Work Text:
Escape
The darkness of the forest pushed against the circle of light in the clearing, trying in vain to extinguish all the comfort and warmth that radiated from the small campfire.
Antonin ran his hand through his hair, dirty and tangled from three days of being on the run and winced as his fingers brushed the deep cut on the back of his head, the congealed blood matted into his hair an unwelcome reminder of the fucking coward that had struck him from behind.
How had it come to this?
His mind returned reluctantly again to that night. That night magic had lashed through the air, like a whip that strikes bare flesh. That night of blood and death and destruction. That night of good versus evil, friends fighting enemies - although who even knew which was which anymore?
He had become separated from his team, isolated and fighting three Aurors, when the screams had reached his ears – screams that skirted the edges of his nightmares - and he had watched as one after the other of his comrades were taken. Taken and tortured despite promises of “leniency”.
Antonin gave a humourless laugh at the duplicity and treachery of it all and raised his eyes to the sky, his gaze met by stars staring coldly back.
A twig snapped as a small animal hurried through the undergrowth and Antonin’s already frayed nerves jarred again as he gripped his wand tighter. What had become of the others? Of Thorfinn and Yaxley? He knew they had escaped as he had done, he had seen them run. But to where?
He pulled back his sleeve to stare again at the Dark Mark - nothing. No sign that they were regrouping, being called back to fight once more, to save those that had been taken.
Raising his wand, Antonin cast his final wards around the camp. He knew that they would probably not hold against the Aurors should they suspect him there, but he found comfort in them nevertheless.
Swearing softly in Russian as a light snow began to fall, he pulled his coat further around himself against the cold and sighed heavily as he leaned back against the rough bark of the tree, staring at the imagined enemies lurking in the darkness.
How had it come to this?