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xi

Alice was driven by love.

She had never been as courageous or reckless or rash as her housemates but she found it easy to open her heart to those around her (and close it just as fast) and defend them with all she had.

She longed for the harmony that had been shattered by the upcoming darkness, driving children to hate each other, to fight (and kill), judging people based on their blood, not on their hearts, without ever giving them a chance.

But she had sworn to herself to keep her chosen family safe, the boys and girls and men and women, the leaders and healers and soldiers (the killers and long-lost souls and fools who thought they could save their world).

Her will was of iron and her shields never wavered and she gladly put herself into harm's way to protect those she called her own.

They always scolded her for openly risking her life (although they had to know that that was better than seeing them hurt).

When she got pregnant she became only more fierce, her defense even more spotless, her curses more lethal (and her determination killed all that was left of her conscience, for who were those utter bastards to threaten her child?)

She wasn't surprised by the prophecy, nor shocked or put out (afraid, yes, but was there anything not to be afraid of?). Some part of her had always known they never had a chance (but she could have never said that out loud, for that would have meant admitting that she had failed, and what would her life have been worth then?) They were fighting a war they couldn't win (and were never meant to because they were only children, believing they could change something for the better).

She always suppressed her doubts, not allowing them to manifest and weaken her and thereby hurting her friends.

She loved their world, she loved her fellow Order members and family, and she loved her life.

Nothing was to destroy this, no one was to threaten what was precious to her (but they did and they ripped out her heart and shredded it, more and more with every defeat and scar and loss).

They were slowly driven back (dying one by one) and darkness closed them in (killing them from the inside) and she was driving herself crazy for she couldn't just accept her helplessness.

For everyone she saved, two others died. For everyone she killed, three others came to wreak havoc.

And then she was supposed to hide (and let them die) to protect the possible saviour of their lost cause (not that there would be anything left to save if they didn't help).

But she went and she hoped and she fought her very own battles within (losing all the same).

When it wasn't her son who was chosen, she was glad, but she wasn't relieved, for they were all her family and she loved them just as much (and Harry was just another soul she could never save).

Then Lestrange came and she stood tall and stepped into harm's way and fought, knowing full well she never had a chance, but that didn't matter because her life might just buy the seconds needed to save those she loved.

And how she loved her husband and son, so much that it hurt almost as much as the endless Crucios wrecking her broken body and in that last moment before her mind shattered she saw flames turning green and help arrived and she was happy and she never regretted a thing because she had only done what she had sworn to do.

(Only that it wasn't enough because she should have known that Frank would never willingly leave her side, but at least they were together, so she thought it kind of was alright.)

In the end there was just the memory of pain and bittersweet oblivion.

She held the hand of the boy looking so much like herself, smiling and hurting all the same, for their was that burning sensation in her heart that she could never name, although it was always there, disturbing the perfect nothingness that was her mind (because even all-but-dead she just couldn't stop loving him).

They were young and they thought they were invincible.

Life taught them they weren't. Death taught them nothing was.

Not laughter or faith, beauty or innocence, justice or trust, independence or courage, loyalty or determination or love.

All gone, all taken, all shattered to never be retrieved again.

They still believed in those stupid children's rules (The heroes don't die. And in the end, Light triumphs. Always.) so is it really a wonder they fell?

Not all of them died, of course. There were those brave souls who kept breathing, not dead, but not really living either, trying to piece back together what was left to them. And when the call came, the second war, the second abyss to swallow them whole, they stood tall and raised their weapons and their hearts beat for all those that were lost.

History says they have won. It describes the wonderful new society, that was built on the ashes of the one they tried to defend. It calls them saviours and heroes.

Those that were there know better.

They were children and they fought a war so much bigger than them, and they didn't back down, no matter how much they were losing. Maybe that qualifies as being heroic. Maybe it was good and right and the only thing to do.

But it was their downfall. It was ugly and painful and devastating. It ripped out their hearts and destroyed all they could have been.

(And still, they would do it again.)

There it is. The last chapter. That said, I might be swayed to write more if anyone wants.

So, leave a review, and thanks for reading.