Chapter 165 - The Two Doctors

Winnie shoved past Sirius Black, slamming hard into his shoulder. Her face cold, she reached out and pushed the attic's dormer window open, letting the freezing wind howl in.

"Wake up that dog brain of yours!" Winnie snapped, her expression scornful. "Did you think that just because your brain doesn't work right, I'd go easy on you?"

The wind whipped Sirius Black's black hair across his face. He lowered his head, his expression dark.

"Oh! How hilarious!" Winnie threw her hands up and said loudly, "Slytherin is so terrible! Was Peter Pettigrew a Slytherin? Was Quirrell a Slytherin?"

"Voldemort is a Slytherin!" Sirius Black shot back viciously. "Bellatrix is a Slytherin! So many Death Eaters are Slytherins..."

"Your cousin Andromeda is also a Slytherin!" Winnie cut him off. "Would you say it to her face? Andromeda, you're a Slytherin, you'll turn bad sooner or later! Would you!"

"Sirius Black, this is prejudice!" Winnie jabbed him in the chest. "What makes a person who they are is not the house she belongs to — it's who she chooses to become! People say the Black family all become Slytherins. Did you become a Slytherin?"

The attic went silent. So quiet you could almost hear the snow falling.

Winnie had lived through Voldemort's reign of terror, and she had indeed held her own prejudice against Slytherin once. But she had known Praeris long enough now that it had long since faded away.

Between them, they occasionally traded some truly wild Ravenclaw jokes, about Voldemort's former lackey Quirrell and Winnie herself, about the hopeless Gilderoy Lockhart.

Of the three of them, the only one spared from their dark humor was Ms. Prim, a Hufflepuff alumna. Though what made it even more darkly funny was that no one could ever seem to remember which house Ms. Prim had graduated from.

Sirius Black tossed his slightly-too-long black hair back with one hand, raking it from his face, and said dejectedly, "I can't out-argue you Ravenclaws... Have you applied to see Sylvia?"

Can't out-argue. You only say that when you have no logic to stand on.

"I have." Winnie couldn't be bothered to keep pushing. She said wistfully, "But she doesn't want to see me."

Sylvia didn't want to see Winnie. Seeing Winnie was useless. The only blood relative she recognized was Severus Snape. Only her cousin Snape could reclaim custody and take Praeris out of the orphanage.

But Snape had never once set foot in Azkaban.

In the dark of her cell, Sylvia had performed Divination again and again, desperate to see her daughter find a good home.

But before the Dementors could drain her happiness away, she had already lost all her active spiritual strength, ground down by the agony of killing her husband by accident and the slow torment of losing her daughter.

Sylvia's soul had become a pool of stagnant water. Her Inner Eye was clouded. The constellations that had once lit the depths of her soul were gone, and she could no longer see them.

Perhaps when Sylvia had first noticed her husband's strangeness and chosen to look away, her sight had already begun to fail.

She simply refused to believe it. She kept on, stubbornly, trying to fish that one needle out of fate's ocean, the needle that was her daughter.

Perhaps she had gone mad long ago. But madness was not uncommon in Azkaban, and so she assumed she was no different from anyone else.

Winnie and Sirius Black came down from the attic together.

"You two?" Tonks stared at them in surprise, clearly not expecting the two of them to be capable of civil coexistence.

Winnie slung an arm around Tonks and murmured, "Has your mother ever had her cousin tested? His IQ, I mean."

Tonks flailed, glancing back to find Sirius Black still somewhere far away inside his own head, utterly spaced out.

"Shh!" Tonks said, flustered. "You can't just insult someone right to their face!"

"Oh, I can't?" Winnie gave a short, sharp snort. "I'm doing it right now, aren't I — silly girl! Go to bed!"

They reached the bedroom door. Praeris had pulled a chair into the hallway, an oil lamp burning at her feet, and was nodding off waiting for them.

She jolted awake at the sight of Winnie and Tonks, scrambled to her feet, and gave Tonks a small bow. "Goodnight, Tonks!"

"Goodnight, little Prae!" Tonks waved back with a grin, turned, and nearly walked straight into the vase on the corner. She grabbed it before it fell, flailing.

Winnie laughed mercilessly.

