Disclaimer : I gain nothing but satisfaction and possibly a few kind words from strangers who live in the internet. Latin is from wikipedia.
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"quem di diligunt adulescens moritur"
-dum valet sentit sapit-
(He whom the Gods love dies young - while he is healthy, perceptive and wise.)
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The thing about war is that there are two sides, and on both there are young soldiers protecting their families, conditioned every day to believe wholeheartedly in their cause.
Evan Rosier was brilliant; a Ravenclaw mind dressed in Slytherin cunning, and that was about as dangerous as you could get because they played to their advantage after asking all the right questions.
Unfortunately for him, it was the answers that weren't always right.
He studied hard, and with solid work comes success, so his academic record remained impressive throughout his seven years at Hogwarts, his professors proud of and occasionally astounded by his schoolwork. The Ravenclaw buried deep inside him yearned for knowledge; and its passion was history. He was fascinated by the witch hunts, the trials and the Malleus Maleficarum, but Binns was a somewhat narrow-minded teacher and spent his time droning on about the Goblin Wars and the lesser conflicts that Evan had committed to memory long ago and left decorating the galleries of his mind as he moved onto bigger, newer information.
So Evan learned from pureblood tutors, and that was the beginning of his decline.
He learned of the muggleborn menace, the dangers that muggles – who bred like rabbits and fought like female dragons with their eggs under threat – posed to the Wizarding world with its sophistication and the gift of magic that belonged to Higher Beings. He was drawn in by cleverly woven webs that provoked the truth into becoming something it wasn't and hid it behind lies that spiralled into a chaotic mess of propaganda.
He was eighteen when he joined the Death Eaters, fresh out of school, with his father whispering poison in his ears and his mind painting a future of freedom in his eyes.
He is twenty (andninemonths) now, twisting and turning in the dark as bright streaks of red light shoot past him – stunners (because Dumbledore's lackeys think themselves as saints and martyrs, and they don't aim to kill until it's the last resort, and even then it's never that spell to complete the deed) – vanishing into the endless dark of the Scottish woodland.
Mad-Eye Moody, the famed and grizzled Auror, is hidden in the trees, trailing him like a bloodhound and occasionally sending stunners from his wand. He is even harder to lose these days, with his new magical eye, an eerie glowing blue orb that whizzes a disturbing full circle in the socket to see through almost anything. It's a clever piece of magic, and though it is unnerving Evan can't help but feel appreciation for its design (he almost laughs out loud at this utterly Ravenclaw thought; he's running like heck, it's no time to think about Moody's magical eye, no time at all).
The woods fade into a clearing, and with the Auror so close behind him there's no hope unless he turns to protect his back, he does.
As expected, Moody bursts into the clearing, but, unexpectedly, he's about ten metres to the left of where Evan was looking. It is pure adrenaline that gets him out of the way of the curse; he feels the disruption in the air as it passes over his shoulder.
"Come now, lad," Moody growls in a voice like gravel, circling like a hunter. "You're a bright young'un; ye could go far in this world one day if ye come quietly with me."
"Betrayal is an ugly word, Moody," Evan replies evenly. Both men are mirroring the other, wands out offensively. "I wouldn't even think it."
"Ye'll put ye faith in the wrong side, boy?" Moody asked. "There's them as would say that we need muggles to ensure we survive."
Evan sneers down his raised wand. "And then there are those who see without the rose-tinted glasses, who see that such stupidity and rashness will kill us all, just like their attempts in the centuries before now."
His wand hand is quick, and the spell slices off a chunk of Moody's nose, deep red blood spreading down his face. He spits to the side, flecks of blood in the glob of saliva, his eyes not breaking contact, and Evan knows there's no going back from this moment.
He is fighting for his beliefs; for his family and the world he would die to protect – because even the greatest intelligence isn't always enough when the information you are given is wrong.
There are many lights, flashing by in quick succession, and Evan has no fear, because he is doing what is Right, and believes it wholeheartedly. But Moody is the personification of experience, and his nimble movements and fast hands produce a line of orange light that strikes true in the barrel of Evan Rosier's chest, just below the heart.
And Evan, his name appropriately meaning Young Warrior and Noble Birth, falls.
The thing about war is that there are two sides, of which neither is infallibly right, and the only parallel between them is the deaths of the young soldiers, claimed once more by the world beyond the Living.
In the final three seconds of Evan Rosier's young life, he thinks: quem di diligent adulescens moritur.
He whom the gods love dies young-
He hasn't time to reflect on the final part of the statement; the flicker of life is extinguished, and Evan Rosier is dead.
End.
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