I have supped full with horror.

[wand_wavers]

For a moment, the briefest of moments, Hogwarts is silent. It's the silence of surprise, of blank shock; even as deep below the castle, a wizard perhaps more powerful than any other in the building raised his hands and prepared to fell them, Voldemort's Inferi crumpled lifeless to the ground, every one. No wizard did that - nor any magic worked by an Old One - and for a moment, the briefest of moments, the fighting stutters to a halt as the combatants stare at the fallen bodies.

The silence of surprise, of blank shock, and - as something tenses in the air - the silence of a great, indrawn breath.

And then -

The explosion is bigger than it should be, bigger than it was ever supposed to be, and only in the furthest, deepest places of the castle will it not be heard.

Comments

[wand_wavers]

There is no hope. The odds are impossible.

Jonathan fights and fights and there are so many, and he hears Elektra's cries, and he sees Jonas fall, and he can't do anything but fight on, and fuck, the stairs, and poor fucking Atticus is trying his best, but--

They're finished.

They've lost.

With a sob, Jonathan keeps burning and hexing and--

But.

What.

They fall.

The inferi fall.

He turns to Atticus. The reporter is bleeding from a hundred scratches. He looks singed, beaten, and utterly flummoxed.

And then the entire corridor, where Bernard, Aron, Elektra and Raph were fighting, erupts in an--

No, Jonathan thinks, as he's blown down the stairwell. No. Two fireballs. One normal, expected. One very much not normal.

The last thing he thinks as he hits the stone wall is this:

I wonder what combination produced that

[clumsy_auror]

Dimly, Nymphadora is aware that the Inferi have fallen, somehow, but she doesn't know why; Crowley's shoulder blocks most of her view, but she stays there for a moment, clinging to the demon, because the longer she can soak up the warmth and the solid presence of family, the better off she'll be against the Dementors.

But then--

But then, from the upper floors, there's a muffled, oxygen-sucking pulse, and then another a split second later, and the very walls of the ancient castle shake around them.

"No," she whispers, because she knows before she can even verbalise it.

She knows.

Lifting the mirror to her eyes, Nymphadora searches frantically, but all she can see is smoke, and stillness.

Terrible stillness.

[aj_crawley]

Everything's quiet in the wake of it.

Everything.

Until suddenly, one of the Death Eaters lets out a shriek, and clutches at their arm - and then another, and then another. Until, from other parts of the castle, a ragged, vicious cheer goes up as bands of defenders rally against the intruders - depleted now, without the Inferi, and hopelessly confused.

Until the precisely four seconds it takes for Crowley, not thinking not thinking not thinking, to step back out into the corridor and start plowing his way through the enemy towards the open hallway, towards the staircase, towards the smoke.

[a-fell.livejournal.com]

It's a good thing Crowley has the tyre iron, a good thing that everything is off balance, because 'Dora is racing after the demon, barely seeming aware of the wand in her hand and although Aziraphael is instantly on her heels the Inferi are dead and the Dementors are elsewhere and the rest of them are human. For a given value thereof. It's terrifying to feel this helpless but he knows better than to wish there were something he could do because... because they are running past things he could do and should do but this is family.


The expression on Crowley's face; when he sees the wreckage, the piles of rubble, the expression on Crowley's face is... terrifying. Almost as much so as the way Bernard looks when they get through to him, when they manage to pull him out. Aziraphael settles beside him, struggles to concentrate and do what he can in the face of the battle that still rages in the distance and - and the not so distant and - and the state of 'Dora, her tear streaked face and the wand lying unregarded by her hand...

It's a good thing Crowley has the tyre iron.

Aziraphael tries not to look. He has to concentrate. And if - if, by not looking, if that means he's condoning...


Well. It's Crowley.

[wand_wavers]

The tide turns, slower, then faster and faster again, as the news spreads, person to person, mouth to ear in the chaos and then wild shouts over the din. And looks of grim exultation follow it, as understanding dawns; why the werewolves are turning tail, why the giants are following, why the Death Eaters are suddenly grasping their arms and screaming aloud at the faint smell of burning flesh:

Voldemort is dead.

