Center of the Hive
Harry panted tiredly, his arm hanging uselessly against his side. It was over, done. He couldn't believe it. The Final Battle against Voldemort and his army was much bloodier than he could have imagined. There was blood and bodies everywhere, strange golden statues that had come to life and attacked all in range much to the shock of the Deatheaters and their master. A wasp looking one had managed to sting him in the back before an ally could destroy it with a carefully aimed Bombarda.
The snake faced bastard had managed to hit his arm before Harry had shot a severing charm at his ugly neck, he wasn't sure what the spell was but he couldn't feel his arm anymore. His back was also really starting to hurt, the pain overwhelming his other injuries. Harry groaned and fell to the ground, blacking out to the tired calls of Healers searching for wounded.
000
Healer Brown had only recently become a healer, having gone through a quick month or so of training while in Hogwarts. She was nervous and nauseous, the groans of the wounded suffering under terrible spells and wounds creating a low chorus that she would never forget. She took a deep breath and cast Sonorous
"IF YOU ARE ABLE TO WALK, PLEASE MAKE YOUR WAY TO THE QUIDDITCH PITCH. HELP FOR THE WOUNDED AND A HEAD COUNT IS WAITING FOR YOU."
She removed her wand from her neck and watched as a few people started to stagger to their feet and limp and stumble to the pitch, a few taking the time to levitate a few limp bodies. She again took a deep breath, taking care not to inhale through her nose. Her partner was following silently, face drawn and grave.
Each body was carefully checked for life, not a pulse. A simple wave of her wand with the intent and a shimmer appeared over the face. Silver, the person was 'alive,' possibly not a member of the living community but capable of still being the person before the change. However, a red shimmer…no sign of life or cognitive thought. She hardened her heart as most of the checks came back red or brief silver. The reds were marked with a glowing red orb hovering over the corpse, a flick and muttered Cinis. The ones unconscious were levitated to her partner who took over in giving basic healing and sent to the pitch via runners.
She came across many of the golden figures mangled on the ground, the various claws, fangs, and stingers soaked in blood. To her horror, she began to come across members of both sides of the war writhing in the bloody mud, all in various stages of transformation. Her fellow healer placed a reddened hand on her shoulder.
"Look, something's happening."
He pointed, and she saw. She saw screaming wizards and witches begin transforming painfully. A boy, no older than a fifth year, squirming on the ground with useless legs as horns sprouted from his skull, all the characteristics of a juvenile Minotaur. A woman nearby was screaming in agony as feathers and talons forced their way through her skin. Lavender looked horrified at a nearby statue of a partially mangled harpy.
A distant scream snapped her out of her daze, just in time to see the distant form of the Savior collapse, a silvery dome appearing where he stood. Lavender Brown watched as his best friend raced to the distant dome, and she…well. She had to continue her work.
000
Ron was slipping in mud and various body parts, he was trying to ignore it. His best friend, the only remaining piece of the golden trio, was consumed by some strange thing. Screaming and transforming people were blocked from his mind as he skidded to halt next to this silver pod, the blood draining further from his face as he saw his best friend's arm still loosely holding his beloved wand. The arm wasn't attached to his friend. His friend's arm was lying next to the pod, steadily gushing what blood was left in the limb. Ron numbly pried the wand from the dead limb as he sank to his knees. The red head was lucky, he knew that. He hadn't been wounded, just a few scratches and what few of those statues had tried to attack him he had managed to destroy before they got too close.
"Don't worry bud. I'll be here, I won't leave. You won't leave me either, right?"
He hesitantly placed his hand on the pod, the silky skin like substance giving slightly. With a sob he carefully leaned on the cocoon containing his friend, passing out from the exhaustion.
Percy was franticly looking for his family, stumbling over bodies in mid transformation. Whatever was changing the many affected was trying to change them into more than one creature, a man ripping himself apart as he tried to shift into what looked like a mer and a harpy. The feathers were shoving through scales and fins as he screamed, Percy cringing as he passed the flailing Former Minister. He found his little sister, slumped against the shattered doors of the castle.
"No, oh merlin, no. Ginny? Ginny, come on sweetie wake up."
He crouched in front of her, gently easing her into his arms. She was as limp as a ragdoll, but he could feel her breath against his neck and inquisitive fingers found a ragged claw mark on her leg. Percy choked back a sob as he looked up; Remus Lupin's mangled corpse was collapsed nearby. A grey haired man was almost lying on what was left of the former professor, almost like he was trying to protect him. Percy couldn't look any longer. He heaved his little sister up and carried her as gently as he could down to the pitch. He tried not to look at the bodies, slipping as he was in muck.
It's been days, and the battle field was slowly being cleaned up. All who participated were being questioned under veritiserum, ironing out who had attacked and who had defended. Ron had not moved. He leaned against the pod, feeling the magic swirl lazily inside and his friend sluggishly pressing against where he laid every once and a while. Boots stepped into his line of vision as they moved to sit next to him, his brother George dropping to kneel next to him. Ron glanced at him and the two wands held in the shaking hands had his eyes closing in grief. A trembling hand pulled his brother against him, the older boy crumpling against him and sobbing. The silver flesh of the pod shimmered as the two lay against it.
The silver skin slowly bent and moved, the two grieving red heads paying the movement no mind. A clawed hand broke through, the pod disintegrating as the magic left the cocoon. Harry struggled to sit up, his right arm was gone. Not even a stub, it was just gone from the shoulder. Not paying any real mind, he leaned against the familiar bodies near him, examining his body. Bold black lines curved their way along his limbs and torso, twisting almost elegantly. His feet and hand were black, fading back into his pale skin, and tipped with sharp looking claws.
"Harry!" Harry was unceremoniously grabbed around his waist and pulled into his best friend's chest. Harry blinked as Ron clutched him and sobbed into his shoulder, another Weasley quickly identified as George sandwiching the transformed Savior between them. He crooned sadly, not really registering that he was not speaking English as he soothed them the best he could.