A Story of a Short Ending | T.R

Chapter 36 - Magical Creatures and their Powers

Seven Devils - Florence + The Machine

Alden hurried back upstairs right after Abraxas, who seemed to disappear somewhere in the way there. Viridian wasn't a fool, he knew that Malfoy would have his own suspicions now, the look on his face was enough to tell him so. Alden didn't mind that. He knew that the Malfoy heir had his own strong feelings about Viridian, considering Riddle chose the Durmstrang graduate to move over Malfoy, who was still bitter about that. Surprisingly, Alden understood that too, he would be just as pissy if someone from the outside replaced him.

He walked back inside the ballroom, handing Angeline the vial of the antidote. He looked down at Rosier, who just from the visual assessment didn't look like he'd make it if not that crucial vial in Angeline's gloved hands right now.

She accepted it and with a quick glance at the marking uncorked the vial, while Alden hurried to Dirca.

She sat by Lestrange, who surprisingly was awake. He lay sprawled on the sofa, while Dirca kept her hand on his arm, the man not letting her remove it by any means.

Alden stopped a step away from them and tilted his head. Lestrange was in a much better state than Rosier. He was still paler, his forehead damp with sweat, but he had enough strength to point at Viridian or rather the vial in his hands, in his own way of demanding it.

"Malfoy said he drank just as much as Leonard.." Alden was thinking out loud while handing the nearby standing Avery the vial with the antidote.

"I'm going to do it, buddy, because you've already had enough of my wife's hands on you," Avery raised his eyebrows at Lestrange, who answered him with a dirty look he had the strength to muster.

"I mean, I can stop touching him," Dirca removed her hand and not a minute later, Lestrange grunted in pain again, bending over and emptying his stomach onto the wooden floors of the ballroom.

Dirca, watching him horrified, put her hand back onto his arm and gently moved him back to rest against the cushions.

"I don't know what's going on," she said as calmly as she could.

"Whatever it is, let's make sure he doesn't die," Avery shook his head and grabbed Lestrange's jaw, to open his mouth, making the sick man drink the bitter liquid that faintly glowed green.

Lestrange tried to fight at first, the taste was truly one of a kind even for those with strong stomachs, but as he needed that to survive he gave up his fight and accepted his bitter fate.

"I think you are a healer," Alden stated, his eyes on Dirca, a hint of curiosity behind that glinting green.

"I'm sorry?" Dirca blinked. She never pursued a career in healing, didn't particularly focus on it in school or attended additional education to learn more about the sacred art of healing.

"Have you had any relatives in your family, who perhaps were known for their love for herbs, and potions and helped those who were sick? Maybe only inside the family." Alden pushed, his eyes moving to Lestrange for a moment, who was gasping for breath, his forehead drying up and the grip he had on the sofa - loosening.

"Yes, my grandmother owned an Apothecary, everyone always said her healing potions were the only ones that helped," Dirca exchanged glances with Avery, who didn't know where to look. Between making sure Rodolphus doesn't die and figuring out whatever Alden was saying about his wife, he still struggled.

"Did she ever visit the people who were sick? Or perhaps 'delivered' the potions herself?" Alden crossed his arms on his chest, waiting for the woman to remember the crucial puzzle pieces.