Blurred Lines Mods (blurred_mods) wrote in blurred_lines, @ 2009-08-31 17:25:00 |
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FINAL BATTLE [14/29]
THE FINAL BATTLE [01] [02] [03] [04] [05] [06] [07] [08] [09] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14]
The Hogwarts Gate
Losing the mediwizard had been a very bad idea. As he waded through the tumult and up closer to the school, Dawlish was more than man enough to admit that he'd made a mistake in that. Oh, he had no doubts about Lachlan's ability to successfully fend for himself in this scrap. Lachlan was a grown man, he'd been more than useful when Dawlish had seen himself injured, and he was certain of that much, right true. Escaping from the merpeople eventually wound up being the only viable option -- the half-mad idiot creatures kept on attacking Dawlish and Lachlan, when they should've been going after the ruddy Death Eaters. What else were they supposed to do, if not escape? The problem with escaping in a climate like this was that people got pulled off in all kinds of directions. One person went one way, their other went another, and then you wound up halfway 'cross the school from each other, most likely, and it took spotting the figure of a Death Eater to notice that the Mediwizard you thought you had skulking around with you wasn't there anymore. In all likelihood, Dawlish probably could've told that much from the fact that there wasn't any unnecessary fussing over the gash in his leg from when the merfolk had gone 'round the twist, or over how much it was bleeding -- but he still tried to find Lachlan around him when he saw a Death Eater wandering alone, away from the rest of the psychotic flock. Looking around for his backup cost Dawlish several seconds that only ended with him feeling foolish. He frowned, even outright scowled -- another second -- and ran his tongue over his chapped lips. Assessing the situation was worth the time and effort, of course. Failure to properly assess the situation was, after all, what had gotten him into the mess beforehand. He might've paused before launching in and attacking the Death Eater who'd tried to get away. He might've tried using Incarcerous sooner, instead of launching into hostility, even with Reducto -- or, in other words, instead of being such a Gryffindor. Now, though, every second he spent assessing the situation was another second that the Death Eater got to sneak towards the wall, got to get closer to an Apparition point, got to get closer to getting away. Frowning deeper, Dawlish tightened his fingers around his wand and took off in the same direction as the Death Eater. With each fall of his right leg, the sharp pain shot up his calf, stung dimly in the back of his thigh. The places he'd fallen on before throbbed dully, by comparison, only reasserting their presence in the brief time when his weight fell on his left leg. For all the good Lachlan's healing had done, the wound in his side was still bleeding every time his heard beat. Running probably wasn't the best idea. Catching that Death Eater was the best idea, though. Getting him meant that the side of good had apprehended one more that they could hold accountable for their crimes against the people and the nation. As soon as he was within range, Dawlish raised his wand -- the figure wasn't watching him. It was looking around, no doubt for safety's sake, but it wasn't watching. That was an advantage, and had an idiotic surge of nobility not decided that this, right here and now, was the prime moment to overtake him, Dawlish might have seized it. But attacking someone with his back turned to you wasn't right, nor did it sit well with him. Wand out and arm steady, Dawlish called to his mark, "You there!" It made the figure stop in his tracks, and it made him finally acknowledge Dawlish. The degree to which he startled did give Dawlish a good rush of satisfaction. He even managed a bit of a smile, though it didn't last. Advancing on the figure, he continued: "In the name of the true Ministry of Magic, I charge you to stand down!" Dawlish frowned when his mark didn't immediately throw up his hands in surrender, and before thinking, he aimed a silent Reducto! at the ground right under the Death Eater's feet. The initial result hit the spot, right true -- the Death Eater managed a Shield Charm, but it wasn't up nearly quick enough, and it probably wasn't even close to the sort of solidity that would've been required to outlast one of Dawlish's spells. Whoever was behind that mask went flying backwards, and Dawlish gave to pursuing him, limping off along the grass. Assuming that he'd manage to take the Death Eater in now, after knocking him back and (hopefully) injuring him up by way of making a point that this fighting was fruitless, would do Dawlish in, though. Naturally, he told himself, there wouldn't be any reason for the Death Eater to fight