Untitled ficlet
I was in a pensive mood.
Quick ficlet about a losing war. Ron's team is trapped, their options limited, their loyalty to the secrets of the Order firm. A bit open-ended and raw. Minor off-screen character death warning, tho it's one of my favorites so I had a hard time doing it.
This isn't all that good, but I'm fond of some of my descriptors *nods*
The night was crisp, the harvest moon round and gold and picture perfect for autumn, and Lee prowled the den with the restless energy of a caged graphorn.
The fire in the hearth made the room falsely cozy, and the front bow window was cold, condensed droplets framing the pane, the orange glow of the moonlight making Draco Malfoy’s face deceptively warm as he stared up at the dilapidated house. Inviting.
The rhythmic creak of the floorboards as Lee paced wasn’t as soothing as it should have been, and Ron stood at the window - fireplace hot on his back, grinning Malfoy at his front, dread settling lukewarm in his belly. There were shifting shadows, moving black hulks flickering in and out of the semi-bare branches, wand-tips flaring with brief confidence, harsh barks of laughter spiraling up towards the second story like smoke.
“We’re surrounded,” Ron said finally, voice thick, husky in his throat. He felt like he’d been silent for days.
Only Neville answered him, a tired sniff.
A glance over his shoulder showed Pansy, eyes bruised, sitting stiff-backed and regal on the room’s only chair. Neville was as far from the flames as he could manage, head bowed as he leant against the back wall, faded flower wallpaper peeling around him.
Lee cracked his knuckles and smiled, just as wide as Malfoy’s, but with a desperate, sharp edge to it. “Well, then. Who’s first?”
Pansy visibly tightened her grip on the fold of her robes, lips pale, but didn’t say a word.
Ron shook his head. “We’re staying as we are, Lee. The night’s already half over and Harry-”
“Isn’t coming,” Neville said firmly.
A tired hand scrubbed over his short red hair. “You can’t know that, Nev.”
“We all know it, Ron.” His tone was quiet, face still hidden by the fall of his fringe over his bent head. “They can’t spare the manpower, and we’ve already lost Terry.”
An automatic protest rose to Ron’s lips, but he bit back the words. Once, he would’ve been solidly certain that Harry would do anything wizardly possible to rescue his best mate. Now, he couldn’t even be sure that Harry knew they’d been cornered, and even if he did know, it might not have made any difference. A team of five, now four, wasn’t anything in the depths of a losing war.
“We’re sitting ducks,” Lee said. “I’ll,” he swallowed, bouncing nervously on his feet. “I’ll go last, all right?”
“No one’s going last! I-” Ron froze, ears pricked. “Did you hear that?”
“Weasley,” Pansy whispered, dark eyes round. “Ron. Ron, we have to do this.”
He clenched his jaw. “I’m not giving up. They can’t get in, can they? So it’s only a matter of-”
A spray of pebbles hit the window.
“Ignore it,” Ron said.
“Weasley.” His name floated up like a howl on the wind, and Ron’s eyes fell closed, hands curling into loose fists.
“Ignore it,” he repeated.
Pansy was pale, breath thready, and she got to her feet, slipping out her wand. “We can’t.”
Ron wasn’t entirely sure how the Death Eaters had traced them there to begin with. It was a Muggle house originally, set up as a halfway for Order transients, the steadily weakening force against Dark Magic. A fortress, really, locked off from the Floo network, unplottable, warded, and completely useless once discovered. Anti-apparation shields kept them shut up in a cage of their own making, and the wards themselves were only as strong as they could make them. They compounded on magical imprints which left the place virtually asleep when unoccupied.
But they were all tired, strung-out. They’d lost Terry. Pansy had Slytherin-honed steel in her spine, but she had her limits. Neville was burned badly, Ron knew, even though he hadn’t said much beyond the original hiss of pain.
“Weasley.”
