Chapter Text
Prologue
The night air is cold, and Taehyun’s breath turns into mist against the dark sky.
Patrol has never been his favorite time of day, but this night is worse, the chill seeping into his clothes. The stony, gravelly ground is damp, and his knuckles whiten around the wand in his hand, keeping its faint light steady.
Foreboding settles deep in his chest.
Hours after the beginning of patrol, he’s almost rounding a corner when a shout flies through the air, rough with jagged breath and adrenaline, and his head snaps in its direction like a gunshot.
"We’ve got ‘em!”
And then all of a sudden the world is a blur of motion, lightning fast, whirls of dark robes and sprinting feet. Flashes whizz through the night air, rockets of red and violet and green, and Taehyun dodges, weaves, blocks, his mind blank and his limbs on complete autopilot. Spells fly and sparks shower, and Taehyun throws out a shield for one colleague and an offensive charm for another, narrowly missing a green streak shooting past his head. He spins in that mess for what feels like eternity, his wand moving on its own, his lips spitting hexes as if possessed. And then finally, when he can’t take it any longer, when his right arm is limp and his knees threaten to collapse, when the last beautiful, deadly curse flies past his ear into nothingness, finally, finally,
everything goes silent.
Taehyun hovers on the field, clutching his shoulder, and studies the eyes of the Petrified Death Eater beneath him.
“Stand down,” the unit leader commands.
So they do, regrouping, evaluating the damages, comrades and captives and casualties. Taehyun gets his shoulder reset. His teammates count the bodies.
Lingering on the far side of the field, Taehyun flexes his arm, testing the recovery of the muscles. He weighs his wand in both hands. He looks toward the prisoners, just a quick glance, a brief sweep of his eyes.
His heart stops in its tracks.
Because across the field, bound by Incarcerous, clad in all black, is a face he remembers. Long hair, white streaks, scars he’s never seen, but Taehyun would recognize him anywhere, by just the slope of his nose, the shape of his hands, the glint of his eyes. Eyes that crinkle with smiles, eyes that glare like ice. Eyes that used to look at Taehyun with the softest expression in the world.
Eyes headed to Azkaban.
Taehyun’s wand falls, clattering, bouncing against wet stone. His voice is choked, three years’ worth of words fighting in his throat, on the verge of burning out.
"Beomgyu?”