back now -- and even if he hadn't, thought so, landing oddly on his ankle made his calf twist and feel as though it had gotten set alight. When the spells hit him, he was entirely off his guard. A silent Expulso! quite swiftly knocked him back off his feet; and a loud, "Sectumsempra!" sliced into his right thigh as he went down. Startled, he had to catch his breath -- and, briefly, he wondered where he'd heard that voice before -- but, once he had, he groaned and shoved himself back up to keep on fighting. Once more, he'd charged into this without considering everything, but that didn't mean that he was anywhere close to being done with this Death Eater. He wouldn't be done with this Death Eater until the scum was safely in a cell, waiting for his proper trial before the Wizengamot. Opposite him, the Death Eater was also seated, and when he scrambled to his feet and headed off again, Dawlish followed. He bit on his lower lip to try and ignore the pain in his leg. It didn't work, but, for all the length it had, the spell hadn't totally severed his muscles yet. This little piece of trash wouldn't win -- he couldn't win. The side of good had to prevail in the end; that was just how things worked. Running -- limping, more like -- near the gate, Dawlish found swallowing the pain harder and harder as his leg got stiffer and less cooperative beneath him, but still he chased the little prick into an odd fog that was lingering near the gate. The fabric of his trousers was, now, possessed of two large, wet, and deeply red bloodstains, and each time he landed on his right leg, it shook like an irritated filly. Fortunately, the chase didn't last long this time. Unfortunately, it only stopped because the fog that Dawlish and his Death Eater ran into turned them -- and the entire world, it seemed, right upside down. It was a horrible, strange sensation, having his leg still bleeding when everything was topsy-turvy like this. Blood was rushing to Dawlish's head, but it was still coming out where he was wounded. While his head felt thick, slow-moving, as though he'd been submerged in water, his leg was feeling drained and unwilling to make any movements whatsoever, regardless of if they involved standing up or trying to move. He wasn't at all sure what would put things right. Luckily, he didn't have to be. The Death Eater lifted a foot and tried to walk, tried to work on getting away -- and the both of them promptly crashed into the ground. Dawlish's entire body ached, but he didn't let the pain keep him down. His leg shook, pain shot through it, and the earth got all over has hands and wand as he tried to find a strong enough hold, but he forced his way to standing again. Once again, he held his wand out, firmly, resolutely -- and he was met with a bitter laugh from the Death Eater on the ground. "Haven't you had enough?" the man asked. "First the Merfolk -- now this? Are you not exhausted with this" It was then, and only then, that the familiarity of the voice truly sunk in: this one was the Death Eater from down by the lake. The one who'd sliced up Lachlan before the Merfolk had come out. Looking down at him, Dawlish was met with an even greater surprise -- not only was the Death Eater he'd been fighting unmasked and without his hood... but he was young. He couldn't have been much older than twenty, if that. Here he was, barely into his life and he'd signed it over to a dead Dark Lord. "I think we've both had about enough, you know, son," Dawlish told him, lowering his wand. "Come on along, just -- surrender, and I can tell them you came willingly. Once the Ministry's been reinstated--" "And what do you think that's going to get me?" the boy snapped. "Look at yourself, then look at me. No one's going to believe I cam willingly. They will put me in Azkaban, and I -- I can't do that." "After all of what the Dark Lord's put you through? Son, you're as much a victim as anyone else, here. When the Ministry's put right, they'll have to understand that." He was making inferences -- assumptions, really -- of course he was, to be sure... but these kids who'd been fighting didn't have a place in the war. Dawlish's words were motivated by belief, more than logic, which was why it stung him so badly when the boy told him: "Do you really think your oh-so-sainted Ministry will see things that way?" The boy spat, albeit, to his credit, not near enough to Dawlish to count. "All they will see is that I'm a Death Eater, and that they do not approve of how I chose to defend my family! They will see us as monsters for this, and -- my sister's about to give birth! Any time in the next few weeks! I cannot -- I will not go to prison! And that is exactly where your people would send me!" "You can't be any kind of decent uncle from the grave, either!" Dawlish's fingers tightened around his wand and his arm stiffened. The bad leg wobbled uncertainly as he tried