Mission Insane: Stunted Absolution (Weather Series Part 1/5)
Title: Stunted Absolution
Author: Liliths_Requiem
Rating: PG
Characters: Katie Bell, Marcus Flint
Pairings: none, pre-Katie/Marcus
Era: May 2, 1998
Word Count: 1330
Prompt: mission_insane Weather: 1.Rain
Summary: The aftermath of the Final Battle of Hogwarts
Warnings: minor character death
When the battle was over, Katie was leaning against the nearest wall in tears, trying hard to bite back each sob but loosing painfully. A few feet away, the Weasley family was grouped around Fred’s corpse, each trying to find comfort in the other but all of them coming up empty handed. The scene in front of her was nothing short of heartbreaking, but it wasn’t the reason for her uncontrollable sadness. Her sorrow was caused by the dead weight in her arms, a caricature of the baby brother she loved so dearly. He may have been sixteen, but in death he looked little more than ten, with his lips set in determination and his eyes filled with the horror of seeing the Killing Curse coming but having no way to stop it.
Harper shouldn’t have been fighting. He was underage and he was a Hufflepuff, he was too young and too innocent to shout the curses needed to stay alive in the final battle for good. Desperation and loyalty could only get you so far, something Katie learned soon after Malfoy hit her with a curse she couldn’t fight and she ended up all but tied to a hospital bed for six months. She was given a second, or maybe a third, chance at life, but she’d have given it back if it meant Harper would smile again.
It was Madame Pomfrey who pulled Harper from her hands, gently but firmly while whispering things like, “It’s time to say goodbye, sweetie,” and “He’s in a better place now.” Only Katie wasn’t too sure about that, because in order for Heaven to exist there had to be a God, and she wasn’t too confident in any form of divinity at that moment. How could someone with so much power allow so many people to die? She didn’t voice the question allowed, but as the boy’s body was taken away from her the lack of religion was written on her face. Her old nurse paused for a moment and gave her a sympathetic smile. Even after two wars’ worth of experience, the mediwitch couldn’t find the right words to say.
Katie didn’t stay against the wall after the weight of Harper’s body left and she had nothing to anchor her there. Instead, she walked calmly but blindly out through the castle’s doors, looking for some sort of promise in the night sky. It was nearing five am and the sky should have been pregnant with the promise of dawn. After everything, there should have been some hint of sunshine to tell her that everything they fought for, everything Harper died for, was worth it. Instead, she watched as a dark cloud blocked out the moon and stood there silently as the rain began to dance across her skin.
She stood in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, now strewn with bodies and covered in drying blood and broken wands. Her head was tilted towards the oncoming rain, hopeful in her quest for catharsis. As each dropped splashed against her body, soaking through her clothes and drenching her muddied hair, Katie offered up a silent prayer of grief. She was so focused on her need for absolution that she did not notice the man in front of her until his hands her on her skin, shielding the rain from its only living target in sight.
“Bell what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she recognized the voice but she couldn’t quite figure out who it was. The intermingling of rain and tears had left her blinded, so she had to follow him blindly into shelter before she could rub her eyes dry and identify the man who pulled her from her baptism by water and brought her back to the world as it was.
“Flint?” she asked, her voice close to hysterical, “If you kill me, they’ll find you.” It wasn’t the nicest greeting after not seeing him for four years, but it seemed fighting given the circumstances. After all, she was an Order member now, and she was willing to bet five galleons that he was a Death Eater, branded by a man who never knew what possession really meant.
The eye roll and its subsequent smirk were not entirely unexpected, but they weren’t the first thing Katie thought her rescuer would do. After all, his master was dead and he was probably devastated. She was the perfect scapegoat, a wandless punching bag there for the taking. “Merlin, Bell, I’m not going to off you,” was his reply. He unhooked his cloak and threw it over her shoulders. “If anything I’m trying to stop you from offing yourself. The mediwizards don’t have time to brew a flu potion, you selfish bint, they’ve got plenty of more pressing matters to deal with.”
Her pride was no match for the cold she felt, and so she pulled the cloak tightly around her and tried not to relish in the smell of grass and dirt that was so obviously connected to Quidditch. Flint was playing professionally now, a bonafide member of the Falmouth Falcons. She wondered, idly, if they would take him back with that mark on his arm. She wondered why they had given him the position in the first place if they knew he was a Voldemort supporter.
