multiversallogs | hold your burning hands up, the emblems of eternal youth

Entry tags:

hold your burning hands up, the emblems of eternal youth

Who: Only Velcro is owning up to his real name in this one.
What: A visit to the mob doctor.
Where: The backroom at a dodgy apothecary.
When: Newdi evening.
Warnings: Exposure may cause or contribute to: itchy rashes, full body hair loss, projectile vomiting, gigantic eyeball, the condition known as 'hot dog fingers,' children born with the head of a golden retriever, seeing the dead, bone liquification, possession by the Prince of Darkness, tail growth, elderly pregnancy, and back pain.

A city as diverse as Baedal provides a glut of strange medical practitioners and without much to base his opinions on, Sebastian is forced to scan the local papers, trade on word of mouth, and spend a fair portion of his spare time calling on various practices. Once he'd put out a quiet word at work, the staff at Hellsing have been quite helpful in suggesting magically-inclined doctors, healers, shamans, and a few truly alien specialists that left him confused but pleased by the thought of progress. Admittedly, there had been a good deal more walking and interviewing than actual headway, but a little ~~CONSTANT VIGILANCE~~ caution when describing his condition was the prudent course of action.

One consultation led to another, which lead to contacting a small apothecary that was known for poor bedside manner and efficiently dealing with odd problems. After sending off a brief description of himself and his problem, Sebastian consoled himself that no matter how suspect the apothecary, he had the luxury of time and choice -- no more stitches by veterinarians or hasty and ill-brewed healing by untrained students. Still, as he reads a book in 'waiting room', there's a touch of same atmosphere and he's not sure if it's worrying or comforting.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

For a long moment, Severus holds very still, and merely stares at the other man. He doesn't recognize him - the closer he looks the more off details he notices, but it's difficult to tell if that's paranoia, or the effects of the damage. He crouches down a bit and extends a hand to Velcro, gentle in a way he isn't ever with other people, and watches the dog for a bit. Eye contact, clear interaction.

Not so with the human counterpart.

Unseen, he smiles, vicious.

Of course. He thinks he's finally got tabs on everyone, he's finally making plans to evacuate this line of work because his orbit is too close to the rest of them and now, only now does this happen. He stands again, slowly, nearer to Sebastian this time.

"Who are you?" Murmured to himself. If the other man can't see him, he can't hear him, either. But this close, and the way Sebastian's magic is so broken, he might catch an impression out of the corners of his eyes - an out-of-focus afterimage of someone nondescript, just the edges, not even a real person, a flicker of a mirage.

Velcro chuffs, not worried, but alert in that oddly intelligent way some wizarding pets develop when their owners truly care for them. Sebastian smiles again, ruffles his ears and then reaches for his CiD to check the time and send a quick note. If Severus is close enough, he's welcome to read the text to Malfoy:

Once the message has been sent, he packs away the CiD but leaves the bag on his lap. His rucksack (http://www.polyvore.com/all_time_is_unredeemable/set?id=27596471) is a simple affair, with a single strap and easy-pull zippers that is ideal for someone with an injured hand. While it serves as an adaptive living device, it was originally designed as a rucksack to hold a handgun (which he no longer carries) and to allow quick access to a sniper's kit.

The falsely innocuous text - because Severus is the only Death Eater to be familiar with and have the capacity to adapt to Muggle tech on his own, so of course he notes it with ease - decides his course of action for him. Why does he need to check in with anyone if he doesn't have anything planned? He steps back and clenches his fist, and prepares to do something he's not done in many years, and not wanted to do, ever.

He stuns the dog first, silent, barely flicking his hand in its direction to do it before he grabs at the older man's left arm, fingers wrapping vice-like around his wrist and jerking him forward as he hisses the spell to compel a Dark Mark to appear. It's easy and like breathing but it's still a brutal bit of dark magic that most Death Eaters themselves have never had cause to use. (Guess who usually does. Go on, guess.)

