Page 63 of Rewitched

“This isn’t a ratatouille we’re whipping up,” he scolded.

“So I can chuck anything in as long as I mean well?”

He gave her a look. “Not exactly. We require ingredients, but their specifics are down to the witch at the cauldron. If your mother usually turns to the world of nature for healing, we’ll start there. The familiar and the comforting will lead to healing.”

“We’ll need Earl Grey, then. Tea leaves.”

“What else?” he encouraged. “Anything your mother always gave you when you were poorly as a child, maybe?”

Belle thought back to mornings against stacks of pillows, towels over the duvet, a washing-up bowl at the side of the bed. “Black currants? She’d always give me glasses of warm squash. Malt for the warm milk. Bread and butter, if that counts as nature.”

“Throw in a little honey to soothe. Willow bark for the pain. This is certainly starting to sound like a potion to me.”

“Either a potion or the world’s worst hangover cure.”

A few hours later, there were flames licking at the bottom of the large cauldron in the centre of the attic, and the contents were turning a rich shade of brown roux, simmering gently with a nutty scent that seemed both medicinal and soothing. Strangely, it carried the smell of Bonnie’s house by the time it came to a boil, which felt to Belle like a sign that it must be a half-decent spell.

She was vindicated when the grimoire glowed with a balmy amber light, indicating their success at the first benevolent potion, Salutaris Medella. Sagging with relief at the sight, Belle spooned a portion into a little china bowl.

She gave a small knock on the bedroom door, found her mum sleeping and crept in, trying not to upset the floorboards beneath her feet. Just as she reached the bedside table to tenderly lay down the potion, a jutting nail sunk against her small toe, and she let out a violent expletive.

Bonnie stirred and Belle apologised. “Sorry, sorry, sorry, didn’t mean to wake you. My toe…Sorry.”

“It’s okay, love. What have you got there?”

“It’s a healing potion. Don’t worry, the grimoire approved it, so I don’t think it’ll poison you.”

Bonnie wriggled under the duvet with an uncomfortable grimace, manoeuvring sore limbs to sit up against the striped headboard. She took the bowl from Belle and gratefully took a miniature sip.

“Down the hatch, Mum. I’m sure the combination of actual tree bark and curdled malted milk is a taste sensation.”

“I never thought I’d see the day when you were the one sitting at the bedside looking after me,” Bonnie said, offering a weak smile.

“It’s the perfect Alchemy lesson. Actually very considerate of you to go and get attacked by some kind of dark forces.”

Draining the bowl, Bonnie put it back on the bedside table and reached for Belle’s hands, placing both between her own.

“I was so worried,” Belle said quietly. “I didn’t know where you’d…” She tried to say it boldly but couldn’t make the words any louder than a whisper. Belle had only recently begun to notice a certain feeling that bloomed when it came to her mother’s well-being. One unremarkable day, her mother had somehow stopped being something untouchable. Her mother was something that could break. Belle inwardly smarted at the realisation.

“I know, darling.” Bonnie wrapped her arms around her daughter, stroking her hair from the crown of her head to the ends.

“I thought I’d lost you.” Belle had her eyes closed now but felt her mother’s hands on both her shoulders. She bit down on her bottom lip to steady the waver in her voice.

“Look at me, Belle. You listen to this, please. It’ll take more than whatever that was to separate me and you. I would fight with every fibre of my being for you.” She held her daughter’s face. “Oh, darling, I’m not sure this is all worth it. I’m not sure it’s safe. I was trying to give Artorius the benefit of the doubt, but—”

“Mum, don’t start.”

“I’m serious, sweetheart. Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea. Bronwyn is occasionally wrong, and Morena is occasionally right. This can’t be a coincidence. Under his roof.”

Belle faltered for a fraction of a second, but her mind instantly returned to the moment of Bonnie’s disappearance. Of the look on Artorius’s face. The panic, the dismay, the distress that was only matched by her own.

“I know how it looks,” she said slowly. “But this isn’t down to him. He’s a good man.”

Bonnie stared at her with pinched eyes, then gave a sigh. “I do trust your judgement of character, love. But I trust my own, too, and I know that there’s something not right in all of this.”

“That could be the willow bark.”

“I’m serious, Belle. I would give up every drop of magic in my bones if it meant that I could keep you safe.”