“We’re going to have to drop the wards,” Ron said finally, letting a tattered curtain half cover the window, mentally blocking out Draco’s taunting call. “Pansy, I want you and Nev to Apparate to the nearest safe-point-”
“I’m not leaving Terry,” Pansy growled, the first sign of bite in her tone since Boot had fallen.
“He’s. He’s dead, Pansy.” The words felt wrong in his mouth.
She tipped her pug nose in the air. “I’m not leaving him.”
“You can’t stay. You can’t stay and you can’t-”
“I’ll take him,” Neville offered, finally pushing away from the wall.
“Nev, you’re injured.” It was obvious that he was barely holding himself up, shaky on his feet, pain couched in his voice.
Neville bobbed his head, but said again, “I’ll take him. We can Apparate to fifty-seven-oh-four.”
Ron rubbed a hand over his mouth, sliding down his jaw and neck. Fifty-seven-oh-four, code for Nev’s Gran. At one-hundred and ten, she’d helped their ragtag Order scouting team out more times than he could count. “They’ll be anticipating it,” he said. “The minute the wards are dropped, they’ll be crawling all over this place. I don’t think they have an Apparating lock on this room, but we can’t take any chances. Lee and I’ll hold them off, stand guard ‘til you’re gone.”
Lee caught and held his gaze. “And then we’ll block off their imprints and get the hell out ourselves, right?”
“Right,” Ron nodded, and Lee’s eyes narrowed, because he knew it wasn’t as simple as that. They both knew. “But first. We’re going to wait.” There was still that part of him that held out for Harry, for backup from Headquarters. A day or so wasn’t going to make much of a difference.
“Ron-”
“We’ve enough supplies for a few days. I can keep the wards up for now, and Lee’ll check Nev’s wound.”
“What if more come?” Pansy demanded, and Ron shook his head.
“They won’t waste anyone else on us, not when they know they’ve got us trapped.” And Malfoy was such a smug bastard he wouldn’t think to ask for help. He’d want to bring down Ron Weasley all by his lonesome, and something inside Ron stuttered nearly to a stop at the thought.
Dawn didn’t make the place any safer. The house was chosen for its remoteness, and the sun’s heavy, golden rays only gave them the illusion of warmth. Ron didn’t leave his vigil at the window, hands resting on the cracked sill, and Malfoy gave him a mocking salute as the light crested the trees.
The day passed in a tense haze, the blond Death Eater became a blur on the lawn, and Ron thought the blue sky was gorgeous and so bright it stung his eyes, painted light on the underside of his lids. He fought the urge to open the window, breathe in the sharp fall air, the scent of sun-warmed brown and red maple leaves.
He glanced up at a touch on his shoulder and Lee was looming over him, dark face grim.
“Nev’s not going to get any better,” he said softly.
“Soon then,” Ron countered, resigned, and it was a sad thing, he thought, that they were so far gone fighting wasn’t even an option anymore.
Lee’s touch turned into a hard squeeze, dreads brushing his cheeks as he nodded.
“Lee.” Ron spared a quick glance towards where Pansy was staring blankly into the fire. Nev was in the chair now, sweat beading on his flushed face, skin tight around his closed eyes.
“I’ll carry him,” Lee said.
“I know. Just.” If it came down to it, if it was between torture and death, if it was between saving themselves for a DE prison or saving the secrets of the Order, “You know I’d go last.” Dying for the sake of dying wasn’t always the cowards’ way out. That’s what war had taught him.
“It won’t come to that.” And Lee sounded so sure, when just hours before he’d offered to anchor.
Ron managed a grin. “Not this time, eh?”
“Not any time,” Lee volleyed automatically, a small, answering smile on his lips, not hesitating at all on the familiar words Terry’d always shot back at Ron after every completed mission.
His grin didn’t fade, and he looked out at Malfoy again, leaning negligently against a tree, white-blond hair wisping across his face in the breeze, and it was Ron’s turn to sketch a taunting salute.
