QLFC Season 10 Round 1
Main prompt: Write about falling out of love.
Additional prompts:
1. [word] tomorrow
2. [dialogue] "I would rather jump off a cliff than do that!"
3. [action] coughing
Word: 1701
Warning: character death.
A/N: I would like to thank Bellwhether2.0 and Chris400ad for their help to beta read this.
Yaxley had just graduated from Hogwarts not too long ago, and at one-and-twenty years, he was once again walking the familiar winding path to the cottage by the river. The cottage he called home for the past ten years. He had walked this path too many times in the past that to feel anything would be foolish. There was nothing different about the path, nothing new to excite him, and yet…there was an unknown feeling bubbling in him. With every step he took, the funny feeling expanded just a little more.
I am coming home.
His parents had died too early. They'd abandoned him when he was barely aged four, leaving him alone and defenceless against the vicious cruelty of society. He used to blame them for his tragedy; but how could he continue to blame them when this misery had led him to his adopted father and family?
In Roderick Rowle, he found his mentor and his father figure. Roderick took him under his wing and raised him well. He had tolerated his childish temper tantrums, accepted his pubescent nihilistic ideals, acknowledged and encouraged his talents, nurtured and trained his magical abilities, and taught him the art of being a gentleman. Roderick treated him with kindness and patience, and never countered his temper tantrums with pity. Roderick treated him as a beloved son, and Yaxley respected and loved him like a filial son would. He inspired Yaxley to be just like him - a strong, powerful, smart man.
Yaxley took a breath, closed his eyes and exhaled slowly. He clenched his fist, raised it up and stopped midway. His fist shook. His heart skipped a beat. He took one more calming breath and knocked on the door.
The door swung open; no one was there. "Come in, Corban," a voice beckoned him.
He entered. The house was quiet, too quiet. The candles were not lit. He kept his steps light and approached the only lit room - the kitchen. He saw his father's back and he licked his lips. "Fa-"
"Have you eaten dinner yet?" Roderick asked as he looked over his shoulder with a welcoming smile. When Yaxley shook his head, the smile widened. "Well, have a seat then, boyo. You're alright with spaghetti?"
Yaxley pulled the chair, and for once, he did not wince at the screeching sound nor was he chided for poor manners. He sat quietly and watched the man move. Roderick served him a bowl of spaghetti, and they ate in silence. Two mouthfuls later and Yaxley stopped eating. He stared at his dinner and his heart felt constricted. He had grown up in this place, eating whatever his father cooked. And spaghetti? That was his favourite. Did his father know he was coming? Was everything prepared for him?
Yaxley rested his palms flat on the table as he raised his eyes to look at his dining companion. He took a breath and asked, "Father, do you know why I'm here?" He winced at the sound of his muffled voice, trembling as if speaking was hurting him.
Roderick looked up; his eyes twinkled with kindness and amusement. It was rare to see this son, who was always refined and assured, so flustered and nervous. Whatever was eating at Corban, had to be a very serious issue. He shook his head and continued eating. He had an idea but he would rather let his son speak freely than pry and prompt him.
After all, his other adopted son, Antonin Dolohov, had swung by a week ago. Antonin had been a lot less refined, but he was very transparent and straightforward. He had very clearly and bluntly warned him, in no uncertain terms, that Voldemort would be cruel, harsh and unforgiving to the resistance, especially the blood traitors who had familial ties with any Death Eater. "If you want to see next year's sun with us, leave the resistance. Otherwise, expect his homecoming. The Dark Lord has promised Yaxley the greatest honour - to cleanse his father's sins."
"Do you…really…" Yaxley frowned as he struggled and he shook his head in disgust and frustration. "Will you…re-re-recon-..."
His mouth opened and closed a few times, soundless in surrender as the words failed to come. He felt his throat tightening even more. It was getting scratchy. He was losing his voice. Somewhere, a noose was tightening and his hands began curling into fists. His breaths were getting heavier. What was he doing? This should have been an easy mission. So, why was he wasting time talking?
Is this hope?
"Why do you insist on supporting The Order?" Finally, he managed to blurt out the question. A little breathless, but did it matter? He asked it, and now he would get the answer.
There is still a chance!
