Author Note: Hello Wizarding World! This is my very first story ever posted, ever! It's been brewing for a while, and I finally was able to get it down. I hope it's adequate. Let me know what you think :D

The Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had seen much better days. After the initial attack on the school, is was in shambles. Smoke was rising into the sky, grey on black. Stone walls had gaping holes in them, from a Giants club swing, or a stray spell. There were small fires rampant all over. Most of the younger years had been quickly evacuated through the tunnels into Hogsmeade the second they had regained control of the school. Many more of the older students had stayed to fight. From there, no one who still stood at the school knew where the Fourth year and under went after that.

The great hall was bustling, but not in the way one would normally expect from the grand wizarding school. The House tables had been pushed aside to the walls, the injured standing or sitting in groups, trying to keep each other calm while they waited to be seen to. The smell of burnt flesh and the coppery tang of blood were overpowering. Madam Pomfrey and a few others, some students, some from the dwindling Order, were flitting about their charges. The small group was trying, generally failing, to keep the injured, from mangling themselves. Seizures, one of the main repercussions of multiple curses their opponents were using. As well as doing their best to keep the dying, comfortable. The entire hall, an oppressive feeling hovered around them. The conditions they had found themselves in, was not ideal for any sort of recovery. Hushed voices sounded from everywhere, many of them were crying, but all muttering the same name.

"Harry Potter"

It had just been revealed that their Saviour, had bowed to the command of Lord Voldemort, and went alone into the Forbidden Forest. To save them. They had all heard the voice in their heads earlier, giving the instructions. They were instructed to collect their dead, and give Harry Potter over to him. Harry had come out of Dumbledores office, face dark. Posture closed off, brooding, after viewing the memories Snape given him. He quickly explained things to his best friends. Told them what Snape had been doing this entire time, and learned the truth about himself, and the evil inside him. Then, wand in hand, the Boy Who Lived took off running. Yelling over his shoulder for them to kill the snake, that he'd see them later. Mind set to confront their childhood horror.

Hermione and Ron had accomplished a different task, but the result was still the same. They were another Horcrux down. The Diadem of Ravenclaw having burned away to nothing. Yet here they were, after all their searching, in the Great Hall with the others. Tending to their wounded, and seeing to their dead. They had been given the time. Oh, so graciously, after the first assault on the castle. Told that the Dark Lord did not wish to spill any more magical blood, they were a dying race. Now, they had learned Harry was not only missing, but had walked to his death.

At first, there was hope, he had said he was going to be right back, and then, no one could find him. Ron and Hermione had searched everywhere. Ron having looked the Marauders Map over at least twenty times, searching for his name. Hermione having figured out where the Diadem with the help of Luna Lovegood. Finding Crabbe and Goyle juniors in there, hiding with Draco Malfoy. One of the idiots had cast Fiendfire, and in the end, only got them both killed, and destroyed the room. But thankfully, destroyed the Horcrux at the same time. Hermione and Ron having saved Draco from certain death. Now they were seriously worried. Harry had just run off, leaving with an order, and nothing more. But, they had faith in their friend, they were waiting. So far, there was no news that he was dead, that he was captured, that he was anywhere. Lord Voldemort was not crowing his victory over the Boy-Who-Lived.

Things were quiet and somber as people were tended too, and a few were crying. Dead students and Professors, Order members, lay still on the floor. Those tending other, working their way around them, trying not to think about those they had lost. The Weasley family had lost Percy. Molly Weasley was inconsolable, face hidden in her husband's chest, his arms holding her tightly. The Weasley children all gathered around their parents, and the corpse of their fallen brother. Every once in a while someone would cast a tempus charm, and see how long they had before their hour was up.

But then, the voice came. The pain that had cut through their consciousness' so many times that day. Too many times, enough for a lifetime, one would say. It was like jagged glass and fire, screaming and yet unbearably quiet in their minds. Hissing, rasping, gleefully, they heard their greatest fear confirmed.

He is dead. Harry Potter, is dead!

Laughter had followed, and it tore at them deeply, ripping, splitting their thoughts. Leaving many of the occupants of the Great Hall-turned-Hospital, clutching their heads in immense pain. The instant it abided, every able-bodied person had scrambled out of the Great Hall, and through the large front doors, out into the main courtyard. Pouring out of the doors, all of them freezing in their steps at what they saw. None of them had been prepared for the figure outside their doors.

