Chapter Text
Eight months.
"No." A wry smile tugged at Leah's lips. Eight months ago, Fatin Jadmani—Slytherin princess, untouchable, perfect—hadn't even known Leah Rilke existed. Now, their shoulders pressed together in the cramped space behind the shattered armor, fingers intertwined. Girlfriends. Fighting side by side like some twisted, real-life version of the stories whispered about the Battle of Hogwarts. Except this wasn't a story; this was terrifyingly real.
Dust motes danced in the flickering torchlight, each swirl illuminating the map of their desperation—scrapes and bruises blooming purple-black on Fatin's arms, the copper taste of blood from the cut on Leah's lip, the way Fatin's breath hitched with every distant shout. Trapped. Battered. Surrounded. Cold metal bit into Leah's back, the ancient armor a constant reminder of their precarious position.
They'd been fending off the masked figures for what felt like hours, dark robes swirling around their attackers like wraiths. Magic crackled through the air, leaving a metallic tang that coated Leah's tongue. Each clang of metal, each whispered curse, chipped away at her resolve. Her heart ached against her ribs, echoing the angry throb where a stinging jinx had grazed her arm. But her injuries were nothing—absolutely nothing—compared to Fatin's. Crimson oozed from a nasty gash on her forehead, stark against her olive skin. Another cut, deeper and more vicious, marred her leg, turning her dark robes an even more horrifying black. Every labored breath, every wince that tightened Fatin's jaw, sent fresh fear coursing through Leah's veins. She had to get them out. Had to find a way. But trapped and bleeding, hope flickered as distant as starlight in a smoke-choked sky.
"It's me they want." Leah's whisper trembled in the dark. "I'll distract them. You can get away."
"Absolutely not." Fatin's fingers dug into her injured leg, but her voice remained fierce despite its hushed tone. "You think I'd leave you to those... those vultures?" She shifted against the cold stone wall, a hiss of pain escaping through clenched teeth.
"Fatin, look at you." Leah's hand trembled as she gestured toward the wounds. "You're bleeding. Badly. They don't care about you. They need me."
Dark eyes flashed in the darkness. "They'll kill you, Rilke. Don't be stupid."
"They'll kill us both if we stay here." Leah's voice rose slightly before she caught herself. "At least you might survive if I—"
"No." Fatin's voice cut through the air like steel. "We face this together. Always." Her trembling hand found Leah's cheek, the gentle touch a stark contrast to the chaos surrounding them. "I'm not leaving you. Not now, not ever."
Tears pricked at the corners of Leah's eyes. Fatin's stubbornness, usually endearing, sent frustration coursing through her veins. "This isn't a fairytale, Fatin. There's no 'always' in this."
"Then we make our own 'always,'" Fatin retorted, defiance flickering in her gaze.
The sounds grew closer—a guttural growl, metal scraping against stone. They pressed themselves further into the shadowed alcove, the cold stone seeping through their robes. Leah's heart hammered against her ribs, a frantic drumbeat counting down their remaining moments. Time was running out.
She turned to Fatin, watching torchlight paint shadows across her beautiful face, highlighting streaks of blood against olive skin. Fear warred with fierce determination in those dark eyes. Leah's hands trembled as she cupped Fatin's face, thumbs brushing across her cheekbones.
Words felt inadequate—empty vessels incapable of holding the torrent of emotions threatening to consume her. Leah leaned in, closing the distance between them, and kissed Fatin. Not gentle. Not tentative. Desperate. Fierce. A silent symphony of everything left unsaid, of a future stolen before it could begin—the bittersweet taste of what could have been lingered as they broke apart.
Their eyes met in a silent conversation. Fatin's dark eyes, usually sparkling with mischief or smoldering with carefully crafted allure, now held a soft vulnerability. Uncertainty flickered in their depths—so rare for Fatin—mirroring the turmoil in Leah's heart. For one precious heartbeat, the world outside ceased to exist. There was only shared breath, unspoken words, and the raw, electric connection binding them together.
"I love you," Leah whispered, the words torn from the deepest part of her soul. It was not the first time she'd spoken them, but now they carried new weight.
New meaning.
Permanence.
Tears welled in Fatin's eyes, catching the torchlight like trapped stars. "I love you too, Leah." Her voice was barely a breath, choked with unspoken fears.
Leah's gaze traced every detail of Fatin's face, etching them into memory. A faint, wistful smile touched her lips before her expression hardened, resolve crystallizing in her blue eyes. She drew in a steadying breath.
"I'm so sorry," she murmured, the words nearly lost beneath approaching footsteps. Her fingers found her wand, wrapping around the familiar wood.
Confusion flickered across Fatin's face. "For what?"
In one swift, fluid motion, Leah raised her wand. " Stupefy ." Fatin's eyes widened in betrayed shock before she slumped against the wall, unconscious.
Hands shaking, Leah performed a Disillusionment Charm, watching as the magic wove around Fatin's prone form. Her love shimmered and faded until only the faintest outline remained against the stone.
A voice echoed through the hall, cold and sharp as shattered glass.
"Leah Rilke..." Each word dripped with malice, a poisoned barb. "It's time to come out and finally face your destiny."
Leah drew in a deep breath, the weight of the world settling onto her shoulders. Then, slowly, deliberately, she rose from her hiding place and stepped into the flickering torchlight, ready to face whatever awaited her next.