Donaghan Tremlett always lived on the edge of something.
When he was young his father had taken him on his motorbike across Ireland to the North, then back down to the South, Donaghan clinging to the edge of his seat the entire time. The wind blowing though his hair, his father's hairy arms around him, the smell of the country-that's his childhood, that's where he first got his taste for freedom.
His mother never understood her son, not really. A harried mother of five didn't have time to wonder why or how her youngest son got into the trouble he did. She figured he was just creative and mischievous and left it at that.
And then the old witch came and told the family that Donaghan was a wizard. His mother had been horrified and thought it was the devils work. His father had been indifferent, surprisingly so. But Donaghan had been over the moon. Magic was the ultimate edge, the ultimate thrill; his life would always, always be exciting.
And it was, it was. From the magic school to the magic band, to mates that he would die for, to fame and riches and all the girls he could dream of, Donaghan loved every sweat soaked, drug fueled, heart stopping moment of it. It was freedom. It was the edge.
When he was a man, still young but longer lived, his father was murdered. The war that had seemed so distant was closing in, and Donaghan was not one for tight spaces. He managed to hide his mum and sisters somewhere safe, and then he went on the run. He took a girl with him, Penelope Clearwater, a former assistant and fellow muggleborn. He had his freedom, and he would give it up for no man, Lord or not.
His girlfriend or whatever she was understood him, truly. A starry eyed girl of twenty two had time to wonder about him and learn about his life, his hopes and dreams. She loved him for being creative and mischievous, and he loved her for that.
And so they lived together, in the woods, in alley ways, in the mountains. At first, Penny was horrified by some of their sleeping conditions. But Donaghan found himself indifferent. He had slept in far more unsanitary places. Together they were over the moon in love, one step ahead of those that would see them jailed and murdered for their bloodline. Being on the run and in love was the ultimate edge, the ultimate thrill; his life with Penny would always, always be exciting.
And it was, it was. From the mad dashes across the fields of Ireland, to the rain soaked camping in Scotland, to the nights spent curled up under the stars, Donaghan loved every quiet, lust fueled, heartbreaking moment of it. Love-that was freedom. It was the edge.
When he thought nothing could stop them, they were caught. She was murdered in front of him and he couldn't save her. His Penny was gone in a flash of green. He fought his way out, killing to men in the process. He had tasted freedom, he had tasted love, he would not submit to the men that had taken her from him.
His life seemed colorless after that. He made the effort, he didn't want to slip up again, but the joy, the laughter, was gone. He no longer had time for any of that.
And then he got word, one night in the Leaky Caldron, that there was a fight on at Hogwarts. Donaghan was over the moon and apperated to the grounds immediately. Being in the midst of a battle was, truly, the ultimate thrill, the ultimate edge; his life (or what was left of it) would be, if nothing else, exciting.
And it was, it was. From the horse screams of the Death Eaters as he brought them to their knees, to the flashes of green and red and purple and white that lit the sky, to the roar of the crowds as they ran at one another, Donaghan loved every blood soaked, adrenaline fueled, heart pounding moment of it. Battle, that was freedom. It was the edge.