Aug. 11th, 2015

alt_antonin: (first my left foot then my right behind)
I have a great deal of news, and none of it good. I'm sorry, darlings, I don't have the capacity to soften it.

You may have seen some of it already. I'm not sure how much is making its way to you.

The worst of it is that Barty is dead. As near to it as I can piece together, it was Wednesday. There was a battle, on Saturday, and in the midst of it I took a curse, enough to kill me. Dead for two and a half minutes, they tell me. It broke ... everything. The charms we had for each other, the spells I was holding on the field, my spells elsewhere ... I don't blame him for thinking I was dead; I would have believed it myself. They called the retreat shortly thereafter, and the field was such that they knew they could not have taken the time to find my body. Except, of course, that one of the battlefield Healers had portkeyed me to St Mungo's, and I was brought back -- the order may be the other way around; I still do not know everything that happened -- except the hospital is contested ground, and Fletcher plucked me out of the pile before anyone else could tell that I had been brought in, and did not realise how urgent it was to tell Barty that I was not dead after all. Just unconscious, and would stay so for quite some time

He tried to get a message through, apparently. Just not hard enough.

Barty -- well. How often did we joke about it, that one of us would not outlive the other for very long? Except I believe Barty thought my death was his to carry the blame for -- it was not, I will go to my grave swearing swear to you it was not; it was my own fucking failure -- and his guilt and rage got the better of him, and he set out to make me an escort of anyone and everyone who had ever so much as

It was Hydra who stopped him, finally. In the Forbidden Forest -- I think he was determined he would take back Hogwarts in my name or die trying. They left him there to rot, to be eaten by monsters, and they will use even that to

Простите -- I waited to write until I thought I could do so coherently, but I am less coherent than I would like.

I don't know what comes next. I've spent the last day trying to figure it out. None of the options will do anyone any good.

I am so fucking glad that you are both safe and well and away from this nightmare.