Cho Chang (formerchinadoll) wrote in after_the_bombs, @ 2011-06-17 17:38:00 |
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Entry tags: | agravaine vaisey, audrey travers, callen macdougal, tracey davis, william rosier |
RP: A slip
WHO: Tracey Davis, Agravaine Vaisey, Audrey Travers-Rosier
WHERE: Rosier Estates, St. Mungos
WHEN: April 30, 2000
WHAT: Tracey gets slipped a mickey and a personal secret slips free
INCOMPLETE
The last thing that Agravaine had been expecting to witness as he lounged against the wall near a corner of Rosier Estates' ballroom was Tracey Davis coming out of one of the camouflaged entrances to the non-public parts of the house. Actually, that she had been in the house proper wasn't that surprising as it was part of her Ministry-ordered mandate to find her way into such places by any means necessary. It was the badly hidden panic on her face that had him moving toward her even before the seamless door closed behind her.
He only grew more concerned when he got close enough to her to see the sweat beginning to bead along her hair line and how completely blown her pupils were. Before he could ask her what was wrong, an uncharacteristically rumpled John Rosier came through the same door that she had exited. The anger beneath his cool expression and the livid scratches peeking out of the collar of his shirt did not bode well.
“Rosier,” Agravaine said evenly, seeming to ignore Tracey entirely even as his hand on her shoulder tightened to help minimize the way she was swaying. “What is this?”
“It's nothing,” John drawled, his eyes focused on Tracey and promising punishment for bringing whatever sordid thing he had planned into the open.
“This isn't nothing, John,” Agravaine said tiredly. His exhaustion was all too real but fortunately it was also in character for a Death Eater dealing with one the Dark Lord's many un-Marked former hangers-on. “What did you give her?” He knew it had to be a potion. John Rosier was notorious about experimenting with recreational potions second hand by giving them to his conquests.
John rolled his eyes. “Does it really matter?” Agravaine's increasingly cold look drew a reluctant and sullen answer from him. “Apollo's Tongue.”
Vaine gaped for a moment and then clenched his jaw dangerously. “You idiot,” he said with casual, cold violence dripping from every word, “are you trying to kill her?”
“It's not poisonous,” John began to protest only have his words overridden by Agravaine who stepped deeply into his personal space.
“It is when you give it to a Wardsmith Apprentice, Rosier. Are you so ignorant that you did not even consider the affect of a dark arts knock-off of Veratiserum on a person under a guild secret geas? The warring magics could cripple or kill her.” The Death Eater he was despite his personal allegiances was clear in his eyes. “The last thing we need is for you to spark an investigation into your activities through stupid sloppiness. If you bring the Ministry down on us because of this, I will deal with you myself.” He wrapped an arm around Tracey and dragged her sharply into his side. “I am going to clean up your mess, but this had damned well be the last time.”
Vaine turned on his heel, bringing Tracey with him. Smiling flirtatiously for anyone who might be looking, he bent his head close to her ear and murmured, “hang on, Trace.” He could feel her wilting more with every step as they skirted the edge of the ballroom. It was difficult to maintain the proper expression when he was deeply worried. Tracey had at least two geas on her that he knew of and he had no idea how much time she had before serious damage would be done to her.
As soon as they passed the edges of the wards, he apparated them both to his room in St. Mungo's. Undercover or not, he still rated a private, reserved room if one with additional protections and hidden away on an entirely different floor from the other Hit Wizard rooms. He'd barely laid gotten Tracey onto the bed before the convulsions started. He had had to hurriedly explain what he knew – the identity of the potion and her status as both a guildmember and a secret Unspeakable – to the healers who had charged in when the alarms on the bed had started screaming. Agravaine had been shoved unceremoniously out of the room as soon as his words had begun to repeat themselves.
He conjoured a chair and set himself outside the door to the room and refused to be moved any further despite the chiding of passing mediwitches.
Hours later, the rush of healers in and out of Tracey's room slowed to a trickle. The last and most senior healer beckoned him back inside and spoke to him in hushed tones about the girl lying still and so very pale beneath the white hospital sheets. After first assuring him that the same vows and wards that kept his status secret would also apply to Tracey, he explained what they had done to mostly stop the progress of the magics that had been tearing her apart from the magical core out. Most of the explanation went well over Vaine's head but he drew the gist of it to mean that she would likely heal but that there was something else tangled with the two geas that was stalling their ability to purge the last of the potion from her. They were going to let her rest while they ran tests to determine what that other thing was. Until that happened, though, they were going to move her to another private room so that his would be available in case he needed it and so that she could have visitors.
That saddled Agravaine with an entirely different problem. Who was he going to tell about Tracey being at St Mungo's especially if she was going to be here for days as the healer implied? He couldn't stay – that would be entirely too obvious – and he didn't want her to wake alone in this place. As much as it grated, he left his friend in the healer's hands and went home to compose the necessary Owls, whatever he ended up deciding them to be.
* * *
Tracey had drifted in and out of sleep several times over who knew what length of time before she finally registered that someone was talking to her. She blinked open eyes that refused to focus and glared at the man leaning over her.
“You have spoken an Unbreakable Vow!” the stranger accused, sounding like she had personally offended him. “One that is at least five years old!”
She frowned at him severely. “So what?” she croaked.
“Why the hell was a fourteen year old casting that kind of magic?”
“Thirteen,” she corrected, eyes sliding shut again against the glare of the lights. Bad, bad lights. “Mum made me,” she mumbled, “didn't want me hexin' Will for slappin' me around. Gotta protect Will. Not me. Blood's too dirty.” She knew vaguely that she shouldn't be talking about this at all but she couldn't stop the words from tumbling out. “Go 'way,” she ordered.
“I'm going,” the man grumbled, “I'm going to start making the antidote potion up all over again now that I know why the first time nearly killed my damned fool patient.” The retreating stomp of his shoes was very welcome.