Voting: Round 4, Challenge 3
The following participants have been eliminated for not turning in their drabbles on time:
notgold
foreversilence
Please note that if you did not turn a drabble, you've been disqualified and will be banned from participating in round 5.
The rules for voting are as follows:
1. The drabbles are rated up to R. If you are under the age of 17, proceed no further.
2. Read with an open mind, and vote fairly. Please try to remember that the length and pairing of a drabble should not affect your judgment of its quality.
3. Contestants are not allowed to vote for themselves. If you vote for yourself, your vote will not be counted.
4. You're free to post about this competition on your personal journal, but do not tell your friends which drabble you wrote. It's unfair to your own writing abilities and to the other participants.
5. Voting will remain open until Sunday at noon EST.
Drabble 1
Title: The Saint
Author: eerisedda
Rating: R
Warnings: language, DH spoilers
Word Count: 420
Dead. Potter was dead.
That’s all Draco could think as the world around him shattered. Potter, the hero; Potter, the one who always won, no matter what the odds, was dead.
Draco hadn’t really liked him. Not really.
Sure, he’d wanted Potter’s friendship in the beginning; sure he’d been a bit obsessive in his determination to bring Potter down, to make Potter see that he’d made a mistake, but he hadn’t liked him.
But that didn’t mean he wanted him dead. He might have said as much once upon a time, he might have boasted that the Dark Lord would win, but… he’d never believed it. Potter always won and always would win.
He didn’t believe it, in fact. He had to see it to believe it, because Potter was… well, he was Potter. He didn’t just up and die. He didn’t try to flee from danger and he didn’t abandon his friends.
The crowd was screaming and Voldemort’s voice was ringing in Draco’s ears, triumphant and foreboding, a death knell bringing the end of all hope. Still, Draco didn’t think he could believe it. The Dark Lord promised so many things, said so many things and none of that was ever true. Why should this be any different?
It was. Draco laughed, or cried, or both. He wasn’t sure. He felt desperate. This couldn’t be. He’d saved Potter’s life at the Manor in his own subtle way. Potter had escaped. He’d bloody well gotten out, only to walk to his own fucking death and leave everyone at a madman’s mercy.
Draco thought, maybe because a part of him had always wanted Potter, always wanted some kind of acknowledgment from him, always just wanted something from him, that it was a shame he’d died because now Draco really wouldn’t have that chance.
It was a stupid thought. Potter’s death meant a lot more than that. It meant the world was completely and utterly fucked and what would they do in a world ruled by the Dark Lord?
Draco didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t actually think, his eyes glued to the body in Hagrid’s arms, limp and sorrowful, and Draco thought, wouldn’t it be funny if Potter did something completely impossible like come back to life?
His eyes followed the giant’s progress, his vision blurring around the edges and making Potter’s form look oddly ethereal. Draco thought he looked liked a true saint in that moment. He smiled sadly and couldn’t help thinking, Saint Potter.
Then all hell broke loose.
Drabble 2
Title: Dead Inside, I Stand Up
Author: savepureness
Rating: PG
Warnings: (none)
Word Count: 303
It burns; it flows, it flows, it burns. The taste of madness grabs her throat, her eyes are tainted by flickering darkness. For the first time in her life - a life spent in love and devotion, wasted, she thinks - she’s ready to fight tooth and claw; arms stretched wide, trembling fingers clutching the wand like it’s the last remnant of a dying past, Molly waits. Now, she’s the hunter. Eyes half closed, narrowly filtering the light, dry lips cracking over memories.
It burns; it flows at its turn, swirling in circles; a dance of images, of sounds and scents that wouldn’t fade. She wouldn’t let them. Inner sight, flaring nostrils, dry lips - all desperately grasping the last touches, the last high-pitched laughter and mischievous blinks. Memento mori, Molly swallows; it’s now or never, she knows. The fiend dances before her eyes, swishing and flickering, hopping and ducking, tapping on a silent, morbid tune. Dark eyes - so hollow, dark clothes concealing a darker soul; at this very moment, she hates every inch of Bellatrix Lestrange. She hates her with a passion, with the heat of her boiling blood, by the bitter biting of her lower lip; she hates it by the last memory of her dead son, his eyes reflecting the candle lights.
It burns; it flows, it flows, it burns. It’s the taste of hatred, the flame of revenge. It grabs her right arm, stretching it by will. Molly swallows, remembering an ancient saying; revenge is a dish best served cold. As the fiend jumps again, almost gracious in her sinuous movement, she’s not aware it will be her last. Cracking lips pressed together, eyes as empty as his will always be, Molly holds her hand steady; the fire within suffocates under the cold touch. I’m dead inside, she thinks.
Then she strikes.
Drabble 3
Title: The Moment
Author: ronhermione33
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 375
Those damn house elves. Honestly, I’d have gotten on their band wagon loads sooner if I’d known Hermione would’ve rewarded me like this.
And what a reward!
At first, I thought she was attacking me again - until I felt her arms around me and not pummeling me. Bloody hell, and then she kissed me. Not just some little peck, but full on the mouth. And her body pressed against mine - Merlin’s pants! It was at this point that I threw down my broomstick and those basilisk’s fangs and lifted her quite off her feet. Did I say her body was pressed into mine? Quite literally Heaven.
But her lips - her kiss! Nothing like snogging with Lavender. I don’t think I’ve tasted anything sweeter, ever, not any one thing in Honeyduke’s, nor anything mum ever made (and mum can cook, let me tell you!) I could have died in that moment and died a happy man.
How long did we stand there, swaying on the spot, her soft body melded quite perfectly against mine? I don’t know - I reckon it was just a few moments, really, but what a few moments it was. Life-altering.
Harry had to remind us we still had a war to fight - a battle to win. He was right, of course, for we couldn’t dare expect to have a future together from that moment on, not without ridding our world of the evil of Voldemort.
Of course, we didn’t want to end our kiss, Hermione and I. But we had to. For the moment.
Now I wanted the war to end all the sooner, so I could take her back in my arms and kiss her over and over and over again.
As if in reply, the castle walls started crumbling around us. It was as if they were telling us all to ‘Get a move on!’
Hermione was blushing, and so was I. As our eyes met, I could see it in her gaze, too, that she was not through with me yet, either. I could see that she wanted the same thing I did - to end this war, and end it soon.
And to pick back up where we had just left off.
Those Bloody House Elves - bless them!
Drabble 4
Title: Hot, Hot Heat
Author: ladeida
Rating: R
Warnings: Character death.
