"The sunset here is not like there in Angola."

Albus sat next to Marley when he saw her alone and farther away. The camp in northern Scotland, in the same region as Hogwarts and Hogsmade, was strangely quiet, as if the people there were experiencing the bonanza before the storm. That was it, since the plan had been drawn for the presumed last chapter of that war. Albus saw parents telling precious advice to their kids. Brothers and friends embraced and exchanged words of caress, couples prepared to love each other in the reserved interior of their tents.

Marley, however, sat alone and isolated until Albus arrived. He himself had private conversations with the cousins who were there. That's why he felt that no one should be alone on the eve of the plan. Especially someone like Marley who, by the age of 18, had matured more than many people in a lifetime.

"It seems I can't get used to the weather anymore." Marley shook her head.

"We've been away for over two years without wearing such heavy coats, have we?"

"That's it, but it's not that at the same time." Marley was still talking without looking at her friend.

"What is it then?"

"I don't know exactly what it is." Finally, she stared at her friend. "We had a good life there, didn't we? I mean, it was hard, a lot of work, but we were a family. Me, Hugo, you and Lysander. Even Lily and Santana, who arrived later. We had a unit and we were a family. Now Hugo is dead. We are gathered here and even Rachel is here. And Quinn is here, and your cousins and uncles... all ready for the final fight and it seems like we've never been so far apart."

Albus understood Marley's sadness. She was an orphan. Her mother had died as a result of morbid obesity before Marley even went to Angola. It was natural that she had adopted a new family among the group that ran the refugee camp. The feeling was reciprocal. Marley became family too. On the other hand, meeting some of the exiles with family and friends who spent so much time communicating through messages most of the time showed that distance has affected many of the relationships. This was painful and perhaps for this very reason there was so much effort in reconnecting with those who had been away before the final battle. Marley had no one away to reconnect. Not anymore. It was painful to realize that, in the midst of the various meetings that were taking place, she was no one's priority.

Albus held her friend's hand and squeezed a little, trying to get confidence.

"We're still a family, Marley. You're family and I think you should stop enjoying this gray sunset and enjoy a nice dinner with me."

Marley was reluctant for a moment, but eventually accepted the offer. She got up and went to a tent with two large tables, used as dining rooms. She found Finn there alongside Rachel, Scorpius talking to Rose, plus a few other people with familiar faces or not. All were together and at the same time separated. It was as if the air could be sliced so tightly, and that made her uncomfortable. Albus held Marley's hand firmly. He wanted to prove one point, that in spite of everything, she was important to him. Albus admired her: she was the youngest of the group, she was always considered the helper of all, and she always performed every task with selflessness and dexterity. Albus also found Marley beautiful inside and out, something that never allowed himself to verbalize sharply in regard to his dead cousin, so as not to get the wrong idea. The truth is that he and Marley had things in common, and maybe after the war they could exploit those points.

"Bread?" Albus offered her friend a piece of the delicious sweet bread made to perfection by the house-elves who served in the camp.

"Let's share."

Albus smiled, took some fresh bread from the basket. That's when the light came on.

...

Finn was moving faster and faster. Meanwhile, Rachel was a little deconcentrated because the strong thrusts were making her body slip out of the narrow camp mattress.

"Ohhh, Rachel..." Finn further accelerated the movements that made Rachel's small breasts sway like jelly. Then he grunted and thundered loudly as he cum in his wife. He sighed relieved by the orgasm and rolled to the side, withdrawing the penis in motion.

It wasn't a gentle sex. It was just a dirty meanless sex caused by the eminent final battle. The need for fuck as a way to vent some of the tension. As soon as they entered one of the huts, they took off their trousers, the penetration was almost instant and everything became pure and simple fuck. No experiments at all. Rachel lay down and Finn came over in a mom-and-pop position without any aesthetic sense. Finn was moving fast inside Rachel's not-so-lubricated vagina. His enjoyment was as expected, while Rachel got the dubious feeling that she had made a mistake while at the same time she actually sought some kind of sexual relief. This seemed to be the summary of their marriage: casual and disconnect conversations, without proper intimacy and not always satisfactory.

