|Blurred Lines Mods (blurred_mods) wrote in blurred_lines,|
@ 2009-08-31 17:29:00
|Entry tags:||! [1980-08] august, aberforth dumbledore, aeneas nott, agatha snape (née chubb), akhil patil, alana fenwick, alastor moody, aloysius croaker, amelia bones, amycus carrow, anastasia mulciber (née aesalon), andrew forsythe, angelica bobbin, anzhelina dolohov, aquila avery, araminta meliflua, astra lestrange (née avery), atticus avery, barty crouch jr, bellatrix lestrange (née black), bertie higgs, bertram aubrey, beth frobisher, ciara fitzpatrick, claudette nott (née delacour), corbina lestrange, damocles belby, daniel rourke, demetrius mulciber, doris crockford, elle abercrombie, elphias doge, emmeline vance, evangeline macnair, fenrir greyback, ferdinand gibbon, florence hall, gaius travers, gawain robards, georgina smythe, graley rosier, hestia jones, iago mulciber, igor karkaroff, james potter, jeremiah smith, josephine pepper (née savage), julianne wilkes, kate proudfoot, kingsley shacklebolt, lachlan kirke, lavinia travers, lily potter (née evans), lucinda greengrass (née yaxley), lucius malfoy, marius lestrange, mary macdonald, minerva mcgonagall, narcissa malfoy (née black), octavius pepper, peggy o'nell, petra podmore (née petrikova), rabastan lestrange, rita skeeter, rufus scrimgeour, sam madley, seraphina travers, severus snape, tabitha macfusty (née bagnold), tabitha pryce, ursula caldeira, walden macnair, xenophilius lovegood|
FINAL BATTLE [23/29]
THE FINAL BATTLE
Narcissa & Julianne
Supervising, Narcissa caught grimly, was more her cup of tea than searching for the wounded. Not that she particularly enjoyed any of this, but at least tending to the wounded in the makeshift triage tent was a good deal safer than wandering around. As it was, her short jaunt outside had resulted in a bruised face and black eye, and she was more than content to tend to bandages here. For all appearance of fragility, Narcissa was not terribly squeamish.
Taking her wand, she let out the last magic she was physically capable of: Green sparks, a signal to the triage. Julianne watched the bright green lights quickly fade into the night as she felt her eyes get heavy.
"Wake up," Narcissa snapped urgently, kneeling down beside the girl and trying to overcome the fact that this was Julianne Wilkes lying on the ground, looking as if she had been fighting. Julianne had almost been her cousin, had lived with her a month, and was supposed to be a lady and not in this sort of mess. I don't have the training for this, she suddenly realised, panicked. Narcissa's knowledge of Healing was strictly rudimentary - everything her mother and grandmother had known, coupled with a few books she had decided it would be beneficial to read after the first time Lucius had come home injured.
"Julianne, sweeting, you need to tell me where it hurts. I'll take care of whatever I can here and then we'll take you back and Mr Dolohov can finish it." Already she was digging through the bag for Dittany and bandages.
She picked out words from Narcissa's sentence. 'Draco,' 'laugh,' 'stretcher.' It was as if waking in and out of a dream. She wanted to scream, yet she did not wish to frighten Narcissa. Besides, she had been doing quite fine without expressing her pain too much, why start now? "I can't feel anything," she said softly, her eyes out of focus.
Narcissa shuddered slightly as she conjured a stretcher and levitated Julianne onto it. "Your side looks better already and you will be just fine. I promise. Mr Dolohov is wonderful." She felt sick, each word sounding less and less true. Mother was right, Narcissa thought regretably, thinking of the rage the normally serene Druella had flown into last time when she had discovered that young women were actually on the battlefield. This is no place for us.
"You should close your eyes," she finally said, smoothing back Julianne's hair from her face as the stretcher uneasily moved towards the tent. "You need to conserve your strength -- though next week, I guarantee you shall be dancing again." Lying was normally easier than this.
