Motivations
Death (or fear of it, really). That was his motivator. “Please don’t let me die this time. Please don’t let me die,” was his ever present mantra. Evan had never been meant for the front lines of battle. He was meant for subterfuge and shadows and things it seemed the Death Eaters lacked. He just wanted to keep living. He could come back broken and bloody, torn up and shaking…just so long as he was alive. So when he found himself faced with the reality of his death, all he could do was laugh and shoot spells at the other side, hoping to Merlin he would make it out.
This time the mantra died on his lips as he felt a spell hit him hard in the stomach. He flew backwards and onto the ground, warmth spreading over his torso and bubbling over his lips. This time he knew there was no coming back. He was alone in the middle of a field of Aurors and he was going to die.
One of the Aurors, he thought perhaps Moody, leaned over him. Last wishes, he supposed. The only thing he could think to do was chuckle softly and say, “Tell Severus I'm afraid I won't be home for supper." he let out a breathy laugh, shortly followed by a fit of coughing. "Got in a bit of an accident, you see.” Another laugh, a shaky breath and he was gone, unaware of the almost unnoticeable flicker of pain that passed over Moody's features.