Perdition Mods (perdition_mods) wrote in perdition_rpg, @ 2009-05-01 22:32:00 |
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Mona and Wayne Frowning, Mona picked her way through the other bodies lying on the floor of the Great Hall. She didn't know where to go, or what to do. Everything just felt too surreal. Sitting with Ioan, watching him die. She had stayed with him after the fight until one of the Order members had turned up and ordered her to get some medical treatment while they moved the body. She had wanted to shout at them, to ask why they hadn't come earlier, when they might still have been able to save him, but she didn't see the use anymore. After that she had moved silently through the building, staying away from anything that even came close to being human, until she had reached the makeshift hospital some of the Healers had set up for those with curse damage or broken bones. They hadn't been able to heal her completely, the breaking of her shoulder bone being a rather tricky injury to fix, but Mona couldn't bring herself to care much. She would be fine eventually; Ioan wasn't. Mona absent-mindedly wiped her red-rimmed eyes. They had won, or so she had heard, and once upon a time she would have done anything to hear those words, but right now they were meaningless. She didn't care who won, she just wanted him back. It wasn't fair. It shouldn't have been him. It should have been her. Or both of them. At least then they would still be together. And even now, they wouldn't leave her in peace. She had tried to go back into the warzone, at least to help some of the victims, but she hadn't been able to get the image of Ioan lying here all alone out of her head, and in the end one of the Healers had told her rather irritably to just go. So she had gone to sit with Ioan's body, for how long she wasn't quite sure, until Professor Sprout had turned up and had told her in a tone that was way too gentle but boded no argument that she should go outside to catch some fresh air. Mona sniffed, wiping her nose on her robe. Who needed fresh air anyway? Wayne needed some fresh air. He had just spent the most surreal six hours of his life, and the news that it was over—that they’d won—that soon he was going to take a shower and fall into a bed and wake up and still be alive—this was the most surreal part. He felt dazed by the noise of cheers, by the crush of people, and he lingered away from the crowd, in the makeshift hospital where he’d been trying to help the past few hours, once they'd patched up his own injuries. It was disorienting, now that the worst was over, to look around the Great Hall where he’d happily eaten three meals a day for the last seven years and see it so changed—windows shattered and walls gouged from curses, and full of unfamiliar people, or familiar people looking unfamiliar—sobbing on each other’s shoulders with grief and joy, wearing bloodstained pyjamas. He suddenly felt desperate to be outside, to be somewhere that wasn’t here, to be somewhere that wasn’t battle-scarred so he could breathe deeply and convince himself that things would be normal again. Somewhere there wasn’t blood and noise and hugs. As he headed for the door, he almost stumbled into Mona, who had wandered vaguely into his path. As he recognized her the memory of seeing Ioan’s dead body hit him again like a punch in the stomach, and even though avoiding hugs had been one of his motivations for wanting to leave, he stopped and reached for her shoulder. “Mona?” He stopped himself from adding, “Are you okay?” because—Merlin, what a stupid question. Not even looking where she was walking anymore in case she would recognise another dead or injured face in the crowd, Mona wandered around a bit, heading in the direction of the big double doors. Close to her some people were cheering, and Mona shook her head, wondering how they could be so happy. When a voice suddenly called her name, Mona had half a mind to just ignore it: she didn't feel like celebrating, or sleeping, or eating, or drinking, or whatever else people might want from her. Was it too much to ask for to be left alone? Then a hand touched her shoulder, the painful one, and Mona quickly wrenched it out of the way, turning to face the person. Her mouth already opened to say something not-so-friendly, she closed it again when she noticed it was Wayne. "Oh. Hi," she said, her voice sounding dull and tired even to her own ears. At least he's still alive, provided her brain, and her bottom lip trembled slightly. She cleared her throat. "So I guess Eloise won't have to worry anymore." She didn't know what else to say, afraid that if she opened her mouth the tears might start all over again. Wayne pulled his hand back quickly when he saw Mona grimace with the combination of pain and irritation as he touched her. He thought of her as such a generally cheerful person, it was hard to reconcile this distraught Mona with the girl he knew. When Mona mentioned Eloise, he felt a rush of gratitude that she, at least, was okay; this was followed instantly by a horrible feeling of guilt, even though he knew it wasn’t his fault that he still had Eloise but Mona had lost Ioan. It just wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair that Ioan was dead at all. “I’m so sorry, Mona,” he said, feeling like the words were small and inadequate. “Ioan was—” he started, but a lump in his throat stopped him from finishing his sentence—he didn’t know what he would have said, anyway—and instead he offered, “D’you want to come outside with me?” Ah, the dreaded words. She couldn't say she hadn't expected them (after all, what else was there to say?), but hearing them somehow made everything more real, and Mona shook her head. "Don't- You don't need to-" Her bottom lip now beginning to tremble even more, she merely nodded at his next words. Maybe Professor Sprout was right and some fresh air would help clear her head. He wanted to offer a hug, or a hand at least, but didn’t want to set her off—it looked like she’d already done enough crying, and he couldn’t imagine being equal to the task of comforting her. So instead he nodded and simply lead the way