Disclaimer: Most characters aren't mine, I just played in Rowling's sand box...
TGS-Event: "Lest We Forget"
Placing: The Grindelwald war, the 1/2 WW, the Voldemort Wars and inbetween.
Quote: "They shall grow not old as we that are left behind grow old" - "For the Fallen" by Laurence Binyon
sSsSsSsSsSsSsLivesSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSurvivesSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSsLivesSsSsSsSsSsSsSsSs
LIVE AND SURVIVE
sSs
Remember the fallen, lest we forget the horrors of war.
sSs
"You are lucky," they said. "You'll live."
But didn't that imply that a thousands wouldn't?
"You are lucky," they said. "You survived."
But didn't that imply that a thousands didn't survive instead?
But then, maybe luck had nothing to do with the fact that he was still alive after everything...
sSs
The first person he fought side by side was a man with black, wild hair and fire in his eyes.
That man was a person one shouldn't cross. His eyes were a dark brown and so... alive that nobody else could ever reach their level of life ever after.
"We will survive," the man assured him, his brown eyes piercing him and holding him while he was drowning in a world he didn't feel he belonged to. "We will get out of here and survive."
"There's no way that you can truly know that," he replied, not believing a word. "This is Grindelwald. This is Nurmengard. Nobody escaped here, ever - so why do you believe we have a chance?"
"Because that's what we will do," the other man replied. "This is not the place we will die in. Today is not our last day."
There was conviction and life in the other man's eyes and he nearly believed in the wilderness and power he could feel burning in the other man's heart.
But this was war - and war had no winners.
"Then we will survive," he agreed nevertheless, because that was what he did. "If you say so then we will manage to escape from here - impossible as it is."
"I say so and we will," the man replied, his eyes so fierce, so entrenched in his belief. "You will see. Give me some time and I will ensure our escape."
Nobody had ever left Nurmengard alive.
Nobody had ever fled Grindelwald's prison the moment Grindelwald had entrapped you in it - but he believed they could escape because his companion believed it as well...
Maybe he was young and foolish to believe.
Maybe he was naïve.
Yet, maybe he was neither and knew exactly what he was doing by dreaming about the impossible...
sSs
Three weeks later, they had a plan to escape. They were recaptured just two feet from the exit.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," the other man whispered when he held up his empty hands at the threat of wands surrounding him. "I'm sorry that I didn't manage what I promised."
He just looked at the other man he had befriended in his time in Nurmengard, in his eyes the knowledge he had held all along.
"Don't be sorry, Fleamont Potter," he said. "I always knew that there was no way to truly escape this prison."
And while Grindelwald's men stepped towards them to take them back to their cell, the Potter turned to look his companion in the eye.
"Then why did you even agree to flee? Why did you agree to this plan if you knew that there was no way for us to escape?" he asked the companion, desperation in his eyes and voice.
"Because there is always a chance," his companion replied. "Even if the chance only ensures the survival of one."
With that, he closed his eyes and freed what was hidden away within himself.
Three of Grindelwald's men were dead before they even understood what was happening to them. The makeshift knifes in their eyes ensuring their end to be quick and too sudden to prevent.
It didn't matter if the person on the other side of his knife was magical or not - a knife killed without prejudice.
An assassin was as effective in the wizarding world as he was in the muggle one - and he had been one of the best assassins of the world since the days of his childhood...
"Leave!" He told the Potter.
"But-"
A curse interrupted the protest when it hit him into the chest.
Blood gushed out of the wound and spilled onto the floor.
"Leave!" He repeated and Fleamont Potter, his eyes sad and already grieving, fled.
His companion on the other hand stopped the possible pursurers until the Potter had vanished behind the wards and apparated away.
Only then, with a smile on his lips, did his companion fall to the floor, dead before even hitting the ground.
Sometimes, there were sacrifices to make in war to ensure survivors. Sometimes, people had to die to stop the opponent's plans - even if the plans were just stopped temporally. Sometimes, in war the only possible future was death.
