This was written for the Charms Assignment at Hogwarts (Write a story that takes place directly after the battle of Hogwart. Focus especially on how the survivors might feel.) using the prompts: Location: Great Hall, Object: shattered statues, Word: death, Character: Minerva McGonagall, Genre: hurt/comfort.
Word count: 1453
Cast Away The Shadows That Lingered Here
John didn't think he had ever felt lighter than he did right in this moment, as he spotted Amelia at the other end of the Great Hall. Her hair was matted with dirt and blood, and her left arm hang limply off her shoulder, but she was alive.
Even the relief he had felt when, almost two years ago now, he had found her dying instead of dead (and Merlin he had been so dreadfully sure she would be dead when he got there, that the Dark Lord would only have left a corpse behind), paled in front of what he felt now.
He would never know how he managed to get to her without collapsing. All he knew what that the previously busy room suddenly seemed to fade around the edges, the noises of so many souls reuniting only a faint buzzing in his ears instead of the cacophony it had been just seconds earlier.
John didn't know what he meant to say when he got to her – something grand, perhaps. Something worthy of this moment, to go with the elated relief that seemed to want to burst out of his soul.
Instead his hand just twitched toward her with a want to hold – but he was holding his wand, still clenched so tight he didn't think he remembered how to let go, and so was she – and he just stared into her eyes, lost for words.
Had they always been so full of shadows, so pained? Even now, as she visibly lightened up at his sight, they remained darker than he thought he remembered.
"I am glad to see you alive, John," she finally said, voice sounding rough. Now that he was closer to her, he could see that what he had mistaken for dirt was in fact stone dust, crushed so thinly it almost glittered in her hair when the light caught it right.
John almost laughed. It looked beautiful – in the midst of all this death, all this destruction (Merlin, Hogwarts was in ruins, the once proud statues standing guard from above now shattered remains on the ground, their purpose fulfilled at the cost of their animated lives), she still looked more beautiful than any other woman he'd seen.
"I'm glad you're alive too," he replied instead, trying not to feel like the words were lies. And they weren't, not really. It wasn't that he wasn't glad – it was that glad wasn't enough to describe everything that he was feeling right now.
It wasn't enough to describe the profound wave of relief he had felt when he had seen her face again or the debilitating joy at knowing that they had won, that this fight was over. And it certainly wasn't enough for the overwhelming grief he felt now, surrounded by death in a room that was supposed to be so full of joy.
Amelia's lips quirked up for half a second in answer, and John knew she understood.
(what had he done, he wondered, to deserve her in his life?)
"You should sit down," he suggested, feeling awkward standing up when they both were so exhausted they wavered on their feet.
And there it was – that flash of fury in her eyes, a fire as strong as any Gryffindor's. "I will not! There are wixen in need of help here, and as long as I can keep hold of my wand, I shall help them!" She was shorter than him, but somehow her glare made him feel smaller.
She was right, loath as he was to admit it. He wanted to keep her safe, but this wasn't a fight he could protect her from (and even in a fight, Amelia was terrifying – probably better than half the Auror Department). Amelia knew first aid – most of it learned from healing grumpy Aurors who refused to stay put at St. Mungo's – and right now, that was invaluable.
"Fine," he conceded, sighing. "But I'll help."
The look she shot him was so grateful John shivered. "Thank you," she said, before leaning up and kissing his cheek.
The warm impression of her lips lingered long after that, all through the long hours he spent half a step behind her, ready to catch her the moment she collapsed, as she walked through the Great Hall, and later the half-destroyed corridors, fixing what she could with the spells she had learned to help but his own battered body back together when the job got a little too rough.
"See? I told you these spells would come in handy," he teased during a small break he had to force on her.
Her dislocated shoulder had been set, and the arm was in a splint. John had insisted she take a moment to breathe when he had noticed her legs were shaking, and when her wand hand had started doing the same she had grudgingly complied.
"Because of course you knew this would happen when you showed up bleeding at my place," she scoffed, sending him a dark look. But her lips were twitching up a little, as they did whenever they had this argument, so John counted it as a win.
John just smiled back, not happy but not really sad either and shrugged. He rested his free hand on her unbound forearm, and they sat there, contemplating the ruins of their childhood until they got too restless and stood back up, ready to head back in.
They worked in silence mostly, only occasionally voicing their thoughts to break up the monotony.
"So, are you alright?" She asked him later, much later, when he was levitating a broken statue to free up a collapsed passageway. He was so surprised by the words that he almost lost control of the spell.
The first words on the tip of his tongue were 'yes, I'm fine', but that was because he always said that. Those words were more of a habit than anything else, and right now they would be a lie Amelia would see right through.
"I'll get back to you on that," he said instead, and she nodded. Together they worked to clear the passageway, he banishing rubble or pushing it aside, she healing anyone they met (there were kids there, who had been trapped and unable to do much – it broke John's heart every time, to see their frightful faces turn into careful hope when they saw him).
Finding the right words was hard, much more difficult than he had expected. It took him well until the night fell – until Professor McGonagall found them and told them to leave, to rest. Without him noticing they had wandered back into the Great Hall, and it already looked so different from before.
The bodies were still there – wells some of them were – but it was also cleaner and less busy.
"We have this well in hand," she told them, looking at them kindly. "You can come back tomorrow, but for now I insist that you leave."
It was a reflex to nod – she had taken that no-nonsense tone John still remembered from his own schooldays, and from the shiver Amelia half managed to conceal, she felt the same.
She nodded back, and escorted them to the door. It occurred to John then, that she too must be tired.
"You should rest too, Professor," he said, the words uneasy in his mouth. She didn't take it badly, however, her eyes merely crinkling up with mirth.
"I will, Mr. Dawlish. I do believe my own quarters were relatively untouched."
It made him want to say more – to do more – but before he could Amelia's hand on his arm stopped him.
"We'll see you tomorrow then, Professor," she said, and somehow the exhaustion he could feel seeping through her every pore didn't affect her voice in the least. It sounded as confident and piercing as ever, and John would have smiled had he felt like he could.
"Certainly, Mrs. Bones," the older witch replied. "And it's Minerva, both of you – I haven't been your teacher in years."
"You should call me Amelia, then."
"John," he echoed.
They left after that, Amelia tucked against his side as they walked one again through the corridors they had spent the day in.
"So, are you alright?" She asked him again, just before they reached the gates and the end of the wards.
This time, it didn't take him long to answer. "I'm alive. I'm alive, so I think I will be, eventually. And you?"
She smiled. "I'm alive," she repeated. Her smile made her look younger, made her look beautiful, and it made John want to truly believe his own words.
John smiled back, and together they Apparated home.