A/N: Here's a fic I wrote in 2009. It's sort of a repost. I have no beta. All sentence fragments are intended.
Warnings: war, death, gruesome depictions of death, death of children, general bloody aftermath of war
Disclaimer: I own nothing you recognize. This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoat Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.
Prompt: Children
It was war. It was guerrilla war. We let our guard down for one second and the world fell apart. Our world was destroyed.
So many fallen. So many gone. Victory is bittersweet in the face of such loss.
The count came in. The final battle left 307 of our own dead. As callous as it may be, I simply can't care for the deaths of my enemies. Not today. Not when my comrades and those we fought to protect are lying scattered and broken on the ground around me. They fought for their lives, but they didn't fight hard enough.
It happened at the school. We got so complacent with the seeming peace that we never saw the attach coming. It was gruesome. We fought with all we had, but as we fought we saw those at our sides fall. It hurt.
The count of 307 was unrealistic; 211 of them were children—the children of our future. Why must the young suffer for the sins of the old?
It wasn't easy, but I'd managed to forget that my comrades at arms were not old enough to bear them, until I stumbled onto those three. Lying in the grass soaked red with fresh blood were the bodies of two first year students and a fifth year. It looked as though the fifth year died protecting them. Their entrails splayed across the grass and their mouths wrenched open in horror. This is our victory.
We won, but at what cost?
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