The Inferi lie motionless on the ground, now no more than corpses, without even the animus imposed - then taken away - by powers infernal. The Dementors too are withdrawing, slipping away out onto the grounds and back to the forest, their release from Voldemort's bond, and from whom they'd been promised to, spelled out in the ragged edges of torn paper, words shorn halfway through.

Where there is smoke, it clears, where there is screaming, it fades, and where there is fighting, it slows, sputters, stops. The enemy is dead, fled, or taken into captivity, and as the sound and fury of the battle dies away, once and for all, there comes a new noise - the high, thin wail of the Mediwizard sirens, descending upon the castle from on high.

You have paid in blood, they say, but paid well. It's over.

[gramarye1971]

One thing about being a prefect is that you soon learn how to get around a castle in ways that most students don't normally know about. There is more than one route from the girls' toilets on the second floor to the infirmary on the floor above, and Hermione and Ron don't even argue about which way to take -- once the passage leading down to the Chamber of Secrets closes behind the four of them, they leave the bathroom and head down a little-used corridor, toward an even less-used spiral staircase.

The corridor is empty and deathly quiet. There are three bodies sprawled on the floor, three unwilling conscripts in Voldemort's army of Inferi, all of whom have fortunately landed face down. Hermione closes her eyes when she has to walk past them, Ron keeps his gaze fixed firmly ahead, and it isn't entirely clear if Harry is fully aware of anything going on around him. Only Merriman glances down at the bodies, briefly looking for identifying marks and remembering their positions in case a final tally is required.

[wand_wavers]

They reach the Hospital Wing, and inside is near-bedlam. Everyone is rushing around looking after someone or being looked after, and the air is thick with calls for more bandages, more towels, more water, more healing potions and salves, more everything.

In comparison, their entrance is something of an anti-climax. They slip into the long ward, all but unnoticed. Harry is weaving a little on his feet, even with one arm thrown over Ron's shoulder for support. Hermione looks around rather helplessly at first, but soon enough she spots Madam Pomfrey and one arm shoots straight into the air and waves about -- by now, her instinctive way to get an adult's attention.

"Madam Pomfrey! Madam Pomfrey!"

[wand_wavers]

Madam Pomfrey expected this from the moment she learned that there would be a battle at Hogwarts. So this is bedlam, but controlled bedlam. She's recruited anyone she could find who knew much of anything about healing, and she's somehow everywhere she needs to be, cool and efficient.

She turns when she hears her name, leaving bandages to wind themselves up the arm of Ophelia Wimpell, an injured auror she remembers as a tiny accident-prone first year from not too long ago, and, seeing who it is, hurries over.

"Merlin's beard," she says. "Let's get you lying down." She scans up and down the beds, and spots an empty one at the far end. "This way," she says, leading them down the row of beds, past flurries of activity.

Dumbledore lies in a bed two or three down from the one she's leading Harry to, "resting his eyes."

[apwb-d.livejournal.com]

Severus's potions have served him well more than once, and what Severus can't provide, Poppy can. Albus is resting quietly. He feels terribly old and more than a little exhausted, but he's no longer in pain.

He's most pleased to see Harry, Ron, and Hermione arrive. The fact that Merriman is with them is quite a pleasant surprise, if a confusing one.

"I take it you've good news for me?"

[wand_wavers]

As exhausted as he looks and feels, Harry's grin threatens to split his face in half at the sight of Dumbledore looking...well, not dead.

"Think so," he says, and coughs again. His eyes are suddenly, suspiciously bright. "It's...good to see you, Professor."

Even that little reply takes a lot out of him, and he doesn't protest at all when Madam Pomfrey herds him along to the empty bed. Ron and Hermione follow, determined to stick with him until they're forcibly removed.

[leplusbeau]

Outside the Room of Requirement, the doors are almost entirely blocked with the still smoldering wreckage of burnt desks, couches, beds, tables, and even a few paintings.

A dead Death Eater here and there.

But the hall is quiet. Very, very quiet.

[thecoolone]

It's quiet, except for the one tall thin red-haired wizard picking his way through the destruction in the hallway with one thought on his mind: to find his wife. She's here somewhere; he can tell. He's no Diviner and no Seer, but he knows where she was supposed to have been. Reaching for the doorknob, he opens the door as much as he can: this is the infamous Room of Requirement he's heard so much about. What he requires right now is for Fleur to be inside.

