Author's Note:
This fic contains mild sexual content, foul and offensive language, and possibly triggering violent scenes as well as themes of child abuse.
Between Here and the Stars is the sequel to When the Smoke Clears. It's highly recommended you read that first.
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There's a palpable sense of unease that fills the silence, broken only by the steady drip of seeping rainfall and the panting breath of two exhausted people. The angered cries from outside are utterly muffled by the twists and turns of stone; for now, the young wizards are safe.
One of them, with great effort, opens his hand, green flames dancing along his fingertips. The pair's faces are illuminated, the hopelessness and fear reflected in both the emerald eyes and the dark ones. The woman's face remains stoic, struggling to keep her panic under control. Helpless tears soon streak down the man's face, and he lets out an involuntary sob, extinguishing the fire.
"What are they doing to him?" He whispers, anguished, blindly running his hands through his tangled hair. He strains his ears to hear, something, anything, though he's afraid of what he'll discover.
His companion gropes about in her mind for an answer, but she's equally benighted. "We'll help him. We'll save Draco, I promise you."
"But how?" The man's voice raises, choked with desperation. They're both drained, without wands, a cut across his forehead and her throat filled with poison only hours before. "I…I'm so tired…"
"Me too." She reaches forward, taking his hand for the first time. She's never allowed herself to feel this much for anyone until now, to empathize. Only now, when everything, their lives, their souls, are on the line, can she find it within herself to comfort her friend. "We'll think of something."
We'll think of something. Her words echo through the caves, nearly devoid of hope - but not quite. As long as oxygen fills their lungs, as long as their minds can summon any sort of strength, they aren't dead. Not yet.
As for Draco…
The woman hasn't prayed in years, but she kneels, straight to the cool, damp stone, hand still clutching her partner's. "Please…" She begs, head bowed, speaking to someone, anyone, that might be listening. And even if her pleas fall on deaf ears, at least she was doing something. At least she could make herself feel better. "Please…Help us save him."
No one but the glittering, immortal heavens above, and her friend, can hear her. Outside, a pale man is pushed to his knees, torn sleeves revealing a mark of black dishonor on his left forearm. His soul, tortured and broken, lies bare for the taking. Deep within the forest, fate and death weave their unforgiving tapestry, wavering between the strength of the power-hungry and the faith of the despaired.
So much has transpired, between this begrudging ground, and the unyielding firmament above. So much to tell, and so little time.