Perdition Mods (perdition_mods) wrote in perdition_rpg, @ 2009-05-01 20:57:00 |
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Their defenses were falling. The wards had crumpled under their attacks and slowly, one by one, they were dying. Lord Voldemort stood in the Forbidden Forest, at the designated meeting place, curling his fingers around the Elder Wand. It was his, now, and with it, he would finally overcome Harry Potter. How foolish it was, that his friends and followers were fighting and dying for a a boy who would be simply be another corpse before dawn came. The Dark Lord could admire those qualities. He fully expected his Death Eaters to fight and die for him. But these upstarts' loyalty was at best misguided. And it wouldn't do to rule over a nation of the dead. No, that wouldn't do at all. With a flick of his wand, his voice was amplified, so that every man, woman, and child in Hogwarts and Hogsmeade would hear it. "You have fought valiantly," he began. "Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery." There was a slight pause, and a shadow of a smile curved over the Dark Lord's features. He continued. "Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilled is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured." Ah, this was only partly true. Voldemort's mercy only extended as far as it was convenient. Harry Potter would not allow this to continue -- they were dropping dead one by one. Harry Potter could not live with that. He could not live at all. Very soon, he would be dead. "I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour." When he had finished his diatribe, Voldemort performed a silent Finite Incantatem. It wouldn't do for his instructions to his Death Eaters to be broadcast for the enemies to hear. Within the hour, Harry Potter would be dead, and there would be no force on earth that could stop Lord Voldemort. Now, all he had to do was wait for him to come. And his Death Eaters, of course. Augustus Rookwood hadn't had this much fun for a long time. Snarling at the students around him as he started to retreat, and kicking aside the dead and injured, he sloped off into the grounds of Hogwarts, licking his lips. He had been waiting for this for so long -- fifteen years in Azkaban had given him plenty of time to think about this, the end of the war and the victory of the Death Eaters. Since he'd escaped there had been occasions to exercise his powers again; the murder of Igor Karkaroff, the battle in the Department of Mysteries -- but none of it had satisfied his appetite for violence. Now, with the scent of death on the air, and (metaphorically) blood on his hands, he felt alive. Quickly he headed for the woods, eager for new instructions from his Lord. Would Harry Potter come? He hoped so. A half smile spread across his pockmarked face in anticipation of seeing first-hand the murder of the "Boy who Lived", and his pace quickened. Flitting in between the trees of the Forbidden Forest, like a ghost or a malicious spirit, Rookwood wanted to laugh -- laugh with excitement, with intent, with pure, unadulterated, murderous joy. Yes, tonight was the most fun he had had in a long time. His lip was bleeding. His lip was bleeding. A bleeding lip was hardly anything to get worked up over, especially when there were far greater injuries being doled out to his fellow Death Eaters. Could a crimson liquid steadily dotting his lip and sliding in a lopsided line down his chin really be worth all the rage Thorfinn Rowle was feeling on the inside? Perhaps. But as he stood outside the front castle door, which had somehow been chipped around the edges and no longer looked as strong and steady as it once had, he realized that he simply did not care what anyone else may have thought about his childish reaction to being injured in such a simple way. He didn't want to be injured at all. He was supposed to be better than that. And his last fight, who had that been against? A bunch of girls! Ruddy slags, the lot of them. Thorfinn started mumbling to himself as he lumbered forward and crunched his black boots into the grass roughly with every step he took. One of his hands was frisking his own chest, searching for a hole in his robe. When he found it, his fingers prodded at it and damn near almost tugged at the material and made the gap bigger. A roar of frustration left his mouth, but there was no one there to hear him, at least not until he had blindly made his way through the threatening darkness and tall, tall trees. At the sight of someone's backside, Thorfinn quickly reached his hand up and starting dabbing at his lip, as though half looking to pretend it was nothing and half aiming to gain the sympathy of a fellow Death Eater or the Dark Lord himself. Maybe once he got a fire going his mood would change. There was something so very appealing about fire, after all. Rodolphus moved from the castle with a steady, violent thud of boot into spring-soft soil. He left behind two girls, still alive and relatively unscathed because he had never been able to bring himself to slay children unless ordered to -- and girls, no less. Not even Azkaban had drained him of that nobility -- if one could even call it that. Principle, perhaps. Regardless, each member of that fight had walked away whole, and though he felt some vague dissatisfaction at not having fought a better battle for his master, he was not so driven by bloodlust that he wished violence upon little girls. Eyes passing over the crowd, he located a familiar face -- Atticus's -- and stomped over, settling into the ranks at his side. "Not looking well, Atticus," he rumbled, though he didn't look especially healthy himself. Blood blossomed across his shirt beneath his robes, and he ignored it poignantly, too busy considering the direction this battle was taking to worry about minor wounds. Why was their master calling off the fight? Atticus looked over from where he was leaning somewhat uncomfortably against a tree (unwilling to admit that he had any need for the plant's support, even if that was precisely what he was using it for), using the respite to heal what damage he could. His face was fixed in a grim expression of general displeasure as he nodded an acknowledgement and his eyes quickly scanned over Rodolphus. "I could say the same about you," he replied even if his friend was not nearly so worse for wear. Like Rodolphus, Atticus too had his misgivings about killing children and it had been to his detriment as he had held himself back during his fight with those two girls and their damnable plants. The reasons for their retreat were as enigmatic to him as many of their Lord's decisions seemed to be lately - a thought he would not dare give voice to - but the knowledge of the work still undone behind them left an unpleasant gnawing feeling in his stomach. "And now we wait," he said in calm, even tones that belied his feelings on the matter. "Indeed," Rodolphus replied, tone delving into displeasure though he did not intend it to be so revealing. He'd known Atticus for too long not to realise that he too felt this situation was less than ideal. Rodolphus hadn't spent over a decade in Azkaban to fight children and then be called back mid battle. But he would never question the one man he'd devoted his life, his death, his freedom to. The question hung unasked