Edited 2011-11-14 23:24 (UTC)

If he didn't feel threatened, he wouldn't have alerted Malfoy, and all of their mutual paranoia could've been waved away with a cup of tea and some biscuits. Alas, that is not to be, because as Severus grabs his hand, Sebastian's palm is dragged across the knife he'd had in his bag, spilling blood as Dark spell is cast.

Without a Mark of his own to activate, the spell grabs hold of the closest thing -- whatever strange bits of Voldemort's soul remained as a part of Sebastian. What Voldemort never understood was that the human soul cannot be neatly cut and parcelled out, to be stored in unchanging pieces for future use. Just as souls can be lost or wounded, they can repair and replenish themselves or, if forced into a living host with their own soul, can eventually grow together; in a fit of whimsy, Hermione once likened it to grafting apple trees or oysters growing pearls. Harry's death didn't 'free' a piece of Voldemort that had been kept isolated and intact, so much as it removed a portion of his soul, the piece that was tied into the magic of the horcrux.

There is a sudden flare of pain, unlike anything he'd felt in years and while out of practice, Sebastian does his level best to lash out with the only spell at his disposal. Casting quickly, his blood-based patronus springs up from whatever few drops fell and turns on Severus. It's not much of a defence, but a large, glowing manticore with at least a little substance and density does make for a fair distraction.

For all the rest of the Death Eaters in Baedal, there is probably pain and something that feels almost as if Voldemort activated the mark. Not quite, and there's no particular gathering place identified, but all the same, it's a distinctive flavour of spellcasting.

It's situations like this that highlight the very real problem with having someone as powerful and cutthroat as Severus Snape off anyone's leash without another ten years of life experience to temper him. He realizes, almost before the spell's run its full course, what a very bad idea this is, but it is very much too late. His own arm burns and hurts so badly at the proximity to the epicenter of the spell that he recoils and staggers back into the wall. It means he misses being immediately charged head-on by a barely-corporeal manticore, at least.

The immediate force he has to use to banish the Patronus necessitates that he drop the charm hiding him, and Sebastian is met with the sight of one twenty-five-year-old Severus Snape against the stone wall across from him, left forearm being held defensively by his right hand, expression furious and disoriented at once.

But there's only so many things that can cause that sort of reaction. His gaze turns searching, a note of something like panicked horror in his face- It can't be, can it?

Edited 2011-11-15 00:08 (UTC)

Without his magic and with this so-called healer aware of his condition, Sebastian knows just how exposed he is. It doesn't even gall him that the best course of action is to run away and hope that Malfoy comes soon enough to save his life. Reasoning that if he can keep his assailant talking, it might work to stall long enough for help to arrive, Sebastian turns turns to catch sight of his attacker before biting out a muttered and rather shocking obscenity.

"Snape?! Fucking hell," he hisses, pressing his injured hand against his scar more out of habit than for real relief.

Being only twenty-five, Severus has very little preconceived notions of what Harry Potter is supposed to sound like as a fully grown man with a lifetime's worth of magical damage; the heyday of his youth was spent in the seventies, dealing drugs, learning black magic and listening to acid rock. 'Fucking hell' doesn't make him blink.

The fact that he's fairly certain - based on lore dug up in the nexus about horcruxes and the disturbingly keen sense of familiarity - that this is indeed Harry potter, fully grown man with a lifetime's worth of magical damage, however, does.

There's a narrow table with a tool under it at the back of the room, and he leans against it, still in pain and still thrown, staring at Harry and wondering what the fuck he's gotten himself into. He's too shocked to be angry (that'll happen, though, sure as he's Severus fucking Snape), and for a long moment he doesn't say anything, until he thinks 'I should probably unstun the dog, at some point', though when he sits up again it's to point at the other man's hand and stitch his skin back up from afar.

Finally, in a shaky tone: "Is there really no one else competent in the whole of reality that you all end up on my doorstep."

Sebastian stretches his hand, feeling the tug of the new skin and seems pleased enough by it that he slowly starts bring himself down from a fight or flight mode.

"If I said yes, would you be even remotely surprised?" His voice is calm, even, without even a hint of a tremor, and suggests that he's had plenty of experience sounding like he's in control when he'd really rather lose control and flee. "Just let me contact Malfoy, to wave him off, and check on my dog. Then, if you wish it, I'll be gone."

