|At the End of the World (HP fanfic; Evan, Wilkes; FWW)
||[Mar. 13th, 2011|07:18 pm]
Title: At the End of the World
Characters/Pairings: Evan Rosier/Angelus Wilkes
Warnings: (very light) Slash
Word Count: 1,227
Summary: Lord Voldemort has fallen, the Hunts have begun and neither Evan nor Wilkes can do anything against the tide that means to wash them out to sea…
Notes: Written for
When Evan shows up at one of the safe-points it’s raining and dark. He bursts in, wand clutched in one hand, his cloak soaked and his hair matted down, dark strands plastered onto his forehead. He kicks off his boots and turns to hang up his cloak next to another identical one – someone else is there already. Before he can turn around, a wand tip comes to rest at his neck, just barely grazing his skin.
“Turn around slowly.”
Evan sighs and begins to turn. “It’s me, Angelus.” He completes the turn and looks up into the face of Angelus Wilkes, dressed in his night things and holding a candle in his free hand.
“Evan!” The wand and candle are dropped and the older boy sweeps Evan up into a hug, disregarding the water and the mud. Evan winces and Wilkes pulls back, looking concerned. “Are you hurt?”
Evan shakes his head, sweeping soggy hair out of his eyes. “No, no, I’m alright. Just terribly tired. Are you here alone?”
Angelus nods, grasping Evan’s elbow and leading him into the sitting room. “Yes, right now. Everyone is terribly scattered. I was in a fix last with Ashley and…this was the first place I thought to run to afterwards.”
Evan opens his travel bag and takes out a fresh undershirt. “Where is Mulciber?” When Wilkes doesn’t answer, Evan looks up, frowning. “He’s not…?”
Angelus shakes his head slowly, looking away. “I don’t know,” he mouths.
They can’t get in touch with any of the officers the next day or the day after that so they don’t do anything. The rain almost never stops and when it does, the air is cold and the sun hardly comes through the clouds. It is almost a good thing, for neither of them feels terribly cheerful.
Wilkes makes a fire in the sitting room and they sit in the dark, staring at the flames, not talking. Evan is brooding, Wilkes merely has nothing to say. “How did all this happen?” Evan asks finally. Angelus isn’t quite certain if the question is rhetorical or not. He wouldn’t be able to give an answer either way. “I thought we were stronger than this,” Evan continues after a pause. “How could we hold together for so long and then once our Lord is…missing, everything simply falls apart? The entire system? We should have been able to hold out!” His voice rises as he speaks and breaks off at the end into something dangerously resembling a sob.
“It wasn’t us, Evan,” Wilkes says in a deadpan after a moment. “We, the core, we still believe. We never stopped believing. But the half-bloods who fought with us, all those on the periphery of the Organization, all those who weren’t Marked, who thought they could get away because they weren’t on the Order’s list… They ran and hid and bailed. They turned in names of people and places; all and any information that would clear their name, because now there was a greater force against them and no genius of magic to defend them. They never believed – they feared.”
Evan’s dark-blue eyes are fixed on the fire, empty and defeated. “Did you hear that Severus was cleared? Dumbledore’s personal amnesty.” He almost spits the last few words.
“I heard something about that. Is that why you left him?”
Evan makes a hysterical, sudden gesture that is neither positive nor negative, just a physical reaction. “Yes,” he says finally. The fire cracks and spits sparks outward so they sisal and hiss slightly on the tile in front of the fireplace before going out. “I’m sorry, Angel.”
Wilkes looks over at the other boy, eyebrows raised. “Whatever for?”
“I had…I had my suspicions, my doubts. Severus hadn’t been the same for months; I knew he wasn’t telling me everything. I…” This time, when Evan breaks off, it’s a clear sob and Wilkes looks away, slightly embarrassed. “If I had said something, maybe...” Evan takes a shuddering breath and tries again, “If I had said something then—“
“You would have never forgiven yourself,” Angelus finishes for him, tone flat. Evan just sniffs pathetically and curls up on himself. Angelus stands, still not looking at him. “Snape betrayed us, Evan. Not you.” He turns to leave, taking measured steps into the shadow of the hallway.
“Don’t go.” Wilkes turns to see Evan sitting as he was, but he’s looking up now, swirls of dark, chestnut hair frame his face, his eyes are wide and pleading, one hand put out toward Angelus.
Wilkes pauses, then goes to Evan, grabbing a throwblanket from the couch on his way. Evan is shaking as though he’s in fever and Angelus wraps him up in the blanket and hugs him from behind, resting his chin on Evan’s shoulder as the younger boy leans back into him. “We’ll figure something out,” he promises, perfectly uncertain as to whom those words are supposed to consol – Evan or himself.
When they finally get in touch with the commanding officers, the situation becomes clearer and only more horrifying. The Lord is not dead – no one dares believe that – but he is gone and most of the Organization has fallen apart. The Aurors and the Order are no longer afraid; they are rejuvenated and more vicious than ever. There are no official Headquarters and hardly any safeholds left in the country, a lot of this is due to the information beaten and tortured out of people caught by the Aurors. The Wizengamot does not preside over trials but tribunals; there are no “just decisions” being carried out, only doom sentences. Some of their lot – the Lestranges and Barty, notably – are searching for the Lord. Others, like Antonin, are desperately trying to keep the spiraling situation from crushing everything and everyone involved.
It’s raining again after a day of sun. They had come back to clear out one of the bases and almost run into an ambush. Evan and Angelus stand back to back, wands at the read, behind a large oak tree, listening for Antonin’s signal. The detachment of Aurors that had been waiting for them is small and they have chosen to fight. “If we’re going to go down, we just as might take some of them with us,” Dolohov had said. He and the Mulcibers are on the other side and would be going in first. Evan and Angelus are supposed to be a surprise element.
Antonin’s whistle comes clear, cutting through the night air and sheets of rain like a silver knife through butter. Almost instantly the air is sparking with magic, the sound of colliding spells thunders through the sparse woods. “Thirty seconds,” Angelus whispers, his breath catching in anticipation as he tightens his grip on his wand in one hand and his broom in the other.
Evan turns and grabs Wilkes’ shoulder, turning him around almost roughly. “Angel, I would rather die than have to be subjected to their indecencies. I couldn’t bare to think that I could ever betray—“
Angelus leans forward and presses a sloppy, wet kiss to Evan’s lips which Evan reciprocates without thought, eyes closed, breathing in the rainwater in a gasp. “Hush. They’ll never have us alive.” Angelus mounts his broom and disappears into the darkness. Evan, biting down on his lip until it bleeds, follows him within seconds.