:: Merry Christmas ::
Summary: The last two resistence fighters converse in their final moments.
Disclaimer: As much as I would love to jump up and down and claim for these characters to be my own, I would not lie to you...
"I'm sorry, for everything." A brunette witch confessed, sitting against the dampened concrete walls of an underground cell. Dried blood caked her skin and she was an unhealthy weight, testament of the time that had elapsed since her arrival at this place.
"Yeah, me too." Her 'Cell Buddy' as she sometimes tried to joke, responded instantly. His confession mirrored the defeated tone of his companion. Like the first statement more then the mere words were conveyed.
"Do you ever think things could have turned out differently?" The witch asked, moving her head back to rest against the wall. The women hissed as the wall made contact with a tender spot of her scalp, home of a nasty and unfortunately recent bruise.
"You mean do I ever think, what if Potter had actually defeated You-Know-Who? Or, what if I had never changed sides?" Acceptance and regret clashed in the wizards tone at the two events and their possible outcomes.
"A little of both I think. I had never thought the end would be the end but, I had thought it would be on our grounds." She admitted wistfully, attempting a small laugh.
"Lack of water is getting to you. Your making less sense then Longbottom in Potions."
"What I mean is I never thought that I would see the end of the war. I always understood that the rest of my life would be consumed with war efforts. But, I always pictured myself fighting off the remaining Death Eaters and fighting prejudice. I was never searching or aiming for the 'Happy Ending' or even for the shoe to fit but I always pictured the clean up being our job, I never thought that Harry would lose. Never did it occur to me that Voldemort would be the one tracking down the remainders of the other side." Her eyes lost focus and the woman was somewhere else entirely. A place inside of her, ripe with memories, feelings and idea s once cherished by those she loved and herself. She was recounting the days when she was in school, when everything could be solved by a book, including the dangers they faced annually.
"Yes, most 'light' fighters thought that way." The male snapped, words laced with accusation.
"But, not you?" Her voice was a sharp contrast to his rough angry one. She spoke with softness and curiosity.
"No, people like me never dared to." The response was his form of apology. A way of sporting her ties to their past, when he was rejecting his own.
"We lasted a while." She responded, trying to grasp at an idea that could make them proud of themselves, as they neared the end."
"Maybe." He didn't wish to destroy the thought but held no regard for the idea.
"Took them three years to get us. I'd like to think I didn't give in because I considered myself what you call a light fighter." This was the first time, in the five months they had been prisoners together, that she has responded to a snide remark he had made concerning the Order.
"Yes, the last one. We're captured, no more 'to carry out the good fight' doesn't matter how long we lasted no one is going to benefit from it." In return to her comment he too broke one of his personal rules and almost took away any satisfaction they could hold onto before they died. "Sorry." He had been out of line.
"What do you think it could have been like? If Tom were taken down by Harry." The witch ignored the apology, she accepted it but the word was not easy to say for the man across from her. She would not cause him grief on the matter.
"You would be sitting by the fire reading, in that ugly pear colored chair you love so much in the Black family library. You would shake your head and laugh when sounds of the outside world reached you. Everyone else in headquarters would be scurrying around trying to get everything done at the last minute. Being who you are, you had everything ready a week prior. After hours of being dead to the world you would emerge to eat with the Order members. You would smile and wish people the best as everyone ate the feast Mrs. Weasley prepared-"
"-and you would be there too. You would whine and complain but, Minerva would make sure you were there. You would be having a good time, great food and the twins are always good for a laugh. Ron would make some stupid comment and then everyone would start bickering. Sirius would turn to me and smile, silently telling me that I should let you guys fight, it was just the way you are. Remus would laugh too but would then come to your aid,"
"Do you regret it?"
"I don't know, sometimes"
"Happy Christmas, Draco."
"Merry Christmas, Granger."
Somehow, moments later when the pair heard the click of an unlocking spell, they knew. When they heard the scrapes of boots and rough laughs they knew this was their last conversation. Voldemort had finally won...
"Hello pet." A man hissed in the females ear. When she didn't respond to his taunts she was considered broken. Two lazy flicks and two flashes of green.
...The order, the light, the hope had died.