Revision 2
"Give me Harry Potter and none shall be harmed. Give me Harry Potter and I shall leave the school untouched. Give me Harry Potter and you shall be rewarded."
There was a brief moment of silence in the Great Hall, then screaming and panic followed. Chloe Hillstead, a sixth-year Ravenclaw, was silent as she looked around the room. They can't win. It isn't worth it. She thought as she saw the D.A and the Order of the Phoenix start making battle plans. Chloe would know. Her parents were among the many that had tried to fight against Voldemort and lost. Her father had died, they had tortured her mother to the point of insanity. Still, Chloe had tried to hang on to hope. She joined the D.A. But when the Death Eaters killed her little sister, Margaret in response to Chloe's rebellion, Chloe's cries fell silent. It wouldn't do any good to fight, they wouldn't stop until the entire wizarding world bent to Voldemort's insane demands. Chloe walked out of the Great Hall in a of the corner of her eye, she noticed little things: a small army of suits of armor marching to protect the castle, couples kissing, telling each other how much they cared about one another, possibly saying their last good byes. Chloe had no one. She was a nobody at Hogwarts, had been all her life. No one talked to her, listened to her, or even bothered to care about her, not even when Margaret died. Why should she fight? It wouldn't make one bit of difference if she did, no one would remember her, or what she did. Voldemort would win anyway, and there wasn't a goddamn thing they could do to stop it. He was too powerful, had too many followers. Hogwarts was better off surrendering. Chloe climbed the spiral staircase to the astronomy tower and went to the balcony. She looked off the edge and a thought crossed her mind:
Dumbledore died here.
The ghost of a smile found its way on her face. Dumbledore was the only hope the wizarding world had, and here, Snape had killed him. Never mind Harry Potter, Dumbledore was the real chosen one. The only one Voldemort had ever feared. If he had lived, they would've stood a chance. But he was dead, rotting in a marble coffin not 300 feet away. Chloe looked out at the scene unfolding below: the teachers were assembling a barrier to try and keep out Voldemort. Speaking of the Dark Lord, on the hill overlooking Hogwarts, he stood, his Death Eaters behind him. Chloe took a deep breath, her blonde hair swirling in the wind, and jumped.