A New Different World

Severus stood before the mirror in his modestly sized room at the Leaky Cauldron, adjusting the white intern robes he had been issued. They were plain but serviceable, with the St. Mungo's insignia embroidered on the left side. The fabric felt stiff, but it was a small price to pay for the opportunity he needed. He tugged at the collar one last time, grabbed his wand, and pocketed his identification card before stepping through the Floo to St. Mungo's.

The green flames spat him out into the bustling atrium, and the familiar tang of antiseptic potions filled the air. He straightened himself, brushed off his robes, and headed to the emergency ward. It was barely half-past eight, and punctuality was a trait he prided himself on.

Scamming Muggles for money had always been an option in the back of his mind—easy, efficient, and untraceable if done right. But it was beneath him. No matter how dire his circumstances, Severus Blackwood, as he now called himself, refused to rely on such means to sustain himself. His presence in the magical world needed to be legitimate, especially with the specter of Voldemort's inevitable return looming on the horizon. The thought of being unprepared for that event unnerved him more than he cared to admit. He needed information, alliances, and a solid foundation—and this job was the first step.

As he reached the emergency ward, a few familiar faces caught his eye. Penelope Clearwater, with her long, curly blonde hair, stood out immediately. She was chatting with Irina Bess and Zeba Hafeez, her laughter ringing lightly through the hallway. Penelope looked mostly the same as he remembered from his world, but there was a subtle fullness to her figure now that made her presence… distracting. Her breasts were fuller and her backside was certainly captivating for a male eye.

His eyes traced the curve of her waist before he mentally berated himself. Merlin's bloody beard, get a grip. It wasn't like him to notice such things, much less linger on them. But then it hit him. He was, physically at least, a 17 or 18-year-old again. Hormones were a cruel mistress. He pinched the bridge of his nose, exhaling sharply, and forced himself to look away.

"Blackwood, isn't it?" a voice broke through his thoughts.

He turned to see Zeba Hafeez, a petite witch with sharp features and a no-nonsense demeanor. Her dark eyes studied him curiously.

"Yes," Severus replied curtly.

"I'm Zeba. Looks like we're on the same team. You ready for your first day?" she asked, her tone professional but not unkind.

"As ready as one can be," he said, keeping his voice neutral.

Before she could respond, Penelope joined them, her smile bright and disarming. "Good morning, Zeba! And… Blackwood, is it?"

"Yes," Severus repeated, nodding. Her tone was far too cheerful for his liking, but he kept his expression polite.

"Nice to meet you," she said, offering a hand. He hesitated for a fraction of a second before shaking it briefly.

The conversation was interrupted by the arrival of three senior healers, all dressed in pristine robes. One of them, a tall man with streaks of gray in his hair, stepped forward and addressed the group of interns.

"Good morning. My name is Healer Ashworth. I, along with Healer Grant and Healer Derwent, will be supervising your training in the emergency ward," he began, his tone authoritative but approachable. "This ward is not for the faint-hearted. You'll see patients come in with everything from simple spell burns to life-threatening curses. Pay attention, follow instructions, and don't hesitate to ask questions. We'd rather you ask than make a mistake that could cost someone their life."

The interns nodded in unison.

"We'll be splitting you into pairs for your shifts. Blackwood, you're with Clearwater," Ashworth continued, glancing at the clipboard in his hands.

Severus suppressed a groan. Of course.

Penelope, however, looked genuinely pleased. "Looks like we're partners," she said, flashing him another bright smile.

"Indeed," he muttered, his voice dry.

Healer Grant stepped forward next, distributing schedules and outlining the protocols for emergencies. Severus listened intently, filing away every piece of information. He might be stuck with Penelope, but he wasn't about to let that—or his hormonal distractions—get in the way of proving himself. This was just the beginning, and he had no intention of failing.

_____________________________________

The senior healers concluded their overview with a firm reminder about the importance of vigilance and quick thinking in the emergency ward.

Severus listened, though most of the scenarios they described were elementary to him. The Dark Arts had taught him far more about wounds and their remedies than any textbook ever could. His skills in healing had been born of necessity, shaped by the brutal realities of war and the demands of a tyrant who accepted nothing less than perfection.

The Dark Lord, with his twisted vision of immortality and domination, had insisted that Severus master healing to the point of excellence. "Even the strongest warriors fall, Severus," Voldemort had once said, his voice cold and commanding. "But the ones who rise again—those are the ones who will lead."

It was pride, of course, that had driven Severus to exceed expectations. He hadn't just learned the basics of healing; he had delved into the intricacies of magical physiology, experimental potions, and ancient spells that bordered on forbidden. He had repaired cursed wounds, reversed hexes that should have been fatal, and brewed elixirs so potent they could have been mistaken for miracles. All of it had been a survival mechanism—a way to prove his worth, to stay indispensable in a world where mediocrity was a death sentence in the eyes of the Powerful.

"Blackwood?"

The voice pulled him out of his thoughts. Penelope Clearwater stood beside him, her bright blue eyes filled with curiosity. He realized the other interns had begun pairing off to explore the ward.

"Yes?" he replied, his tone carefully neutral.

"You're awfully quiet," she said with a small smile, falling into step beside him. "So, where are you from? I don't remember seeing you at Hogwarts."

Severus hesitated. He had expected this question, but it still grated on him. He met her gaze evenly. "I wasn't at Hogwarts. Most of what I know is self-taught, or learned recently."

Penelope frowned slightly, her curiosity evidently piqued. "Self-taught? That's… impressive. But where did you live, then? You don't sound foreign, though your name isn't exactly common."

"I lived in India," he replied smoothly. It was a convenient lie. India's vastness and its loosely regulated magical governance made it a plausible answer. "My parents were British, but they moved there before I was born. I studied magic on my own after…" He trailed off, letting the sentence hang ambiguously.

Penelope tilted her head, clearly intrigued but too polite to pry further. "India," she repeated. "I've read about magical communities there. Must have been… different?"

"Very," he said shortly, steering the conversation away. "And you? Were you at Hogwarts?"

She nodded. "Ravenclaw. I graduated a couple of years ago. Zeba and Irina were in my year, actually. It's funny—we barely spoke at school, and now we're all here together."

Severus allowed himself a faint smirk. Of course, he already knew that. In his world, Penelope Clearwater had been a prefect, diligent and ambitious, but not someone he had paid much attention to.

"And what about you?" Penelope asked, glancing at him sideways. "I mean, if you were self-taught, how did you manage to get into St. Mungo's? The exams aren't exactly easy."

"I managed," he said simply, not bothering to elaborate.

Her smile turned a little wry. "You're not much for conversation, are you?"

"I prefer actions to words," he replied dryly, his tone making it clear that the discussion was over.

As they continued down the corridor, Penelope chatted with Irina and Zeba, leaving Severus to his thoughts. He couldn't help but feel a flicker of amusement at their assumptions about him. Let them believe he was an enigmatic prodigy from a distant land. The truth—his real history, his dark past, and the weight of his choices—was something none of them would ever know.

But as he observed their easy camaraderie, a pang of something unfamiliar gnawed at him. It wasn't quite jealousy, but a quiet longing—a reminder of the relationships he had never allowed himself to have. Shaking off the thought, he focused on the task ahead. This was just the beginning, and he had no time for distractions. Not when, he nursed the knowledge of the incoming doom.