I've been reading Time travel fic's, so pulling out my quill for a new one.
Song: Hurts: The Water
Battle leaves wounds. Battle opens up a new page, but this is not a white page of hope. It is red, marred with blood, and black creeping up its edges. The words will trace marks, scars, tears, on your skin. You are forced to fight, each day with the fear of losing the ones you love.
But there are times when we question the things we know. Are we on the right side? Is light really light? Or is it black with a mask on? Who are we? Will we live for tomorrow?
It seemed these days, that Ginerva Potter questioned herself. In turn, she remembers her brothers deaths, their warm blood sprayed in her face, eyeballs running along the floor. But right now, as she held her husband's broken body in her arms, nothing mattered.
"They'll kill me tonight." he stated, his green eyes that once sparkled, dull, and she knew that hope was a lost thing. Tears spilled down her eyes. She couldn't lose him. Reaching up, he wiped her tears with gnarled hands.
It only made her cry harder.
"Don't cry. Please."
She shook her head submission, a thing that came naturally. A metal door creaked open. Minutes left.
"POTTER!" the raspy voice of the person she knew oh so well, echoed through the walls. With mere seconds left, Harry pulled her in for one last kiss.
"I love you."
It was slow motion. Looking at him, she felt his body wrenched from her arms, and a green light flooded the room. She screamed, her body sliding down the wall, and tears poured down her cheeks. The wand in turn, pointed at her, and she made a desperate gamble for her life. She grabbed her necklace, and turned it 7 times.
Black enveloped her.
She was smiling, her hand enveloped with his as they walked down the cobbled path to the Burrow. She was laughing, but her smile froze.
All she could hear where torrid screams. Flinging the door open, she was just in time to see her mother's head fall off, right into the pile of wood where all that ash and bone remained.
Dad.
She felt the hot tears running off her face when she saw Hermione. Her muggle-born friend had "Traitor" carved onto her forehead, her mangled wrists hanging above her head, blood running down her thighs. Ron, who seemed to have tried to save her, lay dead on the floor, his body cut in half.
She fell down to the floor. She had hope, blind faith that they would win. In her mind, the war was over. And she was on the wrong side.
Ginny woke with a start, looking wildly her side, her hands flying to her neck. She knew this room.
The hospital wing.
A lady came rushing through, her brown hair bouncing as she moved towards Ginny. Bolting up, she wandlessly summoned a knife.
"I mean you no harm miss! It's my first day on the job.."
Ginny waved her hand dismissively.
"What year is it?" she demanded.
"Why its 1942, miss."
Oh shit.