Britain Bound
By: BobDole77
"The Prologue: A Moment in Time"
The sun shone brightly through the drawn blinds. The creak of the trees and the gentle chirping of the swallows sooth the soul behind the curtains this morning. The sun rose calmly over the hill of Bath, shining into the stone- wedged wells. The roads, cobblestone and dirt, were dead and deserted, as if the very dead themselves had crossed upon it.
The sun rose on the stricken town.
The town of Bath looked deserted, empty, and unwanted. The shingles were broken from on top of every window whereas the windows themselves seemed lost to the shattering from rocks and other deadly items. But the death of the town did not stop the people who lived there each day. Their vigilance continued onward, strong and bold as if they were touched by the hands of God themselves and renewed. Lluvatar did not sleep. Neither. did the Riddle.
Every day, He came. He did not sleep, nor did He perish. He did not halt, nor did He waver. His determination strong, along with His will. His need to win dangerous, along with His power. His wretchedness never failed neither did his heart.
He lived forever--never wooing, never wasting, never waiting. He never dies, never departs, and never determines wrong. He dominates with a will so strong that He doesn't die. Armies against armies go after Him; slashing, shooting, whipping, killing they do. They do all to get near Him. They do all to kill Him.
And He still exists to this day.
Fire, flame... destruction ruin the beautiful city. The woman and children are fleeing for their lives as the evil pursue them. The hard work of the town of Bath now lay in ruins. The ash and smoked from the flames still rise deep into the night.
A lowly woman lay on the base of the hill. Laying among the fence ruins on the edge of a farm--dead. Her deep green eyes lay open and her mouth slightly agape--her red hair flaming around herself, creating an image as if she were on fire. Her clothes were torn and her body askew on the slant of the hill. Beside her, only a few feet, lay the man she loved. His untaming, black hair was sticking out as the right side of his face was planted in the giving mud. His arms, one tucked under and the other on the side, were caked in mud and blood from the battle he just withstood. And his clothes... his clothes bore the Ministry symbol.
The symbol of an Auror.
Only one survived the deadly attack that night... only one. Out of the four that were there--only one. And he was in the house of Godrick's Hollow, on the cream carpet of his own room. He wasn't crying, he was just laying there sleeping--his precious eyes were shut and rimmed red from crying out of terror. But there on his forehead lay a simple and crystal-clear scar. It was in the shape of a bolt of lightning.
Maybe... maybe this war will be near an end.
She cried as she ran down the hill--as if in slow motion--tears striping down her olive-colored face. She stumbled down the hill, only to rest beside the red-haired body and cradle the head of her good friend in her arms. She sat there. She cried. She sat for hours on end before the house collapsed before her eyes.
The good Marauder too was dead as she crawled to his stricken body. She rolled him over only to cry even harder--she looked at his face. His head lolled back on her thigh and his eyes rolled back into its socket. His mouth was open as a trickle of blood made its way to his chin.
She choke out sobs. But then, she realized... she wasn't alone.
Slowly, she set down the head of her good friend and stood up. She faced the house that lay at her feet in ruins. She held her head high as she gazed into the sky, relaxing with a deep breath, and slowly turned around.
She did not gasp at what she saw but she did weaken at the sight. There before her was blackness. It was tall and guarding, and she knew that she had wandered onto its prey. He was cloaked and hooded in black like most of the people these days. Then he drew out a long, silver blade from which he set on the back in its holder on seconds after. But from his back, he pulled out a bow... and two arrows. He stuck them both against the wood as he pulled back the string.
She stood there, shaking slightly. Her body racked with unspilled tears as her tired, red eyes bore under the hood of the Black Man. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain to strike her, but she never did feel anything.
The two arrows had hit her--one in the middle of her upper chest, the other on the left side of her stomach, just below her kidneys. Her breath had slowed down as she wavered on the spot. Her eyes rolled back into her sockets as they cried in mercy. Her head lolled back on the nape of her neck as her knees gave way. She hit the ground with such force that struck the two objects protruding in her torso with such force that it killed.
And, therefore, she too was dying.
The world then collapsed as he took reign. And everything fell into destruction.