Inside the bedroom, Ms. Prim slept on the side against the wall. Praeris slept in the middle.

Winnie walked in, kicked off her shoes, and dropped onto the outermost edge. "Scoot over! I'm going to fall off!"

"Darling, then go find a guest room," Ms. Prim said, her voice muffled from the dark.

"It's freezing alone," Winnie whined. "Prae, let me hold you!"

"Are you holding me or Ms. Prim!" Praeris squawked in the dark. "Ms. Prim, do something about her — she's going to squash me flat!"

"Oh dear!" Ms. Prim cried out in a panic. "Darling, loosen your grip! You're going to smother Prae!"

"She's the one fighting me for the bed!" Winnie crowed. "Praeris, you're so warm!"

"Ms. Prim! Winnie is pressing her ghost hands on my stomach!" Praeris shrieked. "They're freezing! You absolute maniac —"

"Winifred Brown! One more word and get out of my room!"

"Prim! I always knew I was just an accident in this family, wuwuwu..."

The next morning.

Ms. Prim had gotten up early to cook.

Praeris sat on the bed in her pajamas and glared at Winnie.

Winnie swung her feet and folded her arms, sporting a thoroughly unrepentant grin. "My little witch, don't be mad! Weren't you worried I'd catch cold yesterday?"

"Is that your reason for pressing ice-cold hands all over my stomach!" Praeris grabbed a pillow and chucked it at her.

When she hadn't seen Winnie, she missed her.

When she saw Winnie...

Death sentence. Immediate execution.

"I've already been punished!" Winnie waved a hand. "Prim pinched my stomach black and blue first thing this morning! Look!"

Praeris rolled her eyes. "Nobody wants to see your stomach. Button your shirt."

Around nine o'clock, just after Praeris finished her oatmeal, Professor Snape arrived.

Praeris could have sworn she saw Harry and Ron's gazes tracking her and Snape's every movement.

"Sir, second floor." Praeris kept it short.

Snape inclined his head and swept through the dining room like a pitch-black bat, gliding straight for the stairs.

Praeris hurried to wash her hands and pattered after him.

"Praeris!" Harry finally couldn't hold it in. "What exactly are you two planning?"

Praeris looked at him as though she had only just remembered he existed, and said in a tone of warm approval, "Almost forgot about you, Harry, good job!"

Then she dashed up the stairs after Snape.

"Did you hear what she just said!" Harry stared after her. "She was exactly like this last year!"

Ron chewed his food and said, baffled, "I heard her. She said you did a good job. What did you do?"

"I'd need to know that to answer you!" Harry said, equally baffled.

In the second-floor meeting room, Snape lit a flame with his wand and held a silver dagger in it, turning it repeatedly through the heat.

"Dumbledore," he said, his voice measured and low. "Severing your hand in a single stroke, it won't be easy."

He had no shortage of methods to take off a hand cleanly, of course. But each of those spells carried side effects, and he could not rule out the possibility they'd interfere with the limb-regeneration potion.

Praeris had lined up several bottles on the table. She turned to Dumbledore and walked him through them one by one.

"Sir, this first potion controls the spread of the curse. You need to take it 15 minutes before the surgery, so that its effects peak during the procedure."

She pointed to the second bottle. "This one temporarily fortifies your constitution. Take it 5 minutes before the surgery, it will keep you from going into shock from blood loss, or worse."

"The first two were both brewed by Professor Snape." She pointed to the third. "Given that you wish to remain conscious throughout, we'll be setting this third bottle aside. It would render you unconscious for a short time."

"And last: the limb-regeneration potion. You take it the moment Professor Snape severs your hand."

Dumbledore regarded them with perfect composure. "Doctors, should I write a will?"

"If you don't die, it can be fed to the dogs," Snape said evenly. "If you do die, the two of us will be bitten to death by those same dogs."

Praeris pulled the cork free with a clean pop. She said, with impeccable courtesy, words that were entirely ruthless: "Yes, so it would really be best if you survived. If you please: this entire bottle, all of it."

Downstairs, Harry was chewing his fingernails. "Ron, what do you think they're doing up there?"

Ginny vaulted over the sofa in one long stride. "Men," she said flatly. "Dithering. Just knock on the door and ask Prince what's going on."

