Amor Omnia Vincit.
The normally sterile hospital wing was covered in blood. There was a palpable aura of death and sickness that enveloped the vicinity. Men, women and children shuddered, moaned and convulsed in pain. Is this how victory is supposed to taste? The "Final Battle" began at exactly 12:01 AM on the morning we were all to leave for Christmas vacation. We knew the attack was coming and were out there on the edge of the Forbidden Forest waiting for Lord Voldemort's army to arrive. The Order, Aurors, students, teachers, fearless patriots; we stared death in the face and braced ourselves for what lay ahead. The Gladiators of ancient Rome used to salute Caesar before engaging in battle with either man or beast. Ave Caesar! Morituri Te Salutamus! Hail Caesar! We who are about to die salute you! I was a gladiator and the Death Eaters were my lions. Freedom from that evil tyranny was my Caesar.
No one wanted me there though. I was in no shape to be fighting. Harry threatened to chain me to a wall in the deepest, darkest and dankest dungeon to prevent me from fighting. Ron was the one who ended up convincing Harry that I would fight right beside them, one way or another. Despite that, Harry didn't want me there. Despite his efforts to convince Harry, Ron didn't want me there. McGonagall, Pomfrey and the other teachers didn't want me there. He especially didn't want me to fight. There was too much risk involved.
The last memory I have of the unprecedented and historic battle was the first curse. There was no traditional beginning where the opposing sides glared at each other, waiting for their commanders to give orders. A death eater emerging from the woods sent a random jet of green light towards our ranks. Lavender Brown was the first to fall.
I woke up hours later surrounded by the chaos of the hospital wing. The light had won! My first sights of triumph, however, were bitterly painful. Padma Patil was sitting on the floor cradling the body of her dead sister. Sickly sweet blood dripped to the floor from the severed leg of George Weasley. Fred was crouched on the stone beside him, pale and eerily quiet. Neville Longbottom was in shock, Kingsly Shacklebolt had been hit with an unknown curse and was in critical condition, Tonks was lacking an eye. Ron had a massive burn on the right side of his face, a broken arm and numerous cuts and scrapes. Harry was surprisingly uninjured. Apparently, Voldemort warned the Death Eaters to stay away from him; Harry was his. Through what could only be described as a miracle, Harry finally defeated Voldemort. He's not even sure now how he did it. His achievement however, almost appeared to be in vain as scores of battered soldiers filled the small clinic.
I had fainted. Before I was able to even fire one spell, one solitary curse, I lost consciousness. I didn't even get to play a minuscule part in the Last Battle. For all intents and purposes, I was the "Girl-Who-Fainted". I suppose it was a solace for everyone that I had escaped the grisly action of the savage and merciless battle. Relief. My body was wracked by the appeasing feeling, for a moment.
Bam! Reality came crashing down upon my head. Alone. I was alone. He was nowhere to be seen. I sat up in a frenzy of panic. The rushing motion upset my stomach and it took on the notion to rebel. I made no move to seek out the toilet; a pool of vomit was no contestant against an ocean of blood.
I no longer bore witness to the horror of the hospital wing. He dominated my mind. I only remember the screams of Ginny Weasley as I passed through the doorway. Harry proposed to her nigh four hours before the battle began. They both knew that either of them would most likely not make it out alive and the engagement gave them a sense of peace. Harry and Ginny both survived. Ginny however, suffered an almost fatal wound to the abdomen. I learned later that she would never be able to bare children. The thought increased my guilt tenfold.
Somehow, through all the madness and insanity, I succeeded in finding Headmistress McGonagall. Chunks of hair that had escaped her normally tight bun were encased in blood, dirt and other unidentified substances. She was a hurricane of motion. Upon glancing at me though, she automatically stopped and visibly sagged. I knew the news was going to be bad. He was gone.
Hermione, she told me, He is dead. The Death Eaters had combusted and turned to ash when Voldemort fell. I went into hysterics. No! He wasn't truly one of them! He was a spy! She gave me a sorrowful glance before speaking again. Severus was a good man, but he bore the mark like the rest of them. I am so sorry dear.
She was sorry? She was sorry! My lover, my comforter my newly wedded husband was dead and she was sorry! We had only married three months before. A select few people knew of the arrangement. News of our marriage could jeopardize his role as a spy. I shrieked and cursed there in the hallway amongst the scores and scores of injured fighters. Then, my screams ceased and the pressures of the day forced me to the floor. The headmistress helped me up and took me to Madame Pomfrey who gave me one of her last dreamless sleep potions. It could have harmed the baby, but I was so far along that at that point it didn't matter. Her father was dead and my heart was shattered.
Two months passed quickly. The lawn in which the battle took place had been restored and on it was erected a memorial to those who had lost their lives, one hundred and seventy-three to be exact. All involved felt it inappropriate to convert the area into a cemetery. That lawn would remain for future generations play, dance, cry, study and fall in love on.
Ginny was still recovering from her injury. The week prior, she and Harry were informed that they would never be able to hold their own children in their arms. Ginny had sobbed every day and every night almost unceasingly since she was told. Padma was so destroyed by her sister's death, that she could no longer function properly. She had been sent home. I barely spoke those eight weeks. My child was growing larger each day. Madame Pomfrey assured me that my daughter would soon be born.
I was torn between happiness that I would finally be able to hold my daughter, and sorrow that my husband never would. My swollen belly ached for his caress. My ears longed for his rich and seductive velvet voice. The Romans had another saying. Amor Omnia Vincit: Love Conquers All. Most people misconstrue that phrase. They seem to think that love will always win out and everything will be sunshine and butterflies. When the Romans conquered something, they destroyed it. They crushed the city and the spirits of the people within it. When the Romans said Love Conquers All, they meant that eventually love would be a person's downfall. I wasn't quite sure if I was ready to let love conquer me. I still had a child to live for. I had never given up on the hope that Severus would return to me. There were still many people who were missing. Perhaps he was hiding out until he was absolutely sure it was safe. Deep inside of me was a glimmer of life that only he inspired.
The wind blew softly over the cool grass as the February sun began to set. I was sitting in the spot where Harry stood when he defeated The Dark Lord. Silent tears rolled down my cheeks and I watched the sun make his descent to the horizon, plunging the outside world into darkness. My eyes clenched shut as I fought the urge to sob. I refused to let myself repeat the ceremony over and over again. The fits of sobbing were getting me nowhere. Then, I felt movement from inside my womb. My daughter had become unusually active. She had been kicking me on a usual basis, seeing as she was so big, but she hadn't kicked me to that extent in several weeks, not since I last saw her father. It felt like she was playing Quidditch in there. Perhaps my emotions had triggered her reaction?
The sky was darkening increasingly by the second and I needed to go back inside to eat. After dinner I would retreat to my room and continue revising for my NEWTs. They were only a few months away. As I brushed myself off, I felt a presence behind me. I maneuvered myself around to find a pale, slender hand residing at my eye level. I knew that hand. The long, sensuous, yet calloused fingers that so many times provided me with great pleasure. I grasped the hand and was pulled from my spot on the ground. Strong arms locked around me and I gazed up into dark, obsidian eyes.
He was alive, and he was home. Amor Omnia Vincit may have meant destruction for the Romans, but for me it meant salvation.