As she snuggled deeper into the cloak, Katie watched Marcus tend to his own wounds. There was blood seeping through the shirtsleeve on his left arm, but she figured he wouldn’t want to rip off the fabric to heal it with her in the room. For a moment, she contemplated turning around and giving him privacy, she didn’t want him to die from blood loss. Even if he was a Death Eater, she doubted he was the man who killed Harper. The war was over; there was no need for anymore blood to be spilled.
Just as she was about to reposition herself, Flint ripped of the shirt sleeve and revealed a very bloody, but very white muscular arm. He paid no heed to the uncontrolled gasp that fled from Katie’s mouth as he stuck his arm out from under the awning and allowed the rain to wash it clean. “You’re not…one of them?” Katie asked, her voice quiet and almost inaudible over the onslaught of raindrops against their granite covering.
Flint ignored the question until he got the right spell and the cut began to heal. Most people laughed at his magical ineptitude, but he was thoroughly ashamed at how poorly he did in every subject other than Potions and History of Magic while at Hogwarts. Many generations of inbred blood purists had drained his magic to almost nothing, how could Bell possibly think he would support their crazy cause? “No, Bell,” he answered her, handing over his wand. “Dry yourself off and accio your wand. Then we’ll go see if we can get you something warm.”
Katie followed his instructions before handing back his wand and placing a drying spell around them both. They walked in silence back to the oak doors, but before Katie opened them she turned to him. “Thank you,” her voice was firm, if slightly strained from the lack of sleep every war brings and the fatigue that hours of fighting insures. “I’m not sure I would have come to my sense without you.”
He didn’t accept the gratitude, not verbally at least. But he did offer a gap toothed grin and allowed her to keep the cloak. They parted ways after the entered the hall, with Katie heading towards the Weasleys and Flint trying to see if Pansy Parkinson was going to be taken to Azkaban. It wasn’t until hours later, after the rain stopped, that she met his eye again from across a table that was currently being used for operating. She offered a shy smile and his eyes lost some of their malice. For that moment, it was almost as if they were friends.
Author: Liliths_Requiem
Rating: PG
Characters: Katie Bell, Marcus Flint
Pairings: none, pre-Katie/Marcus
Era: May 2, 1998
Word Count: 1330
Prompt: mission_insane Weather: 1.Rain
Summary: The aftermath of the Final Battle of Hogwarts
Warnings: minor character death
When the battle was over, Katie was leaning against the nearest wall in tears, trying hard to bite back each sob but loosing painfully. A few feet away, the Weasley family was grouped around Fred’s corpse, each trying to find comfort in the other but all of them coming up empty handed. The scene in front of her was nothing short of heartbreaking, but it wasn’t the reason for her uncontrollable sadness. Her sorrow was caused by the dead weight in her arms, a caricature of the baby brother she loved so dearly. He may have been sixteen, but in death he looked little more than ten, with his lips set in determination and his eyes filled with the horror of seeing the Killing Curse coming but having no way to stop it.
Harper shouldn’t have been fighting. He was underage and he was a Hufflepuff, he was too young and too innocent to shout the curses needed to stay alive in the final battle for good. Desperation and loyalty could only get you so far, something Katie learned soon after Malfoy hit her with a curse she couldn’t fight and she ended up all but tied to a hospital bed for six months. She was given a second, or maybe a third, chance at life, but she’d have given it back if it meant Harper would smile again.
It was Madame Pomfrey who pulled Harper from her hands, gently but firmly while whispering things like, “It’s time to say goodbye, sweetie,” and “He’s in a better place now.” Only Katie wasn’t too sure about that, because in order for Heaven to exist there had to be a God, and she wasn’t too confident in any form of divinity at that moment. How could someone with so much power allow so many people to die? She didn’t voice the question allowed, but as the boy’s body was taken away from her the lack of religion was written on her face. Her old nurse paused for a moment and gave her a sympathetic smile. Even after two wars’ worth of experience, the mediwitch couldn’t find the right words to say.
