She watched as her master left the Shrieking Shack, his dark robes billowing behind him in the still air. The snake slithered behind him only slightly, slowing down as it neared the Dark Lord's side. His bright eyes were focused on the tall cedars and redwoods and tangled brambles of the Forbidden Forest. He was going to meet the Boy Who Lived.
Attica waited for the emergence of the Dark Lord's right hand. Why wasn't he coming? She cursed as Potter and Weasley fled from the ramshackle building with the know-it-all in tow. Attica pulled the hood of her black cloak over her head more fully as she backed into the shadows. The Golden Trio headed toward the protection of the castle, the Potter boy leading the way. Little cowards. But where was Severus? She was torn as she approached the Shrieking Shack ― to follow the boy or to find Severus…It would be almost too easy to off the black-haired boy; a flick of her wand would be enough.
It was true that you must mean an Unforgivable Curse to cast one, but she would mean it. With every fiber of her being, she would mean it. There would be time for the boy later, she decided quickly. After all, the coward was running in the opposite direction of the Dark Lord. For the foreseeable future, her carefully laid plan would not be interrupted. Attica walked briskly into the Shrieking Shack, but what she saw before her in that small room froze her staccato steps. There, on the grimy floorboards, lay the Potions Master. Dark blood was pooling around him and trickling down the wall behind his broken body.
"Severus," she whispered, her voice dripping with more admonishment than concern. Why had he let this happen? What thread had he left to be discovered? Attica knelt beside him, her hand searching for an uninjured part of his neck to feel for a pulse. Quickly, she settled for observing the absence of the telltale rise and fall of his chest beneath her fingers. Blood was still seeping from his wounds, and it was that which gave her hope. She automatically began searching Snape's pockets until she had found what she was looking for: two small vials containing an opalescent liquid she immediately recognized as Mortemque and a tiny jar of murtlap essence.
Attica set to her task with detached efficiency and slathered the murtlap onto the lacerations winding around Snape's neck. She then tipped both vials of Mortemque, an advanced healing potion, into his mouth, absently murmuring a charm to help him swallow. The lacerations began to close into jagged rips rather than the gaping tears that they had been, but several minutes passed and the wizard before Attica failed to stir. He had lost too much blood; the Potions Master had not anticipated such an attack as this.
The treatments she had already administered would not be enough. With growing apprehension, Attica pulled a small silver-encased vial from beneath her robes and removed the emerald stopper. She took a deep breath to calm herself before letting the few precious drops of translucent, blood-red liquid fall into her former professor's mouth. She settled down with her back against the wall and her wand drawn.
All that was left was to wait.