InsaneJournal

Hermione, Luna and Ginny vs Bellatrix + Molly Weasley.

Spurred on by a frenzied burst of energy, Bellatrix turned the final corner before reaching her destination. There was a wild look in her dark eyes and her hair was shielding her face, sticking to her lips and giving her a rather cavewoman-esque appearance. The bottom of her black dress whipped around her legs as she lurched forward and eagerly surveyed the room, desperate for prey. Any prey. Young, old, with a wand, wandless. But. Ah. Was it who she thought it was? Frizzy hair. Too much brains. Filthy, muggle blood. Granger.

With a gleeful laugh, Bellatrix skipped forward behind the mudblood, kicking a dead elf out of the way with her boot, and raised her wand. “Do you always keep your back towards your enemies, mudblood?”

Tears were streaming down Hermione’s face, blurring her vision. Harry was dead, the battle raged on, and more people were dropping and dying all around her. Only one thing kept her upright - the snake was gone. The last Horcrux. Only Voldemort left now. Maybe they could do it. Maybe they could destroy The Dark Lord and not everybody was going to die. But Hermione’s skill lay in her mind, not in her power. How was she going to kill him? Gryffindor she was, but fighter she was not. As she struggled to think, stumbling through the battlefield and her tears, bent on finding the monster who had created all of this devastation, Hermione heard a voice behind her and recognised it instantly. The Bitch Queen herself.

Tired, so tired, Hermione felt like she turned in slow motion, but actually was spun around and had her wand raised almost before Bellatrix had finished speaking. She cast a mediocre stunning spell that she knew, even as it fired, would not reach its destination. A woman like Bellatrix had not stayed alive so long from not being able to evade a stunning spell. She was going to die, right here, right now, and someone else would have to finish Voldemort off.

“It’s getting hard to face them all at once,” she shouted over the racket about her, in answer to Bellatrix’s mocking question. It wasn’t clever, and it wasn’t bravado, but it was true. She had to have her back to somebody.

Oh, was she crying? Mourning the loss of the dearly departed Harry Potter? The tear tracks streaming down Granger’s face did nothing more than cause a rich, booming laugh to echo out of Bellatrix’s mouth. The stunning spell had barely reached the tips of her toes, but she look a heady step backwards nevertheless and arched her wand higher, aiming it directly at the Mudblood’s forehead. It would be so easy. Take her out as quickly as her Lord had taken Potter out. Bellatrix’s one weakness, however, had always been her obsessive need to play with her food before she devoured it. Watching it squirm, listening to it scream -- while enjoyable, it was never very smart. So, instead of getting it over and being done with it, Bellatrix taunted Granger back.

“Is it? Try a little harder than, Mudblood, surely Potter would have expected you to at least stand a chance!” Resisting the urge to produce a spell up to par with what she was capable of, Bellatrix sent a weak Cruciatus Curse in the younger girl’s direction.

Bellatrix’s laugh was difficult to miss, and Luna ducked away from a stray spell, her head shooting into the direction of the sound. During her time at Malfoy Manor, Bellatrix had by far been one of her least favourite people to encounter, and seeing Hermione Granger being countered by the woman on her own made her quickly rush over, the memory of Hermione’s screams still fresh in her mind. She didn’t know what was going on with Harry, although unlike most she couldn’t, wouldn’t believe that this was the end of it, but she could at least try to make sure that there were no more victims tonight.

“Expulso,” she yelled, aiming for Bellatrix’ back, and as she came up by Hermione’s side she cast a glance at the other girl, her expression for once more wild than dreamy. “Hermione? Look at me. Don’t pay attention to the Wrackspurts. We’re here.” Her blue eyes blinked down at her concernedly.

Luckily Bellatrix was well trained in combat and was beyond prepared to hand one more surprise teenager. With a snarl, she dodged Lovegood’s spell with a surprising show of athleticism before raising her wand over her shoulder and aiming it at whichever girl happened to be standing where her wand pointed. Both, perhaps? Instead, her Reducto charm hit a half-missing stone statue and caused what was left of it to explode so wildly that bits of stone flew into her hair.

“Haha!” she laughed, glee shining wildly in her eyes.

Wrackspurts? Hermione’s eyes focused on Luna. Ah yes, wrackspurts. Whatever they were. If it helped Luna to think she was fighting wrackspurts, then Hermione wasn’t going to disagree with her. She had someone on her side, and that was enough. A piece of flying stone statue hit her on the arm and brought her back to her senses. The fight was on. She turned back to Bellatrix. The mad woman was laughing. Hermione raised her wand and cast, “Stupefy!” She ducked in anticipation of whatever the Death Eater would send back and, magic be damned for a second, picked up a large piece of stone by her feet and hurled it at Bellatrix, the muggle way.

Luna was relieved to see Hermione’s eyes snap back into focus, and she shot her a quick smile before instinctively ducking away from the explosion. She found herself being blasted with bits of stone about the size of pebbles, the sharp edges feeling surprisingly painful against her skin. It reminder her of the Death Eater that she and Terry had been fighting before, and the knives that had come flying at them seemingly out of nowhere. Waving her wand, she transfigured the stones into splinters of glass instead, throwing them back at Bellatrix with an “Oppugno!”.

Having not expected any sort of fighting that didn’t involve a wand to take place, Bellatrix foolishly kept her eyes on the wands instead of on the more important alternative -- hand to handle combat. Granger’s magic had been simple enough to dodge, but the surprise of the rock flying through the air was not fully felt by Bellatrix until it had already smacked her clean in the forehead. She stumbled slightly, unable to regain her footing with the sort of grace she would have liked. Her senses came to fast enough to block Lovegood’s spell and the glass that came with it, however, and with a snarl she turned to the blond girl and shot a Crucio in her direction.

