beauty & the tragedy [ au drabble ]
He had never expected it to happen this way.
He didnât know what he had expected, really. Just not this.
Shouldnât he have known? A rebellion was not one without sacrifices, but the two of them had sacrificed everything they had. Their freedom, their relationship, their innocence, their last pieces of their childhoodâŠall of those things had been ripped away from them, and yet he still had hope that one day the war would end. That one day theyâd make it to a beach with coarse sand, tall palm trees, and warm ocean water. He had dreamed of seeing the world, and he had wanted it to see it with the one person he cared about, the only girl he ever loved. That never happened.
If your name is Daphne Longbottom, your last moments go something like this:
You were just barely eighteen when it happened. It wasnât quick. It was messy, and the pain was unbearable as he sank his claws into you into you. You were dizzy and tired and slowly growing colder and colder. You could hear her heartbeat change, going from panicked and pounding to far too fast and fluttering, heart trying to pump blood that was rapidly decreasing in volume. You knew it was the end; you knew there was no way you could back from this, not when your breathing was slowing and each breath was weaker and weaker. You knew you were dying.
âSo sorry, darling,â your boyfriendâs father taunted as he wiping the crimson from his lips. âI often forget just how fragile humans really are,â He brought his hand up to cup your cheek, gingerly running the pad of his thumb across your visage, in a way that would seem loving and tender to anyone who might happen to chance across you two but held a completely different meaning to both you and Fenrir. You could not push his hand away. At this point, you could barely even make him out, let alone move or get a word out.
The last sound you heard was something faint and far off, and you thought it might have been your name, but you arenât sure. You could see someone tall approaching, someone with tan skin and black hair and dark eyes, and once you could just barely hear the footsteps as he ran closer, you knew who it is. There was no question about it. You knew him so well that you know the sound of his footsteps. You knew his smell, you knew what kind of aura he radiated, how he walkedâŠyou just knew him so incredibly well. Xav, you thought. And he was your final thought just before your throat is ripped out.
Xavier killed his father after that. It shouldnât have been so easy to tear him apart; it shouldâve been a longer fight. It was the rush of adrenaline, the rage he felt when he saw his girlfriend lying in a pool of blood. It was simply utter panic. When he finally tossed his father onto the floor, the ventricles of his heart having been torn out in a flash, he took a few moments to really take a look at Daphne. The crimson liquid surrounding her. Her beautiful blonde hair stained with blood. Her once markless body covered in gashes. She was dead. Dead. Dead. The word kept ringing in his head like a song that wouldnât leave. He wasnât sure if he would ever be able to think anything else.
That was when âNo, no, no,â Xavier begged, his voice cracking as a crocodile tear fell down his face. âPlease. Donât be dead. Come back. I⊠just come back, goddammit!â He collapsed to the ground, kneeling beside her. âJUST COME BACK!â
Xavierâs body became shaking uncontrollably as the tears began falling faster and faster. His hands shook, his breaths become short and shallow, and his head ached. There was nothing to do but sob at the sheer unfairness of it all. This was the first time he had cried in years; he hadnât since he turned eleven, and he had never done it before in public with people around. He could barely notice there were people around, screaming and crying at the sight before them. All he could see was Daphne.
He would love her forever. No one else could ever come close to the one girl who had accepted him so openly from the first time they met. He hadnât know it back then, back when he was an awkward eleven-year-old boy with an overbite and a shy smile, but he knew it now: he had loved her from the beginning. There was no doubt.
He knew what he had to do. âStep back!â he screamed to the crowd. âShe was my girlfriend! I wanna be alone! Come back later!â Slowly, the people started to inch away, and a few minutes later, no one was left. Just him and her.
âIâm sorry,â he whispered through his tears. âI never wanted you to get hurt. This is my fault. I promised you that Iâd keep you safe, and I let you down. Please forgive me.â His hands continued to shake as he shut Daphneâs eyes. âAll IâŠall I wanted to do was protect you. I wish I couldâveâŠI love you.â Gingerly, he started to place the nearby flowers and leaves on her, covering the nasty, long gashes on her body. He didnât stop until every tear and mark on her body was unnoticeable. Finally, when he finishes, he stood up and left out one final tear. She truly looked like she could be asleep in a meadow right now. Oh how he wished. âIâŠcanât live without you. You know thatâŠIâllâŠsee you in a minute, DaphâŠI love youâŠâ
He grabbed out his wand and prepared himself, taking a last look at the world around him. The evergreen trees were beautiful; the sunlight hugged his body, trying to keep him warm when he just felt cold inside; that blue bird was singing. He would miss that. But it didnât matter. Xavier was ready for death. He was tired, and worn out, and he just wanted the endless pain and suffering, that was his life, to stop. The last thing Xavier could hope for was that Daphne was waiting for him in Heaven, with open arms.
He hoped that there would be a beach. They deserved a beach. âAvada Kedavra,â he murmured.
With one last shuddering breath, Daphneâs name tumbled from his lips, and the werewolf Xavier Greyback closed his eyes for the last time.
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