Word Count: 104
Mudblood. Useless. Wasteful.
“Avada Kedavra!”
“STOP!”
Draco.
Friend.
Reason.
Sanity.
Draco.
Useless now.
Fight them.
Lose him.
Win.
“Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!”
Pause.
Confusion.
Don’t kill the enemy?
Foolish.
Kill.
Maim.
Win.
“Avada Kedavra!”
No escape.
Not for them.
Hate.
Anger.
FURY.
Need, want:
Power.
Victory.
Greatness.
Reward.
Yearning.
Kill.
Maim.
Win.
“Like it hot, scum?”
Run. Faster. Farther. Longer. Must out run death.
Left. Right. Door?
Dead end.
Hot smoke.
Trapped.
Hot heat.
Burning, biting, blistering creatures.
Panic. Smoke. Blinding.
Burning lungs.
Must run. Faster. Farther. More.
Trapped.
Scream.
Hurt. Burning.
Scorching, boiling, unbearably hot, hot heat.
Skin. Melting.
Fire.
Nothing.
Drabble 5
Title: Incarnate
Author: lady_game
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Book 7 Spoilers, character death
Word Count: 479
You walk into the Great Hall, tired beyond belief and wishing it could all be over. The ache in your legs and arms is nothing compared to the ache in your heart and your head, and it only grows as you look around at the bodies lying prostrate on the table you spent your childhood eating your lunch on, at the empty eyes staring blankly from the benches on which you spent so many happy mornings buttering your toast.
All around you is destruction and grief, voices raised in fear and anguish over lost friends. You hear a sob as someone calls for their mother, and you know that they’re all too young to see the things they have, to do the things they have done. So, so young, a whole generation tainted by war and death, and you imagine that it is one of your sons sobbing, your daughter twirling and dancing surrounded by flashes of deadly light.
At this you stare around in a panic, looking for your family, and a glimpse of bright purple catches your eye. You almost stumble in your disbelief. You know that there is no way the lifeless, pale thing lying so still can be Nymphadora Tonks, any more than the rigid corpse beside it can be her husband. His face, so lined with worry in life, is no more peaceful in death. You turn away from the sight, not knowing what to do, when you catch the first glimpse of your family you have had since the fighting began.
A curtain of silver hair flows gently around Fleur’s head as she enters the hall, the ends tipped in red; Bill walks with a slight limp, wincing at each step. You rush forward towards them and your heart stops. You know there is something wrong; you haven’t seen tears on Bill’s face since before Percy was born. Percy, who has been so recently returned to you and who trails Bill into the hall, Percy, who carries a large bundle in his arms, Percy who carries Fred in his arms, Fred, who is lying so still, Fred no Fred, no, Fred Fred Fred no FRED.
Here is your Boggart incarnate. Here is your worst nightmare, being carried past you so gently and laid so carefully on the table. Here is grief made solid, here is the body of Gideon you were never able to find, the remains of Fabian you were never able to bury, but instead it is your son. This is grief you have never felt, agony that can be surpassed by no one. No one except the one eared boy who has just entered the Hall, who makes no sound but simply crashes to the floor. This is the price you have paid for a chance at freedom, and it is costing you more than you ever could have dreamed.
Drabble 6
Title: The Battle of Hogwarts (A Bridal Portrait)
Author: saraannette
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character death, not-very-graphic violence
Word Count: 438
He always forgets, in the tenuous stretches of quiet, what battles really are. In his memory they become nothing more than the sum of their parts: the clash of two opposing forces, the ugliness and hunger that come with killing. Remus forgets that battles are living things, with voices, great roaring voices, with heaving and noisome breath. With veins that can be opened to spill blood.
But now he is tangled within the beast's grasping fingers, and he can hear its heart beating in time with his own. Now he remembers, now he understands. The flesh twisting on every side of him does not belong to many creatures, but to one, and the duel he now fights-- it could be his fifth of the night, his tenth, his hundredth-- hardly matters. Whether his opponent dies, or Remus himself, it will do nothing to quiet the monster raging all round them.
The Death Eater-- Dolohov, Remus thinks he's called-- fires off a curse, easily blocked. Remus, he raises his own wand, he hears a hex echo within his throat. He tells himself how he is fighting for what is right, but that line only works in moments of peace. Fighting, while you're doing it, just feels like what it is.
***
It has not been so long, really, since her first battle, barely two years. And maybe that is why it is so vivid in her mind, preserved like a flower pressed in a book, the colors only a little dulled. If peace comes-- when it comes, Tonks corrects herself angrily-- she will not let herself forget what battle is: this spinning madness with no center, no unifying thread, only a thousand people scrabbling for their own lives, and scrabbling alone. The night is balmy but there's a coldness in her bones, sharp as the green light that floods her vision as she rounds the corner. And then the coldness spikes through her blood, spills from her mouth: she calls her husband's name, but he has already fallen.
His killer does not pause to gloat: he is a flash of liquid black trailing into the thicker darkness of the hall. As Tonks sets after him, rage unfurls in her throat till she thinks she will choke on it, and a name repeats over and again in her head. It is not Remus, but Teddy. She sprints through desolation toward whatever awaits her, and when she breathes in she can taste death. Her loss blinds her eyes, it sears her lungs: her loss propels her like the pounding of her heart, and it is the only living thing left in the world.
Drabble 7
Title: Love Covers Over a Multitude of Sins
Author: my_quorum
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Word Count: 488
A mother’s love knows no bounds.
She wrung pale, bony hands and looked helplessly to the blonde man beside her. She’d loved him, even felt some vestiges of it lately tugging at a nearly forgotten corner of her heart... but he was a coward, small in his fear.
The waiting nearly drove her mad, every second of it, as if a clock were beating unrelenting time echoing in her mind. It was the uncertainty of the moment, the knowledge that this had gone on longer than even the creature they called Lord had expected.
She knew he wasn’t dead, knew it with every fiber of her being. She’d have known if he’d come to his early, untimely end, silvery-blonde hair spread across the stone steps of the school as they dripped with blood. Even now, in her hour of darkness, she could not imagine a death less than picturesque for her only child.
This was the end.
“I thought he would come,” said her Lord in his jarringly cold, clear, high voice. “I expected him to come.”
Not dead yet. Not dead yet. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“I was, it seems, mistaken.”
“You weren’t.”
Nearly imperceptible, her mother’s ear caught the tremor in his voice, but there was no fear to be found in his eyes. And she was frozen to the spot. This was the end.
