Emotion prompt: Courageous
Characters: Dorcas Meadowes, Benji Fenwick
Summary: If there's one thing Dorcas can't stand, it's being thought of as a coward.
This turned out to be longer than I had planned... :-p
Enjoy!
"I'm not a coward!" cried Dorcas.
"I never called you one!" Benji replied, eyes wide with surprise.
"It was implied!"
"Listen, Dorcas, I never called you a coward, and I don't think you are one, either," Benji tried to explain as calmly as possible.
"Oh, yes?" Dorcas's eyes flashed. "Then what would this mean, huh? 'Only the brave ones are going for the mission.'" She made a mocking imitation of Benji's deep voice. "' It's extreeemely dangerous!'" She laughed a bitter laugh.
"I'm not going myself," Benji tried to calm her down, running his fingers through his dark locks in frustration.
"I don't fucking care!" Dorcas snapped. "I don't care what you are doing. I am not a coward, I'll let you know!"
"Dorcas, I —"
But Dorcas Meadowes was not going to listen any further. With a toss of her midnight hair and her face resembling a thunderstorm, she rushed out of the room.
Benji sighed, and dropped his head upon his hands. Dorcas Meadowes had such an explosive temper; he hardly understood her at times.
-o0o-
Dorcas strode down the street with quick steps, frowning at everything that crossed her path. Later, much later perhaps, she would realise that she had overreacted, but that time wasn't going to come anytime soon. For now, she was fuming. She couldn't explain this, but she was extremely touchy about her courage being doubted. Back at school, she had never got over the fact that people considered Ravenclaws the most shrewd and low-lying right after Slytherins. So what if you aren't a Gryffindor? Can't you have brains and still have courage?
Carefully thinking about it, Benji really hadn't called her a coward, or anything even close. It was just that she had been rejected for the mission by Moody in spite of nagging for a long time, and Benji's words about the same had acted as salt to the wound. If there was one thing Dorcas Meadowes could not stand, it was being shunned from something because someone doubted her courage and capability. She actually enjoyed throwing herself in front of danger, and took a fierce pride in beating the toughest of fighters.
"I will prove it to Moody," she murmured to herself, "I'll show it to Benji. I am not a coward."
And with her long hair swaying in the breeze, she walked away into the darkness.
-o0o-
Two weeks later —
Dorcas crept along the dark alleyway towards the faintly lit building at the very end. She couldn't help the adrenaline that kept coursing through her, and the predatory smile on her lips. Any other person in her position wouldn't be so happy; this was a situation that could cost her her life. But after all, she was Dorcas Meadowes. She was always looking out to prove her worth, to her family, to her friends, to her seniors, to the world. And this was a chance. Beside her, Hestia Jones walked just as quietly, but her eyes were alert and worried. They had been sent to spy on the meeting of Voldemort and his followers, which, the Order had tracked, would be held here.
The night was dark and moonless as they reached the house. It was a ramshackle old place, evidently chosen to avoid suspicion. Hestia tried the door. It was locked. She silently cast an Alohomora, and the door swung open noiselessly. Dorcas blinked. It was far too easy.
With their wands out, the two of them crept wordlessly deeper into the house. The ground floor was vacant. Reaching the staircase that led upstairs, they could hear quiet voices floating down from the floor above. Dorcas looked at Hestia, and with a silent agreement, they stepped on the wooden stairs. They creaked. Dorcas hissed, and froze. The voices upstairs faltered momentarily, and then sounded again.
Moving as quietly as possible, Hestia and Dorcas reached the upper floor. Standing at the small, narrow landing, they crept close to the wall and cocked their ears for whatever they could hear.
"Are the matters as we discussed in the Ministry, Mulciber?" A voice as cold as ice cut through the air.
"Yes, my lord," Dorcas recognised the voice of the boy who had been in the same year as her. "Saunders and McDaniel are still under the Imperius, and are working perfectly. I look forward to putting the curse on the Assistant Head of the DMLE next week."
"Are you certain no one knows of your actions?"
"None, my lord. We are perfectly safe."
"My lord," another voice spoke up. "The last fight with the Order —"
"There is no need of further fear," Voldemort said. "My spy has informed us of the Order's latest plans, and we will not be caught unawares again."
Dorcas' breath caught in her throat. That spy, whoever it was... had he known and told Voldemort of their plan today as well? But no, it seemed not...
Suddenly, the sound of heavy footsteps came from the stairs below. Dorcas and Hestia froze, and stared at each other in panic. There was nowhere to go. The stairs ended right here, with no floors above. The only way was the room beyond, and the very idea of going there was inconceivable.
"Let's disapparate," Hestia whispered. Dorcas nooded. She didn't like running away, but staying would be suicide, and that would not help at all. The two witches spun on the spot.
Nothing happened.
"There must be an anti-apparation jinx to prevent anyone from coming in," Dorcas whispered frantically. The footsteps were coming closer and closer. Five more seconds, and their game would be up.
Thump, thump. Nearly there. Dorcas counted the seconds. What could she do?
A burly death eater came into view. As his eyes fell on the two women, he froze. For two whole seconds, they stared at each other. Then without thinking, Dorcas shot a stunner at him.
She realised her mistake far too late. The death eater fell like a log on the stairs, a deafening crash echoing through the house as his body made contact with the floor. Dorcas heard chairs pushed back in the room, and before you could say 'Lord Voldemort', they had been surrounded.
