CHAPTER SIX
Chapter Six
Law 15page 107
CRUSH YOUR ENEMY TOTALLY
┈┈┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈┈┈
They crash-landed with a resounding bang, but before he could register the impact, Hadrian surged into a sprint, heading for the little cottage that concealed the entryway to Order Headquarters. In his arms, Marlene sagged: her eyes were closed, her breaths were shallow. Her skin was ghostly pale, cold to the touch, and her pulse was frighteningly slow as blood trickled from her nose like crimson rain.
Hadrian ran faster, the world around him a blur.
Bursting through the cottages’ entrance, he fumbled for Marlene's wand. With a harsh flick, the door swung open. The force echoed through the hallways like a thunderclap, expelling the watercolour phoenix staining the door. He charged through, his eyes wild with desperation, oblivious to the startled looks of those he passed.
In the central room, Gideon Prewett’s shouts reached his ears, “What the-” he began, but Hadrian allowed him no heed, his focus solely on Marlene, as he plowed through people and doors.
He laid her gently on the oblong table in the meeting room, the wooden surface cold against her fragile skin.
"What happened to her?" Gideon questioned, his voice laced with haste as Molly hurried toward them.
“She needs immediate attention, all of you out of here!” Molly shouted, pushing her way past them and beginning to usher everyone out of the room. He stumbled into the hallway, his thoughts astray, as the door closed firmly behind him.
Hadrian’s mind reeled from the night’s chaos, each event crashing over him in unrelenting waves. The memories surged and receded, each one sharp and disorienting, leaving him lost in a whirlwind storm of recollection:
The Dark Lord's piercing gaze and the cool, careful touch of his thumb as it sealed his wound. The explosive interruption and the fire's chaotic glow - how the orange hues had danced across his pale skin. Marlene's desperate cries for help and the weight of her in his arms, as pools of blood soaked her, turning her skin a ruby red… a hue so similar to the eyes that had stared at him so intently as he’d fallen from the balcony.
The faces of the other occupants of the room filled his vision; all of them were battered and bruised from that nights militancy. There was a heavy exhaustion lingering in their slumped bodies, one that dimmed their eyes and left their hands shaking. He could see Gideon’s lips moving, shaping words that looked jagged, but they reached his ears as nothing but a muffled drone.
He couldn’t focus.
He couldn’t think.
All he could see was Marlene, pale and cold, lying-
Gideon’s hand landed heavily on his shoulder, the force of the shove snapping him back to the present.
Hadrian blinked, and was met with red.
“What were you doing at the Vale?! You could’ve ruined everything! You-”
Anger surged through him, tumultuous and uncontainable, and before he knew it, he had Gideon by the collar, shoving him against the wall with a wild force that rattled the very bones of the underground hideout.
“You bastard!” Hadrian’s voice was a venomous hiss, low and dangerous, “Do you know what you’ve done? You left her! She was half-dead when I found her, do you know what would have happened if it wasn’t me that had?”
Gideon’s eyes widened in shock, but dissent quickly masked his fear, “We had a plan - a plan that you jeopardized!”
Hadrian’s grip tightened, his knuckles white with rage, “A plan? Your reckless plans could have gotten her killed, Prewett! She nearly died tonight because of you!”
The room fell into a tense, brittle silence. The injured paused, their pain momentarily forgotten as they watched the confrontation. Gideon struggled to free himself, but Hadrian’s hold was unyielding, fueled by a fury that had been simmering beneath his skin for some time.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about, Evans!” he shouted, as he finally managed to push Hadrian away, his face flushed with anger, “We’re fighting a war, and in war sacrifices are made!”
“Gideon-”
Hadrian’s eyes blazed ferally, “Not like this - not her,” he spat, as it became painfully clear that their fight wasn’t just against the enemy outside, but within their own fractured ranks as well.
“Gideon!” Weasley’s voice cut sharply through the tension, making both men turn toward him. His face was pale, streaked with exhaustion, “You need to see this…”
Without waiting for a response, Arthur spun on his heel and led them through the stark corridors of headquarters. The stone walls seemed to close in, their passage marked by the staccato rhythm of urgent footsteps and the distant murmur of hurried voices.
