"Miss Tiffany, Miss Tiffany," the little boy called from the door. Tiffany wrapped herself in a green tartan shawl – a gift from the current Feegle kelda, who had spent eight months weaving it with tiny fingers – and opened it.
"Don't pick your nose, Joey," she remarked out of habit. "What's wrong?"
The ragamuffin stuttered, "It's Mam, miss. She's started early."
"What's going on?" Hermione asked, rising sleepily.
"Hold on just a moment, Joey. I need my herbs." Tiffany grabbed a scone to eat on the way there as well. "I'm delivering a baby. Care to come along?"
"But you're just a girl!" Hermione protested, following her because she didn't know what else to do.
"So are you, and look what you've accomplished. How far apart are the contractions?"
Joey looked confused. "What's a 'contraction'?"
"How many minutes is it between her crying out, then?"
"Hnr hnr hnr," Horace mumbled, stumbling after Hermione.
Tiffany stopped and grabbed her head. "I forgot my hat."
"I can help you with that, at least." Hermione pointed her wand back towards Tiffany's cottage. "Accio Tiffany's hat."
"We really need to sit down and discuss all that you can do," Tiffany said, beaming at her when she stuffed her hat on. "Now, to business."
Hermione had never been present at a birth before, and it was a terrifying, disgusting business. Tiffany had her hold Goody Vera's hand, and she improvised by conjuring water for the woman to drink and to mop her brow. The baby clutched at Hermione's finger, and she felt warmth shoot up her arm.
They had barely returned to the cottage when a man dragged them off to help a shepherd pinned under a fallen rock. Hermione levitated and moved the rock, and Tiffany put a poultice on the man's injury.
Then a sheep was choking on a thistle. Tiffany held the sheep while Hermione Transfigured the thistle into some soft grass.
The girls were tired and sore as they trudged through the village back to Tiffany's cottage, and Hermione was astonished and gratified when a woman ran out of her house and presented them with a blueberry pie. "I realized I had one pie left over, and then I saw our witch passing by. Isn't that a lovely coincidence? And do you need any blankets? The nights are still pretty chilly."
"Thank you very much, Ma'am. I could use an old pair of boots, now that you mention it, but the Chalk will provide." Tiffany accepted the pie with a smile.
The grandmotherly lady noticed Hermione and curtseyed. "Is this a new witch? You'll have to come over for dinner tomorrow night and introduce yourself. We'll be having shepherd's pie, and mincemeat pie, and chicken pie…"
"She likes making pie," Tiffany whispered.
"I gathered," Hermione whispered back. "I don't really know how long I'm staying, but thank you."
As they ate the pie, a Feegle popped under the door. "Hags, Granny Weatherwax be unable to come 'till Tuesday."
"Can you wait until then?" Tiffany asked Hermione.
"I suppose…" Then she thought of the devastation she had left, the peace here, the thrill of saving lives, and the Muggles and witches being one people. "She…she can wait till Friday."
"Shall I tell her that then?" the little blue man in the kilt asked.
"Maybe till Sunday."
Tiffany's eyes met hers, and they smiled. Hermione finally said, "You know, she's probably very busy."
"That she is," Tiffany remarked.
"Let her decide, then." Hermione poked the fire, and absorbed the coziness and safety of this new home…place…home?
The other witch patted her back in understanding. "I think you already have."