Disclaimer: Not mine.
The Uninvited
Chapter 30
She was walking toward the wounded when she felt a hand on her arm. Turning around she saw Harry coming out from under an invisibility cloak.
"It is over then?" she asked flatly, her eyes still seeking the tables.
"He's not here." Harry said, looking down at his feet.
"Where, tell me where." Abigail turned to him grabbing both of his upper arms. "Please Harry."
"He is in the Shrieking Shack. He's dead," Harry said softly, nervously biting his lip.
"Harry, show me where, please," she cried. "I didn't feel him die and I should have. I shared blood with him, we had to cross a ward and I bonded his blood to mine. I should have felt it if he died. Please Harry, I need to find him."
Harry looked up at her hopefully, then set his jaw and nodded, taking her hand in his and pulling her out the Great Hall.
As they ran together across the lawns, she tried not to look at the torn and bloody bodies. She only looked ahead to where Harry had pointed. After what seemed forever they came to the Shack, and following Harry, she went in to find Severus.
She rushed to him, seeing blood covering his neck and chest, and pooling on the floor. Her hand went into her pocket for potions and Harry tried to stop her but she pushed him away, pulling off her tee shirt to use as a bandage, putting as much pressure on the wound as she could.
She then grabbed for Harry with her free hand and pulled him toward Severus. He resisted, pulling back from her, not understanding what she wanted.
"I have no magic but I can help you. I will guide our hand to the spell, you just need to concentrate and say what I tell you," she hissed. "We can do this together, please Harry."
He knelt down beside her and held his wand pointed at the Potions Master in front of her. Taking his hand in her own, she whispered the spell into Harry's ear, needing to repeat it twice until the small yellow light came out of the wand. Abigail directed the light at Severus' throat and watched as it drew out a milky white substance.
She then had him cast a spell to repair the flesh around the gaping wounds, and even as they were still closing, she took up the blood potion and looked to Harry who was already moving behind Severus to lift him up. Together they poured three vials down the injured man's throat, before laying him back down.
Harry placed his head on his Professor's chest and then sat up with a lopsided grin. Looking at Abigail, he nodded and swallowed hard.
"Should we take him to Poppy?" he asked. "If the Ministry finds him first… we should hide him."
"Not yet," she lifted her arm over him and grabbed Harry's wand hand again, forcing him to slice open her wrist, letting her blood flow over the repairing wound as she leaned over Severus whispering an incantation that Harry repeated aloud.
"I don't think this…we shouldn't use blood magic. Not today, not ever again."
"Hush…just one more time. Do you know the spell to heal me?"
Harry nodded reluctantly and flicked his wand staunching the blood and then closed the incision he had made earlier.
"Tell him I did that and I will slit your throat," Abigail warned. "He would rather lie there and die then admit that all blood spells are not dark. You need to remember that as well, good things can be made bad. It's the intent you need to focus on."
"The Ministry will trace that," Harry looked up nervously.
"I think they have better things to do right now. Ok, let's get him to Poppy. We will have to take our chances that she will still protect him."
"As soon as we get this on you." Harry tried to laugh as he slipped off his robes, then dragged his jumper over his head and handed it to her.
She suddenly turned red as she pulled the jumper on.
"I needed a bandage," she tried to explain.
"Miss magic much?" he said trying to laugh but it was lost in the effort, his face falling back to the sadness she had first seen in the Great Hall.
"Come on then, there's a lot to do. I am sure you want to look for all your friends." She stood up and held the door open as Harry followed levitating the Professor. Together they returned to the castle silently.
Severus lay unconscious for days. The castle was quiet, the students gone, the Aurors walked the halls asking questions and searching the grounds for Death Eaters.
Abigail never left his side. She made Poppy allow her to push a bed close to his. She needed to reach out, to touch him, when his nightmares came. She was the only one to pour potions down his throat, or to hold him up and force the water down.
She pulled the curtains around the bed every day to wash his body and comb his hair. He would be furious and embarrassed to wake up dirty and unshaven. She insisted she move his bed closer to the window each day so he could breathe the open air. She read to him, from the Third Year's History of Magic book, and prayed each night for him to recover soon, and for her children.
When she cried, she would hurry to the bathroom and weep into a towel in case he woke, she did not want him to hear her. She worried about the children and found herself listening to conversations at doors and in the halls hoping to overhear something that would lead her to them.
Days later, she woke to a tickling on her nose. Swatting at the irritation, she pushed her head down lower under the blanket. The tickling continued and she hesitantly opened one eye to see him smirking at her.
"Why didn't you ask for a double?" he chided her softly, "I think that would have worked better than pushing two singles together."
Abigail climbed over the gap between the beds and hugged him; she kissed his face and laughed. Hearing the noise, Poppy came running over to find Severus sitting up in bed, his back to the headboard with Abigail straddling his lap planting loud kisses over his face.
"Not in my infirmary!" Poppy huffed.
Severus sniggered as Abigail scrambled off the bed tugging down her nightgown blushing furiously and looking at him as if it was his fault.
"I must say Poppy that is the nicest wake up call I have ever been given in this place," he smirked.
"I will have you know I do not approve of this." she waved her hand at the two beds. "Now that you are awake, it must stop."
"Poppy," Abigail started, "I do not intend…"
"Whatever you intend to do can wait until I have examined my patient," Poppy snipped, "Now out until I call you."
Abigail flew to the bathroom her face so red it felt burnt. She pulled off her nightdress and changed into the clothes she had been keeping in the linen closet, feeling like Seventh Year caught snogging in the hallways. By the time she had returned to the ward, Poppy was pulling the curtains open around Severus' bed.
"Poppy, I really did not mean to be disrespectful. I am sorry if I offended you," Abigail said with her head down.
"Disrespectful? Do you think that is what this is all about?" Poppy turned on her in a rage. "That poor boy must go on trial now. They will drag him off to the Ministry again. They will accuse him of horrid things. Having a Reyes at his elbow will not help him. It could very well be your fault if he is sent to Azkaban."
"POPPY!" Abigail spun around to see Severus standing, holding onto a bed for support.
She looked at Poppy, who stood straight glaring at Severus.
"Severus," Abigail whispered, "Does she speak the truth?"
"Do you think I would lie?" Poppy spat.
Abigail saw the truth in Severus' eyes. He lowered his head and turned back, Poppy running to him to support him back to bed.
"Wait," she ran ahead of them, forcing them to stop and talk to her. "Severus, the children. Where did you send them? I need them back."
"It's not safe, they are not safe," he said coldly. "I told you I would either be dead or in Azkaban. You lost the chance to raise your children when I lost the first option."
"I don't… just tell me where they are. I will go…"
"Don't you understand? Are you that blind? While I am in Azkaban, they are not safe. Survivors on both sides will see them as a source of punishing me. No, I am afraid you will be quite alone."
"You promised," she hissed grabbing his hospital gown angrily.
"I promised to rip them away from you if they were not safe."
"Bastard!" she hissed. "You fucking bastard!"
Abigail was unable to talk, unable to protest, unable to drag air past her throat. She felt as though she was walking in an early morning mist as she made her way to the hallway door, cold and dank. She heard her footsteps on the flagstones, but did not register them as her own. She walked outside and on into Hogsmeade with five galleons in her pockets, and no place to go.