"Was it good for you?"

"It was great." Rachel smiled.

"Did you come?"

"Yes, I did."

Finn believed or pretended to believe. He was so high now. He smiled discreetly and kissed Rachel on the mouth before stand up. Rachel watch her husband (or would she call him ex-husband?) putting his pants on.

"Where are you going?"

"I need to check a few things. We can talk after dinner."

"Of course."

Rachel watched Finn come out of the small tent and stared at the ceiling. This wasn't a fancy magic tent: it was very close to a normal camp, with no luxuries and basic structure. She was naked from the waist down, the bra off her breasts, the t-shirt twisted, legs slightly apart, lying on her back and staring at the ceiling. She ran her hand over her breasts. They were sensitive. She massaged them a little, circled the tip of the index finger on the nipple, and lowered her right hand to her clitoris. She began to massage it in quick circular motions and moaned. She felt dirty in having such thoughts, but she imagined what sex should be like among other people. Would it be so interesting like those porn videos on the internet? While she stimulated her clitoris, she imagined how good it would be if she were given oral sex. How good it would be to be sucked, kissed, and penetrated with the tongue as if she were receiving a passionate kiss. They were things that Finn could hardly do with her. She penetrated herself with two fingers as she continued to press one of her breasts. She closed her eyes, bit her lips, and came alone.

Rachel opened her eyes and kept her hand still in her own sex. Her fingertips at the entrance to her vagina. She quickly massaged her sex, running her hand wet with fluids all over her pussy and trimmed pubes. She took a deep breath. She was calm and pleased with her solo performance. Look on the bright side: she was a born soloist, right?

Rachel reached for a towel and wiped herself off before getting up and dressed. She left the little tent and found the wizarding movement of various ethnicities and nationalities circulating, not to mention the huge numbers of mestizos and Muggle-borns.

It was such a group that he had gathered around Santana Lopez: fugitives from Azkaban, close allies, people who resisted in silence during the years of the supremacist regime, some foreigners who were fighting for the ideal. Between them, she remembered the guy who ran into a bar in Salem. What was the name of the Irishman? Rory something. Yes, he was circling there, experiencing the idealistic youthful dream of the supposed socialist revolution of the wizarding world against oppression. Rachel felt sorry for the poor guy. If he knew there was no one with more allergy to politics than Santana, that the main reasons that made her there were private, maybe Rory wouldn't be standing there risking his own skin.

Rachel liked the mix, but she hated the situation. Finn, on the other hand, was quite at ease, as if he had really found the place in the world. She saw her husband talking to people as if he were a commander. Finn looked so happy.

Rachel saw Santana and Quinn talking in a more secluded part of the camp. She stepped closer to the point where she realized that they were arguing about something. Rachel didn't want to interrupt. But what would she say to her sister at that moment? She had the feeling that everything Santana could say would sound like a farewell. She would like to avoid such a situation. Rachel didn't want to lose anyone else. The costs of that war have become inestimable.

Rachel turned her attention to the rest of the camp in Scottish lands. She saw many familiar faces, but the three years she spent away from everything made her disconnect with many of those people. She was glad to hear that Kurt was alive, but they had no connection. Kurt was just a shadow of the once arrogant and clever boy who fought the spotlight on Muggle music club with her. Many of the friends she had at Hogwarts were no longer there. They were dead. Hugo, her first boyfriend, was dead. Brittany, who didn't sing very well, but danced like a goddess and had a great mood, was murdered. Mercedes died in Azkaban because she didn't have the guts to jump from a moving train.

From the glee club she set up at school, considering the longest members, only Marley, Kurt, and Finn were alive. Rachel knew members like Artie Abrams and Ryder Lynn and Wade Adams were also alive. The last two were in the same camp preparing for "D", but they were people who didn't get involved and she didn't really have news.

