Warmth and cold and the stench of dirt and blood.
"...My Lord? What are we going to do?"
Goyle and Crabbe, clueless as usual. Oh, it wasn't that they really didn't have enough brains for the average crup between them, he'd decided after a while, but the habit of leaving the thinking to others (Namely, Malfoy) was just so ingrained with them...
Did they really have to take after their fathers that much ?
Ahh, well.
"First, the two of you go and see if our potion-brewer is still in the land of the living. No magic, mind you! You both saw what happened when people tried to use the Healing spells!"
"Or the potions" mutters Goyle, but at least they're moving in the right direction.
Severus Snape looks like a right wreck, blood everywhere and a leg twisted the wrong way. He'd live, though.
If they managed to live though the night, that is.
"---Damn! M'Lord, his hands!"
"Is anything missing? Fingers?"
"No, sir, but---"
"Just clean them and try to bandage them up as much as you can, then. ...We will try a full healing later, After whatever those incompetent idiotic nutcase excuses for proper Dark Wizards have done to him has had enough time to expire on it's own."
If it was really going to do that before Snape managed to die of blood poisoning or something, that is.
Damnit. Maybe he should try to tear out those Dark traces running all over his Potion Master's right side, and especially his hands. Healing him should be a snap once those things were gone...
And he might as well end up with a Potion Master dead from the shock, which would not make his day. At all.
Food and hot tea, he decided, rubbing his temple. He'd be damned if he tried to do anything at all in the state he was in now.
When was the last time he ate, anyway? Breakfast?
A small whimper emerges from the inside of his muggle greatcoat, then, and he sighs, opening his coat and taking the frazzled-looking baby out.
Whom promptly starts to cry breathlessly, if weakly. And hiccup.
"Young Master Malfoy appears to be awake earlier then schedule, I see... Hush, child."
And just why were Crabbe and Goyle googling at him like that, anyway?
"---Wormtail! Could you---"
But Peter Pettigrew's eyes were beginning to shade over from washed-out blue to light amber, all the way to gold, and (whatever that was left of) Tom Riddle shuts his mouth.
No, no, no, no.
If there was anything worse then a bored Wormtail...
"---Wormtail! Tea and food, if you please?"
"-------Oh! Yessir, yessir---"
Not that he really thought that he'd actually managed to derail whatever madness that Wormtail had quite obviously come up with, but at least he'd tried.
A Wormtail with Ideas was a scary prospect at the best of times.
"Something for the child, too, Wormtail. And---no pranks, do you hear me?"
"Yessir, tea's coming!"
Thanks for ignoring my instructions, My Loyal Servant.
"---Do I actually have to make you taste the baby-food, Wormtail?"
Silence, punctured by a almost inaudible snigger from Goyle and Crabbe.
"---Nnno, sir. Tea's coming up, d'youthink mashed sweet potatos would be alright for the Mini-Mal---I mean Young Master Draco, sir?"
"...If that is the best you can do, Wormtail. Just bring it over, all right?"
What a terribly odd thing to dream about, at a time like this, he thought, patting a muzzy-looking Helen's hair.
Why was he dreaming about that---utterly surreal---episode of his former existence with the Mini-Malfoy in tow, and why now?
Though the 8 month old Malfoy heir had been quite cute, he had to admit.
"Oh...Oh Tommy? Are we there yet?"
"Not yet. Soon, though."
"---You were muttering in your sleep, Tommy! And you didn't even wake up when the man with the yellow eyes sat here"
---Who?
"He was sitting in the seat in front."
And why the hell hadn't he woken up though all this?
"He was nice, though. Gave us rice-balls. Here."
---Rice-balls. Two of them. Mixed with some kind of fish and beans, and wrapped in leaves. Right.
And just who would give Helen rice-balls?
"Oh. ---There he is! That's him!"
Tom Riddle looks out of the train window, and nearly drops the rice-balls on the floor.
Walking lazily over the green and purple heather was a tall, wiry shadow...with a sword.
Who looked up. And waved.
Very slightly.
"---Helen? Could you please pinch me a bit?"
---Alright, so this wasn't a dream.
And the Wolf of Mibu disappeared into the endless green and purple and blue...
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(Posted Sat, 12 Feb 2005 11:09)
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