musical mood: christmas lights - coldplay

The Bride

The concept of marriage had always sparked dread into Bethany Burke's mind, which was why it was odd that she stood there, a mere seventeen years old, and perhaps the happiest in her life.

Of course, she'd been expected to marry Theodore Nott, a boy she couldn't stand. As if she'd ever allow that to happen. She'd sooner commit suicide.

Bethany was practically committing suicide, standing in a white dress, just minutes away from holy matrimony. The stupid death eaters would have her head for this, for sullying herself to a mudblood, or whatever they'd say.

To be fair, she could hardly believe it herself.

Had she gone back in time and told thirteen year old Bethany that she would be in love with Colin Creevey, that Ana would be dead, that Voldemort had returned and the world was going to shit, she would've laughed in her future self's face. Funny, how things turned out.

It was fairly easy, to track down where the Creevey's were hiding. Colin and Dennis still kept in contact with the new members of Dumbledore's Army, and with some firm convincing of Neville Longbottom that she was on their side, he'd helped her find them, and escape from Hogwarts castle on Christmas day to meet up with him.

It was also easy to convince Colin's muggle parents to agree to their marriage. Being just 16, he needed parental permission to be wed. But his parents allowed him; perhaps they were just as aware of the war that was sure to kill them all, and wanted to allow their son one moment of happiness before their inevitable doom.

Bethany looked pretty. She could admit that to herself, as she stared at her reflection in the mirror. Her black hair was pulled back into a braided bun, and a veil fell over her face. It was a classic look, like they did in olden times. She looked good in white, she decided. Ironic, considering her personality.

Most women got nervous on their wedding day, but Bethany felt nothing but relief. Chances were, her and Colin wouldn't both survive the war. But they sure as well would fight to the end, and they'd do it together. She didn't care if on the other sides of their wands were her sisters, her father, her uncle, as long as she had Colin at her side.

"Beth, dear, are you ready?" It was Colin's mother, peaking her head into the changing room.

Ready. A funny word. She was ready to marry Colin, but she wasn't ready to accept that her and her husband-to-be were doomed.

"Yes."

Bethany nodded, a sigh escaping her lips as she thought of Colin, of the life they could have, without this war. If only they didn't have to rush things, out of fear for the worst. If only they could live out their lives together in safety, just the two of them.

If only they had a future.

The Traitor

It was a mystery, to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, what happened to Henry Nott.

Some said he had died during the battle, hit by a stray spell, and someone had brought his body into the nearest place - being the Ravenclaw common room. Some said he'd slit his wrist and killed himself, after he saw Cassiopeia Crouch, whom everyone knew he was in love with, get hit by the killing curse. Some said Cass had been the one to do it - given that when she'd last been seen, she'd also been drenched in blood. She was crazy, after all, that was common knowledge.

The rumours were incessant, but none of them ever so much as grazed the possibility that it could've been Theodore behind it.

Sometimes, when he thought back to that night, when he thought back to all the blood, the screaming, it blurred together with the day his mother had been killed. Cass and Henry's screams mixed with hers, blending into one horrible, beautiful noise. Sometimes, his own screams were mixed into those of his mother, of his brother, of his sister in law. The screams of what he'd been forced to endure after failing his task, the screams before his task, when his father had tortured him because of Ana. The torture in the Malfoy's basement, an endless array of spells shot at him, two summers in a row.

Theodore had failed. He had killed someone, but it had not been Slughorn. There was no explaining himself to the Dark Lord. No second chances.

Screams. So many bloody screams.

Ana's screams. He hadn't been there for when she and Sai Patil had burned to death, but he could imagine what they sounded like. Oh, Ana. How foolish he had been, to think he could've actually loved her. To think she hadn't put him under a spell.

His father had been right about that. It was good that he'd tortured him, that he'd messed with his mind, that he'd showed him the truth. The mudblood was dead, and the next ones would be falling soon. Soon, soon, soon...