Because this was war - and war had no winners.
sSs
"James."
"What do you mean with 'James', love?"
"Let's call our son James."
"James? But why do you-?"
"Because it was James who ensured that I'm here today. I can't... He didn't get to grow old as we that are left grow old, so I want to honour him in some way, love."
"Alright, my love, so James. James Potter - I guess, it's a very nice name, don't you think so, too?"
sSs
Fleamont Potter would die in another war, at another time. But then, it was expected.
War had no winners, after all...
sSs
Remember the dead for they fought for your life in the end.
sSs
"You are lucky," they said. "You lived through it."
But didn't that mean that he was a survivor of something others hadn't survived?
"You are lucky," they said. "You survived."
But didn't that mean his life ended the moment he only fought for survival?
sSs
The tenth person he fought side by side, was a man with a sunny character and eyes as blue as the sky on a cloudless summer day.
The man was a person you shouldn't cross. His eyes were bluer than any other eyes he had ever seen, but there was a lion hidden beneath his skin and shining in his eyes. He would never see eyes as wild as those ever after.
"We will live," the man told him. "We lived through everything else - we will live through this as well."
"There's no way you could possible know that," he objected and pressed himself against the wall behind him to keep hidden.
"We're wizards, we're strong," the man replied. "There's no one who can stop us. Believe me, we will live!"
"We might be wizards - or something akin to it at least, in my case," he countered. "But that doesn't assure our survival. A gun, a bomb - they don't distinguish between wizards and muggles at all. So who says we will survive what others haven't?"
"Magic can shield us, magic will shield us," the other man assured him, belief shining in his eyes like a light in the middle of the darkest night. "We will survive, because magic will do everything to ensure we live."
There was conviction and warmth in the other one's voice and a belief that was shining through his whole being - and he nearly believed in it because there was so much warmth in the words of the other man, so much belief in the impossible.
But this was war - and war had no winners.
"Then we will live," he agreed anyway, because that was what he did. "If you say so then we will manage to survive this situation - impossible as it is."
"I say so and we will," the man replied, his eyes so blue and warm, so entrenched in his belief. "You will see. Give me some time and I will ensure that we will live."
No wizard was immune to bombs and chaos and death.
No wizard had ever managed to survive when being confronted by the darkness of a muggle's weapon.
And yet, here he was, believing in the man in front of him, believing that they would live, that they would survive because that was what the other man had ensured him...
So, maybe he was foolish to believe.
Maybe he was naïve.
Yet, maybe he was neither and knew exactly what he was doing by dreaming about the impossible...
sSs
Not even three minutes later, enemy soldiers descended upon them and when his companion drew his wand to defend them, they broke the wand in half with a single shot, leaving them standing defenceless and lost.
"I'm sorry," the man next to him whispered. "I'm so sorry that I couldn't safe you!"
He just looked at the man next to him, understanding, warmth and unshakable belief in his eyes.
"Don't be sorry, Septimus Weasley," he said. "I always knew that there was no way we would live through this."
"Then why did you follow my plan anyway? Why did you believe in me anyway?" The Weasley asked, desperation in his eyes and voice.
"Because there was always a chance," he replied warm and soothingly. "Even if the chance was just for one of us to live, there was still a chance."
With that he closed his eyes and reached for the cage within him.
Two enemy soldiers lost their lives before the others even knew what hit them. Another three followed them into their graves just a second later.
His knives were sharp. His knives flew true- because a knife killed without prejudice.
Bullets, for all their might, had nothing against a trained and experienced assassin fighting for their life.
And before the enemy could recover from their sudden attack, he shoved the Weasly out of the way of their bullets.
"Leave!" He told him, his eyes grave and his chest already hurting from the bullets he expected to take his life. "Apparate and leave!"
"Not without you!" The Weasley objected.
That was when the first bullet it.