His heart was racing. His blood was becoming louder in his ears. He was suffocating. He was drowning. He felt like a part of him was dying as the silence dragged on. He wanted to die. Why did it feel like he was tortured? Why would he be? Why should he be?
Roderick looked at him, their eyes locked on each other. Yaxley could see his reflection in those blue eyes. He wanted to swallow, desperate to swallow but his throat was being disobedient. His head was hurting terribly. Would death feel gentler than this? He would rather die many times over than sit here.
Please, tell me…
"I hate the idea of blood supremacy."
Seven words. They were so simple and yet they seemed to create a huge vacuum of dreadful silence between the men. On their own, these words would have been simple; but when they were strung together, seemed to spell the beginning of the end.
Yaxley felt the ground shift under him and he was falling into a bottomless hole. The blossoming feeling that had been expanding in his chest throughout the way home had finally burst with an anticlimactic soundless and unfeeling bang. Suddenly, from having an unknown feeling bubbling in him, there was now absolute nothingness. His fists opened up and relaxed. His throat eased up and breathing was much easier. His heart calmed down to a peaceful rhythm. His blood silenced. Clarity descended into his mind like a tsunami that took out everything and reset him.
No more hesitation.
"I see," he acknowledged softly. "Arm yourself, Roderick Rowle. There is no tomorrow."
No tomorrow for who?
"Have you made plans for Thorfinn?" Roderick asked quietly, as he wiped his mouth with his napkin.
"Antonin and I will look after him."
A soft smile curled on Roderick's face as he rose from his seat and walked out of the kitchen. Yaxley followed him, maintaining a respectable distance between them. They finally stopped at the backyard. They stood opposite to each other, armed themselves with their wands and bowed. Barely a second later, the first pair of spells crashed against each other.
As more spells were traded and parried away, Roderick finally dropped his wand arm and his wand fell. Yaxley had stabbed him with a piercing spell. As Roderick staggered and fell backwards, Yaxley caught him and sank to one knee.
"You've grown so strong, Corban," Roderick coughed as his lips trembled into a feeble smile. "Your strength should be used to defend the defenceless and the weak."
"I will never join The Order, Roderick. I will continue killing the blood traitors until the resistance cease their foolishness," Yaxley countered coldly as his lips pulled into a tight line, but his eyes betrayed him. "All the blood traitors are my enemies, and you're the worst. I will never grieve for any of you."
You are the hardest kill.
For a moment, shock graced Roderick's face before understanding replaced it. "Whoever you choose to be, whichever path you choose to walk, I will always love you," Roderick coughed. His voice was weakening. He was weakening. "Boyo, tell your brothers that I will always love my sons."
Then, he was gone.
Yaxley stared at the face a little longer, held a little longer until his fingers were cramping and leaving imprints on the corpse's bicep. He pocketed the fallen wand and closed Roderick's eyes. "Why couldn't you just lie?" he huffed softly as a stray tear escaped and mixed with the sweat. "I'm not mad, I'm just… so… disappointed." He took a deep breath that threatened to break into a series of shuddering chuckles and blew out, blinked a few times and stood up with the corpse in his arms.
Because a gentleman never lies to those he loves.
He walked to Roderick's private chamber, tucked the corpse in bed, left the house and set it ablaze. As he watched the structure breaking down piece by piece, his memories and affections for this place were fading into nothingness.
Once upon a time, this was his wonderland, his happy place. Three brothers and a father, it was more than what his parents had ever given him. He had always tried to walk in his father's footsteps, trying to emulate and be as great as the man except… he should have known. Roderick was too kind, too forgiving, too weak to be respected. He was smart but he was more foolish. He was everything that encouraged and dared others to challenge, threaten and exploit him. He was the prime prey to feast on in the cruel world they lived in. It had always been a fight of the fittest, the most powerful decided the fate of all beneath it. That was the vicious reality of the world, and Roderick was too good and too weak for that mad hungry world.
"You loved too deeply and hoped for too much, Roderick. You've deluded yourself until you're able to see goodness even in places that have no light," Yaxley sneered as he walked away from the burning trash. There would be no more spaghetti dinners, no more returning to this place, and no more tomorrow for their little happy family of four.
"I will never be as foolish and weak as you," he vowed as he donned his Death Eater mask and headed back to report to the Dark Lord. "I hate you, Roderick Rowle."
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