The Cruciatus Curse was one of those spells that were impossible to get used to no matter how often you got subjected to it. Luna let out a yelp of surprise and pain, doubling over where she stood. She didn’t even notice as her teeth sunk into her lower lip. It was impossible to concentrate on anything else, and her wand arm trembled as she tried to keep it up and aimed at their opponent.

There was a ringing in Ginny's ears. There was this buzzing, this constant noise, but she had no idea what it was, why it was, how she could stop it. It was enough that she was already stumbling around in a daze, as if all of this horror, this awful --, this shit was just a terrible nightmare. But it wasn't. She had resigned herself to this fact early on in the school year but time and time again, after anything bad happened, she wondered if it was a nightmare. Or she just wanted it to be. It was the same case again.

The battle raged on around her but she kept replaying the same words in her head: ...the Boy Who Lived is finished. She had luckily come from her previous battle relatively unscathed but now it was like she had no purpose. Harry was gone. What were they supposed to do now? She was dimly aware of the curses around her, flying past her, missing her, but she kept walking.

"Cruciatus!" snapped Ginny out of her daze. It was so near to her that she paid attention. To her horror, she saw that it was Luna, who was suffering under the hands of Bellatrix Lestange. Suddenly, Ginny felt -- alive, ready. She wasn't going to let anyone else close to her die. Not again. "Reducto!" she cast, aiming right at Bellatrix, channeling all of her anger into the curse.

Hermione was torn. It seemed inhuman, somehow, to leave Luna on the floor there, writhing in agony, and yet she knew that with the torture curse there was nothing you could do to lessen its effects. She crouched down, trying to block Luna from Bellatrix so she at least could not repeat the curse, and flung an “Expelliarmus!” in the Death Eater’s direction. Something more combative would probably have been more appropriate, but all that Hermione could think of was getting Bellatrix’s wand away from Luna, and so the disarming spell was the first thing she thought of.

Luckily for the Mudblood, Bellatrix’s concentration that was needed for holding on to a strong spell was muddled with. The spell stayed strong for a few more seconds before she raised her wand to shield both of the incoming spells flying closer towards her. Though she would have loved to spend an extra few minutes with her favourite Mudblood -- to reminisce about times past, of course, girl to girl -- the fiery blur of red hair that could only signify a Weasley caught her attention. Oh, she was absolutely tickled pink at the mere idea of wiping a Weasley clean off the wizarding map once and for all.

“Why so angry, Weasley?” Bellatrix snarled, standing at her full height and circling to the left, then back to the right, like a lion who had just spotted its dinner and was preparing for a fight. With a nonchalant flick of her wand at the mudblood, a quick Stinging Jinx, Bellatrix arched her dark eyebrows at Weasley and laughed. “Come on, give it all you’ve got.”

Ginny hated Bellatrix Lestrange. She just hated her. She hated her attitude and her beliefs and how she took pleasure from others' pain, torture, feelings. Most of all, she hated that when Bellatrix was clearly taunting her, Ginny felt obligated to respond, to defend herself, when she absolutely had no need to. She clutched her wand more tightly, as her anger rose. "Because all you've done is hurt the people I care about," she said, gritting her teeth. "But that's going to end now." This was in directly line with Ginny's reckless nature. Somewhere deep down, she knew that this was a ridiculous statement -- she couldn't stop Bellatrix Lestrange by herself. Bellatrix was older and much more deranged and experienced with Dark Magic. Ginny had just been involved in a farce of a sixth year. But it was the adrenaline that was fueling her now so she projected this air of confidence. "Deprimo! Confringo!"

Ginny Weasley was so very, very easy to torture. Not even torture. Bother. Annoy. With a cruel laugh, the harsh lines that her time in Azkaban had given her face stretched and were pulled tightly against her skull. Her lungs ached with the deepness of the laugh, but she continued on, hopping from her left foot to her right foot and then hopping back to the left again. She tapped the tip of her wand at the corner of her mouth, as though contemplating her next move in a chess match. It was only with a bit of foolish luck that she managed to tilt her head a fraction of an inch to the left, but a fraction of an inch necessary to dodge both spells, which instead blasted angrily into the wall behind her and, with a deafening boom, shredded it into a million little chunks of concrete. A larger chunk caught Bellatrix in the right eye, tearing at the sensitive nerves that rested there, temporarily blinding her vision. Her screech was nearly as loud as the collapsing wall, and the rage that came with the stinging caused her to rapidly advance on the younger girl. She reached an arm out and swung for her, intending to slap, smack, choke, or grab (she wasn’t picky) whatever part of of Weasley’s face she could.

There were times when Ginny was actually a pureblood, meaning she actually acted like a pureblood. This was one of those times. She relied heavily on her wand for many day to day tasks, but she always relied on her wand when it came to battle. It wasn't that she didn't know how to fight the "Muggle" way; she just never did it so she wasn't accustomed to switching to the method. So when Bellatrix advanced on her, grabbing Ginny's shoulder and then scratching at her face, Ginny was taken aback. "St-stop!" she shouted, as she tried clawing at Bellatrix's hands.

