Severus had barely managed to get the antidote into his system in time – the children had lingered longer than was altogether safe, but he had not desired to take any measures for his own life that might have been witnessed. If he died, so be it – but better to be dead or presumed so than to walk out of this Hell only for a Dementor’s Kiss to follow next.
What he had not expected – what he could not have predicted – was one of them coming back for him – what on earth for he could not have fathomed. Nevertheless, it had been out of his ability not to make a noise when she started moving him – the wounds on his neck where still open, and as he had not had time to close them the shifting caused a searing pain even his long stance of silence in the face of agony could not hold silent against.
At risk of exsanguination, he had kept still until then, hoping she would leave – but once he was revealed, he had snarled in irritation – knowing, now, that with her efforts his survival would be made known swiftly. He was almost tempted to point out the fruitlessness of her actions, but in the end he held his tongue and kept his eyes shut – her biting tones perhaps the only thing remarkable at the moment, if only because it showed war had made its changes upon her, and he knew little what to think of that fact.
After a time of her painful dabbing at his neck, Severus ignored her decree of stillness and waved his hand, attempting in his drained state to call his wand to him from where it lay abandoned. It rolled tiredly, but did not fly into his grasp or even make it all that much closer, and his eyes opened enough to cast an insulted glower in the thing’s direction before rasping to her, “Wand. Or dittany.” His throat was too shredded for any further instruction than this, but he trusted she had wisdom enough to understand if the wounds were not sealed, he would bleed out, venom or no.
Severely Archived 