Everything happened in such a blur of dreamlike images, cloudy and hazy, the edges smudged. Green eyes, the giant shouting and shaking the earth, and silence such as she’d never heard. And a flash of green - no, not his eyes - and he fell to the ground facedown, crumpling almost gracefully. Still she did not move.
Not dead yet.
“You,” said he, and the crack of the spell followed, intense pain suddenly winding through her lungs, blooming into her veins and yanking a cry of pain from her dry, cracked lips. It came to an immediate halt as her sunken blue eyes lifted to him, away from the body of the boy who had eaten his meals in the same room as her child. “Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.”
Tick. Tock.
She rose on unsteady feet, moving to kneel over him, touching his face, slipping her hands beneath his shirt to rest them on his still-warm chest. Suddenly the ticking of the clock in her mind ceased, because a steady, strong beat pulsed through her fingers.
He was alive.
She bent to his ear, her blonde hair shielding his face, and barely breathed the questions that tormented her. “Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?”
“Yes,” breathed the boy who lived, and she pressed her fingernails into the skin of his chest, letting a long breath out as slowly as she dared as her world filled with light.
Not dead yet.
“He is dead!”
She had chosen her side: neither good nor evil, but love.
Drabble 8
Title: Scarred
Author: mandy_jg
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word Count: 499
I hear them around me, soft voices breaking through my subconscious. I don't hear what they are saying, but I know that tone. It's the same one they use when I broke up with Ron. They pity me.
I don't understand why though, I feel fine. A little sleepy, fine nonetheless. I distinctly remember being thrown from a very high window. The fact that there is no pain, I see as a very good thing. It's all that happened before then that I have the most trouble remembering. Obviously the bump to my head has affected my memory. I must have a concussion? Or maybe amnesia?
"She looks so peaceful, do you think they hurt?"
"Maybe, please be quiet will you? We need to let her rest."
That's Parvati, right by my side. I feel her finger running down the side of my cheek, it feels nice, comforting. Not that I need comforting. I open my eyes finally, and see we are in the other Divination classroom. I'm laying on the soft grass, staring at the sky.
"Lavender!" Parvati exclaims, moving around on the grass to look at me closely. "How are you feeling?"
"I feel fine, honestly," I sigh, sitting up, holding my head as I wobble unsteadily. "Just a little tired, why are we in here?"
She exchanges a glance with Hannah who is beside her, "Well it's not done yet, we had to get you out of the way."
"Out of the way? I hit my head, I feel fine," I pull myself up, leaning against a tree for support. "I just need to get my bearings, and then we are good to go."
Hannah spoke to me quietly, "It's not that simple Lav, maybe you should just wait in here?"
"No! I want to help," I insist, watching them exchange another look. "What is it? What is going on?"
"Show her," Hannah whispers to Parvati.
"Show me what Parvati?!"
"You won't like it, but remember that there are charms, and make-up. Honestly, you won't even see them yourself after a while."
I take the offered mirror from her fingers, holding it to the only place she could mean, my face. Except it's no longer recognisable, with jagged lines running across the skin, miraculously one avoids my eye. My stomach lurches as I look at my face, it shouldn't be mine. I run my finger along the lines, watching it's path in the little mirror. I can feel it, I can see it. It must be true.
"I'm sure when everything quiets down someone will help you, they can't leave you with scars like that. Besides, I saw Ginny's brother before, and you can hardly even see his!"
"Parvati?"
"Yeah Lav?"
"I can live with a few scars," I smile at her softly, taking her hand in mine. "I would much rather do that then not live at all."
Drabble 9
Title: Dark
Author: mossy_jade
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slight allusions to blood and sensuality that some may find slightly disturbing.
Word Count: 459
In one moment, George was transformed. The single moment after Fred died was all it took to change him for better or for worse.
He felt his entire body shatter in agony, his heat being crumpled as half of his brain - the half that had really been Fred’s brain - was ripped without hesitation from his own. It was infinitely more painful than being torn in two by a giant, and George shrieked, clutching at his head as he sank to the ground, howling in all holy agony and knowing, even though Fred was with Ron and Percy and not with him.
His piercing screams drew the attention of Rabastan Lestrange, who immediately barrelled for George, his mask long lost, black robes billowing. And in the fraction of a second in which both Rabastan and George raised their wands, Rabastan towering over George who still knelt on the floor, George met the Death Eater’s eyes.
In that one destructive instant George understood that there was a reason Rabastan was alive when Fred wasn’t, and it had very little to do with skill or who he was fighting for or who he was facing. He and Fred had always been entranced by bright colours and twirling lights and loud explosions. But George glanced into Rabastan’s eyes and saw why he was surviving in this crazy world.
George saw bloodlust, warm red blood flowing from wounds laid bare; rejoiced in its steady stream, sapping away innocent life, drinking in the suffering. He saw a sensual attraction to all things dark, where the shadows wrapped around human flesh, deadly caresses in the night, dancing with evil, teasing its fangs. He saw the unmediated desire for others’ pain, the breathless feeling of heady arousal that the tortured night could bring. He saw things too wretched, too obscene for even the darkness to embrace.
George saw all the raw lust, power and lethal blackness, and saw why this man was still alive. He was a ruthless, sickeningly beautiful destructive force.
All it took was one moment to change George, for him to desire the raw dark power he saw in Rabastan. One point of the wand, two words, the burn of green light, and he had sold his soul to the body that now lay dead on the floor; floors that reeked of childhood and illusions.
George would not live to regret that moment. He would dampen his lust for the darkness, knowing it to be for the best; but he would never forget the rotten-fruit sweetness that came with blood and murder in the closeness of the dark. The longing would always be there. Once the shadows had seduced you, they held a knife to your throat and never let you go.
Drabble 10
Title: Percy
Author: immovinout
Rating: PG
Warnings: Death
Word Count: 201
Fred felt… good. Despite the war. Despite the Death Eaters he was fighting. Despite the carnage going on around him.
Percy was back, and that was great. Percy was back and fighting for Fred’s cause -the Light’s cause- along side him. He hadn’t felt that close to a brother (other then George) since he was five and all the Wealsey boys could read each others minds.
Fred had that back. That feeling of sharing every thought with an other person. So, it felt good to fire curses, jinxes, hexes and charms at his attackers and Percy’s. They worked together seamlessly. Fred and Percy against the world. Who would have thought?
And Fred couldn’t have been happier.
“Hello, Minister.” Percy said. Fred shot a jinx at a Death Eater. “Did I mention that I’m resigning?”