Quick ficlet about a losing war. Ron's team is trapped, their options limited, their loyalty to the secrets of the Order firm. A bit open-ended and raw. Minor off-screen character death warning, tho it's one of my favorites so I had a hard time doing it.
This isn't all that good, but I'm fond of some of my descriptors *nods*
The night was crisp, the harvest moon round and gold and picture perfect for autumn, and Lee prowled the den with the restless energy of a caged graphorn.
The fire in the hearth made the room falsely cozy, and the front bow window was cold, condensed droplets framing the pane, the orange glow of the moonlight making Draco Malfoy’s face deceptively warm as he stared up at the dilapidated house. Inviting.
The rhythmic creak of the floorboards as Lee paced wasn’t as soothing as it should have been, and Ron stood at the window - fireplace hot on his back, grinning Malfoy at his front, dread settling lukewarm in his belly. There were shifting shadows, moving black hulks flickering in and out of the semi-bare branches, wand-tips flaring with brief confidence, harsh barks of laughter spiraling up towards the second story like smoke.
“We’re surrounded,” Ron said finally, voice thick, husky in his throat. He felt like he’d been silent for days.
Only Neville answered him, a tired sniff.
A glance over his shoulder showed Pansy, eyes bruised, sitting stiff-backed and regal on the room’s only chair. Neville was as far from the flames as he could manage, head bowed as he leant against the back wall, faded flower wallpaper peeling around him.
Lee cracked his knuckles and smiled, just as wide as Malfoy’s, but with a desperate, sharp edge to it. “Well, then. Who’s first?”
Pansy visibly tightened her grip on the fold of her robes, lips pale, but didn’t say a word.
Ron shook his head. “We’re staying as we are, Lee. The night’s already half over and Harry-”
“Isn’t coming,” Neville said firmly.
A tired hand scrubbed over his short red hair. “You can’t know that, Nev.”
“We all know it, Ron.” His tone was quiet, face still hidden by the fall of his fringe over his bent head. “They can’t spare the manpower, and we’ve already lost Terry.”
An automatic protest rose to Ron’s lips, but he bit back the words. Once, he would’ve been solidly certain that Harry would do anything wizardly possible to rescue his best mate. Now, he couldn’t even be sure that Harry knew they’d been cornered, and even if he did know, it might not have made any difference. A team of five, now four, wasn’t anything in the depths of a losing war.
“We’re sitting ducks,” Lee said. “I’ll,” he swallowed, bouncing nervously on his feet. “I’ll go last, all right?”
“No one’s going last! I-” Ron froze, ears pricked. “Did you hear that?”
“Weasley,” Pansy whispered, dark eyes round. “Ron. Ron, we have to do this.”
He clenched his jaw. “I’m not giving up. They can’t get in, can they? So it’s only a matter of-”
A spray of pebbles hit the window.
“Ignore it,” Ron said.
“Weasley.” His name floated up like a howl on the wind, and Ron’s eyes fell closed, hands curling into loose fists.
“Ignore it,” he repeated.
Pansy was pale, breath thready, and she got to her feet, slipping out her wand. “We can’t.”
Ron wasn’t entirely sure how the Death Eaters had traced them there to begin with. It was a Muggle house originally, set up as a halfway for Order transients, the steadily weakening force against Dark Magic. A fortress, really, locked off from the Floo network, unplottable, warded, and completely useless once discovered. Anti-apparation shields kept them shut up in a cage of their own making, and the wards themselves were only as strong as they could make them. They compounded on magical imprints which left the place virtually asleep when unoccupied.
But they were all tired, strung-out. They’d lost Terry. Pansy had Slytherin-honed steel in her spine, but she had her limits. Neville was burned badly, Ron knew, even though he hadn’t said much beyond the original hiss of pain.
“Weasley.”