to the doors, through the halls, and out a small side door into the morning sun. He’d picked the spot well—there was no one too near, and here at least was a patch of grass that wasn’t trampled, singed, bloodstained, or otherwise bearing the evidence of battle. In the distance Wayne could see the Forbidden Forest, and wisps of clouds above the treeline, and he drew a deep shaky breath, overwhelmed but reassured to see these things that were just the same as ever. Suddenly he was exhausted, and he laid down right there in the grass, not caring if it was a weird thing to do. He shut his eyes and thought about the sunlight on his cheek and the smell of the earth and, with a pang, wondered what news would have reached his parents by now. Mona quietly followed him outside, observing their surroundings as if they would somehow be able to tell of the horrors that had taken place here. Idly she wondered if Hogwarts would ever be the same again. Would everyone just clear up the mess and carry on as if nothing had happened? She couldn't imagine ever being able to walk here without thinking of this night. How could she sit in the Great Hall and eat breakfast without remembering the dead that had rested on the cold floor? How would she be able to go to Charms without seeing Ioan's body lying there in the corridor? Had she lied when she had told Ioan she would be all right? Finally noticing Wayne had stopped walking, Mona sank down on the grass beside him, remembering the last time she had laid on the ground looking at the clouds drifting by. There weren't that many clouds now; it was still too dark out, but that didn't stop the memory from overwhelming her, and without thinking about it Mona turned her body to the side and closer to Wayne, resting her head against his shoulder. Despite the lingering ache in his arm (which had been tended to distractedly by a harried Healer with more important injuries to get to) Wayne manoeuvred awkwardly to put his arm around Mona’s shoulders and pull her a little closer. Whatever he’d gone through tonight, he knew it had been worse for her—he had some idea of what Ioan had meant to her, and he’d seen the injuries. He wondered if Mona had been there, and how she’d survived, but he was definitely not about to ask. He’d had to tell people what had happened to Justin, and it had been nearly as bad as watching him die all over again. As busy as he’d tried to keep himself, the memory had kept replaying itself in his mind all night, like a scab he couldn’t stop picking. He kept wondering why he’d lived and Justin had died; he tried not to let himself wonder if anyone resented him for being the one who had survived, against all reason. He tried to push these thoughts away by looking ahead instead of looking back; everyone was celebrating for a reason, weren’t they? “I don’t know what happens now,” he said aloud, talking more to the sky than to Mona. Even though nothing right now could make Mona feel better (short of Ioan suddenly appearing out of nowhere and declaring he was fine), being here with Wayne at least helped to distract her from the awful feeling of loneliness that had been taunting her ever since she had had to say goodbye to him. In some odd way he had been the gravy to her potatoes, the peanut butter to her jelly, and whatever other clichés people liked to use. She had never been able to appreciate them much, not before now. Breathing in deeply, Mona closed her eyes, trying to think of nothing for a moment apart from the silly things like how she could smell the grass from here and that she had never seen Wayne in his pajamas before. Opening her eyes again when Wayne began to speak, Mona looked at the sky again. Was he there now, looking down on her? She remembered the conversation they had had about living on clouds with the ducks, and laughed softly. If only they had known. Turning back to the here and now, Mona lifted a hand to wipe some hair from her face, making a sound of disgust as her hand found some dried blood. "A bath would be a good idea," she said, attempting a joke and cringing when she realised how serious that had sounded. "Never mind. I just- I hate today. It should just sod off." At the last sentence she could feel tears jumping in her eyes again and she angrily wiped them away. “I know,” he said, distantly. “The worst part is over, though.” How weird that so much had happened just in the hours between midnight and dawn, and now a whole day stretched ahead of them. A shower suddenly did sound really good—he suddenly felt dirty with sweat and grime and blood (most of it other people’s), and lying on the ground surely wasn’t helping. Standing under a hot stream of water and washing this whole day away, and then climbing into a bed somewhere and hoping he was exhausted enough to fall asleep instead of thinking—this sounded like a plan. He would stay here with Mona, though, and hope she might eventually show some flicker of her former self. Right now it felt like the worst part would never be over, but Wayne didn't need to know that. Making a non-committal sound, she shifted so she could bury her face in his chest, the thought that he might be uncomfortable with that not occurring to her. "We should still have a picnic. When it's summer," she mumbled, her resolve becoming stronger as she spoke. "He would have wanted us to." “Er,” Wayne said, a little caught off guard; he wasn’t much of a cuddler under most circumstances, especially by Hufflepuff standards. “Yeah, we’ll have a picnic,” he promised, giving Mona’s hair an awkward pat, and wishing for her sake that he could be Ioan instead of himself. Which was a funny thing to wish, he knew, but that was who she should be holding and making picnic plans with, and she was making do with him. Just like how instead of trying to console Mona right now, he really wanted to be held and comforted by his Mum and Dad, or Eloise, or even his sister. It was good, though, to be trying to help Mona; it was helping put things in perspective. If his biggest problem was wondering why and how he was still alive, and how soon he could see his family, he really wasn’t doing too badly—even if he did feel