Who were Rachel's friends there? Who could she count besides those who were somehow intimately connected with her family? And by family it was understood Santana.

Rachel watched Rose walk hand in hand with Scorpius. They weren't just formally married because they didn't want to officialize anything through a war. Rachel envied them for choosing to live together first. Rachel, who was still formally married to Finn Hudson, who had just had sex with her husband, and who could hardly wait for it to end, could only think of the great mistake she had made. In fact, divorce among wizards was something that always turned news given the rarity of the act within a community that was very small.

The last divorce that had been reported in England happened six years ago when Laura Madlay divorced from Roger Malone. She discovered that the then husband was having an affair with a muggle. Laura Madlay, in fact, became a supporter of the supremacists. Her son, Breno Malone, studied the same year as Rachel at Hogwarts, at Hufflepuff's house, as did her parents, and was bullied by her classmates for being the only divorced child in school, as well as being chubby. Rachel had no news of Breno, she had never even been friends with him, nor did she try to be. But if he wasn't there, Rachel assumed that he was on the other side, or didn't get involved.

Rachel was surprised to think of Breno Malone. What was the point of that?

"Rachel?"

The girl glanced sideways toward the owner of the voice she knew very well.

"Santana? Wow. Why are you arguing with Quinn about?"

"Nothing..." It didn't look like it was anything. Santana was angry and Rachel was betting that the conversation with Quinn was the reason. "You don't look very good either, not to mention that you look lost. What happened?"

"I don't know if it would be something we could talk about in five minutes on the eve of the end of the world."

"The world will not end!" Santana said with her usual unbelieving stance, not understanding for a moment the irony. "Anyway, it seems like the people here are figuring out how to vent all the frustrations in one breath. Why couldn't you?"

"Was your argument with Quinn so bad?"

Santana took a deep breath, put her hand on her waist, and looked up at the sky for a second before turning her attention back to her sister.

"You can't expect people to really change after three years. Besides... Quinn had a bad time. I have to give a discount. Lots of discounts."

"You want to call her mean, don't you?"

"It's tempting. I just don't have that right." Santana nudged Rachel on the shoulder. "What about you?"

"I'm just a little tense. I miss our mother." Rachel still had her heart in mourning, it was true. But her problems at that moment were others, and again, she didn't want to intrude further on Santana, who seemed to have her hands full of things to solve.

"I miss her too... it's really hard to stop thinking about it."

"I think we're both going to have to do therapy when that's all over."

Santana laughed out loud. It was the first time she had done this since when she received her own father's head as a "gift". Unfortunately, there was no humour in that laugh. It was a nervous reaction that soon made her eyes water and an expression of sadness. Didn't people see how much Santana was destroyed inside? She was, too. Rachel wasn't long in coming and hugged her sister. She allowed herself to linger, despite occasional glances passing by and witnessing the gesture. Let the others explode. Rachel opened her eyes and saw Draco Malfoy approaching with a note in hand.

"Am I interrupting something?"

"Just a session of sisterhood piety." Rachel joked, giving Santana time to pull herself together.

"Is everything okay?" The healer didn't care about the sisters' interaction. He was only being polite by showing attention.

"As much as possible." Santana finally replied facing the ally. "Any news?"

"They are in position."

"Great!" Santana nodded.

"Ollivander just arrived and asked you to go to his tent. It looks like he got some results."

"Of course!"

Rachel didn't want to follow Draco and Santana. She watched them go away for a while, and she felt terribly lonely and without a place in the world. She wasn't a "refugee group," as Albus, Marley and Lysander were called, and not the "gang of frontiers" as they were called all those who acted in some way in Europe, as was the case with Quinn, Rose, Scorpius, Lorcan and Mike. She stayed away from everything, without classes, without friends. Rachel still had an agonizing feeling of not wanting to return to the United States. What a moment to have identity crisis.

Rachel walked to Finn in a camp where it was difficult not to run into anyone. Her husband smiled softly and invited her to grab something to eat in the tent used as refectory. Rachel agreed because she had nothing better to do. She sat down at one of the tables, greeted Rose and Scorpius who were there, and also others.

