Glorious

A strange little soul you are Evelyn Potter.

To bear my mark and collect my wayward trinkets is no easy feat.

Such a big task it must have been, my child, one of pain, blood, and tears.

Evie lashes out, a bombarda exploding the ground beneath her and George in a violent wave that tears the dirt right beneath the three Death Eaters on their heels and Evie snarls as another explosion follows, spines cracking, and bodies splattering in an artful show of death.

She stands tall, two wands wielded deftly as she spins and twirls her way around the battlefield, continuing a never ending barrage of spell fire that devastates the landscape and consumes bodies in an array of colorful flames.

Such an ill fated mortal you were, dear one, the Norns touch upon your soul.

She falters when Nott lands a sickly yellow curse to her ribs, wheezing and spluttering up rivulets of blood even as she falls to the ground. It’s hot and thick against her tongue, a putrid black color that reeks of decay.

George lets out a furious bellow, vaulting himself over her prone form and slinging cutting curse after cutting curse until Nott’s head falls clean of his body. It’s a shallow victory and he’s already pulling her towards the cover of an overhanging boulder.

Evie wipes her mouth with the back of her hand, smearing blood across her face in a mocking imitation of war paint.

“Evie!” George shouts. “Eyes open. They’re we go, come on, eyes on me.”

He’s shaking her lightly, something desperate in his gaze that helps Evie regain her bearings. She’s still having trouble breathing, thankfully no longer spewing her liquified organs from her body, but she forces herself to stand, looking ready to keel over at any moment.

“Neville killed the snake Georgie.” Evie murmurs, unclasping the locket from her parents and placing it into his hands. It was simple and delicate, but it had priceless family photos she’d been adamant Teddy have after she was gone. “The show must go on.”

He gives a her a desolate look but brings her close to hold her to him tightly, and they stay that way until the sounds of battle are too much to ignore.

“I am honored to call you sister.” George says at last, pressing a gentle kiss to her cheek. “Mischief managed.”

Evie watches his retreating form until she can no longer see him past the cluster of warring magic and gives a solemn nod.

“Mischief managed.”

You have earned a boon, dear one.

Fear grasps at Evie’s heart, a bitter taste on her tongue and a tremor in her limbs as Voldemort looks down at her, dark amusement shining in the red of his eyes.

“Come to die, Evelyn Potter?” The Dark Lord rumbles. “You surprise me.”

Spindly fingers wind their way around her neck, settling spider-like against the column of her throat, a steady force pushing her to knees.

“Look at this.” He coos, a feral twist to his lips that makes her want to shy away. “The girl-who-lived kneeling at the feet of her Master.”

Voldemort crouches down to brush his lips against the shell of her ear, a hand tangled in her messy red locks.

“Did you think you would win?”

Evie finally lets their eyes meet, emerald clashing with crimson, fire and ice coming together in a battle of will.

“No,” She hisses, parseltongue rolling off her tongue easier than English. “but I’d take you down with me.”

Evie summons Voldemort’s wand before he can stop her, feeling an almost electric buzz as her skin meets the wood, and shouts off a spell that consumes them in an onslaught of azure flames.

”Fiendfyre!”

Your soul calls out for another, Evelyn Potter, and you will behold one last act of Fate to meet your destined.

John is forced to come to terms with many things at the end of his junior year.

The fact that his short romance with Isobel Flemming is coming to an end, the knowledge that vampires exist, the subsequent explanation that it was his family whom had protected Mystic Falls for over a century, and finally, that he is going to be a father.

John slumps back into a chair, just outside the door to his brother’s private practice, running a hand through his hair and watching a spider scuttle across the floor, moving his foot obligingly to keep its path clear.

It had been nearly six hours since he’d been forced to take Isobel to Grayson, both of them running on a mix of panic and adrenaline.

The next few minutes had been filled with hasty explanations, and no small amount of yelling, until Grayson had finally whisked Isobel to a delivery room when she had fallen to the ground in a heap of limbs after a bad contraction.

The door opens wide and John glances up, watching as the other man falls into a chair on the other side of the room, throwing his legs over the arm rest before letting out a sigh.

“Gray?”

The brunette tips his head towards him, revealing blood-shot eyes and splotchy cheeks, his eyes forced to narrow to make out John’s form clearly.

“Twins.” Grayson tells him. “Was sure I had lost one of ‘em before she started wailing her little heart out.”

“A girl?” John breathes, and he didn’t expect to be this attached, to want to protect and love and care for, but he is, and it makes what he’s going to do agony.

“Both of them.” Grayson says. “Couldn’t look more different if they tried.”

John ponders if it would be better for him to just walk away now. Close his eyes and light up a spare cigarette, nicotine filling his lungs as he thinks of how happy Grayson and Miranda must be to finally have children they can raise.

The thought causes him an almost physical pain and he acknowledges that that had never really been an option for him. John had always been possessive of those he loved. (“Gilbert family madness little brother.”) 

“Can I see them?” The words echo strange, as if spoken by someone else, but the voice is undeniably his and he forces himself not to move as dark eyes dart up to fixate on him.

“If you want to.” Grayson says after a moment, twisting to plant his feet on the floor before leading John toward matching yellow bassinets.

John greedily drinks in the sight of his daughters, capturing every detail and branding it into his mind. 

The one on the left is bigger, he notes, a head of brown hair and chocolate eyes that remind him of Isobel. 

He swallows thickly and turns his attention toward the smaller of the pair. She stares up at him with emerald eyes, ethereal and vibrant, pulling at his soul until the pain in his chest eases and his shoulders finally lose their tension.

They’re both perfect and John wants to hand them the world. 

“Do you ever want to have kids?”

“I don’t.” John tells the memory, heart drumming in his chest as his daughter latches her fist around one of his fingers.

“I didn’t.” He admits, sorrow settling heavy on his heart.

A heavy hand settles against his shoulder comfortingly, a quiet moment of understanding silence before John pulls away, walking towards the door before he has the chance to change his mind.

He only stops when he’s halfway out the door, an overwhelming need clambering around his head.

“Evelyn,” He mummers, knows Grayson will hear it, the names rolling softly off his tongue. “Evelyn and Elena Gilbert.”