Disclaimer: If you recognize it, it belongs to JKR, the creator of Harry Potter. If you don't recognize it, it either belongs to me or to someone else. All flames will be used to roast the flamer.
~*~Slow Dance~*~
I knew it. One of these days, it would happen. One of these days, he would grow tired of waiting for me to come after him. One of these days he would come after me. . . . . . .
Harry Potter sat, waiting in the Gryffindor common room, listening to the sounds of death and dying outside the portrait door. He wanted to go help his friends. He needed to go help them, but he couldn't. Finally, he was being selfish. Finally, he was saving himself. No more of this "noble Harry Potter who sacrifices himself for his friends" crap. No..he was going to save himself.
Harry sat helplessly as these thoughts raced through his head. Don't do it, Harry. Don't go out there; you'll just end up getting yourself killed, like they are all getting killed, his inner voice said. The war raging inside his mind made his anger at the Dark Lord increase. He scowled. Another voice now spoke louder to him than the first. Harry Potter, you are eighteen years old. You are not a coward, and your friends are dying out there. Do you hear me? DYING. Get out there and fight.
Resolution dawned on his face. Scowling ferociously, he got up and walked over to the entrance. In his anger, he blasted the portrait open, causing yet another ear-piercing scream from the Fat Lady. Voldemort stood just outside, his back to Harry, laughing insanely as he created large forcefields with his wand and hurled them at Harry's fellow students, making whoever was standing in the way die instantly.
"Voldemort," Harry said quietly, through clenched teeth. "Leave them alone. . . . . . It's me you want."
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named turned around, an ugly grin twisting his already revolting face. "Harry Potter," he hissed slowly. "Finally."
As both of them raised their wands, there came a shout of protest from a ways down the hall. They turned to see Hermione running at them, full speed. Voldemort stared at her, then lowered his wand. "Who are you?" he spat.
Hermione stopped a few feet away from him. "Harry, are you all right? Oh, my God. . . . . ." She surveyed the damage the Dark Lord had done, and tears filled her strikingly beautiful eyes. "Ron. . . . . . ." Ron Weasley's crumpled body lay among those of Colin Creevey, Parvati Patil, and Neville Longbottom. "Oh, Ron!" She began sobbing and ran over to where he lay. Voldemort simply watched her.
She took the mangled figure in her arms and let her tears wash the blood from his face. To her surprise, he moved. "Hermione?" came the almost inaudible whisper.
"Yes," she whispered back. "Yes, I'm here, Ron. I just can't believe you're alive!" She hugged him close to her, then quickly stopped doing so when he cried out in pain.
Harry walked over and joined the two of them, tears streaming down his already tear-stained face. "I knew you would make it. You always do." He smiled, a sort of half-smile, then turned back to Voldemort with a look of such fury, the Dark Lord took a step back. "Well? Why didn't you kill me now when you had the chance?"
"I--I don't know," he replied meekly, taking everyone by surprise. His eyes flickered back to Hermione, who was glaring at him with such ire, tears filled his angry red eyes. Then, for the first time in his entire life, he said two words that forever ruined his image. "I'm sorry."
Hermione's and Harry's eyes widened, and Ron slipped back into unconsciousness. Voldemort beheld what he had done, and shook his head. Then he vanished. The few Death Eaters that had been staring at him as well Disapparated with him.
Harry stared at the spot where his archenemy stood, then he fell to his knees. Hermione dragged the limp Ron to his feet. "Come on, Harry. We have to get him to the hospital wing."
"Wait. Who's that?" He pointed to a facedown body near the end of the hallway. A mass of white hair was covering it, and a pointed hat lay not far away.
"Harry. . . . . . . it can't be . . . . . . Dumbledore . . . . . . . ." Hermione said fearfully.
He ran over to where his fallen headmaster lay. Feeling for a pulse, he heaved a sigh of relief. "He's still alive, but not by much. Let's go." Hoisting the tall man onto his back, he motioned for Hermione to follow him. She dragged Ron as best she could, and they finally reached the hospital wing. After delivering the two patients to Madame Pomfrey, who was very nearly having a nervous breakdown, they returned to scour out the rest of the living.
Finally, all the wounded were in the hospital wing, and all the dead were lying, side by side, in the Gryffindor common room. Professor Sprouts, Colin Creevey, Parvati Patil, Neville Longbottom, Seamus Finnigan, and twenty-four other students whom Harry and Hermione didn't know were all there. Among the wounded had been Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Professor Snape, Professor Flitwick, Ron, Dean Thomas, and many others. However, there WERE several Death Eaters who had been killed, apparently by Avada Kedavra, which only Snape had the guts to use.
Harry and Hermione sat in two armchairs, staring at their dead schoolmates. A wave of sorrow overcame them both, and they held each other close, sobbing away all of the grief they had ever experienced.
A/N: Should I post the next chapter? This is my first attempt at a sad fic, well, besides that one songfic that I wrote. But anyway, tell me what you think. Just don't flame me.