Side by side, they waged war on imaginary adversaries, crooked sticks their wands and paper plates their shields as they fought their epic fight for freedom. Cheers and hisses filled the yard with sound as defences were overcome or injuries sustained. Eventually, Lysander fell to the ground with his hand clutched against his chest, choking out, "Lorcan… Finish this for me."
"I will return for you or die trying," his twin brother promised, before turning to face the coming army and letting out a shrieking battle-cry that sent the family of pigeon squatters flying away in fright. "INCOMING!"
The boy ran across the expanse of grass, swishing his wand like a dancer's ribbon with the fury of fire as he twirled around to evade unseen enemies. It was beautiful and lithe, and he danced his way through the incorporeal battlefield.
Lysander watched from his spot on the ground, his attention captured as surely as if it had been declared a prisoner of war. "LORC, WATCH OUT; BEHIND YOU!"
Lorcan spun around, stabbing his stick-wand to fell the assailant before turning to face the opposing commander. "Tell me the spell to save him," he demanded "and I'll let you walk free." After a pause in which unheard words were said, he nodded, before returning to his fallen brother and whispering a series of sounds that Lysander couldn't quite make out. "Did it work?" he asked, his voice hopeful. "How do you feel?"
"I… feel…"
Lorcan's eyes widened with fear and concern.
"…better." His brother grinned mischievously.
"You played me. You played me!"
Lysander ran for the house, weaving and ducking to avoid imaginary jinxes. The only thing that belied the image of a soldier running for cover was the shrieking laughter coming from both boys as they raced one another to the sanctuary.
"This is your fault, you know," Harry said from his seat on the veranda, fondly watching the young boys with the curly blond hair and sea green eyes.
Luna just smiled at their sons as they dropped their equipment on the ground, discarded now that they were a hindrance rather than a help. "No, it's not; it's yours."
"How do you figure that one?"
"You're the one who gave them the idea of shields." The children rushed past them and into the house and, idly, Luna flicked her wand so that the paper plates flew towards them and stacked up neatly on the table beside her.
A/N: For Clare. Last night, I found out that a family friend passed away on Monday, and I wanted to write something innocently and blissfully happy before bed to try to escape that reality and the thoughts it's inspired. It ended up having some darker parallels than I'd planned and I had to avoid some phases that hit too close to home, but what can you do? Unbetaed. If you have any advice about dealing with the pain, please tell me. People I know or know of have died before, and it's hurt, but this… This is tough. And I don't know how to deal with it.