The immediate deflection is more a tell than his voice, and Severus almost laughs. Gods and Merlin, what's he been through? This end doesn't quite match up with any of the threads he's chased over the years, but reality is, after all, infinite. (Just not when it comes to anyone being useful besides him, apparently.)

"No, stay." It's not harsh enough to be an order, even though he's not in shock anymore. This revelation gave him a turn, yes, but there's no hatred or bitterness seeping through here. For those two words he sounds a bit more northern than Sebastian would be used to - he's broken a lot of habits, but he's still in a place where he slips back into it here and there. He mutters something that might be ought to wave mine off too ... his what, His Lucius? Saints have mercy. He gets his CiD, anyway.

Hellsing, then. Of course.

"I suppose we're both lucky I'm not better at that." Now he's starting to sound annoyed. At least his reality isn't wholly alien.

Sebastian snorts in agreement or wry amusement as he texts the Malfoys, before slipping his CiD away to kneel beside Velcro and speak reassuringly to him. Once he's confident that his dog is okay, he returns to Severus, "I was telling the truth about an inability to do magic. I've only got my patronus left, so if you could ennervate him, I'd appreciate it."

A little surprised at how solicitous and, barring the original attack, how pleasant Snape is acting towards him, Sebastian doesn't entirely trust the situation. He's fairly sure they're both around the same age, which ought to mean the first war ended and Snape should loathe him on sight for looking too much like James. Perhaps the Alternates (he can't and won't think of them as family) were right and he really is some horrid anomaly.

He did have a lot of hate, yes, but Severus is only capable of multitasking so many emotions at once, and his higher cause has found better targets for his loathing. A nod, and Velcro is released, though Severus wisely stays on the other side of the room in the event the dog isn't thrilled with its treatment. The wary way he holds himself dispels any notion of trust or cheerful embraces, but it's true he isn't simmering over with disdain, which ... may be unusual.

"What the hell have you done with yourself?" - No preamble, no why are you hiding or explanation as to why he himself is. Presumably neither man in this room has brains made of cotton and can bloody well figure that one out.

Sebastian keeps his hand on the dogs back and firmly relays the 'down' command. It seems that at the very least, he's got a well trained dog who might not trust Severus but doesn't bear him any ill-will.

"The second war," he replies plainly. Sebastian is aware that there's never been any value in hiding the truth from any variation of Snape - either it's something he already knows and will accept as obvious information from a mooncalf idiot or it's new data and therefore Potter is lying. "I started young and we didn't have trained mediwizards."

He speaks slowly, taking care with his words, and while he'd prefer to make a good impression doesn't believe that such a thing is possible.

The look on his face is plainly yes yes I know, but there's something else - Severus is looking for specifics, but what those specifics are, who knows. He frowns, and adjusts his weight where he's sitting, fussing at the cuff of his left sleeve for a moment. (That motherfucker burned; still doesn't feel excellent, even now.)

Clipped: "Who raised you?"

"Wolves would've been an improvement over the Dursleys," he says with barely concealed rancour. Normally, he would be a little more circumspect in his criticism, but his dislike of that part of his family is something he knows Snape has experience with and they can agree upon.

"I went back to their house every summer until I was eighteen and then I never looked back, except when I asked them to flee the country." Of the three, Vernon chose to stay behind, Petunia didn't want to abandon her husband, and Dudley, the only survivor, is currently a baker somewhere in middle America.

Something like resigned disappointment covered in an ever-present layer of irritation simmers on his expression, and though Severus doesn't seem surprised to hear that, he also doesn't look like everything makes perfect sense now. This is not his (world's) Harry, but then, he doesn't think there's many of his kind running about the place. (It's not a relief.)

"My condolences," he says finally, chill in his voice for reasons that both mirror Harry's and stretch beyond it in a very different direction. He lapses into silence after, staring at him and the cracked lines of dead spellwork and old curses he can see with something that's not much like ocular vision at all. There's two ways to take the incident that's left them in the position of texting Death Eaters and cleaning up the mess Severus has so recklessly made - either he's an impulsive fool, or he's someone who's not used to leaving survivors to witness his more creative stunts. The truth is he'd planned on killing this man if he turned out to be a Death Eater, and modifying his memory if not. Severus isn't sure which of those assumptions he'd prefer Potter to make.

