A/N: Written for my sister, Mertice, who wanted Dulce Et Decorum Est, Dennis Creevey, Orla Quirke and The Battle Of Hogwarts. Also, this story directly ties in with In Memoriam. So if you want to know more about Ezra and Lilith (and Colin) you might want to read that, though it's not necessary.
Character list (alphabetical, first name): Colin Creevey, Cora Creevey (OC), Dennis Creevey, Ezra Creevey (OC), Hannah Longbottom (neé Abbott), Lilith Moon, Neville Longbottom, Orla Creevey (neé Quirke), Parvati Patil
DISCLAIMER: I don't even need to say it.
"All rights to Harry Potter belong to J.K. Rowling and Warner Brothers...yada yada yada..."
WARNING: WHAT YOU'RE ABOUT TO READ CONTAINS BRUTAL DEPICTIONS OF VIOLENCE AND IMPLIED SEXUAL ABUSE IN A WAR. PROCEED ON YOUR OWN RISK. ALSO, EVERYTHING IS COMPLETELY CANNON COMPLIANT SO NO DEATHS WILL BE AVOIDED.
-oOo-
Bent double, like old beggars under sacks,
Knock-kneed, coughing like hags, we cursed through sludge,
Till on the haunting flares we turned our backs
And towards our distant rest began to marched asleep. Many had lost their boots
But limped on, blood-shod. All went lame; all blind;
Drunk with fatigue; deaf even to the hoots
Of tired, outstripped Five-Nines that dropped behind.
Gas! Gas! Quick, boys! – An ecstasy of fumbling,
Fitting the clumsy helmets just in time;
But someone still was yelling out and stumbling,
And flound'ring like a man in fire or lime . . .
Dim, through the misty panes and thick green light,
As under a green sea, I saw him drowning.
In all my dreams, before my helpless sight,
He plunges at me, guttering, choking, drowning.
If in some smothering dreams you too could pace
Behind the wagon that we flung him in,
And watch the white eyes writhing in his face,
His hanging face, like a devil's sick of sin;
If you could hear, at every jolt, the blood
Come gargling from the froth-corrupted lungs,
Obscene as cancer, bitter as the cud
Of vile, incurable sores on innocent tongues,
My friend, you would not tell with such high zest
To children ardent for some desperate glory,
The old Lie; Dulce et Decorum est
Pro patria mori.
— Dulce Et Decorum Est, Wilfred Owen
-oOo-
December, 2014
It is a peaceful evening after Christmas Day when she raises the wicked topic. Again.
"I wish I was there," eleven year old Cora says.
"No!" her parents shout simultaneously. Their sudden outburst shocks her into silence. "In all truthfulness," her father adds after a moment, "it wasn't that exciting," They get up after that, and she knows she isn't going to know more about 2nd May, 1998 from her parents that evening.
She sighs; she cannot understand why her parents find The Battle Of Hogwarts a sensitive issue even after more than a decade and a half. Ezra, her fifteen year old cousin, doesn't want to talk about it either and Aunt Lilith just changes the subject whenever she pops it up. Well, she sort of understands. Her father lost his brother, Ezra lost his father— a father whom he never got to know and Aunt Lilith lost her soulmate as well as her mother. But whom did her mother lose?
What happened on 2nd May, 1998 that her mother, Orla Creevey, doesn't want to talk about it? What could've have happened on that fateful day that her usually spirited mother became a silent shell whenever the topic rose?
She has to find out. She has to.
-oOo-
That night Orla shudders in her sleep and wakes up crying in the darkness of their bedroom. Dennis catches hold of her body which is shivering, even though the room is a comfortable warm. He strokes her short golden hair which once used to be so long that it hung just above her ankles when she left it free. He had used to call her Rapunzel and she had used to call him La Petite Prince, after the French fairytale but not any longer, those days have long gone by. Now they are just Orla and Dennis— broken pieces of their old self who stick together to make a whole.
"Oh Dennis," she speaks in between her sobs as he cradles her against his chest. "Why? Why? Why?"
He does not say anything. He cannot say anything. Why did they have to undergo the atrocities of war? Why? What had been their fault? Standing up for what was right? For doing the right thing?
Instead of saying anything he kisses her forehead and continues stroking her hair with one hand while the other undoes the zipper at the back of her nightdress to uncover all the scars. Slowly and steadily, he makes her sit up. The dress slips off her shoulder to reveal grotesque scars covering the entirety of her shoulders and back.