Julianne reached out, her hand holding Narcissa's, though it was the faintest of squeezes at most. She did her best to keep her tears in. "You know, I had always dreamed of throwing the most lavish party, having the best wedding, the picturesque life.." She paused, perhaps a little longer than necessary, but it did take her some confirmation in her head before she said it out loud. "But it appears that, in the end, that's really not what it's all about."
Narcissa looked curiously at her, squeezing the hand back. "You have to have family - people to take care of," she conceded, face twisting a little as she thought of the cousins and father and father-in-law and uncle and brother-in-law she had lost over the past year. "But you have that. Jacqueline, your parents. Even... when people leave, there's still others who care quite a bit." Never far, her own thoughts went to Draco for a moment.
Julianne continued to keep her eyes fixed at the sky, though she remained somewhat unfocused. They say that eyes are windows to the soul, yet it was if Julianne's soul had gone missing, her mind was distant from her physical body.. but here she still was, laying in the stretcher besides Narcissa. "We do the best we can for our family, make sacrifices.. But so does everyone.. Muggles, witches, and wizards alike. Do they not?"
Lucinda & Faustus Capper
The smell of blood and sweat inside the tent was beginning to make Lucinda ill. It was bad enough that she still was having difficulty breathing and the occasional abdominal pain still tinged from the Devil's Snare, but having to inhale that scent? It was enough to nearly make her vomit, however, that would be incredibly unladylike, and she forced herself to continue to solider on. If the men could suffer loss of arms and great bleeding, she could push through abdominal pain, shortness of breath, and putrid scents. Ben had survived worse than this. She would continue to serve in his honour. She would do him proud.
It was with this reaffirmed confidence that she approached the first untended bed she found. Placing her potions kit on the table beside it, Lucinda examined the scribbled piece of parchment that hung on the side of the bed. Faustus Capper. It seemed that his arm had been splinched off and had yet to be reattached. Of course, Lucinda did not possess those skills, but she knew enough to know when bandages needed to be changed, so at the very least, she could save Healer Dolohov some time and prevent infection.
Slowly, she removed the blood soaked bandages, trying desperately not to disturb Mr Capper and inhale too deeply at the same time. Still, the sight of his wound alone was enough to make her pale, and Lucinda was forced to look down to the ground for a moment before returning to her duty.
"In Ben's honour." She whispered to herself, removing the bandages and necessary potions from her bag.
It was a simple enough procedure, thankfully, so Lucinda allowed her mind to wander as she completed the task. As she dipped a cloth in potion and gently cleaned the wound, she found herself imagining that Mr Capper was in fact Ben, that Ben had never died. It made healing people she was not all too familiar with easier. With Ben she was always more cautious, more gentle. She never wished to rush, but only do the best, for Merlin forbid he receive anything but the best care.
It was not such a bizarre thing to do, she reasoned as she began wrapping new bandage around the wound. In a way, Mr Capper was someone's Ben. Out there in the Wizarding World, there must be someone who cared for Mr Capper as much as Lucinda had, and still did, care for Ben, and they would only want the best for their loved one as well.
After examining her work one last time, Lucinda checked to make sure Mr Capper was still breathing and not febrile before collecting her potions kit and moving onto the next bed. She would treat each injured patient she held little attachment to as though they were Ben; it would make the smell, the shortness of breath, and the pain in the abdomen that much easier to take.
This was not the way things were supposed to happen. Devoted as she was to The Dark Lord's cause and her family and friends who served it better than she ever could, she knew she was not supposed to be here. She did not belong on a battlefield, nearly suffocating from Devil's Snare all for trying to heal Rabastan Lestrange. She did not belong in a tent, still catching her breath, and occasionally clutching her surely bruised abdomen in pain. She belonged at home, with or without her child, but at home, tending to womanly tasks.
But perhaps in desperate times, this was where a woman belonged.
