For Cause & Country

Barricade Day

Sleep had not come to Draco the previous night. He had sat up all night, his back against the wall with chipping green paint and his legs underneath the creamy white linens of the bed. He had looked at the silhouette of his legs under the fabric. If he were to die at the barricades, his dead body would be draped in something similar. And it would not be covered so as to respect the lives of the fallen; no, it would be covered so as to shroud the public from the mess of bloodied corpses.

When light had began to thrust itself through the slits in the shutters, Draco knew it was time to go. He looked down at the gentle face of his wife sleeping by his side and remembered their agreement. He wanted to wake her, he wanted to say goodbye, he did not think he would be returning, but he wanted to give her hope.

He slowly pulled himself off of the bed and proceeded to pull on his boots. He managed to quietly open a trunk at the other end of the room and pulled out a coat adorned with brass buttons and gold piping on blood-red fabric. Oh, how fitting for the occasion.

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Hermione had heard him leave. Her mind had been stuck in the stage between sleep and awake. Her worry had made sleep difficult but waking would bring on agonizing fear. Sleep pushed her away but she resisted waking. She finally relented and opened her eyes to the empty room.

She tried to go about her day as if nothing were out of the ordinary. As if Draco had not left early in the morning to perhaps meet his death. She said small prayers to herself when she found herself dwelling on it, "bring him home" she would whisper to the grey sky above.

Later in the morning, she overheard in the street that the rebels had interrupted Lamarque's funeral procession and were fleeing to the barricades. She waited with baited breathe for more news. The sounds of muskets firing were echoing throughout the streets of Paris.

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Fighting to the death. That had been their resolve when they saw the number of troops advancing on the barricade. Draco was covered in sweat and his clothes had been stained with the blood of his dead companions. The fighting had been going on for hours and only a handful of rebels remained standing behind the barricade.

The army was closing in and the last few rebels awaited their arrival, their fear was very apparent but they would remain valiant. They stood together behind the barricade, staring down the barrels of muskets held by the French army.

Draco's mind went immediately to Hermione. How stupid could he have been? He believed in his cause, he wanted freedom and change, but he was leaving behind the only other thing he cared about. He would be leaving Hermione alone in their small little house. She would have no one to look after her. All he could think about was her.

It was too late for him to make amends, it was too late for him to change his mind and run back home to her. He was surrounded by his fellow freedom fighters, their faces fraught with fear and exhaustion but prepared for what was coming and looking into the faces of their enemies with courage. He was prepared to face his ruin.

He took one last look at his friends before turning to meet his match. They were dead men surrounded by killers who had not even shot yet. And then they did. And everything went black. And Draco's dead body fell to the floor in a heap of blood, flesh, and helplessness.