A/N: This was originally part of a response to a ficathon prompt on LJ, and the title is from the Mumford & Sons song of the same name. If you make it to the bottom, drop me a line. It's been a long time since I've written HP, but it was nice to come back to my very first, very favorite fandom.
Marlene can't hear anyone fighting or shouting or screaming, which means the Death Eaters are gone. She also can't hear her mother or her father or Jacob, which means they are, too.
She can hear a voice saying, "Don't you dare die, McKinnon. Don't you even think about it."
The way Marlene fell, she can't see who's talking to her — she's stuck on her stomach, head twisted toward the wall, arm caught painfully beneath her — but it's Gideon Prewett's voice. She would recognize it anywhere. He's been her best friend since their second year, when she threw pumpkin juice at him for telling her she was pretty. (She thought he was joking, at the time. Apologies were made all around for the confusion.)
If Gideon's here, it means that the Order must have finally arrived. How nice of them to show up, she thinks. Marlene sent off her Patronus as soon as someone tripped the alarms her parents set up in their house at her insistence. She'd just gotten there that evening for Jacob's birthday dinner — he turned thirteen today, home from Hogwarts for the winter holidays. The cake had been Ravenclaw blue.
"The mediwizards are almost here." Gideon's voice again. "You're going to be okay; you're going to be just fine, I promise."
Gideon's a terrible liar. He always has been. Sometimes it's a good thing, like when she wanted to know what he was really up to at Hogwarts. Sometimes it's a bad thing, like when he was trying to give McGonagall an excuse as to why he and Marlene had missed curfew. (It turned out that, at ten to midnight, it wasn't any better to use we were helping Professor Sprout than admitting they had been snogging in a broom closet.)
Right now, Marlene just wishes he could be telling the truth.
She wants to say something back, but her mouth doesn't seem to be working right. Before she can consider that much more, there are gentle hands on her shoulders, tugging so she's lying on her back. She doesn't think you're supposed to move someone when they're injured — makes things worse and all — but she supposes it won't make a difference with her. In any case, it's nice not to be stuck on her stomach.
From this position, she can see that there's blood on the ceiling. There's blood everywhere,actually. The walls, the sofa, the ugly beige carpet. And it's on Marlene, too — on her lips, eyelashes, hands, clothes — a bright red that's turned her blonde hair a funny shade of pink.
It can't all be hers, can it?
She coughs, tongue tasting copper, and everything hurts. Well, except for her legs. Marlene can't feel them much.
Gideon kneels over her, finally coming into view. She didn't really need to see his expression to know that it's bad, but his concern is appreciated. He usually just says, Suck it up, McKinnon. We're in a war, in case you hadn't noticed. No room for sissies.
She thinks there must be other people in the house — Gideon keeps glancing over his shoulder — but she's not sure who they are. Other Order members, obviously, but hopefully not ones she's close to. She doesn't want her friends to see her like this. She thinks this must be pretty gruesome, judging by how pale Gideon looks.
A few months ago, Marlene was the one who found Dorcas Meadowes's body. That gave her bad enough nightmares that she slept at Gideon's house for weeks. Woke up screaming so often that she was half-convinced her throat would start bleeding. She kept hearing Dorcas say, Do you know how long I waited for help? There was no one there to watch me die.
Marlene shudders, and she's not sure if it's from the pain or the memories or something else entirely.
"Eyes open, McKinnon, just a few more minutes."
She hadn't even realized she had them closed.
She coughs again, and this time, she can feel the blood bubble through her parted lips and trickle toward her chin. And God, as much as she's glad that Gideon's here, she almost wishes someone else had found her. She hopes she doesn't haunt his nightmares, blaming him for something that's no one's fault but Voldemort's. But knowing Gideon, he'll probably hate himself for not getting here sooner.
It's not like it would have been made any difference. Her family was marked for death the minute the Death Eaters arrived. Marlene thinks there were about ten of them, but it's hard to tell. They disappeared pretty quick once it was clear they'd one. Still, she'd taken down two, while her mother and father killed one each. And Jason — sweet Jason who could tell you the origin of every charm known to man — had managed to Stupefy one. She'd felt a rush of pride that had turned into a scream of horror as Rookwood had sent a Killing Curse his way. Her baby brother, forever thirteen.
"Please, Mar, just hold on for a little longer." Gideon's hand is on her cheek; her blood is on his fingertips.
She doesn't have a little longer. They both know that. Her eyes slam shut, but she forces them open again so she can see every freckle on his face, his lips, the scar through his left eyebrow from a Fabian prank gone awry. Marlene wants to tell him that she loves him, but he has to know that by now. It's only ever been him.
"S'okay, Gid," she manages finally. "Don't be a sissy."
He gives a watery laugh for her benefit and kisses her forehead gently. He murmurs something in her ear, but she can't quite make it out.
At least he'll make it, Marlene thinks, eyes closing again. At least he'll live through this.