between them: would they win this? Rodolphus's tone was noted, but Atticus's only response was a slight hum of agreement. He had healed himself to the best of his abilities (although a visit to a proper healer was still in order once this was all said and done) and he now folded his arms across his chest as he looked over the growing crowd of Death Eaters in the clearing. Some were clearly faring better than others but nearly all of them were worse off than they should have been considering their opponents. "The Dark Lord knows best," he said, although his own doubt was evident in his voice. Bellatrix Lestrange walked towards the Forbidden Forest on her own, hopping gracefully over the bodies of the dead that were strewn over the Hogwarts grounds. To say that she was displeased would be an understatement. Only a few more minutes and she could have finished them, the two halfblood brats and the Auror (ex-Auror, that was). Exhilarated by the rush of battle, she had drawn away with great reluctance, but it was not within Bellatrix's understanding to question her lord and master. If He called them back to him, then He must be doing so with the best of reasons, and she would not shirk the opportunity to run to His side. One of the dead at the edge of the forest, it seemed, was not dead, and let out a groan, as if appealing for mercy, as she passed by. A quick examination assured her that he was not one of theirs. Despite an overwhelming urge to kick him, she didn't want to dirty her boots or waste time, so she strode quickly through the forest, dark head held high until she reached the knot of Death Eaters gathered in a clearing of the trees. With one glance she found her husband amongst them and moved to stand beside him, not saying a word. Nothing needed to be said; they awaited instructions from the Dark Lord. From the opposite side of the forest, Gaius Travers made his way into the clearing, glaring with annoyance at the low branches that he all but blasted out of his way to get there. He fucking hated wilderness. And kids. Especially little girls. The one he'd just dealt with had given him more trouble than he'd anticipated, leaving him cranky and wanting to get this whole thing over with. He couldn't tell whether it'd been the walk back into the woods or the battle that had left him with a nasty cramp in his side, but this had been more than he'd bargained for either way. Once he finally made it, Gaius stumbled into the clearing with a hand clasped over the problem area and his narrowed eyes the only evidence of the dissatisfaction he felt -- stupid Hogwarts and its no apparition policy. It would have been a hell of a lot easier to get there if he could have apparated instead of walking. Regardless, he was there anyway, and once the others came into view, he gave a curt nod and tried to relax his expression to mimic one of bated anticipation. The truth was, he'd rather be at home than fighting a bunch of brats at Hogwarts, but he would do whatever the Dark Lord asked. That's what he'd signed up for. As Walden trudged away from the noise of the battle he found himself wondering why. There was a perfectly good reason for the call back, he was sure. He slouched slightly as he made his way into the trees. He was out of shape, of that he was certain. He might surpass the children in skill and wand work but they could easily run circles around him for days. Walden ran both hands over his head and clasped them behind his neck as he entered the clearing. There were a few others joining the group at the same time but he spotted Rodolphus (because who could miss him) and crossed the space. He stopped alongside Atticus and nodded before giving the others a similar greeting. "And to think my mother wanted me to become a Professor. I hate children." Rodolphus nodded to Walden as he came up and stepped back towards his wife to let him into the group. "Maybe you should put a few of them on leads and take them jogging," he replied helpfully, sticking out a finger to jab Walden in his generous side. Bellatrix, silent to this point, was not amused. Were they not aware how serious this situation was? Had she had any experience with the notion of pop psychology or enough empathy to imagine others' feelings, she might have thought that this was a coping mechanism, but instead, she merely cleared her throat haughtily. The Dark Lord was standing a ways away, clearly waiting for the rest of them to return before proceeding, and Bellatrix threw him a harried glance. "I do hope you finished a great deal of them, Walden. Half-breed and mudblood children are of no use, even for..." Bellatrix said with some disdain, "Jogging practise." It was quite clear that she found the idea of letting one of the students they had been battling close enough to do anything besides hex revolting. Walden swatted away Dolph's finger but smirked at the imagery. "You know perfectly well that jogging is not in my vocabulary. I speed walk on occasion but even that's rare." It was clear that Bellatrix was not even slightly amused with the situation, though Walden was used to her looks. It was not a productive day if he didn't manage to bring a scowl to her face. "And how are you handling, Rodolphus? Those girls looked rather intimidating. I was quite sure that you'd met your match." "I begged for mercy and they consented to let me go," came a deadpan reply, and Rodolphus glanced towards Bellatrix, well aware that she didn't find their antics remotely humorous. "You're looking especially radiant, tonight, darling," he continued, with faux romantic sincerity. He couldn't take this battle seriously. They were fighting children. And not even especially talented children. Perhaps the reason their Master had called them back was out of generosity -- it wouldn't surprise him. Bellatrix's expression softened, almost imperceptibly, but considering Rodolphus's tone, she was not particularly flattered by his compliment. "You've looked better yourself," she replied, coldly, and it was true. Fifteen years in Azkaban was not something that one recovered from quickly, and a battle -- even one against worthless teenaged swots -- didn't do much for the complexion, either. "I trust when this resumes you will face more formidable opponents," she added. "I know I for one am waiting for adults to appear with baited breath," Atticus replied dryly. "Perhaps out of thin air, or if we are lucky through this very forest." Under most circumstances he did endeavour to avoid anything that might be interpreted as antagonising Rodolphus's wife (a generally safer course of action) but his mood was poor and frankly he just did not care at the moment. "I'm here!" Edward Goyle boomed from the edge of the clearing as he lumbered into sight, still dragging the disembodied arm of a suit of armour that refused to release his robes behind him. While he'd been skeptical of having to fight children before the fight had actually began, he'd come to realize that two against one was almost as good as a fair fight, especially if he won. "This ain't quite what I expected," he said, giving the armour a sharp kick that only prompted it to tighten its grip on his robes. "Bloody Dumbledore." "I'd rather think that one who has been trained by the Dark Lord could take on a suit of armour," Bellatrix replied, her tone icy. She hadn't encountered