#howtostopperdeath

Only a three more flasks of Essence of Dittany, Lily had noted, scanning the shelves of the Healing products storeroom, and only one left of Murtlap Essence. That would last them two more days at the most, and perhaps less than one if they happened to have an influx of survivors within the next few hours. They'd have to fetch more urgently - it was much more difficult to heal wounds and soothe pain without them. Potions could do wonders where Muggle medicine failed, Lily had noticed over the years, and it had become even more apparent during the war and after the infection.

There was, of course, one obvious person to go to for potions. One brilliant person, who could probably brew the potions blindfolded with his hands tied behind his back. After all this time she still wouldn't begrudge him the fact that he was the most most talented potioneer she knew. But Lily desperately wanted to avoid such an interaction - uncomfortable meetings like this always put her in a horrible mood for the rest of the day, ever since the war had begun. She had even mentally planned to spend all night brewing the potions herself with her own cauldron and some Murtlap tentacles she still had left over from school. It was incredibly childish, to go to all that effort just to save herself one awkward conversation. Childish, but she would have done it anyway. It wasn't her maturity that stopped her - it was the realisation that she didn't actually have any dittany to make the first potion with. Why did that bloody plant have to be so fucking rare?

It was due to that unfortunate lack of ingrediants that she was now knocking on the door to the room she knew he brewed in, gritting her teeth in an attempt to summon up some scrap of courage. She hadn't seen that the door was only ajar and not closed, and it began to swing open before she heard an answer. Heart now beating embarassingly quickly inside her ribs, she gave it another push to finish opening it and let herself in.