They arrived at a nondescript door, Marlene’s bedroom, Hadrian noted, which Weasley flung open with haste. Inside, the air was thick with the odor of burned skin and the spice of something darker. The room was dominated by a runic circle that had singed through the furniture - its edges charred and still faintly glowing.
Within the circle lay three familiar figures.
Gideon’s eyes widened in horror as he took in the scene, “…dark magic,” he muttered, his voice rising with disbelief, “She used dark magic to get them here?”
Hadrian shifted his gaze between the runes and the faces of the captured Order members Marlene had been tasked to retrieve: Elphias Doge, Poppy Pomfrey, Mary Macdonald.
Marlene had used dark magic - dark magic had almost killed her, was continuing to drain her as he looked upon the mess of a runic circle she had created under duress.
Arthur’s expression hardened, “She shouldn’t have been able to breach his or our wards. This isn’t just dark magic, this had to be sacrificial.”
Gideon shook his head as he clenched his jaw, “She’s put all of us at risk-”
“She did exactly what you asked,” Hadrian interrupted, making Gideon snap his head towards him.
“What I asked?” he laughed, sarcastically, “The plan was to find the others and bring them back as safely as possible-”
“And she followed your orders, just as you followed your plan to 'distract' the Death Eaters,” Hadrian replied icily, “Do you realize you've made the Order look like terrorists? All the effort Moody put into making sure we were seen as the good guys obliterated with a single reckless blow.”
Gideon’s eyes flared with fury, “Oh, well, my apologies! I didn’t know you cared so much about our image, boy-saviour!” he spat, fists clenched tightly at his sides, “But if you think you can do better, by all means, step up!”
Before Hadrian could respond, a low, guttural groan echoed through the room. Hadrian clocked Arthur's head snapping toward the prisoners lying within the runic circle, "Elphias?" Weasley called out, his voice trembling, "Elphias, can you hear me?"
But the man didn’t respond.
Instead, the trio began to stir, their movements sluggish and fraught with pain, like marionettes manipulated by strings. Hadrian watched, with sharp eyes, as their faces twisted and contorted, their skin bubbling and warping grotesquely. Sweat beaded on their foreheads, mingling with the unnatural ripples that spread across their skin and the deep groans that escaped their deforming mouths. The familiar faces of their friends were peeling away layer by layer.
And slowly, excruciatingly so, the charade crumbled.
Hadrian took a minute step back as Elphias’ friendly face split open with a sickening crack, revealing the sharp, angular features of Rodolphus Lestrange. His arrival was marked by a chilling laugh that thundered through the bedroom.
Arthur stumbled, his face drained of color, "No!" he cried, the word ripping from his throat.
Lestrange’s smile broadened as he raised his arm, lightning fast, his sleeve falling to reveal the Dark Mark carved into his skin. With a deliberate fineness, he held his hand over it and fluttered his eyes shut.
Hadrian’s unease crystallized as he felt the wards shudder. He clasped Arthur’s arm, "Run!" he commanded, his voice slicing through the air, "Get everyone out, now!"
The ground above them quaked violently as dark magic began pulsing through the foundations of their refuge. Stone dust rained from the ceiling, and the walls groaned under the strain of the incoming attack. Hadrian grabbed Gideon’s shoulder and pulled him away from the runic circle, trying to ignore his wide eyes and stone limbs, "We need to move!" he urged, his voice thick with urgency.
Hadrian plunged back into the winding corridors of Headquarters, urgency navigating his every step. The air seemed to shudder and crackle with each footfall as the once stable wards surrounding the hideaway groaned, rebelling against a force of magic that tingled beneath Hadrian’s skin.
He burst into the meeting room, ignoring the bustle around him, and drove to Marlene, who lay limp on the table. Her eyes, though open, seemed distant, as though she was seeing something beyond him. With a reverent care, Hadrian scooped her into his arms, feeling the delicate tremors of her weakened muscles against him, “Marl,” he muttered softly, “Hold on tight to me, okay?”