any herself and therefore wasn't sure what sorts of enchantments that fool's excuse for a headmaster had placed on them, but nevertheless she was quite certain that she would have been able to handle it. With a flick of her wand, the disembodied arm fell limp on the leaves and twigs of the forest floor and then burst into flames. "Interesting," she said, sounding bored, and then turned so that her back was facing Goyle and she could look at more pleasant visages, if not company. Yaxley threw one last curse at a particularly uppity student before turning away to head toward the clearing with the other Death Eaters. While he knew it was not his place to question the will of the Dark Lord, he couldn't help but wonder what the point of all this was. Not that any of them had to worry about a group of children who were not willing to do more than throw plants and childish jinxes around (though he was still sore about being humiliated by that Mud-blood, even if he had killed him in the end), but surely there were better things he and the other Death Eaters, especially those with high positions in the Ministry, could be doing at the moment to serve the Cause. As the rest of the group came into view, he briefly passed by Thicknesse, who was still struggling with being half-turned into what looked like a sea urchin. With a flick of his wand, Yaxley lifted the spell, then took a moment to re-cast the Imperius Curse on him in case he had managed to throw it off after months of potential attempted resistance. He then continued on his way and finally stood next to Travers once he reached the clearing, giving a salute to mark his presence. Barely a moment later did Antonin Dolohov join the others in the clearing - lateness was never something he found acceptable, no, he prided himself on his promptness, but in some instances he knew there were no other options. Or few other options. Or few other options he wished to take, since an actual loo with a nice magical brick wall over the door for safety was immensely preferable to the floor of the Forbidden Forest. Not, of course, that he would ever tell any of his fellow Death Eaters this. Instead, he would tell of his triumph (ignoring the fight with the young boy - a Muggleborn, if he remembered his face correctly from the Prophet - whom he could not finish). His duel with Remus Lupin had been intense - he could not admit that the wolf had put up a decent fight, but Antonin won out in the end, as he knew he would. A werewolf, a half-breed and a half-blood, no matter how hard he tried, was no match for a pureblooded Death Eater. With a sweeping bow to his master, the Dark Lord, Antonin joined some of the older Death Eaters. "The wolf scum Lupin," he informed them all, spitting the name, "is no more." Faustus Selwyn was not a happy man. He hated children so very much, especially when they were pesky and just didn't die. Faustus had no qualms in killing persnickety brats, when they would stay put for killing. He wasn't going to run all over the place to chase them down, he wanted a real fight, not a few easy to capture nippers. Only, he hadn't captured any and that silly, pigtailed Hufflepuff snot was going to get what she deserved. His news to the Dark Lord wasn't as triumphant as Dolohov's, but more astute he believed. No one else had noticed it, or at least, not had the courage to speak up about it. "Nott, my lord, Edmund is not among us. I believe he is lost." Gaius sent an even glance across the faces of those who had just joined them in the gathering, keenly aware of the fact that numbers on both sides had dwindled -- of course, he wasn't about to brag about the fact that he'd killed one of the students. That Nott had died was unfortunate, but he was necessary collateral if they were going to win. Their opponents' numbers were far greater than he'd anticipated -- not only professors and students, but the Order and various magical creatures had spilled into Hogwarts to join their war. "Pity," he said simply, folding his arms across his chest. Edward, on the other hand, stood gaping at Faustus after hearing both his and Antonin's news (he'd also given Antonin a rough, congratulatory pat on the back when he'd mentioned Lupin). He wasn't sure exactly what Faustus meant by lost. "What d'you mean, 'lost'? Did he get lost on his way here?" Goyle paused to laugh at the preposterousness of the situation. "Not that hard to find, if you ask me!" Rodolphus peered down at Goyle, unimpressed. The more things changed the more they stayed the same, it seemed. He paused from harassing Atticus, Walden, and Bellatrix long enough to growl "he's dead, you idiot," across the ranks. Bellatrix was sincerely becoming irritated at her companions, Goyle in particular. It wasn't like her to question her master's judgment, but at moments like these, she couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind when he decided to allow this ogre bear the Dark Mark, as though he was equal to the rest of them. "Goyle," she said icily, "Please, have some reverence for our fallen. Not every one of us is as imbecilic as you are." Why, she wondered, hadn't Goyle been their one (it seemed) casualty in this pathetic excuse for a battle? It wasn't as though anyone would miss him, and his brute strength was not terribly needed when her husband had physical strength as well as knowing how to actually use a wand. Lucius Malfoy was sat on the log in the clearing, oblivious to what was going on around him. His usual sleek hair was matted, and his eyes puffy, as if he hadn't slept in a week. He had taken no part in the fighting, partly because he wanted to assist his master, and partly because this darned wand did not work properly. His own wand was still in the possession of Voldemort himself, although Lucius did not dare ask for it back, despite the new find of the elder wand. Ollivander had made him a new one, but he was frail and rushed, and this wand was clearly defective. Despite these problems, Lucius had one main issue on his mind; Where was Draco? He hoped his son hadn't done anything stupid, hadn't stayed behind to try and prove his worth against Potter and his friends. While the Death Eaters were a highly trained army, Draco was still just a boy, barely of age, and Lucius couldn't bear the thought of him being hurt. He sat, lost in his thoughts, paying no heed to his colleagues. Normally, Narcissa would have been complaining about several things, like the fact that they were sitting on a filthy log in the woods and it was terribly cold and there were most likely bugs about. But at the moment, she could care less. Draco was missing, and short of directly disobeying orders and returning to the castle, there was absolutely nothing they could do. What if he was trapped? Or injured? And this time, there was no Severus to look out for him. Like Lucius, the lack of sleep was apparent in the dark shadows around her eyes and the thin lines around her mouth. They had to find a way to return to the castle at once. But no plan occurred to her, and Narcissa sat without speaking, twisting her diamond rings and staring off into the distance. Rabastan had been lurking behind a tree several yards away, waiting for the perfect time to make his entrance into the clearing. He wanted to be sure that everyone would see him when he entered, in spite of his