"Without me," he said. "Because I won't survive this wound. Let me die knowing I saved you."
And the wizard - hurt and grieve in his eyes - did as he had been told, leaving him behind to the mercy of enemies that didn't know any at all.
He smiled and turned towards his possible killers.
"So bring it on," he told them, blood dripping from his wounds. "Let's see if you can kill the one even Grindelwald couldn't kill in the end!"
The next moment, even more bullets hit his chest and he died with a bloody smile on his lips.
Sometimes, there were sacrifices to be made in war. Sometimes, there only was a winner in the survivor. Sometimes, in war the only possible future was death.
Because this was war - and war had no winners.
sSs
"He was called James William."
"James William? He's the reason why you're still here, Dad?"
"That he is. He was a strong man, a man with the spirit of a lion. A Gryffindor in heart even if he never had the chance to be one for real."
"He sounds like he was a great man."
"The best, for he died to that I could live."
"Then I will honour him. My first born shall be William, Dad, for he couldn't grow old as we that are left grow old."
sSs
Septimus Weasley would love his first grandson dearly until the day he would be killed by the monster that came after... by the monster that called itself the 'Flight From Death' - Voldemort.
And years later, his beloved little grandson would go out to fight a war as well.
For that was war - and war had no winners, after all...
sSs
Remember your forbearers for they were the heroes and villains of their time.
sSs
"You are lucky," they said. "You lived."
But didn't that imply that he might have died as well?
"You are lucky," they said. "You survived."
But didn't that mean that survival had been necessary in the first place?
sSs
One of the hundreds or thousands people he fought side by side was a man with darkness in his eyes.
The man was a person you shouldn't cross. He was experienced and fierce in a way not many would ever be, yet he was young, so young...
In his eyes there was hidden laughter and even more hidden grief, and he couldn't help but think he had never met a man with such expressive eyes ever before and ever after...
"We will come out alive," the man assured him. "We will come out alive even if others won't - I will fight for us to do so."
"There's no way you could possible know that," he countered and looked into those dark, dark eyes. "There's no way you know what will happen today."
"I'm a survivor - and you are one as well," the man replied. "We will survive. We will come out of this alive - because this is what we do."
And maybe the man was right, maybe the man spoke true, but he had lost his belief already so long ago.
"Not everything will end well in the end," he reminded the man. "Not everything is possible to survive."
"And yet, we will," the man assured him. "You are married and have a little boy at home. I am to be married and have a little boy as well. We will stay alive, I assure you, we will."
There was utter belief and the invincibleness of youth in the others voice, a sureness that was as deep as the ocean and as wide as the sea - and he nearly believed in it because there was so much power in the words of the other man, so much belief in the impossible.
But this was war - and war had no winners.
"Then we will stay alive," he agreed anyway, because that was what he did. "If you say so then we will manage to survive this situation - impossible as it is."
"I say so and we will," the man replied, in his eyes swarmed with darkness and so entrenched in his belief. "You will see. Give me some time and I will ensure our survival."
No muggle had ever survived a hopless hostage situation like the one they were in.
No muggle had ever survived when their warders were already killing their fellow prisoners of one by one.
And yet, here he was, believing in the man in front of him, believing that they would stay alive, that they would survive because that was what the other man had ensured him...
So, maybe he was foolish to believe.
Maybe he was naïve.
Yet, maybe he was neither and knew exactly what he was doing by dreaming about the impossible...
sSs
Their turn came about ten minutes later. Their hands were bound, there was nothing they could do, yet the other man stood up and looked at their warders and future murderers.
"You won't get through with this," he told them. "I fought in the second World War, I will fight today as well!"
Yet, the warders just laughed at him and pulled the tricker on him.
He was thrown to the floor when he lost his footing thanks to a kick into his ankles. The bullet grazing his head but not hitting him.
His eyes were big, his eyes were full of disbelieve.
He turned and looked at his companion who had kicked him and ensured his survival.