“We’re going to have to drop the wards,” Ron said finally, letting a tattered curtain half cover the window, mentally blocking out Draco’s taunting call. “Pansy, I want you and Nev to Apparate to the nearest safe-point-”
“I’m not leaving Terry,” Pansy growled, the first sign of bite in her tone since Boot had fallen.
“He’s. He’s dead, Pansy.” The words felt wrong in his mouth.
She tipped her pug nose in the air. “I’m not leaving him.”
“You can’t stay. You can’t stay and you can’t-”
“I’ll take him,” Neville offered, finally pushing away from the wall.
“Nev, you’re injured.” It was obvious that he was barely holding himself up, shaky on his feet, pain couched in his voice.
Neville bobbed his head, but said again, “I’ll take him. We can Apparate to fifty-seven-oh-four.”
Ron rubbed a hand over his mouth, sliding down his jaw and neck. Fifty-seven-oh-four, code for Nev’s Gran. At one-hundred and ten, she’d helped their ragtag Order scouting team out more times than he could count. “They’ll be anticipating it,” he said. “The minute the wards are dropped, they’ll be crawling all over this place. I don’t think they have an Apparating lock on this room, but we can’t take any chances. Lee and I’ll hold them off, stand guard ‘til you’re gone.”
Lee caught and held his gaze. “And then we’ll block off their imprints and get the hell out ourselves, right?”
“Right,” Ron nodded, and Lee’s eyes narrowed, because he knew it wasn’t as simple as that. They both knew. “But first. We’re going to wait.” There was still that part of him that held out for Harry, for backup from Headquarters. A day or so wasn’t going to make much of a difference.
“Ron-”
“We’ve enough supplies for a few days. I can keep the wards up for now, and Lee’ll check Nev’s wound.”
“What if more come?” Pansy demanded, and Ron shook his head.
“They won’t waste anyone else on us, not when they know they’ve got us trapped.” And Malfoy was such a smug bastard he wouldn’t think to ask for help. He’d want to bring down Ron Weasley all by his lonesome, and something inside Ron stuttered nearly to a stop at the thought.
Dawn didn’t make the place any safer. The house was chosen for its remoteness, and the sun’s heavy, golden rays only gave them the illusion of warmth. Ron didn’t leave his vigil at the window, hands resting on the cracked sill, and Malfoy gave him a mocking salute as the light crested the trees.
The day passed in a tense haze, the blond Death Eater became a blur on the lawn, and Ron thought the blue sky was gorgeous and so bright it stung his eyes, painted light on the underside of his lids. He fought the urge to open the window, breathe in the sharp fall air, the scent of sun-warmed brown and red maple leaves.
He glanced up at a touch on his shoulder and Lee was looming over him, dark face grim.
“Nev’s not going to get any better,” he said softly.
“Soon then,” Ron countered, resigned, and it was a sad thing, he thought, that they were so far gone fighting wasn’t even an option anymore.
Lee’s touch turned into a hard squeeze, dreads brushing his cheeks as he nodded.
“Lee.” Ron spared a quick glance towards where Pansy was staring blankly into the fire. Nev was in the chair now, sweat beading on his flushed face, skin tight around his closed eyes.
“I’ll carry him,” Lee said.
“I know. Just.” If it came down to it, if it was between torture and death, if it was between saving themselves for a DE prison or saving the secrets of the Order, “You know I’d go last.” Dying for the sake of dying wasn’t always the cowards’ way out. That’s what war had taught him.
“It won’t come to that.” And Lee sounded so sure, when just hours before he’d offered to anchor.
Ron managed a grin. “Not this time, eh?”
“Not any time,” Lee volleyed automatically, a small, answering smile on his lips, not hesitating at all on the familiar words Terry’d always shot back at Ron after every completed mission.
His grin didn’t fade, and he looked out at Malfoy again, leaning negligently against a tree, white-blond hair wisping across his face in the breeze, and it was Ron’s turn to sketch a taunting salute.