Either way, she knew she could not simply wait in this tent, blood and other putrid scents filling her nose. No matter what she told herself or thought of to get through it all, she was beginning to feel very faint and knew she had to leave, if only for a bit. Besides, there were plenty of women in the tent, she should go look for those injured. No, she would be of more use on the field; whether or not she belonged there was currently of little consequence.
Not even out of the tent a few centimeters, her eyes caught sight of sparks close by. Clutching her kit to her chest, Lucinda walked as briskly as she could without further inducing pain. This would be the best place for her, she convinced herself, this was not the battlefield or the tent; it was a safe middle ground. But thoughts of her fled rather quickly when she found the sender of the sparks was her uncle.
"Uncle Aeneas." She called to get his attention, quickly surveying what she could of his damages. "Please, sit down. Allow me to tend to you."
To say that Aeneas Nott was in a foul mood would be an understatement, but he was glad to see his niece - or, at least, he was less annoyed to see his niece than he was to see most other people. Chaos had prevailed once again, this time the fault of Bellatrix Lestrange, and Aeneas knew that if they lost this war, it would be on her head.
"My left hip, Lucinda," he instructed as he painfully sat. "My hip is worse than the chest, as I must be able to walk." His retreat from the battle had made it worse than the injury had already been and Aeneas was walking with a limp. "And clean up my face."
"Of course, uncle." As usual, Lucinda took her instructions from her uncle to heart and never questioned them. If he said his hip was the area of concern, then she would begin with his hip. It was not until she had returned her gaze from rummaging through her bag for salve and bandages that she noticed what was truly wrong with her uncle--his moustache was gone. That was what made him look so defeated. "Oh uncle your mous--" but she cut herself off, this was not the time to discuss trivial things such as facial hair. Instead she simply lifted his shirt and examined the wound on his hip.
"I believe some salve would be best before I bandage it." And so she began applying the salve as gently as possible.
Aeneas closed his eyes briefly, trying to rest as his niece healed him and glad she stopped herself from mentioning his face. He still was having a difficult time believing that the Dark Lord was dead and that it had been Snape who had killed him. To say that the Inner Circle Death Eater was trouble was yet another understatement, and though he rarely shared his feelings with anyone, even his wife, he suddenly felt compelled to. "Bellatrix Lestrange may have cost us this war," he told Lucinda quite frankly. "I do not know what the outcome will be."
As she rubbed the salve into the wound, Lucinda attempted to work swiftly and quietly. She knew her uncle must be in pain and likely did not wish to chatter with a woman, but who was she to deny him conversation once he had spoken. His words, however, caught her incredibly off-guard, and she actually raised her eyes to him in utter confusion, pausing her healing just momentarily. "Uncle, you don't truly mean to say that we might...lose?" They could not. She must have understood him incorrectly.
A large frown formed on Aeneas' face, and not the normal frown he wore on a daily basis. "I will not back down," he told her, but did not mention that given the actions of many of the younger Death Eaters in the past day - the past few months, even - he was not confident that others would do the same. "Our plan was strong, but she ruined it. Her idiocy has sabotaged us."
Her uncle's words rang strongly through her. Bellatrix Lestrange had ruined it all? Bellatrix Lestrange was going to be the reason her entire life might very well change? Would she have to flee the country for the goings-on at the orphanage all because of this woman who did not know her place? She could not worry. She could not allow this to upset her. Instead, Lucinda took the bandage and began wrapping it around her uncle's hip. "But there is still a chance you can succeed uncle. The ranks are filled with devoted such as yourself, and surely you have injured much of the resistance. I believe in you, uncle. Your devotion to the Cause will lead us to victory."
Her words comforted her, but in the back of Aeneas' mind, he still knew that the Dark Lord was dead. "Yes," he said, making himself believe her words. He was still the Minister for Magic, and still one of the most powerful men in the country, and even with the Dark Lord's death, the Cause could still live on. "Yes, you speak truly, Lucinda. We shall be victorious tonight and Bellatrix shall be punished for her mistake while we celebrate our great victory." The corner of his mouth twitched, an indication that he was beginning to feel hopeful once more. "There will be much to do after this battle to fully restore order, and I should like you to assure me you will lend assistance and ensure the glory of the Nott name."
