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Slanaighear Ofrail An Seangharra	By : pittwitch Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 5225 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Slanaighear Ofrail An Seangharra (Healers of An Seangharra)

Prologue

As he fell ungracefully in a heap, Snape coughed harshly, a bezoar passed his lips and hit the ground. His outstretched arm struck the ground hard, elbow first, and the small wooden cross that had been clenched tightly in his fist, bounced carelessly away, the odd emergency Portkey forever lost in the long grass. He lay on the cool ground, face up, for quite a while as his body tried to rebuild some strength. Regaining consciousness, he stayed put, afraid to move for quite a long time. Finally, with a deep sigh, he opened his eyes to the sparkling star-filled heavens and sighed.

Finally, Snape struggled to his feet to peer around his surroundings. In the dark of the night, no moon shone to light the copse, and valley in front of him. A small building with stained glass windows and a neatly kept cemetery were the only signs of habitation in sight. Snape slunk slowly for the trees. His wound and blood loss weakened him substantially. Just as he reached the shadows, the doors in the small stone church opened, the soft gleam of candles cast a warm circular glow onto the stoop.

“Where in the bloody blazes have you sent me this time, Albus?” Snape groaned aloud as he watched a dark figure enter the church. He leaned heavily against a convenient tree, sliding down the rough bark to sit in the dew-dampened grass, cradling his elbow close to his trunk as yet another figure slipped from the shadows to enter the church. The door opened with now brighter candle light calling to him, warming his heart just a touch. His shaking hand slipped inside his cloak to a well-hidden pocket and a desperately needed anti-Nagini specialty potion, one of his own secret concoctions of anti-venom, blood replenisher and strengthener. He struggled to uncork the vial, shaking hand spilling a rather substantial amount of the contents onto the dark wool of his trousers.

“Damn,” he swore softly at the loss, but lifting the vial to his lips all the same. A third person slipped out of the darkness to seek refuge in the small building. Snape let his head sink back against the rough, yet comforting bark of the tree. His eyes closed heavily as he waited for the potion to warm him from the inside out, indicating that it was working. Occasional spasms wracked his body, his limbs flailing out and away from his trunk. Snape wrestled his uncooperative arms back to hold his torso close, conserving his needed body heat in the damp, cool night.

When soft music wafted over the night air to his ears, Snape’s curiosity overwhelmed him, drawing him inexplicably to the church. The melancholy strains of a violin combined with the soft rhythmic accompaniment of a guitar and the quiet pull of women’s voices blending in close harmony seemed to dance around him in the dark ... teasing, cajoling, begging, beckoning him closer. High in the branches of a nearby hawthorn tree, a carrion crow cawed then took flight as the injured man rose painfully to his feet.

He semi-staggered through the dark to the heavy wooden double doors at the front of the church. Leaning against them, he pulled himself together, tossing his hood over his head to hide the hideous marks that marred his neck, then struggled to open only one of the wide double doors just enough to slip through the crack. He moved into the interior of the welcoming little building. He halted just inside, allowing the heavy door to close slowly and quietly against the counter balance of his hand. He surveyed three women from under the protection of his hood. They didn’t even stop, or glance up at his intrusion. They seemed lost in their music. A tall, slender redheaded woman in a deep, nearly black, green dress, sang with her eyes closed and face lifted up; her hands outspread at her sides entreatingly. A tiny, white-blond woman dressed in a long white dress lovingly caressed the fretless neck of a violin; her bow stroking the strings to elicit a most mournful sound. Long white fingers elegantly strummed across guitar strings in musical point and counter point to the violin and voice. The short-haired brunette woman concentrated on her chords as well as blending her rich alto voice to the haunting soprano of her redheaded company.

An oddly mesmerized Severus Snape managed to walk with his normal grace and poise to the end of the last pew before sliding onto the smooth, worn wooden surface to sit with his head bowed, letting the music envelop him, ensnaring his senses to the point that he ignored the still steady drip of blood from the gashes on his neck. Slowly, he leaned forward to rest his forehead on his hands on the back of the next pew. Deep in his own morbid thoughts, he looked, for all the world to see, as if he were lost in prayer.

The song ended with all three women in time-honed synchronization. Snape lifted his head to gaze dead on at them. He met three different sets of eyes staring back. The blond woman deliberately poked the redhead in the ribs with the end of her bow. That woman scowled back in displeasure before turning towards Snape with a more welcoming smile. She eased around the communion rail, down the step then up the marble-floored aisle, her eyes never leaving the dark half-hidden eyes of the strange man. Before she could quite reach him, he rose suddenly, making to leave. Swiftly, more swiftly than Snape thought was normal, she was at his side, her small hand reaching for his arm.

“All are welcome here, sir. Please stay,” she spoke softly, deferentially even. As her hand settled on his sleeve, she shuddered and paled significantly. She swayed slightly then stepped back, shocked.

