▪▫▪ c ε d (docstheword) wrote in valesco,
@ 2009-01-11 17:44:00

Entry tags:

caradoc dearborn, death eaters, dorcas meadows, grayson wilkes, james potter, lord voldemort, roderick dearborn

DEs + Order!
What a strange feeling.

In the middle of all this chaos, Caradoc felt quite calm. Incredibly calm, actually. Whether that was a positive or negative, he decided not to care to divulge into that inner meaning. All he cared to know was that it felt good. Unrealistically good. There was nothing else running through him, he had efficiently locked away all resolved issues, emotions with them. So now... no, the battle surrounding him did not effect him one bit. It felt like he was watching this all from afar, or from behind a protected screen. But when in reality, a red jet of light had just missed his leg by a few meters and he hadn't even moved away from it.

That should have gotten his heart going, shouldn't it? But it... didn't; Caradoc knew what he was waiting for, who he was waiting for. Nothing else seemed to be that dangerous. And if he was accidently killed while he was standing here? If he could be so lucky. He knew he wouldn't have to wait long, and there was no reason for him to bring attention to himself. They would know he was here, just like how he would have known that a traitor had finally decided to make a public presence. Call it something of a sixth sense, but you don't just waltz into a battle undetected when the other side was desperately grasping to kill you. Nope, it just never happened. Life wasn't easy like that.

Though-- this suddenly came to him as something of a side note--- for some reason, he hoped Dorcas would make this out of it alive. Perhaps it was this new mood he was in, or maybe it was just the fact that he knew his death was coming, but either way, he figured he could forgive her now, of all times.

Caradoc, wand in hand and back up against a high stone wall, looked away from the street for a moment. But once he looked back, two jets of light were already heading straight at him. He deflected and moved away from them easily. Again, while by instinct his body jerked into action, he was not scared. This death eater wasn't going to be the one to kill him, he was sure of that. He had made this very personal to the Dark Lord, no doubt they were told to bring him back still breathing.

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misterprongs
2009-01-12 01:46 pm UTC (link)

It hadn't taken Voldemort long to find James; the man had a feeling that the Dark Lord would be able to seek him out with a bloody thumbtack on a different continent. James couldn't remember the last time he'd seen Voldemort---lies, it was last summer, after their wedding, after Lily's parents' faces had melted away----James forced himself to not think of the times he had to deal with Voldemort (How many was this? Three--four?), but it was all he was able to do as he bent forward in pain in front of him.

He was asking him again. To join him, to help him. A good, pureblooded boy like you should not be wasting his time with the likes of the Order. Didn't he want to be a success?

"No!" James shouted again, immediately falling to his knees as another course of pain shot through him. It stopped though, it stopped almost immediately, and in James' confused and shaken mind, he couldn't help but think that Voldemort was just going to end it now instead of playing with him any longer.

"You've escaped?" Voldemort's voice rang out, sounding clearly irritated by--what? James forced his neck to crane up and he was jolted back into life at the sight of Dorcas. Dorcas! No--no she needed to get out of here! He was supposed to be saving her!

"Dorcas!" James croaked, but Voldemort must have completely lost interest in him, because with a miniscule twitch of his wand, James went soaring into the bushes once more.

"Dorcas Meadows," Lord Voldemort said, as if the name burnt his tongue, "You have been quite the pain in my side, and I've grown tired of it---means you're about to die." He took on a dueling stance, free hand twitching toward himself as if begging her to attack. "Do feel free to try and make it out of here alive, though."

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dorcasm_
2009-01-13 10:07 am UTC (link)

Dorcas Meadows had not even lived a quarter century of her life, yet here she was, facing Voldemort and knowing that she was about to die. The knowing made it better, in her opinion. The biting, icy fear that had consumed her not but a minute ago had already begun to fade; in its place a numbing rush of acceptance.

Tonight, Dorcas Meadows was going to die. She was going to be the second Order victim to fall to Voldemort and the Death Eaters, right after Marlie, dear Marlie. Dorcas stood tall and taut, staring at the Dark Lord straight in the eye, hoping against hope that her little cousin would make it out alive.

Was she stupid? Dumb, perhaps, running to face death when she knew that the Order had come in to rescue her?

Yes. But she also knew, with great certainty, that if she hadn't come between Voldemort and James, Lily would have been a widow and their child - their little boy - would have been without a father. Dorcas would never have that chance. Not with Derek, dear Derek, her beautiful Hit Wizard, the love of her life; their wedding, they hadn't even planned it, she had just been too happy that he had proposed to her, and now they would never...

They loved each other, she loved him so much, and the fact that they... that they would never...

She was consumed with a sudden urge to sob, but she knew that she couldn't, nay, she would not in front of him.

A full moment of silence passed since Voldemort spoke, and she took a deep breath, knowing that it would be the last full breath she would take. She was doing this for the Order, she was doing this for Derek, she was doing this for Marlie, she was doing this for James, she was doing this for James and Lily's little boy, and she was doing this to fight the good fight.

She took a swift glance behind her back. James had been flung somewhere out of sight. Good.

"Let's just get this over with, huh?" she said, struggling to make her voice cool and scornful, her mouth curling in a sneer. Only her eyes could betray her mask of aggression; they stung with unshed tears. She raised her wand swiftly, knowing that the motion would be utterly futile.

Goodbye.

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