CHAPTER 7-THE BOY WHO LIVED
Well robed guests tore from their seats, scrambling for an exit that did not exist. Mothers screaming, children crying, rays of light flashing through the darkened hall at the uninvited visitors.
The Dementors encircled Voldemort, who did not move from where he lay. Instead, as the creatures simultaneously lower their hoods, a quiet, sick laughter filled the air, chilling the room to a bone. The roar of six death rattles deafened the air as they lowered their mouths to his, and Voldemort's soul was torn into six pieces, sucked into the abyss from the hungry mouths.
The grey hands dropped the empty shell of Voldemort and turned toward the shattered heap that was Harry. The dust had settled and now all eyes turned to a sight that would haunt their dreams to come. Harry Potter lie has he had fallen at the front of the Great Hall, his seventeen year old form as pale and limp as a child's rag doll. Angelic white robes now ripped and drenched red, blood from the lightning-bolt scar pooling around his locks. The nightmare lived in that he was awake-gurgling breaths quickening as he watched the Dementors approach him through watery eyes. He did not move, he could not move.
As quickly as the night had turned sour, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Trelawney appeared, standing like a wall in the Dementors path, blocking Harry from their eyeless gaze. The tips of their broken wands touched as McGonagall shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"
Though the broken shards of wood angrily sparked, the spell produced a large patronus, the blinding white mist driving the Dementors back out of the hall. Once through the doors, they continued driving the beasts away, past the gates of the school. For a moment, silence filled the fall, allowing a moment for the tired victory.
Then with the sound of a faltering breath, suddenly the hall was in motion again-everyone ran to where Harry lay, but Hermione got there first. Flustered and tears streaming down her face, she cradled him in her lap. His breath, shallow and ragged, quickened as she pressed her hand to his chest, trying to stop the blood soaking his robes. He focused his gaze on her eyes, but could not stop the tears and shaking. Distantly he heard shouts for help, cries to find unbroken wands.
"Her.hermi.love.I love., " Harry whispered through his gurgling breaths. Hermione's eyes buldged in terror and she held him tighter.
"No. No you don't Harry Potter. You have to hold on.help is coming. Someone's going to help.you can't leave us.don't leave me." Hermione cried as she bit her lower lip.
Harry's head lolled to the side, eyes flickering on wizards frantically running about, trying to find a working wand, parents tending to the injuries of their own children, Snape in the corner, desperately concocting a potion.
Harry's eyes blinked slowly as his breaths started to slow, "Don't worry..I'll.haunt you."
Hyperventilating, Hermione looked around, her tear-filled eyes searching for help, an answer, resolution. She gently brushed blood-soaked strands of hair away from his face and caressed his cheek.
"You can't die," Hermione yelled, "You're Harry Potter! You're the Boy who Lived! You're the Boy who Lived!!"
And for a moment that seemed an eternity, Harry's eyes cleared, his breath slowed, and as silent tears streamed down his cheeks he smiled, "And I did. I did."
And as the sounds of people screaming his name, the panicky clink of Snape's vials, and crying children started to fade, Harry choked on the liquid filling his lungs, lids closed over brilliant green eyes, and the last thing he felt was the gentle warm touch of Hermione's lips upon his own.
Well robed guests tore from their seats, scrambling for an exit that did not exist. Mothers screaming, children crying, rays of light flashing through the darkened hall at the uninvited visitors.
The Dementors encircled Voldemort, who did not move from where he lay. Instead, as the creatures simultaneously lower their hoods, a quiet, sick laughter filled the air, chilling the room to a bone. The roar of six death rattles deafened the air as they lowered their mouths to his, and Voldemort's soul was torn into six pieces, sucked into the abyss from the hungry mouths.
The grey hands dropped the empty shell of Voldemort and turned toward the shattered heap that was Harry. The dust had settled and now all eyes turned to a sight that would haunt their dreams to come. Harry Potter lie has he had fallen at the front of the Great Hall, his seventeen year old form as pale and limp as a child's rag doll. Angelic white robes now ripped and drenched red, blood from the lightning-bolt scar pooling around his locks. The nightmare lived in that he was awake-gurgling breaths quickening as he watched the Dementors approach him through watery eyes. He did not move, he could not move.
As quickly as the night had turned sour, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Trelawney appeared, standing like a wall in the Dementors path, blocking Harry from their eyeless gaze. The tips of their broken wands touched as McGonagall shouted, "Expecto Patronum!"
Though the broken shards of wood angrily sparked, the spell produced a large patronus, the blinding white mist driving the Dementors back out of the hall. Once through the doors, they continued driving the beasts away, past the gates of the school. For a moment, silence filled the fall, allowing a moment for the tired victory.
Then with the sound of a faltering breath, suddenly the hall was in motion again-everyone ran to where Harry lay, but Hermione got there first. Flustered and tears streaming down her face, she cradled him in her lap. His breath, shallow and ragged, quickened as she pressed her hand to his chest, trying to stop the blood soaking his robes. He focused his gaze on her eyes, but could not stop the tears and shaking. Distantly he heard shouts for help, cries to find unbroken wands.
"Her.hermi.love.I love., " Harry whispered through his gurgling breaths. Hermione's eyes buldged in terror and she held him tighter.
"No. No you don't Harry Potter. You have to hold on.help is coming. Someone's going to help.you can't leave us.don't leave me." Hermione cried as she bit her lower lip.
Harry's head lolled to the side, eyes flickering on wizards frantically running about, trying to find a working wand, parents tending to the injuries of their own children, Snape in the corner, desperately concocting a potion.
Harry's eyes blinked slowly as his breaths started to slow, "Don't worry..I'll.haunt you."
Hyperventilating, Hermione looked around, her tear-filled eyes searching for help, an answer, resolution. She gently brushed blood-soaked strands of hair away from his face and caressed his cheek.
"You can't die," Hermione yelled, "You're Harry Potter! You're the Boy who Lived! You're the Boy who Lived!!"
And for a moment that seemed an eternity, Harry's eyes cleared, his breath slowed, and as silent tears streamed down his cheeks he smiled, "And I did. I did."
And as the sounds of people screaming his name, the panicky clink of Snape's vials, and crying children started to fade, Harry choked on the liquid filling his lungs, lids closed over brilliant green eyes, and the last thing he felt was the gentle warm touch of Hermione's lips upon his own.