Wand drawn, he muscles his way in past the debris blocking the door, but...

No one? Where are they? Where could they have gone? This room was supposed to have been safe. This is the one that was supposed to have been a haven, untouchable. It's almost too much, this coming on the heels of what he and Fleur saw in Paris: ruined furniture, the smell of smoke, things in a jumble, and... is that a body?

He can feel his heart racing in unpleasant anticipation.

"Fleur?"

[leplusbeau]

There is the distant sound of something, masonry maybe, falling.






And then a gasp of surprise.




From somewhere, it isn't clear where, "How did you first learn I waz pregnant?"

[thecoolone]

That's my girl. "From an entire room full of snickering and silly people in Bernard and Tonks's flat. I had to rattle on the door to the bath to convince you to let me in, and I wondered why everyone else in the universe but me was there with you."

Now it's his turn. "And what was the name of the first Healer we saw after we knew?"

It's a game: she'll know it's him and he... well... he already knows it's her. He can feel it in his veins.

[leplusbeau]

"BILL!"

And she is launching herself at him from behind her upturned table hiding place, and she doesn't care that she is the size of a house, she leaps at him because HE IS ALIVE, HE IS HERE, HE IS FINE, HUSBAND!

And she is weeping, clutching, kissing his face. "Bill, Bill, Bill!"

[dragon-paznic.livejournal.com]

Charlie leans against the great stone wall beside the front door, for a moment, just closing his eyes and trying to breathe.

It's difficult.

His broom is... somewhere. He doesn't care. It doesn't particularly matter, just now.



The path to the hospital wing seems longer than ever, but it's the only place Charlie can think to go. He wants to go to Gryffindor Tower, to find his old four-poster and curl up in it for a thousand years, to re-awaken and find the world's returned to the way it was, when things made more sense than they do now.

All Charlie can think is I hope they already know.

Because he doesn't want to be the one to tell them.

[http://users.livejournal.com/_our_king_/]

"Charlie!" came a relieved voice, and Ron pushed through the masses of people going in and out of the infirmary to his brother. He didn't want to leave Harry's side, but every so often he'd been going to the door and keeping an eye out for his family.

"It's done! He's gone! The bloody gits done for good!"

Six feet and 170 pounds of teenage boy barreled into Charlie as Ron hugged him, completely relieved to see him alive.

"Have you seen Mum and Dad yet? Or Ginny?" Ron asked worriedly. "I think I saw Bill through the crowd, but--"

...And he noticed the look on Charlie's face.

"What's happened?"

[wand_wavers]

Ginny can’t ever remember feeling this tired before. All of the worry, and seeing her parents fighting and being cursed and protecting everyone…She’ll never look at either of them the same way again.

Now all she wants is to know that the rest of her family is safe. And Harry… is Harry safe?

She feels lost as she makes her way to the infirmary with her parents. They are both looking ragged and as tired as she feels herself.

Molly keeps her arm around Arthur, and takes comfort in his arm around her. She isn’t sure which of them is supporting the other at this point, but they are upright and moving. Now all she wants to find her children, get Arthur and Ginny checked over, and to take her family home, where they can recover.

As they approach the infirmary, Molly can make out the unmistakable forms, first of Ron, so tall now, and then Charlie, who looks weary. Two of her men, safe and sound… the vice around her heart loosens a bit.

She can feel the tension in Arthur ease slightly at the sight of them too, and knows that he has been every bit as worried about their children as she has.

Ginny has spotted them too, and rushes forward to hug them both. Charlie looks so serious… fear grips Molly’s heart suddenly, and her eyes fly to Arthur’s who looks concerned. Four of their seven children are sill unaccounted for. Percy would be safe at the Ministry, but Bill and the twins…

“Boys? Are you all right? Have you seen the others?”

Her eyes are scanning over both of them for any signs of injury.

[http://users.livejournal.com/_our_king_/]

"Mum? Dad? Ginny!" Ron hugged Ginny back, tight, glad to see that she and his dad and mum were all right. "You lot all right? Harry and Hermione are fine, and I think I saw Bill through the crowd maybe--but he ran off--probably to find Fleur."