She didn't want to eat, but she didn't dispense a little juice, though. Rachel was thirsty and did not think she would miss the delicious concoctions invented by the house elves. She saw Albus arrive in the cafeteria with Marley. She greeted them both with a slight nod and then pretended to pay attention to Finn's nonsense. That's when the light came on.

...

Quinn ran the tip of her finger into the scar on her arm, the result of the torture she suffered at Azkaban. She couldn't say what was worse: whether she had been systematically raped for a time that seemed like an eternity by a scum who was obsessed with her, or whether there were endless tortures in Azkaban. The flesh didn't hurt any more. Except for the razor scars and the partial loss of the full extension of the right elbow pronation movement, there were no signs of ill-treatment. But the psychological pain was there, almost entirely. The pain of rape, torture through cruelty or simply by blows. Until the probable abortion she'd suffered at Azkaban. As for that, in the midst of so many conflicting thoughts, she thought it was a blessing. How could she raise a child born of hatred?

Even with all the assistance, Quinn still had trouble sleeping. It was difficult for her to be on a battlefield. As much as she was thirsting for revenge, the whirlwind of her personal life wouldn't leave her alone. Quinn still had to deal with the paradox that she didn't think about it and didn't want to be anywhere else, despite Santana's constant offer to get her away from the war. Despite being in a camp full of allies, Quinn preferred the isolation because she couldn't trust people anymore, and sometimes she lost her breath as if she were about to have a panic attack. She just didn't allow herself to break completely because the idea of revenge was much stronger. Santana might be the chosen one, but she had the genuine desire to kill, no matter if it could mark the soul to the point of fragmenting it. Everyone's soul was marked in some way.

"Quinn?" She heard Mike's voice outside the tent. "Are you there? I can get in? I brought a snack."

The friend came in anyway. It hurt Mike's heart to find his friend sitting in a chair in the corner of the tent, hugging her own legs. Quinn should be a hawk and fly through the skies at an incredible speed that lives up to the bird of lightest and fastest prey of the animal kingdom. Being an Animagus was like invoking the patron whom she was never able to do. But after her capture, even that didn't attract her anymore.

"Fries," Mike offered. "You love french fries with mustard."

Quinn nodded and sat down normally. She took two potatoes sticks made to perfection by the house elves who were in the camp. They were wonderful, crunchy at the right spot and warm. Too bad she wasn't really hungry.

"They're good."

"They're magical," Mike gestured dramatically.

Quinn smiled briefly. It was the most she could give.

"Don't you want to go for a ride? Seize the rest of the remaining sunlight? Chill a bit?"

"Mike, I'm honestly not going to get into this mood of everybody saying goodbye to everyone for the massacre tomorrow. I'd rather stay here than concentrate."

"Don't concentrate so hard, Fabray." The two were surprised by Santana's entry, which instead of fries had a bottle of buttery beer in hand. "What we need is a little soft talk, and everything gets easier with beer."

Santana picked up some sheets of paper that, with a touch of her hands, began to take the form of cups with the hardened structure that looked like glass. She put the three transfigured cups on the little table next to the potatoes and the beer bottle.

"Awesome," Mike said as he examined the newly formed cups.

"Little trick I created while traveling with Lily around the world. These improvisations are very useful when you have few resources in the middle of nowhere. The lack of a simple plastic cup with a Mickey print teaches you how to be creative." Santana explained as Mike opened the bottle to serve the three of them.

"They say you also learned to fly," Mike commented as Quinn remained silent. "This one I wanted to see to believe."

"It's more like jumping high straight than flying." Santana took a sip. "It doesn't look like a hippogriff."

"Or a hawk." Quinn grunted, still not drinking the beer.

"You're an Animagus, I'm not. That's an unfair advantage in that."

Quinn didn't respond and couldn't disguise her disgust.

"Did you get any news about Lily?" Mike changed the subject as he sensed the tension in the room.