walking towards the boy, free hand extended. "Just give me your wand, son. It'll be for the best." Biting his lower lip, the boy frowned and slowly forced himself to standing with Dawlish. "You and your Ministry..." he said breathlessly. "You can go to Hell." Both of them raised their wands, and both of them got spells out, but there was an important difference in the spell-work they showed. While the boy was desperately trying to get anything out in his defense, Dawlish had just had one of his deepest beliefs questioned, and his religious ones spat upon to boot. The boy's Blasting Curse landed close to Dawlish's good foot -- earth, debris, and the spell itself came rushing into the good calf, slicing it up to match its fellow. Knocked back by the impact, Dawlish could feel where he'd be bruised after this, and where the blood started streaming down his leg. Dawlish's Disarming Charm came out so hard and forceful that the boy crashed into the gate. As he tried to recover himself, Dawlish caught a glimpse of something he wished he could've avoided seeing: a large piece of stone from the gate shook loose from the impact. It teetered dangerously, rocking back and forth between the options, and then crashed unceremoniously onto the boy's head, its sharp corner gashing into his forehead. Swallowing thickly, Dawlish paled, and found himself too shaky and too heavy to move for several moments. He stared on in shock, waiting for any sign of movement from his opponent, but none came and Dawlish knew that none were showing, even eventually. As he forced himself to his feet one last time, Dawlish tried to make his retreat as quickly as possible. All through the war, even when Crouch had given them permission to do so, he'd never killed anyone. His first had been a kid, a scared kid who'd been worried over his pregnant sister. And Dawlish would remember him forever, he was certain. 2) Demetrius vs Mary & Severus All things considered, Severus felt all right after the first battle, but he knew that could change in a heartbeat. One moment's hesitation and you could end up flat on your back, the victim of some curse or another and the killing curse didn't take even a moment to cast if the person knew how to cast it. And most of the Death Eaters did know. And he had betrayed them. He'd betrayed them for the hope of a better world, and if he'd had any doubts about it they would have been erased over the display of the Longbottoms in the Ministry, or Nott's comments to the Inner Circle about no need for Democratic government. No, in the end no one was free in the type of world the Death Eaters were building. The purest family line and the strongest wizard in the world would still be held at the whim of a mad man - and even without that particular mad man being alive to make the rules - his Inner Circle seemed capable of carrying on the madness without him. No. Severus had no regrets about the action he'd taken, but he hoped - hoped - that he would live to see the outcome. Assuming the outcome was good. He made his way around the wall of Hogwarts half looking for Death Eaters and half looking for bodies or injured that might not yet have been gathered back for the healers. There were very few people that Severus had any qualms about fighting, but the Death Eater marching towards him was one of those people. He had his hand on his wand. It was in his hand and the spell was on the tip of his lips, but it was his best friend. And he hesitated. Demetrius's mind had been a wreck of emotions during the course of the first part of the battle. He had been suppressing it and suppressing it for as long as he could. He hadn't gone to the triage to get looked over, the pronounced soreness in his shoulder from the centaurs arrow was one of his biggest bothers. But now he couldn't deny the gutwrenching emotions, even in the face of physical pain. All of this. All of this was because of Severus. How much of their defeats had he been accountable for? How many of their losses? It ate at the core of his very being that something like this was all so...reversible. His knuckles white, clenching his wand with unnecessary tightness, he approached the very center of his thoughts with an almost inhuman sneer on his face. It was going to be a match for the ages. But could he do it? Could he kill his best friend? Standing there, staring him down, Demetrius didn't think he could. It felt rather like he was watching the entire scene from outside of himself - the two of them standing face to face albeit with some distance between them and it took only that instant for him to snap back into himself. He pushed back every emotion that was surging through him. His friend was hurt and although he desperately wished he could do something for him it didn't work that way -- It couldn't work that way. "Protego," he snapped the shield into place, his dark eyes boring into Demetrius' to