𝙰𝙻𝙻 𝙷𝙴 𝙲𝙰𝙽 𝚃𝙰𝚂𝚃𝙴 𝙸𝚂 𝙱𝙻𝙾𝙾𝙳 𝙾𝙽 𝙷𝙸𝚂 𝚃𝙾𝙽𝙶𝚄𝙴. not as bad as the fire burning through his skin , or the agonizing lacerations across his cheeks , or the way every muscle in his body seems to scream as he takes one step. then another. away from the dungeons and the carrows and another night of detention. no , if he focuses too hard on the pain , he’s sure he won’t make it back to the gryffindor common room. so instead , he thinks about the bitter metallic in his mouth. he’s a right mess and he knows it , a screw-up. too late to the party , too stubborn. too alone. trapped like a goddamn canary in a cage , useless to do anything but screech and caw and , eventually , die. he’s sure he’ll die in detention one of these days , more sure than he likes to say. but better him than someone who matters. better him than neville or ginny or luna , people who’ll actually make a fucking difference in this war. better than the first or second years , realizing too young how shit the world is. better than--
moments ago , his blurry vision crapped out on him , swollen eyes closing shut without his permission and now , a misplaced step has sent him sprawled across the hallway floor. one of his ribs feels likes its digging into his lung , bones crackling as he tries and fails to get up. so he doesn’t. he resigns himself. he lies there and waits for the carrows to find him and drag him back to their lair and string him up til his screams are not longer fun.
a shutter reverberates through his broken , warped body. and the pain’s enough to bring him on the verge of passing out. white spots behind closed eyelids , chest collapsing in on itself. but he still tastes blood. his blood. maybe that’s his sacrifice , the price to ensure the others are safe. and if that’s it , if that’s all it costs , he’s more than happy to pay.
@lavendrbrwn uh..... yikes......