Disclaimer: World of HP belongs to JK Rowling. Part of the "Snakes and Ladders Challenge" and "The If You Dare Challenge".
Prompt: Streaming Tears (#325)
Broken Weed
She was walking briskly through the detritus that cluttered the ground, taking care not to trip when she spotted the boy.
The tall, lanky, seventh year Slytherin with floppy, mousy-brown hair was easy enough to spot. Even kneeling on the ground, he made for an absurdly tall and slender figure, especially down as he was to dirt-smeared grey pants and white button-up shirt.
As she cautiously approached, wand drawn but in a relaxed stance, she grimaced as she saw who the boy was knelt over. Dirt smudges were cut through with tracks where tears were streaming on cheeks that seemed almost hallowed out.
"Mr. Nott?" Poppy called gently, unsure what she was dealing with.
She knew Nott senior, who was apparently laying lifeless on the ground before his son, was a Death Eater. That fact alone, made her cautious, unsure how the young boy would now react.
It was strange, how these things worked out. She'd taken care of this boy for almost seven years. She'd repaired every broken bone he'd come to school with, that had healed wrong. Fixed ligaments that had been torn and threatened to never heal properly again.
Suspicion had clouded her mind. Such frequent injuries, always when he returned to school from home... but she was unsure whether or not Severus had really done anything about it.
As the boy turned watery-grey eyes, glazed over with tears, his usually stoic face twisted in pain, she couldn't help her heart falling to pieces. Somehow, she still saw the awkwardly tall, eleven year old that had been sent to her after collapsing after his first day of classes from anemia.
As horrible as some of his injuries were, she'd never seen the boy with such a pain-filled expression. The quiet boy... the sensitive child... she'd always felt he was astoundingly strong and no matter what he suffered, he refused to break.
"I... I had to, he... he didn't give me a choice," the boy choked out as more tears rolled like torrential rivers down his wet cheeks. His eyes were lined red, like his nostrils.
Poppy felt her heart going out to the boy, whom she approached despite the wariness she felt.
"Come, Mister... Theodore," she said, placing a guiding hand, old and wrinkled but still firm and gentle on a skinny shoulder that was level with her hip. "There is nothing you can do for him."
Mechanically, the boy allowed himself to get up. In spite of his wilting posture, the top of her head was barely level with his thin shoulders.
"Can... can you help me move him?" the boy sniffed, turning to look at her with pleading eyes.
Poppy nodded, in spite of the revulsion she felt to do anything resembling respect for this particular man... when so many others needed her help. But as she looked up at the broken child, she found she had not the heart to turn the lost child down.
~FIN~
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