florahart & merrycontrary
Author: florahart
Title: Untitled
Pairing: Moody/Kingsley
Challenge: We few, we happy few, we band of brothers/For he to-day that sheds his blood with me/Shall be my brother -Shakespeare, St Crispian's Day speech (Henry V)
“What the bloody hell happened here? Damn it, Alastor; every time I think you’ve reached the limit of war wounds, you acquire another.”
“Failure of vigilance, is what happened,” Moody grunted, grimacing.
Kingsley snorted. “You always say that. It could be the perfect ambush, complete with befuddlement charm and a good dose of unseeability, and you’d think it was your vigilance that failed. Come, let’s have a look.”
Kingsley prodded, just a bit, at the “good” leg, then sat back heavily, ashen. It was a moment before he was sure he could speak without his voice breaking. “Fuck, Alastor. Completely severed, but you knew that.”
“Yes.”
“And you know I can’t fix this.”
“You always were a poor students at the Healing charms. Cauterize it, then.”
“But then they won’t be able to-“
“Time’s up. You do it or I will. I’ll need your wand. Mine’s shattered.”
Kingsley swallowed bile and sparked the end of his wand, sealing the wound, stopping the bleeding.
“Now, get out of here.” Moody waved his hand, shooing.
“And you with no wand? I don’t fucking think so.” He sat down on the blood-soaked ground next to his long-time partner, and waited for help.”
Author: merrycontrary
Title: Waiting for Godard
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1207
Beta: the fabulous essayel
We open the scene on a battle field. Bodies are strewn across the foreground. Slightly more than half of the bodies are dressed in black robes and white masks, because this is a world of absolutes and villains are easily recognizable. Some of the bodies are burnt and torn, seeping blood into the earth. A surprising number, however, have no visible signs to show what killed them. Death has only marked them with a look of surprise.
In the midst of the wreckage, there is a hill on which grows an ancient and gnarled tree. Under the tree sits an ancient and gnarled man. His face is a map of scars, and one eye spins madly. He has one wooden leg. What remains of his other leg ends abruptly in scorched tissue.
By the time we have finished eyeing the gnarled man suspiciously, another man enters, slowly picking his way across the field of bodies. He is tall and handsome. His dark skin and the large gold hoop piercing his ear give him an exotic appearance, as if he had stepped out of a pirate film. Nodding to the gnarled man in recognition, he slumps beside him under the tree.
There is silence for a few minutes.
Knarled Man: D’you find ‘im?
The Pirate: Godard? Yeah.
Gnarled Man: Wha’d he have to say fer ‘imself?
Pirate: Said he’d be here as soon as he could, seein’ as how you aren’t dying. Has to prioritise. Seems to be the only mediwizard in the area.
The gnarled man nods. He is not in need of help as much as some. Nothing much to be done for him but clean up the wounds and send him home. He looks across the battlefield and thinks.
Gnarled Man: He know what happened?
Pirate: Yep.
Gnarled Man: You gonna tell me, or I gotta beat it out of you?
The pirate smiles briefly, more at his partner’s unflagging attitude than the news he has to share.
Pirate: Would appear we won.
Gnarled Man: Voldemort?
Pirate: Dead.
Gnarled Man: Potter
Pirate: Alive.
Gnarled Man: Death Eaters?
Pirate: Fled. Those who were still able. Which can’t have been many.
He gestures to the bodies on the field. The sun is setting, painting the sky as red as the ground. The white masks reflect the last rays of light, twinkling cheerfully.
Gnarled Man: So it’s over?
Pirate: Would appear so. Just the clean up left.
Gnarled Man: Likely to take awhile, that.
Pirate: Yep.
There is a pause.
Pirate: Wife’ll be happy.
Gnarled Man: Yeah? She miss you, after all?
Pirate: You know it.
The gnarled man snorts in response to his partner’s smirk. There is no woman waiting for him. Likely never will be again. It’s good to know someone’s gonna be getting some.
Pirate: Nah. It’s the kid. He’s fifteen now. When age of conscription was lowered to sixteen, she was ready to march down to the Ministry and tear someone’s nuts off. Don’t want her baby followin’ in the old man’s footsteps.