bloody shoulder and forehead -- he still looked better than most of these oafs and would look even more so when he arrived fashionably late. "Good evening, " he said when he pushed his way into the group, winking at Narcissa as he passed her. Having been knocked out cold by a crystal ball after fighting Lavender, Greyback hadn't woken up until a while later -- and when he did, he went on a rampage. So the call to retreat came as a disappointment to him. Why should he? He was having too much fun. He supposed it would be much less fun to disobey the Dark Lord's orders, however, and so he dropped the lifeless body he had been holding to the ground as if discarding a piece of rubbish, snapping his teeth at a nearby student as he stalked out of the castle to disappear into the woods. His robes were filthy and stained with blood, both fresh and old, and the deep red liquid was smeared across his face and hands, clinging to his beard. He hadn't used his wand much. There were several Death Eaters already in the clearing when he arrived, and he sat down on the nearest log -- right next to Narcissa -- ungracefully plopping himself down so that the log shifted slightly under his weight. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, but it didn't seem to make much of a difference, only managing to smear the blood even more. He didn't acknowledge the Malfoys, but instead spoke to the group: "Mulciber went and got himself killed," he announced, gruffly. Narcissa hadn't noticed Rabastan and his winking at all, as lost in thought as she was, but this was something else entirely. It was not simply that her crude seating had shifted, but there was suddenly a werewolf sitting next to her, dripping with blood. Of course she had seen Fenrir Greyback before, but never quite like this. Gagging slightly, she scooted closer towards Lucius, desperate to put a few inches between herself and that thing, trying very hard to not ponder where the blood was from. Although he had retreated as soon as the Dark Lord had ordered, it took a very long time for Basil Jugson to make it to the woods. He'd been up in the castle and he'd gotten lost, several times. It had been years since he'd been at Hogwarts, yes, but the fact that he was concussed and quite possibly had a broken foot and shoulder did not help matters at all. He wandered around dazed, just willing himself not to pass out. It had not been the best night for him, but at least he managed to finish off one of the two girls he'd been fighting. Though he dearly wanted to get rid of the other girl, too, he also was somewhat relieved for a bit of a rest. So, he found himself making his way slowly to where his fellow Death Eaters were gathered, limping and muttering, "shite bugger fuck" repeatedly. "Evening," he said to a tree when he reached the rest of the Death Eaters. Then, he promptly passed out. Having remained silent as the other Death Eaters had entered the clearing, Gaius had been almost bored waiting for the Dark Lord's next set of orders -- until Basil had arrived, greeted and tree and passed out, that is. From where he'd been standing quietly on the edge of the clearing, Gaius crossed to stand over the unconscious Death Eater, trying to contain his amusement as he poked him with the tip of his shoe. "Hello, down there," he said, raising his eyebrows and poking him a second time. "Wake up, you." Jugson stirred a bit, after being poked for the second time. His head was pounding and he generally felt like he'd been out at the pub for all hours of the night before. "But.. I don't wanna.. milk the cows today, Mum," he mumbled. Greyback watched with a bored, mild amusement at the scene unfolding before them. Oh, well. At least there was something to watch while they waited for their next orders. He reached into his robes and pulled out a flask of whiskey, unscrewing the top and taking a swig. Once again he used the back of his hand as a napkin (and once again was fairly unsuccessful). He looked over beside him, noticing Narcissa seemed to be trying to scoot as far away from him as possible, and he grinned. "Want some?" he asked, shoving the flask at her, a few drops splashing out onto her clothes he was holding it so close. "No, thank you," Narcissa wrinkled her nose and would have scooted even further away if they were not constrained by the physical limitations of a log. She immensely disliked whiskey, she did not drink from flasks, and besides, this one could have been anywhere. With a sigh, she took her wand -- well, not her wand, per se, but actually Greyback's after trading with Draco, and vanished the whiskey stains. Just because she looked exhausted and generally dreadful did not excuse stained clothing. Greyback had shrugged with Narcissa refused, mumbling "suit yourself" as he lifted the flask up to his mouth for another swig. When he noticed her pulling out her wand, however -- no, it was his wand. He reached out and grabbed the wand right out of her hand when she finished cleaning the spilled alcohol, without saying a word. Antonin had been quiet, silently mourning Nott, a man he had known for years and respected. He knew, though, or he assumed, that Nott would have wanted nothing more than to go doing the Dark Lord's will, contributing to his absolute victory. Well, he thought, so be it. Getting up, he walked over to Greyback and held out his hand for the flask. He would drink in Edmund Nott's memory. He looked up as Antonin approached them, and when he held out his hand, Greyback slapped the flask into it. "Have at it." Yaxley had been watching the antics of the rest of the Death Eaters around him without saying anything for some time -- now was certainly not the time to make light of their circumstances, given that at least two, if not more of their side had died for the Cause, but he was also in no rush to make a fool of himself again in front of everyone by interrupting in a manner that might be regarded as him stepping out of his place. Perhaps he ought to address only their losses thus far while acting as if the bantering and drinking hadn't taken place in the clearing just now. 'How could Nott and Mulciber have possibly been killed by these filthy-blooded upstarts?' he said after clearing his throat as discreetly as possible. 