A/N: This one is a companion piece to "He Stirs the Cauldron". It was a suggestion of my son that I give her POV. There is a lot of imagery in this piece as well as in Cauldron but I hope you all got that it takes place during the events of HBP. Thank you for reading.
She watches him.
His misery is palpable. She can taste it in the air.
Each billowing step is another one closer to his demise. Head held high, wand at the ready.
A place meant to observe stars is now meant to see them fall.
Two would be stricken in one night, one in the flesh, the other his soul.
Words are spoken, powerful, commanding, they change the very existence of man.
One saved.
One condemned.
And the one's destiny set in motion.
The flash of green fills the sky, the body traverses existence into nothingness becoming a catalyst.
A mist of black and a streak of blond, their turmoil lies within, the fear is theirs not mine.
She watches him.
His eyes meet hers.
Everything slows.
They are but two ingredients in the potion.
Her breath is his and his is hers.
She can feel his magic; it envelopes her senses, it bewitches her mind. Its tendrils reach out to her magic and pull it into an embrace. Long lost magic reunited, forged under the heat of battle, betrayal and hurt.
They still in that place as chaos reigns supreme.
There is no one else, blackness surrounds them. The only light is within. Time and space are irrelevant to their existence.
There is only this moment.
His light is deep within, she can see it she can feel it. The darkness is but a rouse, a play set in motion, its author yet unknown but known nonetheless. The darkness threatens his mind, but in his eyes there is a glint. A faraway glimmer of dreams unfulfilled, desires unspoken, and mysteries unsolved.
He is her mystery, her restricted section.
Desire pools in her body, she trembles and quivers as his eyes devour her soul. No dementor is needed, hers is his as his is hers. One shared in this time, in this space.
Her hand burns upon his chest, tattooed by his beating heart. Its staccato beat matches hers in force and melody.
His hands that stirred the cauldron so steady now tremble against her cheek. His thumb moistened by her tears of impotence, tears cried for him, not because of him.
She is loyal to him.