like shit. He held Mona a little tighter and asked, “Who else will we invite?” "Everyone," said Mona immediately, yawning a bit as the night's exhaustion finally began to catch up with her. "The Hufflepuffs, and the Ravenclaws, and the Gryffindors, and maybe even the Slytherins, too. Anyone who wants to come. And there should be ducks. Lots of them." “OK,” Wayne said automatically, not really listening. This whole time they’d both really just been wrapped up in their own thoughts, but, he decided, that was alright. It was better than being alone. Seeing Mona yawn, Wayne was unable to stifle one of his own. They’d have to get up soon if they didn’t want to fall asleep here, which maybe wasn’t a terrible idea, but hot baths and soft beds would be a better one. He stroked her hair again, more naturally this time, and shut his eyes to the sunlight. They’d just lie here a little longer, and get up when Mona was ready, and maybe get some real sleep, and then—what? Wayne still didn’t know, but he reminded himself the worst was over. It could only get better from here. They just had to wait for that to feel true. Fenrir Greyback When next Fenrir woke, he found himself bound on the floor of the Great Hall, forgotten amidst the cheers and celebrations of students, crowded around the centre. What the hell was going on? He looked around him, noticing that he was not the only Death Eater on the floor -- had they lost? Defeated by a bunch of children? What had happened to the Dark Lord? He felt confused, one moment fighting two of the children and the next -- this. Maybe they had all just retreated. That must be it -- they were all back in the Forbidden Forest. The Dark Lord could not be defeated. His eyes fell on the exit out of the Great Hall. It wasn't that far -- he could make it without anyone noticing him. He was reckless, but not a fool; he knew he stood no chance if he got caught now, and if he stayed, he'd be making himself a new home within the walls of Azkaban. And like hell he was going there without putting up a fight. He started to scoot his way toward the door like an inchworm, his arms bound to his sides, trying to wiggle his way toward the door. This was ridiculous. He was a werewolf. Fenrir strained against the bonds, trying to at least free his arms. He could feel the rope on his sides with his fingers, and he tore at them with his claws, relief flooding him when he felt one snap, loosening the ropes around him. He shoved them off his body, but remained close to the ground, near the wall. He couldn't see his wand anywhere nearby, and it wasn't stashed away in his torn and stained robes; he would just have to worry about getting another one later. Again. Inching his way closer still to the exit, back still against the wall and crouched down, moving on all fours, he glared at the backs of the students as he retreated through the doors... And then he was off like a bullet, racing outside and across the grounds of Hogwarts to disappear into the Forbidden Forest. Rodolphus Lestrange and Walden Macnair Rodolphus was battling two children when he heard the Dark Lord's scream, and his attention was gone, earning him two slicing hexes across the chest. From somewhere in his periphery he saw Bellatrix's body fall to the ground, and it was as though the life had been drained from him. Voldemort still stood, but the second purpose of his life had just been cut out from under him, and he moaned, a horrible low noise. Another hex ripped open his waist, but he could barely feel the blood that burned there, mingling with the dried brown left from Michael Corner scarcely half an hour before. No. He couldn't lose her. He wasn't ready. He hadn't survived Azkaban to watch her fall into the earth. With a cry of angered grief, he lashed out at the two before him, flooring one with the strike of his fist -- leaving the other to tend to his wounded friend. "Bellatrix!" He shoved through the havoc, legs barely working to drag him forward, and when he finally, finally reached her body, his chest collapsed, and he was on the ground, knees buried in mud and grass. His arms were around her, his head at her chest, desperate for some semblance of life. "No," he moaned, hands at her lifeless face, smoothing over her hair. He wanted to remember her as she had been before Azkaban, but all he could see was this prison-ravaged form. Please. Please, he would give anything... Walden was still laying against the wall with his eyes closed, recovering from the ambush and then the giant's revenge. His attention was centered the moment he heard the soul crushing sound of his Master and he pushed himself off the ground with a whimper. He'd been torn down by children and he wasn't young so he could feel the wear and tear of his battles sinking into his bones. He shoved away from the wall and stumbled. He was so tired. There was chaos everywhere as the Dark Lord fell but Walden was suddenly focused on one thing. He saw Rodolphus crumble to the ground, cradling his wife's body, and the breath caught in his chest. No, this couldn't be happening. That man did not deserve anymore pain in his life. A surge of adrenaline surged through him as he realised that Aurors and Ministry folk were trickling in and Walden would not let his best friend spend another moment in Azkaban. It would kill him. He charged forward, knocking a small boy over as he did so, and within moments he was at Rodolphus' side. "We have to go. Now." He grimaced at how empty it sounded. He cared. He cared so much, but now was not the time for sensitivity. "Fuck you," Rodolphus snarled, grabbing Bellatrix like a wounded animal. He didn't even recognise Walden's voice, he was too pushed beyond whatever grief he'd known in his life. Nothing compared to this agony, and he'd rather go die in Azkaban than leave Bellatrix here. He wasn't moving. He was never going to move again. Hands wrapped tight around his wife, and he pressed his cheek to hers, feeling the rapidly cooling flesh. Never again. Walden couldn't ever remember hearing his best friend swear and even though he had every right to do so, Walden was still not sure what to say. He couldn't understand