“W-What’s goin’ on?” she stammered against his neck.
“We’re under attack, I need you to hold tight, okay?” Hadrian repeated, making Marlene nod lethargically, and with a renewed determination, he plunged forward.
The corridors of Order Headquarters, once familiar and reassuring, now seemed like a nightmarish maze. He surged through the darkened halls, the walls rushing by in a blur, the air crackling with the raw magic bleeding from the shattering wards. Every footstep sounded like a drumbeat of dread, the pounding rhythm in sync with the chaos that seized the underground refuge.
Hadrian tore through the main entrance hall, his breath ragged as he adjusted the weight of Marlene’s stiff limbs. He spluttered momentarily, as he spotted the once animated photographs, that had adorned the walls, scattered across the floor. Among them, a single polaroid caught his eye: a snapshot of the Order when it had been whole, before the darkness had claimed so many. For a fleeting moment amidst the chaos, he allowed himself to kneel and retrieve the photo, to look at it and mourn, before he tightened his grip on Marlene and bolted into the bedlam beyond.
As Hadrian burst into the open night, the world outside erupted: the forest, cloaked in moonlight, was a tableau of devastation.
He had barely set foot on the ground when a searing purple spell struck him in the side. The impact threw him to the earth, and Marlene tumbled from his arms, her landing a faint echo against the destruction surrounding them.
Gasping for breath, Hadrian fought to lift his head, feeling all of his weight. Around him, Death Eaters roamed like phantoms. Some dragged wailing, vaguely familiar, women by their hair - Emmaline’s face was among them, pale and streaked with muddy tears - while others unleashed curses that shot through the night like green streaks of spite. The forest was engulfed in fire, the inferno’s fierce glow painting the night sky with its harrowing light. The ground beneath him trembled with every spell, the earth shaking under the electric weight of violence.
Hadrian's vision blurred and his side ached with every heartbeat as he felt blood soak through his shirt, “Marlene!” he shouted, whilst he clutched his wound and rolled to his knees to crawl to her, “Hey, hey!” he called, shaking her shoulders.
Marlene moaned as she clutched for him, “Had—n…”
“We need to move, Marl,” Hadrian pleaded.
Gently, but with an urgency that made his eyes water, he lifted Marlene onto his back, her frail arms draping weakly around his neck. Clutching her slender wand tightly, Hadrian muttered a short Protego, and shortly after a metaphysical glow enveloping them in a fragile cocoon - Hadrian allowed himself to breathe before he pushed himself to move.
Hadrian's strides were a struggle against the disarray that stirred around them. The air was thick with haze, fumed with the acetic scent of burning wood, flesh and fear. Flames licked the edges of his path, casting fierce, roaring light that turned the night into a terrible show of ruin. The cries of the wounded and dying echoed in his ears, a symphony of wreckage that merged with the clash of spells and the cry of defeat. His eyes, sharp with an obscene stubbornness, scanned the battlefield for any possible exit routes.
Through the murk, Hadrian glimpsed Molly Weasley, obscured by a protection charm strong enough to blur her surroundings. She clutched four young boys and a tiny girl to her chest, her fingers white with the force of her clasp, as she shielded two slightly older boys with all of her body. Her children huddled close, their eyes wide with terror, their small bodies trembling, whilst they reached for their mother with uncalloused hands that didn’t know the texture of warfare.
Arthur stood before them, outside Molly’s shield, his wand a blur of motion as he deflected and countered curses and hexes with a strong, undeterred fight stance.
“Arthur!” Hadrian's voice sliced through the din, raw with hurry. Adjusting Marlene's weight, he pressed on and broke into a sprint.
Hadrian skidded to a halt as he reached them, before he instinctively raised his wand. Together, they cried out a desperate bombarda maxima. The Death Eater’s closing in were thrown back violently, their spells deflecting in a spectacular clash of sparks, as both Hadrian and Arthur’s magic intertwined in a brilliant dance of light, that hued the dark forest a dazzling white.
