A Final Battle - PG-13 - Harry/Severus
Title: A Final Battle
Author: poetic_licence
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In war, there are many casualties. This is just for two of them.
Warning: Dark.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and other trademarks are © by JK Rowling, Little Literacy Agency, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Arthur A. Levine, & Warner Brothers. No profit is being made, it's all good clean fun. Really.
A Final Battle
- For Sabbie, on her birthday -
The ground is awash with red, the blood of soldiers: mercenaries to a higher cause. You can speak of their grief with your riddles; take away their pain with your meaningless expressions and heartfelt nothings. You can create your padded cells for your horrors, take your wounded to your doctors and know nothing of yourselves.
There is a boy there, that's it really, just a boy. He's got a haunted look in his eyes, as if he's seen his own doom and knows there is nothing that he can do to stop it. He's trying to remember, remember a point in time where he was safe, where nothing else mattered, not even the spider hiding in the corner of his room, slats dark and innocent, strips of light falling onto his face like moon shadows.
There's blood, blood all over him, some of his own, but most from his friends and other innocents who are lying, dying, fading away, gone, praying to the heavens with expressionless faces all around him. You think of your sisters and brothers before you, and wish that they never know such emptiness, you see his legs fail, feel his desperation.
There's nothing to be done, nothing left but honour, the twisted kind, twisted around the branches of your tree of life, choking it.
Stumble, trip over yourselves in a chance to escape, try to call out for help, but you too have failed again.
The boy, he's trying to feel human again, trying to reclaim a touch down bare skin, capture hot kisses caught in a moment of anger, can feel angry tongue with fierce words eat away at himself. A man, nose in the way, mouth is biting and unforgiving, telling him to be strong, know himself, understand what he needs to do, survive.
You can not see your hands anymore, so small in their movements, gasping, reaching, a blanket that we never cover any of us anymore, so small.
He knows now, understands that this is the moment, this is the point where everything must change, where he must reach down inside himself to find the darkness, reach out to it, let it in and consume him into dust.
He raises his wand, and knows no more.
And as the dust storm settles, you see a man in black, hooded, face dark and twisted stand over him, stand over the shattered boy, raise the gun and you think, as darkness takes you away as well, how fitting.
- finished -
Author: poetic_licence
Rating: PG-13
Summary: In war, there are many casualties. This is just for two of them.
Warning: Dark.
Disclaimer: The Harry Potter books and other trademarks are © by JK Rowling, Little Literacy Agency, Scholastic, Bloomsbury, Arthur A. Levine, & Warner Brothers. No profit is being made, it's all good clean fun. Really.
A Final Battle
- For Sabbie, on her birthday -
The ground is awash with red, the blood of soldiers: mercenaries to a higher cause. You can speak of their grief with your riddles; take away their pain with your meaningless expressions and heartfelt nothings. You can create your padded cells for your horrors, take your wounded to your doctors and know nothing of yourselves.
There is a boy there, that's it really, just a boy. He's got a haunted look in his eyes, as if he's seen his own doom and knows there is nothing that he can do to stop it. He's trying to remember, remember a point in time where he was safe, where nothing else mattered, not even the spider hiding in the corner of his room, slats dark and innocent, strips of light falling onto his face like moon shadows.
There's blood, blood all over him, some of his own, but most from his friends and other innocents who are lying, dying, fading away, gone, praying to the heavens with expressionless faces all around him. You think of your sisters and brothers before you, and wish that they never know such emptiness, you see his legs fail, feel his desperation.
There's nothing to be done, nothing left but honour, the twisted kind, twisted around the branches of your tree of life, choking it.
Stumble, trip over yourselves in a chance to escape, try to call out for help, but you too have failed again.
The boy, he's trying to feel human again, trying to reclaim a touch down bare skin, capture hot kisses caught in a moment of anger, can feel angry tongue with fierce words eat away at himself. A man, nose in the way, mouth is biting and unforgiving, telling him to be strong, know himself, understand what he needs to do, survive.
You can not see your hands anymore, so small in their movements, gasping, reaching, a blanket that we never cover any of us anymore, so small.
He knows now, understands that this is the moment, this is the point where everything must change, where he must reach down inside himself to find the darkness, reach out to it, let it in and consume him into dust.
He raises his wand, and knows no more.
And as the dust storm settles, you see a man in black, hooded, face dark and twisted stand over him, stand over the shattered boy, raise the gun and you think, as darkness takes you away as well, how fitting.
- finished -