Bringer of Death [OS&BM3] - Ominis Gaunt x Reader

Chapter 2

Everything hurt. The ringing in your ears becoming louder and louder, your lungs barely being able to keep up with your laboured breathing. The last bottle of Wiggenweld potion lay broken at your feet. In the last second, you dodge an incoming attack and hide behind the remnants of a wooden building. It wouldn't be long until Rookwood's men would reach you. You couldn't.. You couldn't keep this up. You were out of potions and out of plants, save for one Mandrake. Pain shoots up your left arm and you almost crumble to the floor again. The flickers of ancient magic nothing but a mere whisper at the tips of your fingers. At this rate, you weren't going to make it out of this alive. As skilled of a fighter as you were, the dozens of men Rookwood had assembled to put an end to you were simply too overwhelming.

A silent tear rolls down your cheek. The same one Ominis' had stroked so lovingly just hours prior. With great effort you manage to lift your bruised arm and let your hand sink into the pocket of your coat. Your bloody fingers find the tiny Thestral charm and enclose it, as if it was the only thing keeping you conscious. Images of the earlier part of the day flicker through your mind. His smiles. His warm touch. The feeling of his warm body pressed against yours. His lips on your forehead. Another tear makes its way down to your chin.

You didn't want to die. Couldn't. Not yet. Not here.

A deep breath, you try to steady your wildly beating heart, to drown out the pain you were feeling everywhere. Not today.. With shaky legs you stand up and try to survey your surroundings. One.. Two.. Six of Rookwoods men left in total. And Rookwood himself, of course. Almost too fast for the eye to see, you run back into the centre of the abandoned ruins Rookwood had transported you to. Immediately you have multiple wands pointed at you, but before you give any of them the chance to cast a single spell, you grab the Mandrake and unleash it's painstaking scream on them all. While they crouch and cover from the sound, you remain unaffected, your ears protected by the woollen earplugs you always keep in your pockets for emergencies like this one. In quick succession you break down their shields, freeze the lot of them and blast them to shreds with one calculated cast of Bombarda. But you were too reckless. Too desperate – like a wild animal that had been caged, biting at everything and everyone to be released, not taking in your surroundings properly.

But you realise it too late – and fall to the ground with a scream when the curse from one of the Ashwinders hits you square in the back. You can feel your cloak becoming soaked with blood and your heart stopping for a split second – before it starts beating again more wild and fast than probably ever before. Without getting to your feet you roll yourself on your back and wince at the pain before casting Expelliarmus on the last remaining Ashwinder, their laughter dying immediately as they watch their wand fly across the grounds. You take a few deep breaths of air, and somehow find the strength to get on your knees before you send the other woman crashing and flying into the wooden barrels behind her with Depulso. As you slowly make your way over to her, chest heaving, leaving a trail of blood behind you, you stare down at her with hateful eyes while she scrambles to get back on her feet to launch another attack at you. „Diffindo" is the last thing you breath through gritted teeth before her scream fills your ears as you watch her dissipate into a thousand sparks of colour. „You have no one but yourself to blame for this."

Your brief moment of peace is short-lived however, as Rookwood now appears before you, his visible hatred for you seemingly having doubled in the last few minutes.

„How dare you, you insolent child!" And you know the spell before the incantation even leaves his lips. Would recognise that horrifying shade of green anywhere. It haunted you in your dreams. But now it was directed at you, and suddenly it feels as if time was moving slower than normal. You think you can see the killing curse inch closer to you, making it's way across the grounds so painstakingly slow, yet you are unable to move. The pain in your arm growing stronger by the minute, the throbbing almost making you drop your wand, your eyes widen in horror as the curse has crossed more than half the distance to yourself. Move, move, move! You think to yourself, and suddenly time resumes its normal speed again. You whip out your wand in the seemingly very last second to cast Expelliarmus and watch the red clash with the green, can feel the power cursing through your wounded arm, and suddenly you aren't sure anymore if the throbbing is caused by the pain or the unforgivable trying its best to swallow your own spell.