Waiting for them there, standing on the cold flagstone, amidst the rubble and destruction that was the main courtyard, was The Dark Lord. Tall, imposing, covered in black robes that seemed to flow around him, living, moving of their own power, he was bare foot. A manic grin spread across his features as he noticed them. Mouth open, revealing sharp animalistic teeth. His inhuman red eyes bored into them from dark sunken sockets. Pale skin, stretched across a bald skull. White skeletal-like hands grasping his wand, almost reverently, petting it.

Behind him, his entire army. A sea of black cloaks, and silver masks. Death Eaters filled the large area, and went on as far as they could see. They were horribly out numbered. There were not many of them left, but still, their hope endured. That is, until Voldemort stepped aside, with a sweep of his hand, revealed the Death Eaters leading the half-giant Hagrid through their ranks. Hagrid lurched forwards awkwardly. His head was down, his immense hair, filled with dirt and twigs, covered most of him. He was tightly clutching something to him. Ropes extended from three directions, all based around his thick neck. A trio of Death Eaters held him. One in front, two behind. Jerking him along like a tethered beast. Towards the remains of the Order of the Phoenix, and the brave students who had stayed to fight.

Someone screamed. It rang out and echoed in the silence they all found themselves stuck in.

Ginny Weasley however, was being held back by her father, tears streaming down her face. She was trying to get to Hagrid.

"No! No! He can't! He's lying!" She cried. Others had then joined her cry, in chorus. Earning them, a swift, dark look from the rejoicing leader of the Death Eaters.

"Silence!" His wand flippantly aimed a spell at Ginny.

Ginny, still crying, found she no longer could make a sound. Mute, grasping her throat, she cried harder. Everyone else had suddenly stopped. Whispering as quiet as they could to themselves and their neighbors. A beaten posture and fearful looks on all their faces, but, every hand able, gripped a wand, ready.

The Dark Lord, it seemed, was far from done gloating.

"Foolish girl! You weep for this child! This boy, barely old enough to call himself Wizard." He sneered at the crowd gathered before him. "Hardly a worthy opponent, I regret letting him live this long." He stroked the Elder wand absently. "Though, I must admit, I had to kill him twice!" His grin split his face in two. Eyes wide and if possible, crazier looking. Nagini was hissing contentedly. Coiling around herself, at the feet of her master. "Somehow, the boy survived my curse again!" Normally, something like that would have set off the neurotic Dark Lord, sending him into a demented frenzy of revenge and pride. But this time, he was laughing and speaking to them, like he was letting them in on a grand joke.

"Came before me, like the little sacrificial lamb he is - was." He chuckled as he corrected himself. "A single curse, didn't even try to defend himself!" He bragged. "Begged me to spare you all. Pathetic." As he was explaining his triumph, he was walking around, pacing back and forth, robes swirling, seemingly in and out of existence. Like ethereal smoke it cloaked him, only adding to his already intimidating figure. "But then! Then! The little cretin, jumps up, as if he was asleep! I had only just confirmed his death!" The look in his eyes as he swept them across the throng, spoke volumes. Death and blood and pain, for them all. But his tone of voice, was if he was speaking of a cherished memory to a good friend.

"This time, he tried to fight. And valiantly did your Chosen One fight, and gloriously, did he die!" He laughed, and the army of silver masks behind him joined him in laughter. The cackle of Bellatrix LeStrange could be heard over them all. "Behold, your Saviour!" He gestured then to Hagrid with his wand, a purple jet of light hitting him in the legs. The enormous man stumbled, fell to his knees and sobbing, dropped what he was carrying. A broken and bloody body fell to the ground. A dull thud, that was barely audible, but heard by all.

The usual round-framed glasses were missing. Robes and clothes torn, hanging like scraps off his body. His body, ripped to shreds. Dark hair matted with blood, stuck to the side of his face, revealing the lightning bolt scar, stark red against pale skin. Green eyes open, staring up into the night sky, un-seeing. The Boy Who Lived, was truly dead. Dumbledore's great plan, all his plotting and secrets, everything, it had failed. It had worked, the resurrection stone, brought him back. But ultimately, made no difference. Gasps and cries of defiance rushed through them, in shock, none truly realizing yet, that this was reality.

"Now, is the time to declare yourselves."

Murmurs followed the gasps and cries. Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy beckoned to their son from their spot in the first row of Death Eaters behind their Lord. Though hardly immaculate looking, the couple still possessed an air of superiority around them.

Lucius nodded his head stiffly, catching his sons eye. Narcissa held her hand out, speaking softly, her voice is quiet, but absolute.

