The air outside the medical tent was thick with tension. Severus stepped out alongside Anthony. The contrast between the still bodies of the sleeping dragon handlers inside and the frantic shuffling around the other tent was jarring.
His eyes flicked towards the group of figures clustered near the Beauxbatons tent. The entrance was guarded by Aurors, their stance rigid and alert. Minister Fudge stood near them, his pale face lined with worry as he spoke in quick, clipped tones to Madame Maxime, whose usually imposing figure seemed strangely vulnerable. Even Albus Dumbledore's normally composed expression was weighed down by something Severus couldn't quite place.
Senior Healer Grant, standing at the edge of the group, turned just as Severus and Anthony emerged from their tent. He caught Severus's gaze and, after a brief hesitation, beckoned them forward. The Aurors stepped aside as they approached, allowing them to pass.
"What's the status of the handlers?" Grant asked, his voice even, though his eyes flickered with a silent urgency.
Severus answered smoothly, keeping his tone professional. "Stable. There were no losses. No lingering injuries, no residual scarring. They're breathing normally. We've put them to sleep so the potions and salves could work undisturbed. They should wake without complication."
Grant nodded, seemingly relieved, but before he could respond, a sudden, choked sob broke through the quiet murmuring of the gathering.
Severus turned his head sharply.
Madame Maxime had covered her mouth with one hand, her eyes brimming with tears. The towering headmistress of Beauxbatons, always so regal and controlled, was weeping openly.
His stomach twisted. Something was very wrong.
He glanced at Grant, who had grown uncharacteristically stiff. The Healer's jaw tightened as he exchanged a look with Dumbledore and Fudge. Severus caught the unspoken hesitation between them, the weight of unshared knowledge.
Something about Fleur Delacour.
Severus met Grant's gaze directly, his voice low and concerned now. It was more like an enquiry to the matter. "Is there a complication with the Beauxbatons champion?"
Grant's lips pressed into a thin line. The silence stretched uncomfortably before he finally spoke.
"She didn't respond to treatment," he said, voice careful. "Her wounds should have healed, but her body rejected all potions and salves. Her magic interfered. Her creature ancestry rejected any healing that we tried."
Severus exhaled slowly, his mind already fitting the pieces together. Fleur Delacour was part-Veela.
Creature-born magic did not always align with human healing methods. Potions required a certain synchronisation with the patient's innate magical core to work efficiently. If the body's natural magic rejected external interference, then the effects of potions could either be negated—or worse, reversed. Likewise, magical creatures had their own unique magic. Something which was not always in sync with the modern-day potions if they didn't will it intentionally.
A failed synchronisation meant that the magic within her body had warred against the potions meant to heal her. And it had won.
Severus didn't ask if she had survived. The answer was written in Madame Maxime's grief, in the tense lines on Fudge's face, in the way Grant's shoulders had slightly slumped.
"She's dead," Severus murmured, more to himself than anyone else.
Grant inclined his head slightly. "Her heart stopped minutes ago."
Severus inhaled sharply. A handful of minutes. That was all.
His mind raced through everything he knew, every theoretical method, every desperate possibility.
This had never been an issue in his own world. Suppressing spells were routinely used to neutralise innate creature magic temporarily, allowing for medical treatments to proceed unhindered. It was not a permanent solution—no magic in existence could permanently suppress a being's natural magic—but it worked long enough to allow lifesaving intervention.
Had no one thought of that here?
Or had they simply given up too quickly?
His fingers curled slightly. Fleur was dead, but her body had not yet fully given in to the permanence of death. If he acted now, if her heart had stopped naturally, only minutes ago. There was a chance—however slim—that she could be revived.
But should he risk it?
Revealing such knowledge, such skills, would draw attention. He had spent every moment in this world carefully observing, learning, blending. But if he succeeded, if he pulled her back from the brink, there would be questions. Too many questions. He would have to answer about spells and potions which were never invented in this world. Was it a good thing? He didn't know.
Yet—he had seen too much death already.
And he was not willing to stand by and watch another. Not, if he could play a part in it and assure someone's life.
He suddenly spoke up before he could second-guess himself. "If her heart has only just stopped, if it has not been longer than ten minutes—I may be able to restart it."