“Friend of Albus?” She hissed in dismay. “You are injured?” Frightened, she tightened her grip on his arm, free hand moving to cradle his elbow, earning a hiss of pain from the stranger. Her two companions dashed up the aisle to her side as she forced Snape to sit down once more in the pew. His strength waned; he acquiesced without a fight.

"Orra?” the tiny blonde questioned her friend fearfully.

Orra’s fingers struggled with the heavy outer cloak that Snape wore. He slumped into the pew, sliding sideways just a bit as utter exhaustion overcame him and he slipped into unconsciousness once again. His hood fell back, revealing his pale neck, and the glaring red puncture wounds still seeping blood in rather copious amounts.

“Check his arm, Aideen,” Orra tried not to shout. The small woman’s fingers fought with the many buttons on Snape’s sleeve. Aideen snorted in aggravation, stamping one tiny foot for emphasis.

“Kellyn, get over here and help!” Aideen growled.

The tall, slender brunette quickly undid buttons alongside Aideen as Orra merely held his face in her hands helplessly, watching as her two friends finally revealed the identifying mark which, of course, was his hideous skull and snake tattoo in putrid greenish black ink.

“He is the friend of Albus,” Orra answered firmly, reaching under the collar of her dress, to tug out a crystal phoenix hanging on a sturdy silver chain. She pressed the head of the crystal phoenix to one side then tipped the contents to Snape’s pale, thin lips. She held his head steady with one hand, her green-gold eyes filled with utmost sorrow.

“Indeed, he appears to be.” Kellyn dropped to her knees in the center aisle way. Aideen clamored onto the seat of the pew in front of Orra, perching on her knees as well to watch her friend work. Her blue eyes flooded with concern.

“Heal him quickly, Orra,” Aideen urged breathlessly.

“Here?” Orra gasped. “In the church?”

“Aideen ... sacrilege,” snarled Kellyn.

“He looks like he’s dying,” Aideen replied sharply. “Surely God would rather not let him die.”
Orra glared at her two friends, still holding Snape’s head with one hand and the phoenix in the other. She snapped the head of the phoenix back into place.

“Help me move him to my house. I don’t want to risk being caught in the church.” She eyed each friend in turn with a wild plea evident on her face. “I prefer not to burn.”

"Orra ... how do you propose ...” Orra’s angry glare cut off Kellyn’s question.

“All right,” she harrumphed. “Hurry before Father gets here.”

The three women laid hands on the almost prone man. Closing their eyes, they whispered together earnestly, “Light as a feather, light as a feather, light as a feather. Stiff as a board. Light as a feather, light as a feather, light as a feather. Stiff as a board.”

Soon, they were able to lift Severus from the pew, his stiffened body truly light as a feather, guiding him to the doors. Keeping one hand on the man, Kellyn used her other to pull open one door just a crack to peer out, checking if the coast was clear. The three women carried him back out into the cool of the night, around the church and to a well-worn path leading into the woods behind the cemetery. They stumbled occasionally in the dark. Their normally graceful feet tripped over twigs, rocks and branches as they maneuvered the body between them. A small cottage beckoned them, soft light oozing from the wooden-paned windows. Orra ran ahead, opening the door for the others.

They moved Snape to the couch, settling him carefully. Orra tore the hood of his cloak away from his head, opening the vial once more to touch the liquid contained inside to the wounds on his neck. The three women watched in astonishment as the skin began to mesh on itself, stopping the bleeding.

“Orra?” Aideen poked her friend in the arm, pointing at the side table.

“What?” Orra turned to follow her gaze.

“Are these yours?” Kellyn asked as she picked up the tightly rolled parchment scrolls that were sitting there.

“Those sure’n weren’t there when I left for church.” Orra added with her eyes wide. Kellyn rolled one around in her hand, spying the handwriting, Slánaighear Ofrail An Seangharrá. The other was sealed with red and gold wax with a phoenix imprinted clearly.

“No time, no time,” Aideen sang out. “We have to get back to the church before Father!”

Kellyn nodded in agreement. She lay the unaddressed scroll on the table in front of Snape, carrying the other with her towards the door.

“I’m not sure if we should leave him alone?” Orra pondered aloud as she checked his pulse, finding it weak but steady.

“We won’t be long. Come on, Orra.” Aideen tugged at her sleeve. “For the souls ... remember?” she pleaded.

“He probably just needs to rest.” Kellyn added with a sage nod.

“We did what we promised Albus. Now come on, Orra!” Aideen tugged at her arm harder.

“Oh all right,” Orra grouched. She eyed the scroll once more, picked it up, then slipped it into his relaxed fingers before yielding to her friends, returning to the church to sing for the memorial service, leaving a strange man asleep or unconscious on her couch.

Aideen - little fire
Kellyn - powerful
Orra - lucky charm
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Slanaighear Ofrail An Seangharra