It was funny. Everyone thought Cass was dead. Everyone that wasn't a close Death Eater, at least. Her remaining friends had gone into mourning, and the Death Eaters that knew she couldn't possibly be dead hadn't a clue for her actual location, nor a care. Her brother assumed she was somewhere with that bloody Weasley, seeming oddly apathetic towards the whole ordeal.

Theodore would've been more concerned, if someone he had a Blood Bind to was missing, but who was he to judge? He'd killed his own brother.

A laugh escaped him, as he turned over in his bed, listening to Vincent Crabbe's loud snores. His mind was fixed on Henry's last moments of life, the blood seeping out of his tan skin like cracks in a water glass. Over and over and over again, he repeated the scene in his mind. His only regret was not staying there, not watching the end of his muggle loving brother's life.

The Prankster

George didn't see the point in having a Christmas party.

What was there to celebrate? The war they were losing? No one would say it out loud, of course, but they were all thinking it. There was no way in hell this war would be won by them.

Maybe that was why his mum insisted on the party. Because there would never be one again. Because after this year, there would be no happiness left in the world. They'd all either be dead, or enslaved, in some sort of horrible pureblood propaganda regime.

George thought he'd prefer being dead. That his entire family would be better off dead, then living under You-Know-Who's world.

Would You-Know-Who kill them? Would he grant them that mercy? Surely not, not as purebloods, those were too rare nowadays. You-Know-Who would have higher, more important uses for the Weasleys. George shuddered thinking about what they may be.

"Georgie, guess what." Fred whispered from next to him on the couch, his voice low so no one could overhear.

George raised his eyebrows.

"I put a stink bomb under mum's chair. All she has to do is sit on it, and it'll go off."

He smiled, though it was disingenuous. He didn't think he'd actually really, truly smiled since the night his ear had been spliced off. Since the night Cassie had vanished into thin air.

She was alive, he knew that for a fact. She couldn't die, not while she was Bound to that freak. Besides, if she was dead, really, truly dead, part of him assumed that he'd feel it, like some sort of ripple in the universe.

So, that left two options;

Cassie had run awayCassie was kidnapped

George didn't know which he preferred, her having been taken (likely by her brother, who would have her tortured if not worse), or her having willingly left his side while he was bleeding out on the couch.

She'd always been impulsive. She'd ran away to France with a muggle, for fucks sake. But was she impulsive enough to leave at such a bad time, when they were in such a delicate position? And why? What would possess her to do that, and for so long? The death of Moody easily could've sent her into some sort of panicked state, but surely she would've returned by then, but no. It had been months, without a peep.

He was sure to go mad soon, from all the worrying, not just about Cassie, but about Ron, wherever the hell he was.

As if he could read his thoughts, Fred gave George a small, half smile. "She'll come back soon, Georgie. I promise."

The Prophetess

Parvati was depressed.

Padma didn't need to be a Seer to know this. She didn't even have to be her twin sister to know this. It was blatantly obvious, with every sad sigh that escaped her lips, with every longing gaze at the wall, like she was half expecting someone to show up.

It was a multitude of things, that had her in such a dreary mood. The murders of their father, of Ana, of Cass, of Henry. All of them combined, plus, of course, her blatantly obvious crush on Lavender, which was unfortunately, as far as she was aware, unreciprocated.

"Come on, Parvati, cheer up. It's Christmas." Lavender was attempting to coax Parvati out of her bed in the Ravenclaw dorms. Since the Gryffindors had become an essential torture chamber for the Carrow's to punish Neville Longbottom and his friends, Parvati and Lavender had moved their stuff into the Ravenclaw dorms, taking Ana and Cass's beds. Padma knew they wouldn't have minded.

Parvati shook her head. "Go on without me. It's fine, really. I'd just like to sleep."

"You can't sleep." Naia insisted, yanking on her friend's arm, attempting to pull her out of the bed.

Padma was immediately brought back to when Ana had been in a depressive state, after her breakup with Theodore, when Naia had pulled on her arm so hard that she'd fallen out of bed. Oh, Ana. What she wouldn't give for her to be alive, to be okay...