what Rodolphus was feeling, not really. He had never loved anyone as much as Dolph loved Bellatrix. He was standing over two of his comrades as they shared a private moment but what else could he do? He wasn't about to let this man rot in a jail cell, no matter how much he protested. Without another thought he reached out and placed a hand on the other man's shoulder and with a crack Rodolphus, Walden, and Bellatrix dissapeared from the battle field. Draco, Lucius and Narcissa Draco had spent he last few hours searching desperately for his parents, part of him feeling stupid for rushing to his mother's side when things were complicated and another part reassuring him that it was a perfectly normal and acceptable reaction. He'd only wanted to keep them safe and assumed the best way to do so would have been proving his allegiance beyond doubt. If he'd only caught Harry like he'd planned, maybe Crabbe would be alive and things would have turned out very differently. Even if Potter had saved his life, maybe his life wouldn't have even needed saving if he'd been able to turn him over to the Dark Lord in the first place. In spite of what had happened, Draco could recall fewer moments during which he'd been as happy as he was when he finally found his mother and father. Up until now, he'd always felt much safer with them, even if the last few months had all but eliminated notions of 'safety', particularly after their home had been invaded, wands taken and reputations soiled. After all that he'd seen, he felt some relief that Harry had killed the Dark Lord, but mostly he was afraid. He and his family had been supporters of Voldemort for so long that he wasn't sure what this meant for them and he wasn't keen on the idea of trading one dim fate for another, particularly in the self-labeled name of 'good' and 'justice'. What were they supposed to do now? Draco wasn't sure, so he simply looked between his parents as though begging the question, 'what now?' 'What now' indeed! It was the very question that Lucius was asking himself, and had been ever since this debacle drew to a close. His hand rested on his son's shoulder - which was proving difficult these days as Draco was almost as tall as he was - glad that, despite everything that had happened, and everything that was about to happen, his family was reunited. They would have to stick through trying times ahead. While Lucius himself had taken no part in the battle, and his wife had lied to Voldemort himself (Lucius was both horrified and awed by the idea of this), they had clearly been on the losing side. But Draco was well and safe, could he ask for anything more as a father? Oh, he supposed he could ask to not go back to Azkaban, after all, the months he had spent there last year were the worst of his life, but he would cross that bridge when he got to it. Donations of gold to all the best causes, perhaps, he was sure he could single-handedly pay for the rebuild of Hogwarts -- or maybe they could just tell the truth. He squeezed Draco's shoulder, and broke into a genuine smile. "I'm proud of you, son." It was something he'd rarely, if ever, said. "As am I," Narcissa echoed, trying to smile as well and failing. She had hardly stopped to think over the last few hours - so focused they had been on surviving and finding Draco, and now that it was over, she felt like collapsing with sheer exhaustion. The Dark Lord was gone, entirely and completely, and she had survived lying to him. And Bella was dead. Mourning would come later. Not for this Bellatrix, who had mocked them and laughed cruelly and drowned in her obsession, but for the vivacious, beautiful sister she had grown up with. It would be nice to have the Manor back to themselves, Narcissa thought momentarily, realising her own silliness. Of couse they wouldn't be able to simply turn around and skip back home, but hopefully it would be that way soon. Besides, she was grateful for what she had at the moment; things could have turned out horrendously worse. And had, for a lot of people. Reaching up, she touched Lucius' cheek and wrapped her arms around her son, ignoring the fact that this was a public place and Draco would probably find it embarrassing. "I am... incredibly thankful that we are all well." Draco couldn't remember the last time that some one had said something to him that put him at a loss for words, but his father's praise did just that. He knew that both his parents loved him, but it was his mother to whom he went when he was in need of encouragement and emotional coddling. To some extent, he also felt guilty -- what reason did his father have to be proud of him? He was a coward, a weak little whelp who didn't deserve his father's pride. After all of this, Draco wasn't entirely sure who he was anymore as much as he simply knew that he was not the person he'd thought he was. Normally he'd have recoiled from his mother's affection in public, but he couldn't be bothered, now. He was thankful that they were all well too, and even his mother's arms around him could not snap him out of his stupor. Instead, he leaned into her just slightly, and looked up at his father again. That taste of affirmation had left him craving a bit more -- he was feeling repulsively insecure with all of the celebration around them. What was going to happen to them? Lucius did not join in the hug; he had never been an overly affectionate man and the current situation made him feel even less so, but he carried on smiling his tight little smile. "Do not worry, we shall tell them the truth. That you saved Harry Potter's life by lying to Vol-- the Dark Lord, Narcissa." Old habits die hard and even now, after his death, Lucius still couldn't bring himself to say his former master's name. "That you did not fight as a Death Eater, Draco, and nor did I." Whether it would be enough to keep him out of prison remained to be seen, but Lucius knew that he didn't want to go on the run as no doubt some of his surviving former colleagues would be. He would just have to hope, but he knew his family would support him. Narcissa sighed, letting go of Draco finally and surveying her family. "I hope it is believed, Lucius, because