Probable Outcome
Fandom: Harry Potter
Author: Unanon
Rating: PG-13
Notes: Just a small possible ending to Potterdom.
~~~~~
Harry hadn't expected it to be so quiet afterward.
The spell he and Hermione had cobbled together during late night sessions in the Gryffindor common room was tricky and dangerous to say the least, but they had all agreed that Harry had little option but to wield as much magic as possible when attacking Voldemort. Hermione had theorized that there would be a contained explosion, but only the wielder of the spell and his target would be in any real danger. Ron, Luna and the others were dubious and would have preferred a plan that would have kept Harry out of harm's way, but when no other solution became apparent, they reluctantly agreed.
It seemed that their plan had worked. When Harry rolled over into a sitting position, the first thing he saw was a greasy, smoldering dark stain on the patch of ground where Voldemort, the murderer, had stood. For many moments, Harry was unable to move his eyes from that vile spot while his mind tried to believe that his enemy was truly no more. The man who had wreaked havoc in the Wizarding world and in Harry's own short life was finally, irrevocably dead.
Slowly, Harry became aware of movement in his peripheral vision. When he turned, his newborn relief turned to horror. He was surrounded by Death Eaters, black robes flapping in eerie silence as those who could walk lumbered about drunkenly searching the ground for severed limbs among the grotesque bodies of companions and spouses. Those that did notice him turned their faces away and their wands hung loosely at their sides, barely held by trembling fingers. They were as unconcerned with the boy who toppled their leader as he was with them.
There were patches of bright color on the ground among the dark robes. All that Harry was both lived and died in that moment.
His mouth wide with a wordless scream he couldn't hear, he crawled over to the jumbled prone bodies of his friends. Hot tears blurred his vision. He could barely register tangled limbs and bright hair made wet and dark with blood. His fingers grasped blindly at robes, hair, cold hands and bony knees as he collapsed beside them moaning his grief.
After an age hands lifted him. Lips moved soundlessly before his staring eyes as he was embraced, held, bathed, dressed. All the world held for him was silence. In the aftermath.
~fin~
Harry hadn't expected it to be so quiet afterward.
The spell he and Hermione had cobbled together during late night sessions in the Gryffindor common room was tricky and dangerous to say the least, but they had all agreed that Harry had little option but to wield as much magic as possible when attacking Voldemort. Hermione had theorized that there would be a contained explosion, but only the wielder of the spell and his target would be in any real danger. Ron, Luna and the others were dubious and would have preferred a plan that would have kept Harry out of harm's way, but when no other solution became apparent, they reluctantly agreed.
It seemed that their plan had worked. When Harry rolled over into a sitting position, the first thing he saw was a greasy, smoldering dark stain on the patch of ground where Voldemort, the murderer, had stood. For many moments, Harry was unable to move his eyes from that vile spot while his mind tried to believe that his enemy was truly no more. The man who had wreaked havoc in the Wizarding world and in Harry's own short life was finally, irrevocably dead.
Slowly, Harry became aware of movement in his peripheral vision. When he turned, his newborn relief turned to horror. He was surrounded by Death Eaters, black robes flapping in eerie silence as those who could walk lumbered about drunkenly searching the ground for severed limbs among the grotesque bodies of companions and spouses. Those that did notice him turned their faces away and their wands hung loosely at their sides, barely held by trembling fingers. They were as unconcerned with the boy who toppled their leader as he was with them.
There were patches of bright color on the ground among the dark robes. All that Harry was both lived and died in that moment.
His mouth wide with a wordless scream he couldn't hear, he crawled over to the jumbled prone bodies of his friends. Hot tears blurred his vision. He could barely register tangled limbs and bright hair made wet and dark with blood. His fingers grasped blindly at robes, hair, cold hands and bony knees as he collapsed beside them moaning his grief.
After an age hands lifted him. Lips moved soundlessly before his staring eyes as he was embraced, held, bathed, dressed. All the world held for him was silence. In the aftermath.
~fin~