Pieces of Me, Scattered to the Wind

Through the Hazy Glass

Cassiopeia had been enjoying a rather peaceful evening- or at least as much peace as one can get these days. The manor was glowing with magic and candlelight as soft harp music played in the background, providing her with a rather serene setting. If anyone knew Cassiopeia they would be surprised by the sereneness of her evening given that the woman was a rather dark and chaotic spirit- although no one would ever dare to say such a thing to her face lest they be hit with any of her lovely and generously dealt, dark curses. Dinner had been rather nice (Cassie always enjoyed fine French cuisine) and now she couldn't wait to finish reading her novel. It was a good romance book- but she would rather be sent to Azkaban than admit she owned it- she was nearly finished with it and the end of the novel was heading in a direction that she suspected would end with a cliffhanger full of angst and heartache. Perfect! The last thing she was expecting to happen in her evening was for the wards surrounding and protecting the Manor to begin blaring as they informed her that someone had just ripped apart the front gates.

"What in Morgana's name?" She murmured as she leapt to her feet. She made sure her dressing gown was tied securely- thankfully she chose one of her less expensive ones as she would hate to get blood on her nicer gowns if it came to a fight- grabbed her wand, and quickly made her way downstairs to the front entrance. To no surprise, Lucretia was already at the door- awful pink dressing gown and all- and ready to hex someone. The pair made their way to the front gates- wands at the ready- and were shocked as they watched a teenage boy collapse on the ground, covered in dirt and blood. "Oh dear," Lucretia picked up her pace as her wariness changed to worry for the injured boy.

"What the hell?" Cassie said, ever so eloquent. "Who is that?" The pair knelt by the boy, both gasping in shock at the blood that was dripping out of him and on to the ground. Lucretia managed to roll the poor boy over and gasped when she saw the ever famous scar upon his forehead.

"Harry Potter" She whispered. The pair grew stiff as they came to realize who exactly had encroached on their property- the bloody savior of the Light. If there was ever a perfect moment in time for any dark witch or wizard to rid of The Boy Who Lived, it was now. "What do we do?" Lucretia whispered in panic.

"Don't fucking panic is what we do. We just take him inside and- holy fuck where is the blood coming from and why is there so much!" Lucretia grimaced, she never did appreciate her cousin's colorful language.

"Perhaps we should just take him inside and heal him before we decide what to do?" Lucretia didn't really feel up to committing murder tonight. Perhaps she had eaten something bad at dinner because she was hit with the strange urge to help the boy.

"Well if that's what we're going to do we should probably hurry before he bleeds out all over your godforsaken pink robe." Lucretia just rolled her eyes, honestly the pink wasn't that bad Cassie just couldn't stand anything that wasn't black, green, or silver. The two women placed their hands upon Harry's shoulders and apparated into a guest room of the manor. Lucretia began casting diagnostic spells while Cassie summoned the medical bag. When the spell was finished, Lucretia passed the sheet of parchment with the diagnosis on it to Cassie and Cassie handed her the medical bag. It seemed she was going to be using just about everything in it. Lucretia banished Harry's pajama shirt, it was ruined anyways, and got to work on the front half of the boy.

"Circe's left tit, he's got everything under the sun wrong with him" Cassie exclaimed. Lucretia sighed at the language, but it was Cassie, there was nothing she could do about it- after all, Cassie was right. Poor Harry was malnourished and underweight, he had blocks on his magic, infected wounds, and wounds that never fully healed, bones that never mended or healed incorrectly, the poor boy was a right disaster. "Even if we hadn't decided not to kill him, he'd probably die all on his own."