Black and Potter | H. Potter

42 ⋆*･ﾟ:⋆ magical wild thing.

Ara would rather die trying, than not try at all.

Everyone knew that, Harry knew that, and that's what worried him the most at the moment. When he felt Ara move from behind him to stand by his side, he knew that she would never let him protect her, even if he tried, she would find a way to help him with this.

And Harry was terrified that one day her stubbornness would get her hurt, or worse.

"We all bow to each other, Harry, Ara," said Voldemort, bending a little, but keeping his snakelike face upturned to Ara and Harry. "Come, the niceties must be observed. . .Dumbledore would like you to show manners. . . . Bow to death, Harry, Ara. . ."

The Death Eaters were laughing again. Voldemort's lipless mouth was smiling. Ara and Harry did not bow. They didn't even need to look at each other to make the agreement that they weren't going to let Voldemort play with them before killing them. They weren't going to give him that satisfaction. . .

"I said, bow," Voldemort said, raising his wand and Harry and Ara felt their spines curve as though a huge, invisible hand were bending them ruthlessly forward, and the Death Eaters laughed harder than ever. Ara gritted her teeth, feeling her back tremble as she tried to fight Voldemort's will but to no avail.

"Very good," said Voldemort softly, and as he raised his wand the pressure bearing down upon Harry and Ara lifted too, making them release a breath. "And now you face me, like a man and a woman . . .straight-backed and proud, just like your parents. . ."

"And now — we duel."

Voldemort raised his wand, and before Harry or Ara could do anything to defend themselves before they could even move, they were hit by the Cruciatus Curse. The pain was so intense, so all-consuming, that they no longer knew where they were. . . . White-hot knives were piercing every inch of their skin, their heads were surely going to burst with pain. Ara had tried with all her might to not give Voldemort the satisfaction, but she found herself screaming along with Harry, more loudly than they'd ever screamed in their life, it felt as if every vocal cord was being scraped against sandpaper —

And then it stopped. Harry was the first to  roll over and scramble to his feet, immediately helping Ara stand, seeing as she was far more physically exhausted, having been hit for the second time; they were shaking as uncontrollably as Wormtail had done when his hand had been cut off; Ara swayed a little, still dizzy, but Harry made sure to steady her by sliding an arm around her waist, even if he felt like his whole body ached, he was still putting Ara first, making sure she didn't fall, he completely ignored his own pain.

"A little break," said Voldemort, the slit-like nostrils dilating with excitement, "a little pause . . . That hurt, didn't it, Harry? Ara? You don't want me to do that again, do you?"

Harry didn't answer. They were going to die like Cedric, those pitiless red eyes were telling Harry so . . . they were going to die, and there was nothing he could do about it. . . but he wasn't going to play along. He wasn't going to obey Voldemort . . . he wasn't going to beg. . . .

"Well, I don't really fancy it at the moment," Ara snarled, her words were slightly slurred but they still held that same confidence. Harry turned to her with a look of disbelief, she could barely stand on her own, yet she still found the strength to taunt Voldemort.

"Never know when to keep quiet, do we?" Voldemort's red eyes pierced through Ara's grey ones. "So much like your mother, so. . . naive."

Ara set her jaw tightly, not wanting to let out her anger just yet, the only thing keeping her sane at the moment was the feeling of Harry's hand on her own. She briefly considered turning into her Animagus form and ripping out Voldemort's throat but she couldn't, she felt too hazy, and transformations required a relatively clear mind.