It was reassuring to know that her uncle had not given up hope just yet. If there was a sign all was truly lost, it would be her uncle refuting her statement. No, there was still a chance that they might succeed, and she believed in her uncle's power enough to know that the chance was larger than may be estimated. His last words filled Lucinda with a surge of pride, one she had not felt in a very long time. After the war would be her chance to throw away her Greengrass name, to live up to her true blood and simply discard her sham of a marriage. "Of course, Uncle. I will do anything you ask of me. It would be an honour to assist you in any way that I possibly can." She wrapped the final bandage around his hip and secured it tightly with a spell before moving onto his chest.
"I have nothing but confidence in you," Aeneas said softly, closing his eyes once more. He needed rest now, to conserve his energy for the upcoming fight. He was no longer fighting for the Dark Lord, but the Cause was still there and he would fight for it until his dying breath. Lucinda would soon finish bandaging him up and he would head back out onto the battleground where he would fight - for revenge, for the country, and for his family.
Leslie & Severus
Everything ached. It wasn't just the physical injuries, which were painful enough, Severus thought, gritting his teeth against the sharp pain in his abdomen which was enough to almost drown out everything else that he was feeling, but it was the overwhelming sense of loss that had flooded over him. He was stuck between feeling angry and frustrated that he'd been so easily bested by Demetrius or feeling an intense pain at the realisation that he'd lost his two best friends today.
It was worse with Demetrius perhaps, because in a way Severus felt as if he'd lost Aquila when he'd lost Astra. That the very fact that he'd even glanced at Aquila's beautiful sister - even if nothing had come of it - had been enough to alter the friendship forever. But Demetrius had overlooked that - he'd been willing to overlook probably everything except Lily and Severus knew that Demetrius had felt he was doing the right thing - even if it hadn't been the right thing Severus knew Demetrius had felt it was and "Dammit." He swore aloud as one of the Order healers repaired a broken bone in his foot.
He wanted to know what was going on. He wanted to know who was winning and whether or not Lily was all right and whether or not Agatha was and he didn't want to be forced to think about the look on Demetrius' face ever again. He would have far rather been fighting. The tears he squeezed back from his eyes were from the physical pain. You would never have gotten him to admit otherwise. He turned a head, to the side, recognizing one of the Albion lot - although he couldn't have said which one - who was being tended to by the healers now, and the man beside him looked remarkably like the woman he'd just watched die.
Leslie, even after the years of being a dueler, had never been in quite so much pain as he was in this moment. Actually fighting for your life was entirely different than fighting in the circuit and he realized just how out of his league he was on this battlefield. How had Mary survived doing this more than once? Had she survived now? He had seen her across the grounds earlier, but that had been what seemed like hours prior, and now the only thought distracting him from the pain that coursed through his veins was that he had to find out if Mary was all right.
He sucked in a sharp breath as one of the Healers repaired his skin that was so shorn it exposed muscle and looked around, trying to see his sister. "Has anyone seen Mary? Mary MacDonald. She's tall, looks like me? Has one arm?" He strained to see past the Healer, but his body was so weak he couldn't manage it. "Damnit, Mary. Where are you?'
Severus froze then, and it wasn't from the pain in his abdomen which was demonstrably less than it had been - whatever the healer had done was helping, he thought to himself. No, the freezing was because he'd realised that the man next to him that did not look so very good himself, clearly was somehow related to Mary MacDonald. For years he'd only considered Mary MacDonald in relationship to Demetrius. He was still uncertain that Mary wasn't the actuality of the lie he'd told Iago Mulciber about Lily a few weeks previously - a crush that Demetrius hardly realised he had, and a therefore a weakness he had to purge himself of. And he'd done that today, finally and Severus was left feeling torn.