"Come, Draco." Her son looked from father to mother, and Draco Malfoy, who had earlier been saved from certain death by Hermione and Ron, started to cross the vast open space between the two factions. Moving, he refused to meet the malevolent gazes of his classmates. He knew where he belonged. The side his family hailed from, the side it seemed had won the day. He wasn't going to die today, His sense of self-preservation was much stronger than his will to do the right thing. Which in itself, was still in it's infancy.

Ron hissed at him loudly as he passed, "We should have left you to burn! You fucking prick!" The glare Hermione was giving him could have petrified. Draco avoided it completely and kept his steady stride. He was the only one who had moved from his spot and towards the Dark Lord. Slowly, feeling all of the eyes on his back, he went and joined his family. His Mother and Father, who were standing proudly, admiring the decimated school, and at the dirty faces of Blood Traitors. His deranged Aunt, who was dancing about in place. An insane grin plastered to her once beautiful face. His parents looked so pleased at what they had helped accomplish. Now things were going to be run properly. Even their smug faces spoke of the trouble the rest of them were in. Though, events would have been much different for the family, had Harry Potter survived. Draco then told his Lord, about all the Slytherin students that had been locked in the dungeons of the castle by McGonagall as soon as Potter had shown his face, and regained control.

The Dark Lord congratulated him on his service to his Lord, gave the boy a very awkward hug, to which Bellatrix made a small snarling noise, that was overall ignored. He stood before his army, arms spread wide, as if in welcoming. His piercing gaze swept over the remains of the Light.

"Come now! Surely you don't all want to just stand there and die?!" Face twisted in smirk, like he knew no one else would join him.

Just then, another student stepped forwards. Stunned the other students watched as Neville Longbottom hobbled towards the enemy. The mass of black and silver behind Voldemort jeered, and laughed loudly, the Dark Lord himself eyed the newcomer with amusement. Voldemort declaring he would happily find a place in his ranks for the Pure-blooded Neville. The beaten boy limped closer, the Sorting Hat clenched in his hands. Somewhere, earlier his wand had been broken. There was a large gash in the side of his face, amid smaller cuts, hair unruly and sticking up all over the place. Sweat and blood running down his temple and cheek into the beginnings of stubble. His left pant leg was blooming slowly with blood. Standing tall, his voice clearer, and stronger than it ever was before, Neville spoke.

"I'd like to say something."

The battle that had ensued, was bloody, and all together, short. All around students fell to dark curses, the court yard was filled with the sounds of war. Things had been looking up, with the sword of Gryffindor, Neville had pulled from the Sorting Hat, he sliced Nagini's head clean off. Decimating the final Horcrux. With Harry dead twice over, the Horcrux that was inside him had been destroyed gone as well. Leaving Voldemort a very mortal man. This Hermione knew. It gave them a chance, albeit a very miniscule chance, anything was better than nothing. But the power the Dark Lord possessed, none of them had even seen the tip. In a great explosion of accidental magic, the product of Voldemorts rage at seeing his beloved snakes demise, decimated many of the fighters left.

In front of her very eyes she watched as Ron Weasley, who was so far, the love of her life, explode into nothing but a spray of blood. Time had stopped for her as she watched. His expression was both horror and shock. Utter pain followed quickly after. Then his chest seemed to collapse into itself, his limbs twisting in ways that they were not meant to twist. He opened he mouth to scream, and then he was gone. Others followed in front of her. Professor McGonagall, Remus Lupin, Tonks, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Professor Slughorn, to name a few, and many students she had studied with not so long ago. All gone, in seconds. Only pools of blood and gore remained. She couldn't believe what she was seeing, she was frozen in place only feet away.

Her mind became a blank nothingness. No thought, no feeling, her senses were finding nothing for her, no anything. It all seemed to take eons in her mind, but in mere moments the Lion in her came out. Protect! It cried. She was rapidly being surrounded by three of the higher ranking Death Eaters. She decided in that instance of thought and made her decision. To use what she had only previously studied in theory. Books she had stolen, from the large stash Molly Weasley was getting rid of. She had nicked them years ago while they cleaned out the House of Black. They say the descent into darkness is like gravity. All you need is a little push.

Acting quickly, pulling from her memory, she started shooting off spells in her attackers direction. She was using the wand she had stolen from Bellatrix LeStrange back at Malfoy Manor. Having won over the allegiance of the wand in the last few days. It was much more suitable to the darker side of magic, and her current desperation to survive. Her old wand, had gone with Harry into the Forbidden Forest. It was probably still there amidst the underbrush. The Death Eaters that had been advancing wore surprised expressions, they obviously were not expecting what hit them. If anything, they weren't anticipating this much of a fight.