try to figure out what his friend might do and then he realised that it didn't matter. Even if Severus didn't want to fight Demetrius - even if he didn't want to kill him - Demetrius was still a Death Eater and they were fighting for entirely different things now. He had to try to neutralise him at least. But that didn't necessarily mean kill and so the disarming spell he sent to Demetrius was silently cast, but it was the only way he could think of to let Demetrius know that he wished him no ill will, even if he couldn't say so -- even if it was likely that Demetrius didn't feel the same way. Demetrius watched with little worry as his wand jerked out of his hand and flew towards Severus. This was another training duel. Just that. Nothing that really...mattered. He and Severus were just practicing. But then it hit him again. He snapped out of his forcible denial. This was real. He and his best friend were on opposite sides and he was without a wand. All he could articulate was a string of swears at this thought. Mary had streamed back onto the grounds, immediately splitting up with Leslie again. It was like they couldn't manage to stay together at all. Probably better for them both - if he was around she'd be so worried about him that she'd be too distracted to duel properly. She was about to jog off toward the Quidditch Pitch when she spied two people at the gate, squared off at one another. Severus turned his head and looked straight into Mary MacDonald's face. All of his plans to simply disarm and bind his friend for the Aurors to deal with later slid away. MacDonald would fight Demetrius, because the two of them had this bizarre... obsession with each other that was absolutely and completely unnatural and Severus in no way ever wanted to be between the two of them, but he realised he was stuck. He hadn't wanted to fight Demetrius, but he couldn't just walk away now. And he knew Demetrius' duelling style better than anyone - but then Demetrius probably knew his duelling style better than anyone. "What?" he snapped back at her, raising his wand at Demetrius again. "I'm not comfortable with killing babies and I'm through wearing the mask that says I am -- And you hex me in the back and I will haunt you for the rest of your life," he added for good measure in a voice that said he was certainly not joking. Despite the fact that he'd told Moody he wanted it to be clear he wasn't fighting with the Death Eaters so that he wasn't fighting two sides, he wasn't certain everyone had gotten the message, and it was obvious which side Mary was fighting on. The confringo hit him in the back of the calf, knocking him forward and cutting it open messily. Without a thought to it, he pushed himself back up again and stared down MacDonald. His lip curled up into an animalistic sneer and finally he had a proper...receptacle for his anger. MacDonald would do nicely. But he didn't have a wand. He was trapped between his former best friend and his mortal enemy, disarmed and already bleeding. He was angry, he wanted blood for this trespass. Whether he wanted Mary's or Severus's for it, he didn't actually know. This had not turned out like Severus had anticipated and he frowned at Demetrius' injury even though he knew he shouldn't be. He pushed his emotion to the side, if he was in this, he was in this and nobody could ever say that Severus Snape didn't do what had to be done, and if that was fighting his best friend, possibly to the death, well then, although Severus would rather not kill Demetrius and he wasn't certain if it came down to it that he could have cast a killing curse with enough intention to do so, then he would do what had to be done. And so long as Demetrius was disarmed it was hardly a fair fight - two against one - and Severus felt almost guilty because while Severus might have had no intention of duelling Demetrius, Mary certainly would have. Nonetheless, emotions and intellect would get in the way right now. And certain that Mary wasn't going to kill him, he raised his wand at Demetrius once more, this time with intent and determination behind the spell, "Incarcerous." The furnunculus hit him, boils popping up under his robes painfully. He cringed, but stepped out of the way of the stunner (more limped out of the way actually). Demetrius knew he was dead without his wand. Mary would kill him. Or Severus would kill him. Would Severus kill him? Demetrius found he didn't particularly want to know the answer. Dodging the incarcerous, he formulated a rudimentary plan. Breaking into a hobbled, absurd jog-run, he lunged at Severus as soon as he was close enough, intending to knock him off balance and retrieve his wand. The fact that Severus was taken off guard enough to be tackled by Demetrius was a huge statement about his desire for the entire situation to simply go away. But he was taken off guard, and when Demetrius slammed into