But...but where were the twins?

He turned back to Charlie, now wondering, fearing...

[iambetadraconis]

It's strange, really, how it all came to an end.

I couldn't tell you how, because I wasn't there to witness it. But I can tell you that I felt it.

My arm felt as though it was being ripped from my shoulder. The left, you see. That's the one that bears the Mark. His Mark. The Dark Mark. That came first. And as soon as it started it was over, and my arm felt lifeless though I could still move it.

Dare I to hope? I asked myself as I hesitantly withdrew the sleeve to see—

—that it was gone.

Gone.

The skin of my inner forearm was unblemished as though it never bore a mark of any kind at all upon it. Or in it, as it were.

That meant only one thing:

He was gone. Gone for good.

And it was in that moment that I finally found it in me to believe in a god and his heaven.

Only a god of kindness and mercy could find it within himself to allow those who never truly wanted to serve the Dark Lord [dare I to call him by his infernal name now that he's truly dead?] at all.

Thank you. Oh, thank you.

That's when the world about me began to [literally] cave in about me—

*******

He let out a yelp of pain as several stones hit him in the side, threatening to kill him if he didn't get out of the way. The walls were shaking. The ceiling was shaking.

Bloody hell the stairs were shaking.

Even Rabastan himself was shaking, partially from fear; partially from elation.

After what seemed to be an eternity of indentured servitude to a man born only of hate and darkness so deep it was impossible to fathom he was...

"...free... Oh gods I am ... I am..."

He checked his arm again, as though he found it hard to believe the truth of the matter.

Sure enough, the Mark was gone.

He pulled the bone-white mask from his face, dropped it, raised his foot, and gave it a decisive stomp.

It shattered like glass.

"He's gone and I can be free—"

"But you won't live long to gloat about it!"

Rabastan whirled about to see the furious faces of Rodolphus and Mulciber. Clearly they had survived.

And were angry.

"You spineless coward of a dog I'll tear you—"

Rodolphus didn't finish what he was about to say, as he and Mulciber fell down the stairs.

"There's three of them down here and—

Is that a broken mask at his feet?"

"Broken, yes. He's gone. I need it no more," Rabastan said. "The Dark Lord is gone. I am no longer bound to him."

And he said those words with a joy he'd never found within himself before.

"He's gone! Gone!"

"Mad, that one," said the stranger.

"What do we do with him?"

"I don't care," Rabastan said. "He's gone; I don't have to worry about him any more. No more death. No more killing."

He breathed out his next words.

"No more pain..."

And with that he turned on his heel and ran down the stairs three at a time, not even stopping when he reached a door, opened it, burst out into the night.

"He's GONE! GONE! FREEDOM!"

[wand_wavers]

Draco had rushed down the hall, and went to find other Death Eaters. They praised him, and said how much he was like his father. They then asked him to come along back to the Room of Requirement. Everything was good.

He finally was coming into his own, and making all them pay. No Mudblood or Blood traitors would dare best a Malfoy again. He was still laughing as the Cruciatus curse began hitting people.

Then things changed. Suddenly it wasn't a game. It wasn't petty vengeance. It was real. And something inside him started to scream as though he was being hit with the curse.

Then he was told to help. Torture and kill. He raised his wand, and stepped forward proudly. Show them what it means to be a true Pureblood and a Malfoy.

His wand arm wavered, and he couldn't force the words past his lips.

Moments later, the other Death Eaters weren't so proud of him. Telling him he was weak. Soft. Unworthy. Why couldn't he do it?

Luckily before they could do anything to him, they started screaming, and grabbing their arms. The Dark Mark, shifting, changing, GONE?? And the murmerings. Dead. The Dark Lord was Dead. Truly dead... Impossible.

What have I done?

In the confusion, he ran. Just to get away. Good thing too, because the school began falling all around him. He stumbled down a flight of stairs, and possibly broke something. He just limped away, wanting to run.
He was a traitor, as much as the rest of them. Likely to be arrested and sent to Azkaban.

Because he was his father's son. A Malfoy.