'None of these children have the ability or willpower to kill anyone.' He wondered if Crabbe and Rosier, who still had yet to arrive, had somehow been lost as well -- he wouldn't have been surprised in the slightest if Crabbe was dead, but losing another one of the Dark Lord's first and closest followers would come as a shock. Bellatrix narrowed her eyes, listening to the conversation that was going on, and saw that Greyback had somehow had the nerve to insinuate himself next to her sister. And he was filthy. She did not even understand why Narcissa was here, it wasn't as though she knew how to fight any more than her useless lump of a husband and son. With a sweep of her robes, she strode over to the log around which Greyback, the Malfoys, Dolohov, and Yaxley had convened. "Nott and Mulciber should be proud to have fallen in the Dark Lord's service," she hissed, as though the entirety of this group was utterly missing the point. "Sacrifices must be made." She didn't bother mention that, even if they had wasted their time with little children, the whole Order of the Phoenix was there, and Nott and Mulciber very well might have died by their hands. They would hardly be the first of the Death Eaters to meet such a fate. She primly sat down on the log between Greyback and Narcissa (it was a squeeze), and said, coldly, "That will do, Greyback." At Bellatrix's reference to sacrifices, Augustus limped out of the shadows where he had been waiting, eager for further instructions. "Sacrifices, yes, but those were two damn fine fellows," he croaked, addressing Bellatrix directly. He had rather liked both Edmund and Demetrius - they were talented Death Eaters and loyal to their cause. "Maybe they showed mercy, and were killed for it. I'm sure you can all agree not to let any more students walk away from us alive." He didn't mention the dark haired girl he had allowed to escape from him earlier. It was possible that he'd meet her again, however, and this time he wouldn't be playing games. Bellatrix raised an eyebrow delicately. Was Rookwood daring to disagree with her? Perhaps, perhaps. And of all the Death Eaters to lose, Mulciber and Nott were not two she would have chosen (Crabbe and Goyle were) -- after all, Nott was one of the Dark Lord's oldest followers and Mulciber's talents with the Imperius Curse had made him worth his while. "Don't be preposterous, Augustus," she said. "That is something we would do." She smiled icily at him, because it was true -- not that she ever intended to be in a position in which she needed to be shown mercy. "Nevertheless, I am sure that Demetrius and Edmund's dearly departed spirits are looking down on us and wishing we remembered them with respect, rather than discussing how they likely died accidentally at the hands of children." Graley was neutral with how things had progressed, he had managed to kill one, hurt a few others and he was hurt himself. Nothing a few days and potions wouldn't hurt before he could rest with a nice flask of whiskey and hide from the world as the right side took control and set things to the way they should be. He heard the call for retreat and he didn't wait, heading towards where he had been called too, limping slightly from the ache in his legs and lower back from being slammed around. He wasn't young anymore. Sleeping tonight wasn't going to be easy. "Here," he said a bit snappishly as he came into the clearing dusting off his robes and looked over his arm where some of his robe was burnt onto his skin and he bared his teeth in a grimace before beginning to work on at least trying to get rid of a little bit of the pain. With a frown at Graley's appearance, Rodolphus removed himself from the ranks and stomped over to his friend. As much as he smacked Graley about and made fun of him as frequently as possible, they'd grown up together, and he didn't take kindly to anyone but himself doing him damage. "Hold still," he ordered, pulling a glass bottle out from deep within his robes and pouring several drops onto the wound. "Wouldn't want anything making you even uglier than you already are," he added helpfully. Crabbe Sr who had appeared moments earlier snorted at Rodolphus' comment to Graley. "Funny, funny," he added lamely. He was still thinking about loss of Nott and others, curious as to what The Dark Lord was going to do at this point. His beady eyes focused on the floor and he appeared contemplative, or at least, thinking much more than he usually did. The Dark Lord had been watching the goings-on between his Death Eaters without real interest. He was waiting, waiting for Harry Potter, whom he was sure would come. He caught snatches of jokes (this situation, Lord Voldemort thought, was not yet amusing, though it would be, soon), complaints about having to fight children (did they not realise that their reservations to hurt half-breed and mudblood brats could be their undoing?), and news that two had fallen in his service -- Nott and Mulciber. This saddened Lord Voldemort, as much as Lord Voldemort could be saddened, which was an emotion more like disappointment. He was disappointed, that Nott and Mulciber would not be spending many more years in his service. But, as Bellatrix had said, sacrifices had to be made. He tilted his pointed chin and spoke, softly, yet knowing that as soon as he did, they would all fall silent, rapt and attentive. "We wait for the boy," he said, explaining what he thought they should all know already. "Without Harry Potter, these upstarts will crumble and fall, and we shall be unstoppable." He narrowed his eyes. "Still, he has five minutes left before every one of his friends and supporters will die because of his cowardice, because if he does not come, I ask that you show no mercy." There was a slight pause. That would not be necessary, of course, because Potter would appear. He was likely dawdling, saying good-bye to his pathetic friends, whom he knew that Potter would die to protect. This was why his plan was flawless. "Yaxley, Dolohov," he hissed. "Go and search for Potter. Perhaps he has decided to hide in these trees." Knowing that his orders would be obeyed instantly, "Until Potter arrives, I should like silence." With that, he turned away, looking into the fire and grasping the Elder Wand. They would not dare speak now. Lord Voldemort had a problem to consider. Hortense and Ruby "I've been looking all over for you!" Hortense exclaimed as she approached the familiar head of dark hair. There wasn't much time left. She'd been worried that she wouldn't be able to find Ruby. When she found her, she almost wished she hadn't for her own selfish reasons. She was on the verge of shaking, a hand hidden inside the dark black of her robes curled a parcel of handwritten letters. This was going to be the hardest thing that she ever had to do but Ruby was the only one she could trust with to do it. She'd already said goodbye to Gus and Grayson this year, the idea of saying goodbye to Ruby too made her heart ache. She'd been debating this for weeks. If something were to happen to her could she trust something this important to chance? Hortense never left things to chance. That was why she had to tell Ruby. Ruby was the most dependable person she knew. She'd make sure that this request was obliged. She was going to hand them over. Now was the time. They were stacked neatly in alphabetical order and tied with a green ribbon. Each letter had the words 'Will', 'Grayson', 'Gus', 'Ruby', 'Max', 'Mum & Dad' or 'Prudence' sprawled over the envelope to identify who it needed to get it. "I have something-" she started choking back the threat of tears. Now was not the time to get emotional. She needed to think about what she was about to go do. This was simply a stop off along the way. It was an errand that had to be done. All she had time to do was take a deep breathe and try again. She tugged the tied letters from her robe pocket and extended them. "I'm going back with Slughorn. I need you to hold onto these and if something should happen to me I need you to make sure they get to proper people," she offered in explanation trying to keep her face neutral. Ruby had whirled around the second she heard Hortense's familiar voice, but her heart dropped when she saw the look on her best friend's face. The expression there frightened her and, when the words behind the expression came, it didn't take much for her tears to start flowing again. She bit