Another night was dying away in the Scottish Highlands as the waning Moon ended her path above the hills and forests, relentlessly driven out of this world by the rising Sun, as the divine powers willed it in the beginning of the world.
Together with the night were dying the nightly shadows; the hunters and the hunted were returning to their holes and nests, some after a successful hunt, some with an empty stomach, some simply happy to have survived yet another night full of dangers. The eerie howls of the werewolf pack in the depths of the Forbidden Forest were gone, as was the high-pitch chirping of the bats, and the forest was filled with different music as the first mockingbird awoke and welcomed the dawning of a new day.
The golden fingers of Helios, at first, gently caressed the narrow valleys, embroidering them with golden thread, then, as the celestial orb rose higher and higher, its rays reached the eternal hillsides, were reflected back into the sky by the crystal clear waters of the countless lochs and found their way into the very depths of the centuries-old forests of the Scottish countryside. The trees turned their leaves, the flowers their petals towards the Sun and the air filled with the rejoicing morning chorus of the awakening fauna.
Helios was smiling, enjoying his imminent powers, as he reclaimed his domain from the darkness and spread his healing warmth onto Gaia, his divine sister's body. Then, something else caught his attention and he stopped dead in his track, curiously eyeing the scenery spreading beneath him.
On top of a small hill stood the remains of a building what until yesterday was a magnificent castle. Defying history, wars and elements for almost a millennium, it has been ruined now beyond recognition. What once was the home for the cream of the wizarding population of Britain, widely known as Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, now was a pile of rubble, marble, stone and timber and only the remnants of what had been the Astronomy tower once stood there as an accusing finger, a memento of the horrible events that took place earlier that night. Where once the laughter and cheering of young witches and wizards was heard, now were only a few fires still smouldering among the rubble; fire set ablaze by man, by evil, fire that cannot be put out until it consumes itself.
Last night a battle took place, a battle which would go into history books later, after many years, as the "Battle of Hogwarts and the Third Rise of Voldemort". Hundreds of students from all four Houses, their friends and families, hundreds of former students, teachers, and those who simply possessed magic stood here as one, driven by a common will, to defend this last bastion of freedom against Voldemort, the horde of his followers and countless dark creatures he'd won over to his side. Having slowly gained control over the whole of Great Britain, Hogwarts ws the last dangerous enemy he had to eliminate in order to break down the remnants of the resistance against his regime, the regime built on his ideals of blood purity, before he could justly call himself the ruler of the country.
The castle was protected by old, forgotten magic, magic that was already ancient at the time when it was built by two powerful wizards and two equally powerful witches, the Founders. The defenders added multiple lines of their protection around the grounds from all possible forms of attacks and in the beginning the wards were holding out. Were it not for a small breach along the southwest corner, where in ancient times a slightly overdone wizarding duel had made the ground magic-free in a circumference of 30 feet, the castle would stand. Due to some unfortunate circumstances, however, the breach had been discovered, and from that moment on everything was lost.
Driven ahead by the sheer madness of Tom Riddle, the Death Eaters and their pet creatures stormed the castle and killed everybody on their way. Vampires, partially transformed werewolves feasted on the bodies of the defenders – it wasn't full moon, but the potion they had been administered brought out their feral instincts – and green rays of lights – Killing Curses – struck countless victims. Hogwarts, however, defended itself bravely. For each fallen student five attackers were killed and their lines seemed to diminish, but somehow they managed to separate the biggest and fiercest resistance group from the others and drive them into the Great Hall, from where there was no escape. When the roaring flames of Fiendfyre consumed them, the rest was quickly rounded up and then there was grave silence on the grounds. There was no victorious rejoicing, no moaning of the wounded, no crying over the fallen heroes.
This same night Voldemort and his followers, leaving a bloody trail behind, marched towards London. No Portkeys or Apparition this time; Voldemort opened a direct portal, sacrificing the magic of a half dozen Death Eaters, leaving them as useless Squibs behind. The merciless, dark army took the capital and the House of Parliament with almost no resistance, save the few Aurors disguised as security, and at 5 am the Queen, suddenly looking 20 years older, her eyes glassy and hands shaking, addressed the nation in a radio and TV speech stating she was dismissing the Government and forming a new one, and then stepping down from the throne. A new, dark era dawned on Britain an hour ago, an era ruled by fear and discrimination, by terror and murder, in which freedom existed no more.
On and around the Hogwarts grounds, overall lay scattered, mingled bodies. Bodies with no physical damage – victims of Killing Curses, bodies trampled by giants, drained dry by vampires, torn into pieces by werewolves, bodies frozen in that last spasm of pain as Acromantula venom slowly ate them away. Apart from having collected all wands, however, Voldemort ordered not to touch the bodies, but let them there as a horrible sign, a warning to those still contemplating resistance.
Helios, deeply shocked by this display of evil that men do turned his face away from the bloodshed in pain. He hid himself, awestruck, behind a thick, gray cloud of smoke and mist and cried. He cried as he saw the broken bodies of those strong young men, blossoming young women lying there, bloodied, desecrated, torn, their glassy eyes accusingly pointing to the heavens and Gaia cried with him. In his anger and grief he sent lightnings onto the battered Earth and thunder shook the skies.
The sudden rain – their tears – washed away the soot and blood and it slowly soaked into the thirsty ground, completing the cycle of life. New life was being born on the remains of a taken life. The smell of decay, however, lingered there, above the battleground, the sweet smell of blood and the dreadful stench of burnt, torn flesh, and it drew the attention of the first scavengers coming forth from the depths of the Forest, licking their lips in anticipation of the feast.
Two ever-hungry wolves came out of the trees, their nostrils sharply drawing in the crisp air full of delicious smells, and slowly trotted towards the remains of the castle. The she-wolf stopped at a corpse, still warm and slowly licked the clotted blood from the huge gashing wound on its forehead. Out of nowhere came a flash of green light and the wolf dropped dead the same instant. Her mate sniffed at her, poked at her with his nose as if nudging her to stop playing and get up. His brain, however, soon understood she would never get up again and the majestic animal, suddenly frightened, rushed back to the relatively safe depths of the wood, howling his pain to Heavens.
A lone figure, wearing a long, black hooded travel cloak reached the clearing, coming from another part of the forest. Stopping dead in his track, his eyes quickly scanned the site of the massacre. Then the figure slowly removed his hood. The young women sadly shook her head, sending her waist-long, silvery hair flying into the air and tried to fight back her tears which attacked and overwhelmed her. Falling on her knees, she covered her angelic face with her hands and broke out into hysteric sobs.
"Mon Dieu!"