So why was he crying and feeling sick to his stomach? He rubbed his eyes with his sleeve, and just kept running, ignoring everybody else. Into the Forbidden Forest, and vanishing from sight.

[capt_angie]

In the wake of the battle, Angelina slips away and goes walking by herself. Her shoulder is torn up and she has yet to see a healer, but though it's painful, it isn't life threatening. She walks over the grounds, away from the battle and she keeps going. So much destruction lies behind her, so many lives cut short- some she knew, most she didn't. The bodies of her parents are back there somewhere, and Fred and George... oh Merlin, Fred and George... they were her oldest school friends and- even though they hadn't spoken in months- she still cares for Fred in a way that is more than just platonic.

Angelina wipes the back of her hand across her eyes and it comes away wet from tears she hadn't even realised she was crying. She thinks this must be a dream. For the past two- no three- years she has been living each day at a time, hardly daring to think of a future that she might never see. But she's here. The war is over and she's survived. The sharp pain in her shoulder reminds her of that and a small sob escapes her. The tears she cries are bittersweet- part grief for those that where lost, part guilt that she survived... and partly for the sheer joy and relief of being alive.

And oh she has so much still to live for.

[wand_wavers]

As the enemies were cleared away and the injured were attended to, the news spread. Floo-calls to the Ministry, floo-calls to family, owls, people apparating off to tell everyone they knew.

People could breathe again, and that meant they could react.

All over the world, fireworks were shot up into the air and it seemed that stars rained down from the sky.

***


"--and in other news, Stan, people all over Britain have been witnessing owls everywhere--flying overhead, perched on cars--experts say they haven't seen such strange migration patterns in the local birds since July, seventeen years ago. Currently, ornithologists are trying to discern what's causing this strange pattern of upheaval--"

***


Muggles felt the strange unexplainable dread they'd been feeling slip away. Strangely-clothed figures roamed the streets, talking in excited, hushed voices. Champagne bottles appeared from nowhere, and corks were popped.

"--He's gone..."

"--You-Know-Oo's dead, heard it with me own two ears--"

"--Done for good this time, I heard. Done for good--"

"--Heard Harry Potter was in the thick of it, no surprise there--

"--So many at the Ministry, good Lord those are some brave folks, and others too, who knows how many died--"

"--We're free! Hear that Hydrangea? Free! They got rid of 'im! Got rid of him at last!"

***


Not everyone celebrated though. Some received the news that their sons or daughters were dead. That their brothers or sisters were never coming home.

Some, like seventeen-year-old Lee Jordan, wandered the battlefield, grimy and gouged from the fight, to look for people they'd never see again. Lee came to the spot he had last seen two red-headed young men clinging from a broom, and found a smoking crater.

He picked up the tattered, burnt remains of a Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes brand Ever-expanding sack from the edge, then dropped to his knees, silent. As he wondered how he would ever be able to run the shop he knew that they'd left him all by himself, he buried his face in his hands.

***


In the end, however, the words that so many thought and said were passed along, like the light of a candle, from one hand to the next--a small, warm bit of joy that grew brighter and brighter:

We don't have to be afraid anymore. We don't have to be afraid.

[sullen-seeker.livejournal.com]

And long after the Death Eaters have fled, long after the giants have turned and retreated towards their distant mountains, long after the violence stops - Viktor flies.

Not going anywhere. Just watching it all from above, and from away, a god's-eye perspective. Below the people are light fireflies, lighting their wand tips and going back and forth between each other; he can almost hear them asking are you alright? and is he hurt? and where's our friend, is she dead too? They swarm together and break apart, chaos-pattered, mandala-like; Viktor wonders if you could tell new prophecies from the shapes their movements form.

New prophecies for new times.

Gently the distant tides turn their flow towards the castle and Viktor takes a moment to rest, alighting atop a burn-marked tower. Funny how from up here it all seems so peaceful, a wholly different world. Somewhere he knows there are people who will want to know that he's alive, to check his wounds, to tell him just how badly it all went - but for now he can hold this moment for his own, and keep it tight lest it slip from his grasp.




In time the first rays of the sun stretch over the horizon, striking the highest parts of the castle first. It's dawn, come at last, and Viktor lifts a hand to protect his eyes from the light.

IncalaEarneve francoeu

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