“You’re joking, Perce!” Fred laughed. He pretended to be shocked. Percy smiled and Fred grinned back. “You actually are joking Perce… I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were-”
A loud explosion cut Fred off and the last thing he saw was a Death Eater. The last thing he heard was his own laughter. And the last thing he felt was his connection with Percy.
Drabble 11
Title: Into the Dark
Author: that_september
Rating: PG
Warnings: Canon character death.
Word Count: 254
Students’ ragged screams echoed in her ears, red and green and white streaks of light blazed past her, her left arm was dangling, broken, useless, at her side-and Remus was dead.
He lay flat on his back, eyes staring unseeingly at the Great Hall’s starry ceiling, his wand still resting in his palm. Tonks was numbly aware of the trickle of blood running down his cheek, of the clean rip in his robes, the way his legs splayed in impossible directions.
The world crumbled around her as Minerva’s Stunner mixed with a Death Eater’s Avada Kerdava, the wall right in front of her exploding, showering stone and dust everywhere. Somebody shoved past Tonks with a sharp elbow to her ribs, the metallic taste of her own blood filled her mouth, she could see the full moon, bright and sad and wrong, looming above the chaos outside the gaping hole in the wall-and Remus was dead.
One foot in front of the other, one painful, traitorous breath at a time, she made her way to him. Her knees hit the ground first, her upper-body pitching forward painfully, her wand slipping from her grasp. Her hand found his lifeless one, clenched down upon it with absolute desperation.
Dimly, Tonks was aware that she was screaming.
The battle around her swelled, a little girl was crying out for her mother, Tonks was still screaming, Bellatrix LeStrange had stepped up behind her, wrenched her wand high, spat out a triumphant Avada Kerdava!-and Remus was dead.
Drabble 12
Title: True
Author: i_claudia
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word Count: 461
He hadn’t noticed when Harry disappeared; he’d been sent reeling again by the sight of Fred laid out on the floor, looking pale, small and distant. It only took one look at the faces of his family to know that the world had shifted, shattered irrevocably, and he wasn’t sure they could ever put it together again. He reached out blindly, and Hermione was there, slipping her hand into his and giving a small squeeze.
McGonagall put them to work piling rubble, filling in the windows and the gaping holes. Ron worked mechanically, heaving the familiar stone up onto steadily growing piles, his mind distant. He stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat off his forehead, steadfastly ignoring the still forms on the floor as he looked around. Something was off, he thought, something wasn’t right, and his heart clenched again as realization dawned.
“Hermione,” he muttered quietly, trying to keep his voice level. “Have you seen Harry?”
Hermione looked around, her eyes growing wide. “He must be around here somewhere,” she replied, but he could hear the fear in her voice.
“Neville!” Ron called, seeing the familiar brown head crouching just outside the Great Hall. “Have you seen Harry?”
Neville stood up, dusting off his hands and walking toward them. “Not too long ago,” he told Ron and Hermione, but he sounded worried, pensive. “He said he might be out of sight for a while, though.”
Ron exchanged a look with Hermione. “He wouldn’t,” Hermione whispered. “Not without… not without telling us.” Ron nodded, refusing to pay attention to the visions his imagination was supplying. Hermione was right. Harry wouldn’t do anything stupid, not without telling them. They were a unit, a team… they did things together.
He strained to see outside, past the light and into the darkness. Harry was here, somewhere in the castle, he had to be. They just hadn’t looked hard enough.
When the voice came of the darkness, he wanted to laugh. Did Voldemort really think he could bluff them like that? Oh please, he thought, does he really think we’ll believe Harry bloody Potter actually gave himself up?
Not until he heard McGonagall’s scream, not until he saw the pale, limp doll in Hagrid’s arms, did reality come crashing down around him. His ears roared, and the world rushed up at him. His knees lurched, then, without thinking, he was running, pelting down the lawn. He felt Hermione’s hand still in his own, and fresh defiance flared up in him, filling the yawning void in his chest.
Harry wasn’t gone, he knew. Harry had trusted him, saved him. Harry lived on inside him, and as he yelled his rebellion out, voice ringing out above the rest, he knew Harry would never be gone.
Drabble 13
Title: Like Smoke Does To Clay
Author: ifanciful
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word Count: 499
Lily Potter couldn’t help but believe in this yawning, grinning thing which twined through everything, forming chains forged by fate to fetter them all. This was prophecy, and it swung like a trapeze artist, clanking noisily like the ticking of an impatient clock that only needed one sharp clink to swallow her whole.
She wouldn’t be resentful, though, when this would save them all.
The four of them waited in that other realm, their arms acting as warmer bindings thrown tightly around each other, and when she felt the Portkey-like tug in her gut, she knew what it meant because a pair of starry, blue eyes had once accompanied the words:
“You can do but one more thing for him.”
Of course she would do it - would do anything - but not because it was her duty to the world or the prophecy, but because it was her yearning as a mother.
Lily greeted her son not so unlike she had greeted the others that night: Remus who had elicited exalted shouts brimful with laughter from James and Sirius; and Severus whose cheek she’d kissed as she told him he’d never looked so clean, meaning many things by it.
None of that mattered, though, not compared to this, and she would have scorned all else for this chance. Lily washed out into the forest, leaving everything behind but her joy, heartache, and pride as she pushed toward the burning green eyes that resembled her own. Searching her son's face, her bones ached for the chance to run her hands over it, erasing the lost years reflected there, and it took everything she was not to shatter with the thoughts of what Harry must now go through.
“You’ve been so brave,” Lily told him, watching him absorb it hungrily. She saw his sad, grateful face brush his fear into shadowed contours around his profile and yearned to take his place as the prophecy yanked on chains stronger than steel, making them walk on.
It wasn’t long before she was wrenched from him once more, sucked back into a separate realm, but Lily stood tall, the way she knew Harry would when he faced the Dark Lord. She was still standing when Albus was there moments later, telling her Harry’s fight would continue, but only for a bit longer, and then he would be the Wizarding world’s hero.
It was then that she finally wept; she’d never been so proud.
It would take 150 years before Lily would speak with her son again, him looking sheepish because it was a simple spell gone wrong that did it, but he’d laugh with joy as she would hold him like she’d not been able to do since his body was no bigger than a dragon’s egg.
Her hands would shake when she was finally able to caress his face, because she’d then understand that no matter what seething thing prophecy was, compared to that moment, it’d suddenly feel like smoke does to clay.
Poll Round 4, Challenge 3: The Final Battle
notgold
foreversilence
Please note that if you did not turn a drabble, you've been disqualified and will be banned from participating in round 5.