He is not going to make love to her tonight; there would be many more nights for that. Tonight, he is going to ease away her pain— a pain which has not lost its potency even after sixteen years. Dennis bends down and kisses each of those ghastly marks of torture.
"Hush, my Rapunzel,"
-oOo-
February, 2015
"It was chaos," Professor Longbottom tells her. "Utter chaos,"
They are standing outside one of the greenhouses. He points his finger in the direction of the entrance of the castle. "I found your Uncle and Aunt there," he says and takes in a deep breath. "The two of them were fighting at least seven Death Eaters together. Boy, that was a sight to see. I realised that day that your Uncle was a powerful wizard even if the Disarming Spell wasn't his forte. Anyway, I told him to leave because he was underage and do you know what he told me?"
"What?" Cora asks curiously.
"He told me, 'Sod it! This is my home and I am going to protect it,' Yes, I remember that clearly. Those were his exact words,"
"It must have been exciting,"
"Whatever gave you the idea?" he mutters, his tone suddenly sullen and walks away, shaking his head like a broken ragdoll.
-oOo-
"I notice you have been following me. Is there something you need child?" Professor Patil asks her kindly.
"Professor, I was wondering if you could tell me whether my mother and father were present in the Battle or not?"
The Divination Professor visibly winces on hearing the question.
"They were," she adds after a short while. "It seems that your father had managed to sneak inside the School unbeknownst to your Uncle. He was holding your mother's limp body when I saw him. She was covered from head to toe in blood and I helped them in rushing to Madam Pomfrey."
The teacher takes in a deep breath and adds, "During the one hour break in the Battle your father discovered that your Uncle had died and he got so angry that as soon as the Battle resumed, he fled out of the doors before anyone could catch him, armed with only a broom and his wand. Your Aunt stayed behind; it seemed as if she didn't have the will to endure anymore. He was a miracle to see, my sister told me. He flew high up and stood up on the broom! I think it was the adrenaline rush of the moment. He doesn't play Quidditch with you now, does he?"
She mutters a 'no'.
"Anyway," the Professor continues, "he was marvelous that day, your father. Dodging nasty hexes and curses as if they were just bludgers. He attacked many Death Eaters that day with Bombarda Maxima. It was something to see,"
"I wish I could have seen it," Cora tells her earnestly.
The Professor just smiles wryly.
"Never wish that child. Never," she says firmly but politely. "Off you go now. It is getting quite late,"
-oOo-
November, 2016
Now that she's in her third year, she's here in Hogsmeade in front of Hannah Longbottom in The Three Broomsticks.
"Yes," the graceful lady says, "I think that was your mother whom I saw. Orla Quirke, isn't it?"
"Creevey,"
"Of course. My fault. So what do you want to know?"
"Who attacked her during the battle?" she replies simply.
Madam Longbottom closes her eyes, as if trying to remember. "It was Dolohov. Antonin Dolohov," she murmurs finally and Cora cannot mistake the shudder that runs down the woman's back.
"I'm afraid I can't tell you any further. I don't want to," Madam Longbottom adds hurriedly and the wipes the sweat on her forehead with her robe's sleeves that has appeared in spite of the cold winter.
Cora leaves with a frown.
-oOo-
September, 2018
"Why can't I wish to be there, Uncle? Why can't I wish to know the truth?" she asks aloud the thin air as she fingers the name, Colin Creevey on the memorial.
"Because you shouldn't," a disembodied voice answers her.
She whirls around in shock because she had never ever expected a reply to find herself face to face with the ghost of her dead Uncle. She recognises him immediately of course, from the old fashioned Argus Matchmatic he happens to carry even in the afterlife.
"But why?" she asks tentatively.
"Because nothing's good about a war, any war,"
"Then why do I find all the accounts exciting?"
"Of course you do. Of course you do. But your being excited doesn't mean it was exciting for the people who experienced things firsthand. It's the Old Lie; dying for what you think is right is the most sweet and fitting thing. Let me tell you something, Cora, if you could've seen what happened in there, what happened to your mother, what happened to me and countless others, then you would have never wished to see it— the waste of life, blood and a million unfulfilled opportunities."
"But— but they were our enemies. Didn't you enjoy seeing them fall down?"
Colin just shakes his head at this naïve child's distorted idea of a war.
"And weren't they human beings too? Friends, enemies... I am sure it doesn't matter so long as there is mercy. Always mercy."
-oOo-
There's a second part too, which contains the actual war.
For now, I hope you liked this!