four times marlene cried and one time she didn't
or
keep holding on
I
They were dead. Her hands wound themselves around her thick comforter, pulling tight as she struggled to overcome her emotions. She could hardly believe it. How could they be dead? How could they, two of the best fighters their generation had to offer, have succumbed to the ghastly pale-white and chill fingers of Death, let themselves be swept away like grains of sand on a beach, tossed carelessly by the wind? Her tears were smothered by the fabric of her pillow, her sobs loud against the stillness of the house.
Gideon and Fabian Prewett would live forever in her heart. The two grinning, happy red-heads would be the founders of an entire world of cheerfulness, where everyone was happy and where no-one died.
They deserved to go to Heaven.
II
She was walking in the street when she heard the news, her hair loose down her back, and a rare smile on her face. The sun was out, and for what seemed like months, she actually felt happy, felt like the war could never touch her, felt like it was a million miles away, and not just next-door. Once she had been told though, that smile had disappeared, changing into a firm scowl of misery, and her hair was pulled up into an elastic, her wand determinedly gripped in her right hand.
When news of death was told, Marlene became all business. It was her way of coping with the loss, however personal. Still, her fake exterior of confidence and resolution didn't stop the tears from streaming when she arrived home.
Another loss.
Benjy Fenwick was dead. Benjy, the happy always-smiling Hufflepuff, who she had often partnered with in the Order, and who was the one who made her crack up with laughter when he told one of his stupid jokes. Vomit hit the porcelain on the sink as she thought about his mutilated, beyond regonition, beyond human, remains.
No more laughter.
III
Dorcas was dead. Her heart thumped in her chest harshly, her eyes red-rimmed from crying as she stepped forward, sniffling horribly as she threw the roses on the black coffin. She was blinded by her tears, and stumbled back to her seat, tugging hard at her hair. Why was she being punished so? Everyone she knew, everyone she loved, was dying, one after the other. It was like she was a bystander, quiet and still, watching this happen, and there was nothing she could do about it. They would all fall, and it was only a matter of time before that happened.
How many were left? There numbers were slowly dwindling, trickling by, leaving the last few remainders shell-shocked and fearing for their lives.
How long would it be until she fell, sucumbed to the darkness that disgused itself under a black hood, and called itself Death?
IV
She supposed it hurt more than the others because she hadn't known him personaly. She had heard about him, of course, the wise Hufflepuff who actually cared for everything and everyone, who loved a good read and always had time to listen. He would have been a good friend to have had, and she deeply regretted not taking the time to meet him. Edgar Bones was the most recent victim of the war, a deathly blow delivered to his family in one foul swoop, killing him, his wife, his children, and mother and father. Amelia and Roger were the only ones left now, with Roger's wife perishing in the fire that killed hundreds.
The war had claimed another victim, and for that it should be proud.
That night, her skin was soaked with tears as she wept for Edgar Bones, for the man she never knew, and for the memories she could have had.
V
They were coming for her. Her heart drummed a tabbo against her skin, her eyes frantic as she searched outside. There was nothing yet but they were coming. She just knew.
Was this how the others had felt before dying? Strangely content, happy to give themselves into death? She knew it was strange to feel this way, odd to be glad to die, but with everyone she knew gone, and the others in hiding, she would be happy to see them all again. They would be happy, and safe, up in Heaven, where they would be protected from harm forever, never dying, never getting sick, alway happy, always smiling. She wanted that for herself, not matter how selfish that was.
There was a scream from above her, and she snapped out of her thoughts, gripping her wand tighter in her hand. She squeezed her eyes shut, clamping her hands over her ears, refusing to hear her sister's screams as she died. Melinda, Melinda, Melinda, sweet little Mel, barely 16 years of age, who always had a smile on her face, and a pen in her hand, was dying. There was nothing she could do about it. Once the screams had died down, and she was sure it was safe, she opened her eyes.
And there was Travers, grinning manically, his dirt-streaked finger inches away from caressing her cheek. "Hello, sweetheart," he cooed, pacing back and forth. "Marlene, right?" he questioned, his eyes bright and insane undernearth the fluro.
She swallowed the lump in her throat, forcing herself to nod.
"You've been causing some awful, awful heartache for the Dark Lord, did you know that?" he asked, looking at her. She forced herself to met his eyes, shuddering at the madness that she saw there. He cackled softly, before shrugging carelessly, his wand tossing softly from hand to hand as he began to pace once more. "Messed up a lot of his plans. Guess that's why he wanted you gone. Killed. Eliminated. Dead. Murdered. Destroyed. Anhilated. Bye-bye!We've masacred your entire family, y'know. You're the last to die. Mummy and Daddy are gone, their screams nothing but whispers in the wind. What were their names, darling? I liked to know the names of who I've killed, y'know, for the memories." Travers looked at her, fingering his wind in his hands.
Marlene refused to look at him, instead looking straight down at the ground. "Melinda." Melinda, Melinda, Mel.
"Matthew." Matthew, Matthew, Mattie.
"Michelle." Michelle, Michelle, Ellie.
"Margaret." Mum, Mum, Mummy.
"Michael." Dad, Dad, Daddy.
They were all gone.
She opened her eyes, staring straight at Travers. "Welcome to hell, honey." With a flash of green light, she was gone, legs spread out at angles on the floor, her blonde hair on her face. Travers chuckled softly, tossing his wand from hand to hand as he walked out of the room, a smile on his face.
Her cheeks were dry.
Marlene would never cry again.
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