"I got a note yesterday. She's fine despide the huge belly and the gases. The important thing is that she is safe with her mother and her aunt."

"Isn't it scary? I mean, know you're about to be a mother?" Mike was talking willingly and ignoring Quinn's disgusted face, who followed the conversation in silence.

"It's more than scary! I don't know if I'll be a good mother if I can get through it without making serious mistakes." Santana tried to abstract the fact of being in a war and the possibility of losing the duel. It was better to have a bit of optimism, if only a little, and to think about the future helped.

"That's right, San. The birth of a child is scary." Quinn said scornfully.

Santana put down her cup of beer on the improvised coffee table and frowned at her friend, surprised by the terrible humour. She thought about how to reply, but that would completely ruin her purpose of going there: to talk and try to relieve some of the tension for herself and Quinn. It was a tactic she was trying to do before she got into a serious business she had to discuss with her friend. Santana decided to ignore it and took a sip of beer again.

"I think you and Lily are going to be fine. Look at the example of my older sister... she was the least likely person to be a mother, but she become kind of good about that."

"Kyla's in China, right?" Santana asked.

"To the joy of my parents." Mike drank some of the beer while Quinn continued to drink.

"It's funny to see you as the black sheep of the family."

"No wonder they cut off from me."

Santana smiled and nodded to Mike. Quinn remained motionless, gradually increasing the tension in the room. This made the uncomfortable silence fall between the three of them.

"Quinn, can I talk to you for a minute alone?" Santana asked, making Quinn hesitate for a moment.

"I have some things to do... You guys feel at ease," Mike said awkwardly.

"No, Mike, stay and finish the beer. I'll talk to Santana outside. It'll be good to get some fresh air, anyway."

Quinn placed the paper cup on the table and walked out of the tent, accompanied by her best friend. Quinn folded her arms. Rather it was a position that demonstrated individualism and a certain arrogance on her part. But after all the trauma, the crossing of arms became a gesture of self-protection and detachment.

"About tomorrow, Fabray, I think you should stay behind. Stay with Rachel. You will protect each other." Santana wanted it to sound like a suggestion, but her tone was almost imposing.

"Negative. I want to be there with you." Quinn said without looking at her friend.

"You're off balance."

"And so are you, Lopez." Quinn challenged her. "You were orphaned in less than a month. Your girlfriend is about to give birth. There are a lot of people wanting your head. You can't shape your patronus anymore, and you're going to tell me that I'm out of balance?"

"The point is I have no choice. You have! You should stay behind for your sake and the rest of the team."

"Exactly, Lopez, I have a choice. The great leader of this shit is saying that directly to me. So respect my decision."

"Quinn." Santana sighed in frustration. "Please don't want to be a martyr. That's my role. You were always a survivor. You were able to betray me because it was the most convenient for you. Don't be stupid and survive once again. Stay back, for God sake. You've given yourself more than you needed in this war and paid a very high price."

"That's really why you want me to stay? Because I'm a fucking survivor?"

"It's not just because of that. You're important to the cause…"

"And to you?"

"Yes, and to me."

"Why am I important to you? Say it, Lopez."

"Come on, Fabray..."

"Say it, or I'm going to the front tomorrow."

"Because I love you, and I can't lose you too. Satisfied?"

Quinn didn't even know exactly why she preached Santana to professing the love she felt for her. Such an attitude was petty at the time. But she couldn't deny that she liked to tear out such confessions of the chosen one. It was good to hear that she was loved from the mouth of the person she was most devout in that world.

"Say goodbye to your sister. That's what I would do if I were you." Quinn said when she noticed Rachel watching them in the distance.

Quinn turned her back and left Santana planted in the middle of the conversation, stunned by Slytherin's attitude. Quinn returned to the tent and found Mike who had waited patiently.

"Did you hear that?" Quinn asked dryly.

"I tried not to. Santana is not hiding what she thinks these last days."

"Do you agree with her? That I should stay behind?"