He turned dark eyes over to the man next to him not particularly looking forward to saying what he knew should be said. The poor bloke looked nearly on his death bed himself, but he deserved to know, didn't he? Putting away his own fears and worries and anxiousness, Severus looked at him.
Leslie's skin continued to pale and look sallow - how he was remaining conscious was beyond him. Probably because of the work of the healers and his own damned stubbornness to find out what had happened to Mary. He turned at the sound of her name uttered from the lips of the man next to him - a man he didn't recognize at all, but obviously had some connection with his sister.
He realised he had no idea what Mary MacDonald's brothers were named - well, not outside of the one that had been strung up for treason that is.
"I'm sorry," Severus said finally. "I - She was fighting beside me back there - I." He'd been distracted hadn't he? He'd allowed emotion to get the better of him, it was the main explanation for why he was here and Demetrius was had survived. But then he could never have killed Demetrius. Demetrius had done some horrible things, yes, but he'd also been a good friend to Severus up until - well, until today, really, hadn't he then? It didn't matter in the end though, because Severus knew that it was over now and the weight of it was almost greater than the weight of the pain.
"She didn't make it," he said finally, his words more tight and controlled than emotional, mostly because he wasn't certain if he allowed the emotion out if it would ever dry up. "I'm sorry," he added, although it wouldn't help.
"Liar," was Leslie's immediate reaction, his eyes dark and flickering with something much akin to hate. He obviously had never heard the phrase, don't kill the messenger. If there was anyone who would survive a battle like this, it would be Mary. She was resourceful and wily; Leslie knew no one else who could learn to duel one-armed and actually be competent at it.
"Mulciber," Severus said finally, it was easier to say Mulciber than to call his friend - former, no doubt at this point in the game - by his first name. And if this was Mary's brother, probably he knew about at least the incident at Hogwarts if not everything that followed it. "I have no reason to lie to you," he gazed at the man as steadily as possible considering how much everything still ached despite Healer Jones' ministrations. "I was fighting Mulciber beside her - she didn't make it. You can hate me if you want," no doubt everyone else does, Severus thought bitterly. "But I didn't kill her and I'm not in the habit of trying to harm those fighting on the same side as me."
Leslie might have doubted the truth to Severus' words, except for the name. Mulciber. He would have sneered - but that would have hurt. His body was hurting, a sharp pain that permeated his whole being, but right now he couldn't tell if that was from the injuries he'd sustained, or from the grief that was balling up in his chest.
Severus couldn't entirely disagree with that statement, although he wondered whether it had been as simple as that. He knew Demetrius and he was pretty certain that it wasn't as simple as that whatever his friend said.
"You couldn't have," Severus said, wincing as he shifted slightly, earning him a reprimand from Beth who turned around and glared at him. "Or even if you could have, it might not have been enough for later. Believe me, you can't always protect the people you care about." And he had no idea what had happened to Lily. Lily who had always been his life, who, despite him having learned to care deeply for Agatha, was still the woman his thoughts turned to first, and in the split second he had to think about it he drew on his Muggle father's roots for a moment to throw a quick prayer that she'd be all right.
It was the last question that made him pause. Yes, obviously Mary had suffered. The sectumsempra alone had been enough to count as suffering, but he wasn't certain he could tell the man beside him that fact. Truth? Or a kinder fiction? And although Snape normally would have gone for blunt reality, he couldn't today. "Not much. I mean, yeah, we all are, but she was fierce and she fought well."
Leslie nodded and then rolled his lips in, fighting back the tears. He was on a field of battle, and tears were unnecessary, "That's my Mary." And that was all he said, unable to voice anything more. His grief and physical pain were too great, and so he gave Severus another nod, and then looked away and let the healers tend to him as they would. If he died... he found he didn't care.
