Prompt 2: For What Would Be
Title: For What Would Be
Author: phe_o
Format/Word Count: ficlet/ 665
Rating: PG
Prompt: 2: "There's no such thing as a crowded battlefield. Battlefields are lonely places." - Alfred M. Gray
Summary: "But that thought slams her forward, and all of the Auror training in the wizarding world wouldn’t account for the sudden, quick jets of spellwork that suddenly shoot from her wand..."
Author’s Note: Major spoilers for Deathly Hallows. Much angst ahead...
It’s all she can do, to keep standing, to duck as angry spells soar past, even as the strangled sob escapes her throat and she sees him on the cold stone floor. She can hear herself screaming, a drowning sound that sounds like a no but ends in Remus.
He is so alone. The stone is barren beneath him and it’s as if his far-flung body has been abandoned, left by comrade and foe alike. His chest is still rising and falling, and she can hear his rattled inhale, his choked, garbled exhale, even from across the room and knows there is blood in his lungs.
Then she sees him. Dolohov stands above her husband, trembling, bleeding profusely from his head and neck, but he has a wide, maniacal grin on his face and she understands what he’s about to do before he draws his wand arm back in a wild arc, and her heart stops-
And it is as if she is alone, underwater, and the pounding, muted echoes in her ear are the spells that nearly graze them; and her wobbly knees tremble as she steps forward against the dusty air’s sudden resistance, and all for two seconds, she is sure she is about to witness her husband, the father of her child, die-
But that thought slams her forward, and all of the Auror training in the wizarding world wouldn’t account for the sudden, quick jets of spellwork that suddenly shoot from her wand; there are eleven of them, in rapid succession, as if they are almost one steady stream of purple light, and each one slams into her husband’s attacker, harder, harder, harder than the last-her own rage is pouring out of the wooden stick, her desperation, her vengeful, crazed need to inflict pain into the man who had somehow knocked one of the most powerful wizards alive onto the war-strewn floor of Hogwarts.
And the tears are streaking down her dirty cheeks and she’s running to him even as Dolohov falls, motionless, the quiet clatter of his wand against the stone somewhere among the rest of the night’s noise, and she’s on top of him, brushing his hair back, whispering his name over and over again, clutching at him, desperately telling him he’s going to be fine, he’ll see, it’s all going to be all right-
But then a horrible feeling, like her entire backbone had suddenly caught fire, slowly trickles up her back, and though she cannot see her attacker standing behind her she knows immediately who it is from the hysterical laughter assailing her ears; and she feels it again, stronger this time, the fire crawling up her arms, down her torso, through her veins as it eats her-
And she stares down into his streaked, handsome face and sees him staring at her through dusky lashes, and her mouth is open, gasping-there is so much pain-but she locks her gaze with his, wide, wet blue with half-mast amber, and the sweetness there, the calm reassurance, seeps into her skin even as she is burning inside out; and even as that last clinging thought-Teddy…-ebbs in her mind, she can feel the numbness set in, against his chest, and the slowing of his breath, the slowing of her own, ease, fade into a calmness that is stronger than the inferno consuming her, louder than the hard laughter behind her-and his eyes crinkle one last time at her, reassuringly, and he is not afraid; and, with an effort, she manages to contort her face into the most blinding smile for him, the love of her life, the father her son would never really know, and for her son, her son who had to live in a better world that they would leave behind-he had to-and his arms clutch her robes and she clutches back, and then there is nothing on the battlefield but two fallen soldiers, entwined together as a single sacrifice for what would be.
Author: phe_o
Format/Word Count: ficlet/ 665
Rating: PG
Prompt: 2: "There's no such thing as a crowded battlefield. Battlefields are lonely places." - Alfred M. Gray
Summary: "But that thought slams her forward, and all of the Auror training in the wizarding world wouldn’t account for the sudden, quick jets of spellwork that suddenly shoot from her wand..."
Author’s Note: Major spoilers for Deathly Hallows. Much angst ahead...
It’s all she can do, to keep standing, to duck as angry spells soar past, even as the strangled sob escapes her throat and she sees him on the cold stone floor. She can hear herself screaming, a drowning sound that sounds like a no but ends in Remus.
He is so alone. The stone is barren beneath him and it’s as if his far-flung body has been abandoned, left by comrade and foe alike. His chest is still rising and falling, and she can hear his rattled inhale, his choked, garbled exhale, even from across the room and knows there is blood in his lungs.
Then she sees him. Dolohov stands above her husband, trembling, bleeding profusely from his head and neck, but he has a wide, maniacal grin on his face and she understands what he’s about to do before he draws his wand arm back in a wild arc, and her heart stops-
And it is as if she is alone, underwater, and the pounding, muted echoes in her ear are the spells that nearly graze them; and her wobbly knees tremble as she steps forward against the dusty air’s sudden resistance, and all for two seconds, she is sure she is about to witness her husband, the father of her child, die-
But that thought slams her forward, and all of the Auror training in the wizarding world wouldn’t account for the sudden, quick jets of spellwork that suddenly shoot from her wand; there are eleven of them, in rapid succession, as if they are almost one steady stream of purple light, and each one slams into her husband’s attacker, harder, harder, harder than the last-her own rage is pouring out of the wooden stick, her desperation, her vengeful, crazed need to inflict pain into the man who had somehow knocked one of the most powerful wizards alive onto the war-strewn floor of Hogwarts.
And the tears are streaking down her dirty cheeks and she’s running to him even as Dolohov falls, motionless, the quiet clatter of his wand against the stone somewhere among the rest of the night’s noise, and she’s on top of him, brushing his hair back, whispering his name over and over again, clutching at him, desperately telling him he’s going to be fine, he’ll see, it’s all going to be all right-
But then a horrible feeling, like her entire backbone had suddenly caught fire, slowly trickles up her back, and though she cannot see her attacker standing behind her she knows immediately who it is from the hysterical laughter assailing her ears; and she feels it again, stronger this time, the fire crawling up her arms, down her torso, through her veins as it eats her-
And she stares down into his streaked, handsome face and sees him staring at her through dusky lashes, and her mouth is open, gasping-there is so much pain-but she locks her gaze with his, wide, wet blue with half-mast amber, and the sweetness there, the calm reassurance, seeps into her skin even as she is burning inside out; and even as that last clinging thought-Teddy…-ebbs in her mind, she can feel the numbness set in, against his chest, and the slowing of his breath, the slowing of her own, ease, fade into a calmness that is stronger than the inferno consuming her, louder than the hard laughter behind her-and his eyes crinkle one last time at her, reassuringly, and he is not afraid; and, with an effort, she manages to contort her face into the most blinding smile for him, the love of her life, the father her son would never really know, and for her son, her son who had to live in a better world that they would leave behind-he had to-and his arms clutch her robes and she clutches back, and then there is nothing on the battlefield but two fallen soldiers, entwined together as a single sacrifice for what would be.