neither a hero nor an insect

It’d been while since Digg had dropped into Hogsmeade. Tapping into the WWN had had him chasing the news, wanting to check out these new and improved Inferi, see who would win in a battle of brains versus bombs. Unfortunately, he hadn’t been able to find any on his own, so he figured it was ‘bout time he ran back to Hogsmeade. See if he couldn’t find some bright-eyed Order member to tag along with next time they went out on the field. 

When a giant bonfire greeted him in the courtyard of Hogsmeade, a grin split his face. Been awhile since he’d seen a party — and so many unfamiliar faces. Good. He’d been getting bored. 

He approached, nudging into someone on the outer perimeter of the party. “What’s the occasion?” 

      He was lost in his thoughts when someone approached, bumping into him and nearly making him spill his drink. He scowled, but otherwise did not comment on the near-miss.

–– "Diggory," Severus said, inclining his head. –– "So good of you to show up."

"Some of us need our beauty sleep," she remarked cheerfully. "I’m sure you don’t, of course. I must say I’m a little envious." She stooped to get a better look at the nightshade - its flowers were a full, dusty purple, vivid enough to be visible even by night. Pretty things, although what use the wizard might have for them, Emma had no idea.

She hadn’t been particularly stellar at Potions, but the thought of nightshades recalled discussions in class about belladonna, a ‘beautiful lady’ that was - coincidentally or otherwise -  deadly toxic. “Aren’t these things poisonous? Not planning anything murderous, I hope.” Emma squinted at the plant for a last time before straightening. 

      He looked from his basket to the woman at her comment. He supposed he could understand the suspicion - in these days, anything was possible, and other witches and wizards could prove almost as dangerous as the undead. Whether she would believe that he was gathering the nightshade for a complex healing potion remained to be seen.

–– "Murderous? I think not. My efforts have been focussed on more benevolent avenues of late."

      At her introduction, Severus tilted his head, considering her. After a moment, he successfully placed her - she had been at Hogwarts when he had, in his house but in the year above him. It took a moment for him to remember who she was. –– "Emma... Ah, yes. Miss Vanity, yes? I remember you from school. Severus Snape - I believe you know who I am." 

      As he spoke, he continued to harvest the plant, taking great care as he stripped the plant of its flowers and leaves, avoiding the younger-looking growths and instead making do with the older, slightly more weathered parts. It wasn't ideal, but he didn't want to exhaust this resource just yet.

The corridor was dimly lit with the weak glow of the Everlasting Candle clamped to the wall. It was a terribly warm night; Emma’s nightshirt clung to her back, and her neck was uncomfortably sticky. She stood in the doorway of the room she shared with a few others, waiting for a breath of wind to touch her from somewhere, because it felt like someone had boarded up all the windows the house just to suffocate them. 

Then again, there were worse ways to die. Her hands wandered the walls and sought the places where the paint and paper peeled under her fingers, the reassuring dips and dents. There was something awful about lying in bed alone, slipping in and out of sleep without the anchor of an arm thrown haphazardly around her waist or hands sliding unconsciously into her hair. She ignored the prickling discomfort and made her way down the stairs, one hand gliding over the poky splinters on the banister with easy familiarity - she’d always felt soothed by the tactile, and there was plenty of that to be found in the abandoned houses in Godric’s Hollow.

Someone was already occupying the space under the eaves of the old house when she stepped out - immediately her wand was in her hand, fear an immovable block in her throat, and despite the warnings of Walkers being drawn to light, she muttered a quick Lumos. 

      He looked up, and, satisfied that the woman standing above him was not an inferius, or else some hostile witch attempting to chase him off of her property, he turned back to the task at hand.

–– "Not exactly," he said, curling his lip. –– "As tired and overworked as I am, I would dearly love to be able to indulge in the luxury of a full night's rest, but duty, unfortunately, calls."

It’s both. I’m allowed to care about both, Lily reminded herself, although lately it had been a matter of managing to care about anything all, never mind who.

Besides, on a much pettier level, it made her sound old. She didn’t think anyone else called her that apart from in official letters.

"If you’re sure…" She shrugged, peering into the cauldron to examine his meticulous work. Some faint sliver of information about the Sleeping Draught crossed her mind, but she ignored it. Severus either knew what he was doing better than she did (very likely), or he was being overly polite about her arriving unannounced. It wasn’t worth making a fuss if the latter was true. 

Leaning against a bench, delicately ensuring that she didn’t knock over any vials or jars, Lily got straight to the point. Surely there wasn’t any other way to proceed. She was normally open and warm in conversation, but smalltalk would be awkward for both of them in this case. 

