Never had Harry hear such a terrible sound as he did in that moment. The scrape of a soul forced against the fabric of the world, the howl of unnatural hunger. A hunger for the scrapes of life that the creature screaming for it would never know.

Describing such a sound would be nothing short of impossible, or what it could do to someone.

His body froze, his mind disjointed, the bright light of his patronus stuttering and dying, dispelling under the thud of Dudley's soulless body as it hit the floor.

The creatures turned towards him, maws open, greedy for more life, for his very essence. His wand rose, his words rang, but they rang hollow, and hollower each time. Screams filled his ears, his eyes, his mind, the shield of light coming weaker and weaker each time.

A monstrous hand ripped through his silver shield, turning it to mist.

This was it.

Ironic, he thought, that even after the end, he would still be The-Boy-Who-Lived.

He could still see his cousins chest rising and falling, constant, unnatural. Dead.

And then there was light.

He heard terror itself scream, and it was sweet beyond compare, or so he thought, until he heard the sound that followed.

"Are you okay, 'arry?"

He turned towards the sound, and the light of the eyes that met him was brighter than the patronus had been.

"You may remember me, but let's do this properly, shall we?" She said before bowing. "Fleur Isabelle Delacour, your new security detail."