Disclaimer: I dont own harry potter,
although i have written many fanfics this is the first harry potter fanfic i have put on so be kind
He looked around the ruined great hall, the roof was falling slowly in on itself and the double doors had been blown off their hinges, they lay motionless, glum on the floor, covered in plaster and dust. The small amount of furniture was smashed and wizards and witches ran about the room, helping people up, covering faces and summoning metal poles to keep the ceiling up before it fell down. There were a group of people returning through the now open doorway, their robes beyond mending and their faces covered in grease, dirt and blood. The blood of their friends, the blood of their enemy, what did it matter now?
Why did the battle have to be done here? Here of all places, in this place he knew as home? Why not the ministry or Hogsmeade? Anywhere but here, where children of the age of 11 had taken refuge from the terror that lived in the wizarding world. A sudden thought dawned on him, of course it was here, it would of always been here, had it been 17 years ago or now, the last battle would have taken place in a school know to all British Wizards, known to-to-to he-who-must-not-be-named.
He couldn't say it yet, he couldn't dare to say the name, not after knowing what had happened here, not after all the fighting he had to endure, not after the torture he had watched, not after-not after the death that had taken so many he had known, so many he had loved.
Why was he alive when so many greater fighters had died. That was a rhetorical question, he had known the answer, he knew it all along, his friends would have died to save his life, just like his parents had. He killed everyone he loved, he even killed everyone he hated, many of the Sytherines had proven themselves to this lone boy in the last year, they had refused to join Voldermort when so many had been persuaded. They paid the price, just like the dark lord had promised everyone on his return, everyone who did not join him would die crying out his name and begging for forgiveness.
They had not, they had cried out, but not his name and had not been begging for forgiveness, many of them were shouting abuse at him, yelling that there were others, they were like mice, never running out, there would be someone there always to take their place, always to stand in line and die trying to protect the world.
They would not allow their own school to become for the dark arts. For pure-bloods to take over, they would die, they knew, but as they died they shouted out the names that Voldermort had on his hit list, but they were still alive, still there to take the life of another death eater, to scare away dementors with their mighty patronus, to fight till their last strength, for they would never let him be in power again, not many lived from before, not many knew what fights were held, but they had heard stories, they had heard about their uncles, their aunts, mothers, fathers who had been alive at the time, what Voldermort had done to them and they had wished it upon no one but him, not even his death eaters, they were humans just like this monster had been before the change, before power corrupted him and taken over him body, before his father and mother had fought with him…before, before everything!
He looked around again, not knowing what to do, he was no good with the clean-up and no one seemed to have noticed him, he stood upon a pile of broken wood that was once the janitor cupboard that Hermione and Harry had hidden in.
His robes were also ripped, covered in dust and blood, he shivered at the thought and suddenly found himself cold.
He looked around for a friendly face, someone smiling at him, telling him it was an elaborate hoax they had cooked up for his 18th birthday but no one came, no one noticed him. He knew it would never had happened, he had begged for it for too long, since he beginning of the 7th year, he knew it was coming and had prayed to wake up, in his bed, and he was 11, about to start at Hogswart, to met new friends, never to get involved in such things, never to become famous, never to make such a prat out of himself, and never to fall in love like he had, never to fall in love and see her die like that.
He hadn't woken up that long night and he wouldn't now, he didn't even try to pinch himself to see if it would work. He knew this was reality and he had lost his best friend in the whole world, his best friend! Who was so much braver than he was, even though they believed he wasn't. He had no one, no one in the whole bloody world, but they were watching him, over head, the star shining through, they would watch him closely, begging him silently with imploring eyes, not to do something stupid, not to grieve, they had won in the end. Voldermort was dead, it did not matter about those that had died during the war, not now, not after the good result. Look on the bright side of life, my darling, they would all be saying to him mutely, their names being nothing but words in the newspaper of those that had died that day before, in a alphabetical order, their age next to it and the challenges they had met during the war.
He supposed he should have been pleased it ended so quickly. They all expected it too last 10 years, or as long as it had done last time. Considering the time difference, the amount of deaths were excruciatingly painful. No one had to heart to turn to the obituary, or if they did, they covered their ages. It was hard, the average age being 20.
Hundred being pronounced everyday, thousands injured. And when that fateful day came, only yesterday when her name came up, her name, he hadn't even known. She was in France, doing some work with the evacuated children , trying to calm them, she was always good with children, this is why he had sent her over, one to do this the other, she knew, to protect her, but it hadn't, it bloody hadn't helped her one bit. The bastard had followed her apperated quickly over there and kidnapped her, for that is what it was, she was just 18.
