A/N: This is my own poetry (sorry! kinda sucks!) so bear with me. I wrote the poem/song first, then the story, so sorry if it doesn't quite fit! Please review with any suggestions or comments. Even Flames are welcome!(which kinda takes the fun out of flaming) This story is kind of AU Deathly Hollows, but the war has lasted longer.
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A hymn before battle, a song for the true.
Who carry their burden, who bear the night through.
We sing as the sun sets, as the light fades from view,
A hymn before battle, a song for the true.
Ron Weasley rubbed the last bit of polish into his wand and wiped it down. The wand glowed warmly in the firelight of the empty, darkened Griffindor common room, the red glow accenting a nick on one end of the wooden tool. Ron smiled a little, and was faintly surprised that he could still smile. He remembered what had caused the flaw; he'd been working on a spell to make Hermione a Valentine's Day present. The spell had gone awry, and an exploding piece of rock-solid chocolate had chipped the wand. He never did get the spell figured out. He wished he'd given her a gift anyways and told her how he felt, since it was too late now and he probably wouldn't get another chance. But it was enough that she would be safe, hidden in the bowels of the kitchen and evacuating house elves and children. Later, she would brew potions for the wounded with the rest of the Advanced Potions class that weren't to be fighting. The potions would probably be needed, as the battle against the Dark Lord had finally dissolved into what everyone had dreaded: an all-out war. The students of Hogwarts were arming themselves and practicing their hexes in defense of the castle. They would fight to the death for Harry and the school and the values they held. Ron didn't want to die, but if that was what it took, he would. For Harry and Hermione.
A hymn before battle, a song for the free.
Who fight for their people on land and on sea.
We sing as the sun sets, as dark leaks through the trees,
A hymn before battle, a song for the free.
Hermione surveyed the kitchen. She'd convinced all the elves that didn't want to fight to leave, and they were house elf-style apparating out of the school. She'd sent them to Beaubaxons in France. If Hogwarts survived the attack they would come back. All her hard work with S.P.E.W. and the best she could do was convince five ancient elves that they should leave a war zone. A few of the more talented elfin cooks were hard at work making potions, turning all their culinary skill to the brewing of healing droughts. She was going to keep a couple potions in reserve for her friends unless they were desperately needed. Ron was somewhere upstairs, readying for battle. She felt lost without his good humor and loyalty, but he'd made her swear a wizard's oath that she wouldn't join the fighting. She had wanted to fight alongside him, but he'd seemed so desperate that she'd agreed. Really, she would do anything for him, though he probably didn't know it. He didn't think her of anything more than a friend. She wished she'd maybe kissed him, just once. But Ron wouldn't like a girl like her; an ugly know-it-all bookworm. She was lucky enough to have him as a friend, even if they would never be anything more. Even if they never had a chance to be anything more. Hermione pushed the thought of death out of her mind. Get busy, she told herself. People will need these potions. Harry needs you. Ron needs you. And she wouldn't fail them, no matter what.
A hymn before battle, a song for the brave.
Who ride into war and who fight, unafraid.
We sing as the sun sets, as light turns to shade,
A hymn before battle, a song for the brave.
A hymn before battle, a song for the lost.
Who ride into war regardless of cost.
We sing as the sun sets, as gold turns to frost,
A hymn before battle, a song for the lost.
George waited, his face still and cold. He didn't care. Fred was gone. He was only half a person, half a mind, half a life. Fred was the yin to his yang in ways other people never saw. Fred was what had held him together for years, just as he'd held Fred. He hadn't spoken since his twin died. It felt wrong. He sometimes would start to think about talking, and turn to share a glance with the brother that wasn't there. He'd open his mouth and the nonsense beginning of a sentence would emerge, unfinished, and wait, and there was no one to complete it. He didn't even want to prank anyone. What was the point in doing something funny if there wasn't anyone to laugh with? It wasn't like loosing a arm or a leg, it was like loosing his heart. And, really, that was what it was. Breaking all ties. Cutting the bonds between him and the living. He felt nothing but a sort of ache. A couple people had told him he'd get over it. They were wrong. You don't get over loosing half of yourself. He and Fred had never spent a day apart in their entire lives. It was pointless to do anything now. He vaguely went about the necessities of day to day living, but there was no life in it. He was just waiting, and now the wait was almost over. The last battle was drawing close, and he had every intention of dying. Perhaps he'd even die heroically. George smiled icily. Fred would think one of them dying in so cliché a fashion funny.
A hymn before battle, a song for the dead.
Who rode into war and to fields of blood red.
We sing as the sun sets, as the moon rears its head,
A hymn before battle, a song for the dead.
A hymn before battle, a song for the strong.
Who fight against darkness, who fight against wrong.
We sing as the sun sets, as the shadows grow long,
A hymn before battle, a song for the strong.
Harry fingered the Cloak fondly. It had been his father's once, and now his. It brought good memories and a feeling of protection. His wand dangled lightly in his grip, and a slight frown creased his brow. He'd realized late, late last night, looking in Dumbledore's Pensive, what the answer to the prophecy was. Where the last Horcrux was hidden. He knew full well what needed to be done, and he wanted to get it over with. He was tired. He was sick of fighting, of dying. He wanted to rest. And though he'd never thought himself the suicidal, self-sacrificial type, he didn't really find the prospect of death as bad as he thought he would. He could only hope that he could get to Voldemort in time. Before anyone else was killed. He would gladly trade his life for Ginny's, for Hermione's and Ron's and Neville's and Luna's. He was afraid, but it would be all right. It might hurt, but not for long. He could take pain with the vision of respite before him. Maybe he would see his parents, Sirius, Lupin and even Dumbledore. He missed them. He had often thought when he was a small child at the Dursley's that he'd do anything to meet his parents, and it seemed that, at long last, he would. He hoped that his friends would be all right without him, that Hogwarts would be restored and reopened, that everyone would be happy.
Harry pulled the Cloak around him and vanished into the shadows of the Forbidden Forest, ready to meet his fate.
A hymn before battle, a song to bring light.
We fight through the darkness, may we have clear sight.
We sing as the sun sets, with the stars glowing white,
A hymn before battle, a song for the fight.