Having satisfied herself that Luna was okay and didn’t need urgent medical attention, Hermione returned to the battle - apparently just in time. Bellatrix had actually advanced right up to Ginny and had her hands on her face! Quickly, Hermione went for her wand and cast the jelly-fingers curse - it was a comparatively easy spell and would at least keep Ginny from her current harm, providing it worked. Then, with a little more effort, she levelled her wand again at the crazy Death Eater and cried, “Depulso!” If she had lost her grip on Ginny, perhaps she could be pushed back from her.

Luna wheezed for a few moments as the effects of the Cruciatus began to wear off, shakily pulling herself to her feet. Ginny. Her eyes went wide at the sight of Bellatrix physically attacking her best friend, even as behind her You-Know-Who’s loud cackle could be heard while he blasted a spell at Professor McGonagall. McGonagall stepped away, and it missed Luna by inches, the heat of the spell scorching her skin. It was overwhelming, trying to keep up with so much at once, but Luna wasn’t about to let the Death Eaters have their way. “Diffindo!” she yelled, moving forward with determination and aiming for Bellatrix’s wand arm.

This was getting out of control. There had to be something she could do to end this little game of charades faster. She was getting tired of playing with these three useless girls and needed to move on to bigger and better things. Impatiently, Bellatrix bounced Hermione’s curse back at her, which forced her to let go of the Weasley girl, before bouncing Hermione’s second curse at whoever was standing close enough to be in its path. Luna’s spell, however, caused her arm to swing backwards rather violently, causing her shoulder to make an extremely unpleasant cracking sound. Her wand stayed between her fingers, however, but moving her arm so it was in a proper spell casting position was impossible. With a roar of anger, she switched her wand to her other hand and shot a stunning spell at Luna. When her attention turned back to Weasley, she had a shadowy, dangerous expression on her face. “I’m done playing games with you lot!” she screamed, advancing toward Weasley again. “You can all sit back and watch as Weasley joins her little boyfriend!”

Thank Merlin Bellatrix let go of her, was the first full thought that came to Ginny. She was not as strong as Bellatrix when it came to getting of her hands, because she had been losing strength as Bellatrix tightened her hold. She was determined to beat her though and she ignored the stabbing pain that was left after Bellatrix let go as she stood her ground. "I'd like to see you try!" Ginny yelled back defiantly, once again as reckless as she always was.

Dimly, Hermione realised she was irritated. Angry, yes, scared, yes, but to have her spells deflected so easily, when she was battling her hardest - well that was irritating. At the same time, it made her acutely and unpleasantly aware that Bellatrix Lestrange was a very accomplished dueller, and might well prove to be better than the three of them together. Hermione grit her teeth and moved onto the next wave of curses, fully expecting them to miss their target but hoping that at least it might provide enough distraction for one of them to get a good one in.

“Incendio!” That one aimed at Bellatrix’s crazy hair. “Impedimenta!”

What was wrong with these teenagers? Could they not see that she was trying to kill someone? Honestly! Where were their manners? Luckily, Granger’s second spell missed Bellatrix, but she hadn’t the time to worry about it, as the very tips of her hair first smelt of a campfire, then, without warning erupted into bright orange flames. With a screech, Bellatrix raised her hands and flicked at the tiny flames slowly feasting on the lengths of her hair. She swatted at them as though they were bugs, scalding her hands with little notice in the process. If Granger wanted to play with fire, so be it. Bellatrix pointed her wand at her head, levitating a fireball out of the flames still burning on her head (and what an image that was to see). She cackled her amusement before shaking her wand, increasing the size of the fireball, and then shooting it in the Mudblood’s path. Only after it was sent did she quickly use a water spell to turn her head into a giant smoking mass of crispy black hair.

“Hahahaha,” she chortled, advancing on the three girls yet again. “Clever. Now, we’re done playing.” Bellatrix poised herself, feeling a rather delightful wave of euphoria wash over her body. It was time.

There were three girls battling Bellatrix Lestrange, but Molly Weasley only saw one. To be fair, her vision may have been impaired by the great fireball in front of Hermione, but more likely, seeing her little girl at the receiving end of Bellatrix’s wand obliterated all other - minor - details from the scene. And all other details were minor when you saw your youngest child and only daughter dodging a killing curse. Molly ran, not even caring that she knocked dear Harry over, not caring that she looked very much like the housewife and mother she was, not caring that she hadn’t duelled in years. Death Eaters had taken too many of her family, and it stopped right here and right now. The most dangerous creatures in the animal kingdom were always the mothers. She screamed as she ran, a seemingly endless supply of oxygen and adrenaline fuelling her actions. “NOT MY DAUGHTER, YOU BITCH!”

Her cloak was thrown off as easily as the Death Eater’s laughter. Molly ground to a halt in front of the three girls and snapped, “OUT OF MY WAY!” She couldn’t possibly fight with the recklessness she needed to if she had to worry about hitting one of them, and honestly, she wanted to be the one to kill Bellatrix Lestrange. There was no ego to it, just a fierce determination. As soon as she had tried to kill Ginny, Bellatrix had made it personal for Molly, and she was not getting away with it.

“Diffindo!” Molly cried, her wand slashing back and forth, a snarl on her face that belied her fatal intention. “Stupefy!” Once upon a time, Molly Prewett had been counted a skilled dueller, and it came back to her with an ease that was as surprising as it was deadly. “Incendio! Expulso!” In between hexes she ducked, dodged and deflected curses thrown back at her. It became apparent they were well matched, and the environment was suffering more damage than either of the two witches.

