Chapter 2: Bed, Bath, and Demons
With a soft thud, the carriage landed on the grass in front of the castle, waking those who had fallen asleep during the ride. As much as Hope had enjoyed flying, she was excited to see more of where they were. Unable to take her eyes off the towering castle walls lit with a comforting glow from within, her mind hardly registered taking Newt's hand and climbing out of the carriage.
Feeling the grass against her bare feet made her shiver involuntarily and shift from foot to foot as it prickled against her. Still, Newt held her by one elbow, as she was still very wobbly.
"Sylvia, please alert Professor Dumbledore that I'll be in the hospital wing." He nodded as he began to lead Hope to the stairs, which led to a massive set of doors.
Just as she predicted, she nearly lost her breath in awe of the castle's interior grandeur as she entered. The staircases, the tall walls of moving paintings, the…was that a ghost that drifted by? She pulled the blanket closer to herself, walking numbly alongside Newt, leaning against him for support.
It took ages to get from the ground floor to what they called the hospital wing. Still, Hope's mind stayed plenty busy as she tried to absorb everything within her line of vision. This was a refreshing change of pace after seeing nothing but trees, trash, and ugly faces against bars.
Hope watched as a floating brush polished the handrails of the staircase, but each step she made was beginning to take a toll on her already frail body. By the time they made it to the hospital wing, she was breathless and shaking on her feet. The rows of beds on either side of the long stretch of the room looked so inviting.
She couldn't remember ever laying down on a bed; the only comfort item she had was Wingbacked's feathers, which she sometimes accumulated in secret to try and make a sort of nest. The comfort items had been short-lived as they confiscated them all too quickly.
"Oh my!" the matron exclaimed as she laid eyes on Hope.
Did she look that bad?
"I have some work to do; thank you, Newt. Now out-out with you!" She took Hope's hands and guided her toward a washing basin, her grip surprisingly gentle.
Glancing over her shoulder at Newt, she frowned, not wanting to be left alone. Though he offered a smile.
"I'll be right outside these doors," his voice smoothed over some of her panicked worries.
Hope nodded slowly before he closed the door with a click, and she focused on the matron's words. Her name was Florence, and while her orders were direct and firm, she had a soft nature—almost motherly.
Doing as directed, Hope shed away the blankets and the scraps of stitched clothing she always wore. She couldn't remember if they'd ever been washed. Carefully stepping into the tub of steaming water that smelled of lavender and honey, she slowly sat down, watching the matron discard the items.
Her aching muscles immediately relaxed with relief, as if the water itself had been infused with magic- which it probably had. The water never seemed to cool; it stayed pleasantly warm, making her skin flush with pink. She remembered her last bath at the camp in a cold rainwater basin, never mind the lack of soap.
Madam Florence scrubbed Hope's head and most of her body with sweet-smelling liquids from various colored bottles. She tried to read the labels, but her constant talking distracted her. Hope couldn't respond as Florence tended to answer her own questions and then move to another subject. She didn't mind, though; Hope had nothing to say anyway.
By the time she was bathed, dried, and dressed, an hour had passed, and Hope was utterly exhausted, yet she'd never felt better. She looked down at her sock-covered feet as she carefully climbed into bed, with Florence's help, and slowly rested herself back against the pillows.
Hope didn't realize she'd closed her eyes until she opened them again. Hushed voices from the other side of the room came into focus.
"She's skin and bone, Albus. Much longer with them, and she'd have died. If I'm honest…I don't entirely understand how she isn't already." Hope recognized Florence's voice.
But the voice that responded was so calm. Hope wondered if they were talking about the same subject.
"It's fortunate you found her when you did, Newt."
"Thank you, Professor. I'm glad she's on the mend now…" Newt responded; she knew that voice. It immediately brought a calming warmth over her nerves.
"Please, Newt," Albus chuckled in response, "you are no longer a student here. Call me Albus."
"Right." He answered sheepishly.
Hope couldn't resist her curiosity and turned to look at them. It was like pushing a boulder up a hill; her body felt heavy.
Madam Florence bristled and walked over to her bedside immediately. "I see you need more sleeping potion. Don't worry, dear. It will help your body heal." She pressed her palm against her forehead. "Running a bit hot. I'll add something for the fever; goodness knows what they've done to you. Poor thing."
Newt and the man who must be Albus Dumbledore made their way over to her. She looked at them, though it felt like she was looking from a distance. Like Hope wasn't entirely in the realm of conversation as they were.
Dumbledore offered a kind smile and sat down on a stool near the bed. "Hello, Hope. Newt explained to me what happened at the Poacher's camp. I'm very sorry to hear what you've gone through," his eyes held a glittering sadness in them, "but I assure you, Madam Florence is the best to be in your charge. You'll be right as rain in no time at all."
Hope remained silent, seeing him, but more so seeing past him. Unable to focus on much more than his words.
"But why have a Muggle trapped in a cage? Everyone can see them daily. Just walk through London." Madam Florence was muttering across the room, fixing together what looked like a list of ingredients on a piece of parchment. "Why bother making a spectacle…" Hope couldn't hear the last bit of what she said as she walked further away.
"Because they're afraid of me," Hope said softly. Newt and Albus froze, seeming to listen more carefully.
"What was that?" Albus asked softly, leaning forward slightly, his blue eyes intent. She could focus more on his features now—light blue eyes, auburn hair, and a short beard.
Hope's voice was still barely above a whisper, but she answered. As best she could, anyway.
"When I woke up the first time," she began and paused, "they were afraid of me."
"They put you in a cage because they feared you?" Albus asked with searching eyes, dark brows furrowing. "Why were they afraid of you?"
Thinking back to that night, Hope combed through her memory as Madam Florence soon returned with a vile of something that seemed to be smoking a little from the top.
"Hope?" Albus' voice brought her back to the conversation. "Why would the Poachers be afraid of you?"
Hope looked over at him again and frowned.
"They called me a demon."
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