Gnarled Man: Wise woman.
Pirate: Yep.
Gnarled Man: The kid still at Hogwarts? Hufflepuff, right?
Pirate: Yep. ‘Bout to take his O.W.L.s. I guess they’ll be havin’ ‘em this year, after all.
Gnarled Man: O.W.L.s, yeah. Doubt there will be any need for N.E. W.T.s, though. Not when most of those who should be takin’ ‘em are somewhere out there.
Pirate: Those who survive certainly won’t be carin’ much about exam scores, that’s for certain.
Gnarled Man: They’ve had their exam. With a Hell of a lot more on the line. Pass or fail. Life or death. Poor blighters.
They sit in silence, hearts aching. The gnarled man moves first. He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a flask. After a long pull, he offers it to his partner.
Gnarled Man: Drink?
Pirate: Yeah. Thanks.
Gnarled Man: Don’t mention it. Time to celebrate after all.
Pirate: Right.
Gnarled Man: Besides, it’s one of the Weasley twins’ Fathomless Flasks. Ready supply of Ogden’s finest.
Pirate: Right. ‘Cause no way you’d share with me if your whiskey was limited.
Gnarled Man: After all these years, you finally understand. This is a proud day for me, boy.
Pirate: Shut up and pass me the flask, ya ol’ drunk.
As the two men settle back against the tree, passing the flask between them, a young hero enters the picture. His eyes are large and glassy, his hair and cloths singed. He is looking for someone amongst the dead. The gnarled man’s eye follows him, but it isn’t until the young hero approaches them that he alerts his partner to the boy’s presence.
Pirate: Potter!
Young Hero: Have you seen Ron? I need to find Ron.
Pirate: No, I-
Young Hero: Can your eye see Ron, Moody? His hair. I thought it’d be easy to see his hair, but there’s so much... I need to find Ron now.
Gnarled Man: I haven’t seen ‘im, kid. Probably good, that.
Young Hero: Okay. Thanks. I have to go. I have to find Ron.
The young hero resumes his search. The men watch him until he disappears from sight. The gnarled man takes the flask back and wonders how much it would take to get him well and truly pissed.
Pirate: Shock?
Gnarled Man: Yep.
Pirate: Think it’ll wear off?
Gnarled Man: Likely. He’s a tough kid.
Pirate: Hafta be, wouldn’t ‘e?
Gnarled Man: Yep.
Pirate: Lucky us he is, I guess.
Gnarled Man: Yep, lucky us.
There is a pause.
Gnarled Man: Got any plans for what you’ll do now?
Pirate: Likely to stay with the Department. Help round up the ones what ran. Not much else I’m suited for anyway.
Gnarled Man: Know whatcha mean.
Pirate: What about you? Retirement again?
Gnarled Man: Well, Department’s not likely to take me back now, are they?
Pirate: You could stay on as training staff. Most of these kids know how to point and hex, but not much else. They aren’t going to be happy to be told they’ve got to go back to the classroom after being in the field.
Gnarled Man: I don’t think so. T’be honest, I think I’m ready for retirement this time.
But now, the air is filled with the sound of human suffering, a howl of pain, rage and despair. The pirate is on his feet, wand at the ready, prepared for battle. The gnarled man’s eye searches the scenery, finally stops.
Gnarled Man: Put the wand down, Shacklebolt. There’s nothing you can do.
Pirate: What is it?
Gnarled Man: Potter.
Pirate: What’s happened?
Gnarled Man: His Weasley.
Pirate: He found him?
Gnarled Man: Yeah.
Pirate: Is... is he...?
Gnarled Man: Yeah.
Pirate: Fuck.
Gnarled Man: Yeah.
Pirate: You know they were...?
Gnarled Man: Yeah
Pirate: Hand me that flask?
Gnarled Man: Yeah.
The young hero’s howl fades. Sometime later, he can be seen carrying the body of a tall young man cradled against his chest. His eyes are dead now. The men continue drinking in silence.
Darkness falls, eventually. A small light appears, the pirate’s wand. The flasks fathomless-ness is tested.
Gnarled Man: You figure Godard’ll be here anytime soon?
Pirate: Who knows.
And as we close our scene, they continue to wait.