him, Severus was knocked into the realisation that this was actually happening, and that all of his compartmentalization, rationalization, and outright denial would not make it go away. There was no way to turn this situation into something good. It was ugly - but he'd still have to do it. He always still had to do the ugly stuff. Thankfully Demetrius didn't break off Severus' wand when he knocked against him, and thankfully Severus had the sense to keep his fingers (albeit just barely) around his own wand, but Demetrius' slipped from his fingers, landing a few feet away. But having someone as tall as Demetrius was slam into him - well, he wasn't going to be able to continue to stand up straight. Severus almost instinctively formed his other hand into a fist and swung it back to knock Demetrius away from him. Severus's punch didn't surprise Demetrius- but it did hit him. After being dazed for a few seconds, he grabbed his wand and scrambled backwards away from Severus. "AVADA KEDAVRA," was aimed towards Mary, and with a sneer, an "Incarcerous," for Severus. He wanted to leave, he wanted to go home. Standing straight, he turned away from Severus and looked at Mary dead on. He wanted it to hit her, he wanted her to die and that would be it. What was there left to fight for now? If MacDonald was out of the picture, he had no personal ties to the opposing side did he? Other than Severus but... he couldn't do that. Not even if it were absolutely necessary. A Shield Charm deflected the first two but the grass around his feet caught fire and he had to drop the shield charm to attack. "Sectumsempra, Ignis Infusco, Crucio!" were all shot at her, the last curse maintained with a furious dedication. He didn't want to lose. He couldn't lose. Every cell in Severus' body was protesting this entire situation, he couldn't even stop to be thankful that Mary wasn't into unforgivables - although later he probably would be. He blocked Demetrius' spell with a shield charm and made a decision. He was fighting with Mary - odd enough to consider - and the idea was that neither he nor Mary died, but the idea, from Severus' point of view, was that neither did Demetrius. Mary did not seem so bound however and Severus was left in the uncomfortable point of allowing her to kill Demetrius. Which meant that he simply had to stop this fight before that happened - if it was even his poser to do so. His friend seemed to be more interested in Mary, so Severus pressed his lips together and against what he wanted he reminded Demetrius that he was actually there - albeit with a string of more defensive spells than largely offensive ones: a silent stupefy, followed by a a tripping jinx, and ending with incarcerous. The sectumsempra sliced across Mary's right ribs, reopening the wounds that the last Death Eater she had fought had left behind. The second spell was deflected, but the third hit her right on the mark. Demetrius saw the light from Severus's stupefy quickly enough to block it, but in stepping away he stepped right into the tripping jinx, with brought him down to the ground hard, breaking his focus. The ropes bound themselves up his leg and he rolled over, forcing himself into a sitting position and grabbing his wand. With a few quick transfiguration spells, one length of rope was successfully transformed into a large (though not venomous) snake, which he launched at Severus, fangs bared. He then pushed himself up unsteadily, firing a "Sectumsempra, Ignis Infusco" at Severus and turning back to Mary. Focusing on Mary kept his head clear and his moral qualms to a minimum. "Cruorem Lacrimo," was shot towards Mary- and he maintained his focus with every fiber of his being. Severus managed to snap out "serpensortia," at the snake and sending it spiraling out of the end of his wand to fight Demetrius' snake, but it wasn't quite enough to clear the sectumsempra, which caught his right side and part of his right arm. Severus was pushed back a bit which was fine with him because it meant he missed the most of the black fire, which seemed to be burning the grass around his feet rather than actually burning him. "Finite incantantem," he snapped at the flames. His side ached, and he felt as if he were going to bleed out and he hissed a charm at his right arm,trying to maintain focus. He would not die by his best friend's hand - and it seemed that Demetrius had no qualms about doing so. And that hurt. It hurt more than Severus would like to admit that it hurt. The fact that right now their friendship meant nothing to Demetrius. That in spite of the fact that they didn't necessarily support the same side, the hours of encouragement and conversation and drinks and practise - all of those things had been real and yet apparently they meant nothing to Demetrius and Severus swallowed hard, pulling himself together to focus a bit. Then they'd mean nothing to him either. He