"Don't be sorry, Tobias Snape," his companion said. "You tried - you did everything you could. But sometimes, sometimes even our best isn't good enough to prevent what is about to happen."
"Then why did you let me try it anyway?" the man asked his companion with hurt in his eyes. "Why did you let me try if you didn't believe in me?"
"Because there's always a chance," he countered and forced himself to believe it like he had believed it so long ago - so many wars and lives and companions ago. "There's always a chance if you just try."
With that he closed his eyes and freed what he had hidden away in the fear to hurt his son with it.
And he jumped to his feet, freed his hands with a spell done by a magic-less body and threw his knives.
His knives were sharp, his knives flew true - and they hit throats and chests and veins. They hit and took a life and more.
Because an assassin in a hostage situation was the worst that could happen for those who kept him hostage.
"Leave," he told the survivors and the man by his side. "Leave and safe yourself!"
And to Snape's selfdisgust and self-hatred he listened to the voice which used to command armies and people all the same.
"Leave! And let me be! I will be fine, just leave!" Because a lie hidden within a truth was the only thing he could give as assurance.
And while the hostages fled, a single surviving kidnapper took aim and shot. His shot rang true, but it missed the fleeing Snape and embodied itself in the body of the assassin instead.
There was a last bloody smile on the assassin's lips when he returned the shot with a knife of his own.
Not one murderer would walk away that day, because sometimes there were sacrifices to be made in war. Because sometimes, war didn't mean survivors or a battle field. Because sometimes, in war the only possible future was death.
sSs
"Severus, I want to name him Severus."
"Why Severus, husband mine?"
"Because that is what he would have named his second child if he had lived. For he wasn't allowed to grow old as we that are left grow old."
"Then Severus it is, my beloved. Severus it will be. Severus Snape."
sSs
But war is a bitter pill and not everybody was born to survive it. Over time, the bottle turned into his constant companion and the light of his life, his son and his wife, bore the brunt of his destroyed mind.
And in the end, his light, his little son, would turn and go to war as well - for it was war and war had no winners, after all...
sSs
Remember the victims, for they had a life as well.
sSs
"You are lucky," they said. "You'll live. It could have been worse."
But didn't that imply that for others it had been worse?
"You are lucky," they said. "You survived what you shouldn't."
But didn't this imply that others died for you?
But then, maybe luck had nothing to do with the fact that he was still alive after everything...
sSs
The last person he fought side by side, was a man with a cool demeanour and storm-grey eyes.
That man was a person you shouldn't cross. His eyes were like the storm, wild and untamable... and so fierce that they could pierce you so deeply it even reached and punctured your soul. He would never meet a man anymore who had eyes as piercing and deep like those...
"We will prevail," the man assured him. "We prevailed everything else - we will prevail this as well."
"There's no way that you could possible know that," he objected and leaned back against the cold stone of the dungeon they were in.
"I'm a pureblood and you are one as well," the man countered. "He won't hurt us, he won't kill us. We will prevail."
"My blood might be pure, but I'm a disgrace to the magical world," he objected. "And your blood might be pure, but you refuse to bow to him. Who says he won't take objection on both?"
"My grandchildren are part of his inner circle and you are a pureblood, no matter the state of your magic. We will prevail," his companion countered.
There was conviction and dignity in the other one's voice and a belief that was as unshakable as a mountain - and he nearly believed in it because there was so much truth in the words of the other man, so much belief in the impossible.
But this was war - and war had no winners.
"Then we will prevail," he agreed anyway, because that was what he did. "If you say so then we will manage to survive this situation - impossible as it is."
"I say so and we will," the man replied, in his eyes a storm and so entrenched in his belief. "You will see. Give me some time and I will ensure our survival."
Nobody had ever survived the minute they had been declared enemies of the new Dark Lord.
Nobody had ever managed to turn around the belief of the mighty Lord Voldemort.