But the Eye is ever watchful.
~~*~~
CAAAAAAACADOOOOODLEDOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
CAAAAAAACADOOOOODLEDOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
The woman woke up. She was breathing very heavily as sweat drenched her brow and her underarms as if she had come straight from football practice. Her muscle tee clung to shirt and the flannel pants she threaten to rip off.
She downed two whole liters of water before she could stride into the bathroom and wash her face. Her feet resounding on the wood panel floorboarding as she crept her way passed the open window into the blue and white-tiled bathroom. The sun, she noticed, was red.
She looked up to her face, which was dripping wet. She did not test a smile, nor a grin because she knew that all her happiness would quickly fade.
She did not prepare eggs that morning for her and her spouse as she most commonly did, because there was no spouse and no eggs to feed each other. She was submersed in a cloud of sadness, and tears after tears choke her. She wished for one shining moment that a stream of happy light seeped through her life and a wave of applause would commend her once her love came home. That people would stand on bare feet to even acknowledge her and clap loudly when she walks. That they would scream for joy when she smiles and laughs when she too would laugh.
But no.
Instead, she lives in hiding. She lives in despair and danger and death as the world comes to an end.
The Dark Lord, Voldemort, never ceased. He killed more and more each day as the papers come flying through her barred window. She waits dreadfully as she looks at the front cover.
"Murphey's Dead: 12 killed in Surrey Attack"
They don't stop after that.
"Train Station Bombing... Two hundred killed..." "14 Ministry Officials rot in pain before the Minister and Duke of Athens--" "Death Eaters Patrol Death Alley: 24 Killed in Late-Night Attack against the M.J. Witherspoon Co..." "Minister in Debt and Torment--" "Fifty-two Aurors Killed in the Battle at the Pellindor Fields, twenty leagues east of Bath..." "Nine captured in Midnight Auror-Raid: Ten come back alive..."
She has cried.
What destruction has been brought onto my hero? PADFOOT! Where are you?
She gives a long, deathly cry, lasting into the dawn.
A red sun always rises.
By: BobDole77
"The Prologue: A Moment in Time"
The sun shone brightly through the drawn blinds. The creak of the trees and the gentle chirping of the swallows sooth the soul behind the curtains this morning. The sun rose calmly over the hill of Bath, shining into the stone- wedged wells. The roads, cobblestone and dirt, were dead and deserted, as if the very dead themselves had crossed upon it.
The sun rose on the stricken town.
The town of Bath looked deserted, empty, and unwanted. The shingles were broken from on top of every window whereas the windows themselves seemed lost to the shattering from rocks and other deadly items. But the death of the town did not stop the people who lived there each day. Their vigilance continued onward, strong and bold as if they were touched by the hands of God themselves and renewed. Lluvatar did not sleep. Neither. did the Riddle.
Every day, He came. He did not sleep, nor did He perish. He did not halt, nor did He waver. His determination strong, along with His will. His need to win dangerous, along with His power. His wretchedness never failed neither did his heart.
He lived forever--never wooing, never wasting, never waiting. He never dies, never departs, and never determines wrong. He dominates with a will so strong that He doesn't die. Armies against armies go after Him; slashing, shooting, whipping, killing they do. They do all to get near Him. They do all to kill Him.
And He still exists to this day.
Fire, flame... destruction ruin the beautiful city. The woman and children are fleeing for their lives as the evil pursue them. The hard work of the town of Bath now lay in ruins. The ash and smoked from the flames still rise deep into the night.
A lowly woman lay on the base of the hill. Laying among the fence ruins on the edge of a farm--dead. Her deep green eyes lay open and her mouth slightly agape--her red hair flaming around herself, creating an image as if she were on fire. Her clothes were torn and her body askew on the slant of the hill. Beside her, only a few feet, lay the man she loved. His untaming, black hair was sticking out as the right side of his face was planted in the giving mud. His arms, one tucked under and the other on the side, were caked in mud and blood from the battle he just withstood. And his clothes... his clothes bore the Ministry symbol.
The symbol of an Auror.