“Arthur, you need to take the children and go,” Hadrian said solemnly, his voice barely audible over the high pitch ringing in his ears, as he turned towards the ginger male.
Arthur shook his head, his grip on his wand tightening, “I’m not leaving everyone behind, I’m not a tra-”
Hadrian set his jaw, anger hardening his features, “This isn’t about being a traitor! This is about your family and if you stay here, they will take them - is that what you want?” he asked, harshly, to both Arthur and Molly, and watched as tears began to fill Molly’s eyes as resolve and realisation began to surge through her, “We can’t fight our way out of this one, Arthur, you know it.”
With a swift look around him to ensure they still had time, Hadrian moved closer to Arthur, “I’ll buy you the time you need.”
His eyes widened, “Hadrian, you can’t-”
“Yes, I can,” Hadrian interrupted firmly as he adjusted Marlene’s limp form, “Just promise me something: you’ll take Marlene with you,” he demanded, just before he felt a shift on his back, “If you take her with you, I’ll be able to hold them off long enough for you to get somewhere safe.”
Arthur hesitated, Hadrian could see the internal battle raging behind his eyes: a man torn between the loyalty to his beliefs and the loyalty to his family, “Hadrian…”
“I have an emergency portkey-” Hadrian implored, his voice wavering, “-it’s untraceable and it will take you to a safe house in Grasmere… they won’t look for you there.”
“…they’ll take you…”
He offered a grim smile in return, “Not without a fight.”
Hadrian watched as Arthur turned to Molly, who stood stone-like beside her trembling children in the thick of her shield. A tear rolled down her cheek as she nodded once and began to gather her many offsprings. Arthur’s resolve remained wavered, then solidified. He, too, nodded, whilst his eyes locked onto Hadrian’s with a mix of gratitude and sorrow. Hadrian nodded back, a short thing, before he turned and allowed Arthur to gently take Marlene from his back.
He felt light on his feet without her weight on his back; it was a terrible thing, that made his chest tighten and his throat close up.
His eyes burned as he turned to Marlene, cradled in Arthur’s arms - so vulnerable she looked, and Hadrian knew then, that he was making the right decision.
Her eyes fluttered open and a mix of confusion and fear washed over them. Hadrian stepped closer, and withdrew his knife from his belt.
His grip tightened around the hilt, his knuckles whitening as he clenched his fingers, before he pressed the blade to his palm. Crimson droplets fell from his hand, slowly, then all at once, mingling with the blade’s edge. He felt as the knife shivered, its hidden enchantment, a portkey, awakening with a sharp hum. The air around them seemed to crackle with energy, as a surge of latent magic swept through the forest.
With a deep breath, Hadrian footed the final step forward and placed his knife, slick with blood, into Marlene’s hands.
“W-What’s happening?” she whispered, her voice fragile.
His eyes softened as a frowning smile tugged at his lips, “We’re gonna get you out of here.”
“Take the knife, hold it tight, okay? It’ll take you somewhere safe.” He leaned in, pressing a tender kiss to her forehead, his lips lingering as if trying to capture the moment.
Her voice was barely a whisper… “You’re not coming, are you?”
Hadrian cupped her face, his thumb brushing away a stray tear that highlighted the withdrawal on her face - she didn’t understand, not entirely, but somehow she comprehended perfectly what was going to happen, “You need time, and I can get it.”
“No!” she wailed, her voice cracking, “No! You- no! No!” she struggled as hard as she could in her state, whilst she screamed a disarray of protests. Arthur stumbled as her weight turned intolerable, his arms were a vice around her, but she wriggled furiously, her screams raw and desperate.
From the corner of his eye, Hadrian sighted a dark silhouette emerging from the chaos - a Death Eater advancing toward them with their wand raised. With a vicious grunt, Hadrian hurled Marlene’s wand toward them and knocked the Death Eater away… but as he turned to face the flames once more, he saw more of them closing in: they were running out of time.
