Disclaimer: Hehehe, do I look like JK Rowling? Oh wait...you can't see me...nevermind that. Umm, well I'm not cuz uhh if I was...it would be slash all the way...and this Tonks/Remus thing...um, no. Wouldn't exist. Yeah, so I don't own this...much.

Sanctuarire en Fin

(Sanctuary in End)

Dead.

They were all dead.

Rowena's mind shied away from the touchy topic, as she glided down the hallways. Her lily-pad eyes scanned the floors of Hogwarts, the once rough gray stones now stained with blood. She saw the bloody handprints marking the walls; the paintings with their inhabitants frozen in horror if they weren't slashed through. She saw the tapestries, many she'd made herself, dripping, the blood dripping from them the sole sound in the hall. She saw them, but her mind hid from them, not seeing them. She didn't see the bodies of students. She didn't see the blood on her hands, on her dress, on her glaive, in her hair. She saw none of it, because seeing it would drive her mad. Rowena's mind was too smart for that, too smart to drive itself to insanity, but not smart enough to end all this bloodshed.

"Helga?"

"Salazar?"

"Godric!" She panicked now when even Godric failed to answer to her summons. He had always come when she had her visions, or when the Empathy-curse had paralyzed her, drowned her in unshielded emotions. Even Salazar, who had hated her, would have come to rescue her from the vision. For it could only be a vision, only in a vision would everything be silent.

Silence.

Like the grave.

Rowena slipped on a step, drenching one hand in still warm blood, the other staining the wall with her handprint. Her eyes looked straight at the glassy eyes of a student. Ileana, Hufflepuff, fourteen, especially good at shields her mind told her. She lifted herself up. She was going somewhere. She knew that. She had to get to the tower; the visions never reached the tower. It was sanctuary. She tripped several more times, her skirts weighing her down in sticky red blood. But none of that penetrated her shield. Because only insanity lay down that road of travel.

One hundred and forty four.

One hundred and forty four villagers against students.

She reached the tower. Her bloodstained hands pushed against the solid oak door. It failed to open. She pushed again and again, before collapsing in front of it. The door opened. She didn't get up. She looked in the room and screamed.

"Rowena, Helga, run, get the students out of here!"

"Lady Ravenclaw, what's going to happen to us?"

"Satanic witches, burn in the flames of repentance! Burn!"

"Rowena, take the children! I'll fight them off here."

"Lady Ravenclaw, why didn't you save us?" Rowena screamed. The pale gray matter, these imitations of life looked at her with accusing eyes. They pleaded with her, begged her, wanted her protection. But she had no protection to give. Her mind flooded her with images, memories, information, useless. It had failed her. She had been the smartest one of them all. Her mind had failed her.

"NO!" She screamed. Ice cold breaths of air raised the hair on her neck as she pushed through the ghosts. She ran, down the tower steps, down the bloody body littered halls, shoving her way outside. The light burned her eyes and she screamed again, shielding her face with her bloodstained sleeve. It was a mistake. She screamed at the sight of the blood, her mind reeling. The carnage was worse out here. The grass was blotched brown, the lake red. Nothing living remained, only the bodies and the ghosts.

Pain.

Misery.

Anger.

She screamed again as the emotions flooded her body. Her back arched, her knees gave way, she screamed until her throat felt as if the skin had been ripped off and salt had been pored in the remains. When she could no longer scream, it was silent. Silent as she lay still on the blood stained grass, her mind blank.

Day 11 Of the Lord's Month of January,

We found this poor soul wandering the forests around the old Tower of Ravens. She was crazy, babbling about blood and death and silence. But she quieted, and she now sits in the nun's clothes, speaking to no one. She has quite lost it, her mind is broken. A nobleman came to us and said that she is his sister, the Lady Ravenclaw. He says he will take care of her, but when he comes near her she flies at him in a flurry of rage. She calls him murderer, liar, bastard, betrayer, traitor, and many others not befitting to hear in a chapel. I told him he may not take her; she finds peace in the presence of the Lady Mary. He says she is a witch and calmed by no such Catholic belief. But if she is a witch, she cannot work her witchcraft and harms no one.

Day 11 of the Lord's Month of March,

As the days warm we have tried to coax the Lady Ravenclaw outside. She resists stubbornly until she is outside. Then she speaks to the roses of a woman named Helga who would heal a bird with their petals. When she sees a bird in the sky she screams and begs to go inside. At night she screams the names of men and woman alike.

Day 15 of the Lord's Month of April,

The Lady spoke today. She asked me for parchment and ink, saying she feared she was not long for this world and had her last testament to write. Her eyes looked so sad. I gave her what she requested.

Day 23 of the Lord's Month of April,

The Lady Rowena disappeared three days prior. I fear she will not return. I believe her dead.

We should have known after the first murder. When we found the mangled corpses of those three students we should have known. Salazar did, but nothing could allow us to condone his idea of destroying the villagers who killed them. We didn't think that they would have the courage to come to the school. It was a bloodbath. They massacred the students, killed every last child. I am the only survivor. But I am not alive. I have spent the last months in insanity. My mind gives me reprieve from the corpses during my insanity. My brother came, the only one we trusted to know the secret of where we were. I know he feels guilty and ashamed; he told the villagers, my powers told me. Now I take no asylum. I return to the place of my death, sane for my final moments. The ghosts are still here. Soon I will join them. Their pain alone begs me to kill myself. Empathy is no gift. I banish their corpses. I beg Hogwarts to listen to me one final time, to destroy the stains of blood but keep the school the same. I place Godric's hat on a stool in the Great Hall. A compulsion will call any wizard into that room. My ghost will guide him in the formation of this school. I will insure its survival. My ghost will have no memory of my insanity, of this bloodbath. It rests in my glaive, the blue blade of power, and now memory. They will not accomplish their goals.

Hogwarts will live.

Fin.

A/N: Umm, so I wrote this really late at night a while ago in a fit of creativeness...umm, but I reread it tonight and with the help of one of my great friends decided to post it. So, this is dedicated to Helen, for being amazing, convincing me to post this, reading it, helping me with the title, and translating the French.

On the other hand, note I wrote Fin at the bottom. This story is done. It is a one-shot and it will remain a one-shot. There will be no naggin for more. Seriously.

If you have any questions review me and I'll answer them to the best of my abilities. Of course this means you must be logged in or at least provide an e-mail address.

So that's all...off to find more inspiration...and cheese. Toddles