The daily prophet had known before he had, the bloody Daily Prophet! He always read that page, just to check up on who was fighting, he ran it from Grimmaulds place with a few left from the Order that were not able to go into the field. He had to know which parts were low in resources, so it was easy to send more in that direction.
Surprisingly enough, the largest battle was being held in the countryside, Voldermort not wanting to make a big fuss with the muggles before he had enough power, held his head quarters at the Malfoy's mansion, but the order knew they could never get into that protective house. Dementors surrounded it day and night, like they had done the school on a few years before. Harry, could not even get close, there were too many dementors for him to perform his patronus and it to scare them all away.
So Voldermort would have to wait, but when he turned up in France and took her, fear spread through quickly the French population of wizards, they did not want this battle to be moved onto Europe, yes they would help in anyway possible, by taking on scared families, the children under 15, they would arrange meetings for the wizards out of the evil spreading, they would give ingredients for potions, they would freely hand over spell charm books to the brightest wizarding population for them to try and find a way to stop him. But so far they had turned up nothing.
But the man had an inkling, she was getting too close for his liking, she was nearly there, almost onto him, almost figuring it out, Voldermort would never allow this, but would never use the unforgiving on her, it was FAR too easy. He wanted to get Harry worked up, make him so angry that the last battle would be a terrific one, no one had guessed, not even Dumbledore, that it would tip both her best friends over the top.
This was why he was standing here, atop the ruin of the once great hall, the once great school, before it had started, before their 4th year, he would never have guessed, when he was 11, that when he came to 18, only 7 small years later, that his heart would have been broken and sewed painfully back together SO many times that he would never care about anything new again, that he wanted his life to end, but was too worried what was on the other side that he would never take his own life.
Although, as he stood there, he thought his friends would be there waiting for him, but they had not performed the unforgivable on anyone, only he had, only he had been the one of the trio to use it. He panicked, what was he suppose to do? The other disarming spells were not working, it was his last option. Would they be there? If there was such a thing as heaven and hell, or was planet earth the hell? If so, he had served his time in purgatory, he deserved, after his short life spent in complete fear, to meet his friend again, those small people that had helped him, a lot more than he was EVER willing to admit.
And now he never would. He had no family left to speak of, no lover, no best friend. But as he thought this, he felt a small hand on his back, turning he came face to face with someone he could trust, someone he believed would help him, someone who also knew the terrible stomach wrenching feeling you got when you read about your only love's death in the paper. Someone who understood what it was like to be him, to be Ronald Weasley.
although i have written many fanfics this is the first harry potter fanfic i have put on so be kind
He looked around the ruined great hall, the roof was falling slowly in on itself and the double doors had been blown off their hinges, they lay motionless, glum on the floor, covered in plaster and dust. The small amount of furniture was smashed and wizards and witches ran about the room, helping people up, covering faces and summoning metal poles to keep the ceiling up before it fell down. There were a group of people returning through the now open doorway, their robes beyond mending and their faces covered in grease, dirt and blood. The blood of their friends, the blood of their enemy, what did it matter now?
Why did the battle have to be done here? Here of all places, in this place he knew as home? Why not the ministry or Hogsmeade? Anywhere but here, where children of the age of 11 had taken refuge from the terror that lived in the wizarding world. A sudden thought dawned on him, of course it was here, it would of always been here, had it been 17 years ago or now, the last battle would have taken place in a school know to all British Wizards, known to-to-to he-who-must-not-be-named.
He couldn't say it yet, he couldn't dare to say the name, not after knowing what had happened here, not after all the fighting he had to endure, not after the torture he had watched, not after-not after the death that had taken so many he had known, so many he had loved.
Why was he alive when so many greater fighters had died. That was a rhetorical question, he had known the answer, he knew it all along, his friends would have died to save his life, just like his parents had. He killed everyone he loved, he even killed everyone he hated, many of the Sytherines had proven themselves to this lone boy in the last year, they had refused to join Voldermort when so many had been persuaded. They paid the price, just like the dark lord had promised everyone on his return, everyone who did not join him would die crying out his name and begging for forgiveness.
They had not, they had cried out, but not his name and had not been begging for forgiveness, many of them were shouting abuse at him, yelling that there were others, they were like mice, never running out, there would be someone there always to take their place, always to stand in line and die trying to protect the world.
They would not allow their own school to become for the dark arts. For pure-bloods to take over, they would die, they knew, but as they died they shouted out the names that Voldermort had on his hit list, but they were still alive, still there to take the life of another death eater, to scare away dementors with their mighty patronus, to fight till their last strength, for they would never let him be in power again, not many lived from before, not many knew what fights were held, but they had heard stories, they had heard about their uncles, their aunts, mothers, fathers who had been alive at the time, what Voldermort had done to them and they had wished it upon no one but him, not even his death eaters, they were humans just like this monster had been before the change, before power corrupted him and taken over him body, before his father and mother had fought with him…before, before everything!