How had things gone so horribly wrong?

Padma leaned back against her bed, watching the scene unfold from the side lines. She'd done her best to help Parvati, perhaps it was best to lay back and allow others to try. Maybe they'd have more success than her.

When Padma closed her brown eyes shut, she had only meant to blink, but as she did, visions flooded her, overtaking her like a tidal wave.

There was an old man - older than Dumbledore, older than anyone she'd ever seen before in her life, with aged, withered bones and skin as coarse as a tree. Two people were next to him - a man she didn't recognise, though he seemed somehow familiar, in an odd sort of way...but it was the girl that Padma was focused on.

She was blonde, and her face was etched with an expression of fury Padma had never seen before, but it was without a doubt Cass.

"Padma! Padma!"

Padma jolted up, trembling from head to toe. Somehow, she had wound up on the floor in a heap. Lavender was crouched down next to her, shaking her arm, and when her eyes met hers, she stopped. "Holy shit, are you okay?"

She nodded slowly. "I think I just had a vision."

"What of?" The girls all stared at her in anticipation.

"I think...I think Cass might still be alive."

The Mudblood

Nothing had been the same, since Connor's murder.

It had been a murder. Saoirse was sure. At Crouch's hand? Perhaps not, perhaps she had been too quick to label it as that. But it had been a murder, because she knew that Connor would never kill himself. Not when he had to look after her. Connor never would've left Saoirse on this earth alone. Sure, they hadn't got along all the time, but he still loved her. Still cared about her.

He cared about that girl more, though.

He'd left her, for Cass fucking Crouch, time and time again. He went to France with her, and didn't bother to ask Saoirse if she wanted to come with.

Yes! She would've screamed. Yes, take me with! Get me out of this horrible fucking country!

Because that was the truth of it. She'd thought Stromness was her prison, and it had been, for a long time, but there was still a long way to go before she was free.

Even now, on the run at fifteen years old, Saoirse wasn't free. She wondered if she ever would be. If she'd be free, free of all that held her, or if she'd spend the rest of her sorry life trying to find what would wind up to be an illusion.

Saoirse knew she had to run the day Dumbledore was killed, not only because she'd sensed it, but because Adelaide had told her to. She'd told Saoirse that the moment she got back out of the school and into Islington, to run, to run and never look back.

She couldn't use magic. She had the trace on her still. But she was clever. She was in Ravenclaw for a reason.

Saoirse was a wanted woman, in both the muggle and wizarding world. Mauve must've had enough of the siblings she was supposed to look after going missing, because two days after Saoirse had left their flat, missing persons posters with her face on them began popping about. If that wasn't enough, there was now a Mudblood Registration Program that the Ministry was doing. As if she'd be stupid enough to voluntarily register herself to that. They'd kill her, she knew that for a fact.

The abandoned barn she was currently residing in was nice, all things considered. It provided a decent coverage from the harsh winter snow, at least, and there weren't any animals in it, though she did have to deal with the occasional rabbit or squirrel. She found she didn't mind them, though. The company was nice, anyways, even if they were just animals.

She wondered what day it was, as she rummaged through her bags, sorting out all the food she'd stolen from a local convenience store earlier that week and laying them out on the snowy ground. She had to be frugal with her food, she knew that, so she'd only eat a little bit every day, gritting her teeth and dealing with the horrible hunger.

The first bits of sunlight bled through the wood into the barn, giving Saoirse just enough light to see in.

Then, she heard the snap.

Several snaps.

She knew what that sound meant. It was the Death Eaters. They had found her, and they were here to kill her.

She shot up onto her feet, not bothering to gather her food. It could wait - she had to get out of there, now.

But it was no use.

As Saoirse burst out of the barn, racing through the snow as fast as her feet could take her, she knew she hadn't a chance. She didn't have her wand, she couldn't apparate, she had no way to defend herself, not from the spell that went flying from an unknown man's wand and directly at her back. The last face she would ever see - an unknown one. Saoirse would die not knowing the last person her eyes lay upon.

"AVADA KEDAVRA!"