And yet, here he was, believing in the man in front of him, believing that they would prevail, that they would survive because that was what the other man had assured him...
So, maybe he was foolish to believe.
Maybe he was naïve.
Yet, maybe he was neither and knew exactly what he was doing by dreaming about the impossible...
sSs
A week later, they were brought in front of the Dark Lord Voldemort.
"My Lord," the man next to him said. "I'm sure there is another way to come to an agreement..."
When the wand turned against them, he could see the disbelief in the other man's eyes.
The man's eyes travelled to his grandchildren, but not one of them looked at him, not one of them dared to watch when their patriach died.
The only one looking at the pale man was his companion, his eyes old and understanding.
"It's alright, Arcturus Black," he assured the man when the other man's gaze met his in a silent plea for forgiveness. "I always knew there was no true way to talk us out of this situation."
"Then why did you agree to me trying it anyway?" The other man whispered, his eyes not leaving his companion's even while knowing that this would be the last minutes of his life. "Why did you agree to my foolish plan if you knew there was no way to talk this Dark Lord around to our view?"
There was desperation, disbelief and the storm in his eyes. There was no understanding to be found there as well.
He just smiled at the other man, trying to sooth what couldn't be soothed.
"Because there's always a chance," he said, his eyes soft and warm. "Because there's always the possibility to talk somebody around to your point of view. There is always the chance of the survival of one."
With that he closed his eyes and reached for the monster hidden within his heart.
The killing curse rebounded on the blade thrown at one of the Death Eaters surrounding them.
Within seconds, the ordered meeting had descended into chaos while one panicked Death Eater dropped dead after the other.
Knives flew true. Knives took down those who couldn't be downed by curses.
An assassin within a gathering was deadly - no matter if his opponents were wizards or muggles.
"Leave," he told Arcturus Black. "Leave and don't look back."
And maybe the man would have protested if Lord Voldemort himself wouldn't have entered the fight in that moment.
As it was, the Black just hesitated for a second.
"Leave!" With this second order, the Black did what he had been told and left.
He fought true until the Black had left the premise - and when he was finally hit by a stray curse that killed him instantly, he had no regret left.
Sometimes, there were sacrifices to make in war to ensure survivors. Sometimes, people had to give up to ensure that others weren't forced to give in. Sometimes, in war the only possible future was death.
Because this was war - and war had no winners.
sSs
"He died just minutes after you left, Grandfather. They threw his body into the Thames."
"What about his family? Are they after them, too?"
"The Dark Lord has no idea where to find James William Granger's family. As far as we know, he was the last of them."
"If there is a family... He would grow not old as we that are left grow old, so if the Dark Lord finds them-"
"I will tell you immediately, Grandfather. I won't let them die after what he did for you, I promise."
"Thank you, Regulus."
sSs
Arcturus Black would die of old age without a grandson to pass his legacy on. He would be found with the Daily Prophet in his hands, and teardrops on the page - a single, well caressed name in the article naming the new first years in Hogwarts.
Nobody would ever understand what that one name meant to the old, dead patriach of Black...
But in the end, war had no winners - and once, that one, well loved name would be forced to enter war, too.
sSs
Remember the lost because their sacrifices still live in you.
sSs
"You were lucky," they said. "You lived."
But was it living after remembering what you have been through without somebody to understand at your side?
"You were lucky," they said. "You survived."
But was survival truly something to be happy about?
sSs
In his life, there had been hundreds, if not thousands of people he had fought side by side. Men and women with piercing eyes and belief rooted deeply in their hearts. There had been people surviving all around him - and yet, there had never been a winner no matter what war he fought.
Because it had been war - and war had no winners.
"Shh, my baby, my darling, you're safe," he whispered. "You're home, you're safe, you survived."
He couldn't bring himself to tell his darling that it was over, now - because as much as he liked it, it would never be over and he couldn't lie to his darling.
