Disclaimer: Not mine. None of it.
Warnings: Written before Deathly Hallows so its AU. Unbeta-ed. Unedited. It's raw.
Why We Pray
Almost nobody slept that night. Even the muggles felt it, a pang of fear and anguish in the cold night air. It was foggy and the moon had never shined so lethargically.
No man nor beast roamed that night for the danger and all was silent in the hills and the cities, broken only by muted words and silent cries.
In less than an hour's time, two groups will be assembling. A vast expanse of land and forest between them.
The sun would rise to see it bloodied and laden with bodies of brave men and women who gave up their lives for what they believed in. The morning air would stink of blood and death and decay.
It was the eve of the Final Battle.
Lucius tore himself away from the rallying mob of Death Eaters in the fields of his estate. All the Dark Lord's forces were there (except the spies of course who were busy scrounging up last minute information) surrounding a huge bonfire with the grisly Dark Mark hovering above them.
Bellatrix (a pity she'd lived 'til that moment) was looking fiery as she delivered a speech full of zest and victory imbued with bloodlust and power and racist ideals, her strong voice amplified and unwavering.
Here was a woman ready to die for her beliefs.
Bellatrix would be ready in every way Lucius wasn't.
He entered his house silently and walked down its hallowed halls, lit only by the streaming moonlight from the wide windows.
It was ghastly quiet.
He walked slowly, taking time to see the finesse and beauty of his home one last time. He ran his hand over the cool marbled walls and polished antique wood of the furniture, memories from a distant past flashing painfully, almost incoherently, through his mind.
He swallowed the lump in his throat and begged himself to not break down. At least, not until he reached the relative privacy of his chambers.
Sometimes, it was alright for Malfoys to cry.
"Lucius," His wife's soft melodic voice made him stop in his tracks. He turned around, his pale aristocratic face devoid of anything.
Narcissa was still very beautiful, despite the redness of her eyes and sickly pallor of her skin. She swiftly glided over to him until they wasn't more than an inch between their noses. Silver tears were making their way down her porcelain cheek.
"Please," She said in a quiet voice. "Promise me you'll live. What am I to do without you?"
"Cissa," His voice was cold, a warning. "I can't promise that."
"Don't speak like that, Lucius, so cold…" Her voice trembled. She bit her lip as she tried to suppress a fresh cascade of misery. "Not when this might be…our last…"
Lucius bowed his head and closed his eyes. His gut was wrenching painfully.
"Have you spoken with Draco?" He asked hoarsely, feeling sobs attempting to wrack his body at the mention of their son. Beneath his chin, he felt Narcissa's head nod ever so slightly.
"I will do what I can, Cissa." He said with conviction. A great black cloud seemed to appear over his head and death seemed imminent. "I will die in the hope that my death will be a step closer to a better life for you both."
"But you shouldn't have to die," Narcissa whispered. Her heart seemed to wither at the mere thought of losing her husband. "It will never be better…without you."
"Levin, Rookwood, Rosier and the others shouldn't have had to die either…but they did." Lucius' eyes were stinging and a terrible abysmal coldness was drowning him. "If…If I die…you have to go on…keep fighting where I left off…lest everything we've known be wasted away…"
"I was a Black once, Lucius." Narcissa said faintly and you can almost see the serenely sad smile she used to have. She looked earnestly at her husband, luminous blue eyes glistening, "Toujours pur, blood and family matter most. I do not dream of doing anything otherwise. I will be strong if you wish me to be."
"Good," Finally, Lucius' voice cracked wretchedly. He shed a tear for the first time in more than a decade. "Because you must be ready for anything…anything."
They spoke no more, but stood there in the terrible sadness of the night.
Self-Sacrifice.
"I'm so afraid, Ron." Hermione Granger said. She was pale and rigid.
"We all are, 'Mione," Ron Weasley put his arms around his girlfriend of less than a year (whom he loved for long before that). They were in Hogwarts, in front of the Gryffindor fireplace, trying to memorize as much of it as possible. It was all quiet there, despite all of them being awake, a deep despondent quiet.
"Why?!" Hermione sobbed all of a sudden. She was shaking terribly. "We're only eighteen, Ron! Eighteen! We can't fight! We just can't…"
"Don't give up now," Ron held her face in his hands, wiping the tears away. He didn't notice he was crying himself. "Just don't give up, Hermione. We can't let Voldemort win by giving in."
