The Dragonriders

Chapter Three—The Dragonriders

At dawn I asked the lotus,

With nothing in it.

During the night the wave hit them. When Neville arrived at four-thirty in the morning, especially called in, it was chaotic. Wounded dragonriders were everywhere, Healers were running to and fro trying to be everywhere at once, and the noise of scores of wounded men and women was almost unbearable. There were people who had fallen from their dragon’s back in mid-air, breaking half the bones in their body, and people with missing limbs, and people who had gone into close combat with trolls and were so badly smashed about that even old and grizzled Healers had to turn their faces away.

Neville threw himself into the work as soon as he had changed into his Healer robes, but he hadn’t tended to three patients before the Master Healer knocked on his shoulder and bid him follow.

“I haven’t even—” he began, gesturing to his charge, but she interrupted him.

“Carly will take care of it. I need you elsewhere.”

He nodded and left his patient’s side, passing Carly on the way as she moved to take his place. “What’s up?” she mouthed, but he could only shrug. He followed the Master Healer down towards the laboratory in silence, knowing that she rarely spoke without good reason and supposing that she would tell him what this was about when she was ready.

“Longbottom,” she said as she flicked her wand to ignite the torches lighting the way down the final stair, “did you not get my memo yesterday?”

“Yes, I did. Why?”

“So you knew what potions I wanted a good stock of?”

“Yes. I’d already begun on some of them, the ones I could guess.”

“Then how do you explain this?” she asked, tapping her wand on the piece of parchment that hung on both sides of the laboratory door. It was divided into two columns, with the left listing all the potions the hospital regularly used and the right showing how much of each potion was left. Right now one of the three most important antidotes was blazing red, signalling that there were less than three cauldronfuls in stock, and as he looked closer at the list, he saw that it amounted to no more than eight or maybe ten doses.

“How...” he began and gasped. “Oh, this is really bad! How on earth...”

“You are certain that you did indeed replenish this potion yesterday?” asked the Master Healer, examining him a little too closely for comfort. He looked at her wildly.

“I know we did! I mean... that is... I didn’t do it personally. I’m no good with antidotes as you know. I took care of the herbals and the simpler potions, and Imp did the others. And he started with the antidotes, I know he did, because I’d already asked him to do those even before your memo came.”

“So he was right then,” mumbled the Healer, so quietly that he almost didn’t catch the words. Perhaps he wasn’t meant to. He, that must be Imp. As to what he’d been right about—could it be his half-formulated suspicions from the day before, perhaps? The suspicions that may easily include Neville himself....

So, was someone stealing from the lab, then? But this was no ordinary theft, no casual pilfering of ingredients or small amounts of potion. If someone had made over five cauldronfuls of important antidote disappear the night before a suspected onslaught of new charges—if so, then that was sabotage. And it could turn out to be lethal.

“Right, Longbottom,” said the Master briskly, “I want you to get on with it.”

“Eh?” Neville was startled out of his thoughts. “What... oh, the antidote? Me? But, I mean, me and antidotes...”

“We need that antidote, and we need it now,” she interrupted him sternly. “It’s the most effective against Tetanus, which is often inflicted by a troll’s dirty blade. I know it’s not easy for you, but I need you to do your best. We have not been able to get hold of Imptsikovich. I’m counting on you.”

There was something else behind her words. Do this, and prove your worth... and loyalty. So was he being put to the test, now? If he managed to supply the potion needed, would they consider him a less likely suspect for the thefts? As if he wasn’t nervous enough already...

“Yes, ma’am,” he said and hastened into the lab.

“What a nightmare,” sighed Neville, pushing his finished lunch tray from him and leaning back in his chair.

“Yes,” agreed Derwent, “I’m not too fond of canteen food either.”

“That’s not what I—” Neville stopped, seeing that his friend was grinning at him. “Oh, funny.”

“You had it rough, then?” Derwent asked. “I imagine it can’t have been nice to be here when they arrived. I only got here at eight, so I had it easy. By comparison.”

“I wasn’t here for the first shock of it, either,” Neville admitted. “Got here at four- thirty and hardly tended to any patients, actually.”

“What’re you whining about, then?” Derwent asked, but with a smile.

“Try setting four cauldrons of Metronia at the same time,” said Neville darkly. “And knowing that if you got anything wrong, people would probably be dying like flies from Tetanus.”

“Ooh, I see.” Derwent winced—he knew about Neville’s aversion to antidotes in particular. “You did well, though, didn’t you? Maybe you work best under pressure.”

“Not bloody likely.” Neville spoke forcefully, remembering years of terror with a hawk-nosed, greasy-haired professor. If that wasn't called being “under pressure”, he didn't know what was.

Derwent grinned at him, then started patting his pockets.

“You’re not allowed to smoke in here,” said Neville.

“Oh, shush, mum,” Derwent replied. He pulled his wand from the (somewhat tasteless, in Neville’s opinion, but then who was he to tell his friends how to dress?) holster around his waist and conjured a bubble around his head and upper torso, pulled a cigarette from the packet in his breast pocket and lit it. “And don’t tell me I look ridiculous, either. I know I do. So, is it back to the lab now for you? Or are you joining us?”

“Going home, actually.” Neville grinned. “Catch some sleep. I have an early morning in the garden tomorrow, and enough people have come in that another Healer isn’t desperately needed. And now that they’ve finally managed to round up Imp, I’m no longer needed as emergency potion brewer either. I hope I’ll never be again. Freakishly scary, I tell you. If that was how it was like on a daily basis during the war, I’m gladder than ever I was at Hogwarts being carved up by lunatics. Is that really pleasant?”

The bubble around Derwent’s head was starting to fill up with smoke now, obscuring his features.

“It’s cool. Got to get my smoke somehow.”

“You could step outside. Not into the garden though, mind you. Then I’d have to come after you with the pruning scissors.”

“See, it’s much better that I remain here.” Derwent grinned again and leaned back in his chair, blew a smoke ring and swore as it hit the wall of his bubble, disintegrated and got into his eyes.

“Looks right cosy, that.”

“Shut up.”

Quote in this chapter by Debra Woolard Bender. Sorry it's been a while since the last chapter—real life overwhelmed me.

As always, AmyLouise is a fantastic beta!