[hp drabble] 100 words about...war
War
Wands in hand, they fought back to back, their cries of “/STUPEFY!/” mingled with,
“Twenty-eight!”
“Is that all? Ha! I’m on thirty! And -- there! Thirty-one!”
“Bit of a show-off, aren’t you, Granger?”
“Nope, just better. Now, if you’d studied--”
“Oh, don’t start in on that -- hey, watch out! Twenty-nine! Thirty! /Ha/!”
“/Stupefy, stupefy, stupefy/!”
“That one was already down,” Ron protested.
“He twitched!”
“He twitched because /mine/ landed on him!”
“Oh.”
“Hermione, if we survive this, do me a favour.”
“I’ll stop nagging.”
“No. Well, yes. Well -- two favours, then. Marry me.”
“Beat me first,” said Hermione.
Ginny looped his arm around her shoulders and helped him rise. Together they stumbled from the burned out tower.
On the way down the stairs they encountered a boy crouched in the shadows. His hands hid his face, but his pale hair gave away his identity. “Tried to kill me,” he muttered to himself. “Father. Tried to kill me. ‘/I must test your loyalty/,’ said -- said -- Him. ‘/Kill the boy./’ And he would’ve. Father.”
By then, Harry was too tired for anything but compassion. “Draco,” he said. “Come on, it’s over, let’s go,” and held out a hand.
“War is not for the faint of heart, little cousin.”
Regulus Black eyed Bellatrix and thought how she had changed over the years. At first he had envied her power, her passion. Now he realised she had become part of something that frightened, even disgusted him. “I know.”
“Ah.” The heavy-lidded eyes gleamed. “Wittle baby gonna wun to big bwuther now?” she cooed.
“Let me go, Bella.”
“My master does not suffer cowards -- or traitors.”
“Bella!” the boy pleaded. “I’m your cousin!”
“That’s why you are for me to destroy. /Avada Kedavra!/”
First Regulus felt terror, then, simply, release.
“We’re at war,” said Sirius. “People die in wars all the time. Nice people. Reg wasn’t nice. He knew what he was doing. I guess. Well, he was only seventeen.”
James looked with compassion at his best friend, the man he considered a brother. “Padfoot, I’m sorry. What can I do?”
“You can piss off,” said Sirius brutally. “Stop acting like I’m upset, because I’m not. Reg was a waster. M’not upset.” His voice hitched. “Bollocks.”
“Padfoot,” James murmured, and held out his arms. Sirius filled them a second later and James held him tightly while he sobbed his grief.
This one eventually became a story.
Harry looked from the man asleep on the hospital bed to the haggard face of his former professor. “Just go,” he pleaded. “Take him and go far away from here. You’ve done enough.”
“You need us,” Remus began.
“I need you to live!” said the boy. “Both of you. I’ll fight for my friends, but I want to fight for myself, too. I need to know I have a home to go to if I -- live. Take Sirius and just -- be alive for me. Both of you. Promise me you will. /Promise/ me.”
“I promise,” Remus said solemnly.
Over the summer Luna had acquired a guitar and an endless reserve of Muggle folksongs, and had taken to singing them at him every time he entered the dining hall.
“/How many roads must a man walk down / Before you call him a man…?”/
First Ron had hexed her, then Hermione, then Snape. Then, Ginny had stolen her guitar.
Luna went to him after that, clasped his hands, and said dreamily, “I believe in you, Harry!”
That was a better kind of music.
“But Professor,” said the girl, “/must/ we do Grindylows now? I mean, I’m sure they’re important, but we’d much rather hear about you.”
“Yeah,” said a boy behind her. “Yeah, we heard you were in the Last War. With Voldemort. Were /you/ ever afraid to say his name, Professor?”
Professor Longbottom sighed. “I shall answer all your questions in time. Well, most of them. It happened a long time ago, and there are things your books will have left out. There are still important lessons to be learned from what happened. In time.”