The rules for voting are as follows:
1. The drabbles are rated up to R. If you are under the age of 17, proceed no further.
2. Read with an open mind, and vote fairly. Please try to remember that the length and pairing of a drabble should not affect your judgment of its quality.
3. Contestants are not allowed to vote for themselves. If you vote for yourself, your vote will not be counted.
4. You're free to post about this competition on your personal journal, but do not tell your friends which drabble you wrote. It's unfair to your own writing abilities and to the other participants.
5. Voting will remain open until Sunday at noon EST.
Drabble 1
Title: The Saint
Author: eerisedda
Rating: R
Warnings: language, DH spoilers
Word Count: 420
Dead. Potter was dead.
That’s all Draco could think as the world around him shattered. Potter, the hero; Potter, the one who always won, no matter what the odds, was dead.
Draco hadn’t really liked him. Not really.
Sure, he’d wanted Potter’s friendship in the beginning; sure he’d been a bit obsessive in his determination to bring Potter down, to make Potter see that he’d made a mistake, but he hadn’t liked him.
But that didn’t mean he wanted him dead. He might have said as much once upon a time, he might have boasted that the Dark Lord would win, but… he’d never believed it. Potter always won and always would win.
He didn’t believe it, in fact. He had to see it to believe it, because Potter was… well, he was Potter. He didn’t just up and die. He didn’t try to flee from danger and he didn’t abandon his friends.
The crowd was screaming and Voldemort’s voice was ringing in Draco’s ears, triumphant and foreboding, a death knell bringing the end of all hope. Still, Draco didn’t think he could believe it. The Dark Lord promised so many things, said so many things and none of that was ever true. Why should this be any different?
It was. Draco laughed, or cried, or both. He wasn’t sure. He felt desperate. This couldn’t be. He’d saved Potter’s life at the Manor in his own subtle way. Potter had escaped. He’d bloody well gotten out, only to walk to his own fucking death and leave everyone at a madman’s mercy.
Draco thought, maybe because a part of him had always wanted Potter, always wanted some kind of acknowledgment from him, always just wanted something from him, that it was a shame he’d died because now Draco really wouldn’t have that chance.
It was a stupid thought. Potter’s death meant a lot more than that. It meant the world was completely and utterly fucked and what would they do in a world ruled by the Dark Lord?
Draco didn’t have an answer. He couldn’t actually think, his eyes glued to the body in Hagrid’s arms, limp and sorrowful, and Draco thought, wouldn’t it be funny if Potter did something completely impossible like come back to life?
His eyes followed the giant’s progress, his vision blurring around the edges and making Potter’s form look oddly ethereal. Draco thought he looked liked a true saint in that moment. He smiled sadly and couldn’t help thinking, Saint Potter.
Then all hell broke loose.
Drabble 2
Title: Dead Inside, I Stand Up
Author: savepureness
Rating: PG
Warnings: (none)
Word Count: 303
It burns; it flows, it flows, it burns. The taste of madness grabs her throat, her eyes are tainted by flickering darkness. For the first time in her life - a life spent in love and devotion, wasted, she thinks - she’s ready to fight tooth and claw; arms stretched wide, trembling fingers clutching the wand like it’s the last remnant of a dying past, Molly waits. Now, she’s the hunter. Eyes half closed, narrowly filtering the light, dry lips cracking over memories.
It burns; it flows at its turn, swirling in circles; a dance of images, of sounds and scents that wouldn’t fade. She wouldn’t let them. Inner sight, flaring nostrils, dry lips - all desperately grasping the last touches, the last high-pitched laughter and mischievous blinks. Memento mori, Molly swallows; it’s now or never, she knows. The fiend dances before her eyes, swishing and flickering, hopping and ducking, tapping on a silent, morbid tune. Dark eyes - so hollow, dark clothes concealing a darker soul; at this very moment, she hates every inch of Bellatrix Lestrange. She hates her with a passion, with the heat of her boiling blood, by the bitter biting of her lower lip; she hates it by the last memory of her dead son, his eyes reflecting the candle lights.
It burns; it flows, it flows, it burns. It’s the taste of hatred, the flame of revenge. It grabs her right arm, stretching it by will. Molly swallows, remembering an ancient saying; revenge is a dish best served cold. As the fiend jumps again, almost gracious in her sinuous movement, she’s not aware it will be her last. Cracking lips pressed together, eyes as empty as his will always be, Molly holds her hand steady; the fire within suffocates under the cold touch. I’m dead inside, she thinks.
Then she strikes.
Drabble 3
Title: The Moment
Author: ronhermione33
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None
Word Count: 375
Those damn house elves. Honestly, I’d have gotten on their band wagon loads sooner if I’d known Hermione would’ve rewarded me like this.
And what a reward!
At first, I thought she was attacking me again - until I felt her arms around me and not pummeling me. Bloody hell, and then she kissed me. Not just some little peck, but full on the mouth. And her body pressed against mine - Merlin’s pants! It was at this point that I threw down my broomstick and those basilisk’s fangs and lifted her quite off her feet. Did I say her body was pressed into mine? Quite literally Heaven.
But her lips - her kiss! Nothing like snogging with Lavender. I don’t think I’ve tasted anything sweeter, ever, not any one thing in Honeyduke’s, nor anything mum ever made (and mum can cook, let me tell you!) I could have died in that moment and died a happy man.
How long did we stand there, swaying on the spot, her soft body melded quite perfectly against mine? I don’t know - I reckon it was just a few moments, really, but what a few moments it was. Life-altering.
Harry had to remind us we still had a war to fight - a battle to win. He was right, of course, for we couldn’t dare expect to have a future together from that moment on, not without ridding our world of the evil of Voldemort.
Of course, we didn’t want to end our kiss, Hermione and I. But we had to. For the moment.
Now I wanted the war to end all the sooner, so I could take her back in my arms and kiss her over and over and over again.
As if in reply, the castle walls started crumbling around us. It was as if they were telling us all to ‘Get a move on!’
Hermione was blushing, and so was I. As our eyes met, I could see it in her gaze, too, that she was not through with me yet, either. I could see that she wanted the same thing I did - to end this war, and end it soon.
And to pick back up where we had just left off.
Those Bloody House Elves - bless them!
Drabble 4
Title: Hot, Hot Heat
Author: ladeida
Rating: R
Warnings: Character death.
Word Count: 104
Mudblood. Useless. Wasteful.
“Avada Kedavra!”
“STOP!”
Draco.
Friend.
Reason.
Sanity.
Draco.
Useless now.
