#14 - Soothing and Healing

Sarah twitched when someone took a hold of her, but a quick glance revealed it was just Madam Pomfrey. She let herself be led to a bed and Sarah carefully took a seat on its edge. Due to beds being slightly raised, similar to Muggle hospitals, her toes were barely grazing the floor.

Wordlessly, Sarah listened to Madam Pomfrey and tried to take deep breaths. Her sobs still racked her body from time to time, but as time passed, so Sarah calmed down. Her fit went down to an odd sniffle or two with a stray tear escaping, while she slowly kicked her feet. It was very reminiscent of her days at home.

"I did," Sarah was stopped but a hiccough. She wiped a tear and continued. "But Seabrook and Professor Snape weren't really at fault," she admitted to Madam Pomfrey and ultimately, to herself. They were just the spark that lit the cauldron filled with gunpowder.

"Professor Snape told me to scrub the cauldrons to get access to the Student Laboratory," Sarah explained and lifted her hands up to be check by Madam Pomfrey. "I think I've hurt them by snagging on a rough edge. Both my hands hurt so I didn't really notice until it was over."

"My head hurts too, but I think that's from crying," she also added and lowered her head in shame. Sarah hasn't cried like that in ages and she felt so stupid. "I'm worried about my family, they're Muggles and I've read all about the attacks in The Daily Prophet, and they haven't answered any of my letters. I just..." Sarah stopped and shook her head. "Sorry, I'm just a silly little girl, I shouldn't cry like that."

Sarah was feeling pretty dejected, so she stopped bothering Madam Pomfrey and let the woman work on her hands.

“Yes, Madam Pomfrey,” Sarah murmured, sniffling some more, but the matron’s kind words did make her feel a little better. She giggled when she thought she caught a few unkind words thrown Professor Snape’s way, but knew better than to comment on it. However, Sarah herself would use less politically correct terms.

She lifted her hands up higher, hissing at the pain, but let Madam Pomfrey do the work she needed. Sarah curiously watched the woman do the work, first watching her bring a bowl of what seemed to be water and some plants that Sarah didn’t recognize. They certainly weren’t chamomile or anything else her mother used for small scraps.

“Ouch,” Sarah hissed out, but tried not to flinch when Madam Pomfrey started to clean her hands with it. Whatever the woman was doing stung, but it didn’t hurt too much, yet it was chilly. For Sarah, that was better than it being unbearably hot or frozen.

Sarah saw her wounds begin to heal before her eyes. Nothing fast, but whatever Madam Pomfrey used, did help. She dutifully let her hands soak in the bowl, and a couple of whimpers escaped Sarah when her skin was nudged into fully healing itself. Soon after, you couldn’t tell her hands were hurt at all, except for a hint of pink and tenderness.

“Thank you Madam Pomfrey,” Sarah gave the woman a smile, but it slipped off when she was asked about her feelings. “I’m afraid for my family, but it’s not as if I can do something,” frustration bled into her voice and Sarah carefully folded her hands in her lap as opposed to hugging herself across her waist.

“My head still hurts some, but it’s better since I calmed down,” Sarah sighed and gently kicked her feet. “I don’t suppose there’s anything to be done to see whether my family’s okay?” she asked Madam Pomfrey, but doubted she’d get a satisfactory answer.