her lip hard and the hand that reached for the parcel of letters shook as she grasped them in her fingers. She rubbed at her eyes with the back of her hand, knowing she must look a fright, but not caring because there were more important things than looking fabulous at the moment. Such as these letters. They were familiar to her. After all, Ruby had thought she might die earlier in the year and she'd arranged her own final affairs as well. This was different though. This was her best friend arranging her final affairs. "No! You can't," she exclaimed finally, terror tinging her tone. The breathless aspect of her voice, the one that was typically accompanied by her long-windedness, was gone for the moment. She waved the letters at Hortense, an attempt to urge her friend to take them back. "You have to stay!" Hortense wanted nothing more than to agree with Ruby. She wanted to stay right where she was and act like there wasn't a war going on. She couldn't though! There were people dying for them inside of there. She couldn't go back to this school and face people if she sat there and waited for a death count. She wouldn't be able to sleep at night. This wasn't about her own safety anymore! This was about standing up for what she believed in. This was about fighting for the people that she loved the most. If they couldn't see it and fight for themselves then she had to do it. She had to go back in there and do her part even if it meant she might not make it back. "I have to go in there," she argued half-heartedly. There wasn't fight in her tone just insistence. This was what she had to do. This was what she needed to do. She needed to go help. She didn't want Voldemort to win. If he won, what was left for her half-blood kindred spirits? If he won, who would ever actually be happy? Her face twisted painfully. She was in agony over all of this. She had to do this though. "I have to fight because it's the only way that it'll ever be over for me. I have to do this! For you - and me - and Will - And Grayson ... even if he never appreciates it... I have to fight! I can't let people fight for me when I can fight for myself. I can't just sit here... Not when there are people dying in there ... Ruby, you have to promise to give those letters out if something happens! Pinky swear! " Even as she had begged Hortense to say, Ruby knew it was no use trying to talk her out of it. She had even written letters! Her friend's words only cemented what Ruby knew but that didn't help staunch her tears any. She looked helplessly down at the parcel in her hand for a few long moments before clutching it to her chest. "Be careful," she choked out, looking up at Hortense and trying hard not to sob as she envisioned what was going on in the castle. There was no doubt in her mind that entering the castle meant death for her best friend and she wished she had the courage to follow her into it. "I promise." She pressed her lips together and held out her fist, curling her pinky at Hortense. Hortense nodded. She had every intention of being careful but this was one of those things she couldn't bring herself to go and any further with. She could promise to be careful but she couldn't do much more than that. The thought that this might actually be the last time that she saw her best friend made her a little sick to her stomach. She reached her hand out and met Ruby's pinky, shaking it to accept the promise. Her eyes were leaking but she couldn't even call them tears. She wasn't cry right now. If she started, she might never stop. Drowning everyone might be an effective way to end the war but it wasn't going to help her see to move forward. She had too much to say and not enough time to say it. Ruby knew she was loved but other people didn't. "Make sure they know I love them," she said choking on the words as she worked on her goodbyes. "Tell them I'm sorry. Tell them I'm sorry about the dumb fighting and - Just tell them, okay? - If something happens - just - read your letter." Ruby couldn't find the words to reply and so she simply nodded. She wanted to tie Hortense down or run and find Gus or Grayson to see if they could talk her out of this madness. Because surely they'd do a better job than Ruby ever could. She settled on willing Hortense to stay in her mind and throwing her arms around her friend's neck. "You have to come back, okay, because you're supposed to introduce Will to your Daddy over the summer," she whispered into Hortense's ear. "Then you'll go on a date and I'll invite you over to my house so you can tell me all about it." She tightened her arms around her friend, wanting to hold onto her forever. Hortense could resist many things but once she felt Ruby's arms around her neck, her own tightened around Ruby's back holding her in a hug. The water that had been building in her eyes ran in streams down her cheeks and she willed them dry. This was only going to make it worse! The hug in itself was enough to break her down. When Ruby brought Will up, Hortense sobbed into her shoulder for a a solid minute. She was certain that she couldn't say goodbye to Will. His letter had been bad enough to write. Emotions were compounding inside of her and overpowering her. "I'm going to come back," she insisted even if she couldn't promise it. Tears and laughter were escaping now as she managed, "I'll be okay and - when I finish this, I'm going to place an embarrassingly big kiss on Will's mouth for everyone to see. You can tell me about the looks on everyone else's face." It was hard not to smile into the crook of Hortense's neck at that mental image. Ruby knew Will well enough to know that an embarrassingly big kiss would truly embarrass the Slytherin boy and she could even imagine the looks on some of those Slytherins' faces. Her smile was short lived, though, and the amusement faded as the very real situation still lurked around them. She took a step back, releasing her best friend and clutching the parcel of letters back to her chest. "Be really, really careful, okay? Because I'll hand these out but I don't want to have to because I want you to come back and tell us everything that's in these." She lifted the letters slightly, still clutching them tightly though. She'd take her job of distributing them very seriously. That was the sort of person was and the sort of person she wanted to be remembered for. Hortense had her faults but she liked to comfort people and even if she wanted to cry right now, poking fun at her own tragic love life seemed like the best agenda. It made her feel a bit better knowing she'd managed to make Ruby smile even if it was momentary. She wished she could make everyone smile one last time. It was so much easier to dodge the reality and linger in some fantasy land where there wasn't a war and the least of their biggest problems involved courtship. Hortense took an extra step back when she was released so as to not clutch Ruby again. She wiped away at the tears which smeared any makeup, she'd put on earlier in the day. She didn't really care if she looked like a raccoon at the moment though. "If I come back, we're burning all of those," she said with nod. "Don't take no for an answer when delivering them either. I don't care how much they protest..." She had to finish up. She checked a pocket watch nervously. "It's almost time..." Ruby's face crumpled