Deathly Hollows Spoilers. Violence. Adult Themes.
Drabble from a certain Slytherin's point of view, a year after the Final Battle.
Pretty angsty and not brutally graphic but enough to get the point across. Don't read if you're squeamish.
Based entirely on the characters and event of JKRowling's world.
Inspired by the band Junction 18's song "Granite Street Knife Fight." Some words or phrases were taken from the song. Lyrics below, after the second author's note. Rated safely.
We were gathered in the dark, the muggle streetlamps flickering on and off.
I knew that one of us, at least, would end up dead tonight. I knew it was inevitable.
Wands and knives were carried by all. We needed to vent off frustration, stress, pain, agony, depression, hatred, sickness…
After everything we'd been through, we needed redemption. We needed it all to end. We needed to fight. We needed to feel. One of us, at least, needed to die. Who tonight? I wondered vaguely as we walked in a huddled group, our once-pristine robes in rags and shambles, so much like our reputations, our lives, our dreams and hopes.
A year has past- has it only been a year? The Dark Lord is fallen. Saint Potter and his Golden Goons are Glorified. Hogwarts is rebuilt and re-staffed. The most important people in the world, they who mean the most to me, lie dying in Azkaban. Lay dead in the Shrieking Shack. Dumbledore didn't realize it… he thought he was giving me a chance when he took his death out of my hands and left it on Snape. Snape who'd done everything for everyone. The one everyone trusted. He felt more agony and guilt in that one year after Dumbledore fell, crumbled from the tower, then I feel now. I feel nothing. Numbness and coldness are constantly plaguing me. I tried to move on. I tried to go back. I tried to make a new life for myself, but every where I turned…
Those of us who couldn't live past the war but were somehow still breathing gathered here nightly. Pansy left me again, tonight. I have a new reason to feel. Constantly, incessantly, I try to keep alive, I try to feel. Sex, fighting, thinking, bleeding… I just want to feel. We should've died in the war. We should have fought for a side and stuck with it, losing or winning. Good or bad. What in Sweet Salazar's name is "Good" and what's "Bad"? I was brought up knowing one thing to be evil and another to be good, and everyone's against me. My father, my parents went down in this war. Not just my parents, no, my entire family. My aunt, Andromeda, who was previously disowned, is the only one I know to be alive. My cousin died fighting with her husband, the bloody Werewolf. I just found out they had a son. Andromeda, though, isn't all there anymore. She lost her husband and daughter, son in law, and two sisters- even if she didn't acknowledge those sisters were hers. I expect she's like me, numb and alone. Only she has her new grandson to live for. And I'm left here, alone. I'm left here numb. I've got nothing to live for. If I had defied my father, I would've died. If I had defied the Dark Lord, surely, I would've died. But really, I never thought of it. Why would I when I was taught that serving him would be the highest, most prestigious honor anyone could ever receive? I had a choice, yes, but did I really? Why would I defy my father when everything I've done thus far in life was only to please him, appease him, and make him proud? He and mother are dying and I can't stop it. At least the Dark Lord gave us a chance. I could save their lives if I completed a mission. Now they're rotting to death, their souls slipping away, their minds disappearing.
The night air is bitter and cold. I can practically smell the blood, feel the sweet release of bleeding, and we haven't even drawn yet. The Full moon was out, and I thought offhandedly of all the creatures that would feast upon this street. Granite Street, home to the most gruesome teen-brawl, all left dead, none spared from the horrific scene as werewolves and red-caps come to feed.
I've lost my family. My friends. My life, my home, my reputation, my money. I've lost everything I ever loved. When Pansy slammed the door and shut off the light, I knew that I would never return. I'll not make it home. Will she care? Will she cry? Will she die?
The streetlight flickered off a final time, and stopped. I looked around me in the dark. Those of us who'd lost everything, had nothing, felt only numbness surrounded me. Children of Death Eaters, Children of Victims, soldiers of either side who'd lost too much to bear. All houses stand now in solemn silence, a somber secret passing soundlessly through our unmoving lips and clouded eyes. Lies. We're all going to die. I stand beside old friends, old enemies, a pact of death and blood between us. Put us out of our misery.
Too far away, left behind. I'm still standing at her door tonight, before I came to stand here. We're yelling through the oak barrier and I just want to cry. I don't, though. I swallow hard and know that I'll never see her again. I yell nonsense before muttering "I love you". If she'd heard me, she would've stopped me, wouldn't she? I'll never be the same, will she? Will she live to tomorrow? Will she wonder where I am? Will I wonder where she is if I survive?
Suddenly I want to make it out alive. I want to see dawn. I want to feel, not death, but life. Truly experience it. But it's too late to turn back. Like everything in my life I get into, I go too far and can't turn around. I face my death, praying silently I make it out to the end. I'm a fool. I'm a sinner. I'm a clown, always taunting and joking and torturing those around me. Holier-than-thou am I. That's who I was. Who am I know, as I face the inevitable? A fool? A hero? An Idiot? Is Granite Street my resting place? Will Granite be my headstone? Who am I kidding, no one will care enough about me now to buy a headstone.