Fight them.
Lose him.
Win.
“Don’t kill him! DON’T KILL HIM!”
Pause.
Confusion.
Don’t kill the enemy?
Foolish.
Kill.
Maim.
Win.
“Avada Kedavra!”
No escape.
Not for them.
Hate.
Anger.
FURY.
Need, want:
Power.
Victory.
Greatness.
Reward.
Yearning.
Kill.
Maim.
Win.
“Like it hot, scum?”
Run. Faster. Farther. Longer. Must out run death.
Left. Right. Door?
Dead end.
Hot smoke.
Trapped.
Hot heat.
Burning, biting, blistering creatures.
Panic. Smoke. Blinding.
Burning lungs.
Must run. Faster. Farther. More.
Trapped.
Scream.
Hurt. Burning.
Scorching, boiling, unbearably hot, hot heat.
Skin. Melting.
Fire.
Nothing.
Drabble 5
Title: Incarnate
Author: lady_game
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Book 7 Spoilers, character death
Word Count: 479
You walk into the Great Hall, tired beyond belief and wishing it could all be over. The ache in your legs and arms is nothing compared to the ache in your heart and your head, and it only grows as you look around at the bodies lying prostrate on the table you spent your childhood eating your lunch on, at the empty eyes staring blankly from the benches on which you spent so many happy mornings buttering your toast.
All around you is destruction and grief, voices raised in fear and anguish over lost friends. You hear a sob as someone calls for their mother, and you know that they’re all too young to see the things they have, to do the things they have done. So, so young, a whole generation tainted by war and death, and you imagine that it is one of your sons sobbing, your daughter twirling and dancing surrounded by flashes of deadly light.
At this you stare around in a panic, looking for your family, and a glimpse of bright purple catches your eye. You almost stumble in your disbelief. You know that there is no way the lifeless, pale thing lying so still can be Nymphadora Tonks, any more than the rigid corpse beside it can be her husband. His face, so lined with worry in life, is no more peaceful in death. You turn away from the sight, not knowing what to do, when you catch the first glimpse of your family you have had since the fighting began.
A curtain of silver hair flows gently around Fleur’s head as she enters the hall, the ends tipped in red; Bill walks with a slight limp, wincing at each step. You rush forward towards them and your heart stops. You know there is something wrong; you haven’t seen tears on Bill’s face since before Percy was born. Percy, who has been so recently returned to you and who trails Bill into the hall, Percy, who carries a large bundle in his arms, Percy who carries Fred in his arms, Fred, who is lying so still, Fred no Fred, no, Fred Fred Fred no FRED.
Here is your Boggart incarnate. Here is your worst nightmare, being carried past you so gently and laid so carefully on the table. Here is grief made solid, here is the body of Gideon you were never able to find, the remains of Fabian you were never able to bury, but instead it is your son. This is grief you have never felt, agony that can be surpassed by no one. No one except the one eared boy who has just entered the Hall, who makes no sound but simply crashes to the floor. This is the price you have paid for a chance at freedom, and it is costing you more than you ever could have dreamed.
Drabble 6
Title: The Battle of Hogwarts (A Bridal Portrait)
Author: saraannette
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Character death, not-very-graphic violence
Word Count: 438
He always forgets, in the tenuous stretches of quiet, what battles really are. In his memory they become nothing more than the sum of their parts: the clash of two opposing forces, the ugliness and hunger that come with killing. Remus forgets that battles are living things, with voices, great roaring voices, with heaving and noisome breath. With veins that can be opened to spill blood.
But now he is tangled within the beast's grasping fingers, and he can hear its heart beating in time with his own. Now he remembers, now he understands. The flesh twisting on every side of him does not belong to many creatures, but to one, and the duel he now fights-- it could be his fifth of the night, his tenth, his hundredth-- hardly matters. Whether his opponent dies, or Remus himself, it will do nothing to quiet the monster raging all round them.
The Death Eater-- Dolohov, Remus thinks he's called-- fires off a curse, easily blocked. Remus, he raises his own wand, he hears a hex echo within his throat. He tells himself how he is fighting for what is right, but that line only works in moments of peace. Fighting, while you're doing it, just feels like what it is.
***
It has not been so long, really, since her first battle, barely two years. And maybe that is why it is so vivid in her mind, preserved like a flower pressed in a book, the colors only a little dulled. If peace comes-- when it comes, Tonks corrects herself angrily-- she will not let herself forget what battle is: this spinning madness with no center, no unifying thread, only a thousand people scrabbling for their own lives, and scrabbling alone. The night is balmy but there's a coldness in her bones, sharp as the green light that floods her vision as she rounds the corner. And then the coldness spikes through her blood, spills from her mouth: she calls her husband's name, but he has already fallen.
His killer does not pause to gloat: he is a flash of liquid black trailing into the thicker darkness of the hall. As Tonks sets after him, rage unfurls in her throat till she thinks she will choke on it, and a name repeats over and again in her head. It is not Remus, but Teddy. She sprints through desolation toward whatever awaits her, and when she breathes in she can taste death. Her loss blinds her eyes, it sears her lungs: her loss propels her like the pounding of her heart, and it is the only living thing left in the world.
Drabble 7
Title: Love Covers Over a Multitude of Sins
Author: my_quorum
Rating: G
Warnings: none
Word Count: 488
A mother’s love knows no bounds.
She wrung pale, bony hands and looked helplessly to the blonde man beside her. She’d loved him, even felt some vestiges of it lately tugging at a nearly forgotten corner of her heart... but he was a coward, small in his fear.
The waiting nearly drove her mad, every second of it, as if a clock were beating unrelenting time echoing in her mind. It was the uncertainty of the moment, the knowledge that this had gone on longer than even the creature they called Lord had expected.
She knew he wasn’t dead, knew it with every fiber of her being. She’d have known if he’d come to his early, untimely end, silvery-blonde hair spread across the stone steps of the school as they dripped with blood. Even now, in her hour of darkness, she could not imagine a death less than picturesque for her only child.
This was the end.
“I thought he would come,” said her Lord in his jarringly cold, clear, high voice. “I expected him to come.”
Not dead yet. Not dead yet. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.
“I was, it seems, mistaken.”
“You weren’t.”
Nearly imperceptible, her mother’s ear caught the tremor in his voice, but there was no fear to be found in his eyes. And she was frozen to the spot. This was the end.
Everything happened in such a blur of dreamlike images, cloudy and hazy, the edges smudged. Green eyes, the giant shouting and shaking the earth, and silence such as she’d never heard. And a flash of green - no, not his eyes - and he fell to the ground facedown, crumpling almost gracefully. Still she did not move.
