This fic was part of the contest "The Day of the Battle" (El día de la batalla) in a Spanish HP forum. For a reason I cannot understand, it won the first place.

Race against death

"Theodore, who has won?"

"Nobody."

Nobody (Nadie), Metanfetamina.

All comes to a point when the only thing you can do is run. Raise your wand and run. Until your feet can't take it anymore or your luck disappears just around the corner. Until your body can take it. The only thing you can see is hysteria all around you and you run without knowing your final destination. Maybe a safe place. But there is no safe places anymore. They don't exist, they died, disappeared. The safest castle in the world has turned into a battlefield. Meters behind you could see an acromantula dragging a body―a really tiny one―with a Hufflepuff robe.

All has been reduced to this? To survive the longest time possible? To see who can endure more pain and just like that, decide the winner? You run. You shout spells to your back, but you never stop to see if you missed the target. Sometimes you hear thuds. You ignore them. One single distraction can cost yourself your life and you aren't prepared to give her away so willingly. You need to find Parvati, but you get that maybe you can't find her. The last time you saw her, she shouted something about Padma and she left you.

You tried to run after her, but you are not so fast. You cannot afford to stop in this moment to orientate yourself or realise you don't know exactly in which part of the castle are you. You know someone―something―is chasing you. You know who is doing it; everybody knows him. But you choose to ignore that fact to save yourself from the most absolute panic.

"CAREFUL!" you hear a student's shout. You've only seen him a couple of times and when you run, you don't look back.

If it's possible, you want to get out alive of the dammed battle. In which moment occurred to you that stay was a good idea? In which moment fighting for your life against some savages seemed like a good idea? The death-ones only increase every moment; your fear too. All your survival instincts have reduced to run. But at some point―you know it; your chaser knows it―you will be too tired to continue. And that will be the moment that he'll throw himself against you.

And then, there will be no more. Just darkness and death.

"You will not profane my tower!" It's hard to believe that voice is from who time ago was your favourite teacher. Trelawney never spoke like that, she always seemed scared of the word. "NO!" and she throws her beloved crystal balls. When Dean threw one of them in fourth year, Trelawney punished him three entire classes, for mistreat the material, but here, now, in this moment, the only thing she can do is throwing them to defend herself. Sometimes she remember she have a wand and shout spells to the death eaters. "Get out! All of you!"

One of those crystal balls is your doom. You run into it and fall. When you touch the floor and scratch the tiling, trying to get up, you know you're doomed. You hear his breath right above you and his guttural voice laughing at you. He almost crushes you while you're trying to get up and run again, to reach your wand. But his hand keep you from doing it: he crushes it, reducing your wand to pieces.

"Right… we will not have more trouble…" he says. And then, Fenrir Greyback throws himself at you.

You have never felt pain in this way. Never before. It isn't like the cruciatus, even, has nothing to do with it. You hear your own cry when you feel his teeth in your neck. And then, when you have lost all hope, you hear the voice.

Her voice.

Hermione Granger's.

"NO!" and seconds later Greyback is no longer above you, but you're still on the ground, almost motionless and you are scratching the floor with your nails. You feel breast breathing, you're still alive. You move your head a little before all gets dizzy around you. You're able to see Parvati. And Dean.

At least you found her, but you're afraid it may be too late.

Then, you hear a voice begging you to not sleep. Maybe it's Seamus, because you can hear that Irish accent. They carry you and beg you. Don't sleep, don't sleep, don't sleep, and you with that prime survival instinct―the only thing you've got left― fight to stay awake.

For survive.

That is the only thing you have in that race against death. You were about to lose. So the only thing you hear is his voice.

"Please, don't sleep, Lavender, don't sleep."

Again and again.

And you don't fell asleep.

This was the first time I've ever write about Lavender Brown. I've always imagined she survive (unlike David Yates). The book says Hermione casted a spell against Greyback and Lavender remained motionless. So I think she survived (and Seamus was there).

The epigraph is from Metanfetamina's fic: Nadie (Nobody). Talks about the horrors of the war, but sadly it's only in Spanish.

And last, but not least, English is not my mother tongue (it's Spanish) so, sometimes, just for fun, my brain gets all wrong and write things in the wrong order. If you find a mistake, feel free to tell me, I'm going to be grateful.

Andrea Poulain

Original: 7th April, 2014

Translation: 15th May, 2016