#faceofdeath

As she steps into her front room, she’s met with more battered bodies than she’s seen in her house at once. They seem to take up all the available space. Not every face is immediately recognizable but it doesn’t matter. Emma knows they’re all with James and no matter what questions are on the tip of her tongue as she surveys them, she refuses to let them out. The clenching of her heart, knowing that if there are wounds here, there are surely casualties on the other side, is something she can’t act on.

The most severely wounded is being held up between two men she doesn’t know by name. Without needing to be directed, she points to her sofa, knowing full well that the extent of the injuries prevents her from getting her newest patient into a bedroom.

The anxiety is thick in the air, the group seeming to collectively mutter their fears under their breaths. Emma doesn’t let the atmosphere deter her as she waves her wand across the bloody and battered body, drawing out a transparent image in blue of the internal structures; every red zone signals internal damage and even as she assesses, the red spreads. If she doesn’t act fast, this person—whoever they are—isn’t going to make it.

Though she’s loathe to do so, Emma gives a flick of her wrist to summon her immediate stash of potions. When they come from the second floor, her inherent reflexes allow her to catch the case and set it carefully on the coffee table beside her. Then her wand casts a heart monitoring spell, immediately filling the room with the beeps of heartbeats. The healer isn’t aware of her patient’s comrades any longer. Her sole attention is on stabilizing the painfully slow pulse and preventing any further complications.

Haste drives Emma to clear the patient’s face of grime and blood with a spell rather than a damp cloth, then she’s ushering several adeptly chosen potions down his throat, massaging as she does to encourage swallowing. As the potions do the work internally, Emma’s wand is back in motion, healing each surface wound after they’re cleaned. Her movements are methodical, her thoughts as steady as her hand. This is what she’s trained to do and at the moment, her concerns toward anything else are left aside.

“Is he going to be okay?” someone asks at her shoulder. Emma doesn’t react immediately as she waves her wand over the body once again to examine what improvements have been made with the administering of the potions.

“He’s stable,” she replies without turning. “For now, he needs to stay here and be monitored.”

A crack is heard from the street outside Emma’s home and the healer is impressed when every wand in the room is pointed toward the closed door at the sound. A hurried pair of feet pound their way up the porch steps and moments later another harassed and bloody person stumbles in the door with hands raised high. The tension eases in those around her as they recognize the girl as one of their own but the new arrival’s expression keeps any from feeling remotely relieved.

“We need the healer out there!” the girl insists. “W-We can’t move him, he’s that badly off! Please!”

This is a first. Emma has never wished to be directly involved in any of this. Her offer to patch up those wounded in fights was done out of a need to feel redemption for her past wrong-doings, to show that she is a good person. But she also has never wanted to know the details of what happens during the fights unless they are necessary in healing whoever comes to her injured. She doesn’t know why they all feel the need to fight, what purpose they think they’re serving, or what it means that there are so many of them and they prefer her services over storming into St. Mungo’s every time. She understands the need for secrecy but beyond that, she doesn’t know anything and she insisted to James when she first made the offer that she doesn’t want to know. The more she knows, the more likely she’ll become a target. She already has enough reasons why He and his followers want her dead and she doesn’t need any more.

Being requested to heal outside her home feels like a step toward knowing things she shouldn’t but the look on the female’s face, the gazes that turn on her expectantly, all drive home how dire the situation is. There’s no time to back out or argue. A life is a life and she’ll do everything in her power to save this person until it leaves her drained and out of breath.

Emma nods sharply before summoning another case of potions as well as a few other supplies that might be necessary. No matter what the man’s condition may be, he can’t be left outside in the cold for much longer so she will have to move him eventually. Once everything is in her possession that she believes she’ll need, Emma throws on her heavy winter robes and follows the messenger to the door.

Stopping once to look at the room full of weary pained faces, Emma swiftly summons a tea tray from the kitchen, knowing it will still be warm from the pot she just brewed, as well as several bottles of pain potion. “Drink both and send word to me if I’m not back and your friend’s condition changes.”

She turns then, her expression severe as she follows the girl out onto the street. Without a word, the girl takes a hold of Emma’s arm and with a crack, they’re both gone.

**

There’s far too much blood. That’s Emma’s first thought when she finds herself standing in the middle of what looks like a war zone. The snow is drenched with blood in numerous places along the ground and Emma feels certain if she walks through it, the blood will only leech onto her boots. Once more, she feels her chest tighten, but she doesn’t have long to gaze before the girl who brought her is tugging her over to the body she’s meant to be tending. There are two others kneeling beside him, expressions pinched with worry and Emma desperately hopes she can save him.

As she walks toward the patient, another body she passes lets out a pained groan and she turns toward the sound without hesitation. The girl tugs at her arm impatiently and says something to her about not having time but Emma’s frozen to the spot. Her heart beats painfully in her chest, breath caught in her throat at the sight laid out before her. Emma’s eyes burn as she takes a step forward, gaze trained on the body she desperately wants to get to and just as quickly run from.