If Bellatrix was amused before, she was on cloud nine now. What, the fat Weasley housewife dared consider herself an equal dueling partner? She dared bring her fat arse into the equation? It seemed, though, that Molly’s main goal of distracting Bellatrix from Ginny had worked like a charm. No longer set on killing the younger girl, Bellatrix turned her attention to Molly. “How’s it feel, losing a child? Fred’s dead, Fred’s dead!” she chanted, her voice loud, high-pitched, and excited. The first few spells were easy enough to dodge. The second two were a bit more difficult, but she managed. The scenery around them was crumbling with their combined efforts at taking each other down, making everything very dusty. Though Bellatrix was still confident, she had not expected Molly to be such an aggressive dueller. “Crucio! FRED’S DEAD, FRED’S DEAD. Poor wee thing. Poor wee thing, indeed. CRUICO!”

The torture spells were easy enough to dodge. Molly might be a large woman, but you didn’t spend 18 years in a house with Fred and George without knowing when to duck. The taunts, however, were harder. They whizzed easily through her meagre defence and struck her straight to the heart. But Molly was stronger than she looked; all her grief she concentrated into rage: pure, unadulterated rage. When students ran forward to help her she refused their help without a second thought. “Get back!” she cried. “Get back! She is mine!”

The curses flew between them. Molly was using every curse she knew, firing the harsher ones fast on the heels of more moderate, disabling spells. Sooner or later she would catch this bitch off guard. She was arrogant. Arrogant and cocky, and more importantly, she had nowhere near as much to fight for as Molly did. Her son was dead, her brothers long gone, but Molly still had the rest of her family left, and she fought not only for Fred, but for all of them, and their children, and their futures. As a fresh wave of taunts came, Molly was filled with yet more murderous rage.

“You — will — never — touch — our — children — again!” she screamed, sounding every bit as mad as Bellatrix looked. Bellatrix only laughed and just the sound of that laughter caused such hatred to surge up in Molly that she had no difficulty mustering the first unforgivable of her life.

“Avada kedavra!” she whispered, but there was nothing weak about the curse itself, which flew straight below Bellatrix’s arm and struck her on the heart.

Ginny felt rather useless. But she had a good reason for it! Really! She had been ready to defend herself and her friends when her mother came out of -- nowhere, it seemed, and that just took away her attention on Bellatrix instantly. If it wasn't for Molly, Bellatrix would've come after Ginny, and it truly and honestly awed her to see her mother stand her ground and match Bellatrix's strength. Considering that Ginny had only seen her mother as a homemaker, as a loving person, and sometimes as an overbearing parent, she had never realised that Molly actually had enough power to give it to Bellatrix and take what she gave. It was just... brilliant. If this was entirely a different scene, she would have cheered loudly, but this was not the scene, this was not the moment, but she could feel a moment of relief wash over her as she watched the green streak of the Unforgiveable hit Bellatrix Lestrange on the heart.



Harry kills Voldemort.

Harry no longer felt fear as he faced Voldemort. He paid no attention to anyone else in the Great Hall with them. They might as well have been alone as they circled each other, the crowd protected by the Shield Charm that he had thrown up, and this was how it had to be. He had died, and he had returned, and now he would end it.

“So it all comes down to this, doesn’t it?” whispered Harry, once he had finished explaining about his mother’s protection, about Snape, and about Dumbledore’s plan. Dumbledore, who had been so much cleverer than Voldemort, an honourable man despite it all. Ultimately, Harry had defeated Draco Malfoy. “Does the wand in your hand know its last master was Disarmed? Because if it does... I am the true master of the Elder Wand.”

A red-gold glow burst suddenly across the enchanted sky above them as an edge of dazzling sun appeared over the sill of the nearest window. The light hit both of their faces at the same time, so that Voldemort’s was suddenly a flaming blur. Harry heard the high voice shriek as he too yelled his best hope to the heavens, pointing Draco’s wand:

“Avada Kedavra!”

“Expelliarmus!”

The bang was like a cannon blast, and the golden flames that erupted between them, at the dead center of the circle they had been treading, marked the point where the spells collided. Harry saw Voldemort’s green jet meet his own spell, saw the Elder Wand fly high, dark against the sunrise, spinning across the enchanted ceiling like the head of Nagini, spinning through the air toward the master it would not kill, who had come to take full possession of it at last.

And Harry, with the unerring skill of the Seeker, caught the wand in his free hand as Voldemort fell backward, arms splayed, the slit pupils of the scarlet eyes rolling upward. Tom Riddle hit the floor with a mundane finality, his body feeble and shrunken, the white hands empty, the snakelike face vacant and unknowing. Voldemort was dead, killed by his own rebounding curse, and Harry stood with two wands in his hand, staring down at his enemy’s shell.

One shivering second of silence, the shock of the moment suspended: and then the tumult broke around Harry as the screams and the cheers and the roars of the watchers rent the air. The fierce new sun dazzled the windows as they thundered toward him, and the first to reach him were Ron and Hermione, and it was their arms that were wrapped around him, their incomprehensible shouts that deafened him. Then Ginny, Neville, and Luna were there, and then all the Weasleys and Hagrid, and Kingsley and McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout, and Harry could not hear a word that anyone was shouting, nor tell whose hands were seizing him, pulling him, trying to hug some part of him, hundreds of them pressing in, all of them determined to touch the Boy Who Lived, the reason it was over at last.

The sun rose steadily over Hogwarts, and the Great Hall blazed with life and light. A new morning had begun.



Aftermath.

Emily and Declan.

