Madam Rosmerta was a striking woman—graceful curves, a dazzling smile, and a warmth in her demeanor that could thaw the thickest frost. Even two decades later, Ron Weasley would still go pink in the ears at the mere mention of her name, having once nursed a long-standing crush.
Since the moment Madam Rosmerta had been admitted to the hospital wing for treatment, something peculiar had happened to the atmosphere of the school. Suddenly, the wing became unusually popular among the male students, many of whom came down with mysterious ailments and injuries, as though they'd all conspired together.
Madam Pomfrey was less than amused. She stormed around the wing in a fury, flushing out boys who were clearly faking illness just to lounge within Rosmerta's radius. The ward, once quiet and sterile, was now buzzing with feigned groans and suspicious sighs.
When Pandora heard that Aiboh had somehow injured himself—trapped by a mischievous staircase and twisted his ankle—she decided to visit him. Purely out of friendly concern, of course.
"Are you sure you want to go?" Snape asked, his tone betraying a touch of unease. "Trust me. There's nothing worth seeing in there."
"But he's our friend," Pandora replied, blinking her large eyes, long lashes fluttering like wings. "And you should come with me."
"Ugh… alright," Snape muttered. Those luminous eyes were hard to argue with.
When they arrived at the entrance to the hospital wing, Madam Pomfrey eyed Snape suspiciously.
"And what did you do this time?" she asked, scanning him up and down.
"We're not hurt," Pandora said cheerily, striding forward. "We're just visiting. Patrick Aiboh."
"Ah," Madam Pomfrey's frown softened slightly at Pandora's presence. "Very well. Bed six."
They entered the ward, and Snape immediately spotted Aiboh.
One foot was swaddled in sticky green poultices, and in his hands he held a tattered copy of Brewing Brilliance: The Secrets of Firewhisky in Your Cauldron, flipping pages with exaggerated solemnity. But his eyes kept drifting off to the side, a dopey grin plastered across his face.
Snape followed his gaze.
Across a few beds, propped gracefully against a pile of feathered pillows, reclined Madam Rosmerta.
She wore a silk dressing gown embroidered with fire dragons, the fabric's rich hue perfectly complementing her complexion. Her pale, elegant feet rested on the bed, and her toenails were painted a glistening rose-pink.
Sunlight streamed through the tall windows. A tawny owl swooped in with a newspaper clutched in its beak. Rosmerta stretched out a delicate hand, plucked The Daily Prophet from the owl's mouth, and then deposited five Knuts into the pouch tied to its leg.
The owl ruffled its feathers proudly, gave a quick flutter, and disappeared out the window.
"Hey, Aiboh," Pandora said as she approached his bed. "How are you feeling?"
Aiboh tore his eyes away from Rosmerta with visible reluctance. He slammed the book shut and sighed dramatically. "My ankle's twisted, as you can see. Needs proper rest and all."
"Madam Pomfrey couldn't fix that in the blink of an eye?" Snape asked, dubious.
"Well," Aiboh sighed again, "you don't know this, but I got bitten by a Horklump when I was little. Since then, healing charms don't really work on my ankle. Just potions and poultices, slow and steady."
Snape leaned in and muttered, "What kind of rot are you feeding her?"
He knew full well Horklumps were pudgy, mushroom-shaped magical creatures that barely had the teeth to gnaw through a worm, let alone leave lingering damage.
"Shhh!" Aiboh hissed, glancing nervously at Pandora. Then he leaned closer and whispered, "It's Stasis Hex. I cast it myself."
Snape scoffed. "So your silent spellwork works perfectly when it's for nonsense."
But before he could say more, a sound rippled through the ward—a soft, sleepy sigh that silenced everyone.
All eyes turned.
Madam Rosmerta had lowered her newspaper. She let out a yawn, delicate as a kitten waking from a nap, and sat up languidly, arms stretching over her head in a way that drew every gaze.
Then, with an elegant motion, she slipped her feet into a pair of plush, high-heeled slippers and began walking—click, click, click—toward Aiboh's bed.
Every step seemed choreographed, her hips swaying with hypnotic grace.
Aiboh's mouth fell open. "L-lady Rosmerta… th-thank you," he stammered.
Rosmerta gave him a puzzled look, clearly unsure why she was being thanked.
Then her eyes fell on Snape, and her expression lit up.
"Hello, Severus," she said with a charming smile.
She stood a full head taller than the current Snape, and he found himself unsure where to look. His eyes danced from her face to the floor to the wall and back again.
"Good evening, Madam Rosmerta," he croaked stiffly.
"I was waiting for you," she said, chuckling lightly. "All day."
"You were?" Snape blinked. "Why?"
"I wanted to thank you in person," she said. "Minerva told me everything. If it weren't for you… I might not be here to see the sunlight again."
Snape thought grimly, If not for me, the Inferi wouldn't have gone wild in the first place.
"You see," Rosmerta went on, patting her chest dramatically—which caused more than just a few nearby heartbeats to stutter—"the owlery's just behind the Three Broomsticks. That night was a nightmare. I owe you, and so do all my ancestors who were rudely disturbed in their rest."
"Hey! What are you staring at?" A sharp voice rang out.
Mary had arrived unnoticed, arms crossed, scowling at Aiboh from the foot of his bed.
"Nothing," Aiboh stammered, snapping his head back toward her.
"I doubt that 'nothing' even looked you in the eye," she said coldly, tossing a box of dittany chocolates onto his chest.
Rosmerta watched the scene with amusement, then turned to Snape with a wink.
"I should be getting back, Severus. But you must visit sometime. A fresh batch of oak-aged mead is almost ready—I think you'll love it."
With a graceful flick of her fingers, a bellflower-blue cloak soared across the room and settled over her shoulders.
Even cloaked, the hem of her silk gown peeked out playfully beneath it.
Then, slippers tapping softly, she vanished through the doors of the hospital wing.