Madam Rosmerta was a woman of striking beauty, with graceful curves and a warm, passionate personality.
Even twenty years later, when Ron Weasley saw her, he could not help but blush, and secretly carried a crush on her for quite some time.
Ever since Madam Rosmerta had been admitted to the Hospital Wing, the atmosphere at school had changed. Male students were suddenly either "sick" or "injured," as if by prior arrangement.
The once-empty Hospital Wing was instantly crowded.
Madam Pomfrey, watching the chaos, could not help but lose her temper, storming at the boys who were obviously healed yet still lazing about in bed pretending to be ill, driving them all out.
When Pandora learned that Abbott, for some reason, had suddenly developed poor memory, gotten his leg caught by that mischievous staircase, twisted his ankle, and been forced to stay in the Hospital Wing, she decided to visit him purely out of concern for a friend.
"Are you sure you want to go?" Snape asked, his tone carrying a peculiar edge. "Trust me, there won't be much worth seeing there."
"But we're friends," Pandora said, blinking her large eyes, her long lashes fluttering. "You should come with me."
"Uh... fine." Looking into her bright, shining eyes, Snape really had no reason to refuse. He could only accompany her to the Hospital Wing.
"What injury do you have this time?" Madam Pomfrey asked Snape darkly, scanning him up and down with suspicion.
"We're not injured. We came to visit a friend," Pandora said crisply, striding forward. "Patrick Abbott."
"Oh." Seeing Pandora was with him, Madam Pomfrey's expression softened, and she nodded lightly. "You may go in. He's in bed number six."
Pushing open the door, Snape immediately spotted Abbott.
One of Abbott's feet was wrapped in greenish herbs, and in his hands he held a copy of How to Brew Beer in Your Cauldron: The Ultimate Secrets of Firewhisky, flipping through it with a pompous air.
But his eyes kept darting to the side, and there was a peculiar smile on his face, as though he fancied himself noble and profound.
Following Abbott's gaze, Snape saw that across a few beds, Madam Rosmerta was reclining on feather cushions.
She wore a silk dressing gown embroidered with fire dragons, in a color that perfectly complemented her skin. Her fair, slender feet rested casually on the mattress, her toenails glinting with a soft pink sheen.
The room was filled with sunlight. An owl flew in through the open window, a newspaper clutched in its beak.
Madam Rosmerta stretched out a delicate hand and took the Daily Prophet from its mouth. Then she reached for five small bronze Knuts and placed them into the little pouch tied to the owl's leg.
Receiving its delivery fee, the owl flapped its wings and flew back out through the open window.
"Hey, Abbott," Pandora walked to his side, asking with concern, "how are you?"
"As you can see," Abbott reluctantly drew his gaze back, closed his book with exaggerated gravity, and said with a pained expression, "I twisted my ankle, so I must rest well."
"Shouldn't Madam Pomfrey be able to heal that in the blink of an eye?" Snape asked suspiciously.
"Ah, you don't know," Abbott sighed deeply, feigning helplessness. "When I was little, a Horklump bit my ankle. Ever since then, healing magic hasn't worked well on it. I can only wrap herbs around it and wait for it to recover slowly."
"What game are you playing?" Snape muttered, leaning closer to Abbott's ear.
He knew perfectly well that Horklumps were plump, pink, mushroom-like creatures. The largest thing they could ever bite was an earthworm. How could they possibly leave lingering damage like that?
"Shh!" Abbott glanced at Pandora, afraid she would overhear, and quickly whispered to Snape, "It's Occamy, I used Occamy Essence."
"No, Episkey! I used Episkey."
"This time your nonverbal spellwork was rather efficient," Snape sneered.
And then he immediately understood the reason for it.
Madam Rosmerta let out a languid sound, drawing everyone's attention.
They turned to see her lower her newspaper and give a delicate yawn, like a sleepy kitten.
She sat up, stretched slowly, her curves shifting with the motion, then stood gracefully. Sliding her feet into a pair of exquisite fur-lined high-heeled slippers, she walked toward Abbott's bed.
Each step was swaying elegance.
Abbott's mouth fell open in shock, and his words stumbled out awkwardly:
"L-lady... hello, thank you."
Madam Rosmerta gave him a puzzled glance, clearly not understanding why he was thanking her.
Without further regard for Abbott's odd behavior, she turned her eyes toward Snape, a charming smile blooming across her face.
"Hello, Severus."
Her height was so striking that she stood half a head taller than the young Snape.
Looking at the graceful figure before him, Snape didn't know where to put his eyes. Dryly, he replied, "Hello, Madam Rosmerta."
"You finally came," Madam Rosmerta said with a light laugh. "I've been waiting for you all day."
"Huh?" Snape froze, blurting out without thinking, "Why were you waiting for me?"
"I wanted to thank you in person," she said. "Minerva told me that if not for you, I might not have lived to see this morning."
Snape thought to himself: If not for me, the Inferi probably wouldn't have run out of control in the first place.
"You know, the owlery is right beside The Three Broomsticks. That night was truly dangerous. I must thank you, for myself, and for my startled ancestors..."
She slapped her chest theatrically, and the air around her seemed to tremble.
"Abbott, what exactly are you staring at?" Mary's sharp voice suddenly cut through the ward.
At some point, Mary had arrived in the Hospital Wing without anyone noticing. She now stood by Abbott's bed, glaring at him in annoyance.
"N-nothing," Abbott said, quickly tearing his gaze away from Madam Rosmerta.
"I think your 'nothing' hasn't so much as glanced your way," Mary said acidly, tossing a box of peppermint chocolates onto Abbott's chest.
"All right then," Madam Rosmerta said with amused interest, watching the scene unfold. She turned to Snape.
"I should head back, Severus.
"You must come visit me when you have time. The newest batch of oak-aged mead is nearly ready. You'll surely like it..."
With a wave of her hand, a bellflower-colored wizard's robe flew into her grasp.
After draping it over her shoulders, the hem of her silk dressing gown still peeked through beneath.
Madam Rosmerta, in her soft fur-lined high-heeled slippers, disappeared at the doorway.