Emily was shaken. She had seen much too much in the last few hours and now, in the aftermath of Harry Potter's victory, the triage that was the Great Hall was overwhelming. She thought of Colin and got a little choked up, but she couldn't think of him now. She needed to find Chloe and Demelza again. She needed to find Wayne. She needed to find Andrew.

Andrew. She'd just barely seen him but it was enough to know that he'd come back to fight, which made her both proud and scared. She needed to make sure he was all right. Part of her knew he'd come back to fight because of her.

Around her, everyone seemed to be celebrating and mourning all at once and Emily didn't know what to feel. She concentrated on finding familiar faces. It didn't take long until she spotted Declan, alive but looking much worse for wear. "Oh no," she murmured as she kneeled down next to him. "Hey," she said softly, looking him over and trying to figure out what she knew that could help him. "What hurts? I can patch a few things up before they take you to St. Mungo's."

Declan had been on the triage era for what felt like an eternity. He couldn’t remember how he got there, or what happened to Andrew’s body. He supposed he had been laid next to the others who had died, but every time he tried to get up to go have a look one of the Healers who had come with the reinforcements would spot him and force him to lie down again. At some point, someone came to tell the wounded that You-Know-Who was dead, that Harry Potter had won and everything was over, but Declan barely paid any attention. Victory had come way too late for Andrew, and Declan knew he would not be able to feel it until he got news that Alecto had been caught - which, considering the damage he had inadvertently caused her, would very likely had happened already but was taking ages to reach him.

He was reliving the moment of Andrew’s death inside his mind for what must have been the millionth time when someone kneeled down and started fussing over him. Again. “Gerroff, I’m fine,” he mumbled. One of the Healers had told him that, after getting some proper treatment in St Mungo’s, he’d end up as good as new and with no physical evidence of the damage he received. Of course, he thought bitterly, that wouldn’t help Andrew, now would it?

He coughed to his handkerchief, spitting out a bit more blood, and looked up. And then it finally hit him that he was not talking to a Healer but to Emily. Emily. He froze, a look of terror on his face. “Em...”

"Shh, hey, it's okay," she said soothingly, trying not to be too thrown by the sight of Declan throwing up blood. He was injured well beyond what little she'd learned could help him. "It's all right. You're going to be fine. I can --" she cut herself off, knowing she still had to search and find her friends. On the other hand, she couldn't just leave Declan alone like that. "I can stay with you until the Healers help you," she offered. "I can try to heal you a bit if you need, too, I know a few things..." she was rambling, she realized, and forced herself to stop.

But Declan hadn’t listened to a single word she had said. His heart was pumping furiously and became all he could hear. He needed to tell Emily what had happened before she heard it from someone else. She needed to know. But how could he do it? And what if she already knew? No, if she knew she wouldn’t be looking like this. Andrew was her boyfriend. And now...

“Em, I...” He looked at her with wild desperation. “I need to tell you. I need...” He coughed again. “Andrew. He...” He looked around. He couldn’t see him. “The Healers, they won’t let me...”

Emily felt the blood drain from her face. "What about Andrew?" she asked, arching to look around the room. She hadn't seen him yet and now she wondered if he was already taken to St. Mungo's, how badly he must be hurt to make Declan talk about him like this. "Declan, what about Andrew? Where is he?"

“I don’t know, I don’t know where he is.” Panic was starting to take over him, the desperation of finding his friend’s body once again in his mind. “They must have brought him along when they brought me but I can’t find him.” He tried to get up again. “I must find him, someone must tell...”

Emily felt herself starting to panic and she forced herself to stay calm. "It's all right," she assured her friend as best she could. "It's all right. I'll find him. I'll ask a Healer. How--" she took a breath, bracing herself. "How badly is he hurt? Maybe he's just getting more treatment or maybe he's at the hospital already. I'll ask, I'll find him." She got ready to stand but waited, knots in her stomach, for Declan's response.

He shook his head desperately. “No, he’s... Oh, Emily, she... She attacked us, it was all too quick and...” He couldn’t see her face now from the tears that were covering his eyes. “She... she killed him. He’s...” He started coughing again, even more violently than before.

Emily froze. Andrew was dead? Andrew was dead? That couldn't be right. She'd misunderstood. Declan hadn't meant Andrew. Whoever 'she' was, she'd killed someone else. Not Andrew. He couldn't be gone. Not him too.

A sob escaped her throat and deep down, she knew Declan wasn't lying. Andrew was dead. Her Andrew. She was suddenly overcome with tears but tried to pull herself through it. Declan's coughing was getting worse and he needed help now. "Help!" she tried to call. Her voice was so weak. "Help!" she cried, louder. "We need a Healer! My friend is--"

She couldn't call out any more. "Oh, God," she whispered as she collapsed next to Declan. "Oh, God. Oh Declan..."

It took a little longer for Declan’s coughing to subside, though thankfully this time it didn’t seem to draw as much blood as before. Not that he’d notice, as the sight of Emily crying by his side made him even more dismissive of his injuries. He stopped trying to struggle to get up, though he was still as nervous as before. “They won’t let me go look for him,” he eventually said. “I know he must be here but I don’t know where, I need to know...” He broke off. This wasn’t what he should be telling her. “It was Alecto. She ran away but she couldn’t’ve gone far, not after I...” He hesitated. What would Emily think of him after knowing what he had done? The bitch deserved every second of pain he had caused her, and he felt some satisfaction in knowing that the last thing she’d ever see were his birds pecking on her eyes, but part of him wondered if it didn’t make him just as bad as she was.