Not dead yet.
“You,” said he, and the crack of the spell followed, intense pain suddenly winding through her lungs, blooming into her veins and yanking a cry of pain from her dry, cracked lips. It came to an immediate halt as her sunken blue eyes lifted to him, away from the body of the boy who had eaten his meals in the same room as her child. “Examine him. Tell me whether he is dead.”
Tick. Tock.
She rose on unsteady feet, moving to kneel over him, touching his face, slipping her hands beneath his shirt to rest them on his still-warm chest. Suddenly the ticking of the clock in her mind ceased, because a steady, strong beat pulsed through her fingers.
He was alive.
She bent to his ear, her blonde hair shielding his face, and barely breathed the questions that tormented her. “Is Draco alive? Is he in the castle?”
“Yes,” breathed the boy who lived, and she pressed her fingernails into the skin of his chest, letting a long breath out as slowly as she dared as her world filled with light.
Not dead yet.
“He is dead!”
She had chosen her side: neither good nor evil, but love.
Drabble 8
Title: Scarred
Author: mandy_jg
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word Count: 499
I hear them around me, soft voices breaking through my subconscious. I don't hear what they are saying, but I know that tone. It's the same one they use when I broke up with Ron. They pity me.
I don't understand why though, I feel fine. A little sleepy, fine nonetheless. I distinctly remember being thrown from a very high window. The fact that there is no pain, I see as a very good thing. It's all that happened before then that I have the most trouble remembering. Obviously the bump to my head has affected my memory. I must have a concussion? Or maybe amnesia?
"She looks so peaceful, do you think they hurt?"
"Maybe, please be quiet will you? We need to let her rest."
That's Parvati, right by my side. I feel her finger running down the side of my cheek, it feels nice, comforting. Not that I need comforting. I open my eyes finally, and see we are in the other Divination classroom. I'm laying on the soft grass, staring at the sky.
"Lavender!" Parvati exclaims, moving around on the grass to look at me closely. "How are you feeling?"
"I feel fine, honestly," I sigh, sitting up, holding my head as I wobble unsteadily. "Just a little tired, why are we in here?"
She exchanges a glance with Hannah who is beside her, "Well it's not done yet, we had to get you out of the way."
"Out of the way? I hit my head, I feel fine," I pull myself up, leaning against a tree for support. "I just need to get my bearings, and then we are good to go."
Hannah spoke to me quietly, "It's not that simple Lav, maybe you should just wait in here?"
"No! I want to help," I insist, watching them exchange another look. "What is it? What is going on?"
"Show her," Hannah whispers to Parvati.
"Show me what Parvati?!"
"You won't like it, but remember that there are charms, and make-up. Honestly, you won't even see them yourself after a while."
I take the offered mirror from her fingers, holding it to the only place she could mean, my face. Except it's no longer recognisable, with jagged lines running across the skin, miraculously one avoids my eye. My stomach lurches as I look at my face, it shouldn't be mine. I run my finger along the lines, watching it's path in the little mirror. I can feel it, I can see it. It must be true.
"I'm sure when everything quiets down someone will help you, they can't leave you with scars like that. Besides, I saw Ginny's brother before, and you can hardly even see his!"
"Parvati?"
"Yeah Lav?"
"I can live with a few scars," I smile at her softly, taking her hand in mine. "I would much rather do that then not live at all."
Drabble 9
Title: Dark
Author: mossy_jade
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: Slight allusions to blood and sensuality that some may find slightly disturbing.
Word Count: 459
In one moment, George was transformed. The single moment after Fred died was all it took to change him for better or for worse.
He felt his entire body shatter in agony, his heat being crumpled as half of his brain - the half that had really been Fred’s brain - was ripped without hesitation from his own. It was infinitely more painful than being torn in two by a giant, and George shrieked, clutching at his head as he sank to the ground, howling in all holy agony and knowing, even though Fred was with Ron and Percy and not with him.
His piercing screams drew the attention of Rabastan Lestrange, who immediately barrelled for George, his mask long lost, black robes billowing. And in the fraction of a second in which both Rabastan and George raised their wands, Rabastan towering over George who still knelt on the floor, George met the Death Eater’s eyes.
In that one destructive instant George understood that there was a reason Rabastan was alive when Fred wasn’t, and it had very little to do with skill or who he was fighting for or who he was facing. He and Fred had always been entranced by bright colours and twirling lights and loud explosions. But George glanced into Rabastan’s eyes and saw why he was surviving in this crazy world.
George saw bloodlust, warm red blood flowing from wounds laid bare; rejoiced in its steady stream, sapping away innocent life, drinking in the suffering. He saw a sensual attraction to all things dark, where the shadows wrapped around human flesh, deadly caresses in the night, dancing with evil, teasing its fangs. He saw the unmediated desire for others’ pain, the breathless feeling of heady arousal that the tortured night could bring. He saw things too wretched, too obscene for even the darkness to embrace.
George saw all the raw lust, power and lethal blackness, and saw why this man was still alive. He was a ruthless, sickeningly beautiful destructive force.
All it took was one moment to change George, for him to desire the raw dark power he saw in Rabastan. One point of the wand, two words, the burn of green light, and he had sold his soul to the body that now lay dead on the floor; floors that reeked of childhood and illusions.
George would not live to regret that moment. He would dampen his lust for the darkness, knowing it to be for the best; but he would never forget the rotten-fruit sweetness that came with blood and murder in the closeness of the dark. The longing would always be there. Once the shadows had seduced you, they held a knife to your throat and never let you go.
Drabble 10
Title: Percy
Author: immovinout
Rating: PG
Warnings: Death
Word Count: 201
Fred felt… good. Despite the war. Despite the Death Eaters he was fighting. Despite the carnage going on around him.
Percy was back, and that was great. Percy was back and fighting for Fred’s cause -the Light’s cause- along side him. He hadn’t felt that close to a brother (other then George) since he was five and all the Wealsey boys could read each others minds.
Fred had that back. That feeling of sharing every thought with an other person. So, it felt good to fire curses, jinxes, hexes and charms at his attackers and Percy’s. They worked together seamlessly. Fred and Percy against the world. Who would have thought?
And Fred couldn’t have been happier.
“Hello, Minister.” Percy said. Fred shot a jinx at a Death Eater. “Did I mention that I’m resigning?”