Wands in hand, they fought back to back, their cries of “/STUPEFY!/” mingled with,
“Twenty-eight!”
“Is that all? Ha! I’m on thirty! And -- there! Thirty-one!”
“Bit of a show-off, aren’t you, Granger?”
“Nope, just better. Now, if you’d studied--”
“Oh, don’t start in on that -- hey, watch out! Twenty-nine! Thirty! /Ha/!”
“/Stupefy, stupefy, stupefy/!”
“That one was already down,” Ron protested.
“He twitched!”
“He twitched because /mine/ landed on him!”
“Oh.”
“Hermione, if we survive this, do me a favour.”
“I’ll stop nagging.”
“No. Well, yes. Well -- two favours, then. Marry me.”
“Beat me first,” said Hermione.
Ginny looped his arm around her shoulders and helped him rise. Together they stumbled from the burned out tower.
On the way down the stairs they encountered a boy crouched in the shadows. His hands hid his face, but his pale hair gave away his identity. “Tried to kill me,” he muttered to himself. “Father. Tried to kill me. ‘/I must test your loyalty/,’ said -- said -- Him. ‘/Kill the boy./’ And he would’ve. Father.”
By then, Harry was too tired for anything but compassion. “Draco,” he said. “Come on, it’s over, let’s go,” and held out a hand.
“War is not for the faint of heart, little cousin.”
Regulus Black eyed Bellatrix and thought how she had changed over the years. At first he had envied her power, her passion. Now he realised she had become part of something that frightened, even disgusted him. “I know.”
“Ah.” The heavy-lidded eyes gleamed. “Wittle baby gonna wun to big bwuther now?” she cooed.
“Let me go, Bella.”
“My master does not suffer cowards -- or traitors.”
“Bella!” the boy pleaded. “I’m your cousin!”
“That’s why you are for me to destroy. /Avada Kedavra!/”
First Regulus felt terror, then, simply, release.
“We’re at war,” said Sirius. “People die in wars all the time. Nice people. Reg wasn’t nice. He knew what he was doing. I guess. Well, he was only seventeen.”
James looked with compassion at his best friend, the man he considered a brother. “Padfoot, I’m sorry. What can I do?”
“You can piss off,” said Sirius brutally. “Stop acting like I’m upset, because I’m not. Reg was a waster. M’not upset.” His voice hitched. “Bollocks.”
“Padfoot,” James murmured, and held out his arms. Sirius filled them a second later and James held him tightly while he sobbed his grief.
This one eventually became a story.
Harry looked from the man asleep on the hospital bed to the haggard face of his former professor. “Just go,” he pleaded. “Take him and go far away from here. You’ve done enough.”
“You need us,” Remus began.
“I need you to live!” said the boy. “Both of you. I’ll fight for my friends, but I want to fight for myself, too. I need to know I have a home to go to if I -- live. Take Sirius and just -- be alive for me. Both of you. Promise me you will. /Promise/ me.”
“I promise,” Remus said solemnly.
Over the summer Luna had acquired a guitar and an endless reserve of Muggle folksongs, and had taken to singing them at him every time he entered the dining hall.
“/How many roads must a man walk down / Before you call him a man…?”/
First Ron had hexed her, then Hermione, then Snape. Then, Ginny had stolen her guitar.
Luna went to him after that, clasped his hands, and said dreamily, “I believe in you, Harry!”
That was a better kind of music.
“But Professor,” said the girl, “/must/ we do Grindylows now? I mean, I’m sure they’re important, but we’d much rather hear about you.”
“Yeah,” said a boy behind her. “Yeah, we heard you were in the Last War. With Voldemort. Were /you/ ever afraid to say his name, Professor?”
Professor Longbottom sighed. “I shall answer all your questions in time. Well, most of them. It happened a long time ago, and there are things your books will have left out. There are still important lessons to be learned from what happened. In time.”