"Yes, I do."

"Well, I don't!"

"You and Santana have such a strong bond and all this sexual tension… I know you want to fight and kill Evans by her side, but you're really out of shape." Mike sighed and shook his head.

"I know I'm not 100%, but you do understand my reasons. It's beyond Santana. It's beyond Evans. It's also about us."

"Of course, I do understand all your reasons. We spent three years together, we were more than just a team of informants. You, Rose, Scorpius, Teddy, Lorcan, Athena and me... we didn't eat bread that the devil kneaded to reach the final stretch of this war and leave all the glories for the refugees. I know what you want to do and I'll watch your back."

"You always watch my back, Mike. Thanks."

Mike smiled and toasted the rest of the beer. He drank it all in and left Quinn alone, as she wished to be first. Quinn sat back hugging her legs, but this time her mind turned to a certain rage in the world. It was better than feeling sorry for herself.

Anger and rancour were foods she needed right now. Quinn closed her eyes to rest. That's when the light came on.

...

Henry Ollivander loved challenges. The best part in making wands, besides continuing an ancient art, was the challenge in making new combinations, in being able to combine elements without blowing the half of the village. There was an association of researchers and manufacturers of wands, with scholars from various parts of the world. They used to meet in congress every three years, but the war in Europe canceled the event that would happen in Berlin. It was a pity for Henry, who was virtually confined to Hogsmeade for more than three years.

Ollivander still remembers with a certain dread when, a little more than a year after the fall of Hogwarts (and of him hiding Santana, Quinn and Neville in the basement of his house), one day Samuel Evans himself knocks at his door. He was accompanied by Zabini, dressed in very tight clothing, and the scars still fresh on the side of his neck. Henry's mission to that night was very simple: to polish the wood of the wand built by Samuel Evans himself. Henry still remembered that this was the most watched work he'd ever done. He, as a wood craftsman, worked for a whole week on polishing the wand and carving. Whenever a stage was over, Samuel would pick up his wand and carry it. Samuel brought it back the next day, sat in the chair next to him, and didn't take his eyes from the specialist. But what Henry most remembered was the energy the wand emanated: it was different, heavy, out of the darkness.

Henry also felt something different in the fragment of wand that Santana had brought from the surroundings of Hogwarts. Essentially, the wand, which had been an authentic deathly hollow, was ruined. But Santana had given him the task of trying to re-use anything from the small surviving fragment to a new wand. Henry wouldn't have been more than a week to accomplish this task. It was only what Henry Ollivander thought of since he received the errand.

The fragment was amazingly powerful. The wood was definitely oak, but of such an old tree, that Henry was afraid to estimate age and come to absurd conclusions. He went to the basement workshop, selected a piece of well-oiled wood, and wrapped the fragments of wood so that they were closer to the core. As for the kernel, Henry didn't work with thestrall hair. It was a rare element that no one liked to manipulate because the magical driving force was activated by death itself. In other words, it had to be combined with something already dead. Animals generally didn't have to be killed to make wands. Henry consulted the Ollivanders' private research library to find a solution, since thestrall's hair negated the effects of the most common core types: dragon and unicorn.

Some trials and he realized that thestrall's hair reacted with the bone powder of the famous basilisk killed by Harry Potter in the Chamber of Secrets. So the new wand was made. Then he returned to the camp and asked to call the chosen one.

"It was the best I could do." Ollivander showed the wand to Santana and Draco Malfoy. "It's obviously not as powerful as the original one, but it's still the most powerful wand I've ever built. The finish is rudimentary. Aesthetically it's a bad job, but I didn't have the time."

Santana watched the wand still raw and hesitated for a moment.

"Are you sure it's safe?"

"If you want to fight Evans with the same firepower, that's the only way out."

Santana held the magic object. The energy was really strong, considering that the contact of the wand with the saddle skin caused a gentle tingling sensation.

"Let's go! Try it!" Ollivander said anxiously to see the result.

When Santana maneuvered her wand for a little test, everything exploded.