quite honestly, I cannot believe it myself." At the moment, she had no idea how such a foolhardy plan had occured to her, let alone how it had worked. The consequences for lying to the Dark Lord were severe to say the least. "Your mouth is bleeding!" She exclaimed, glancing at Draco again. "I cannot believe I did not see it earlier - let me heal that." She reached for a wand, frowning with the realisation that Greyback had taken it back in the woods. "May I have mine back? Greyback took the other one." That mangy halfbreed's had never worked properly for important things, in any case. Draco also hoped that what his father said was true -- it seemed unlikely to him, now, that they'd believe them, but hearing him say it had given him some bit of hope that things would turn out all right in the end. His mother's request drew him back from the vacant space through which he'd been drifting and he looked at her in wide-eyed shock, a rush of regret and shame washing over him. "I don't have it," he said, as though he could barely believe it himself. He should have been more careful, particularly after having lost his own wand to Harry so many weeks earlier. Narcissa's face fell, but quite honestly, it did not feel right to chastise Draco about not having managed things well when Lucius and she had not exactly done a stellar job on their own end. "Ah. Well, in that case, I suppose I will just purchase one after we return home. Please don't worry about it too much, dearest. I think your lip will be fine." No doubt there was a story of some kind that went with this, but they would have plenty of time to talk about such things later. Well, it looked like none of them had their wands -- Lucius had no idea where his was, and he wasn't about to go and search Voldemort's body for it. He almost laughed, the situation was amusing when looked at in a certain way after all, but refrained. Again patting Draco on the shoulder, and leaning across to place a light kiss on Narcissa's cheek, he tried to think of something to say so that they wouldn't worry. "It's going to be okay, I promise." He almost believed it himself. Almost. Susan and Giles Bones While everyone around her was celebrating, Susan was lying in a makeshift bed she had created out of someone's cloak. After having watched the final duel between Harry and Voldemort, every minute piece of energy she had possessed died, leaving her exhausted, battered, and looking for a place to lie down. She didn't care about celebrating with her friends, she needed medical attention, and though a Healer she hadn't recognised gave her some Pain Killing Potion, stemmed the bleeding coming from her ear, and patched up her other injures, she was far from well. Not to mention she hadn't slept in some twenty-four hours and had fought a battle while awake. There was so much talk that she couldn't fall asleep, though, and instead she lay on the cloak, eyes closed, listening to the voices around her but not registering what they were saying. She wondered if she was so badly injured she was going to die. "Susan? Susan? Is that you?" A vaguely familiar voice stirred her from the place between sleep and waking. A hand was on her shoulder, turning her slightly. Susan opened her eyes and saw only the blurry outline of a face she couldn't make out -- short, dark hair, a long nose, deep worry lines... As her vision came into focus, she muttered, "Dad?" It looked like her father, but everything was still fuzzy around the edges, so she couldn't be sure. What would her dad be doing here? He wasn't at Hogwarts. "What are you doing here?" "I was about to ask you the same thing." It was definitely her father, she recognised his voice now. She was having trouble hearing what he was saying, it sounded as though he was speaking through a very far-away place, or maybe under water. "Have you gotten treatment? You look terrible, we should get you to St Mungo's..." "'m fine, Dad, I wanna stay here," she murmured. Her vision was still zoning in and out, a glassy look in her eyes, and she barely registered her father pulling her up into a sitting position, something wiping away the dried blood on her face and neck, warm surges of magic flowing through her... he was obviously performing some kind of spells on her. "Dad... I'm okay," she insisted, but her vision was coming in clearer now, and she felt a little more alert as she sank back down onto the cloak. Giles Bones was sitting down on the floor next to her now, and with her heightened senses, she could see that he looked incredibly worried and had a deep gash running across his shoulder. "Susan, what the fuck are you doing here," he said, as though he was trying to sound angry but couldn't quite manage it because he was so worried. "You could've been killed, this isn't a place for a girl -- " She cut him off. "We all had to stay and fight, Dad. We had to stay and fight, because... we didn't do a lot this year, and we all had to stay because we're Dumbledore's Army and... we're Dumbledore's Army, you know, his army and we thought we'd stay." Susan realised that she wasn't exactly making much sense, but couldn't stop rambling. How could she explain, in this state, everything that had happened at Hogwarts and how everyone she was friends with had wanted to stay at Hogwarts and fight Death Eaters? It all seemed rather stupid now. "'Sides, I'm not a kid, I'm... of age." "Like hell you're not a kid," Giles said, roughly. "Henry's not here, is he?" Susan shook her head curling her fingers around the edge of her cloak. "No, made sure he got out cause he's only fifteen and I'm sure he's okay they were supposed to Floo him home or something or maybe he's in Hogsmeade I don't -- " There was an audible gasp that made Susan stop speaking, and she heard her father say, "Are you missing fingers?" "Yes, but they've been like that for a while, and I've -- " "Come on, you're going to St Mungo's now. You need treatment straight away." Susan's father attempted to pull her to her feet, but she protested again, rather lamely. "I want to stay here, everyone is here, and Justin's body too, he died," (her voice broke a bit, saying this), "... killed