Hope Springs Eternal

There were perhaps half-a-dozen men, feet pounding the mud into splashes on their breeches. The mission had gone astray.

As planned, one of their number had overheard the plans for the next attack, but he had been discovered and tailed back to the meeting place before he could even share the information with his comrades.

And now they ran for their lives.

The darkness allowed sight, but the world was a grey, swampy wasteland, and feet slipped in breathless desperation.

It was a stray arrow, not aimed for anything, that cut the man's side. He was perhaps the tallest in the group, broad-shouldered and sandy-haired in the light.

And he was the one with the plans.

The men's training was clear. Better a failed mission than a group capture. On they ran. All save one.

Close to the other man's height, slender, dark-haired, he knew the impossible chances of survival, knew the likelihood of capture and torture.

Hope springs eternal.

Fog spells, a blinding curse, distortion charms - he was quick with his wand. A hundred-yard Apparition - a long way, then, even without a Side-Along. His arm under his friend's shoulder and drag-heave.

It was a burnt out shell of a Muggle house, one wall missing and holes in the others, but the hounds had other game, and in the confusion no one would remember exactly how many they had been chasing.

Safe.

Injured and lost with no food or blankets in soaking clothes and minimal shelter in enemy territory. Safe. The term was relative.

The injured man groaned. His companion drop-lowered him onto a wooden pallet on the cold stone/dirt floor. He busied his hands about the arrow.

Blood-loss or not, it had to come out, and he could see now that there was no use for a bandage.

"You should go," the taller man groaned, voice straining. "Leave me."

His friend met his eyes. "This will hurt."

The other man's face closed down and his jaw rippled, set. The roar of pain was muffled to a strangled sound of anguish.

The dark-haired man threw away the arrow and set about helping his friend into a half-sitting position.

"You could get through, if you are careful."

"I will not leave you!" he snapped.

Gritted teeth. "I will die."

The dark-haired man swallowed hard. "I know it."

His friend closed his eyes for a moment. "Honest to a fault sometimes, Sal."

The nickname brought tears close behind the other man's eyes, and he could not speak for a moment.

"I suppose it also distresses me that the name of Gryffindor will die with you."

His friend said nothing.

"You could have married. You certainly had the chance."

The injured man smiled. "I do not regret it. I had my reasons."

"I dare say you did," his friend said quietly.

They were silent.

"I could take what you heard from your mind, if you wish it," the man called Sal said at length. "It would have a better chance of getting back."

The laugh came painfully for the other man. "A better chance indeed. Go ahead. Feel free to look at anything else you find there."

"I would not go prying through your mind!"

"Please do. There are some things I would like you to see."

After a moment's hesitation, the dark-haired man placed three fingertips on his companion's forehead.

When he drew away, emotion glistened in his eyes, and his voice, this time, held the unshed tears. "So. That is why."

The injured man nodded slowly.

"If you had said something..."

"You have a wife. A beautiful one. And you love her. I know you do. I see the way you look at her. I used to wish you would look at me like that."

The other man covered his eyes with a shaking hand. "Oh, Godric..."

They allowed each other a peace, however short, in the silence.

The injured man raised a hand to his companion's shoulder. "Lord, Salazar, please don't cry. I've only seen you cry when it's hopeless."

Salazar raised his head. "It is hopeless." His voice was shaking.

"No."

The dark-haired man lifted a tear-shadowed face. "Hope springs eternal for you, doesn't it?"

"It should be just as easy for you."

The other man shook his head. "Hope springs eternal for you. In you. Without you..." His voice cracked. "Without you, Godric, where am I to find my hope?"

There was no answer, and he was suddenly afraid. He looked up, eyes darting from side to face in a desperate check - please be alive.

"I'm not gone yet," the other man said quietly.

They sat in silence again, this one broken as Godric let out a sharp moan. "Oh, God..."

Salazar had never in his life, not even during the birth of his first child, felt this completely helpless. All he could do was make the other man as comfortable as he could, and wait.

"You do something for me?"

"Anything."

"Give that giant snake of yours a pat for me when you get back."

"I promise."

The other man let out a breath through gritted teeth. "I'm in pain... could you - would you - help me find the... the good memories?"

Salazar took a deep breath and swallowed his tears for a little longer. "It would be an honour."

He placed three fingertips on his friend's forehead.

Two boys meeting. A suspicious handshake. A mock duel. Another, this time with wands. Four people looking at a castle, arms around each other's shoulders. A mother read a story to a young boy. Salazar smiling. The first Sorting. Godric's students...

There was a smile on his face, and his eyes were closed.

Salazar let his tears fall unchecked now. He bent over and kissed his friend's forehead as one would a small child. Then he stood, gathered his own wand and Godric's, picked up his friend's sword and walked out into the rain.

Hope springs eternal.