"This was found on the bodies. Mean anything to you?"
Eyeless animals stared at the mark on the cloth. The fox turned to the horse; she didn't respond. Slowly, he nodded, and the room held its breath waiting for an answer.
"You're going to die."
[-M-]
The horse had a face.
It was feminine, and very pretty. She had long, pale pink eyelashes and nicely-shaped eyes, pouty lips on a too-wide mouth and a smattering of light freckles on her nose. She breathed ruggedly throughout the night, her gargles cutting into the air.
She wanted to ask the panda why the hawk was targeting her like this, why it was the third time this week that the horse had ended up on a sickbed, but the same empty eyes stared at her from the mask, and she knew she wouldn't find a face under there if she looked for it now. She didn't want to scare the horse away with questions, anyway; she had only just become a human being.
[-M-]
If she looked really carefully, if she squinted, she could see that they were human.
She could see the mouse push her bangs aside out from under the mask with a light huff. She could see the deer adjust the peacock's armor straps, and the butterfly search through his pockets for a candy bar. She could see the eagle hesitate when the panda stopped to take a stone out of her boot, and could see the turtle steady her as she did so.
If she was careful, and managed to find a way to get everyone around her rowdy enough, she might see the fox's shoulders shake with suppressed laughter.
[-M-]
The hawk looked terrifying without his mask.
It had done nothing to keep the blood away, and the flecks of ruby shone dark against his white skin. Black hair obstructed the view of cold, crimson eyes on a face of stone. It did not move as the horse stepped over the felled fox, it did not move as pouty lips pressed kisses to each red jewel on his face, staining the too-wide mouth.
The hawk's hand, covered in the fox's blood buried itself in her hair, ugly, brown-red coming off on the fluorescent pink, and the tip of a snake-like tongue darted out to trace the circles under her eyes. If you hadn't heard the silence, you would've thought he'd cooed to her.
And then she was left with a cold-as-ice horse, a dying man, and a girl wearing a mouse mask who wouldn't let go of her love's hand.
[-M-]
The fox had a face, too.
It was big, looked like it should've been splitting at the seams with a smile. Three symmetrical marks on each cheek; whiskers. Big eyes, a sunburst of yellow hair. Tanned skin and tired circles under miniscule, blond lashes.
The mouse had long since lost her mask, and her face was the least childlike you'd seen out of all of them, with its dark lashes and full lips and well-proportioned cheekbones, though it wasn't as old or tired or pained as theirs. She would've thought it was, with how the corners of her big, white eyes crinkled with sadness, or how her mouth pressed together like a sealed envelope, but she was possibly the youngest.
The fox's eyes open – a sunny sky's blue – and he smiles at her exasperatedly.
"What're you crying for, Mousie? I'm still here."
Neat fingers move over white bandages; he shudders. She leans over him, long black hair brushing his chest and he shudders again. Full, pink lips meet chapped, tan ones. She looks away; she's not anymore a part of this than she was of the scene between the hawk and the horse, but now her eye catches the pink-haired woman's sad, jade eyes, and she feels more ashamed for having seen that, too.
[-M-]
The fox and the mouse must have names, but no-one says them, though they're clearly not masked anymore.
He keeps her hand in his as they follow her into the village. He flirts shamelessly, face in that seam-splitting grin she knew should be there, and the mouse's porcelain doll face blossoms with red. She's no longer a guard, she's a girl in a nice sweater, and he's a boy who can't keep his hands to himself.
[-M-]
She watches as, again, the hawk deals out abuse.
The horse is fast, dodging and twisting, paralyzing needles shooting at her pursuer, but the Sharingan sees all. The needles are shot back just as quickly, this time hitting their mark, and the tired woman drops onto the ground. Her chin almost presses itself into his hand; his thumb almost wipes away a tear.
Then, because it can wait, the world can wait, she's on the grass and he's on her, and there's crying and silence.
She knows he'll hear her, but she doesn't care – she runs.
This quickly ceased to have anything to do with her, or Harry. She is his only target now.
[-M-]
They'd brought too many issues with them when they came to take care of the clients, so they left when they were asked to. They were not paid and did not say goodbye. The hawk ceased his attacks on the school when it became apparent the horse wasn't there anymore, and he, along with the ones who'd joined him under the Dark Lord's employ left.
She wished she'd seen more of their faces. It was only after Dumbledore's death, when she and Harry and Ron were looking in his office for information, that she found the file with their identities. She had their names and their faces. Some scared her and some made her smile.
She found a letter from the fifth Hokage apologizing for the incomplete mission and an offer for another one, free of charge, now that Sasuke Uchiha had returned to the village. She didn't want to see any of them again – not the horse, and definitely not the hawk.
But.
They needed to find the Horcruxes, she wrote. They needed to hide well and maybe fight, but mostly just stay alive, for an indefinite period of time.
As Hedwig carried the letter off, her eyes roamed over the photos again. The seam-splitting smile wasn't seen, but it was there. Hiding.
…
…
A/N: Not a prequel to the maybe-crossover I kinda-plan-on-doing-but-maybe-not. That one's a whole different kettle of fish if I ever write it.