𝕴𝖗𝖗𝖊𝖑𝖊𝖛𝖆𝖓𝖙

Mσɱҽɳƚʂ Lαʂƚ α Lιϝҽƚιɱҽ

 Minutes take seconds, but moments last a lifetime. Arthur had been casting spells, shooting hexes, and dodging curses for what was probably a decent time now, maybe 15 minutes, maybe less, maybe more. With the heat of battle, things blurred together, adrenaline pushing time faster.

Arthur ducked at the last moment as Thorfinn Rowle's emerald green Killing Curse raced above his head, ruffling his hair and striking the stone column behind him. With a cry, blue light shot out of his wand tip, the jelly legs jinx the twins had taught him arching through the air. It blasted into Rowle's shoulder, the magic's color rippling down his body and burrowing through his clothes. The Death Eater's legs buckled beneath him and he collapsed onto a pile of rubble. The wand clattered onto the floor, and Rowle clawed forward to his last defense.

"Stupefy!" Arthur shouted, and with a flash of red light, his opponent lay there, stunned, fingers mere inches from his wand. What he wanted to do was stop for a moment, catch his breath, and mourn all of the death around him. Instead, he quickly picked his way through broken columns and destroyed statues to the unconscious body. Arthur raised his wand to perform a Full Body Binding Charm, when something tugged at his gut. Some instinct he couldn't ignore. Arthur turned and ran, leaving Rowle's stunned body on a pile of rubble.

Chunks of stone, formally the intricate arches and columns of a Hogwarts courtyard, caused him to stumble on his way to where his instincts were pulling him. He ended at the top of a massive hill, made of stone, dust, crushed statues, blood, and beams of wood. Death Eaters had obviously blown through here. A shattered mask lay on the floor, and sticking out of a rubble pile in the corner, was an arm, the sleeve of the Hogwarts' robe tattered and bloodied.

Cursing softly to himself, he looked behind him, checking for Death Eaters over his shoulder. What am I doing? Arthur thought to himself. He turned to go back to Rowle's unconscious body, when voices sounded in the courtyard. He turned back around and saw familiar red hair. It was Fred, and behind him, smeared with soot, was Harry. Relief swept through Arthur. With Harry, this war would finally end.

There were his sons, Fred, George, and Ron. Pride filled him as he looked down at his sons, here on the battlefield, fighting for freedom. He started for his boys, picking his way down through the destruction. Arthur looked down for one moment, and an explosion rocked his world. Flames leapt, the force blowing debris through the air. The stone beneath his feet rumbled, sliding out from under him. Scrambling, he regained his balance.

Emotional balance would be harder to achieve. Arthur's world would take years to get that back. Every shadow was haunted by the explosion, the dead eyes of his son.

He bolted forward, then came to an abrupt stop. Fred lay on the stone, motionless. Ash and dust smeared on his left side, and a pool of blood was slowly seeping into the dirt and soot on the ground. His eyes were glazed, cold. His mouth still held the shape of his last smile.

No. Not Fred. God, no. Why?

Arthur stood in that moment for a lifetime. It took an eternity for a tear to slip down his cheek. It took a lifetime.

And it would take more to forget his eyes.