Marlene's struggles had grown more frantic, her cries piercing through the clamor. Arthur fought to hold her, but her resistance was an unyielding, feral thing, as Marlene herself was.
Desperation clawed at Hadrian.
He had to act - quickly.
Gritting his teeth, he raised Marlene’s wand, and with a trembling voice he cast the Curse, “Imperio!”The spell arced through the air, striking Marlene and cloaking her in a yellow glow. Her struggles ceased abruptly: her body went limp in Arthur's arms as her wild eyes turned glassy.
Arthur’s gaze snapped to Hadrian, betrayal etched across his face, as Hadrian willed Marlene to stay calm, to keep the portkey close, to forget about those left behind.
The Death Eaters were gaining on them, and time was slipping through his fingers like sand.
Arthur, with grimly set features, gently tugged Marlene away, but his let-down gaze remained locked on Hadrian’s. Hadrian didn’t dare look away from his shame, instead, he placed Marlene’s burning wand into her hands, alongside his knife, and stepped back.
Stay calm.
Keep the portkey close.
Forget about those left behind.
As Arthur fled, towards Molly and his children, Hadrian fought the urge to run after them, “Keep her safe,” Hadrian called out, rather than follow, his voice breaking.
They disappeared with a resounding flash of light.
And Hadrian could barely breathe.
The swirling energy of the portkey had dissipated, leaving only a lingering shimmer in the air. For a moment, time seemed to slow, and the noise of the battle faded into a distant, muffled roar. He stared at the empty spot where Arthur had vanished from, as his eyes became glassy. He swallowed and grimaced at the sensation of razors slicing down his throat, whilst he blinked rapidly to clear his vision.
The ground beneath his feet was scorched and littered with debris from the destroyed woodland. The forest that had once been vibrant was now a battleground, the trees around him twisted and blackened by dark spells that had torn through their exoskeletons.
Hadrian's heart ached with a fierce, gnawing emptiness.
He could still see Marlene's face, etched with desperation, with betrayal, as she had struggled against Arthur's hold - he replayed the moment over and over. Her final cry echoed in his ears; a haunting wail that sounded again and again until he was foolishly certain that she hadn’t disappeared at all, for how could her voice resound so true if she wasn’t still with him?
Hadrian's fingers tightened into a fist, knuckles white with the strain, as a single tear plunged down his cheek. His other hand, still slick with his blood that dripped to the forest floor, throbbed in rhythm with the pounding of his heart. He stared at the ground, where the faint traces of magic still lingered, unable to look away.
Around him, the fighting raged on.
Death Eaters and Order members clashed in a deadly dance, their spells lighting up the night, illuminating the felling of the Order of the Phoenix and painting the sky a Snake and Skull green: the colour of Victory.
But in that moment, Hadrian felt detached, as if he were watching it all from a great distance.
The bluster of shouts, screams of pleads, and rumbles of explosions was a dim, distant hum.
He knew he had to move…
Not without a fight, he’d said, or had he lied?
…but for a brief, silent moment, he allowed the pain to wash over him, the bitter taste of loss and regret mingling with the adrenaline that coursed through his veins.
Hadrian’s ears rang as he struggled to refocus on the world around him.
The racket of battle slowly returned, crashing against his senses like typhoon waves. He blinked rapidly, trying to clear the haze from his vision, but before he could fully regain his bearings, a sharp blow struck the back of his head.
Pain exploded through his skull, and his vision blurred as he stumbled forward, barely able to register the rough hands that grabbed him.
He tried to fight, to wrench himself free from the iron grip that held him, but his limbs felt heavy. Each movement sent lances of pain through his body, he could feel his strength rapidly ebbing away. The ground seemed to shift beneath him as he was dragged across the forest floor, the once familiar terrain now a chaotic blur of deformed trees and taunting flames. As Hadrian’s head throbbed and spun, his eyes caught sight of blood-soaked leaves, forming a crimson trail from where he had been struck from behind.