"I know how the war goes," he hazards, "in several instances."

It looks like he might say something more, but when he does, it's a topic swerve: "I'll need a list."

Of his injuries.

"There's more than one outcome or so I've learned." From what he's heard, there's his world and then the more common variant of the Dark Lord falling early. "In my world, I started fighting at eleven and finished at twenty-two, which might give you a rough timeline to match things to."

As he pulls out and hands over a rather long, and worryingly detailed list of injuries, there's another short flurry of texting as Sebastian tries, and most likely fails, to reassure the Malfoys of his safety and relative good health. "I've told the Malfoys -- the younger, paired set -- that I was at the doctor's and there was a hiccough in the testing procedure. Mrs Malfoy'll know it's a lie. What would you have me say to her?"

Severus doesn't reply to more than one outcome, because he's not about to just spill his insides like a Bond villain, but he does give the other man a bit of a side-eye as he takes the list. At least he's prepared; Severus appreciates it.

He's halfway through reading that list when Narcissa is mentioned, and his shoulders twitch slightly like someone's just shrieked his name from across the room. He does not look up from the list.

"...Your name. You go by something else, don't you."

"Sebastian LeMat. I've been living muggle for the past couple of years and, well, any wizard with any brains has better things to do than hunt for me." And those without any at all, what few survived, wouldn't think he'd be willing to leave behind the heart of wizarding Britain and go into the magical wasteland of Newcastle.

"The Malfoys I'm acquainted with, we met in another city, a bit like this one." While he doesn't go into the details of how he first approached Lucius and forged a relationship based on enlightened self-interest, there's clearly something curious at the heart of the story. "They know who I am and have been good to me."

If all goes well, then when they return to their own timeline, Lucius and Narcissa have a decent shot at ending or shortening the second war. Sebastian was able to sway them not by any righteous talk, but because he could tell them what would happen to their son if they didn't. He isn't bothered by using Draco's well-being as a goad; it's war, after all.

"Sebastian."

It's half to himself; testing it out, maybe. He's not so attached to the name Harry (for... reasons) that it's jarring. Sebastian LeMat. That's fine. Perhaps he'll disengage to Mr. LeMat, eventually, but he's never bothered with anything besides first names for the child he left outside Toronto. (Merlin, this is surreal.)

Only slightly louder, and skirting the edges of sounding like that strange professor, "What a depressing cartomancer you'd make... Tell Narcissa you'll explain later. You are, understandably, busy at the moment."

He isn't surprised to hear about the Malfoys.

Sebastian nods and quickly sends off a text to the Malfoys, promising to meet with Lucius in an hour at the Guild Hall. He winces at the light from the CiD's display and rubs the heel of his hand against his eye. There's no doubt about it, Severus' brilliant idea is going to be the cause of a truly stunning headache.

"No one's ever gotten the joke before." And it is a joke. What better name for a man who wanders the world without any more than his dog and what he can pack into a single bag?

It'll be less awkward in the long run if Sebastian decides to think that Severus just had a pointless lapse in judgment. He doesn't want to have to explain why he's going into situations blind behaving like an executioner. (There aren't many people he'd have held off for. Who fucking expects Harry Potter?)

"You aren't very funny," he remarks dryly and, finally, he sets aside the list. There's going to have to be an excuse presented to the Death Eater community, and while Severus is inclined to decide, well, the Malfoys are so invested, let them think of a cover - but he's already in with the elder Lucius, and the mental image of them making excuse to each other and slowly catching on is... a nightmare. No, he'll assist. He's dug his grave. Unfortunately.