The weight of the area seemed to shift upon him instantly.
All eyes turned to him.
Grant's head snapped up. "What?"
Severus kept his expression impassive. "There is a method I've developed—a technique that may be able to restart her heartbeat, to restore minimal life signs long enough for treatment."
The silence was deafening.
Madame Maxime's tear-filled eyes locked onto him. "You can save 'er?" Her voice was thick with her French accent, but the desperate hope in it was unmistakable.
Severus did not lie. "I cannot promise anything," he said carefully. "But I can try."
"Then try." She stepped forward, her height making her imposing even in grief. "If zere is even ze smallest chance, you must."
Severus turned his gaze to Grant, the true authority in this situation. Healer Grant studied him, his sharp eyes scanning for deception, for arrogance, for overconfidence. He found none.
Finally, Grant exhaled and gave a curt nod. "Go. Do what you can."
Severus wasted no time.
_________________________________________
The tent was stifling, thick with the smell of charred flesh and the quiet, charged presence of too many people. Severus was acutely aware of the weight of their gazes pressing down on him, watching, waiting. The scent of burnt flesh clung to the air, metallic and acrid.
He pulled down the white sheet covering her body upto her neck.
Her face was badly burnt. The bones were visible in some places and the skin and muscles were completely charred from the intensity of the dragon flame.
He pressed two fingers against the side of her neck. There was no pulse. She was dead.
He exhaled softly, regaining control of his thoughts. Her heart had stopped naturally. It was enough to give him hope.
A few of the female healers shifted uneasily beside him, their expressions unreadable. He ignored them, his focus narrowing to the task at hand.
From his pocket, he retrieved his medical kit. The small black case snapped open with his precise, practiced movements. Inside, nestled in silk padding, were several vials, each carefully labeled. He plucked one free—a crystal-clear liquid with a faint silvery shimmer.
Silence filled the tent.
Then, without further hesitation, Severus pointed his wand directly at Fleur's heart.
'Revivisco Cordis.'
A pulse of blue-white light shot from his wand, striking Fleur's chest. The spell sank into her skin, disappearing beneath the burns.
The room remained still.
Then, suddenly, a sharp, shallow rise of her chest.
A collective inhale from those around him suddenly sounded to his ears. Maybe, they were suprised and shocked by his skills. Severus didn't ponder though. He had another important task in hand.
Another breath. And another.
Murmurs filled the space, incredulous whispers and sharp intakes of breath as they all saw the impossible happening.
Severus wasted no time. He uncorked the vial, the sharp scent of the potion tingling his nose, and tilted Fleur's head slightly, parting her lips just enough to pour the liquid down her throat. He aimed his wand and guided the potion. The potion slid down smoothly, vanishing into her body.
Grant, who was standing at his side, and observing him. He finally decided to speak up. "What did you just do?"
Severus didn't look away from Fleur. "Restarted her heart."
A pause. Then, more urgently, "How?"
"The spell forced her heart to contract and resume beating, but that alone is not enough," Severus explained, his voice steady and almost clinical. "Restarting the heart doesn't guarantee survival—without circulation, the brain begins to suffer irreparable damage within minutes. The potion I just administered dilates the arteries, forcing blood flow to resume at an accelerated rate while also magically stimulating the nerves to prevent collapse. It reduces the risk of ischemic injury—the kind that occurs when brain cells begin to die from oxygen deprivation."
Grant's expression flickered between shock and professional interest. "I have travelled all over the world, yet, I haven't heard of such a spell or potion."
"Because, they are my creations. You won't find them anywhere else." Severus replied calmly as he looked at the rising and falling chest of Fleur Delacour. Below ten minutes was an ideal time for the process. The longer the delay, the greater the chances of failing. That too without counting the shock, Fleur Delacour might have felt when she was burnt. Suffice to say, he didn't think that she was fine mentally.
Severus inclined his head slightly. He didn't elaborate anymore. If he wanted more stories, he would have to wait. Thankfully, the wizarding world held knowledge highly. There were families who kept their own secrets. The government couldn't force them under no conditions. Such law benefited him too, as he could claim protection from the government.