Everything I did, now, is making itself known as the regrets pile up. Potter and Weasley, Granger and Longbottom. Those bloody, stupid Gryffindors who everyone loved so much more. Someone falls beside me, others are already on the ground. Am I even fighting? Is one of these bodies limp because of me? Are they all down at my hand? Am I bleeding, or is that someone else's blood on my hands, stained on my robes? Creevy… he's dead now, isn't he? Stupid kid didn't know when to leave the heroism act to Potter. He shouldn't have been there. The Weasleys… they lost a son, didn't they? One of the twins. Those two, I respected. I would never admit to it, of course, but it's true. Their pranks and jokes were magnificent, and if most weren't on me I would've love them.
A slice grazes my upper arm and gashes my chest, and I'm not sure if I'm using knife or wand, now. I can't feel my fingers anymore, are they still there? Would I have felt it if they weren't? I can't see anything in the dark. I can't see anything in the light. The dark over me is too much. Now the regrets are nagging me again, I wish I could stay alive. Pray I make it out alive so I can make it to amend my wrongs. Only a few of us now, and my mind is aching with questions and regrets and a dream that keeps repeating, never ending, in my mind. A childhood dream. It'd be the death of me, it's killing me. Or is that the knives? How can you let these nights go unsurrendered? How can I let everyone around me die? If I were of any sense, I'd kneel next to those around me to try to heal them. If I were of any sense, I wouldn't be here. Down to four of us now, all panting and bleeding, but the pain keeps us conscious. It's evident none of us here will survive. The light flickers on again and I gasp, swallowing hard. I fight hard to keep down the bile rising at the sickening sight before us. We all feel weak, for a moment, about to fall to our knees in agony and regret, sobbing and mourning for those we've lost, those we've found, those we've fought, those we've killed. Weep for ourselves. Confusing, elusive emotions are torturing us, just out of reach of understanding. We turn to face one another. Ironically, one left standing from each house. I stand in green and silver, Chang in blue and bronze, Abbot in yellow and black, and Jordan in red and gold. I look confused, if only for a moment. What have they lost? They see me and fear is clear on their faces, they eye my fingers- still there, apparently- as they twitch for my wand. My weapons. My knife. They seem to remember, suddenly, why we're all here. We're all in pain, suffering together, fighting together, fighting each other, dying together. It doesn't matter now, who we were in school. Who we were in the war. Just that we loved and lost, or maybe never loved at all. Turn out the light, I beg silently. If it stays on, we won't die. We won't bleed. We won't feel. Not while we can see. Only when we're blind and guilt isn't choking us. The light goes out, as if on my silent command.
Again I pray I'll survive. That I make it to the end. What is the end? Is it now? Was it before? Will it be later? This is ridiculous. We're actors in a badly-planned carnival. We're clowns and acrobats, and are fallen fellows are feathers from the headdresses and masks. We've planned our early death. It was arranged.
I long for the laughter I once had. The memories… I wouldn't give them up no matter how much of my money or my life was offered. The smiles aren't for sale, the laughter never forgotten. I hold on. The feeling suddenly stabs me violently and spreads like a virus. I'm finally awake. Near the fire they feed incessantly the flames to the inferno, the bodies all will fall, won't we? I sink to my knees. Goodnight afternoon, I think, wanting sleep. The moon shines down on the scene, leaving the clouds it was hiding behind. It no longer spares us the sight. We're all fallen, now. We're all dying and bleeding, and the morning's fast approaching, the dark lightening and the light rising. "Goodnight morning moon," I murmur, shifting painfully so I stare at the sky. My last view would be the stars twinkling, like the ceiling of the Great Hall and the eyes of the Headmaster who tried to save me from a life of guilt and regret. My last view would be the beautiful, redeeming darkness being driven away as the moon fled from the sun's first rays. I'll catch them another day, I hope wistfully. They're coming to take me away. I close my eyes, I've killed the light. Laying here, I'm bleeding here, tonight. I finally feel. I feel the pain, now may I try this life again?
It all fades to black.
A/N: There could be a sequel of his redemption later, but i'm not sure. Depends on reader's thoughts and my own judgement of whether or not i'll continue. So if you want him to live, then say so. If not, that's cool too. I may even write it whether it's what you guys want or not. Or vice versa. But whatever. I'll take your comments into consideration of whether i do/don't continue.
Lyrics to the song "Granite Street Knife Fight" by Junction 18 (of Abington, Massachusetts, google them, they rock!).
Lyric's may be innacurate, they were found online, but i was listening to the song on repeat when i wrote this, so, according to my ear, they sound the same.
these heads are rolling... they see black
watch them smile the dust away
who's upstairs hanging out the window
his girlfriend's leaving him tonight
i know this well... this repeating game
it's neverending..
don't let him drive the car tonight...
he'll never make it home
turn out the light..
we're too far behind
words are exchanged
and we're never the same
confusing matter?..
pray you make it out to the end
he's a clown... a first class sinner..
regrets are slowly building their way
elusive matter?
pray you make it out to the end
this childhood dream is killing me
i know its hard to swallow
but its nice going when its free
when will you answer?
i've got this question aching on my mind..
how can you let these nights remain unsurrendered?
turn out the light.
we're too far behind
it's evident no one here will survive
confusing matter?
pray you make it out in the end
im a clown... a sad fool kisser
this carnival's planned its early death
elusive matter?
pray to make it out in the end
(when exactly is the end?)
and all the laughter you see is not for sale
its virus made no effort
near the fire they feed incessantly
the flame to the inferno
goodnight afternoon..
goodnight morning moon
ill catch your rays another day
they're coming to take me away