Living Again [Closed For DeathsKnight]

[SurrealObsession]

The sun was shining weakly through the trees, breaking through the shadows cast by the dark leaves above. It was still early, the colors of dawn just beginning to fade over the horizon of the Rocky Mountains, leaving clear blue sky in its wake. The temperature was cool, but comfortable, a faint relief before the striking heat of summer that would come as the galaxy's brightest star made its way higher through the day.

Bobby Cart stretched, her arms above her, the horse's body beneath her own making her tall enough to brush her knuckles against the branches as she did so. Perhaps the hardest part about returning to Montana had been the early mornings. For years, she hadn't bothered getting up before noon, staying up into the early hours of morning before falling into bed. That part of her life was over, now.

She had grown up in these mountains, spending hours a day on the trails overlooking the small town of Ballantine below. When she learned that her mysterious abilities were signs of magic, and that she was indeed a witch, she had left the state for the first time to attend school in Canada. But she had always made her way back during the summers, and even when she escaped the tedium at the age of seventeen, she still felt homesick for both her family and the nature that had surrounded her.

Her mother died when she was still a teenager, leaving her father to run the family's horse stables alone. It had not been easy, but he had staff to help, and one of her brothers who had stayed in town. He had passed a year before, and Bobby had been down on her luck enough to agree to take things over herself.

She wasn't always sure she had made the right choice.

Either way, the trails were peaceful and serene, isolated. Most of the horses back home were fine to be run around the paddock, or over the many acres she now owned. But this one had been injured a few months before, and longer, gentle walks were necessary to help him heel. Bobby bent down and padded his neck as they moved along.

 

[DeathsKnight]

So what do you do when you go to meet a man who is known for killing his employees? You take precautions, having been the master of potions and the teacher who taught defense against the dark arts you certainly had a few things or in this case potions up your sleeve. Two potions to be even more precise. Cadavior Reformia and the other just a regular Resurection potion. One to be ingested and one to break if you die. The former to heal the dead body and the latter to return the soul. Nobody knew, perhaps Granger could have figured it out, but with her infatuation with the Weasely boy and both their attention focused on Potter, nobody knew.

Snape woke up with a strangled gasp, warding off the attack which had ended hours earlier. He sagged against the wall behind him, he was dead...everybody believed him to be so. Only one person knew the truth about him and that was the Potter boy. There was a war raging and he knew the outcome, he had seen it and now he know how Voldemort will finally die. Snape took a breath and rose to his feet. There was only one option for him, an avenue left open which nobody would have guessed that he would ever take.

Balantine, Montana...if anybody would think of a place to find a wizard, especially a wizard of note, this would be the last place they would look. It will of course be the last place if they ever bothered to look here for him. Snape, now known as Donovan Drake, sat in a chair on a back porch. His new life leaving him with a lot of spare time, his income from homeo therapy. People disliked his attitude, but they swore that his cures were on the brink of magical. Which they of course were, but he made sure that it didn't seem to work too good to be true.

Gone were the black robes, the wand, the owls, the only think Snape carried with him of real power was a walking stick...in fact this walking stick was fashioned around his wand, giving him a reason to always carry it with him. He looked out over the smallish town and sighed, he wouldn't say he was content. He was just...living

 

[SurrealObsession]

Bobby turned the horse onto a side trail and made her way out of the woods. The mount was limping as she sighed, having hoped it wouldn't come down to more extreme intervention. She had heard the tales from people in town, of a man with a walking stick and incredible cure to every ill a man or beast could suffer from.

There was a decent chance - more than decent - that he was a charlatan, taking advantage of the superstitions still prevalent in small town America. But there was always a sliver of hope that the man was a wizard, perhaps a healer or alchemist. Being a witch herself, she would be able to tell with a bit of prodding. If there was any chance the man could assist her horse, she would take the time to find out.

Hopping off of the mount's back, she led him gently through the break in the woods and onto one of the roads leading to the houses overlooking the town. Everyone knew everyone's business in Ballantine. So she knew well where this Donovan Drake lived, in the old house that used to belong to the widower Herschel Harlow, now deceased.

Before long, she had walked the mile and could see the house come into view over the crest of the hill. On the porch was a sallow skinned man, his black hair hanging in curtains around his pale face. The moment Bobby saw him she was sure he was a wizard. There was an air about him, a kind of electricity as she got closer. It was a feeling of magic she had become accustomed too, not sensed by Muggles but clear to others in the know.

"Hello, there," she called in a friendly manner, lifting her free hand in greeting as she led the horse into his yard.

 

[DeathsKnight]

He could see the girl and horse coming from a way off, as she took the path leading to his house, he knew that she was coming to him. He also noticed something peculiar, she had an aura to her, an aura he had grown so accustomed to that the loss of it when he moved here felt like a dull ache and this girl had the feeling about her. She was a witch, wether she knew it or not.

"Good day miss Cart."

He looked at the limping horse,

"If I dare say, I believe this is not a social call."

He was about to tell her that his office hours was finished already, but he stopped himself, not that he cared about being unkind and direct, it is who he was, but there was something else that stopped him from sending her away. He wasn't quite sure what though

 

[SurrealObsession]

She raised an eyebrow at the greeting. "So you already know who I am, do you?" she asked in some amusement. "It's true what they say about small towns...you can't keep so much as a name hidden for long."

Flicking the reign over the porch post, she soothingly rubbed the horse's neck as he whinnied. "I hope I am not disturbing you, but as you can see, there was an injury. He is still walking alright, but I am thinking he might have damaged a tendon. I hear you can heal anything."

Her expression turned considering. "Almost like magic."

 

[DeathsKnight]

"Of course I know who you are miss Cart, only one place with horses where you came from and then again, your photo did give you away."

He casually got to his feet, kind of uncomfortable in the jeans and shirt, it felt more...restricting.

"You are interfering with my afternoon tea, but a beast is better to help than an ignorant man."

He casually discarded her words of magic, there was no use to explain his methods to her, she had just met him. He picked up his walking stick and walked closer, first he inspected the leg, there was a lingering infection, but he concured with her, it seemed like a tendon.

"I can provide you with a poultice for the leg."

He turned and walked to the door, paused and turned to her,

"If you wish for some tea, help yourself."

With that he went inside, a second cup stood waiting to be filled if needed...almost like he had been waiting for company. On his return he carried a jar, inside was a sludge-green composite and in the other hand holding the staff a small vial. He placed the jar and vial down on the table and took a seat, looking like his leg bothered him.

"The poultice..."

He indicated the jar,

"Gets applied twice a day, bind it up with bandages."

He indicated the vial

"An extract, it should help him get rid of the infection still lingering."

He sat back and picked up his cup, sipping on his tea.