❝𝗰𝗼𝗺𝗺𝗼𝗻 𝗺𝗶𝘀𝘁𝗮𝗸𝗲?❞
❝𝘤𝘰𝘮𝘮𝘰𝘯 𝘮𝘪𝘴𝘵𝘢𝘬𝘦.❞
𝗛𝗔𝗥𝗥𝗬 𝗣𝗢𝗧𝗧𝗘𝗥 had a few, perhaps a little or more than a palm of qualms in his life. First up was the whole "The Boy-Who-Lived" shenanigans, then there was an ungodly am...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
C. YOU PROMISE
━━━━━━
"Darling, you will bury me
Before I bury you"
DEATH WAS SOMEWHAT A FUNNY thing when she thought about it. As an idea, death was normal; it was something that anyone could just escape and run away. One is bound to death the moment one is born. Marjorie Evermore knew this; she had seen many deaths in her short lifetime. Death always had a way to claim what was rightfully his.
It was normal, non-interchangeable and was to be expected. However, what happens when that death is what you believe to be premature? Or, perhaps, all death were premature that was led to be believed to be mature.
...at least, that was the epiphany she was trying to grasp anyway for the past few minutes as she stood in the entrance hall, her feet heavy beneath her. The battle had quietened as all enemies had retreated momentarily. The only sound that was seemingly broke the fuzziness of reality was the sound of cries the emitted from the Great Hall as they were given a moment of small respite.
So short, so fleeting. But it was a small solace amidst a soon-to-be-big wave of terror that was to begin in just an hour or so.
Standing in the empty entrance hall, completely wrecked with glass and shards scattered around the floors, buried along with rubbles, Marjorie let out a deep breath as she gazed out to the remnants of the midnight battle. Her ears were ringing; she could still hear his voice:
"You have fought valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery."
He had said.
"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."
He had said.
"Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured."
He had said.
He had said all those things, believing that all he was doing was for the sake of them. He spoke such words as if he was doing them all a favour — he was, admittedly. He gave them a chance to comprehend, a chance to seek out the bodies of the lost, of the fallen. But none was satisfactory; all were of sorrow. However there was one thing from his declaration that made her feel numb as she awaited in the entrance hall, looking out hopefully for the faces she had been hoping for.