"Nerve damage of that kind is fixable with a potion." Not many people can make it, he's sure Sebastian knows (or assumes, if it's never been offered to him), but it's a condition he's treated before. "Just looking at you I can see some of the re-healed hexes and cursework that's done improperly I can fix." He makes a bit of a face as he looks over the other man, as if mentally going over how utterly stupid whomever patched him up the first two dozen times was. (That's exactly what he's doing.) "I'd need a closer look at the rest, but nothing sounds so absurd as to be impossible to investigate, at least."

Edited 2011-11-15 05:20 (UTC)

Sebastian won't press the issue of Severus' over enthusiastic reaction to a possible Death Eater in his waiting room. After all, if presented with the same situation again, he can't swear that he wouldn't do the same thing.

"That's a relief." During the war, they did as best they could to patch each other up, but mediwizards weren't often available. Those few students who had an aptitude for potions or healing were overworked, undersupplied, and most hadn't even finished their time at Hogwarts, let alone went on to specialist training.

"If we move forward, what will I owe you for this?" For a given value of the concept, Snape may be one of the more honourable wizards of his parents' generation, but Sebastian he's grown accustomed to betrayal and disappointment from the adults he knew growing up. As much as he wants to trust the other man, he can't quite bring himself to accept that there won't be a vicious catch at the end of it all.

"Considering I just nearly blew your cover to half a dozen Death Eaters?" He smiles, and the brittle knife's edge of it matches his tone. "Exactly what anyone else would owe me, except that I'll not be charging you for that potion or anything superficial I recognize on your person."

It is parts comforting and concerning that he can look at Sebastian and tell just who left what, probably.

"Consider it a bribe, if that makes you more comfortable."

... There are no community college weekend courses on these things, after all. Hellsing would not approve of his methods of self-education.

"Nearly is the key word. Given a dim room and some aspirin, I can recover." He's always known that sooner or later the rest of the Death Eaters would learn of his existence and come for him. "And, while it's not the way I would've preferred testing it, we've proof that I'm still connected. Not as strongly as I was before, but it's there."

When he was younger, Harry wondered where Voldemort left off and he began. Did speaking Parseltongue strengthen that Other part of him? What could weaken it? Was there a way to starve it out? Without ready answers, he turned to Hermione and then to practical research.

"When we've more time, I'd like to go over the mess of the connection, because that's tied into why I can't cast, but for now, I'd best return to Hellsing and speak to Malfoy before anything else goes horribly awry."

"It isn't your head I've particular concern for in this instance," he says, "But rather what might happen when the older Lucius Malfoy and younger pair inevitably begin to compare notes on the excuses they've been given."

Severus speaks as he rises and moves to walk out the door - not far, he just pulls open a cabinet in the dark hallway, and pulls a few things out. He's pulling a long coat on when he returns, and hands Sebastian a vial of some pale blue liquid with his off hand as he does so. "It's not aspirin." That would be for his head.

"I was doing something foolish with a client that caused the reaction, and we never saw each other. Obviously you're going to have to tell the Malfoys, but as for the rest of them - they can blame me."

(It's hard to tell just how furious with him self he is - it's so far gone it's almost manic, swimming somewhere behind his eyes.)

"I'll not be going to your guild hall. Contact me again when it's safe for you to speak." He'll write his own CiD number down, now.

"The elder knows who I am and is, for now, keeping the younger's secrets about it. Probably more for Narcissa's sake than his own." This may be because he cares about her or because all the Blacks are mad as a box of frogs and women all twice as frightening.

Sebastian is probably less upset by this than he might otherwise be since he'd long harboured nasty suspicions that his life with Hellsing -- filled with painting, plastering, and the occasional zombie fungal ant attacks -- was too good to last. With any luck and a lot of lies, they can hold back the tide for a little while longer, but this madness is familiar and what he's used to.

"Be well and as safe as you can."

"Hand to fucking Merlin they're like a plague," he says, nearly a hiss, and it's difficult to discern if that's an insult or... what. Surely it can't be fondness.

He heads out the back, obviously expecting Sebastian to follow him - he'll let him out, lock up, and they'll both be on their ways for the time being.

(Severus has a few things to rip out of his head before he faces anyone. It's just something that has to happen.)

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

hold your burning hands up, the emblems of eternal youth

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject