Their screams were muffled by makeshift gags as they were dragged from their home in the dead of night, muscles burning from the exertion of struggling against their captors and fear dulling most of their thoughts. It reminded them of the war, the fighting, struggle, pain and fear they thought they'd left behind when it had ended. They thought they were safe now, that nothing could touch them. But they were entirely too wrong.
This fear, however, was worse than any he'd ever experienced before. It was all consuming; all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the muffled sobs of anger and fear from her, and the heavy boots of those who dragged them down the street. All he could feel was sheer terror. This was different from entering a battlefield already strewn with bodies. There, at least, you could see your opponent. You knew there was a possibility that you could die. Knew of the possibility that, when you went home, your loved one wouldn't return with you --- if you were lucky enough to see your house standing at all.
Now, he couldn't see his opponents. They were carefully cloaked and masked, and all his war instincts slowly left him after he was lulled into the false security that had been life after it. It had made him slow, and it had made him fail her.
If he thought it impossible to be more afraid, he already changed his mind. The fact that he was no longer being dragged and no longer hearing those boots walking - in fact, not hearing anything at all -- was terrifying. The silence, which in his peaceful life had reminded him of safety, was eerie. Now it only reminded him that he was probably miles away from any decent civilization, and that even if they weren't gagged, no one would hear them if they yelled.
Suddenly, the gags were ripped sharply from their mouths, and a cold voice hit their ears. "String them up." What on earth did that mean? String what up? And where? From the faint glow of his captors’ wands, he could make out where they were. They were in the center of Diagon Alley, on the night before the start of term for most schools, standing beneath the tall memorial of all those who had given their life in the war against the Dark Lord. He felt her shudder beside him, and he moved closer to her, trying to touch her and offer her any false sense of security that he could, but they yanked her from him.
His fear turned into something he could control: anger. "Who are you?! What do you want?! Unhand her!" Any curses he could throw at them were uttered between demands for answers in all three languages he knew. One of his captors silently jerked his head towards the monument, something he'd unfortunately ignored. He began fighting with vigor, for hanging from it was his bride to be.
She was looking steely and resolved, but her gaze became loving when she looked down at him. Guilt and sorrow were pushing at him now and building a tension behind his eyes; anger and bloodlust weren't far behind, both leading into a crescendo of emotions all begging to burst forth. He was screaming her name, calling for her, and she was reaching for him. His yells, however, were unheard by all those beyond the circle of captors and prisoners due to a complicated silencing charm. The rope was forced down over her head, and her eyes still locked to his even as a blade, glinting with moonlight, came out to trace her jaw.
"Such pretty eyes...Don't mind, do you? After all...you won't need them..." And then her screams came, raw anguish, unlike anything he'd ever heard before, and he could only watch in horror as the act was completed before she was shoved from the monument, her delicate neck snapping. When the noose was shoved down over his head, he no longer resisted, resolving to only glare hatefully at all of them. "You'll pay for this." He muttered as his rope was tied, not asking for a damn thing. He didn't pray for it to be quick, and he didn't pray for a burial. For, if there was really anyone out there to hear him, they were either enjoying this or had been ignoring him for far too long to start paying attention now that his life was coming to an abrupt close.
As he was shoved off to hang beside her, he realized immediately that something had gone wrong. His neck hadn't snapped as it should have. His body's instinct for survival had him wriggling, all the while staring at her, taking in his fill of her: perfect head bowed, the steady drip of her blood as droplets hit the pavement bellow. As black spots started to appear at the edge of his vision, he sent her a silent apology, and he was almost unconscious when the blade laced with her blood pierced his own skin.
---
The next morning was bright and far too cheery for the occasion. The sun sat high, proudly letting its light shine without clouds to cover it, despite the fall weather. A light breeze was stirring, and in Diagon Alley, right at the center there was an uproar. Tears, screams, and anger surrounded those gathered in the square, for not only had their precious testament to the memories of those who'd they'd loved and lost been vandalized with what they later realized was blood, there hanging from it was one of the most surprising couples to spring up in the Wizarding World.
Bodies fresh, murdered brutally and hanged for all to see as a warning. The war might have been over by definition of the death of the Dark Lord, but the Death Eaters weren't going anywhere. The word "TRAITOR" glared underneath the feet of Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley. Him missing his heart, the part of him he shouldn’t have discovered, and she, missing her eyes, her face no longer possessing a laughing smile.
---
A/N: This was based off the movie, "The Crow" and the more recent "sequal" of sets that came out in 2004. The rest of the story is going to pull elements from both movies, and a lot of stuff I'm just going to take creative privilage with, and explain as I please. Big thanks to Faith for BETA-ing this for me ^^
Let me know what you think.