as Hortense checked her pocket watch and she covered her eyes with her free hand. She didn't want Hortense to leave her and a thousand pleas for her to stay were on Ruby's lips, but she kept them tightly pressed together. She nodded again, sliding her hand away from her eyes and hoping her face was in order. "I love you, okay," she said hurriedly, her words bumping into one another. Her eyes were stinging again, but she blinked away her tears and kept her eyes on Hortense's face. If she lingered further, Ruby would have changed her mind and she couldn't chance it. Hortense gazed over Ruby once more, eyes closing to store the memory. This was it! This might be the last time she saw her. The reality was heartbreaking enough to nearly floor her right then and there. She opened her eyes and offered her best smile. "I love you too," she told her slowly down long enough to make sure none of them got lost in rush. "We'll see each other again." She stood there for only a second more before she turned on her heel and headed in the other direction to lose herself in the crowd. Bianca and Michael The battle was far from over and Michael was keenly aware of this fact, but he was tired and in pain and he wished that there was a way to expedite the outcome. He wasn't sure how much longer he could fight without making careless mistakes and sabotaging himself. He didn't know how anyone could handle this kind of pressure, particularly those who hadn't had the benefit of the DA's support all year. He was afraid for them -- these Death Eaters were dueling to kill. Once he made it back into the Great Hall, he looked around frantically for some familiar face, one of his friends or anyone to reassure him. When he spotted Bianca's blond hair, he let out half a sigh of relief before shock replaced it. He wove his way through the crowds of people milling about the hall until he was finally close enough to put a hand on her shoulder. She'd stayed behind to fight with them? "Bianca?" On edge after somehow managing to survive one battle, Bianca nearly jumped out of her skin at the hand on her shoulder and quickly spun around to chastise whomever it was for startling her, wincing slightly at the pain that bloomed in her aching muscles at the sudden movement. She suddenly felt sheepish, though, as she came face to face with Michael, feeling a bit like he'd caught her doing something wrong even though he'd really only caught her doing something out of character. She knew she wouldn't be there if it hadn't been for last minute hesitation. "Oh, hello, Michael," she said, trying to sound as though it made perfect sense for her to be standing there. Still, even as she tried to sound nonchalant, she was relieved to see him alive after everything and she reached for one of his hands. Had Michael known that he had Bianca to worry about during the battle, he'd have been far more relieved at seeing her in one piece. As it was, he was mostly confused -- he'd never have thought she'd stay, but now that he knew she'd had, he'd almost rather she hadn't. He had enough to lose in this battle with his friends all fighting and the idea of possibly losing Bianca too was nothing that he even wanted to consider. Taking her hand and giving it a squeeze, Michael paused for a moment before reaching to give her a hug, careful to be gentle, since he didn't know what kinds of injuries she might have sustained earlier. "I can't believe you're here," he said, closing his eyes for a brief moment. Abandoning any semblance of nonchalance altogether, Bianca linked her hands behind Michael and hugged him back just as gently. She wanted to cling to him tightly, but, not only did she ache all over, she was similarly unaware of the extent of his injuries. Still, she was grateful for his presence, because at least with him she felt comfortable enough to be a little bit vulnerable without feeling like such an oddity for being there. "I was worried about Sasha," she replied honestly. "I tried to leave, but I couldn't." She didn't exactly know yet if she thought it was a good idea that she'd stayed or not. She wasn't exactly equipped to fight Death Eaters, but she'd still tried her hardest. Whether it was a good idea or not, though, it was still an extremely unsettling experience and she hid her face against Michael's shoulder. "I knew you'd be here," she added, her voice muffled. She'd been worried about him too. Michael placed his hand on the back of Bianca's head, ducking his own down next to her neck. This entire experience had been emotionally jarring thus far and with the exhilaration of having fought alongside Kingsley Shacklebolt wearing off, he just wanted this whole thing to be over, which was impossible, of course -- they still had to protect Harry, the school and the rest of their friends. While he was glad to be a part of something this big, fighting with those he truly respected in order to defeat those who had made their lives a living hell for the entire year, he couldn't deny that he was terrified beneath it all. "Are you hurt?" he said, speaking quietly into her hear. "Is Sasha?" At Michael's questions, Bianca felt her eyes stinging and she screwed them shut, not wanting to cry because at least she was still alive and that was certainly something to be thankful for. She had watched as corpses were carried into the Great Hall and she was well aware of the possibility that she could have been one of them. "Sasha's fine, I believe. I'm..." She trailed off, shaking her head against his shoulder. Her own injuries weren't really something she wanted to talk about. "I annoyed him more," she said simply. "Are you hurt, though?" "I'm okay," he said, closing his eyes. "Nothing major." He was quiet for a few moments, content simply to stand there with her like this for just a few minutes -- a few minutes before he'd have to face the reality of the situation again. It was likely that either one of them could be dead before this whole thing was through, but he didn't want to think that way. The more he thought about it, the more he felt compelled to say something he'd been thinking for some time. For all he knew, this could be the last conversation he and Bianca would ever have. "I love you," he said quietly. Bianca lifted her head from Michael's shoulder, thoroughly surprised. She wanted to make him repeat what he'd just said over and over again, but it didn't feel as though there was enough time for her to indulge her insecurities and she ignored her knee-jerk urge to question him. She settled instead on untangling her arms from around him and carefully cupping his cheeks in her hands before kissing him briefly. "I love you," she replied finally, looking him in the eye as she said it and feeling brave for not flinching. She'd thought it for quite some time herself, but every time she'd even considered saying it to him she froze. She was glad he'd said it, though, because she was also well aware of the fact that they might never see one another again. "Please don't die," she added, her tone of voice urgent. "I promise not to die so long as you promise you won't," he said, grinning down at her before leaning down to kiss her again. If it were only that easy. He somehow doubted that he'd be lucky enough to have Kingsley Shacklebolt come and save his ass if he got into another fight. Either way, he didn't