somebody and I don't know what I'll do now." But she was first on her feet (her legs buckled, they couldn't hold her), and then she felt her father pick her up, with a gentleness that surprised her, and she suddenly, through the disorientation of pain and pain-killers, horribly, wretchedly embarrassed. She wondered if everyone was watching her dad carry her out of the Great Hall and hoped, desperately, that no one could see, because she didn't like the thought of appearing so utterly pathetic. "We're at least going to take you to a bed, in Hufflepuff." "You can't go in my room," she pointed out, blearily. The jostling was hurting one of many internal injuries she'd sustained and really, she wished that she were back on her cloak on the ground. That had hurt less. She thought that she heard him say something about taking her to the boys' dorm, but she didn't want to think about it. She was silent for a long time, until all she saw was an immense blur of yellow, and was lying down. Susan sat up, looked around, and then shifted uncomfortably, knowing she was in what had been Justin's bed. It felt wrong to stay there. "No, move me there..." she murmured, pointing to Tristan's bed, and her father obliged, and then, did the same when she said, "And get me a pair of pyjamas or something to wear." It was with great effort Susan closed the drapes around Tristan's bed (it was the only one that she really felt comfortable sleeping in, perhaps because she had the most experience with being in it, and Ernie and Zacharias's clothing was all in the Room of Requirement). After a long while, she managed to pull her t-shirt over her head, discard her bra, shimmy out of her jeans, and put on the clothes her father had handed her. She then opened the curtains back up and collapsed against the pillows. "Susan, dear," (it was odd to hear her father call her dear), "Are you sure that you don't want to go to --" "Yes." Her voice was firm, but tiredness and pain were overtaking her ability to remain conscious. "And if I die I want lilies at my funeral and make sure... make sure that Theodore Nott comes too..." Susan couldn't see her father's very puzzled expression, her eyes were closed and she was fighting to stay awake. "You're talking nonsense. Get some rest." She was vaguely aware that he bent over and kissed her forehead. "I love you." "Yeah, Dad... I love you, too..." Susan murmured, and, that said, she stopped fighting and let herself drift off to sleep. Hannah Standing had never been more difficult. Hannah made it into the Great Hall, feeling a little victorious. She had hardly been hurt. Memories of Colin's death were still wrestling through her mind, but she tried to move them aside, tried to find something else to think of. She wanted to find her friends and hug them, laugh with them, and go to her house to drink cocoa and snuggle. As she walked into the room, she saw a familiar head of hair. On a table, stretched out. Still. Her mouth went dry and her knees went weak. She fell, her side bumping against a table. But Hannah couldn't even wince. She walked closer to the body and ran her a trembling finger along it's arm. Justin's arm. "No," she whispered. Everything inside of her felt hollow. Emptiness ate her from the inside out and she leaned against the table, unable to support her weight. "No," she said. The tears started spilling, rolling over her cheeks and splattering against Justin's cold skin. She remembered how he had hugged her, how he had promised he'd read her letter after the battle was over, how everything had seemed so perfect even if things weren't simply because everyone was back together. And now that the battle was over, now that Harry had finally won, things weren't perfect. Things weren't together. They were torn and twisted and messy. And Justin was dead. A sob rolled in Hannah's chest and she choked it back, trying to stand. "Please," she whimpered. "Please. Justin. Wake up. You have to wake up. You have to teach me how to play polo. I wanted to bake you a pie. Wake up. Let's go... go.." She started blubbering, the words stopped coming. "Justin?" He wasn't moving. His skin was growing colder. She gripped his hand tightly, but he didn't squeeze her back. Hannah let go of his hand and tried to walk, her steps uneven, shaky. She wanted to make sure Ernie wasn't lying down. Or Susan. Or Megan. Parvati. Lavender. Ioan. Padma. She saw Remus on a table and she trembled again, holding onto the edge of it with her hand. She moved a little further and saw Ioan's face. Hannah moved faster, almost stumbling over her own feet. "Ioan," she whispered. "It's time for you to wake..." Her breath hitched. He was dead, too. Colin was near him, still as dead as he had been when she had to abandon his body for her own life. She turned, unable to look at him, and saw Parvati, covered in blood. Her hair was shorn. There were bruises on her neck. Hannah let out a wail, covering her face with her hands. There were too many friends lying dead, there were too many chances that the next time she turned around she'd find Ernie, or Susan, or someone else. She ran out of the Great Hall, out the ground of Hogwarts, and all the way until she found a place to sit, to calm down, and to apparate home. Angelina and Katie Angelina had been fine until someone pulled out a potion to help handle the pain she was feeling over her broken bones. She ended up sleeping with her chin tucked to her chest, limp but breathing in even patterns against the very wall George had left her at. She hadn't had any intention of falling asleep. She'd wanted to stay awake. She wanted to know the final outcome of things but she was 1 and 0 with the potion to it's favour. She couldn't win them all! She certainly wasn't winning anything today. Her head was plagued with thoughts of Fred's death. George hadn't told her much and her mind was turning in on it's side, flipping it in every direction. Nightmares felt constant. Death and destruction. One by one they were all falling, dying in front of her and there was nothing she could do because of her stupid, bloody leg. She whimpered in her sleep and muttered almost coherently, "No - don't - please." When Katie had first heard about Angelina's injuries she had wanted to check on her straight away, but George had resisted, telling her Angelina needed some time to recover and she was needed elsewhere in battle. Now, however, the battle was over, and Katie wasn't going to wait any longer. She needed to see for herself that Angelina was still alive, that she wasn't the only one of their amazing trio left in this world. They had won the battle, or so people kept saying, but Katie didn't much feel like a winner tonight. Too many people had died, too many people were injured. It had been hell having to bring the news of Parvati's death to Padma and Lavender, and right now Katie had more than enough misery for one night. Making her way through the injured people, it didn't take Katie long to pick out Angelina's chocolate-coloured skin among others and she quickly made her way over, biting her lip as she took in her injuries. She had never seen Angelina like this before; beaten down, hurt, so unlike her usual strong person. Kneeling down next to her Katie heard her whimper in her - no doubt potion-induced - sleep, and she stopped herself from brushing a lock of hair from Angelina's face, unsure whether or not she should wake her. Instead she sat down next to Angelina against the wall, stretching out her legs and letting her head hit the wall behind her with a soft thud. The soft thud wasn't so soft though. It echoed in Angelina's mind and she jerked up, eyes widening only to find that it made her head ache unbelievably. She had the worst headache she'd ever had in her life and being disturbed only set her pulse racing. That certainly didn't help things. Her eyes searched the room expecting to be under siege again. She was surprised to find Katie Bell next to her. "- Way to get the blood pumping, Kates," she said with a emphatic groan. Her good hand moved to rub against her forehead in circles. The positive was that Katie was alright. The question was where was the others. "Have you see 'Lic, Lee... George? Are they still fighting?" Katie jumped when Angelina suddenly started talking, almost hitting her head a second time. "Good Godric. I thought you were asleep." Turning her head to the side, she frowned as she noticed Angelina was obviously still in pain. "Alicia, she..." Katie shook her head, unable to even think of finishing her sentence. She quickly continued, pushing away the grief that had been threatening to overwhelm her all night. She couldn't think of it yet, not right now. "But the others, they're all right, Angie. We've won." She was pretty sure that was supposed to sound a lot happier than it did, but Katie just couldn't get enough energy together to not sound like she was falling asleep where she was sitting. In fact, she had to struggle not to do just that. Attempting a smile to show she had nevertheless been serious, she let out a yawn. "We should get you to St. Mungo's," she said, not making any movement to get up. The expression on her face said it all. The words about sleep or lack thereof fell short on her lips and her face turned downcast. Not another one! She'd nearly forgotten about Fred with the pain in her head. Things were slipping in and out of her memory. The pain of hearing Alicia too made her insides clinch uncomfortably. They'd won but at what cost? Selfishly, she wasn't sure that she was willing to let go of two of her closest friends. "... Not both of them," she managed incoherently trying to force away tears. They were hot and angry though threatening at her cheeks. She hadn't really admitted to herself that Fred was dead. Adding Alicia to the mix was too much to bear. There was nothing happy about with victory at the moment. "I don't know if I can do this- I promised George that if he made it I'd go but - I just need a moment." A minute was hardly an adequate amount of time to come to terms with loss on such a large level. Angelina was not emotional but this whole ordeal was too much. The question on the tip of her tongue was why not her instead but she couldn't bring herself to say it. Katie took a deep breath, but the sight of Angelina struggling not to cry set off her own tears, and she quickly clenched her eyes shut, refusing to acknowledge them. "I heard... Fred...," she said, choking a bit as she tried to get the words out. "And why? The Death Eaters, they didn't even care. They were playing with us, Angie." All of the anger, all of the frustration now overwhelmed Katie in one big wave and she pushed her hands into her face as if that could somehow make the tears, and along with it the pain, disappear. She wanted to hug Angelina, to remind herself that even though two of their friends were dead, she was still here, but she didn't dare to, not wanting to make her injuries even worse. "I should have done something," she said, voicing the words that had been echoing in her mind ever since Alicia had died. "If I'd paid more attention, if I'd been faster. She was always so full of life." The last sentence was said in a whisper. "Maybe if I had done more..." It would have been hypocritical to tell Katie not to feel like that. She ought not to feel as if Alicia dying was her fault but Angelina blamed herself for Ritchie. She didn't even know where his body was at the moment. She couldn't bring herself to remember. Her mind wasn't putting things together like it should. Angelina felt guilty for all of it. She wished that she wasn't injured or upset. She wished that this whole bloody war had never happened. It was all so out of her control and she hated it. She liked managing things but this felt impossible. This was not something that could be easily fixed. "We would be dead with them if we'd done more," she said after a long moment. "It's fucked up to think that maybe this was how things were supposed to turn out. This is why I don't believe in fate though. You get your hopes up for fortune to finally smile on you and your friends and then things like this happen." Her good hand slammed into the floor in a punch and she winced immediately. Maybe that hadn't been a good idea. At least she wasn't at full force. "If the Ministry