One of the female healers frowned. "Even with the heart restarted, how do we ensure her body doesn't reject healing magic again?"
Severus pulled up his wand again. That situation needed to be dealt with too. "That is what comes next."
With a flick of his wrist, he cast another spell, the magic washing over Fleur in a barely visible shimmer. The cool magic rippled through air. Many could feel it.
He turned to the female healers. "You can apply the salves and potions now."
There was another pause.
"Her body—her magic—will reject them again," one of the healers argued.
Severus met her gaze evenly. "Not for the next fifteen minutes."
Grant's eyebrows rose. "You suppressed her innate magic?"
"Temporarily," Severus confirmed with a nod. "It's a spell that suppresses the interference from her creature heritage, allowing her body to accept the potions properly before her magic fights back. It gives us a small window to work with—enough time to begin healing before her natural resistance returns."
Another hush fell over the tent. The female healers were quick as they started to gather the potions and salves from the shelves.
Then Grant spoke again, slower this time. "And this spell. Let me guess. You created it?"
Severus gave a short nod. He couldn't very well tell them that this was routine practice in his previous world, developed years ago. It simply didn't exist here.
"That is… unprecedented," Grant admitted in a shock and surprised manner. He rubbed his chin with a frown. "Suppression magic doesn't exist. Temporary, targeted suppression on a creature-born patient—it's unheard of."
"Not anymore," Severus said simply. "I propose we leave the tent. Let the female healers work on our Beauxbatons champion. I hope you care about her privacy."
His words seemed to snap many of the males present there. They all were immediately aware now of what was going to happen. Severus followed Grant, who was walking behind Dumbledore and Karkaroff. Madame Maxime stood to remain in the tent, watching her charge.
The female healers hesitated no longer. They moved quickly, their hands deft as they retrieved their potions and salves. The first bottle was uncorked, a thick, viscous green liquid poured carefully onto the worst of the burns. The second, a thinner, golden potion, was applied with a soaked cloth, the healers working fast to ensure full coverage.
Grant, who was still processing everything, turned his gaze back to Severus as they walked out of the tent. "You mentioned that the brain is the most at risk after the heart stops. How much time did we have?"
"Five minutes is ideal," Severus said without hesitation. "Ten minutes is pushing it. Beyond that, the likelihood of severe neurological damage increases exponentially."
Grant made a strangled noise. "Ten minutes? You're telling me we had—what? A few moments left before it was too late?"
Severus gave him a measured look. "Yes."
Grant and the others paled visibly.
Dumbledore, who had remained largely silent, finally spoke. "And you knew this, Mr Blackwood?"
"Fortunately, I understand the mechanics of life and death, Headmaster," Severus spoke up. "Many do not." He continued impassively.
There was no arrogance in his voice—just simple, clinical fact.
Madame Maxime walked outside the tent. The giant lady exhaled a shaky breath. "You… You have given 'er a chance," she murmured, her accent thick with emotion. "Even if eet ees a small one."
Severus inclined his head slightly. "I am sorry, but, I can't do more than that without using the darkest of magics. Given the circumstances, this is all I can do."
"She will need rest," Severus continued. His voice was quieter now. "But she is alive."
Severus turned to Grant and the Headmasters and the Ministry officials. They were even joined by the Hogwarts Professors now. Moody, Slughorn, Mcgonagall, Sprout, Flitwick. He knew it was his time to leave, lest, he started to gather the interest of the fake Moody. There were still too many variables.
"Excuse me, everyone. I need to remove the Hungarian Horntail from the ground. I doubt the dragon will like to being trapped in the ground for this long."
Grant nodded at him and Severus moved away from there. Grant looked at his walking back and couldn't help but be relieved. They had prevented a death and saved Magical Britain's reputation. Thankfully, Severus Blackwood was there. Grant had high hopes of him from the start. Even in his intern stage, the boy's work was perfect and meticulous in everything. Today, he had just saved Grant and Magical Britain's name from being tarnished historically. He wasn't fool enough to underestimate the boy. The boy had managed to trap and contain an adult dragon with one spell. Suffice to say, he knew that boy had attracted attention from a much larger audience now.