"What if it's something important," Ron said, wavering. "Snape won't let us off."

"Since when has Snape ever let you off?" Ginny said, genuinely confused.

Fair point.

The three of them drifted their way up to the second floor, leaving Ginny stationed by the staircase to watch for any adults passing through.

Back in the meeting room, Dumbledore finished the second potion.

Snape had sharpened the dagger to a razor's edge and burned it clean, working to spare Dumbledore as much pain as possible.

"How do you feel?" Praeris asked.

Dumbledore considered this for a moment. "A bit full."

"Too much breakfast," Praeris said, diagnosing. "You should eat less."

Snape looked at each of them in turn and gave them both a fierce glare.

Dumbledore was amused and let out a laugh. "Doctor Prince's diagnosis is entirely accurate. But I am about to die, leaving this world on an empty stomach would be far too cruel."

"Relax," Praeris said, brightening the room. "I asked Ms. Prim to make a strawberry tiramisu. You'll have some soon enough."

"Wonderful." Dumbledore smiled. "I'd be reluctant to leave a world with strawberry tiramisu in it."

Praeris checked her pocket watch. "2 minutes."

Outside the door, Ron whispered, "Why can't I hear anything?"

"Anti-eavesdropping charm," Harry said, with the air of someone who had learned this the hard way. "I knew it."

"Time," Praeris said quietly. "Headmaster Dumbledore — relax. It will be over soon."

"Will the surgery be over soon, or will I pass out soon?" Dumbledore said, keeping his voice light. "When I was ill as a child, my doctor said the same thing."

To prevent Dumbledore from struggling against the pain, they had placed a binding spell on him beforehand.

Snape's silver dagger came down on Dumbledore's wrist at a precise angle.

Sweat broke out across both their foreheads, Snape's from fierce concentration, Dumbledore's from the sharp, searing pain.

Praeris only wiped Professor Snape's brow, keeping it from clouding his focus.

"Are we really going to knock?" Ron whispered.

Harry glanced at Ginny by the stairs and gave a firm nod. "Dumbledore promised he'd be more honest with me. I don't see why there should be anything Praeris can know that I can't."

Hadn't Praeris herself said it, if he wanted to know something, he should go ask Dumbledore directly?

Harry raised his hand and knocked.

The door made no sound.

Harry stared at it. "She spelled the door against knocking," he said, without expression. "And I'd bet she put an anti-unlocking charm on the lock too."

In the span of a few blinks, it was done. Dumbledore's cursed hand was completely severed.

Praeris moved like lightning, pouring the limb-regeneration potion into Dumbledore's mouth. "Headmaster Dumbledore, swallow! All of it. Full or not, you drink every drop!"

GLUG. GLUG. GLUG.

Blood poured from the stump, soaking through the sterile cloth beneath.

The flesh at the severed edge seemed to have its own pulse. It stirred, and stretched, and climbed, growing outward like a sapling pushing new shoots into the light.

Praeris and Snape held their positions. Eyes locked on the wound. Neither of them breathed easy.

Outside in the hallway, Winnie stood with her hands on her hips. "What's all this! Adults are in a meeting, children disperse! Wait until they're done. Especially you, Ron! Don't make me go to your mother!"

Harry, Ron, and Ginny stood in a row and received the full force of Winnie's voice. "Have you done your Charms homework?"

Inside the meeting room, Dumbledore's new hand had finished growing. It was the same size as the original. The skin, though, was far too soft and new, like something that had just come into the world.

Snape bent over it, checking carefully for any trace of residual curse. Praeris asked softly, "Headmaster Dumbledore, how do you feel?"

"It's wonderful to feel young." Dumbledore said, with humor. "Even if it's only one hand that's young."

From the side of the room, Snape gave a quiet snort.

"Ah," Praeris paused, nearly losing her train of thought. "Your new hand was built from the power of the potion and your own life force. Because of that, you'll be going through a period of weakness over the next few days."

Praeris peeled off her gloves and drew several small bottles of green potion from her Portuguese cork bag. "This potion, once a day, one vial at a time. That's what it will take to get you back on your feet."

➤ Next: Dumbledore's Gloves — The Conversation