The alley was so dark he could barely make out the borders between the imposing buildings and the starless winter sky.

To think once I was so scared of shadows... both in the world and in the persons...

In the dark, to avoid missing a step he had to reach out with his hand to keep his bearings with the help of the humid stonewall, as he descended the stairs.

Perhaps only the Forbidden Forest was even more humid than this wall. I was so scared, then...

The door, made out of solid oak and with quite powerful defensive spells, opened before him with ease, as this place belonged to him and no one else.

The only tie to what was once my life...

As the door closed behind him without a noise, torches began to flare, yet their light wasn't enough to illuminate all the room, as if the darkness didn't want to completely renounce to its lordship over it.

As it should be. Right now, these things can only be kept in the dark...

The humid earth gently collapsed under his feet, as he made the few steps he needed to get to the first line of the rectangular stones that were regularly put all over the hidden lair. He looked at the first one on the right, as always.

Neville Longbottom

Flash.

He caught with the tail of his eye a greenish flash, then he felt the one with whom he was back-to-back crumple to the ground, letting go of the shining sword of Gryffindor. He automatically reached out, looking for a non-existent pulse, as the Death Eaters around him closed, ready for the kill...

Luna Lovegood

Flash.

If he had been able to reach beyond the curtain of pain that was gripping his heart, he would have realized he wasn't surprised at all Luna's behavior hadn't changed at all, not even for a lousy thing like bleeding to death. Her last, pained words as the moonlight rendered her face even paler... "It was... quite good... to have friends..."

The solemn expression on his face didn't budge as he shifted his gaze from stone to stone.

Kingsley Shacklebolt

Flash.

He took a glance behind his back. At least more than twenty darkly clad figures were circling around the imposing figure of the field leader of the Order. Their spells weren't as vicious as they could be; they were playing safe, knowing the prize couldn't escape. But he knew that was the way Kingsley would have wanted to go : fighting, and taking down as many as possible with him.

Percy Weasley

Flash.

No one ever thought of the bespectacled Weasley as a fighter; yet, even with two ribs broken, his glasses shattered, his left leg numb with pain, he kept firing spells at Lucius Malfoy, with an ice-cold stare that was clearly disturbing the blonde man. And as Dolohov's curse hit him from behind, he still found the strength to breathe a Sectumsempra that took with his life even the life of his father's murderer.

Ginevra Weasley

Flash.

Of everything his sister had, after the great battle all that was left was blind rage and desire of revenge. Of all of them, she had caused everlasting pain to Voldemort's lackeys, and even after she was captured she kept doing just that. He realized that as he saw the satisfied and very much relieved expressions of the two Death Eaters that discarded her body in a pile of rubble, the signs of multiple violence very much visible.

Harry Potter

Flash.

After years, he was still surprised he had survived the terrible moment, when Voldemort stepped from the Forbidden Forest, carrying his best friend's lifeless form. All he had wanted to do was kill Snakeface and die. And even if he still wanted with every breath he took to destroy the Dark Lord, he disturbingly found out he didn't wanted to die, not yet. Because it would have been a vain ending, a dishonor for Harry's sacrifice to negate Voldemort's 'immortality'.

He looked up, on the space he had carved from the foundations of stone. There, above the cold embrace of earth, in a stony coffin, was engraved a name, alone, and cursed.

Hermione Granger

He closed his eyes.

"We have to get out of here!" His roaring phrase emerged above the battle's noise. The bushy-haired girl near him swirled around and looked at him. "We can't. There's no use. All we can do..." "All we can do," he interrupted her, gripping her shoulders and shaking them, confusingly realizing tears were streaming down his cheeks, "is living on, and fighting on! Harry died because of this! Dying here would be easy, but I'm doing the difficult thing : waiting for him to be out of Horcrux and then blast him!" Under the veil of tears that clouded her eyes, he saw a gaze that he'd never expected to see : the gaze of someone that admits the person standing before him is right. "You're right. We have to..." He would never know what they had to do, as the familiar flash of a Killing Curse hit her back, and her eyes became wide in surprise, before becoming glassy in death. Too shocked to feel the gaping hole in his soul, he lifted his gaze, and met the satisfied face of Bellatrix Lestrange, happy to have ruined another existence.

The stone seemed to irradiate cold as his hand rested on it.

I'm alone.

He had been alone from four years.

I'm the last.

Four years since the last full-fledged member of the ancient Order of the Phoenix, Neville, had been killed.

Now he was the last surviving member of the Resistance that had been part of the first effort to stop the Dark Lord's influence.

Now he was the leader of those who strove to refuse His dominion over the Magical world. By default.

I'm no more.

Now he realized the hidden danger of man being a social animal. When he had thought of his future, all his futures involved others. Hermione. Harry. His family. His friends. Now, he had lost them all.

I have no future.

Now all he could envision for his future was the battle against Voldemort's reign. His hand caressed his wand. The wand that had already avenged so many of those who were remembered in the lair.

I am going to destroy Voldemort.

He didn't need a 'what about after'. He knew he would return here and stay with those he had loved and lost forever. Because without them, he had no life nor future.

I have one last thing to do.

Ronald Bilius Weasley was 35 years old. But his life as he meant it was already over.

His hand hesitating over the door knob, he turned his head a little. With a voice that had all the feelings he had left since four years, he murmured : "I'm going. Wait for my return."

The darkness welcomed both the lair and both him, as he walked away. But out of everything, only one thing remained of the man he was before the tragedies. A statement, simple and powerful.

This is wrong.

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