Challenge #89: The Death Scene
Title: No Other Way
Rating: PG
Pairing: I think it becomes a little obvious as it goes along...
Notes: Twenty-five minutes. First attempt at writing a death scene. It wasn't as hard to do as I thought it would be.
Credit: I stole one line of dialogue towards the end from Wuthering Heights and adapted it to fit ... just thought I should give Miss Bronte her due credit.
The surprise did not come from feeling the pressure of the glowing, hot tip of a wand against her throat. The surprise came instead from hearing the voice -- his voice -- slide smoothly into the silence of the night. It held the same nuances, the same tone and timbre, and yet it was so very, very different from what she remembered.
It was the differences that kept her back straight and her body stiffened as she was guided into a careful turn. And it was then, as her eyes fell upon him for the first time in decades, that the full impact of what he had done to himself hit her.
"You are lucky I found you first." He held his wand steady, making his intentions completely clear, but nevertheless reached out his other hand to caress her face.
The touch was cold, but it sparked the warmth she had felt for him once so long ago. She fought it away, tried to bury it by the contempt she felt for what he had become. "This is not the boy I knew once. You have destroyed yourself, so many times over."
He jerked his pale fingertips back away from the soft curve of her cheek and pressed the wood of his wand harder against her throat, burned by the words. "I have empowered myself!" he spat, eyes narrowing to furious slits. "Just as I would have empowered you! Have you forgotten that I once offered you everything?"
She shook her head in disgust, glaring at him. "You offered me your dreams -- never mine. And I would rather have perished, even then, than allow you to damn my soul as you have your own."
He drew back slightly, dropping his hand so that his wand hung loosely at his side. The anger she evoked caused his chest to swell, and his lip to curl into a sneer. How dared she spurn him with such brazen perversity?
In one fluid movement, he raised his arm and brought the back of his hand swiftly across her face. The force of his blow caused her to fall to her knees with a soft cry. Staring down his nose, he watched her defiantly wipe the thin trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. Watched as she raised a hand to press gingerly against the pale cheek that would begin to bruise all too soon. The wince of pain and sharp intake of breath told him that the bone had most likely shattered.
An electric thrill of triumph ran through his body at seeing the pain he had inflicted. "I would have given you the world to hold in the palm of your hand. If ever you loved me, why deny me? Why deny yourself?"
Gasping, she raised her stony gaze to his. "If ever you loved me, why turn away from us? You don't realize you are dead. You don't see that you have killed yourself."
The laugh was a high and cold sound. "No, Minerva, I am alive. But you ... how do you feel to know that you are living your last moments?"
Her lips curved into the slightest of smiles. "I have always known I would die at your hands. I may love my murderer, but yours, Tom? Oh, how could I?"
There was a rushing sound, a flash of brilliant green light. And Minerva McGonagall was no more. Bending on one knee, the man once known as Tom Riddle reached out a hand to smooth back her dark hair, to trail his fingers over the purpling patch of skin. Her face registered the slightest shock, as did all the victims of the Killing Curse, but he imagined that her eyes stared at him accusingly.
"My Lord?"
The wizard called Lord Voldemort shifted his gaze to the robed torchbearer beside him. "Come, Bella, we go."
Bellatrix Lestrange pushed back the mask that cloaked her face to reveal an expression of stunned ire. "But -- my Lord --" She gestured towards the body with her flaming torch.
"I will not have this body defiled, Bella!" he roared, turning his wand on her. Its tip glowed menacingly. "Now go."
As his follower turned away, he allowed himself the indulgence of one final glance at the woman dead before him. Pressing his fingers to his thin lips, he transferred the kiss to her forehead before sliding her eyes closed. He, too, had always known she would die at his hands.
For them, there could be no other way.
Rating: PG
Pairing: I think it becomes a little obvious as it goes along...
Notes: Twenty-five minutes. First attempt at writing a death scene. It wasn't as hard to do as I thought it would be.
Credit: I stole one line of dialogue towards the end from Wuthering Heights and adapted it to fit ... just thought I should give Miss Bronte her due credit.
The surprise did not come from feeling the pressure of the glowing, hot tip of a wand against her throat. The surprise came instead from hearing the voice -- his voice -- slide smoothly into the silence of the night. It held the same nuances, the same tone and timbre, and yet it was so very, very different from what she remembered.
It was the differences that kept her back straight and her body stiffened as she was guided into a careful turn. And it was then, as her eyes fell upon him for the first time in decades, that the full impact of what he had done to himself hit her.
"You are lucky I found you first." He held his wand steady, making his intentions completely clear, but nevertheless reached out his other hand to caress her face.
The touch was cold, but it sparked the warmth she had felt for him once so long ago. She fought it away, tried to bury it by the contempt she felt for what he had become. "This is not the boy I knew once. You have destroyed yourself, so many times over."
He jerked his pale fingertips back away from the soft curve of her cheek and pressed the wood of his wand harder against her throat, burned by the words. "I have empowered myself!" he spat, eyes narrowing to furious slits. "Just as I would have empowered you! Have you forgotten that I once offered you everything?"
She shook her head in disgust, glaring at him. "You offered me your dreams -- never mine. And I would rather have perished, even then, than allow you to damn my soul as you have your own."
He drew back slightly, dropping his hand so that his wand hung loosely at his side. The anger she evoked caused his chest to swell, and his lip to curl into a sneer. How dared she spurn him with such brazen perversity?
In one fluid movement, he raised his arm and brought the back of his hand swiftly across her face. The force of his blow caused her to fall to her knees with a soft cry. Staring down his nose, he watched her defiantly wipe the thin trickle of blood from the corner of her mouth. Watched as she raised a hand to press gingerly against the pale cheek that would begin to bruise all too soon. The wince of pain and sharp intake of breath told him that the bone had most likely shattered.
An electric thrill of triumph ran through his body at seeing the pain he had inflicted. "I would have given you the world to hold in the palm of your hand. If ever you loved me, why deny me? Why deny yourself?"
Gasping, she raised her stony gaze to his. "If ever you loved me, why turn away from us? You don't realize you are dead. You don't see that you have killed yourself."
The laugh was a high and cold sound. "No, Minerva, I am alive. But you ... how do you feel to know that you are living your last moments?"
Her lips curved into the slightest of smiles. "I have always known I would die at your hands. I may love my murderer, but yours, Tom? Oh, how could I?"
There was a rushing sound, a flash of brilliant green light. And Minerva McGonagall was no more. Bending on one knee, the man once known as Tom Riddle reached out a hand to smooth back her dark hair, to trail his fingers over the purpling patch of skin. Her face registered the slightest shock, as did all the victims of the Killing Curse, but he imagined that her eyes stared at him accusingly.
"My Lord?"
The wizard called Lord Voldemort shifted his gaze to the robed torchbearer beside him. "Come, Bella, we go."
Bellatrix Lestrange pushed back the mask that cloaked her face to reveal an expression of stunned ire. "But -- my Lord --" She gestured towards the body with her flaming torch.
"I will not have this body defiled, Bella!" he roared, turning his wand on her. Its tip glowed menacingly. "Now go."
As his follower turned away, he allowed himself the indulgence of one final glance at the woman dead before him. Pressing his fingers to his thin lips, he transferred the kiss to her forehead before sliding her eyes closed. He, too, had always known she would die at his hands.
For them, there could be no other way.