“Oh, Emily, I’m so sorry,” he said quietly.

Emily didn't say anything for a long time. She took in everything he was saying but didn't respond--couldn't respond. She pulled her knees close to her body and buried her face in her arms, small shudders of sobs running through her body every few moments. She cried quietly and every time she thought she'd pulled herself together, another memory of Andrew -- or her mother, or Colin, or anything else she'd seen that day -- brought her crashing back to tears.

In the back of her mind she knew she should be looking to Declan, seeing that he was all right, but all she could think to ask about was Andrew. When she finally did look up, she looked a wreck but she didn't care. "Was it -- was it fast? Did he suffer a lot?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

Declan didn’t blame Emily for not looking at him. He’d been trying not to look at people ever since he woke up, to the point that he wasn’t really sure if he’d be able to recognize the people who had been looking after him. He also knew he should be comforting her, but he was afraid any sudden movement would bring another coughing fit - not for his own sake, but for hers. When she finally looked up at him, she looked just as bad as he felt, and he had a sudden urge to tell her it was all right. Only it wasn’t all right. Andrew was gone, and Merlin knew who else.

“Yeah, it was fast,” he replied. He didn’t have the heart to tell her Alecto was putting Andrew through the Cruciatus curse when he found them. And besides, the death in itself had indeed been quick and painless. “I was the one who was thrown around.” Another cough. “Andrew dodges most of the curses.” Except the most important one, he thought bitterly to himself.

"Colin's dead too," Emily said abruptly. "Colin Creevey. I don't know how--I didn't even know he was here. Demelza and Chloe and Yue, I don't know if they're all right. Wayne--oh God, what if Wayne's dead too? Andrew left. Andrew was supposed to stay safe." Her voice was getting louder and she felt her anger growing. "Everybody's celebrating victory but Alecto Carrow tortures and murders children and she's alive and Andrew's dead." She felt tears build again but this time they came out of anger, not loss.

"Azkaban's too good for her," she spat.

“Colin...?” Declan was taken aback by this. He had no idea Colin had been back. The last time he had seen him was on the day they returned home at the end of fifth year; they had had a stupid argument over something Declan could no longer remember, something very likely to do with Dumbledore’s death and the ideas he had been raised to believe, and now he’d never be able to say he was sorry. Tears ran down his face as Emily kept talking, the worry and anger she was feeling mirroring his own.

“She won’t go far,” he found himself saying. “I was so angry over what she had done to Andrew that the spell I threw at her got out of control and...” He paused. “She’s blind. And I’m not sorry to say it must have hurt a lot.”

"Holy shit," Emily murmured, turning to look at Declan. She hadn't realized he was capable of that kind of spell. She kept looking at him for a moment, processing what he'd said, then turned to face forward again and lean her back against the wall behind them. Her expression grew cold. "Good," she said, finally.

Declan winced, partly because of the pain he was still feeling over the hexes and tumbles he had endured, and partly because he didn’t want Emily to be scared of him. It all had been an accident, really. “They’ll catch her,” he repeated, more to reassure himself than her. They had to catch her and make her pay.

"They'd better," Emily said darkly, "Or I will go out and find her myself." The words surprised her, even as she was saying them. But even then, she knew she meant it. She'd lost too much to let this woman go free after what she'd done to Andrew. Besides, the world was supposed to be fixed now, she thought bitterly. "Declan, what are we going to do without him?"

“I don’t know.” He had been trying to avoid that thought until now. Andrew had been an invaluable help to Declan that year, defending him when the rest of G6 had turned against him for joining the IS, being the voice of reason on the many times Declan’s temper threatened to take him too far. And what would Emily - or any of them, really - do now?

Emily tried to wipe away the tear stains from her face, to little avail. It wouldn't be long before new tracks took their place. She made sure she wouldn't hurt him more and then gently rested her head on Declan's shoulder. She tried to push back her questions, her worries. She wanted, if only for a moment, to sit in silence.

A moment was all there was to have, as two mediwizards approached the pair in a hurry. "All right, son, it's time to get you out of here," one said, bringing over a few potions and some medical equipment to help move Declan without worsening his injuries.

"Miss, are you all right?" the other asked, and Emily nodded numbly. She wasn't much hurt, physically, and even if she was she certainly wouldn't let them treat her when there were so many hurt so much worse. "All right. We're going to need you to move along, then."

Declan had been a little belligerent whenever the Healers had tried to make a fuss over him, but this time he accepted the arrival of these two new men without protesting. Maybe it was because sharing the pain with Emily had helped calm his nerves a little, or maybe he was now too tired. As they tried to shoo Emily away, however, he gestured them to wait. “Emily?”

"Go," Emily insisted, not unkindly. She wiped another tear away and tried to smile a bit. "Get yourself fixed up. Godric knows we can't lose you too." She held in another small sob at the idea and helped the men get Declan to his feet. "I'll see you -- I'll see you when you get back."

As the men prepared Declan for transit, Emily squeezed his hand softly and let it go, sliding her way back down the wall until she was sitting on the floor again, curled up as she'd done before and sat there in silence. She didn't want to go seek anyone else out because she wasn't sure she could handle any more bad news. Not yet.


Michael and Demelza.

There was blood everywhere. Blood and a giant pincer through his middle not making it any better. The world was nothing more than a fuzzy blur with voices and things he recognized but couldn’t quite name. Michael collapsed back against the crumbled castle, to catch his breath and rest a moment while Nathan went off to go see what had happened. Only that single moment turned into a many where he couldn’t quite keep his eyes open. For as much as he had thought there was nothing left before, there was truly nothing left now.

