Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and
owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to
Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros.,
Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is
intended.
Final Confrontation Chapter 2
Hermione wiped a bloodied hand across her brow, and sat back on her heels. They'd defeated the small contingent of death eaters and dementors, but had suffered great losses. At least a third of the student population lay unbreathing upon the cold, hard stone floor of the main Hall, among them was Colin Creevey, Lavender Partvati, Susan Bones and Seamus. Even more lay upon stretchers or propped up against walls and tables. Hermione swept from one to another, checking for serious damage and treating injuries. Madam Pomfrey was laid out on the dais, her eyes glassy and skin pallid. She'd been the one who pushed Hermione into healing, and had been like a mentor to the young Gryffindor. She wouldn't wake up again.
She shook her head and stood up, leaning against a wall. Professor Dumbledore was in his office, contacting the Ministry. If it was no longer safe at Hogwarts, it wasn't safe anywhere.
The rest of the staff were either healing or patrolling the school, watching for more break ins. Hermione bent down to attend to an undersized first year, and placed her hands on his chest. He'd been hit in the head and chest, and was suffering from internal bleeding. He would be dead by morning, probably drowning in his own blood. She turned away, furiously trying to hold back the tears that threatened to overflow.
Why did they have to do this? Why can't I help anyone! It's so damn useless! Everyone's dying and I can't DO anything! Oh Gods!
She shook her head and wiped away a stray tear, before looking up. Snape was standing over a young girl with a broken arm, mending it. He looked up and their eyes met. Black eyes met brown, and the room started to spin. So much sorrow, pain and death, spinning and falling, flying and soaring, plummeting down wards, a maelstrom of death and cruelty and pity and love. Hermione tore her eyes away, heart beating quickly. She walked over to the next patient, and began to heal.
The hours dragged on, and afternoon turned to evening, evening into night. The enchanted ceiling showed stars and a crescent moon. She was startled out of her reverie by a light touch on her arm. She turned to face Snape, and looked at the floor, her cheeks colouring at the reminder of what happened earlier on. He coughed awkwardly and said, "It's eight o'clock, and you've been healing for hours. Grab something to eat and go to bed, unless you want to burn yourself up." She opened her mouth to tell him she was perfectly fine, thank you, and could continue healing for as long as he could, but all that came out was an exhausted yawn. He raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly to a spare pallet against the wall. She nodded dumbly and went to take a step, before fainting against a very surprised professor Snape.
Final Confrontation Chapter 2
Hermione wiped a bloodied hand across her brow, and sat back on her heels. They'd defeated the small contingent of death eaters and dementors, but had suffered great losses. At least a third of the student population lay unbreathing upon the cold, hard stone floor of the main Hall, among them was Colin Creevey, Lavender Partvati, Susan Bones and Seamus. Even more lay upon stretchers or propped up against walls and tables. Hermione swept from one to another, checking for serious damage and treating injuries. Madam Pomfrey was laid out on the dais, her eyes glassy and skin pallid. She'd been the one who pushed Hermione into healing, and had been like a mentor to the young Gryffindor. She wouldn't wake up again.
She shook her head and stood up, leaning against a wall. Professor Dumbledore was in his office, contacting the Ministry. If it was no longer safe at Hogwarts, it wasn't safe anywhere.
The rest of the staff were either healing or patrolling the school, watching for more break ins. Hermione bent down to attend to an undersized first year, and placed her hands on his chest. He'd been hit in the head and chest, and was suffering from internal bleeding. He would be dead by morning, probably drowning in his own blood. She turned away, furiously trying to hold back the tears that threatened to overflow.
Why did they have to do this? Why can't I help anyone! It's so damn useless! Everyone's dying and I can't DO anything! Oh Gods!
She shook her head and wiped away a stray tear, before looking up. Snape was standing over a young girl with a broken arm, mending it. He looked up and their eyes met. Black eyes met brown, and the room started to spin. So much sorrow, pain and death, spinning and falling, flying and soaring, plummeting down wards, a maelstrom of death and cruelty and pity and love. Hermione tore her eyes away, heart beating quickly. She walked over to the next patient, and began to heal.
The hours dragged on, and afternoon turned to evening, evening into night. The enchanted ceiling showed stars and a crescent moon. She was startled out of her reverie by a light touch on her arm. She turned to face Snape, and looked at the floor, her cheeks colouring at the reminder of what happened earlier on. He coughed awkwardly and said, "It's eight o'clock, and you've been healing for hours. Grab something to eat and go to bed, unless you want to burn yourself up." She opened her mouth to tell him she was perfectly fine, thank you, and could continue healing for as long as he could, but all that came out was an exhausted yawn. He raised an eyebrow and looked pointedly to a spare pallet against the wall. She nodded dumbly and went to take a step, before fainting against a very surprised professor Snape.