Hestia & Severus
This was exhausting. Hestia supposed that she should've been used to these types of battle triage situations after all of these months of working with the Order, but at the same time, getting used to battle situations and death and gore seemed to really go against Hestia's general life philosophy. No, to be more accurate, rather than being used to the entire situation, Hestia was feeling numb and overwhelmed. She could barely see straight, let alone think straight, and that was a decidedly negative thing when treating so many patients. Her mind kept wandering, focusing on things it ought not have focused on that night, and despite the extensive help from Beth and her fellow Healers (including a great number of the staff from St. Mungo's, all of whom had greeted Hestia happily and seemed glad to know that she'd been helping to fight against the wicked regime during her "time off"), Hestia just wanted to be done and sleep for a week or two.
"Yeah," he said finally. "That's me," and he winced as he spoke. Whatever had happened to his abdomen it hurt like hell, and it certainly felt like he was going to die - although that was, perhaps, overdramatic. Then again, considering whether or not he lived depended upon an Order member healing him - and no matter whose side he was fighting on now he had been a Death Eater hadn't he been? - and Severus wasn't certain he could take that assistance for granted.
"How bad is it?" He managed instead. He knew there was blood everywhere, and he knew that everything hurt, and that Demetrius had left him for dead and he'd thought for a moment that he would be - although this hadn't been quite as bad as it had been the last time he'd been left for dead on the Hogwarts ground was it?
There were so many questions that could've been asked in that moment, and they all would've been very important, if Hestia wasn't in full-on Healer mode. She only hesitated for a moment before answering, in the best bedside manner voice that she could muster in the moment (which was a pretty poor bedside manner voice indeed), "It's not as bad as it looks or feels...I'm sure we can fix you up easily in no time."
"You think you're confused, try being me," he responded dryly, mostly because - well, he was confusing probably, and he could not get into the details of his ethics while someone was trying to heal him. On the other hand it was probably not a good idea to annoy her and he had no idea if he would have with that.
"What's your name?" The words came out more mushed than clear because he rather did feel as if his entire side might fall off at any moment. He was certain he didn't believe her 'we can fix you up easily in no time'.
His leg was worse than Hestia had initially suspected, and she was having to frown with concentration to figure out what needed to be done. At length, she did a quick stitching charm, vowing to worry about that later and focus on the more immediate problem of his increasingly bloated abdomen before it got any worse. She pressed down again lightly, frowned, then called for one of the Mediwitches to bring over some numbing potion. "I'm Hestia," she finally answered, dipping the bottle onto a clean rag and beginning to spread the potion over the area in which she'd need to make an incision. "Hestia Jones. Healer Hestia Jones." The addition of the word "healer" seemed an important one in the moment, if for no other reason than as reassurance that she knew what she was doing.
"Right then," he said, his mind fuzzy. "I've been giving Abe information for a while," he said finally. "Since last autumn sometime." She didn't need details, he didn't suppose, and to be honest he wasn't certain that he would have been able to provide them. "It's going to scar isn't it?" He said, referring to the side and the leg, and it wasn't vanity really, as it wasn't as if he had particularly good looks to lose, but there was still something stupid about it. Agatha had enough to put up with, without having a horribly disfigured husband as well. Which reminded him that he didn't know what had happened to her.
"Agatha," he asked. He had no idea if Hestia would even know. "My wife, have you seen her?"
One thing that could be said about Severus was that he was generally good about following directions, or at least about following directions that made sense and Hestia's caution to not look down, did in fact make sense. So he avoided that direction, instead looking at the ceiling and trying not to wonder how badly it would scar. He shouldn't be that vain, he knew, particularly when he had no reason to be, but on the other hand, he was not going to pretend it did not matter at all.
Of course, if Agatha wasn't all right, it might not matter at all because there would be no one to see him. He pressed his lips together relieved at least that his leg would be all right, and his arm and side, well, that was good too. He'd given Agatha instructions to stay out of the thick of it, to help, but not to overestimate her abilities given her innocence in a battle situation - they were all better now and there were few that hadn't been in at least two or three battles before this one. She would be all right, and Lily. He swallowed hard, the question raising in his throat, but he didn't really know how to ask it, or what Healer Jones would think if he did. No. Lils had to be all right - she simply had to be.