Abruptly, he was thrown to the ground with a force that knocked the breath from his lungs. He landed in the center of a clearing, the rough surface biting into his skin as he struggled to push himself up. His vision swam, the edges darkening as he fought to stay conscious, despite the searing pain in his skull.
Through the white noise assaulting his ears, he could hear the low murmur of voices. He tried to rise again, but his arms trembled with the effort, and he swiftly collapsed back onto the ground, his cheek pressed into the dirt. The taste of blood filled his mouth, mingling with the mire and ash that coated his tongue.
A boot connected with his ribs, rolling him onto his back. He gasped, pain radiating through his body as he looked up at the dark silhouette standing over him.
His vision cleared just enough to notice the outline of a pendant - one that bore the sigil of the Dark Mark - and catch the malicious glint of a golden mask that hid the face of a first rank Death Eater.
A voice cut through the haze, low and sickly, filled with a kind of cruel satisfaction, “Look what we have here,” they sneered. Hadrian tried to focus, but his head lolled weakly to the side. The masked figure drew closer, until their obscured face was mere inches from Hadrian’s, “Rather pretty for a muddy, aren’t you?”
With a final, desperate effort, Hadrian forced himself to meet their gaze. His eyes, though heavy with the pain that racked through his crown, burned with defiance.
He would not give them the satisfaction-
Their boot connected with his side a second time, driving the breath from his lungs once more, leaving him teetering on the edge of unconsciousness, the world around him a swirling maelstrom of blooded agony.
Hadrian lay still before, slowly, he opened his eyes, and took in the sight around him.
Members of the Order were strewn in a line before the burning remains of Headquarters. Some knelt, their shoulders shaking with silent sobs; others lay still, their bodies lifeless, their eyes dull and wide. The sound of screaming cut through the dark, a haunting chorus of agony and grief. He saw familiar faces twisted in despair, their eyes hollow with loss.
Beside him, Benjy Fenwick, so young, just aged out of boyhood, clutched his side whilst blood seeping through his battered fingers. He wailed with his mouth open, drool falling to the blooded ground beneath him beside his mouring tears, as he kneeled over his brother - Mervyn - who lay sprawled on the ground, eyes staring sightlessly at the sky.
Hadrian’s heart ached as he sighted Emmaline again, her hair matted with blood, trying to obscure a child - barely Hogwarts acceptance age - with her arms, despite her own injuries. She spared no amounts of energy as she fought another Gold-Mask trying to pull the babe from her mothering grasp.
He could hear Gideon’s voice, strained but strong, “Don’t touch them, you bastards!”, before he caught sight of him - restrained and stomach down on the ground. He writhered beneath the boot that held him down, his face streaked with mud and blood, his teeth gritted as he growled and fought with every last ounce of strength he had.
He looked like an animal, and that comparison gnawed at Hadrian, weighing him down as if someone was stood on him too.
As the anguished cries of the Order echoed through the clearing, a figure emerged from the shadows, silhouetted against the blazing inferno of Headquarters: Rodolphus Lestrange, no longer polyjuiced, lifted his Emerald Mask from his face. The flames behind him roared, casting his face in stark, flickering light.
He raised his hands, demanding silence, and his voice cut through the air like a knife, "Behold the mercy of the Dark Lord: Master of the Shadows, Conquerer of the Highlands, Parsel Born with Blood of Slytherin Name, The Unforgiving, Ruler of New England and all that is Dark." he began.
Hadrian's eyes narrowed as he watched Lestrange, his veins thrumming with a familiar, potent rage, that gave him the strength to lift himself to his knees.
"He, in his infinite wisdom, is offering you a second chance," Lestrange continued, his smile a twisted parody of kindness. "A chance to redeem yourselves, to give back to the society you so eagerly sought to destroy in your rebellion."
He began to pace, his boots crunching over the debris scattered on the ground. "You shall serve the interest of New England: your lives, your magic, your very blood will contribute to the strength of our new world. You will help build and conceal the society you once defiled, stone by stone."
