Written For

Convince Me Competition (CormacRomilda)

"You're hurt," Romilda says, and she immediately feels like idiot for her statement.

Hurt is an understatement. Cormac lays before her, bleeding, his ashen skin marbled with blossoms of purple, blue, and grey. The arrogant Adonis is gone, and a pitiful creature has taken his place.

"My God," he says, his voice strained. "Mum spoke of angels. Lo and behold, one has appeared before me in my dying hour."

Romilda resists the urge to roll her eyes. Once, she might have considered it a compliment to be called an angel. But the mention of death makes her uncomfortable. "You're not dying. Shut up," she says sharply. "They've called for a temporary ceasefire-"

"I know. I heard. My ears are still very much functional," Cormac grumbles.

There it is. Even as he clings to life, his snark does not fail. Romilda almost smiles.

Carefully, she lifts the debris from him, wincing as she examines the damage. It could be much worse, she supposes. But, even so, there is no promise that he'll make it through. Blood pools around his stomach, blocked by his flesh, and she's almost certain at least one of his legs is broken.

"We'll get you to the hospital wing," she says, helping him onto his good leg and guiding his arm around her shoulders."Madam Pomfrey will look after you."

"Am I going to die? I feel like I am," he admits, and his voice quivers.

Romilda isn't sure how she feels about the fear in his voice. Cormac isn't supposed to be so vulnerable, so human.

"You're going to be okay."

"Tell me the truth."

"I'm no Healer, Cormac. I'd guess you have some internal bleeding. Maybe a rib broke and punctured something," she says as she staggers along, his weight making her strides awkward. "You can barely even touch your left leg to the floor, so I'd wager it's broken. There's hope, of course. If we get you there in time."

He laughs, a dry, bitter sound. "That sounds promising."

"I'm trying my best."

"Try harder."

"Shut it! I could leave you here to die. I'm not obligated to rescue you, you know," she snaps.

"But you will. You're a good person," he says, leaning a little harder against her. "Everyone thinks you're vapid and shallow."

"Please, shut up. You're wasting your strength, and you're going to need it."

It isn't a total lie. Each word takes away a breath that could extend his life. The fact that she doesn't want to hear what other people think of her just strengthens her determination to shut him up.

"I don't think you are, though. You put on an act, but I've watched you. You're really quite brilliant."

"You wait until you're dying to tell me how amazing I am. Lovely."

He laughs, but the sound is cut off by a groan. Romilda feels him fall slack against her.

"You stay with me," she demands. "Do you hear me? You're a pain in the ass, and that means I can't lose that easily, got it?"

Cormac doesn't answer. The only sounds from him are his breaths which sound shallower by the minute.

…

Romilda stays by his side long after the others have left to resume the battle. She doesn't care about the fighting, doesn't care about the glory.

Cormac is alive, but just barely. Even with the potions, his breathing is still jagged. The blood that's pooled beneath his skin hasn't gone away.

She hadn't been obligated to save him, but now she feels obligated to stay by his side. At the very least, she doesn't want him to be alone in his final moments.

…

Romilda blinks awake, confused. She doesn't remember falling asleep.

"What's happened?" she mumbles.

"It's over. We've won," Madam Pomfrey answers, an exhausted smile on her lips.

"Cormac?"

Her eyes shift to his bed. His chest rises and falls in a steady rhythm now. The color has returned to his complexion, and the bruises have all but faded.

"Another round of potions, and the internal bleeding should be completely better," the Healer says. "If you hadn't gotten him here when you did, he wouldn't have made it."

Romilda breaths a sigh of relief, holding Cormac's hand as he sleeps.

…

"Ah! There she is! My angel," Cormac calls, grinning his brightest, most obnoxious grin. "Mum never told me angels were so feisty. Did you really threaten to leave me to die?"

Romilda rolls her eyes. "Good to see your brain wasn't damaged," she laughs.

"You did! I am deeply offended," he says, holding a hand over his mouth as if something scandalous has happened. "You can make it up to me by taking me out for a drink. I could use one right about now."

"Me? Take you out? I'm the one who saved your life," she huffs. "You ought to buy me a drink."

"Yes, but you threatened to leave me to die," he reminds her. "A drink would be an excellent apology. Especially if dinner followed. And maybe even a nice-"

"If it will shut you up, fine. Dinner. Drinks. And nothing more."

"A goodnight kiss?"

She scowls.

"The silence means you're thinking about it, yeah?"

"Shut up."

"Make me," he challenges with a wink.