Cho Chang (formerchinadoll) wrote in after_the_bombs, @ 2011-04-02 22:30:00 |
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By the time Tracey all but collapsed onto the floor of her sanctuary on the night of the Battle of Hogwarts, she had committed more crimes than she had during her entire misspent childhood piled together. Taking a page from her cousin Will's playbook, she'd started with a little arson. The Shrieking Shack had burned merrily with a little encouragement from the petrol she'd liberated from a Muggle shed. She'd gone on to sneak back into the Castle, avoiding pockets of fighting and the shell-shocked survivors, so she could raid the stores of medicinal potions that Professor Snape had spent years stock piling in his private dungeon lab. She'd taken quite a number of vials and bottles as she wasn't sure how much she'd need, but she'd hardly put a dent into what was there. She was kind enough to leave the wards down and the door cracked in case others came looking for the same treasures.
Then there was the greatest of her crimes – aiding and abetting a man that would be a persona non gratis no matter who prevailed in Potter and the Dark Lord's struggle. Speaking of which...
With a sigh, Tracey hauled herself over to the pallet that took up a good bit of the floor space in the garret of the abandoned church that stood only a few blocks from her childhood home. Her work wasn't done yet. “Alright, Professor,” she murmured, “let's get you more comfortable and then you get more nasty potions.” But before she did anything else, she laid a hand on his chest and held her own breath until she could feel the shallow, slow movement of his breathing. He'd already scared years off her life by stopping breathing altogether when she'd Apparated him to the garret from the Shrieking Shack's porch. It had taken every bit of her barely remembered CPR ability to get him breathing again.
Since then, every time she returned, she'd feared to find he'd stopped breathing again. She was putting too much damned effort into keeping him alive and un-looked for for him to go dying on her now.
Of all the men in her life, the only one she would have been less likely to be undressing than Severus Snape was her own father and yet here she was doing just that. She only hoped that he didn't decide to hex her for it even if she was being kind changing him out of his blood soaked robes and into the clean if Christmas themed pajamas she'd gotten out of the clearance bin at the discount store for him.
“Honestly, Professor,” she muttered, “long-johns?”
* * * *
It was nearly a week later when Tracey returned from a planned meeting with Audrey – the one family member who had bothered to try to contact her after the Battle and the one that she was the most determined to keep away from the East End especially as Will was in fine form lately as evidenced by the hand shaped bruises hiding beneath her sleeves and the matching one on beneath a heavy glamour on her cheek – and an unplanned meeting with a Senior Unspeakable. She was deep in thought as she puttered around the garret gathering up the potions that she was intending to force into her as of yet still unresponsive guest.
It was only when she knelt at his side, her wand in hand so she could raise him up to the sitting position that she'd discovered was the easiest way to get the potions into him that realized that his eyes were slit open and he was looking at her. “Professor Snape?” she asked in what had to have been one of the more obvious questions she'd ever asked. Apparently he thought so as well to judge by the slow upward creep of one of his dark brows and the slight twist of his mouth. She could have cried for the sight of faint signs of familiar derision. But as she was a Slytherin bitch, she managed to refrain from the sloppy show of emotion.
“I'm going to sit you up,” she said, waiting for his faint nod before she did just that as gently as possible. She told him which potions she was giving him – blood replenisher, nutrient potion, and a mild pain killer – before giving them to him. As he didn't protest, she guessed she'd chosen at least partially correctly. As she knew that the last at least tasted wretched, she offered him a few sips of water to help wash away the after-taste.
“Miss Davis,” he whispered, his normal dark velvet voice cracked and pitted, “Why?”
She shrugged one shoulder as she used an aquamenti to rinse out the empty vials. “I was bored and it seemed like something to do.” She doubted he bought that explanation but he was still too ill to push the issue and she was not willing to be driven to speak openly even if he raised both eyebrows at her. Instead she answered other questions that he shouldn't be forcing through his damaged throat. “As you can likely tell from the boat whistles, we are not far from the Thames. Welcome to the fabulous East End just a stone's throw from the river's edge. The accommodations aren't much but there is a distinct lack of either Ministry personnel or Death Eaters, present company accepted, of course.” She set the clean vials aside and moved to where he could look at her more easily. “Do you want to know what happened that day?” That eyebrow twitched again in a very impatient manner.
“The Dark Lord is dead,” she said bluntly, “Potter triumphed. In all of the hoopla in the press, that much at least is clear. They've not published a list of the dead but those I know of included Bellatrix LeStrange, Professor Lupin and his wife, one of the Creevy boys, Terry Boot, Fred Weasley, and Vincent.” Something very much like regret mixed with relief rolled through her eyes when she mentioned her housemate's name. The power that Vincent had amassed during the past year had changed him and not for the better. He'd always been a bully but he'd taken his cruelty to new heights and he'd more than once stepped beyond the bounds the rest of Slytherin had put on themselves as they tried to walk the line between keeping the Carrows happy and causing as little true harm as possible to the rest of the students. “I think he's the only one of my yearmates that we lost, but I cannot be sure. Of the older snakes, I honestly don't know. Audrey's boys appear to be intact at least.”
“Oh, and you have been listed among the dead.” She smiled sweetly. She really was quite proud that the fire had covered their tracks so neatly especially as all three members of the Golden Trio had testified to the Professor's demise in the building. That unwitting cooperation had been a stroke of good luck.
She could see the possibilities starting to churn in the Professor's eyes along with the fogginess that came from the combination of potions he'd ingested. As she opened her mouth to suggest that he rest, a voice bellowed 'Broomhilda' down below them loudly enough to all but shake dust from the rafters. She closed her eyes briefly, her jaw tightening.
“I've got to go,” she said, lowering him back down onto the pallet. “I will be back as soon as I can. You just sleep, Professor. No one can get in unless I let them.” Tracey ignored the second whispered 'Miss Davis?' and Apparated down into the abandoned church's sanctuary.