Lestrange’s voice cut through the crackling flames and the muffled sobs of the Order. “Renounce your beliefs. Swear your fidelity to our Lord, and you will be spared and given the opportunity to repent.”
He began to walk down the line of captives, his presence looming like a dark shadow over them. Lestrange’s gaze settled on Edgar Bones, who stared back with an unwavering decisiveness.
“You,” Lestrange said, his voice a hiss. “Swear your loyalty to the Dark Lord—”
Edgar’s face hardened, “I will never serve your tyrant, cunt of a Lord!” he interrupted, spitting to the floor near Lestrange’s boots.
Lestrange’s smile faded into a thin line of contempt, “So mote it be,” he said softly, raising his wand.
Hadrian forced himself to look away, but the sound was unmistakable - the swish of a wand slicing through the air, followed by the sickening thud of two lumps of mass falling to the ground. The silence that followed was more deafening than the cries that preceded it.
When Hadrian finally dared to look up again, Edgar’s body lay crumpled on the ground, his head severed and resting a few feet away.
Lestrange turned to face the rest of the Order, his expression a cold, sneering thing. “Let this serve as a demonstration to you all,” he said, his voice eerily calm. “Your defiance will be met with death. Submit, and you will be rewarded with your lives.”
Lestrange’s gaze flickered to Hadrian - Hadrian met his eyes, his dissent clear, even in the face of death. A smirk stretched across Lestrange’s face as his eyes flickered from Hadrian’s face to the forest beyond him, before he walked further down the line of the fallen Order, toward Dedalus.
His voice cut through the chaos as he raised his wand at the blood smeared man beneath him, “Submit,” he commanded.
“Never,” he spat back, his voice as unwavering as his fierce gaze.
Hadrian’s vision blurred, the edges of his world fraying, as Lestrange lifted his wand higher. But, before he could see the life leave Dedalus’ eyes, a gloved hand wrapped around his throat and forced his head upward, coercing his gaze away. His breath came in ragged gasps, each one a toil against the firm yet disturbingly gentle grasp.
The Dark Lord loomed above him, casting long shadows over Hadrian’s pale, dirty face. His eyes, twin voids of icy, red hollows, bore into Hadrian's. Hadrian, under his scrutiny, did not hear the screams that followed a body hitting the forest floor, nor did he take notice of the thick smell of blood that spilled onto the leaves, a stark merlot.
Hadrian thrashed, his heart a wild drumbeat as he tried to rid the mans hold, but the Dark Lord's voice, smooth and lethal, cut through his struggle, "Look at me."
“Submit,” he heard again.
Hadrian’s eyes watered, his throat turning tight, as he released an audible breath that came out starkly like a whimper. He tried to turn his gaze, to witness the horror of Lestrange’s massacre, as to imprint it in his memories, so that he would never forget the faces of those he had once considered comrades. Hadrian wanted to see them die, to remember their defiance to use as a fuel for his own. He wanted to remember, because there was so little he could about things we wished he did.
“Get off of him! He’s just a boy!”
“Please! Please!”
“Look at me…”
The command froze him: as much as he wished to deny its power, the sheer force of it was more binding than any physical restraint. His attempts at resistance faltered, leaving him trapped in the cavernous grip of gloved fingers. The fire before them rippled off of The Lord’s pale features, illuminating the ruby eyes that were fixated solely on him.
A small echo sounded as a childs body fell to the floor.
Hadrian couldn’t stop the tear that ran down his cheek as Emmaline’s screams rang through his ears. The hand around his throat tightened, choking his grief and replacing it with a fury that made his Avada-eyes glow. The Lord’s face twisted into a smile, one so vicious that a lesser man might have flinched.
“I warned you: we shall be seeing each other soon enough.”
…was the last thing Hadrian remembered, before a searing pain shot through his neck and he descended into darkness.
┈┈┈ ⋞ 〈 ⏣ 〉 ⋟ ┈┈┈
More is lost through stopping halfway than through total annihilation: The enemy will recover, and will seek revenge. Crush him, not only in body but in spirit.