This fear, however, was worse than any he'd ever experienced before. It was all consuming; all he could hear was the pounding of his own heart, the muffled sobs of anger and fear from her, and the heavy boots of those who dragged them down the street. All he could feel was sheer terror. This was different from entering a battlefield already strewn with bodies. There, at least, you could see your opponent. You knew there was a possibility that you could die. Knew of the possibility that, when you went home, your loved one wouldn't return with you --- if you were lucky enough to see your house standing at all.
Now, he couldn't see his opponents. They were carefully cloaked and masked, and all his war instincts slowly left him after he was lulled into the false security that had been life after it. It had made him slow, and it had made him fail her.
If he thought it impossible to be more afraid, he already changed his mind. The fact that he was no longer being dragged and no longer hearing those boots walking - in fact, not hearing anything at all -- was terrifying. The silence, which in his peaceful life had reminded him of safety, was eerie. Now it only reminded him that he was probably miles away from any decent civilization, and that even if they weren't gagged, no one would hear them if they yelled.
Suddenly, the gags were ripped sharply from their mouths, and a cold voice hit their ears. "String them up." What on earth did that mean? String what up? And where? From the faint glow of his captors’ wands, he could make out where they were. They were in the center of Diagon Alley, on the night before the start of term for most schools, standing beneath the tall memorial of all those who had given their life in the war against the Dark Lord. He felt her shudder beside him, and he moved closer to her, trying to touch her and offer her any false sense of security that he could, but they yanked her from him.
His fear turned into something he could control: anger. "Who are you?! What do you want?! Unhand her!" Any curses he could throw at them were uttered between demands for answers in all three languages he knew. One of his captors silently jerked his head towards the monument, something he'd unfortunately ignored. He began fighting with vigor, for hanging from it was his bride to be.
She was looking steely and resolved, but her gaze became loving when she looked down at him. Guilt and sorrow were pushing at him now and building a tension behind his eyes; anger and bloodlust weren't far behind, both leading into a crescendo of emotions all begging to burst forth. He was screaming her name, calling for her, and she was reaching for him. His yells, however, were unheard by all those beyond the circle of captors and prisoners due to a complicated silencing charm. The rope was forced down over her head, and her eyes still locked to his even as a blade, glinting with moonlight, came out to trace her jaw.
"Such pretty eyes...Don't mind, do you? After all...you won't need them..." And then her screams came, raw anguish, unlike anything he'd ever heard before, and he could only watch in horror as the act was completed before she was shoved from the monument, her delicate neck snapping. When the noose was shoved down over his head, he no longer resisted, resolving to only glare hatefully at all of them. "You'll pay for this." He muttered as his rope was tied, not asking for a damn thing. He didn't pray for it to be quick, and he didn't pray for a burial. For, if there was really anyone out there to hear him, they were either enjoying this or had been ignoring him for far too long to start paying attention now that his life was coming to an abrupt close.
As he was shoved off to hang beside her, he realized immediately that something had gone wrong. His neck hadn't snapped as it should have. His body's instinct for survival had him wriggling, all the while staring at her, taking in his fill of her: perfect head bowed, the steady drip of her blood as droplets hit the pavement bellow. As black spots started to appear at the edge of his vision, he sent her a silent apology, and he was almost unconscious when the blade laced with her blood pierced his own skin.
---
The next morning was bright and far too cheery for the occasion. The sun sat high, proudly letting its light shine without clouds to cover it, despite the fall weather. A light breeze was stirring, and in Diagon Alley, right at the center there was an uproar. Tears, screams, and anger surrounded those gathered in the square, for not only had their precious testament to the memories of those who'd they'd loved and lost been vandalized with what they later realized was blood, there hanging from it was one of the most surprising couples to spring up in the Wizarding World.
Bodies fresh, murdered brutally and hanged for all to see as a warning. The war might have been over by definition of the death of the Dark Lord, but the Death Eaters weren't going anywhere. The word "TRAITOR" glared underneath the feet of Draco Malfoy and Ginevra Weasley. Him missing his heart, the part of him he shouldn’t have discovered, and she, missing her eyes, her face no longer possessing a laughing smile.
---
A/N: This was based off the movie, "The Crow" and the more recent "sequal" of sets that came out in 2004. The rest of the story is going to pull elements from both movies, and a lot of stuff I'm just going to take creative privilage with, and explain as I please. Big thanks to Faith for BETA-ing this for me ^^
Let me know what you think.
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