He knew this mission wasn't going to turn out well, he had had a bad feeling in the pit of his stomach when he heard what was going to happen. Plans that were too perfect were always the ones that worried Doc the most. Maybe this was because every mission that seemed perfect ended up with another body to be buried, and another funeral to avoid. But it never stopped him from going on them. He couldn't let someone else, someone who didn't realize the horrors of war, take his place. He wasn't a Gryffindor, but he had a heart and a brain, and he knew when to use both.
He was crouched behind a bush when it began. At first everything was silent and still, and the plan seemed to have been working flawlessly. Doc didn't let his guard down though, he never let his guard down unless he was with Mary, and those moments seemed to be dwindling as well. Mary. Her face, her voice, the feel of her skin, the air that she breathed, everything about her had captured him completely, and how he was really starting to worry that the moments they had spent together previously would be their last.
Suddenly, flashes of light started pouring out from everywhere. If he wasn't so terrified he might have even described the scene as beautiful. It wasn't though. It was deadly, and with every flash his heart beat started picking up. His wand was drawn and Doc started spewing out spells in every direction possible. None of them deadly, but all of them useful and purposeful. It wasn't enough though. He could tell they were outnumbered. They must have known they were coming. Suddenly he was angry. A spy. It was the only thing that made sense. There was a spy in the Order. His thoughts were quickly silenced though. He was stunned. Frozen. He couldn't move his body, he couldn't even blink. All he could see was the dark outlines of his attackers, and there was nothing he could do about it.
He was being taken, and he had a feeling that when it came to killing, they used it like the Order used stunning jinxes; often, and without care.
The first thing Doc noticed when he woke up was that he could move his limbs again. He had never been so happy in his life for the ability to simply wiggle his fingers and toes. He breathed out a sigh of relief, and then felt himself cringe at the pain that came with breathing. Fuck, he muttered to himself. The guards had tortured him, even while he was asleep. Guards. Doc shot straight up, experiencing more excruciating pain, but focusing more on the part that he was now in a jail cell. If he could even call it that. It would more accurately be described as Hell.
As Doc took in his surroundings he noticed that he was indeed alone. There was no movement or sound except for the occasional rat that scurried by, looking for crumbs of food that were nonexistent. Doc himself was hungry, but most importantly thirsty. Every movement he made became forced, and every breath he took, painful. He could tell he was in rough shape, but he just wanted to know where the fuck he was and why he wasn't dead yet.
His question was soon answered. A cloaked figure walked towards the entrance of the cell. There was no sound to the beings footsteps, only the wooshing of the cloak as the wind hit it. The figure unlocked the cell with a swish of a wand, and walked in.
Doc could feel the hair on the back of his neck stand, and the goosebumps start to crop up on his arms. He didn't know what scared him more, the certain death that was to come, or the torture that he had been warned that was inflicted on prisoners. Either way when the cloaked figure approached him he didn't put on a smile for them. Instead he chose that opportunity to press himself further against the wall, perhaps hoping that he'd melt into it completely.
"Caradoc Dearborn" The voice was cold, ice cold. It pierced through the air, and whipped out at him. His heart, once calm and slowly beating, started to race. He knew who this was. He was the reason for the war in the first place. This was the man who killed his parents, and his brother, and his friends. This was the man that must be killed, but in this position Doc knew it was suddenly reversed completely. He wasn't suppose to remain being a prisoner for long.
After a few deafening more seconds, Voldemort spoke again, "I've heard much about you, blood traitor. You've lost your family, and you started dating a Mudblood, and you're even in the Order. Such an interesting thing for a Pureblood with such credentials as yourself. Surely you'll join me? Unless of course you'd rather die." At the mention of Mary, Doc's fists clenched. He knew, he knew about everything. Suddenly the anger that he felt outweighed the fear, and Doc spoke in an equally harsh tone "I will never join you, and I'll never give you any information on the Order. Fuck off". He relized the stupidity of his actions once he felt the pain spreading. He was being hit with the cruciatus curse, but he refused to scream out. He refused to give this murderer the satisfaction of it. But the pain was increasing by the second, and finally he let out a scream. He felt broken. He was broken.
"Such a pity. Perhaps I should have gone after the mudblood first, I'm sure we could have arranged something then" His words almost seemed conversational, but there was still the lingering darkness that surrounded them. "LEAVE HER ALONE!" Doc screamed, and the pain suddenly stopped. He let out a breath of relief, maybe hoping that somehow Voldemort actually respected his bravery. But he was wrong, so utterly and completely wrong.
He looked into Voldemorts eyes, and saw the red that many had talked about. There was no goodness in there, only hatred. But Doc still held out to the hope that he would be set free. Maybe just given a warning and sent on his way. He wanted so badly to kiss Mary one last time, or hug his mates like he so often did now. But he would never have his chance.
Quietly, without a stutter, the last words that Doc heard before he died were spoken, "Avada Kedavra"