A blast of bright fluorescent yellow hit Goyle Sr. in the face. His skin started to boil off in thick glops. He had dropped his wand and was clawing at what remained of his eyes, screaming. An unknown man had a dark muted turquoise curse, hit him in the center of the chest. He watched as all his limbs suddenly fell off his torso, bloody spurts coming in great gushes from the wounds. He died quickly. The third, Rosier watched his brothers in arms fall to her spells. His eyes not on the young witch. He had faltered to raise a shield spell. Though the Wizard, was not counting on a physical attack. She began running the moment the second spell left her wand-tip, she had tackled him to the ground. There she began to pummel his face with her small fists, mouth twisted in a vicious snarl. It seemed like some sort of bloodlust had overtaken her. Reaching to her right she grabbed a sharp stone from the shrapnel and transfigured it into a knife. She slit his throat as quickly as she did.

She stood quickly and then looked at the horrors around her, as if coming out of a daze. The carnage was everywhere. Blood, bodies. From both sides. But it was over, they were obviously losing, and quickly. The Light had fallen...

Eyes wide, shock having stolen her voice. But her brain ever working, turning, planning. Here was the famous Hermione Granger. Battered, bruised, chest heaving in physical exertion, a fierce determination in her eyes. Here, was the pressure she worked well in. Life or Death, them or us. Only mere moments to make the choice. She surveyed the smoking battlefield, that had once been a beautiful place, she had once liked to read on that bench just over there. It used to be a nice spot to relax, away from the rest of the students, now there was a dead body slumped in it. She caught sight of the Weasley Twins, holding their own, a few other of her classmates were scatted across the courtyard, not many had escaped the blast. So few of them remained.

Save him! The voice suddenly cried again within her. Instantly, her hands were moving like muscle memory. Shoving her hand into the enchanted bag she had stuck to her person with a heavy duty charm, she pulled out Harry's invisibility cloak. Hermione was already running, mind whirring on exit strategies. It seems that the rest of her side had the same idea. The call came loud, male, magically amplified.

"Retreat! Order of the Phoenix, Retreat!"

She had grabbed the closest person to her, who oddly enough happened to be Neville, draped the cloak over them both, he didn't question a thing, and together they ran. The ground shook from the force of explosions, and stomping Giants. The dead and dying lay scattered on the ground. She nearly tripped over the body of Padma Patil. Her first idea was to use the vanishing cabinet, and then remembered the Room of Requirement had been destroyed by Fiendfire. Next best option then, she decided, turning quickly and running up two flight of stairs, maneuvering herself and Neville (who at this point questioned nothing, and was just running for his life) she ran towards the nearest broom closet with the hope, beyond hope, praying, 'please, just let this work', that there was at least one broom in there. Trying hard not to spare a thought for all the others, they had to leave. Now. Ignoring the ringing in her ears. She knew exactly where her path led if she was caught. Hermione Granger, the famed Mudblood, best friend of Harry Potter. She sobbed through her gasping as she ran down the corridor. The only remaining member of the Golden Trio. She could mourn later.

With pleas to whoever was listening, she opened the closet they had skidded to a stop in front of. Seeing a single Cleansweep 2000, she nearly cheered her delight. But the grin on her face was enough. She hurriedly took the Sword of Gryffindor from Neville, and stashed it quickly in the bag charmed to the left hip of her jeans. Snatching the broomstick out of the cupboard, holding it close to her, she turned to Neville. Quickly explained her plan to jump out a window, and fly away. He looked as terrified as she felt. She probably looked that way too. But nonetheless, they started running towards the nearest window. The sounds of Death Eaters were closing in on them. Even though they couldn't be seen, their footsteps as they ran were still heard. Something within her commanding, insisting she protect the boy beside her. Get him away! They weaved in and out of stone debris. Scrambling through a secret passage that was familiar to them both, they made it up onto the fourth floor.

Making it to a window that was large enough, she gazed out into the black sky somehow there were no stars tonight. Looking at the ground below, there was a split second of fear. But she had already straddled the broom, feeling Neville seated behind her. She glanced over her shoulder, though the invisibility cloak covering them both, the half visible broom and their shins and feet, was a perfect give-away. She saw Death Eaters just at the end of the hall. They were running towards them, almost within spell range. With the broom solid beneath her, she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, she mumbled a small prayer to her Muggle God, and they flung themselves out of the window.