"Shh, my darling baby girl, you're safe," he whispered and caressed her wild locks. "You're home, you're safe, you survived."
He told her that, because it was the truth.
She was home - because no matter what she thought, she was always at home in his home.
She was safe - because no matter what everybody else thought, he knew he would protect her until his dying day.
She survived - because that's what she did. She survived the cruelty of war, she survived the cruelty of humans, she survived what others hadn't...
And while she wasn't alright, she was his darling baby girl - she had his genes and one day she would be.
And so he sat next to her sleeping form, soothing her sleep with true words and a caressing hand in her brown locks.
"Shh, my darling baby girl, you're safe," he whispered. "You're home, you're safe, you survived."
She survived what others hadn't - she survived what nearly cost his life so many times...
She survived what nearly cost her life as well.
His hand caressed the mark on her arm.
Mudblood, it spelled and he wanted to scoff at it.
Mudblood - if they just knew!
Mudblood - how falsely true!
"Shh, my baby, my darling, you're safe," he whispered. "You're home, you're safe, you survived."
And even with her sobbing in her pillow he believed that maybe, one day, he would be able to add an 'it's over now' to his mantra towards her.
Maybe he was old and foolish to believe that.
Maybe he was naïve.
Yet, maybe he was neither and knew exactly what he was doing by dreaming about the impossible...
sSs
It happened two and a half weeks after she returned home.
The day had been one of her better ones and the sun was shining. In the evening they had retired to the living room to play a game or two.
The attack came out of nowhere.
One moment they were alone, the next Death Eaters apparated into their home.
"I'm sorry," she cried when the wands were pointed at them. "I'm so sorry for luring them here, Grandfather! I shouldn't have come! I shouldn't have endangered you!"
And desperate brown eyes looked at him with desperation and a silent plea.
"Maybe you shouldn't have," he agreed to sooth her. "But I would have wanted you to come anyway."
Confused brown eyes met his own.
"But why?" She asked uncomprehending. "They'll kill you and it's my fault!"
So he smiled at her, his eyes warm and loving.
"My death would never be your fault, Hermione," he countered soothingly. "My death could never be your fault - no matter how I died."
With that, he closed his eyes and unlashed the monster he had chained for so long.
His knives were sharp. His knives flew true. His knifes brought death.
And when the last Death Eater dropped dead to the floor, he stepped up and hugged the girl he had raised while her parents worked.
She stared at him as if she had never seen him before.
"Sometimes, there are sacrifices to make in war," he told her. "Sometimes people have to lose their innocence to survive. Sometimes people turn into monsters."
He caressed her hair.
"I've killed, and I killed before," he said. "Grindelwald, the First and Second World War, Voldemort - no matter when, I've killed and I've done well. Because this is war - and war has no winners, only survivors."
She stared at him, her eyes huge, yet understanding in a way his son's would never be.
"You're magical and you survived," she whispered, awe and disbelief in her voice. "You actually survived."
He took her hand and caressed the scar.
"Just like you did," he agreed, not commenting on the magic or what was missing deep inside him. "And if you let me, I will show you how to survive better."
And he drew his knifes to turn his little girl in the assassin he had already been.
Because as much as he wished it, he couldn't tell her 'it is over'. It wouldn't be over, not for a long time to come...
Because this was war - and war had no winners, only survivors and those who didn't get to grow old as we that are left behind grow old...
sSs
Remember the fallen, lest we forget the horrors of war.
sSs
DEATH AND THE SURVIVOR
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I guess, this makes the first time I actually used an OC as a main character. I hope you weren't too put out because of it. I just wanted a person without magic and yet connected to the wizarding world in a way that one of his children/grandchildren was part of HP's war, which ended in an OC as Hermione's grandfather...
I hope you liked it somewhat, anyway.
Ebenbild
PS: If it isn't clear: yes, the assassin is just one character - one James William Granger, who mysteriously survived each death even if he obviously shouldn't have. xDD