Title: Bend and Break
Rating: Strong Teen
Summary: "If only I don't bend and break / I'll meet you on the other side / I'll meet you in the light..."
Fandom / Pairing: HP, R/Hr
Notes: Wow! Only one more to go!


You are seventeen and three months when he dies.

It isn't fair, you decide, biting your lip to keep from crying. It isn't fair that he had to die, that Snape turned on them. It isn't fair that today, of all days, is when his funeral is to be held.

There's a bandage on your shoulder. A long cut runs along your clavicle. You know it'll scar, despite Madame Pompfrey's best efforts. Another mark to add to your collection, you think cynically. Just another line on your body.

(Some part of you is startled; such black cynicism isn't your style. You stifle that part; today is not a normal day. Really, this week's pretty much shot to hell, isn't it? )

When you were younger, you expected to collect wizarding trading cards or gobstones, like normal children. Hmph. As if anything's ever been normal; you ended up collecting scars. A few on your legs from running through a briar patch. Scabby knees, as boys are wont to have. There's one set on your calf from where Sirius bit you in third year, but you forgave him for that.

There's one in your hair that you've never really seen, only felt in the shower. It's the one the queen gave you when she took you out of play in first year. You remember Hermione shaking and shaking and shaking you, shouting for you to wake up. There was desperation in her voice, and a note of something that made you scared.

There are more than enough on your arms, from the brain at the end of fifth year.

And now, one more, on your shoulder. It's actually quite depressing, you decide. At seventeen and three months you have more scars than half your brothers combined. Bill and Charlie, you guess, each have about the same number as you at this point. It's a little scary; they're living dangerous lives. You're just friends with some bloke with a scar on his face and a girl with big hair.

Funny how life works out, isn't it?

You snap out of your reverie when you feel her shift beside you. Her dark hair is everywhere, but even it seems more subdued, as if in deference to the mourning all around. She looks up at you with big, glassy eyes and you feel that impassive coldness melt from around your heart, the coldness bred from anger and spite. You open your arms and gather her small frame to yours. Almost instantly, she is crying into you, and you are reminded, strangely, of third year. It's not the same situation by a long shot, but she is there and you are here and it's the same but different.

And as the wetness seeps in through the thin material of your shirt, you bow your head and feel the tears fall. Your shoulders shake and you instinctively hold her tighter.

Seventeen and three months. You're supposed to be a man now.

The cynic in you scoffs at the irony.


Only one more, y'all. You guys ready?

Guys, I know it's been like three months, and I'm really, really sorry that it's taken me this long. I can't make excuses properly; this was written months ago and put up on Aracaju a while back. You guys know you should check there before you try looking for updates here. Anyway, Bend and Break is finally done, and the final part is set for a beta-read. Finals are next week and then I'm done. So...after Part Seven, expect me to post some of the stuff I've been planning for a while. Or expect another dry spell; it really depends on Real Life.

Special thanks to all of y'all who were kind enough to review and remind me why I write. ♥