doesn't go after these bastards now, I'm going to hunt them down and kill them myself one by one. She really wouldn't but that was what she felt like doing. Nodding a bit, Katie blinked against the tears that were still leaking from her eyes. It seemed now the floods had been opened there wasn't much she could do against it anymore. Giving up her own life to save someone else's didn't seem like such a high price to pay, especially when it concerned Alicia, and Katie wished she had been given that chance. She had been given a different chance, however, and she hadn't taken it. "I could have killed him," she said, curling her hands into fists as she remembered the anger she had felt. It still hadn't been enough. "I should have killed him, but I couldn't do it." In the end, it wouldn't have solved anything, she knew: Alicia would have been dead either way. But it would at least have made her feel better to know Alicia's death hadn't been in vain. Swallowing against the lump in her throat, she reached for Angelina's hand - the one she had just punched into the floor - and held it in her own. "Do you think we jinxed it?" she asked suddenly, remembering the shots they had done just before leaving for Hogwarts. 'For good luck,' Alicia had said. It seemed so long ago now. The details and facts of the actual fight blurred in Angelina's head so much that she couldn't be certain what had actually happened in most of them. All she knew was that she'd been fighting back. She would have jumped at the chance to defend and take the bullet for the younger Gryffindor but she'd been knocked unconscious before she had the chance. In many ways, she felt cheated. The logical part of her wanted to rationalize that it was war and you killed or got killed. Those Death Eaters were only doing what they had to survive. She wasn't feeling logical at the moment with the pain though. If she'd have died for Ritchie Coote, she would have gone beyond that for Alicia or Fred. "If I'd known - I probably would have myself," she admitted. When it wasn't a matter of her friend's dying, she wasn't willing to kill but when it was placed out in front of her like that she knew she would have. She would have said the words without remorse. "It's a bit late to rationalize what we could have done. It's over now - " She squeezed Katie's hand that had taken her own. "I guess we should not go with that good luck ritual again just to be on the safe side. Honestly, I'm not willng to part with you and George just to check it out." Angelina was right: it was no use thinking about it now. They were gone, the fight had ended, and they had won. They should be looking at the future instead of the past, helping those that had been hurt. And speaking of... "Come on," said Katie, getting up from the floor after giving Angelina's hand one last pat. "Let's get those injuries of yours treated." Angelina clearly wasn't in a position to walk, but Katie had seen some people passing them by with stretchers earlier. Her tears had disappeared as quickly as they had come, in a manner that was typically Katie: get pushed, bounce back, rinse, repeat. She had a purpose again, so she was back in business mode, at least for the moment. More grief would come later, she knew, but it was good she and Angelina had had this conversation. Her hurt felt more manageable in a way, no longer like she might explode the moment she opened her mouth. Stretching her legs, Katie smiled a bit sadly. "Then it's a good thing George and I aren't going anywhere." Minister Shacklebolt The joy and exhilaration that filled the Great Hall was overwhelming and Kingsley was one of the first few to give Harry a clap on the shoulder, congratulating him. That Voldemort was dead now, completely, after being at large for nearly all of Kingsley's life (and certainly most of his career) almost brought a tear to his eye, but looking around at all the faces in the room still in pain, tears that weren't tears of joy but sorrow and death, death still everywhere, sobered him. The battle had ended, but an Auror's job never finished with the battle. The Auror's job (and Kingsley had never stopped thinking of himself as an Auror - though he supposed he was one officially again now) continued on until the last person had been informed of the bad news, the last order was given, and the last piece of paperwork was filed. Kingsley's job was not over yet, and he realised suddenly how much of his job it now was. "Expecto Patronum!" he said, having a slightly more difficult time than usual casting his Patronus charm, and the silver lynx ran off out of the castle. There were others who needed to know the war was over, others he trusted. He saw Minerva looking at him, and when he approached her, he was joined by Arthur and Bill and the other Heads of Houses. Bill suggested moving the body (none had to ask which) out of the Great Hall and Filus mentioned parents, keeping them at the Three Broomsticks' to prevent them from barging into the castle, and then he realised they were all looking at him. He was the only one from the Ministry there (if he could even say he was with the Ministry any longer) -- the rest were dead. Tonks, Mad-Eye, even Pius Thickness, who was a good man before he had become an Imperiused puppet. There was no time to dwell though - an Auror's job never allowed for it, not until much later. He was running on automatic by now, giving instructions to contact Healers and form a triage, watch out for Death Eaters who may still be in the area, round up more bodies. He was out of adrenaline now, running only on duty. The bodies were going to be taken to the Ministry shortly, the students would be going home, and someone would have to notify the Prophet once they were able. Gawain Robards finally arrived with Savage and Proudfoot, and Kingsley was ready to defer to them, but he had no such luck. The Ministry needed a Minister, a temporary one to clean out the Ministry and within minutes Robards had administered the magical Oath. The people cheered but Kingsley felt no excitement. He still had a job to do. He was Minister, Voldemort was dead, and Kingsley Shacklebolt only wanted a nap. |