"Abe," Severus said simply. Knowing that she wasn't asking about the wounds - it was obvious how those had happened - but rather the spying, the fact that a Death Eater had ended up being put back together by an Order healer, and for a moment at least, Severus was impressed that the Order had healers to help put people back together again. Not that there were none among the Death Eater ranks, but it was certainly a much more haphazard affair and that had been why he'd asked Dolohov to teach him some.
"Abe decided I was worth saving, and I decided to prove him right," he looked at the healer. She was pretty, he thought, and he wondered if she had known Agnes, if they'd been friends. Agnes had never mentioned her, but he supposed that didn't mean anything. Half the time he was certain he'd have gone mad if he'd actually been in the Order, but the other half he wondered what he'd missed.
Now the smile on Hestia's face felt slightly more genuine, though forcing the corners of her mouth to turn upward was still taking a monumental effort. She was fond of Abe, as she suspected they all were. He was kind of a glue for the Order, someone that they all admired and respected. "He's a good man, Abe," she commented aloud, reaching into her medical kit for bandages to use on Severus' arm and side. "It's been good having him back with us. He was pretty sorely missed." Her handling of the bandages was gentle and careful, so as not to cause Severus any more pain than he was already in.
Severus nodded, and then regretted that as well. He tried a smile instead but it felt a bit off and he stopped shortly afterwards. But he couldn't disagree with Hestia's commentary about Abe. "He is," he said simply. There weren't words enough to really describe how he felt about Abe, even had he been the type who would bare his soul to a person that he had just met. "And yeah, I'm glad he was all right."
It felt a little odd to be talking about that seeing as how it would no doubt appear to her that he ought to have known that, but then he really hadn't had any guarantee whatsoever - he wasn't the person who ran the rehabilitation centre, after all. He glanced down at the bandages, frustrated that he couldn't still be out fighting. "Are we winning?"
Were they winning? Hestia looked up from bandaging Severus' wounds, wiping her face with her shoulder. People around her were injured, some badly, but there seemed to be an air of hope that she hadn't felt during a battle in a very long time. It wasn't quite the same hope she'd felt the night that Alice had her baby, or the same hope she'd felt before the Ministry of Magic fell, but it was hope just the same. "Yes," she said finally, thoughtfully, "I think we are."
"That's good," he said finally. He wished he could do more to help win it, but he supposed he could only do what he could and he certainly couldn't move at the moment. "That's good. I hope we are."
Despite her exhaustion--or perhaps because of it--Hestia couldn't help but agree with Severus. Winning would be a good thing about now, especially as it might mean that she could go and sleep for a couple of days and not worry about what would happen next. She wrapped the last of the bandages around Severus' arm, holding them down firmly to ensure that the pain relieving salve absorbed and did some good. "That should hold you for now. I'll have someone come over later and fix up your insides properly...try not to get up and move around too much, and you should be right as rain soon enough." She forced another smile and carefully squeezed his uninjured shoulder. "Thank you for fighting with us. I don't know if anyone's said that to you, but though we might not say as much, we're grateful."
Her final words caught his attention though and he glanced up at her with a half smile, but it was actually echoed in his eyes for once. He didn't really expect thanks. He expected people to ask him why he'd done what he'd done: to wonder why he'd been able to carry through the stuff he'd had to do to play the charade he'd played. These were the things he expected and thanks, although unexpected, or possibly because they were unexpected, were nice.
"All said and done," he said finally. "No man of any conscience could do anything else."
He was silent for a moment, grateful for the salve in the bandages, and then added. "If you see Agatha," he hesitated briefly but he didn't know how to explain Lily so he didn't add her as much as he wanted to. "Let her know I'm alive and where I am."
Hestia gave his shoulder one last squeeze. "If I see her, I'll tell her. In the meantime..." She paused, somewhat at a loss for words, before shrugging. "Just rest up and get better. You've earned it."