Three Seconds
A/N: Hey, y'all! This is another one-shot (surprise, surprise, right?) based on Mundungus Fletcher and Mad-Eye Moody when the latter is killed in Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows. I wrote this for the Book-Quotes Boot Camp from FandaticForeverAndAlways.
Enjoy!
Love,
Arwen ;)
"Betrayal. That's the first thing I feel, which is ludicrous. For there to be betrayal, there would have had to be trust first."
Katniss Everdeen, The Hunger Games
Three seconds, three billion nanoseconds, two tenths of a minute.
That was the space of time between Mundungus Fletcher's panicked flight and the flash of green light that ended Alastair Moody's life. He'd counted.
One thousand nanoseconds.
His first feeling was confusion. The Dark Lord was flying alongside of him, his pallid face twisted into a snarl, his black robes streaming behind him like smoke, as if he wasn't quite there. The long, white fingers curled elegantly around a yew wand which was directed, for the moment, at nothing in particular… however, Mad-Eye could tell instantly by the way Voldemort gripped the wand that, within the next fraction of a second, the wand would be pointed at him.
Twenty-eight millionths of a second.
The second emotion that gripped him was alarm. A panicked yelp had just burst out of Mundungus Fletcher from behind Mad-Eye; Moody swiveled his magical eye around in its socket and stared out the back of his head. Dung—disguised as (a rather green-around-the-gills) Harry Potter—had slid off of his broom, preparing to jump off of it, his eyes wild with fright and desperation. A wave of realisation swept over Moody—Dung was going to disapparate.
"No!" Moody growled, furious; but too late. With a crack, Mundungus vanished into thin air, his broom plummeting to the ground—leaving Moody alone and without back-up.
Three hundred and sixty-eight millionths of a minute.
But, Moody resolved, he would not go down without a fight. He pulled back slightly on his broom so that he would be a little behind Voldemort and readjusted his grip on his wand.
Fifty-two million nanoseconds.
Moody opened his mouth to utter the curse.
Two simple words, he thought. Two words are all it will take… and then, it'll be over.
Eighty-nine thousandths of a second.
Suddenly, Voldemort jerked to avoid the tall sharp spire of a cathedral that loomed suddenly out of the clouds…
Two hundred and eight six hundredths of a minute.
And Moody swore vehemently as he lost valuable time as he swerved to avoid crashing into the cathedral's lethal spire. Furious with himself, he searched the skies frantically for a sight of Voldemort…
Seven hundred and twenty-three million nanoseconds.
Anxiety beginning to mix with his anger, Moody looked even harder for any sign of Voldemort—a killing curse, the high-pitched voice, anything.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine millionths of a second.
As useless as that stupid traitor was, Moody suddenly found himself thinking, I would have found Voldemort by now. He cursed Mundungus Fletcher bitterly.
Fletcher had betrayed him, betrayed all of them.
But that was stupid, wasn't it? Because when had he, Alastair "Mad-Eye" Moody, held even an ounce of trust in Mundungus? When had anyone?
And yet, the feeling of betrayal remained.
Nine hundred and ninety-nine million, nine hundred and ninety-nine thousand, nine hundred and ninety-nine nanoseconds.
Moody's eyes swept from left to right, a snarl fixed on his face. Curses and jinxes were flying everywhere, and a flash of green—
Wait a moment… Was that-?!
Two tenths of a minute.
Three billion nanoseconds.
Three seconds.
That was the space of time between Mundungus Fletcher's panicked flight and the flash of green light that—
A/N: Well? What do you think? Let me know! You can hate on it, too, if you like… just no swearing, please.
Love,
Arwen ;)
