Alaric approached the far-right corner, where a large pile of wooden boxes was. At the top was the cage, covered in a fine purple rug. He removed the cover from the cage, revealing a sleeping red crossbill, a small bowl of water and another of food by his side. 

"Alright. Let's get to work,"

**********

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!