“You’re joking, Perce!” Fred laughed. He pretended to be shocked. Percy smiled and Fred grinned back. “You actually are joking Perce… I don’t think I’ve heard you joke since you were-”
A loud explosion cut Fred off and the last thing he saw was a Death Eater. The last thing he heard was his own laughter. And the last thing he felt was his connection with Percy.
Drabble 11
Title: Into the Dark
Author: that_september
Rating: PG
Warnings: Canon character death.
Word Count: 254
Students’ ragged screams echoed in her ears, red and green and white streaks of light blazed past her, her left arm was dangling, broken, useless, at her side-and Remus was dead.
He lay flat on his back, eyes staring unseeingly at the Great Hall’s starry ceiling, his wand still resting in his palm. Tonks was numbly aware of the trickle of blood running down his cheek, of the clean rip in his robes, the way his legs splayed in impossible directions.
The world crumbled around her as Minerva’s Stunner mixed with a Death Eater’s Avada Kerdava, the wall right in front of her exploding, showering stone and dust everywhere. Somebody shoved past Tonks with a sharp elbow to her ribs, the metallic taste of her own blood filled her mouth, she could see the full moon, bright and sad and wrong, looming above the chaos outside the gaping hole in the wall-and Remus was dead.
One foot in front of the other, one painful, traitorous breath at a time, she made her way to him. Her knees hit the ground first, her upper-body pitching forward painfully, her wand slipping from her grasp. Her hand found his lifeless one, clenched down upon it with absolute desperation.
Dimly, Tonks was aware that she was screaming.
The battle around her swelled, a little girl was crying out for her mother, Tonks was still screaming, Bellatrix LeStrange had stepped up behind her, wrenched her wand high, spat out a triumphant Avada Kerdava!-and Remus was dead.
Drabble 12
Title: True
Author: i_claudia
Rating: PG
Warnings: none
Word Count: 461
He hadn’t noticed when Harry disappeared; he’d been sent reeling again by the sight of Fred laid out on the floor, looking pale, small and distant. It only took one look at the faces of his family to know that the world had shifted, shattered irrevocably, and he wasn’t sure they could ever put it together again. He reached out blindly, and Hermione was there, slipping her hand into his and giving a small squeeze.
McGonagall put them to work piling rubble, filling in the windows and the gaping holes. Ron worked mechanically, heaving the familiar stone up onto steadily growing piles, his mind distant. He stopped for a moment to wipe the sweat off his forehead, steadfastly ignoring the still forms on the floor as he looked around. Something was off, he thought, something wasn’t right, and his heart clenched again as realization dawned.
“Hermione,” he muttered quietly, trying to keep his voice level. “Have you seen Harry?”
Hermione looked around, her eyes growing wide. “He must be around here somewhere,” she replied, but he could hear the fear in her voice.
“Neville!” Ron called, seeing the familiar brown head crouching just outside the Great Hall. “Have you seen Harry?”
Neville stood up, dusting off his hands and walking toward them. “Not too long ago,” he told Ron and Hermione, but he sounded worried, pensive. “He said he might be out of sight for a while, though.”
Ron exchanged a look with Hermione. “He wouldn’t,” Hermione whispered. “Not without… not without telling us.” Ron nodded, refusing to pay attention to the visions his imagination was supplying. Hermione was right. Harry wouldn’t do anything stupid, not without telling them. They were a unit, a team… they did things together.
He strained to see outside, past the light and into the darkness. Harry was here, somewhere in the castle, he had to be. They just hadn’t looked hard enough.
When the voice came of the darkness, he wanted to laugh. Did Voldemort really think he could bluff them like that? Oh please, he thought, does he really think we’ll believe Harry bloody Potter actually gave himself up?
Not until he heard McGonagall’s scream, not until he saw the pale, limp doll in Hagrid’s arms, did reality come crashing down around him. His ears roared, and the world rushed up at him. His knees lurched, then, without thinking, he was running, pelting down the lawn. He felt Hermione’s hand still in his own, and fresh defiance flared up in him, filling the yawning void in his chest.
Harry wasn’t gone, he knew. Harry had trusted him, saved him. Harry lived on inside him, and as he yelled his rebellion out, voice ringing out above the rest, he knew Harry would never be gone.
Drabble 13
Title: Like Smoke Does To Clay
Author: ifanciful
Rating: G
Warnings: None
Word Count: 499
Lily Potter couldn’t help but believe in this yawning, grinning thing which twined through everything, forming chains forged by fate to fetter them all. This was prophecy, and it swung like a trapeze artist, clanking noisily like the ticking of an impatient clock that only needed one sharp clink to swallow her whole.
She wouldn’t be resentful, though, when this would save them all.
The four of them waited in that other realm, their arms acting as warmer bindings thrown tightly around each other, and when she felt the Portkey-like tug in her gut, she knew what it meant because a pair of starry, blue eyes had once accompanied the words:
“You can do but one more thing for him.”
Of course she would do it - would do anything - but not because it was her duty to the world or the prophecy, but because it was her yearning as a mother.
Lily greeted her son not so unlike she had greeted the others that night: Remus who had elicited exalted shouts brimful with laughter from James and Sirius; and Severus whose cheek she’d kissed as she told him he’d never looked so clean, meaning many things by it.
None of that mattered, though, not compared to this, and she would have scorned all else for this chance. Lily washed out into the forest, leaving everything behind but her joy, heartache, and pride as she pushed toward the burning green eyes that resembled her own. Searching her son's face, her bones ached for the chance to run her hands over it, erasing the lost years reflected there, and it took everything she was not to shatter with the thoughts of what Harry must now go through.
“You’ve been so brave,” Lily told him, watching him absorb it hungrily. She saw his sad, grateful face brush his fear into shadowed contours around his profile and yearned to take his place as the prophecy yanked on chains stronger than steel, making them walk on.
It wasn’t long before she was wrenched from him once more, sucked back into a separate realm, but Lily stood tall, the way she knew Harry would when he faced the Dark Lord. She was still standing when Albus was there moments later, telling her Harry’s fight would continue, but only for a bit longer, and then he would be the Wizarding world’s hero.
It was then that she finally wept; she’d never been so proud.
It would take 150 years before Lily would speak with her son again, him looking sheepish because it was a simple spell gone wrong that did it, but he’d laugh with joy as she would hold him like she’d not been able to do since his body was no bigger than a dragon’s egg.
Her hands would shake when she was finally able to caress his face, because she’d then understand that no matter what seething thing prophecy was, compared to that moment, it’d suddenly feel like smoke does to clay.
Poll Round 4, Challenge 3: The Final Battle