Title: Untitled
Pairing: Moody/Kingsley
Challenge: We few, we happy few, we band of brothers/For he to-day that sheds his blood with me/Shall be my brother -Shakespeare, St Crispian's Day speech (Henry V)
“What the bloody hell happened here? Damn it, Alastor; every time I think you’ve reached the limit of war wounds, you acquire another.”
“Failure of vigilance, is what happened,” Moody grunted, grimacing.
Kingsley snorted. “You always say that. It could be the perfect ambush, complete with befuddlement charm and a good dose of unseeability, and you’d think it was your vigilance that failed. Come, let’s have a look.”
Kingsley prodded, just a bit, at the “good” leg, then sat back heavily, ashen. It was a moment before he was sure he could speak without his voice breaking. “Fuck, Alastor. Completely severed, but you knew that.”
“Yes.”
“And you know I can’t fix this.”
“You always were a poor students at the Healing charms. Cauterize it, then.”
“But then they won’t be able to-“
“Time’s up. You do it or I will. I’ll need your wand. Mine’s shattered.”
Kingsley swallowed bile and sparked the end of his wand, sealing the wound, stopping the bleeding.
“Now, get out of here.” Moody waved his hand, shooing.
“And you with no wand? I don’t fucking think so.” He sat down on the blood-soaked ground next to his long-time partner, and waited for help.”
Author: merrycontrary
Title: Waiting for Godard
Rating: PG-13
Wordcount: 1207
Beta: the fabulous essayel
We open the scene on a battle field. Bodies are strewn across the foreground. Slightly more than half of the bodies are dressed in black robes and white masks, because this is a world of absolutes and villains are easily recognizable. Some of the bodies are burnt and torn, seeping blood into the earth. A surprising number, however, have no visible signs to show what killed them. Death has only marked them with a look of surprise.
In the midst of the wreckage, there is a hill on which grows an ancient and gnarled tree. Under the tree sits an ancient and gnarled man. His face is a map of scars, and one eye spins madly. He has one wooden leg. What remains of his other leg ends abruptly in scorched tissue.
By the time we have finished eyeing the gnarled man suspiciously, another man enters, slowly picking his way across the field of bodies. He is tall and handsome. His dark skin and the large gold hoop piercing his ear give him an exotic appearance, as if he had stepped out of a pirate film. Nodding to the gnarled man in recognition, he slumps beside him under the tree.
There is silence for a few minutes.
Knarled Man: D’you find ‘im?
The Pirate: Godard? Yeah.
Gnarled Man: Wha’d he have to say fer ‘imself?
Pirate: Said he’d be here as soon as he could, seein’ as how you aren’t dying. Has to prioritise. Seems to be the only mediwizard in the area.
The gnarled man nods. He is not in need of help as much as some. Nothing much to be done for him but clean up the wounds and send him home. He looks across the battlefield and thinks.
Gnarled Man: He know what happened?
Pirate: Yep.
Gnarled Man: You gonna tell me, or I gotta beat it out of you?
The pirate smiles briefly, more at his partner’s unflagging attitude than the news he has to share.
Pirate: Would appear we won.
Gnarled Man: Voldemort?
Pirate: Dead.
Gnarled Man: Potter
Pirate: Alive.
Gnarled Man: Death Eaters?
Pirate: Fled. Those who were still able. Which can’t have been many.
He gestures to the bodies on the field. The sun is setting, painting the sky as red as the ground. The white masks reflect the last rays of light, twinkling cheerfully.
Gnarled Man: So it’s over?
Pirate: Would appear so. Just the clean up left.
Gnarled Man: Likely to take awhile, that.
Pirate: Yep.
There is a pause.
Pirate: Wife’ll be happy.
Gnarled Man: Yeah? She miss you, after all?
Pirate: You know it.
The gnarled man snorts in response to his partner’s smirk. There is no woman waiting for him. Likely never will be again. It’s good to know someone’s gonna be getting some.
Pirate: Nah. It’s the kid. He’s fifteen now. When age of conscription was lowered to sixteen, she was ready to march down to the Ministry and tear someone’s nuts off. Don’t want her baby followin’ in the old man’s footsteps.
Gnarled Man: Wise woman.