"I-I'm sorry…it's-it's just when I-I first came here…I-I never expected to d-d-die so y-young…" Hemione wept, looking down at her hands. "I can't…I just can't…I'm not magical enough."
There was a pause. Ron was staring at her, all color drained from his thin face.
"You may not have grown up in this world, Mione, but you've always been part of it." He said, voice bit thick.
"Then I'm not brave enough!" Hermione was getting hysterical and her breathing became sharp.
"We're Gryffindors," Ron said firmly, and he gripped the brown-haired girl hard. "Listen to me, Mione…I was brought up with the fear of V-Voldemort…I somehow knew that someday, I'm going to have to fight."
He swallowed thickly.
"I was stupid then, and all I thought about was the honor…I don't remember this – this fear, this blood-chilling thought of really dying…" His voice wavered and he swallowed again. "I t-think all of us has this insane thought that we're invincible so it's a big shock when we f-find out we're not…"
"Oh Ron…" Hermione managed to say, the instinctive sympathetic side of her coming out.
"We're not invincible…not us, not even Harry… We all feel the fear, Mione, and we all know the stakes…But while we're out there…" Ron took a deep breath and his eyes flashed something akin to furious pride. "Even if we d-don't know what'll happen, we hold our head up high and pretend w-we are. L-let us be like Harry this o-once…"
Honor and Righteousness.
The first explosions filled him with terror, like nothing he'd ever known before. The battle had begun and there was no turning back. Point of no return.
He stared at the glistening Dark Mark on his arm and thought of everything it represented.
His father's pride washing over him when the induction rites were over. Such a long time ago.
The acceptance into the Slytherin scheme of things. He was one of them.
His Master was the most powerful wizard in the world. His companions were people he'd known and idolized his entire life. He'd cursed, and tortured and killed in cold blood. He'd fought and lied, befriended and betrayed all his way to a secure position. He was pureblood, respected, hated and feared.
He'd succeeded in being everything he was born to do.
Then why this sudden hesitation?
He fingered the white mask, the skull mask, the Death Eater mask and a fleeting thought of his own mortality hit him like a speeding truck.
By gods, this was it, the LAST battle. If they should win… He could almost see his ancestors smiling down on him from…well, certainly not heaven…somewhere perhaps, cheering him on to bring their dark pureblood ideals to reality.
Then why the sudden emptiness?
The familiar feeling… He remembered, as a child, coming home from a Quidditch match, seeing pale Aurors in the entrance hall, his mother weeping, his father shouting like a madman…And someone saying your elder brother, your bestfriend in the world, was killed in an ambush. And you, precious innocent like all children had no idea of blood feuds, of wizard politics, of Light and Dark. You could only wonder why people had to kill each other.
It was the same feeling too when you realized that the woman you love was a blood traitor and a spy and you killed her, just like that.
Then why the bitterness?
He remembered the things he had seen and heard and done, all in the name of this war. He could recall in detail the maiming and the Avada Kedavra's flying everywhere and the general chaos and the fearlessness of man.
It was almost over, after so many long years.
The Death Eater was snapped out of his thoughts when he saw Lucius and Bellatrix striding purposely towards the front, where the Dementors were waiting. He nodded to Lucius, devoid of the skull mask, as he passed, and with a start, noticed that the blond's eyes were shining-dead. Must be a trick of light.
Thoughts of "Did I make the right decision?" and "I wonder if he's regretting this as much as I" and "What may happen after this?" leapt through his mind as they began mobilizing.
He squashed them down, and felt something breaking inside him. No return.
Remorse.
"Do you theenk zey will come soon?" Fleur asked, her melodic French words breaking the dead stillness of the night. She and Bill were in one of the turrets, on guard for anything that might be coming. All was dark except for the faint glow of her veela hair (chopped short for practical purposes).
Her husband, Bill Weasley, turned to her slowly and whispered, "I don't know", his obscured face twisted into what could've been a smile. "Are you afraid?"
"Afraid?!" Fleur whipped around and tosses her hair back indignantly. "Moi?"
She smiled sheepishly. "Oui, I believe so, I have nevair been very brave, not like you…"
"Oh I think you're very brave," Bill sided up to Fleur and wrapped his arms around him. "I was watching at the Triwizard tournament."