At least they were safe. That knowledge was soothing to him. Even if he wasn’t going make it to Great Hall to find the help he needed and that this was how he went out, he would go with the knowledge that he did everything he could. Not that it even started to make up for the trusts he betrayed, for the people he got hurt in the process, but he had done well today. People would live in part thanks to him. And maybe that was enough.

Demelza has always thought she was a strong dueler, that she could hold her own in any fight, or she could just punch the person out if things got too hairy. She was a little mistaken after tonight. There was so much blood, so much carnage everywhere. She had seen classmates lying there, half gone, or totally gone, and it made her stomach clench. She let Urquhart patch her up best he could, but that didn’t stop her side from burning, her tee shirt ripped open. She was wandering blindly, looking for a familiar face, just somewhere to rest for the time being. Things had turned, they were on top for the first time in the night. They had won this thing, that made this all seem somewhat worth all the pain they had been through this year.

She saw Michael, or what was left of Michael with some giant thing sticking out of his chest. She had to go to him, sit with him just in case this was it. She sat down next to him, reached out and took his hand in hers. She looked over at him, she needed to at least make sure he was breathing. “Hey Mikey,” she started out tentatively.

Michael lolled his head to look at her, a weary smile falling across his face. “Demelza,” he breathed out, grateful to see her. She was okay. He reached out toward her, weakly squeezing her hand back. He couldn’t help but wonder if he was already dead. That maybe he died back in the dungeon at the wand of Alecto Carrow and everything after that was just purgatory, punishing him for his sense so he could find peace. Only his soul didn’t feel cleansed.

He breathed heavily, with each rise and fall of his chest accompanied by his slowing heartbeat, the pain became a little less. “I’m glad it’s you.”

Demelza felt tears prickling her eyes, and this was usually the time she hid that, punched whoever saw her, and composed herself. But as Michael squeezed her hand so weakly, she couldn’t help but tear up. She squeezed harder for the two of them, leaning in closer. “Mikey, you can’t die.” She told him like it was a fact, it was real. There was no debate, he couldn’t die. She wouldn’t let him die, she’d try to pull out some miracle cure if she had to. He was Michael fucking Corner and he couldn’t die. He couldn’t die after they won, everything they did, every time they mouthed out, every time they served a shitty detention, it was for this. He had to live to see this thing out with her, tell the IS to choke on a dick, and celebrate the fact that they had actually pulled this thing off.

“Don’t cry.” That was the last thing he wanted. She would start crying and then he was going to lose it too and it just wasn’t manly for him to start crying. Hopefully he could keep that small dignity. As best as he could, Michael scooted closer to her, wanting to feel her next to him, to really know that she was here, that this wasn’t just some fantastic hallucination in his head.

“You should go,” he said not really meaning it because he didn’t want to be alone. Still, he didn’t want someone else to get hurt for him. Not when it could be prevented. Certainly not when it was her. “It’s not safe.” For Michael the battle was still underway, he didn’t know what had happened in the Great Hall. Or that they won and that this was what victory was supposed to feel like.

She brushed away her tears, trying to look as tough as she could muster in that moment. She didn’t want to cry in front of him like that. She reached down tentatively, stroking his hair with one hand. This was Mikey, her partner in crime, someone who risked their own safety for that of a first year. She had to stay with him, she couldn’t leave him alone like this.

“I’m not leaving you.” She told him softly. She wasn’t in any real danger anymore, it was over. She didn’t feel much like celebrating, something didn’t feel right. She just sort of wanted things to be over and go back to her old life again. “It’s over Mikey,” she started, choosing her words more carefully than she normally would have. “We won, he’s gone, Potter got him.” She wanted him at have that moment of happiness as well. “This is why you can’t die, we pulled this thing off.”

He paused, needing a moment to take that in. Harry Potter did it. He saved the day once again. The boy who live was untouchable - if only they all had been so lucky. “The bastard,” he said, shaking his head, unable to control a bubble of laughter that disturbed the fangs in his chest. And he really didn’t need to look down at that again.

But it was over.

And sure, just a second a go, he had told that Demelza not to cry and he had really wanted to be cool about the whole thing, but it was almost too much to take in. It was over. It was finally over. It might not have felt entirely like winning, but he couldn’t help biting down on his lip and trying to blink away his own tears. It was going to be okay. He could stop fighting now.

“Always swooping in and saving the day, the fucking glory hound.” She gave him a weak smile, she was trying to stay positive in this. Michael would be fine, he’d rip whatever the hell was sticking out of his chest, and they would commence with the celebrating, or eating cake, or whatever people did when battles were over. It was finally over.

She was trying to stay cool herself, not cry in front of him, or basically show any sort of shred of real, sound emotion. She looked down at him again, watching him blink away tears. Michael couldn’t die. Not now, he had to stay here with her. She wouldn’t have wanted it any other way, he was the one she was supposed to be standing with at the end of all this bullshit they dealt with all year. “I knew I’d be here on the other side of all this with you.” She told him.

Michael looked over at her not sure what to say to that. “I-” he started then stopped a few times, before ultimately deciding that words weren’t going to cut it right now. And if only had a few breaths left he didn’t want to waste them stumbling over words. With a clunky sort of grace, that wasn’t really a grace at all, he reached up to place his hand on her check, pulling closely into a kiss.

It said everything and nothing. It was gentle and maybe a little hesitant with a pinch of awkwardness due to the pincer between them. He wanted this, wanted her, maybe even needed her because if this was how he went at least there would be this.

