Chapter 12: Essence of Dittany

Lying in bed, Lys took a deep breath as she heard Madam Pomfrey's approaching footsteps. "Madam, that pocket watch has been invaluable. Being able to track time precisely has helped me locate classrooms. I haven't been late since!"

Her affection for the hospital wing matron compelled her to speak, if only to orient herself when her vision failed.

"I'm pleased it helped, dear, though I must say, you've managed to transform a harmless charm into quite the defensive spell."

"What's your wand made of? It's rather unusual. Special wands often suggest their owners are destined for extraordinary things."

"Oh Madam, it's my mother's - oak with serpent nerve core. Father believes it might be Gregorovitch's work." Lys felt a twinge of guilt at the deception.

"Is your mother from Northern Europe then?"

"No, my grandfather's generation immigrated to Britain."

A delicious aroma filled the air as a house-elf reverently placed her meal on the bedside table, bowed, and vanished to the kitchen with a characteristic pop.

Madam Pomfrey explained that the utensils were secured with Sticking Charms, assuring Lys she could eat safely with just a spoon, then departed to attend other duties.

Alone, Lys quietly finished her bread and beef stew, then lay still, determined not to cause additional trouble.

Opening her eyes brought painful silver halos, but closing them offered no escape - visions of Evans and Snape's perfectly transfigured needles, her classmates' softly glowing wand tips, and the silver quill in Elroy's robes haunted her thoughts, breeding anxiety.

"Perhaps Mother was right - I am just a monkey waving a stick."

These thoughts followed her into an uneasy sleep, until she jolted awake to darkness streaked with silver halos. The pain felt as if her eyes were being forcibly compressed into her skull - she nearly retched.

Clutching her head with one hand and shielding her eyes with the other, she buried her face in the pillow until the agony subsided. Squinting, she barely discerned the washroom she'd visited earlier when taking the teeth-strengthening potion. Nature called.

Before reaching the door, she heard familiar voices approaching - Sirius Black's among them. She hastily stumbled into the washroom, locked the door, and waited with her throbbing head for them to leave.

"Madam, pardon the interruption, but James has injured his arm. Might you apply some Essence of Dittany?"

Madam Pomfrey readily agreed, even complimenting Lupin's preliminary treatment. Upon learning of James's fighting, she cautioned against student conflicts as they undermined house unity.

And James Potter's version? That he'd nobly defended a Gryffindor girl from a greasy, morose little wizard's harassment?

Lys knew exactly who he meant, yet in Charms class earlier, Evans and Snape had shown no signs of discord. Clearly, this was James Potter's personal interpretation.

Yet remarkably, Madam Pomfrey praised his chivalry and merely advised future caution?

Lys crouched behind the washroom door, head in hands, waiting until their footsteps receded before attending to her needs and emerging.

Nearly back to her bed, she felt Madam Pomfrey's steadying hand on her arm. "I was wondering where you'd gone. Back to bed now," she said, pressing a water flask into Lys's hands.

Lys awkwardly placed it beside her pillow, reluctant to drink. Navigating the bathroom while essentially blind had proved challenging - her toe still smarting from its collision with the bed frame.

She gingerly touched her head, eyes, arms, and legs. She would have tended to her toe too, if sitting up weren't required. Every part of her ached.

Hearing Madam Pomfrey organizing potion bottles, Lys inquired, "Madam, what is this Essence of Dittany I heard mentioned earlier?"

Noting the blind child's anxiety and restlessness, Madam Pomfrey helped her sit up and placed a crystal bottle in her hands. "Have a smell. It's a fundamental healing ingredient. Dittany possesses wound-healing properties. That young man earlier shows promise in Potions or Herbology."

Lys carefully removed the stopper, and a familiar scent transported her to early childhood memories, when her parents returned daily suffused with this smell, moving between modest and grand dwellings.

She inhaled deeply again, an unconscious smile spreading across her face. Essence of Dittany smelled of home - of mother.

Madam Pomfrey watched the child's peaceful expression with amusement. Most children recoiled from the potion's scent - even she found it occasionally disagreeable. Yet this child kept breathing it in, taking one final deep inhale before returning it.

"You're quite fond of this scent, aren't you?" She reclaimed the bottle, concerned about potential spills on the bedding.

"Yes, Madam. It's exactly like my mother's scent."

Madam Pomfrey's hand faltered as she stored the bottle. This basic ingredient rarely appeared in standard potions - most brewers carried wormwood's scent. Only healers or patients typically bore this fragrance. And St. Mungo's employed no Healer named Black.

She secured the bottle and placed it beside the untouched water flask. "If sleep eludes you tonight, you might find comfort in its scent. While your sight recovers, imagine your mother holding you as you rest."

Mother? Holding her? The thought sparked a fierce longing for Coco.

Commotion outside drew Madam Pomfrey away. "Merlin's beard! That dangerous Quidditch! Look at this poor child's broken arm! I really must discuss canceling this hazardous sport with the Headmaster!"

"Out, everyone out! This patient needs rest."

Lys heard someone settle into the neighboring bed as Madam Pomfrey drew the privacy curtains. The patient muttered about managing two more laps. Typical Gryffindor, she thought.

After just days at Hogwarts, Lys felt confident in identifying house affiliations.

She listened as Madam Pomfrey cast diagnostic spells and administered at least three potions to the protesting student. Lys nearly laughed - it precisely mirrored her mother forcing potions on her reluctant father.

As the Quidditch player's complaints dissolved into sleep-talk, Lys finally received her potion to clear the silver lights from her vision. Swallowing it felt like consuming an unbreakable pudding, with a taste reminiscent of that long-ago moldy potato mash.