Alternative Healing from an Alternative Source
Warnings for: past abuse on a prisoner, aftermath of torture, reference to rape/non-con
Chapter notes: There are a few Rey-verse elements in this. Depending on where the muse wants to go, this story might end up fusioned a little with Marvel Thor universe.
Zabini Residence, 1st November 2003
“Potter.”
“Zabini.”
“…”
“Umm, what do you do, now, if I might ask?”
“This and that.”
“Huff. Does ‘this and that’ include healing?”
“Maybe.”
“”Alternative healing?”
“Maybe.”
“Damn it, Zabini. I need some help.”
“Yes?”
“You’re worse than my friend, and he can’t talk.”
“Oh?”
I don’t know whether to curse again, stomp my foot like a five-year-old, send a Stinging Hex to the prat, or give up altogether. But since I’m a guest here under my own request to see them immediately, and Luna did recommend them when I asked her before coming here, and I do need medical help for my current guest from non-mainstream sources, I hold back from expressing my exasperation in any way.
Therefore, after a deep breath, in my level-most tone, and while omitting some dangerous details, I just start to explain my guest’s condition and Justin’s inability to treat him through the magical and mundane ways, ignoring the prat’s politely disinterested manner.
They regard me silently for a long, long moment, then.
I suppose I should be thankful to my guest back at Black Lodge, as he is prone to long, thoughtful stares at me, too, today. I’m no longer prone to fidgeting under such gaze, now, neither do I feel the urge to prompt for an immediate reply just to fill in the silence and direct the attention away from me.
The prat seems to realise that, presently, as their eyes hold a faint note of surprise. Something that I would’ve missed if I weren’t used to picking up the subtlest movements and moods of my guest these two days, in order to accommodate his needs and continue talking with him.
I still can’t prevent myself from putting forth a retaliation as much and as swiftly as I get it, though.
I cock an eyebrow up at him, like I sometimes saw my guest doing the longer we conversed.
And, unexpectedly, unbelievably, the prat laughs in response.
I gape, ruining the posture, but I can’t help it! Blaise Zabini, Laughing. What is the world coming to?
I can’t help laughing, too, though rather bitterly, when they then remark, “Whoever’s training you, they’re doing a good job.”
Yes. Training. And my trainer happens to be the person I mentioned beforehand as needing an urgent alternative medical help. Who got a double dose of Crucio for however long it was. Who most likely got raped by a female Unspeakable some time before that. Who also most likely got experimented on in the same timeframe. Whose throat is still a little too tender for making sounds, according to Justin, after screaming so hard for so long. Who was still trembling faintly by the time I left for Luna’s house. Who still can’t do anything but to grasp my hand and blink while lying in a bed.
I shake my head when Zabini sends me an inquiring look. “Nothing,” I insist. “Just… will you help? Luna said you might be able to help.”
They grumble under their breath, maybe about my blatant lie, or Luna’s reference, but, most importantly, they nod their ascent.
“Shall we go now, then?” I stretch out a hand.
They send me a disbelieving look. “Leave me a Portkey for tonight. I need to close down my flat and leave a false trail, first.”
“Huh?” I stare at them, dumbfounded. It sounds like a joke from a bad detective novel that Hermione sometimes talked about… but they’re saying it straight-faced, just now.
Fortunately… or not… they explain, then. “Your friends got sniffed out by the Unspeakables for some reason, Potter. Lovegood told me. And last night they even snooped round here, although the two of us talked publicly only once. So the price for my help is most likely a lifetime of sanctuary that still won’t jeopardise my freedom. I don’t want to disappear, but I want to go places, too.”
“Oh, shite,” I mutter.
“Now, are we agreed?” They quirk an eyebrow.
I look round at their one-room flat, noting how sparse and utilitarian most of their furniture, appliances and knick-knacks are, except for a practically decadent circular bed set on one corner that is overflowing with large, fluffy pillows and blankets and sports a solid railing all round it, making it a comfy nest.
“Maybe I should help you move?” I offer, at last.
They shake their head. “You should be able to deny your involvement with me, should one of us get captured, and vice versa.”
I look at them sharply. – Are they…?
They shrug and flick their right hand, causing their wand to fall into their waiting palm. Then, ignoring my sudden tension and the wand that’s also ready on my hand in response to their movement, they intone while holding their wand up, “I, Blaise Zabini, womb-child of Agnes Zabini, swear that I shall do my best to meet with Harry Potter tonight should he designate a place to meet in within the next five minutes. May I be bound to this vow in all that matters.”
They flick their wand again, then, and it vanishes… somewhere. “So?”
“I….” I shake my head. “What was that?”
They glare at me. “I do not wish to be an oath-breaker, so state where you are going to meet me now, give me a Portkey there, and please vacate the premises immediately afterward.”
I glare back at them. But I do need their help… and they know it well.
Prat.