pointed his wand at Demetrius and with an anger he had never thought he'd be able to direct towards Demetrius - he cast Sectumsempra right back at Demetrius, and followed it with a Crucio. Mary had not had much experience with the Cruciatus before and therefore, when the spell lifted she laid their nearly lifeless, panting with tears running down her cheeks. How many tears had she shed over Demetrius? Hadn't nearly all of her tears been because of him? Her breath rattled through her and she rolled over and retched in the grass. She barely had gotten her wits about her and turned her wand on Demetrius when she was hit with another spell that made her stumble back a few steps. Her blood felt like it was boiling over, and suddenly was pooling everywhere. She shot a haphazard stunner at Demetrius, but was too focused on her own blood for it to be very effective. She hadn't seen this much blood since she'd nearly lost her entrails by his hand so many years prior. Demetrius turned into Severus's attack, the sectumsempra cutting down the side of his face, hardly an inch away from his eye and forming a diagonal line across his cheek, and continuing along his collarbone and down his shoulder. He hardly flinched from it, not an ounce of pain betrayed in his eyes. The Cruciatus hit him and he was off his feet, biting back a scream, tears rolling down his face. The spell lifted, followed by another flash of light, which he clumsily rolled away from. Now Severus seemed distracted. Standing up, he stared down at Mary with a disconcertingly blank stare. His best friend would see to torture him in such a way? He was convinced that his friendship with Severus had been nothing, and the emotional pain that ripped through him was as if the Severus he had known and loved had died and was replaced by this sick doppleganger. With a burst of anger, he took a few steps closer to Mary and kicked her still body as hard as he could, her blood staining his trouser leg in the process. "What?" She looked completely confused, "What is goin- Why am I-?" She looked up and saw who was opposite her? "Demetrius?" A Shield Charm defended him against the Confringo and he realized that the mist was bad news, and stepped as far away from it as he could. "Increbresco," he snapped, not bothering to acknowledge Mary's confusion. He didn't care that she was completely ignorant to what was happening, he wanted this done. He wanted to cause as much pain as he could in the process too. Mary's confused mind didn't give her the sense to throw up a shield charm, and the spell hit her hard in her shoulder -- the one with the good arm attached. She looked down, the pain not registering for a moment, and then the sense of boiling and melting finally got through to her addled mind. She screamed in pain and unable to turn her wand against her own shoulder, she did the best that she could to distract him. She transfigured a stone on the ground into a dagger and shot it at Demetrius, but then she was unable to do anything else, the pain completely debilitating her from casting anymore spells. Dodging out of the way of the dagger broke his focus, and the spell stopped. Dammit. Stooping and picking up the dagger from where it had embedded itself in the ground, he thought for a moment, taking a step towards Mary and casting Angor in her direction. He wanted her to suffer, if there was any way of physically manifest the emotional pain ripping through him, she would be the one to feel it. Air was gone. There was none coming in or out of her lungs, and Mary thought that this must be what drowning felt like. Except unlike drowning, Mary wasn't underwater; she could feel the air as it whipped past her in a breeze - she knew she should be able to breathe, but she just couldn't. She grasped at her throat, to no avail, and her wand fell uselessly to the ground. Her mind began to clear and she realized what was happening. What had happened so far. And it was then, then that Mary realized she was going to die. Severus was no where to be found, and Demetrius had a look in his eyes that claimed triumph. No, she was not dead yet, but she was certain she was experiencing her last moments. She stumbled away from Demetrius. She didn't want to die at his hand. Anyone else's. Anyone else's. Channeling all of his rage into the spell, taking a few measured steps forward until he was right in front of her. Ending the curse, he switched the dagger into his dominant hand and grinned at her with manic joy. This was the end. And then he dug the knife into her abdomen with force he didn't know he had in him anymore. Now he could be ... was free really the word? He had lost so much within the last few...hours? Would he ever feel normal again? For a split second, Mary thought the lack of oxygen would be her end. But no, the spell lifted and Demetrius was in front of her. She saw the dagger of her own making coming