Only one survived the deadly attack that night... only one. Out of the four that were there--only one. And he was in the house of Godrick's Hollow, on the cream carpet of his own room. He wasn't crying, he was just laying there sleeping--his precious eyes were shut and rimmed red from crying out of terror. But there on his forehead lay a simple and crystal-clear scar. It was in the shape of a bolt of lightning.
Maybe... maybe this war will be near an end.
She cried as she ran down the hill--as if in slow motion--tears striping down her olive-colored face. She stumbled down the hill, only to rest beside the red-haired body and cradle the head of her good friend in her arms. She sat there. She cried. She sat for hours on end before the house collapsed before her eyes.
The good Marauder too was dead as she crawled to his stricken body. She rolled him over only to cry even harder--she looked at his face. His head lolled back on her thigh and his eyes rolled back into its socket. His mouth was open as a trickle of blood made its way to his chin.
She choke out sobs. But then, she realized... she wasn't alone.
Slowly, she set down the head of her good friend and stood up. She faced the house that lay at her feet in ruins. She held her head high as she gazed into the sky, relaxing with a deep breath, and slowly turned around.
She did not gasp at what she saw but she did weaken at the sight. There before her was blackness. It was tall and guarding, and she knew that she had wandered onto its prey. He was cloaked and hooded in black like most of the people these days. Then he drew out a long, silver blade from which he set on the back in its holder on seconds after. But from his back, he pulled out a bow... and two arrows. He stuck them both against the wood as he pulled back the string.
She stood there, shaking slightly. Her body racked with unspilled tears as her tired, red eyes bore under the hood of the Black Man. She closed her eyes, waiting for the pain to strike her, but she never did feel anything.
The two arrows had hit her--one in the middle of her upper chest, the other on the left side of her stomach, just below her kidneys. Her breath had slowed down as she wavered on the spot. Her eyes rolled back into her sockets as they cried in mercy. Her head lolled back on the nape of her neck as her knees gave way. She hit the ground with such force that struck the two objects protruding in her torso with such force that it killed.
And, therefore, she too was dying.
The world then collapsed as he took reign. And everything fell into destruction.
But the Eye is ever watchful.
~~*~~
CAAAAAAACADOOOOODLEDOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
CAAAAAAACADOOOOODLEDOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!
The woman woke up. She was breathing very heavily as sweat drenched her brow and her underarms as if she had come straight from football practice. Her muscle tee clung to shirt and the flannel pants she threaten to rip off.
She downed two whole liters of water before she could stride into the bathroom and wash her face. Her feet resounding on the wood panel floorboarding as she crept her way passed the open window into the blue and white-tiled bathroom. The sun, she noticed, was red.
She looked up to her face, which was dripping wet. She did not test a smile, nor a grin because she knew that all her happiness would quickly fade.
She did not prepare eggs that morning for her and her spouse as she most commonly did, because there was no spouse and no eggs to feed each other. She was submersed in a cloud of sadness, and tears after tears choke her. She wished for one shining moment that a stream of happy light seeped through her life and a wave of applause would commend her once her love came home. That people would stand on bare feet to even acknowledge her and clap loudly when she walks. That they would scream for joy when she smiles and laughs when she too would laugh.
But no.
Instead, she lives in hiding. She lives in despair and danger and death as the world comes to an end.
The Dark Lord, Voldemort, never ceased. He killed more and more each day as the papers come flying through her barred window. She waits dreadfully as she looks at the front cover.
"Murphey's Dead: 12 killed in Surrey Attack"
They don't stop after that.
"Train Station Bombing... Two hundred killed..." "14 Ministry Officials rot in pain before the Minister and Duke of Athens--" "Death Eaters Patrol Death Alley: 24 Killed in Late-Night Attack against the M.J. Witherspoon Co..." "Minister in Debt and Torment--" "Fifty-two Aurors Killed in the Battle at the Pellindor Fields, twenty leagues east of Bath..." "Nine captured in Midnight Auror-Raid: Ten come back alive..."
She has cried.
What destruction has been brought onto my hero? PADFOOT! Where are you?
She gives a long, deathly cry, lasting into the dawn.
A red sun always rises.