need to tell her that, but he hoped that she at least tried to stay out of trouble herself. He'd be looking for her after this was all over, so long as he was around to do it. "I promise," she murmured. She dropped her hands to rest lightly on his shoulders, giving him a small smile as she tried not to imagine what it would be like if they couldn't keep their promises. "There are still things we're meant to do together, you know. And if you," she stumbled over the word 'die' and decided not to use it at all, leaving only a significant pause in its wake, "then we can't. Do those things." Perhaps if she reminded him of what he'd be missing out on he'd be less reckless and he'd be able to keep his end of the bargain by not dying. "Movies. And things." "Yeah," Michael agreed, lowering his hands to her waist. It was probably stupid of him to be smiling in the midst of all that was happening around them but he couldn't help it. He was reminded of their afternoon in the park, which was a much nicer thing to be thinking about than the fact that they were bringing bodies in on one side of the room or trying to heal those who had been badly injured on the other. It was a moment of reprieve in the midst of the chaos that he didn't want to let go. So, he just hugged her again. "Definitely a happier movie next time." "Definitely." Bianca nodded to emphasise her agreement and threaded her arms around Michael's neck, resting her forehead against his. She wanted to stay there in that bittersweet moment with him forever, but she knew she couldn't. Eventually they would have to part. Because she needed to return to Sasha and he needed to do whatever it was that he was meant to do. For now, though, she would savour it. He loved her and she really loved him. "Other things as well," she said significantly, still wanting to remind him. "Yeah," he said. "Other things." Glancing into her eyes for a moment before he let his own fall closed, he let out a fleetingly contented sigh. The implications of her words went completely over his head. It hit him them just how tired he was, how tired he'd been for the last few months. They were finally going to get out of here and put a stop to it. Things could go back to normal. That was it? Bianca had just, or so she thought, strongly implied that she would sleep with him after this was all over and this was his response? She'd had enough conversations against her will with her siblings about this sort of thing and she'd always thought it was a much bigger deal than Michael was making it out to be. "Michael," she whispered, "are you sure you heard what I just said?" She felt a bit ridiculous even thinking about such a thing in this situation, but she figured it was better than threatening to kill him if he died. "I heard you," he said, brushing his nose against hers. "I already have a list of things I want to do. And we can Apparate, you know, so...we can actually do them." He ran his hands up her back to her shoulder blades, trying to push any of the more pessimistic thoughts from his mind. They were going to get through this. All of them. "You could always add to the list, you know." This was getting exasperating. Hadn't they already discussed how ill-equipped she was with being forward? Now her attempts were either going right over his head or Michael was a very, very good actor. The second option didn't seem very likely, so if it was the first then she was going to have to abandon being sly about it altogether. "All right," she said slowly, choosing her words very carefully. "I think that we should have sex after all of this is over. How does that sound?" She'd somehow managed to keep her voice calm, but her cheeks were burning. Michael had been content with this being one of those sweet, kind of cheesy moments where they said their 'I love you's and promised not to die and all of that, but when he realized what she had actually been talking about, he pulled back a little and raised his eyebrows at her. "Sex?" he asked, somewhat incredulous -- they had talked about her being more forward, but he hadn't really expected her to, well, actually be more forward or anything. He cleared his throat and tried to keep his voice even, since he didn't want to seem overeager or something. "You're serious?" Now that the words were out of her mouth, Bianca was feeling horribly embarrassed. To be honest, she had thought about Michael in that sense in the past, but the Great Hall during battle wasn't exactly where she'd planned on having the conversation. "Yes," she said, not sounding quite so calm now. "I think it would be interesting. I mean, nice. I think it would be nice. Don't you?" She kept her eyes firmly on his chin. "Yes," he answered without hesitation. "I think it would be nice." What had before been an expression of confusion split back into a smile -- this was probably not the place or the time to be having this conversation, especially since there were parts of Michael that still hadn't outgrown the awkward pubescent tendency to lose control of themselves. But, uh, that was certainly something to which he could look forward. "Good," she said, hoping Michael realised that it wouldn't happen if he happened to die at any point that night. Bianca didn't really have the heart to say so aloud. She didn't want to think about the very real possibility that they might not make it through the night and she certainly didn't want to say it out loud. Instead, she settled on leaning in and kissing him again. Even though she didn't want to think about it and even though her cheeks were still warm with embarrassment, if this was one of her last moments she had a feeling she would be okay with it. "I love you," she said again after pulling away slightly. "I love you, too," he said, reluctant to let go of her but leaning in to give her one last, quick kiss on the cheek anyway. Couldn't the battle just be over, already? Michael was distracted. But he knew he had to go and find his friends, make sure that they were all okay. Before he did, he'd have to walk around for a minute or two, though, since there were a few things he needed to work out. Taking one of her hands in his again, he gave it a reassuring squeeze as much for his own benefit as hers. "And I'm going to hold you to that, okay?" Bianca frowned but she nodded her head anyway. She could feel a goodbye lingering between them and she had an overwhelming urge to beg him to just stay with her and not fight when the battle resumed. But she didn't really think he would listen to her and she wasn't so sure she wanted to sit things out either, not with Sasha still in the castle. Still, she could feel their moment drawing to a close and she didn't want him to say goodbye. At least, she didn't want to hear that word. "I'll see you later," she said firmly, eyes intent on his. "Later," he agreed, pulling further away big by bit. There was still fighting left to be done -- a war left to win. Now he had yet another incentive not to get himself hurt, something to which he could look forward after this was all over. He was disinclined to let go of her hand at all, but slowly his fingers uncurled from hers and he let them drop. Once last smile, then he turned and went off in search of the other Ravenclaws, feeling impervious and almost sure that nothing at all could go wrong after this conversation. |