Katie didn’t stay against the wall after the weight of Harper’s body left and she had nothing to anchor her there. Instead, she walked calmly but blindly out through the castle’s doors, looking for some sort of promise in the night sky. It was nearing five am and the sky should have been pregnant with the promise of dawn. After everything, there should have been some hint of sunshine to tell her that everything they fought for, everything Harper died for, was worth it. Instead, she watched as a dark cloud blocked out the moon and stood there silently as the rain began to dance across her skin.
She stood in the middle of the Quidditch pitch, now strewn with bodies and covered in drying blood and broken wands. Her head was tilted towards the oncoming rain, hopeful in her quest for catharsis. As each dropped splashed against her body, soaking through her clothes and drenching her muddied hair, Katie offered up a silent prayer of grief. She was so focused on her need for absolution that she did not notice the man in front of her until his hands her on her skin, shielding the rain from its only living target in sight.
“Bell what the hell do you think you’re doing?” she recognized the voice but she couldn’t quite figure out who it was. The intermingling of rain and tears had left her blinded, so she had to follow him blindly into shelter before she could rub her eyes dry and identify the man who pulled her from her baptism by water and brought her back to the world as it was.
“Flint?” she asked, her voice close to hysterical, “If you kill me, they’ll find you.” It wasn’t the nicest greeting after not seeing him for four years, but it seemed fighting given the circumstances. After all, she was an Order member now, and she was willing to bet five galleons that he was a Death Eater, branded by a man who never knew what possession really meant.
The eye roll and its subsequent smirk were not entirely unexpected, but they weren’t the first thing Katie thought her rescuer would do. After all, his master was dead and he was probably devastated. She was the perfect scapegoat, a wandless punching bag there for the taking. “Merlin, Bell, I’m not going to off you,” was his reply. He unhooked his cloak and threw it over her shoulders. “If anything I’m trying to stop you from offing yourself. The mediwizards don’t have time to brew a flu potion, you selfish bint, they’ve got plenty of more pressing matters to deal with.”
Her pride was no match for the cold she felt, and so she pulled the cloak tightly around her and tried not to relish in the smell of grass and dirt that was so obviously connected to Quidditch. Flint was playing professionally now, a bonafide member of the Falmouth Falcons. She wondered, idly, if they would take him back with that mark on his arm. She wondered why they had given him the position in the first place if they knew he was a Voldemort supporter.
As she snuggled deeper into the cloak, Katie watched Marcus tend to his own wounds. There was blood seeping through the shirtsleeve on his left arm, but she figured he wouldn’t want to rip off the fabric to heal it with her in the room. For a moment, she contemplated turning around and giving him privacy, she didn’t want him to die from blood loss. Even if he was a Death Eater, she doubted he was the man who killed Harper. The war was over; there was no need for anymore blood to be spilled.
Just as she was about to reposition herself, Flint ripped of the shirt sleeve and revealed a very bloody, but very white muscular arm. He paid no heed to the uncontrolled gasp that fled from Katie’s mouth as he stuck his arm out from under the awning and allowed the rain to wash it clean. “You’re not…one of them?” Katie asked, her voice quiet and almost inaudible over the onslaught of raindrops against their granite covering.
Flint ignored the question until he got the right spell and the cut began to heal. Most people laughed at his magical ineptitude, but he was thoroughly ashamed at how poorly he did in every subject other than Potions and History of Magic while at Hogwarts. Many generations of inbred blood purists had drained his magic to almost nothing, how could Bell possibly think he would support their crazy cause? “No, Bell,” he answered her, handing over his wand. “Dry yourself off and accio your wand. Then we’ll go see if we can get you something warm.”
Katie followed his instructions before handing back his wand and placing a drying spell around them both. They walked in silence back to the oak doors, but before Katie opened them she turned to him. “Thank you,” her voice was firm, if slightly strained from the lack of sleep every war brings and the fatigue that hours of fighting insures. “I’m not sure I would have come to my sense without you.”
He didn’t accept the gratitude, not verbally at least. But he did offer a gap toothed grin and allowed her to keep the cloak. They parted ways after the entered the hall, with Katie heading towards the Weasleys and Flint trying to see if Pansy Parkinson was going to be taken to Azkaban. It wasn’t until hours later, after the rain stopped, that she met his eye again from across a table that was currently being used for operating. She offered a shy smile and his eyes lost some of their malice. For that moment, it was almost as if they were friends.