May Death Do Us Part | RB ✔︎

TWENTY ☆ DUAL

☆ REGULUS ☆

Not once did I anticipate standing against Mona in this war. In all of my dreams, we'd stood together, side by side, fighting for what's right. Even in my nightmares, she died at my side, fighting for a cause we both believed in.

But here we are, standing across from on another on the battlefield, glaring one another down.

Oh, the times have changed since December, nearly six months ago.

Mona's changed, too. Her eyes are lifeless. Dull, even. Her hands are wrapped securely around two knives, ones that accurately match the ones she used that day in Bulgaria.

She's dressed head to toe in black fabric, the kind that the Temptress wore twenty years ago. There's knives strapped to her every limb, her nails long and pointed to mimic the blades in her hands.

Bruises line her wrists and any inch of exposed skin, the kind that are green and nasty looking, even from a distance.

Her head is tilted downward and the mask she wears it too much like a muzzle to be a coincidence. Her blank expression is odd, even for the Temptress. Like she's waiting for orders, almost robotic.

"Harry Potter..." Voldemort pauses, tilting his head, "is dead."

And one of those gut wrenching screams is let out. The kind that even has Voldemort flinching.

It's Hayden Potter, collapsing from despair into Malfoy's arms.

"Mona..." Mattheo whispers, gesturing to her with his head. "Something's wrong with her."

I furrow my eyebrows, staring at her in an attempt to decipher the difference.

"My Temptress," the Dark Lord starts, Mona lifting her head at her name, eyes and face void of emotion, "will kill you all."

His arm thrusts out and I close my eyes, preparing myself for death.

A surviving traitor from Voldemort's ranks is something that is unheard of. Until Mona and I.

And she's at his side once more.

But death never comes for me.

Mattheo's brother writhes beneath Voldemort's curse and Kaeda cradles his head in order to keep him from hurting himself further. Mattheo jumps into action, casting a protego as Harry falls from Hagrid's arms.

My eyes shift to Mona as she springs into action, pulling knives from her waist, throwing them towards me. I narrowly miss the first two, the third snagging my clothing just by my neck.

And she's sprinting at me, knives drawn. I curse under my breath, holding my wand in preparation for an attack.

Mona swings her knife, the blade whistling through the air and I hold my arms over my head. But the pain comes in the form of white-hot searing agony traveling through my leg at the speed of light.

I'm pushed against the cement wall of the castle-well, what's left of it. Her forearm is against my throat and her left hand holds the knife in my leg, twisting the blade.

A scream rips through me and I struggle to push her off without hurting her. I writhe under her grasp, jamming my knee between her legs in attempt to push her off.

"Mona, please." I say softly, hissing as the blade slips deeper into my thigh. "Fuck."

But I'm staring into her eyes, and I don't see her. Her face is calm and collected, not showing an ounce of emotion, but her eyes are hostile and murderous.