“He’s not one of us!” the girl cries, trying to move in front of Emma to block her from going to him.

“And I’m not one of you,” Emma bites out as she pushes the girl aside and drops to her knees at his side. Her next words come out in a hush as her eyes dart over him. “I’m only a healer. A life is a life.”

Her thoughts are scattered as she looks down at Evan Rosier. There’s blood. So much blood. And his skin is far too pale. Already there’s a touch of blue around his lips and his eyes are shut. His chest barely rises and Emma’s hand trembles as she reaches out and presses two fingers against his neck; his pulse is dangerously slow. Fear races through her veins with each beat of her own heart and she wishes it was that simple to pass her strength into him.

Her touch seems to stir him, his eyes snapping open but taking several seconds to focus. When they do, Emma feels her heart break and a gasping sob escape her as he meets her gaze with recognition.

“E-Em-m—”

“Sh, sh. Don’t try talking,” she says softly. Tears flow freely down her face, immediately chilling in the cold air as they race down her cheeks and fall on his tattered robes. Her wand rises, meaning to do whatever she can to right the wrongness of this situation. This is what she feared, what she lived with every day; she can’t let Evan leave. Not when she can do something to prevent it. She will never forgive herself if she doesn’t succeed.

“No.” Evan’s voice is barely a whisper and Emma nearly misses it as she tries to tune out the shouts of the people demanding her attention elsewhere. His hand comes up a few inches from the ground as he holds her gaze and breathes out again, “No.”

Emma’s free hand snaps out to hold his freezing hand in hers, her wand still poised to fix and mend. The look in his eyes speaks for all the words he can’t say with his weak lungs and Emma chokes with sobs before she finally gets out, “But Ev—No! I won’t let you go! I’m here, I can fix it. Pl-Please don’t do this!”

Evan’s eyes fall closed at her words and Emma feels it become painful to breathe. On impulse, her wrist flicks and it’s a small comfort to hear faint beeps of a heartbeat a moment later. The sound draws Evan back and his gaze is sharp on her. Silently admonishing her for what effort she’s making.

“It’s not fair,” she gasps childishly. Her hot tears don’t stop and she blinks rapidly to clear her vision. She doesn’t want to lose sight of him. Not ever again.

His lips move and Emma leans forward over him to hear his words. “Ili—gone. Nothing left. I’ll—be with mum—in stars. Will be—free.”

Emma’s tears now fall against his face, a few landing on his lips and he slowly licks them, tasting Emma’s sorrow and pain at seeing him go. But it’s what he wants. The pain lacing through him isn’t as bad anymore. He thinks the cold might have something to do with it. He wishes Emma hadn’t shown up, that she wouldn’t have to see him die. But a part of him feels that it’s a gift to him, having her face be the last one he sees. At least he won’t be left with the image of a cocky Alastor Moody leaning over him as his blood leaves his body. Even in tears, expression distraught, Emma’s a beautiful sight to leave with.

“Love—you.” With the last of his strength, Evan lifts his hand higher, out of her hold, and presses it to the side of her face. Emma lifts her hand to hold it there, unable to do anything else. “Je t’aime,” she whispers back with a watery smile that hurts.

Evan’s lips twitch as if trying to convey a grin or a smile in return but the muscles won’t cooperate. She wishes she could see him smile one last time, the way it would light of his face and make all her worries disappear. Instead, Emma can only watch as the rest of his life leaves him, slipping out of his gaze and abandoning his muscles entirely. Another forceful sob racks Emma’s body as the heart monitoring spell lets out an extended whine. Heart stopped. A life ended. Slowly, she lowers his hand back to his side and flicks her wrist to end the spell. Her fingers ghost over his face to close his eyes. The skin is already deathly cold and it sends an echoing chill down Emma’s spine.

“I’ll look for you in the stars. Make sure your mum knows I did the best I could,” Emma whispers with a catch in her breath.

Her world feels entirely different as she sits back. Rocked on its side, twisted, shattered. Looking down at her knees, she sees that she’s been resting in Evan’s blood and it now soaks her pant legs. What’s left of his life is on her. And she knows that she’ll go on, carrying his memory with her. But her life won’t be the same. She feels that in her heart. Evan was a part of her life that could never be replaced or forgotten, even if they could no longer see one another as they wished. She wouldn’t be Emma without him in her life. His mark is on her and it’s a mark she’s proud to bear.

“Hello! There’s still someone else you’re supposed to be saving! Not Death Eater scum.”

Mournful thoughts interrupted, Emma glares at the ground before spinning to her feet, wand pressing against the girl’s throat. “Don’t insult me. Or him. I know just as well how to take a life as I know how to save one.”