Pirate: Yep.
Gnarled Man: The kid still at Hogwarts? Hufflepuff, right?
Pirate: Yep. ‘Bout to take his O.W.L.s. I guess they’ll be havin’ ‘em this year, after all.
Gnarled Man: O.W.L.s, yeah. Doubt there will be any need for N.E. W.T.s, though. Not when most of those who should be takin’ ‘em are somewhere out there.
Pirate: Those who survive certainly won’t be carin’ much about exam scores, that’s for certain.
Gnarled Man: They’ve had their exam. With a Hell of a lot more on the line. Pass or fail. Life or death. Poor blighters.
They sit in silence, hearts aching. The gnarled man moves first. He reaches into his cloak and pulls out a flask. After a long pull, he offers it to his partner.
Gnarled Man: Drink?
Pirate: Yeah. Thanks.
Gnarled Man: Don’t mention it. Time to celebrate after all.
Pirate: Right.
Gnarled Man: Besides, it’s one of the Weasley twins’ Fathomless Flasks. Ready supply of Ogden’s finest.
Pirate: Right. ‘Cause no way you’d share with me if your whiskey was limited.
Gnarled Man: After all these years, you finally understand. This is a proud day for me, boy.
Pirate: Shut up and pass me the flask, ya ol’ drunk.
As the two men settle back against the tree, passing the flask between them, a young hero enters the picture. His eyes are large and glassy, his hair and cloths singed. He is looking for someone amongst the dead. The gnarled man’s eye follows him, but it isn’t until the young hero approaches them that he alerts his partner to the boy’s presence.
Pirate: Potter!
Young Hero: Have you seen Ron? I need to find Ron.
Pirate: No, I-
Young Hero: Can your eye see Ron, Moody? His hair. I thought it’d be easy to see his hair, but there’s so much... I need to find Ron now.
Gnarled Man: I haven’t seen ‘im, kid. Probably good, that.
Young Hero: Okay. Thanks. I have to go. I have to find Ron.
The young hero resumes his search. The men watch him until he disappears from sight. The gnarled man takes the flask back and wonders how much it would take to get him well and truly pissed.
Pirate: Shock?
Gnarled Man: Yep.
Pirate: Think it’ll wear off?
Gnarled Man: Likely. He’s a tough kid.
Pirate: Hafta be, wouldn’t ‘e?
Gnarled Man: Yep.
Pirate: Lucky us he is, I guess.
Gnarled Man: Yep, lucky us.
There is a pause.
Gnarled Man: Got any plans for what you’ll do now?
Pirate: Likely to stay with the Department. Help round up the ones what ran. Not much else I’m suited for anyway.
Gnarled Man: Know whatcha mean.
Pirate: What about you? Retirement again?
Gnarled Man: Well, Department’s not likely to take me back now, are they?
Pirate: You could stay on as training staff. Most of these kids know how to point and hex, but not much else. They aren’t going to be happy to be told they’ve got to go back to the classroom after being in the field.
Gnarled Man: I don’t think so. T’be honest, I think I’m ready for retirement this time.
But now, the air is filled with the sound of human suffering, a howl of pain, rage and despair. The pirate is on his feet, wand at the ready, prepared for battle. The gnarled man’s eye searches the scenery, finally stops.
Gnarled Man: Put the wand down, Shacklebolt. There’s nothing you can do.
Pirate: What is it?
Gnarled Man: Potter.
Pirate: What’s happened?
Gnarled Man: His Weasley.
Pirate: He found him?
Gnarled Man: Yeah.
Pirate: Is... is he...?
Gnarled Man: Yeah.
Pirate: Fuck.
Gnarled Man: Yeah.
Pirate: You know they were...?
Gnarled Man: Yeah
Pirate: Hand me that flask?
Gnarled Man: Yeah.
The young hero’s howl fades. Sometime later, he can be seen carrying the body of a tall young man cradled against his chest. His eyes are dead now. The men continue drinking in silence.
Darkness falls, eventually. A small light appears, the pirate’s wand. The flasks fathomless-ness is tested.
Gnarled Man: You figure Godard’ll be here anytime soon?
Pirate: Who knows.
And as we close our scene, they continue to wait.