The battle rages on in the halls of my first home. I see the castle walls being pieced apart by wayward spells and the occasional full body impact. The paintings' frames are all empty, I notice, but do not blame them for leaving. I would leave if I could. I was only placed in Gryffindor because I valued bravery, not because I had any of my own. I envy the portraits their easy escape into the nothingness between frames. I fight my way back to the thick of the fighting, reminding myself that I'm fighting for the right to exist, the right to belong to this world that has caused me unending pain since the day I turned up to board that scarlet train.
I am brought out of my musings by the thump of a lifeless body; a sound no 18-year-old girl should be able to recognize through the cacophony of sound now flooding the Great Hall. I turn quickly as I dare, my world-view in maddening slow motion, to see Voldemort standing tall. Blood rushes past my ears as I scan the ground at his feet to see Harry, paler than he has ever been. I look for the rest of my friends -Ron, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and so many more- only to see them all laid out on cots. I push them to the back of my mind, hoping that they're merely unconscious, to focus on the red-eyed beast towering over my dead best friend.
I feel the eyes of everyone in the room on me as my rage crawls from under my skin, forcing its way into the light of day.
"Voldemort," I call him this for he is truly more monster than man now "You have done the one thing I can never forgive. You have murdered my last hope. That was a terribly dangerous mistake to make." I do not know where these words come from, but I can feel their power settle on me like a heavy cloak, comforting if not entirely practical given the setting.
He sneers at me, his face twisted in false pity. "Oh, the little Mudblood wants to play, too. I have plenty of strength left to dispatch with you easily." He barely holds his wand ready, looking to all the world at ease in his position, confident in his superiority.
He will regret underestimating my willingness to die, if only I can take him with me.
I feel no more words form, so I only sneer back. I stalk across the hall towards him, damn near giddy with satisfaction that he does not know what I am capable of. I channel the residual magic in the air to fuel my fire, feeling Harry's own magical core join my well. I never even lift the wand dangling from my fingertips.
Voldemort does not see his destruction closing in on him, he is far too cocky to think a mere girl born to Muggle parents could ever pose a threat to his immense greatness. I spare only a second to laugh in his face before I let the magic overflow out of me. Waves upon waves of raw energy hit Tom Riddle Junior in the chest, throwing him through the hourglasses behind him. The jewels scatter as he tries to regain his footing. I do not let him. I control the flow of magic now, creating a spearhead of pure white-hot raw energy to kill the creature in front of me. Stalking consistently toward him, I let him see the weapon for a split second before I remove his mobility. Ever so slowly, I drive the point of my spear through his forehead, incinerating any and all brain matter to be found.
His lifeless body doesn't hit the floor. I cannot allow this vermin such niceties as to be laid to rest. He does not get a mundane finality. He does not deserve it.
I let my magic tear him limb from limb and dissolve his remains. Nothing is left behind, save his followers and their Mark. That reminds me… I turn back to the world outside my mind and his obliteration to see all eyes still on me. I can smell the fear from all sides. I smile sadly.
"Death Eaters, willing or not, I have need of your presence. Come." I do not need to raise my voice, they are all listening. I see Draco step forward first, good. I will not kill him, he helped as much as could in his position. I beckon him to open his sleeve to show his Mark, and he does so. I freeze him and clarify merely, "This will hurt." I give no other explanation before my magic surrounds his forearm and draws out the dark magic from his skin. He screams until it is over, and sags to the floor when I release his arm. A cot is conjured under him by a nearby Madam Pomfrey. I can feel my well running low, so I motion for all of the Death Eaters to come forward quickly; they do. I feel which ones are repentant, and which ones delighted in the game. I take the mark away from those who never wanted it, or didn't know what they were agreeing to. The rest, I immobilize and chain to the stone wall to await their Azkaban room assignments.
The last thing I notice is that the stone floor is much softer than you expect it to be when falling.