The girl’s eyes are wide and for a moment, Emma wonders how she’s even out in this middle of this mess to begin with. Jerking her wand away, the healer brushes past her toward her intended patient. It had only been a minute or two that she spent at Evan’s side, though it feels like an eternity’s worth of pain at the loss. The two friends crowding the patient move out of her way, their expressions telling her all she needs to know of how they feel toward her after what just happened. She wonders if James will hear of this and come down on her for it. Technically, her actions reflect on him, since it was his decision to let her do what she is for them.

Emma works over the man in obvious pain, doing much the same as she did with the man now resting back on her sofa. However, she doesn’t get but one of the potions in him before he goes into cardiac arrest. She throws herself into trying to revive his heart, each casting knocking just a bit more of her strength from her. She isn’t professionally trained to revive and as such, doesn’t have the stamina revivers do. After four attempts and no change, Emma falls back into the snow, sweat-drenched and hard of breathing.

“Time of death,” she states aloud as she weakly casts a tempus charm. “17:28.”

The three others with her begin to speak at once, all making accusations that she hadn’t tried hard enough, that it’s her fault he’s gone because she paid attention to a Death Eater instead of her proper duty. Emma lets the words roll over her as she shakily lifts herself to her feet. How many times has she heard people blame her for things? More times than she cares to count. And she’s certain this isn’t the last time she’ll fail and suffer the shouting, the pointed fingers, and the hateful looks. It doesn’t matter any longer. Evan’s no longer there to show her forgiveness while everyone else holds a grudge. And—

Iliana.

Struck finally by what Evan has said before he passed, Emma’s feet move faster than her brain wants her to, eyes scanning the ground past Evan’s prone form for any sign of another casualty. And when her gaze alights upon one other lone shape on the ground several feet away, Emma lets out a low moan of misery. Her legs carry her slowly forward until she’s looking down at Iliana’s porcelain face, smattered with blood from a horrible neck wound.

Hollow eyes stare past Emma, through her, and she crouches down to close them just as she had for Evan. She hadn’t realised she was capable of possessing so many tears but they fall anew as she looks at Iliana’s still body. Two of her dearest friends, gone in the same day, during the same fight, standing on the wrong side. Emma swears her heart can’t take it any longer. It hurts too much. What does she have left? What matters anymore? The war between good and evil has done nothing but cause pain and suffering, spilt blood and broken hearts. There’s no winning. Only loss. Only darkness for everyone.

“You were meant to take care of each other for me!” she shouts out loud, knowing neither of them can hear her any longer. It’s a petty accusation to throw, Emma knows it, but it’s the only thing she has left. If she tries to blame them then she doesn’t have to examine her own lack of foresight, her role in everything.

Suddenly, there are hands taking hold of her and lifting her from the ground. Emma initially struggles but the person turns her around and shakes her. “We have to go before Aurors show up.”

Emma nods in defeat and then brushes their hands aside. She feels wrong leaving both of them here out in the cold, waiting to be hoisted away by careless Aurors who won’t feel any need to respect them in death just as they weren’t respected in life. Without caring about those near her trying to insist she leave, Emma strides back over to Evan’s body, kneeling and lifting his hand to find the silver band on his ring finger. He had shown it to her just after he’d gotten it from his mother—a sort of promise between mother and son—and she draws her wand over it, warming the area enough to thaw any ice that may have begun sticking the metal to skin. With the utmost care, she slips it from his finger. He had never taken it off once after Madam Rosier gifted it to him, it had meant even more to him after her death, and she knows he’d be devastated if it was simply tossed with his body. Pocketing the ring, Emma leans over him once more and lowers her lips to his forehead.

“It hurts to live without you, but I’m happy you can finally have peace, Evan.”

Standing, Emma swiftly moves back to Iliana’s side. Carefully working through her pockets, Emma finds what she’s looking for. An engraved pocket watch she’d always known Iliana to have somewhere on her person as a keepsake of her grandmother. Emma had only met grand-mère Belcourt once or twice when they were children but Iliana had always spoken highly of her when she’d return from holidays at her home and the disappearance had been difficult for Iliana to go through. Emma runs a thumb over the engraved piece for a moment before tucking it into her pocket alongside Evan’s ring before turning to lift the sleeve of Iliana’s robe up to her shoulder. The faded Mark is the least of Emma’s concern and she doesn’t register it as she presses her wand against the metal band wrapped around Iliana’s upper arm.

Emma can only imagine the reaction Iliana would have if her friend didn’t keep her dearest possessions from going into the hands of the wrong people. The bracelet, an intricate design of vines etched into the finest silver, is Iliana’s own attempt at remembering the life a past friend who died when they were kids. Emma hadn’t been as outgoing and didn’t know all the kids that Iliana spent her time with but she had seen the look on her face when her friend passed away. She had seemed so small as she held the bracelet in her hands and looked at Emma as if her whole world was going to end. Emma swears she’ll keep the bracelet, pocket watch, and ring safe for them and maybe one day she’ll know where they’ve been buried and return the items to them properly.

“It hurts to live without you, but I’m happy you finally have peace, Amelie,” she breathes against the girl’s face as she presses a kiss to her forehead as well.