A/N Here it is, the last of The Seven Words series, saved to be posted on Good Friday. Enjoy. Don't own 'em.
And speaking in a loud voice, Jesus said, "Father, into your hands I commit my spirit" -Luke 23:46
Most who stood on the battlefield had given in easily. Some had run, fleeing far away, to whatever safety and security that their money could by them. Most just gave in and prayed for the best, claiming they had no choice, saying they were forced, coerced, or worse, into what they did. No one believed them, but due process would allow some, if not most, to walk. One cannot be jailed for what is a known truth without evidence of that truth. And that was the one thing that they all loved about the law. It protected them as much as it punished them.
There were those, however, that decided that if their cause was over, that they would do what they could to make it even more memorable. The ones that refused to go down without a fight. The crazies, if you will. The ones who had devoted themselves so for the cause that they could stand to be separated from it. Warren MacNair, Gannon Goyle, but the one that stood out head and shoulders above the rest when it came to devotion to the cause was Bellatrix Lestrange.
Even when it was known to all that the fight was finished, that the battle was done, she still fought on, determined to bring down as many as she could around her. Determined that if the Dark Lord should be dead, all who stood in his way should die as well. How she had lived this long was a mystery to all, but somehow she had survived until the bitter end. She cast killing curse after killing curse, flung hex after hex out at anyone who dared to stand in her way, bringing down anyone and everyone she could.
Even once she was finally caught and restrained, she was still lashing out, crazed, a wild animal in captivity, striking out against those who held her hostage. She fought on even as she was being dragged to the dementors. She fought and scratched and clawed and tried to hex even as she was thrown before them, a lamb to the slaughter, to be sacrificed as a sign to all. She saw it as a sign of martyrdom, dying for her cause.
She stood before them as her crimes were read aloud, for anyone and everyone to hear. She stood proud and tall, as she was released, no longer a captive, but a martyr, a willing sacrifice for what she believed in, willing to be slaughtered for her own maligned vision of a greater good. She stood defiantly before the crowd in a laughing,mocking sort of way, proud to be a martyr for her cause. She smirked as a shadow rolled across the sun, as the rain began to beat down, at the crowd remaining despite the storm, despite the afternoon heat.
She stood proud and tall as the charges were finished, and smirked at the crowd cheering for her death. Savages, the lot of them. No different than they were centuries ago, gathered together to watch public executions. So smirked as the dementors came towards her, ignoring the cold chill that ran down her spine. She kept her smirk on as they surrounded her, and her last words before the dementors icy lips pressed against hers echoed over the crowd. "Father, master, into your hands, I command my spirit." And with those words, she fell limp, the hint of a smirk still on her face.