He looked around again, not knowing what to do, he was no good with the clean-up and no one seemed to have noticed him, he stood upon a pile of broken wood that was once the janitor cupboard that Hermione and Harry had hidden in.
His robes were also ripped, covered in dust and blood, he shivered at the thought and suddenly found himself cold.
He looked around for a friendly face, someone smiling at him, telling him it was an elaborate hoax they had cooked up for his 18th birthday but no one came, no one noticed him. He knew it would never had happened, he had begged for it for too long, since he beginning of the 7th year, he knew it was coming and had prayed to wake up, in his bed, and he was 11, about to start at Hogswart, to met new friends, never to get involved in such things, never to become famous, never to make such a prat out of himself, and never to fall in love like he had, never to fall in love and see her die like that.
He hadn't woken up that long night and he wouldn't now, he didn't even try to pinch himself to see if it would work. He knew this was reality and he had lost his best friend in the whole world, his best friend! Who was so much braver than he was, even though they believed he wasn't. He had no one, no one in the whole bloody world, but they were watching him, over head, the star shining through, they would watch him closely, begging him silently with imploring eyes, not to do something stupid, not to grieve, they had won in the end. Voldermort was dead, it did not matter about those that had died during the war, not now, not after the good result. Look on the bright side of life, my darling, they would all be saying to him mutely, their names being nothing but words in the newspaper of those that had died that day before, in a alphabetical order, their age next to it and the challenges they had met during the war.
He supposed he should have been pleased it ended so quickly. They all expected it too last 10 years, or as long as it had done last time. Considering the time difference, the amount of deaths were excruciatingly painful. No one had to heart to turn to the obituary, or if they did, they covered their ages. It was hard, the average age being 20.
Hundred being pronounced everyday, thousands injured. And when that fateful day came, only yesterday when her name came up, her name, he hadn't even known. She was in France, doing some work with the evacuated children , trying to calm them, she was always good with children, this is why he had sent her over, one to do this the other, she knew, to protect her, but it hadn't, it bloody hadn't helped her one bit. The bastard had followed her apperated quickly over there and kidnapped her, for that is what it was, she was just 18.
The daily prophet had known before he had, the bloody Daily Prophet! He always read that page, just to check up on who was fighting, he ran it from Grimmaulds place with a few left from the Order that were not able to go into the field. He had to know which parts were low in resources, so it was easy to send more in that direction.
Surprisingly enough, the largest battle was being held in the countryside, Voldermort not wanting to make a big fuss with the muggles before he had enough power, held his head quarters at the Malfoy's mansion, but the order knew they could never get into that protective house. Dementors surrounded it day and night, like they had done the school on a few years before. Harry, could not even get close, there were too many dementors for him to perform his patronus and it to scare them all away.
So Voldermort would have to wait, but when he turned up in France and took her, fear spread through quickly the French population of wizards, they did not want this battle to be moved onto Europe, yes they would help in anyway possible, by taking on scared families, the children under 15, they would arrange meetings for the wizards out of the evil spreading, they would give ingredients for potions, they would freely hand over spell charm books to the brightest wizarding population for them to try and find a way to stop him. But so far they had turned up nothing.
But the man had an inkling, she was getting too close for his liking, she was nearly there, almost onto him, almost figuring it out, Voldermort would never allow this, but would never use the unforgiving on her, it was FAR too easy. He wanted to get Harry worked up, make him so angry that the last battle would be a terrific one, no one had guessed, not even Dumbledore, that it would tip both her best friends over the top.
This was why he was standing here, atop the ruin of the once great hall, the once great school, before it had started, before their 4th year, he would never have guessed, when he was 11, that when he came to 18, only 7 small years later, that his heart would have been broken and sewed painfully back together SO many times that he would never care about anything new again, that he wanted his life to end, but was too worried what was on the other side that he would never take his own life.
Although, as he stood there, he thought his friends would be there waiting for him, but they had not performed the unforgivable on anyone, only he had, only he had been the one of the trio to use it. He panicked, what was he suppose to do? The other disarming spells were not working, it was his last option. Would they be there? If there was such a thing as heaven and hell, or was planet earth the hell? If so, he had served his time in purgatory, he deserved, after his short life spent in complete fear, to meet his friend again, those small people that had helped him, a lot more than he was EVER willing to admit.
And now he never would. He had no family left to speak of, no lover, no best friend. But as he thought this, he felt a small hand on his back, turning he came face to face with someone he could trust, someone he believed would help him, someone who also knew the terrible stomach wrenching feeling you got when you read about your only love's death in the paper. Someone who understood what it was like to be him, to be Ronald Weasley.