WB Archive Challenge #39: Seasons
Title: The Final Term
Summary: It started with a stutter, but being the only voice in a classroom of a quiet handful, it carried stronger than intended.
Characters/Pairings: Neville Longbottom, Hogwarts students
Genre: Gen
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 / allusions to torture
Word Count: 717
Can the Order post to Tumblr?: Sure
If yes, your Tumblr username: slumbrslumbrs
Fall
It started with the thud of muscle and bone on against brick, the quick drawn gasp of breath of a child caught by surprise, the controlled whisper of a sharp curse, as crisp as the air outside but infinitely more chilling, followed by the Silencio.
Silence fell on everyone else too, all eyes on one child's muted thrashing.
Shock thick and suffocating, a collectively held breath, a refusal to process what they were witnessing. The students had come to class wary and fearful, and they would leave with their worst nightmares confirmed-- if they left at all.
Hogwarts was no longer safe.
"S-- stop."
It started with a stutter, but being the only voice in a classroom of a quiet handful, it carried stronger than intended.
"Something to say, boy?"
"You can't do that. The Crucio is--"
"The Crucio must be taught. Draw your wand and show me how it's done." A sneer. "To her."
"No."
Outside, the leaves burnt orange, crisped in the air, withered downward with the wind's caress.
The Carrows will not be so gentle.
Winter
It grew in the quiet, with secret looks and hidden messages, behind password-locked brick walls and passage-sheltering paintings.
There were no heroes left, set upon their own quest, in this pocket of the world where children came to learn that history was doomed to repeat itself, that the dark arts would prevail if no one stood to defend against it. They were paralysed more than just by fear -- it was by the knowledge they were powerless, as well, ill-equipped to act and with many much younger around them at risk of more.
This should have been enough. This would have been enough, to silence, to rule, to overpower.
But late in the night, a crackling voice from far away: Keep each other safe. Keep faith. Good night.
And in the darkness, a flickering of something small.
A voice, steady and strong, not for the strength with which it was spoken, but for the truth that carried it home.
"We've got to do something."
Spring
It burst from need and from desperation, from nearly a year's worth of almost-helplessness, fueled by stubbornness and unwavering resolve to do right.
They called themselves an army, but they flourished and worked and fought and grew unlike an army. There was no call to arms, no general, no troops. They were within enemy walls, and they weren't crass enough nor arrogant enough to believe that they could as armies did. They did what they could, here and there-- not acts of rebellion, but acts of hope.
It was a fumbling, scattered attack, but in the quiet of a large, dark, hidden room, these isolated incidents took on wings, bloomed into something more.
The boy who snuck out in the middle of the night to pilfer a firstie from the dungeons turned into a hero who blistered his hands and dislocated his shoulder to free a prisoner, life be damned, and he has the tremors from the Cruciatus to show for it. Another who raised his hand in class to announce the break-in-- and subsequent break-out-- became a bold voice in a quiet room, a radical who leapt onto his desk to declare the truth. A hapless, hopeless attempt at breaking into the headmaster's office turned into a daring quest. The boy who, once a stammering, stuttering mess, found bravery in a room full of people who needed it. The girl who, once touched by evil and was saved to tell the tale, discovered the things she could do by herself.
In the absence of heroes, they became their own.
Summer
It didn't die with the ashes of Hogwarts, not with the last breath taken by classmates and enemies, nor the silence that descended the morning after battle. Winning took a sour, bitter taste in their mouths, faced with the reality of what that cost them.
This is victory, they thought, as they tended their wounded and buried their dead, faced the prospect of picking up after the chaos and putting it all back together. It was then they found the need for hope stronger than ever, though they knew it would take more than just that.
And in the morning of a new peace, they strengthened their resolve to keep it.
Evyclaw/29 pts earned (717/30 + 5)
Summary: It started with a stutter, but being the only voice in a classroom of a quiet handful, it carried stronger than intended.
Characters/Pairings: Neville Longbottom, Hogwarts students
Genre: Gen
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 / allusions to torture
Word Count: 717
Can the Order post to Tumblr?: Sure
If yes, your Tumblr username: slumbrslumbrs
Fall
It started with the thud of muscle and bone on against brick, the quick drawn gasp of breath of a child caught by surprise, the controlled whisper of a sharp curse, as crisp as the air outside but infinitely more chilling, followed by the Silencio.
Silence fell on everyone else too, all eyes on one child's muted thrashing.
Shock thick and suffocating, a collectively held breath, a refusal to process what they were witnessing. The students had come to class wary and fearful, and they would leave with their worst nightmares confirmed-- if they left at all.
Hogwarts was no longer safe.
"S-- stop."
It started with a stutter, but being the only voice in a classroom of a quiet handful, it carried stronger than intended.
"Something to say, boy?"
"You can't do that. The Crucio is--"
"The Crucio must be taught. Draw your wand and show me how it's done." A sneer. "To her."
"No."
Outside, the leaves burnt orange, crisped in the air, withered downward with the wind's caress.
The Carrows will not be so gentle.
Winter
It grew in the quiet, with secret looks and hidden messages, behind password-locked brick walls and passage-sheltering paintings.
There were no heroes left, set upon their own quest, in this pocket of the world where children came to learn that history was doomed to repeat itself, that the dark arts would prevail if no one stood to defend against it. They were paralysed more than just by fear -- it was by the knowledge they were powerless, as well, ill-equipped to act and with many much younger around them at risk of more.
This should have been enough. This would have been enough, to silence, to rule, to overpower.
But late in the night, a crackling voice from far away: Keep each other safe. Keep faith. Good night.
And in the darkness, a flickering of something small.
A voice, steady and strong, not for the strength with which it was spoken, but for the truth that carried it home.
"We've got to do something."
Spring
It burst from need and from desperation, from nearly a year's worth of almost-helplessness, fueled by stubbornness and unwavering resolve to do right.
They called themselves an army, but they flourished and worked and fought and grew unlike an army. There was no call to arms, no general, no troops. They were within enemy walls, and they weren't crass enough nor arrogant enough to believe that they could as armies did. They did what they could, here and there-- not acts of rebellion, but acts of hope.
It was a fumbling, scattered attack, but in the quiet of a large, dark, hidden room, these isolated incidents took on wings, bloomed into something more.
The boy who snuck out in the middle of the night to pilfer a firstie from the dungeons turned into a hero who blistered his hands and dislocated his shoulder to free a prisoner, life be damned, and he has the tremors from the Cruciatus to show for it. Another who raised his hand in class to announce the break-in-- and subsequent break-out-- became a bold voice in a quiet room, a radical who leapt onto his desk to declare the truth. A hapless, hopeless attempt at breaking into the headmaster's office turned into a daring quest. The boy who, once a stammering, stuttering mess, found bravery in a room full of people who needed it. The girl who, once touched by evil and was saved to tell the tale, discovered the things she could do by herself.
In the absence of heroes, they became their own.
Summer
It didn't die with the ashes of Hogwarts, not with the last breath taken by classmates and enemies, nor the silence that descended the morning after battle. Winning took a sour, bitter taste in their mouths, faced with the reality of what that cost them.
This is victory, they thought, as they tended their wounded and buried their dead, faced the prospect of picking up after the chaos and putting it all back together. It was then they found the need for hope stronger than ever, though they knew it would take more than just that.
And in the morning of a new peace, they strengthened their resolve to keep it.
Evyclaw/29 pts earned (717/30 + 5)