The sound of her voice had set his heart pounding alarmingly fast, and he felt as though his throat was being constricted. He was sure that, if he spoke, his voice would be nothing but a hoarse croak.

In an effort to centre himself, he wrapped one hand around the opposite wrist, pressing a finger against the pulse point there and all but losing himself in the feel of the rapid thrumming. He breathed in deeply but quietly, not wanting her to notice that there was anything out of the ordinary about his behaviour but also hoping to slow his frantic heartbeat.

He had almost managed to return to stasis when she spoke again, her words raising the same sense of near-panic in him. It was no use; he was not going to be able to master his emotions. Not when she was here.

But then, he didn't really need to fully regain control. Yes, these feelings were unpleasant, and yes, it was difficult enough talking to his old friend without such intense anxiety to contend with, but it was hardly as though she would be employing Legilimency against him. He couldn't clear his mind, but he could at least suppress his feelings enough to carry out a seemingly normal conversation.

"Miss Jones informed me several days ago about the shortage of Murtlap Essence," he said, frowning. "But I was unaware that supplies of Dittany had fallen so low."

He took a moment to consider the problem, cursing the fact that they had run through their stock so quickly. He had told them to attempt to conserve those precious ingredients as much as possible, that he couldn't guarantee when he would be able to find more, and that Dittany in particular should only be used when absolutely necessary. 

"I have parted with as much of my personal supply of Dittany as I feel comfortable giving away," he said, gesturing idly at the shelves of jars and phials that now made up his 'stockroom'. "I have reserved a small amount for emergency situations, but apart from that I have given all that I have." He frowned. "The Murtlap Essence is less of a problem - I need only take a trip to the seaside and I can replenish our supplies, but Dittany is not native to England. It will be difficult to obtain more - impossible, even, without venturing into private homes, or else finding a way to make it grow here." 

Daisy jumped as a voice interrupted the silence and before she knew it the owner of that voice was shining a light on her. She furrowed her brow as tried to get a glimpse of the man on the other side of the wand, but it was useless. “Y’know you could have just asked. Generally shining a light in someone’s face doesn’t get you anywhere.”

Hestia was no stranger to such self-doubt, but it still pained her to see it in other people. She often felt that there was so much they could do. If she were to be honest with herself, the way she thought of herself was hypocritical, but she couldn’t help it. None of them could, when it came down to it. There were victims in nearly all circumstances, war or not.

She clasped the small vial in her hand, wondering what to do with it. She’d have to have a long talk with the Healers, one she wasn’t looking forward to. Unknowingly, she could have brought them down a dark path, and the guilt she felt was immense, wrapping around her like a cocoon of shame. Hestia turned to leave, when Severus asked her a question.

"We’re running out of Murtlap," she said, "but that’s to be expected, I think. Been experimenting meself with some of the flowers in my garden, to see if there could be a substitute, like yer makeshift Skelegro. Haven’t succeeded. Do ye know of a better solution?" Hestia had heard complaints from her patients about the rise in pricing for potions and had figured that stocks were growing scarce; she’d tried to conserve, then, though she was never stingy when it came to healing those who’d gone out for supplies. 

–– "Yes, I thought you might be," he said, frowning. It was, as she said, only to be expected, but he had rather hoped that their stocks would hold for a bit longer. –– "I have been planning to make a trip to the coast for some time to harvest more, but I have yet to find the time, or someone willing to watch my back." He smiled coldly. –– "It would be... unfortunate if I were to die on a simple supplies trip."

Whether he was friend or foe, Petunia lowered her aim, but kept her finger firmly on the trigger should the slack grip on his wand become less so. 

"I think you’re entirely the monster I have to fear," She muttered, nodding to his wand and stiffening her lip. "But if I’m to live I’ll have to put up with your lot."

He smirked as he saw her lower her weapon. Of course; the stupid woman probably didn't even know how to use the damn thing. She'd have stolen it from her father, or perhaps her boyfriend, but likely didn't have the guts to use it herself.

Her words gave him pause, though, and for a moment he just furrowed his brow, staring at her. "Now how," he said, voice low and dangerous, "Would you know - oh hell."

Recognition washed over him, bringing forth flashes of images from the past. A scowling child, dragging her sister away. A tiny face, red with tears.

Petunia.

Despite the unlikelihood of such an event, it was Petunia Evans who stood before him, bold as brass, brandishing a Muggle weapon. 

Oh, Petunia. If only she'd known just how close she'd come to provoking him.

"Of course, you would survive the outbreak, wouldn't you, Tuney?" he spat, thinking of all of the good witches and wizards lost to the infection. "Nasty creatures never quite die when you'd like."

"I — Gideon?" he repeated dumbly. "You’re sure?" 

Severus's tone was heavy with sarcasm, and he rolled his eyes.