They started to plummet quickly. The cold air rushed passed them, making it hard to breathe. With barely enough time to scream or think, the broom jumped to life under them. Neville was grasping the cloak around them, as they sped off higher into the night. Zooming back and forth, dodging spells that were coming from the window they had just leapt from. The burning castle, its tall towers, crumbling in on themselves. One of them, had been the home of the two Gryffindors for the last seven years. They kept their pace, as fast as the broom would take them, and they left a demolishing Hogwarts, behind them.

Earlier that night

Severus Snape lay dying. Crumpled in a black heap beneath a broken window. He was in the boat house. The sounds of the lake buzzing in his ears. The snake had taken a large chunk out of his neck, his robes were open at the top, his wound oozing a clear liquid and blood. He had multiple bites on his face as well. He was deathly pale. A more stark contrast to the dark man than usual. But there was a small smile on that face. The Potter brat had just left, taking with him Snapes memories and the information he needed to win this war. This was obviously, not part of the original plan, he surmised, but he had planned for this likely scenario. Somehow with what little strength he had left, he had pulled a small glass flask from a pocket in his pants. Thumbing off the stopper, his hand trembling, raised the flask to his mouth and downed the anti-venom in one quick gulp. His other hand was holding his balled up sleeve over the wound in his neck. He had prepared for this outcome, shortly after the attack on Arthur Weasley. Luckily, he was able to get a sample of her venom after the initial attack. The Healers on staff that night, were old students of his. They were easily cowed into submission, and had their memories of the encounter taken for their efforts. Severus Snape was nothing, if not thorough. Paranoid at the very least.

With the venom slowly breaking down in his blood, he felt the tiniest bit stronger, and managed to find a blood replenishing potion in his robes. Why that stupid Granger girl hadn't thought to look through his robes, while in her hysterics was beyond him. He thought she reacted well under pressure, after all these years of keeping the Moron Who Lived alive. He quickly looked at his surroundings, mind whirring over what he could use. He doubted he had the strength for magic right now. What he came up with was so simple. He was in a boat house after all, and these specific boats, were enchanted to power themselves, after an activation. In this case, thankfully, it was a small string of words.

With all the commotion at the castle, no one would notice his escape across the lake. He hoped. But now, was the time for big risks and hope it seemed. Managing to crawl into the nearest shallow boat, he set off the boats enchantment and settled back on the wood stiffly with a groan, as the craft jostled forwards, and then started smoothly out across the black lake towards Hogsmeade. His plan was to hide in the train station, possibly catch one of the residents evacuating, and make it out with them.

His thoughts were swirling and it seemed he had passed out again, the boat hit the dock with a sharp rap and startled him awake. Scrambling slowly over the side and rolling onto the dock, he pulled himself up, and sluggishly made his way into the small wizarding village. He was getting colder by the second. The air near the lake, definitely not helping matters. Houses shut, windows boarded up. Not a single light anywhere. It was dead here. When he got to the station it was empty as well. Completely deserted. Anyone that had been evacuating, was already long gone. All of the Death Eaters and Snatchers who had been hanging out here, were with the rest of the Dark Lords army up at the castle, probably fighting, hopefully dying gruesomely. He sneered at the night before him. It came out as more of a grimace. He held no love for any of those imbeciles. Following some maniac bent on eternal life and absolute power. He did like to live though. His entire life, if not right now, was a testament to such.

He stumbled his way through the barren depot, quiet groans and small gasps of pain flew freely from his mouth. Dark brows knit together in pain. Knowing his legs wouldn't carry him much farther. He was just looking for a safe place to hide out for now, and think up a new plan. Recovery his strength and move on. After all, he made it this far, what seemed like forever ago, he thought he was actually going to die in that dingy, god-forsaken boat house, over a bloody wand of all things!

Hand pressing against a wall for support, he slowly made it into the back room for the small staff of the train station, and there, just on the inside of the door he fell. His feet tripped over themselves, reaching hands finding nothing to hold onto. He hit the ground with a dull sound. He couldn't find any more reserves of strength to keep himself moving, his vision was swimming, and black spots where forming in his line of view. His last clear thought was the hope that Potter succeeded in finally killing the darkest Wizard of their age. That Lord Voldemort was defeated. He was near asking the Gods for help. But then, without his meaning to, and definitely without his permission he succumbed to his wounds, and passed out on the cold floor of the deserted train station.

It was probably a good thing too, because when you prayed in times like that, you didn't know who was going to answer.