Foreword: A character's life in drabble-ish form.
Warning: Somewhat AU. Character deaths.
She stood, wand arm out, hand trembling. She was bleeding from a cut on her face, a diagonal slash across from forehead to chin. The blood mixed with dirt smudges; she must have tripped and fallen at some point, though she had no recollection of it. She had no recollection, either, of the bruises on her arm, received when she fell.
All she knew was the feel of her heartbeat and the depressing euphoria that she was alive.
#
She stood, wand arm out, hand trembling. He was finally standing across from her in similar fashion, waiting as the white and red ribbons twined themselves around their wands. It had been a dizzying two years, but at last, she had remembered who it was that stayed by her side during the War, who it was that encouraged her to take over the Cauldron.
All she knew was the feel of her heartbeat and the joy of being in love and alive.
#
She stood, wand arm out, hand trembling. There was a silly little spider in the back of the wardrobe and she had fought in the War! Why would a teeny tiny arachnid, much smaller than those present at the Final Battle, scare her so?
His voice, reassuring, came from behind her and she buried her face in his arms. It was five years- to the day- of her mother's death and the subsequent loss of home and hope. All problems seemed huger and unsolvable on this day.
All she knew was the feel of her heartbeat and the grief sliding away, to let her live at last.
#
She stood, wand arm out, hand trembling. No parent should have to bury their child, but here she is, nonetheless, inscribing words on a stone that shouldn't exist. Just one moment she had looked toward her husband and their son went slipping into the pond. The work of a rare kappa; thanks to a friend, it had been captured and sent to its original owner, who, after trying to locate it through the black market, was overjoyed. She would be more overjoyed for their reunion if it had not taken their son.
All she knew was the feel of her heartbeat and the heat of her wand, unable to describe a precious life.
#
She stood, wand arm out, hand trembling. No wife should have to bury her husband, but here she is, old, and alone. Her children had died before her, wondering at her longevity. She supposed it must have been a curse from the Battle, and a wretched one it is. No friends or family to speak of, just the sound of a wand etching words echoing those of the ones she had inscribed previously.
All she knew was the feel of her heartbeat, and the sudden flash of green: a life gone.