Reserve League, season 5, round 11, Chaser 2: Write about a death on a spring day.

Word Count: 1110


"Are you really telling me that there's no hope for peace? Can't we just sign an accord or something?"

Dean almost laughs at the question. An accord. As if they can just pick up the pieces and say all is forgiven. As if this is all just a silly disagreement with an easy solution. As if countless people haven't died because of Voldemort, even before his rise to power during that fateful battle at Hogwarts. As if Harry Potter dying isn't enough to remind them that they are so screwed.

He shakes his head and climbs to his feet, slinging his bag over his shoulder. Coming to this meeting had been a mistake. Most of the members of their little camp don't actually know what it's like. They aren't out there, playing soldiers despite not having any formal training, despite the fact that they're all scared shitless.

"Mr. Thomas, kindly return to your seat," Professor McGonagall, who, along with Kingsley Shacklebolt, has been acting as leader of this camp, instructs.

At Hogwarts, he would have had no choice but to comply. Once upon a time, the only thing he had to worry about was detention. Well, now what? Would she make him sit out on the next big mission and force him to write I will not walk out on voluntary meetings ever again. Doubtful.

He doesn't turn around, just heads for the door. There's something about this place that makes him feel so on edge, like he's about to come out of his skin. Maybe it's the fact that he's been on the run for so long. How can he sit still when the memory of freedom is still so fresh in his mind.

Once outside, he breathes in, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. Spring is upon them. He can smell the floral notes in the air, coupled with the rich, earthy smell of the vegetable garden near the eastern boundary.

It's been nearly a year since everything went to hell. Now, it's spring, the season of rebirth and renewal, and it seems so ridiculous. Why should the earth continue to turn? Why should spring come and breathe new life back into the world? So many people are dead. It seems cruel to just carry on.

"You feeling okay, mate?" Seamus catches up to him when Dean nears the southern boundary.

"I just…" Dean pinches the bridge of his nose. He doesn't even know how to give a name to the things he feels. They are just there, voiceless and ever-present, always under his skin.

Seamus rests a hand on his shoulder. It feels nice. There's so much pain and destruction, and sometimes all it takes is just a gentle connection, a reminder that he isn't alone.

The two stand in silence for several moments. Slowly, the tension drains from Dean's body, and he thinks that maybe he's going to be okay. Seamus is still there, and all it takes is one good friend, and he can conquer the world.

"We're going to figure this out," Seamus tells him, and he sounds so sure that Dean believes him. "Together."

"Together," Dean agrees.

Gardening is not his strong point. Dean's mother tried to teach him once, but Dean killed all the strawberry plants in less than a week. Somehow, he ends up on garden duty with Neville. The only bright is that it's much easier to tend to gardens when magic is involved.

"Careful!" Neville cautions. "Too much water can kill it."

"But plants like water," Dean says flatly.

Neville shakes his head. "So do I, but I can still drown in it."

Dean shrugs. It's a fair point. He casts a quick spell, siphoning the excess water. As he moves to the next plant, there's an explosion toward the west of the camp. Dean's head jerks up, wand raising.

Neville is just as quick on his feet. He casts a Patronus, sending a rallying announcement throughout the camp. Dean doesn't stick around for long. Abandoning the garden, he sprints forward. He's halfway across the camp when the barrier falls.

Seamus is by his side in an instant, grinning at him. "Fancy meeting you here," he says.

Dean is about to answer when the first few Death Eaters make their way through. He watches as Professor Flitwick engages one in a duel and Oliver Wood challenges the other.

More and more spill in. Dean's heart quickens. How could they have found them? This isn't a mere coincidence where a handful of them just happened to stumble upon the camp. This is a siege.

Without a word, the two charge, casting spells this way and that. Dean will not go down without a fight.

The battle lasts for hours. By some miracle, Flitwick is able to drive the last of them out and set up new boundaries that they hope will hold until they can make their next move.

The losses are too heavy. Dean walks through the camp, passing body after body. He comes to a stop in front of McGonagall. Neville said she died protecting the Patil twins, that she had thrown herself in front of Parvati and Padma despite having been disarmed moments before.

"You were one of the best," he tells her, his voice cracking. Tears cling to his lashes, and he quickly wipes them away and moves along.

Ginny Weasely, Poppy Pomfrey, Dennis Creevey… There are too many familiar faces, gone forever.

He comes to a stop in the middle of the camp, where he finds the woman from the meeting the previous day, clinging to her husband and begging him to wake up.

"This is why there is no hope for peace," he says loudly.

All eyes are on him now. Dean swallows dryly. He never wanted to be a leader, but maybe he doesn't get a say in that.

"We kill in self-defense," he says. "We kill because we have to. But these people? They kill because a monster tells them to. You want peace? As long as that monster is still alive, it isn't happening. We have to fight."

He nods to add emphasis to his words. Kingsley smiles at him, approval clear in the gentle curve of the corners of his lips. "Well put," Kingsley says, taking his place as the center of everyone's attention. Dean is glad to step away.

He doesn't stay for Kingsley's speech. Instead, he makes his way along, breathing in the spring air with Seamus by his side. Maybe it's a fitting season after all. Something within him is waking. It is time to heed the call.

This is his revival.