Demelza wasn’t expecting that, she wasn’t going to deny she wasn’t pleased, she was. Michael Corner held a special place in her heart, he the boy who spoke out against those who deserved it, he was one of the few people here she felt really understood her. He was the first boy not to steal a kiss by unsavoury means and actually earned one. She leaned down, put a hand on his jawline and kissed him back just as gently. It was awkward, and bloody, her hair was slightly singed off on one side. It wasn’t the most romantic of situations, but it still felt very right given what just happened.

The world was getting a bit fuzzy around the edges for him, but Demelza served as a point of focus as they kissed. Nothing about it was perfect or particularly remarkable, but he wasn’t looking to move mountains. Unable to keep himself upright, the kiss fell apart as he slumped back against the wall. “...been wanting to do that for a while.”

He smiled, or rather her tried to smile, because he didn’t want her to worry. Not over him, not when he did what he had to do and there were no regrets. Not anymore.

She tried to prop him up very gently, she thought it would make breathing much easier. She couldn’t leave him now, not after what they had been through. “You know I’m not going to leave here you alone.” She tried to smile, but felt it never really made it to her eyes and it just looked oddly fake. She should be happy, they had won, no more Carrows, or Voldemort. Things would be going back to normal now, or whatever could pass for normal these days. She knew it was a silly little kiss, not a romance novel kiss, it was a perfect kiss in her opinion. Her first real kiss. “You need to hold on, because we’re getting the fuck out of here, and then we’ll meet up over the summer holiday to get pissed, and reminisce about the time we got our arses handed to us by the those fat bitches the Carrows.” She moved closer to him, touched his cheek in a comforting gesture.

“I’d like that,” he said moving into her touch. It was the small beacon of light in an otherwise dark days ahead of them. Harry might have won, but there would be work to do and plenty of wounds to mend. Nothing would ever be the same again.

Michael reached up to try to place his hand on hers, wanting to hold onto this, hold onto her. “Hey, we’ll always have Rio.” The words were little more than a whisper as his eyes blinked closed, not quite strong enough to stay conscious any longer.

Demelza felt her stomach drop as he drifted out of consciousness, she felt oddly protective of Michael at that moment, like if she left him, something would happen. She wiped the prickling tears from her eyes and wondered if just maybe she should go look for some medical attention for Michael. Find someone who could do more than give him awkward kisses and promised tropical vacations. “I’m going to find you some help I promise, I’m not leaving you.” She told him, keeping his properly propped up, monitoring his breathing before pulling herself off the ground. “I’m coming back for you, I won’t leave you here alone.” She promised him one more time before searching frantically for someone to take care of Michael.


Susan and Frederick Bones.

Susan had lost track of time. Morning had come and gone, but all that mattered were the injured, the steady movements of bandages wrapping around skin, whispered spells to wash away dried up blood. She made rather a sight herself, robes tattered and torn, her pyjamas barely recognisable as such, her hair a mess of dirt and blood, but that didn’t matter. She’d lived, and others might not, and she was not going to leave until she had helped every last one of them.

Harry might have won, but the horrors were far from over, and Susan was finding it difficult to feel any kind of elation. It felt like minutes after she had discovered Ernie’s body among the dead when in truth it was probably more like hours. She had stared for a moment before running away, back to her post, unable to acknowledge what she had seen. It had to be a mistake. She had to have seen wrong, because if there was one of them who would stay alive, it would be Ernie. She had always thought it would be Ernie.

So Susan distracted herself. From the pain, and the grief, and the guilt. From thoughts of who else might be dead - Hannah? Megan? Neville, perhaps? From the man she had killed, the family he had likely left behind. She simply helped bind the injured, keeping her responses polite but to a minimum as they chatted at her, insofar as they were able. The crowd in the Great Hall was thinning out slowly, as people returned to their homes and families. Injured were being transported to St Mungo’s, though even there they were unable to keep up with the steady stream of incoming patient. Susan ignored the tut-tutting sounds that Madam Pomfrey made every time she passed her and saw that she was still there. Her attention was slipping, she knew, both her body and mind exhausted, but she wouldn’t stop until she literally fell over.

Or so she thought. She must have drifted off for a moment after treating the leg of what had appeared to be an ex-student who had returned to fight, because the next thing she knew someone was holding her by the shoulders, shaking her. Her wand came up in reflex, a curse already on her lips, before she remembered that the fighting was over and she paused to see who it was.

Susan had never been so relieved to see her father, his face wrinkled in worry as he looked down on her. She jumped up from her makeshift chair, practically launching herself at him and burying her face against his shoulder. “Dad.”

Frederick Bones wrapped his arms around his daughter immediately, trapping her against his chest, and his voice sounded rough as he mumbled something against her hair. “Merlin, Susan. I thought- You could have-”

His grip was slightly painful against her bruised skin, but Susan didn’t say anything, simply holding on. “Is Rae..?” she asked, needing to know what had become of her sister.

“She’s fine,” Frederick said gruffly. “Home with your mother.” He pulled back to look at her, his face impassive, even though the look in his eyes betrayed how concerned he had really been. Susan felt a wave of remorse. “You’re coming with me. Right now.”

Home. Susan drew in a shaky breath. There were more people to help, but thoughts of her mother, a nice cup of tea and her own bed suddenly made her feel the extent of the havoc she had wreaked on herself, her eyes stinging with relief and exhaustion.

She nodded, just once. It was time to let go.