The death eaters had evidently not expected an interruption, for their faces weren't covered by the usual masks. Dorcas could recognise several of them — Mulciber, Lucius Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Nott, Wilkes, Rosier.
"Spies!" Nott hissed, and then of course, all hell broke loose.
Dorcas and Hestia were vastly outnumbered, what with there being only two of them and so many death eaters. The cramped space gave her a small advantage, allowing her to hit someone or the other with her spells. But still, the odds of them conquering in this battle was practically nil. And then, Dorcas knew that Voldemort himself was sitting inside. What now?
She shot spell after spell, trying to edge toward the staircase, even as Hestia did the same. But her attempts were never successful; there was always at least one person between her and the stairs. But as she ducked a stinging hex, she noticed that Hestia was at the edge of the staircase. She was free to make a run for it. She could take the information that they had got to the Order
"Hestia!" she called. "RUN!"
At her voice, Hestia saw her opportunity. She hesitated, her heart and mind clearly conflicted.
"I'll get away as soon as I can!" Dorcas egged her on.
Finally, Hestia's calculating mind won, and nodding, she dashed down the stairs.
All this happened within eight seconds, and in the commotion, the death eaters only just realised what was happening.
"She's escaping!"
"Get her!"
With that, a barrage of curses flew towards Hestia's retreating figure. Dorcas blocked a few, and most of the others missed. Completely forgetting Dorcas, four or five death eaters ran after Hestia. Dorcas prayed that her fleet feet and head start would deliver her companion to safety.
Now that she was alone, the rest of the death eaters focused their attention on Dorcas. Wands were raised, and as she saw the faces of her many opponents, Dorcas wondered what chances she had now. Anyway, she still fought her way through the pandemonium, with only one thought — Get to the stairs.
But her endeavor seemed futile now that the death eaters had realised their folly. At least five men separated her from the stairs; there was no way out.
"Stop."
The voice was quiet, but somehow it carried across the commotion. Every death eater froze. Even Dorcas found herself stopping in her tracks.
The man who stepped out of the room was tall and slim, and dreadfully pale. His eyes, coal black, seemed to glint scarlet now and then in the dim light. He walked silently towards Dorcas, the death eaters falling back fearfully as he approached. A small smile played on his lips as he studied her, as if she was an interesting laboratory specimen instead of an enemy.
"Dorcas Meadowes," he said quietly, his voice cold as ice. "I had not expected to meet you. But it's a pleasure."
Dorcas said nothing, studying him warily.
"I am disappointed at you," he addressed his followers, Hus eyes never once leaving Dorcas' face. "There were only two of them, and so many of you, and yet one escapes." The death eaters cowered at his merciless tone; a few made attempts at mumbled explanations, but eventually fell silent.
"Dorcas," Voldemort said, still eyes her like a predator. "We could do with someone like you. You are intelligent, talented. I could utilise your true potential. You will be rewarded well for your faith. Your side is bound to lose. It's foolishness to cling to the drowning boat."
Dorcas glared at him. How dare he?
"You will find me at your side only after my body is dead and rotting," she growled.
Voldemort's nostrils flared, but his smile did not disappear.
"Foolish words, as usual," he smirked. "But I was under the impression that you were a Ravenclaw?"
His wand barely moved from his side, so it was completely without warning that the wall behind Dorcas crumbled on top of her. Dorcas gave a yelp of pain as tons of solid bricks rained on her. She could feel the pain blooming all over her body; she could feel the blood pour out. As she staggered up, she felt the night air brush across the sticky blood.
"Is that all you've got?" she whispered, and even as her legs threatened to give away. As with a shaking hand, she pointed her wand at Voldemort. A lasso of fire shot out and latched around him.
Perhaps he hadn't expected her to have the strength to attack again, for he didn't block the attack. His clothes caught fire; his hands reddened. There were cries of outrage and shock from the death eaters. But then without so much as moving a muscle, he doused the flames.
"Clever," he said calmly enough, although his eyes blazed with fury. "A little pain could tame you, dear. Crucio."
Waves of pain shot across Dorcas like a thousand daggers. Her body already weakened from the last attack, she fell to the floor, writhing. But even as her eyes rolled back in pain, she didn't scream. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.
His shoes clicking on the wood, Voldemort walked up to her at a leisurely pace. He edged his wand at her throat and lift her chin so that she looked right into his fathomless eyes.
"What do you say now, Miss Meadowes?"
"N-never!" she gritted out.
The pain doubled. It was unbearable. Dorcas felt blood fill her mouth as she bit down hard on her tongue to keep herself from screaming.
"Pity," sighed Voldemort in mock sadness. "There is only one option left now, Dorcas." He raised his wand at her chest. The pain subsided, but Dorcas didn't have the strength to move.
"It hurts me to end a talented one like you, Dorcas Meadowes. You were very brave."
There, Dorcas thought as she saw the green light build at the tip of the wand. Even the devil admits it — I'm not a coward. I wish you could see me now, Benji.
And even the herald of death rushed at her, lighting the small space with its ghastly emerald glow, Dorcas' lips lifted in a triumphant smile.
-o0o-
Benji Fenwick stood at his balcony, looking away at the darkness.
Oh Dorcas, he thought sadly. His hands clutched the bouquet of flowers tighter, flowers which he had wanted to give to her some day, but which would be only placed on her grave. A tear glittered in his eye.
You were the bravest woman I ever knew, Dorcas. The tear slipped and landed on a rose, glimmering like a dewdrop in an early morning. You didn't need to prove it to me.