Braving the Past

Chapter 60: Casualties of War

"We need bread, Severus.

"The children could be back any moment, Severus.

"Get the right peaches this time, Severus.

"I'm much too busy with my pacing. Think of my poor nerves, Severus!"

Most everyone passing close by soon found excuses to shuffle carefully away from the brooding, greasy man grumbling to himself in a nasally high-pitched voice as he wandered the outdoor market in Wick.

Bread. Peaches. Milk, if they had any that was drinkable.

This was what he had been reduced to. Severus Snape, former right hand to the most powerful dark wizard in history - his most trusted follower - now condescending to trot amongst the muggles for a bloody milkrun.

In ill-fitting muggle trousers, no less.

He trudged down the narrow aisle of vendors, face set in a deep scowl. The burlap sack clutched in his tight fist swung violently at his side.

The Dark Lord was still winning. Even now, with his soul scattered and his enemies circling, he was still methodically picking them off.

Molly Weasley had survived two wars. She'd buried brothers, protected her children, held together a paltry resistance through sheer force of will. And now she was dead in the bowels of Gringotts because the Dark Lord had hidden a piece of his wretched soul behind a dragon.

Who knew what had become of the Potter boy and...him in the deep recesses of Hogwarts. Not to mention Draco Malfoy, so soon after his defection...

The Dark Lord had certainly done a good job disseminating them all.

It was almost elegant, in a way. Severus could appreciate the strategy even as he despised it.

Severus wrinkled his large nose at the smell wafting from the stand to his right. He turned and trudged toward it, mentally marking off an item from the list Minerva had sanctioned. He reached for a loaf of bread.

"Afternoon, sir," the baker greeted. A stout woman with flour on her cheek and an inexplicable cheerfulness. "That one's a fiver, if you please."

Severus held her gaze until her smile lowered into something resembling discomfort, then slowly fished out some money from his trouser pocket. His fingers shuffled through the pile of coins they'd had to transfigure from galleons because the wizarding economy had collapsed along with everything else.

The Dark Lord's vision for the future, indeed.

As he placed a coin in the woman's hand, a tally paralleled in his mind.

Molly. She was competent - irritatingly so. She'd managed to keep that ragtag group fed and functioning when by all rights they should have collapsed into infighting weeks ago. A loss, certainly.

The baker kept her hand outstretched, eyes looking down at it meaningfully. Clearly the coin had not been the "fiver" she'd required. Severus dropped another in her palm, a small clink sounding as the two coins met.

Finnigan. He had been adequate enough. Brave in the useless, insolent Gryffindor way - more courage than sense. Still, a wand was a wand.

The baker cleared her throat and pointed to his jumble of coins. "Erm, that bi-metallic one there will do just fine."

Severus ground his teeth and handed over the one she'd directed.

Charlie Weasley. He had been the real loss. The boy knew creatures, knew how to handle himself, had the kind of practical competence that couldn't be taught - lot of good that did him in the end. Wasted now.