The Last Gryffindor
The men were fighting to kill.
Jets of deadly light streaked silently through the air. Red, blue, orange, black, they lit the scene of terror in dangerous, blinding flashes. A green curse missed Dolohov's chest by an inch. There was no room for mistakes. This wasn't training.
It was war.
The two were oblivious to the explosions and screams piercing the night, too immersed in the duel to notice anything else.
Fighting to survive.
A grotesque snarl was etched upon the death eater's face as he dodged and weaved with a terrifying agility born of adrenaline. He barely shielded himself from a blinding red spell, dropping to the blood-stained ground before throwing the killing curse towards Remus with a maniacal shout. The werewolf wordlessly blocked it with a wave of his wand, leaping out of the way of another deadly spell.
He would not die.
He had too much to live for. His wife, his son, Harry. They needed him.
Lupin thought of Tonks as the battle continued to rage around him. He thought of her bubble gum pink hair. Her laugh and her bouncy, bubbly personality. How she hated to be called Nymphadora. Her undying loyalty and her bravery worthy of any Gryffindor.
He would never give in.
Then he thought of Teddy. How from the moment he was born, he had him wrapped around his chubby little fingers. How he looked like Remus with bright turquoise hair. The comforting weight of him in his arms. His gurgling chuckle. He had to survive.
And Harry, the boy who lived. His kindness, that few ever noticed. The way he looked so like James, with Lily's emerald green eyes. His selflessness, his willingness to put his friends before himself. His courage.
He would live.
The two wizards ducked around crackling spells, each of them parrying and attacking with a cold, cruel determination. Surrounding them, Remus could make out bursts of light and cries of terror. Hogwarts was falling to Voldemort, his home was under attack and the lives of his family threatened.
He would win or die trying.
With another wave of his wand, a curse shot forward.
They were tiring, slowly but surely, sweat dripping down their necks and pouring from their brows. They both knew that sooner or later, someone would slip. And that mistake would cost them their lives.
The duel continued.
Duck.
Weave.
Parry.
Block.
All his thoughts were actions, leaving nothing but an animalistic need for survival. He hadn't duelled this well in years, but he had to.
He had to live.
But then, there was a flash. In the crowd, amongst the hundreds fighting for their lives, a flash of bright pink hair. Dolohov shot a killing curse, and in that moment Remus faltered. He never saw it coming, and quietly, suddenly, the green light hit him square in the chest.
He was the last. The last sane Gryffindor of his year left in the wake of this terrible war. And he remembered them.
Dorcas Meadows, killed by Voldemort himself. The laughing, dancing girl. Drunk on fire whiskey and dancing to Celestina Warbeck on the common room table, singing in an out of tune warble.
Dead.
Marlene McKinnon, her entire family massacred. A loud, bold, Gryffindor. Wrapping her arms around Lily and letting her sob into her favourite shirt after her father died.
Killed.
Mary Macdonald, murdered for her blood-status. Always talking, living, laughing. Remus thought of when they would study in the library, quietly turning the pages of a musty textbook.
Gone.
Frank and Alice Longbottom, tortured to insanity. Loyal to the bitter end. Their beautiful white wedding, hope in the midst of a war.
Forgotten.
Lily Evans, who died to save her son. Fiery, happy, brilliantly smart. The shine of her eyes when she finally told James, "Yes."
Murdered.
Peter Pettigrew, killed for one small act of mercy. The shy, traitorous man. Looking at the boy he would later sell to the dark lord with watery, awestruck eyes.
Lost.
Sirius Black, falling beyond the veil in the fight to protect his godson. So vibrant, so rebelliously free. Clapping Remus on the back and winking, telling him they were fine with his "furry little problem".
Vanished.
James Potter, sacrificed to try and save his family. A hero even in death. Jumping into the path of a curse meant for Remus, even in a stupid sixth year duel. Betrayed.
He was the only one left.
With that, the light left his eyes. And the last Gryffindor fell.