toward her, and then pain as it sunk into her stomach. The force of the knife caused her to double, her arm going around Demetrius' shoulder to hold herself up. Her breath shuddered lightly, and she knew that her moment was near. "All right then," she said softly, tears coming to her eyes. She didn't want to die. Despite everything, she didn't want to die. But there was no stopping it now, was there? "So you win." She supported herself against him and pushed away, looking at him face to face. Her lips quirked into a sort of smile, though pain and fear didn't allow it to be anymore than a glimmer. The hand supporting herself on his shoulder moved to curve of his neck, and the tears fell down her cheeks. This man had ruined her, completely. It was only fitting that she was going to die in his arms. "But," she said softly, her voice shaking, "You'll miss me. And you'll never forget me." She couldn't believe she was crying in front of this monster of a man, but her fear was overwhelming, "It will have to be enough." She leaned in and kissed him softly, almost sweetly, as though they were lovers and not sworn enemies. "Goodbye, Demetrius," she took a few shuddered breaths, unable to believe that it had come to this. There was never enough time, was there? "Finish it." Demetrius stepped back quickly, repulsed. He knew nothing but disgust and contempt at that very moment, and jerking the dagger out of her stomach, he placed his unoccupied left hand on her shoulder and stared at her for a moment. "I'll never miss you," he said coldly. "But if you desire to be remembered, then rest assured you will." Gesturing to his face with the blood-covered hand clutching the dagger, he gave her a stern nod. And then, his thin, ripped-open lips drew back in a snarl, his grip on her shoulder tightened and he dug the knife as hard as he could into her chest. Still holding her shoulder and the handle of the dagger, Demetrius kept her upright for another moment or two- shocked and...relieved? And then he left go of his hold on her- and a feeling he couldn't quite place swept over him. Casting one last look back over his shoulder, he walked away, feeling less joyful than he'd hoped. He was several feet away from the fight when he put a hand to his face, feeling the deep wound across it and remembering that he'd left more than just his nemesis behind. Focusing on fighting helped him block out the painful string of memories that seemed to be flashing before his eyes. Far removed from the body of Mary MacDonald and the wreckage of the fights, Demetrius collapsed, and didn't bother getting up for a few moments. The grief of losing his best friend finally broke through and tears flowed freely down his bloody face. Even victorious...there was no victory tonight. She had looked at him and then closed her eyes, not wanting to see it coming. The pressure of the blade as it plunged against her chest was immense, and as the cool metal pierced her heart, Mary gave a prayer up to heaven, hoping for peace after so much pain. Her body crumbled to the ground and then there was nothing; her prayer granted. Ignatius vs Severus Severus turned away from Mary - she didn't look good and he didn't know what else he could do to help her. The loss of her arm could not have been a good thing for her duelling - he knew how Gibbon had struggled after the last battle at Hogwarts. He snapped a stunning spell at Demetrius, but he was so focused on Demetrius and Mary that he didn't even notice a new-comer to the battle, and likely one that was going to want him dead far more than Demetrius who already seemed to be angry enough at him. Ignatius was not a man predisposed to violence, but nor would he back away from a battle when it was necessary. And this fight, undoubtedly, was necessary - a last-ditch effort to save everything they had worked so hard for. So when he saw, ahead of him, the young man who had personally destroyed so much, he did not hesitate in taking confident strides towards him, raising his wand to aim at his target. A confounding charm was his first move, followed quickly by a reducto! with all the strength of his will and focus behind it. Severus had not seen the other man coming up behind him and the confunding charm hit him full on, making him wonder for a second what he was doing or why he was there. He stared a little blankly at Mary and Demetrius and then was very firmly blasted across the grounds. He landed on his rear nearly two metres away from where he'd started and shook his head. The blast had knocked out what had been admittedly a very quick fix to heal the sectumsempra Demetrius had cast and he could feel the wounds beginning to bleed again - the blood beginning to soak into his robes and make him light headed. Dammit, he thought. What in Salazar's name had just happened? He was sitting in the middle of mist and he had only the presence of mind to stand up - even though he couldn't figure out where he was - and to cast a shield charm around himself. He'd been hit... he was bleeding... why was he bleeding? It was hard, with dark robes, to see exactly how much blood one's opponent might have lost, but even through the confounding charm it was clear that Severus was woozy. The signs were there if you knew what to look for and Ignatius noted all of them with cold ruthlessness. He would have to find a Healer soon if he wanted to survive, taking the battlefield situation into account, and Ignatius was perfectly happy to increase the obstacles against him. Aware of the risk of stray curses, he strengthened the shields around himself, accepting the lower damage result of slicing spells in favour of keeping himself protected. Overkill was not required here. Severus stumbled out of the mists, and he felt as if he were stumbling and weak and this wasn't a good thing on the battlefield. As he stumbled out of the mists it was almost as if he could feel himself thinking a little bit more clearly, but it still wasn't as clear as it could have been. It was then that he saw Prewett again and realisation started coming back. He was fighting, and he had to fight back... somehow. "Sectumsempra," he cast - although without the focus that he normally had the spell was both less dangerous and more so - less likely to cut deeply, it was far more likely to cut all over. Things still felt fuzzy however, and it was beginning to be a question of whether that was because of the confundus charm or the blood loss that was causing the confusion in his mind. The fact that Severus was fighting back caused a flash of irritation, though it was followed a moment later by the admission that not fighting back would likely have caused the same feeling. At least the boy was still proving the abilities that had had him promoted in the first place - it would have been worse, from a rational perspective, if he had been useless. That was of no comfort now, however, and though Ignatius' expelliarmus connected with the sectumsempra, the clash was barely outside of his shields, and he was still hit with some of the backlash. They were surface wounds, he thought, the kind that bled enough to cause women to fret but were able to be ignored with the right mindset, and he let them alone as he cast another blasting curse at the man. The only good thing that could be said about the blasting curse is that it blasted Severus completely out of the confundus mists and at the same time seemed to clear his mind as he landed on the ground again. His entire body ached and the grass underneath him was beginning to be coloured with his blood, but he quickly pushed himself up into a sitting position and cast a slightly clumsy Deprimo back at the Death Eater, giving himself time to push to his feet even as he realised how weak he was. He had lost too much blood, he thought - he had to end this quickly. "Avada Kedavra!" Although he knew the spell didn't have the aim it should have had. It was a good sign that Severus' spells, though arguably well-intentioned, were so easy to cast aside (or in the latter case, move away from; the green light passed harmlessly by him, possibly to hit something behind him, or else simply to fade into pointlessness). Ignatius had no desire to draw this out any longer than he needed to. Severus was not Hogwarts' only defense, after all, and he was needed elsewhere. So he abandoned, now, the blasting and slicing curses that wore opponents down, and instead pointed his wand at the dark-haired youth and cast a clear, "Sectumsempra!" As much as he had neither the time nor the inclination for a messy torture, he was equally unwilling to simply end it. This would at least give Severus a few minutes, perhaps less, of awareness before he passed out. In normal circumstances, he might stay to be sure that no last minute rescue arrived, but time was of the essence here. Ignatius waited only to see the spell hit before pushing on towards the next of the castle's defenders. The Sectumsempra hit Severus across his right leg, tearing through muscle so that he dropped to the ground almost instantaneously, nerve endings screaming at the pain. He nearly gasped with it, and his hands reached for his leg, dropping his wand although he shouldn't have done so and had he been able to think rationally he would have known that, but he couldn't think rationally. Everything was blood and he could hardly be aware of what else was happening around him. He looked up to see Prewett stalking away and he glanced back to see Mary MacDonald fall - clearly unable to move again. His vision felt blurry and his head felt too heavy. He'd failed both with Demetrius and with Prewett if the Order wasn't able to win the day it would be his fault. It was the last thought he had before passing out entirely.
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