"Zat was 'Arry, you silly boy," Fleur laughed and playfully swatted Bill away. "Now I know why your muzzer did not want me! We are supposed to keep watch 'ere!"
"And we are!" Bill laughed. "I could keep watch here forever with you."
Fleur stopped, then smiled ever so softly. "Zat was sweet. Oh if only we were not in such a…such an affreux situation right now, I would…"
"You would what?" Bill asked. Fleur simply smiled suggestively, fair skin almost shimmering.
"The situation does not change things," Bill grinned with his twisted mouth. "So either of us can die tomorrow…what does it matter?"
Fleur slapped him lightly but angrily. "Such words to tempt destin! I find it offensive zat you do not care zat zis might be…might be…" Her voice faded away to the night, replaced by a stony silence.
"I didn't mean it like that," Bill started tentatively after a long pause. "I'm just saying…we should not let this war stop us from enjoying here…now…Worrying will not change anything."
Fleur sighed. "Pardon, I could not 'elp but worry. I might nevair see Gabrielle again…I admit I am egoiste, selfish. I do not want to die! I wish to grow old and beautiful! I want zat you be alive with me!" Her voice rose and tears rolled down her lovely face.
"And I will be," No matter what.
Hope.
"Lucius," Severus Snape's dark eyes bored into gray ones with utmost graveness. "I could not find Him. We must move now. Our contacts could not weaken their wards for long. If we don't attack now, we'll never be able to breach the castle."
"I know, Severus," Lucius snapped but dully. "But with Master gone, I-I am not sure if we should proceed further. He'll be very displeased if things do not go according to plan."
"He'll be even more displeased if we don't attack as soon as possible." Snape retorted icily. He was unnerved by the despair in Lucius' voice.
Lucius heaved a great sigh, then gripped his wand in conviction. "Very well, I will tell the others."
He apparated away, leaving the Potions Master alone with his thoughts.
Severus could hardly wait for the war to end. The heart-stopping situations he found himself in would be no more. It was a peace he had not been granted for almost two decades, a peace of mind he had been longing for. The constant fear of being found out…The blood-chilling sensation of failure, even for the smallest mistake…Suspicion and distrust dogging at his heels…The inability of having anyone to confide in…The lingering insanity of seclusion…
He'd been alone since the beginning of the war, a slave to both sides, doing everything to just stay alive. It was a mind-numbing phase of existentialism. But he'd been too proud and too slytherin to end it all himself. So there he was, still so cunning to be alive, wallowing in his trapped state of agony, being eaten alive by doubt.
He was probably the only one who longed for this battle, this ending of their way of life. It signified the end of a lifetime of…uselessness.
Should he live or should he die…
Either way…
Freedom.
Draco Malfoy gasped sharply as a cutting hex grazed his arm, drawing blood. He didn't recognize who cast it, only knowing that the girl couldn't be much older than him. Too early, too early.
"Avada Kedavra!" The deadly green light of the Killing curse hit his opponent dead-on, and Draco could feel a bit of himself whisked away as the corpse collapsed, looking as ragged and as old as time.
"Morsmordre," The Dark Mark hovered over the body, and Draco remembered.
Death Eaters did not cast the Dark Mark just because they wanted to, they cast it because they needed to. It was a way of reminding themselves that whenever they killed, there was a purpose, that it wasn't just pointless slaughtering. And it was also a way of honoring who'd died, it showed that the dead person had been brave enough to fight, a way of atonement. Double-crossers and cowards did not have the privilege of having the grisly skull mark cast upon their deaths.
The blond boy – no, man – ran towards a new battle, desperate pushing away any sort of guilt and depression that might kill his focus, and possibly kill him. All the Malfoy heir felt now was a need to do something, that's why he'd chosen to be a 'contact', a first-liner.
His mother had just spoken to him, looking still every inch a queen. He broke at the sight of her grief, and told her that, 'yes, mother, I'll live, I promise'. Right after that, he threw himself into battle while everyone else was still rallying.
Every step he was taking was bringing him closer to Hogwarts, to Harry, to his doom.
Determination.
"Because we don't know what will happen. Because things can change in a moment. And that's why we pray."
Note: This should've had two more entries: "Harry Potter – Courage" and Lord "Voldemort – Love", but I don't, or rather can't, write anymore. I'm merely tossing out my old, finished and unfinished fics along with all that angst.