A/N: Written for The 61 Themes Competition at the HPFC forum. Thanks to Jo (jojor99) for betareading!

Theme: the ethics of killing for duty

Character: Oliver Wood

Prompts: Sighs, monster, winter.

Strength Through Adversity

Oliver leaned his head against the cold, stone wall and closed his eyes. His body –and mind – was exhausted. He was certain that he wouldn't be able to move a finger, no matter what; he simply hadn't the power to do so.

They had been given an hour by You-Know-Who to take care of their… dead. Oliver cringed just at the thought of it, but knew he had to brace himself for now, and not think of it. But, while everyone else seem to have an adrenaline rush and were running around, healing the wounded, and gathering the bodies, he was too tired to help.

And there was something else nagging in the back of his mind; something he had been thinking about throughout all the battle, but had tried to shut out.

Now he couldn't stop it. The thoughts flooded through his mind, making him want to cry. Monster, monster, they whispered. No, in fact they screamed it.

He had killed someone. He had killed someone. And it didn't matter that the person he had killed was a Death Eater, he could still hear the man's last sighs echoing in his head.

The thing was, Oliver had always wanted to be good and brave. Of course he had. He was sorted into Gryffindor, and that had reinforced that he was brave – but he had never had the chance to prove himself. He had been too old to join Dumbledore's Army, which otherwise would have been the perfect place develop his bravery. And then, when the Order of the Phoenix was in question, he had been busy with his Quidditch. So, in fact, this was the first time he had fought – ever.

He had been updated frequently about how the war was going by one of his former classmates, and now when the rumor had reached them that there was going to be a battle, at Hogwarts, they had dropped everything to be here. To at last show which side they were on.

But he hadn't expected it to be like this. He had managed the dueling well, since he had always liked his Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, but, this was so different. It actually was a question of life and death. Well, he had known that before, too, but it still had struck him like a lightning when a young girl fell to the ground by the hands of a long, scrawny Death Eater. She was killed.

He knew it was juvenile of him to believe it was going to be a fight without any deaths, but he had not really expected it either, not in the deepest core of him.

And then there hadn't been time to think anymore, because the Death Eater had turned from the girl, with a grin and attacked Oliver. He had managed to quickly defend himself, and then the fight had begun. Oliver hadn't been able to think, it had been too intense and everything had happened so quickly.

Then it was peace again. Oliver bathed in sweat and he didn't really understand what had happened. Why was there calmness all of sudden? He looked down, and saw the Death Eater lying dead on the floor. He had killed him. Oliver had killed him.

He had no idea how it had happened, which curse he had used, why he had done it, since he had fought in a trance-like state. Because he had never meant to kill; never meant to take another person's life; endanother person's life.

And he still didn't know what to do about it. There was no way to go back, turn back time, or undo it. That man was now beyond help. Also, if it was possible to help – Oliver would probably get killed. So there was nothing to do, he had to drop this thought.

But it was impossible. Oliver sank down to the ground and buried his head in his knees, trying to erase the images inside his brain of the man – cold, opened eyes, dead.

He couldn't let go of the thought of himself being a murderer. He didn't understand why no one else seemed to bother about the Death Eaters lying scattered across the castle. Was it him being weak? It could be, everyone else seemed to have fought before.

Or, wait, not everyone. That girl over there looked as crushed as Oliver felt. If he had been stronger he would have gone to her and comforted her, but as it was now, he couldn't. He wasn't recovered enough. He needed the comfort. He wanted someone to come, hold him, hug him, whisper it's all right to him, and remove those tears that had begun streaming down his face.

But no one came. He understood why. There were things of greater importance to deal with than a cowardly man.

He breathed in deeply and closed his eyes again. He wanted it all to be a nightmare, so when he opened his eyes again, it would be last winter again – the last time he had been truly happy and not worrying about the war. He had been at his parent's house for dinner, and they had been chatting happily. But only a few days later, his dad had been killed by some of You-Know-Who's followers.

He still missed him. He hadn't gotten over it. And he now knew that getting revenge wasn't helping either. First of all, the Death Eater he had killed probably wasn't the man responsible for his dad's dead, and it hadn't eased the weight in his chest even a bit.

An eye for an eye, it simply didn't work like that. It actually made it worse, Oliver thought. Before, there had been a part missing from him, a hole in him, from his dad – and now there were two. This one he had caused all by himself, though, by turning himself into a killer. He was no better than those who had killed his dad, and that made him so ashamed of himself.

He wanted to get away from here and never return. He didn't want to see the walls of the castle being shattered, blood streak the floor, and know he was a part of it.

But he couldn't leave now.

Oliver rose from the floor, and closed off his emotions. He had to, to get through this.

He wanted to go over to the girl, but he knew he couldn't. That would cause another breakdown, so he simply paced around the castle. Soon, it would all end – at least he told himself so - and then he could acknowledge all of his feelings, but for now, he had to be strong - in order to survive. And, he wouldn't if he didn't move all the time, because then he would have time to think.

He had to be strong.