The mud sucks at their shoes, making it difficult to move. They're rain drenched and shivering and none of that matters because it's just them and they have to focus on that or the world will spiral out of control.
"Nice Unforgivable Potter," one says.
The other's facial expression never changes, he just gazes into the cold grey eyes of his counterpart and says "I could say the same for you."
The first one smirks and shrugs, still keeping up their twisted staring contest, "Eye for an eye, Zabini for a Weasley."
"Should have known a coward Slytherin like you would do it when his back was turned."
"And how did you like looking him straight in the eye as he realized that he was going to die?"
Screams and bangs and crashes pound their ears, begging their entrance, but they are both oblivious to the battle around them, to the history being written. They have scores to settle and neither is going to move before they have said all they need to say.
"Perfect Potter has blood on his hands now. Quite literally. The Mudblood died in dirt and filth, how beautifully tragic."
"I've seen your lot crawling through the mud, begging to die. Quite fitting for a bunch of snakes, on your bellies for people to tread on."
"How was it to feel her die? Worse than watching the weasel? She suffered, quite a lot. Really nasty curse. I'm surprised it's not an Unforgivable."
Harry's voice stays just as flat as it has been, "I know. I felt every spasm of pain. Your mother's handiwork if I'm not mistaken. She and her sister are real bitches."
"Were, you mean, that pet werewolf of yours got them together." He steps aside to avoid the mud splash a body had thrown up when it was blasted back by a curse.
"An eye for and eye," Harry says, drawing his wand.
Draco draws his at the same lazy pace as Harry.
"AVADA KADAVRA!"