Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or anything connected to it. Just playing.
A/N: Written for the 2020 Harry Potter ABCs of Death: A Halloween Fest revealed on October 30th. You may find the collection on AO3.
This was my second finished fanfic. It was also my first time writing something with this theme or in this genre. I hope I was able to do it justice, even if only for a teensy, tiny bit.
Summary: In the Final Battle before succumbing to his death, Voldemort unleashes a final weapon.
Feed
by WolkenundSonnenschein
Hermione had seen how brave he was, how unflinching in the face of probable death. A boy of 17 going up against a full grown wizard, one with years of experience of Dark Magic behind him. One who, shortly before this confrontation, had the means to keep on living after certain physical death and who now was all alone. There were no more Horcruxes containing bits of his soul — Neville saw to that with his decisive strike, beheading of the snake. His most loyal supporters have either fallen or otherwise deserted him.
After the magic from their wands met accompanied by blinding light and an explosion of sound, the smoke cleared to reveal Harry still standing, wand aloft, poised to attack.
Voldemort lay where he once had stood. His life was draining. They could see it in the movement of his chest. Unexpectedly, he raised his right hand, and made as if beckoning someone from somewhere behind him. She felt rather than saw the burst of magic emanating from that hand. And from the depths of the castle, came someone.
Or something.
No one knew or saw where the Summoned one came from. But the man-shaped figure was slowly approaching Voldemort's dying body. Its clothes were bloodied and — there was no other way to describe it — its flesh looked dead, devoid of colour and whatever it was that gave human skin the appearance of warmth. Its cloudy eyes were staring straight ahead at nothing. It shuffled forward as if injured on both feet, arms hung limply at its sides, until it reached Voldemort.
Everyone was transfixed at the scene, including Harry. Nobody knew what to make of this new arrival. It didn't seem like anybody was thinking of attacking it, especially since the erstwhile Lord Voldemort was dying and outnumbered, no matter that he managed to summon something with his last breaths.
Voldemort spoke for the last time as he wheezed, commanding the creature. "Feed!"
The fear was unmistakable as the hair at the back of her nape stood.
With inhuman speed, giving Harry no time to react, the creature was on him, biting at his neck, hands clawing at his chest.
Many shrieked. Others could only gasp, unable to move at the horror of Harry being attacked. Only a few had the presence of mind to act.
But the adults closest — the professors, Molly and Kingsley reacted at once, setting spells at the creature to get it off of Harry. She broke into a run, leaving a frozen Ron where he stood, to help Neville and Ginny pry Harry from the its grip.
The creature wasn't reacting to the Stunners. They finally succeeded as the cast Impediment and Incarcero Jinxes held it in place, though it still continued clawing at nothing though its arms were bound, snarling.
"Harry, are you okay?" cried Ginny, kneeling at his side.
Madame Pomfrey was beside them right away, casting diagnostic spells. Neville pressed on the bleeding wound at his neck, while Hermione continued looking at his face. So it was that she could pinpoint when what everybody had thought as triumph over Voldemort turned into a nightmare, straight from a few Muggle movies from her childhood, her horror mounting with the realisation.
She could do nothing but watch, slack-jawed, as his pale skin turned the colour of death, similar to the creature's. He also started muttering, grumbling nothing intelligible. She started to rise slowly taking in the scene.
"Madame Pomfrey?" She turned to the nurse, whose face was now stricken.
"His pulse is gone," she answered in a shocked whisper.
"No!" cried Ginny. Neville, hand still at Harry's neck, now looked confused. Understandable, as Harry was moving his head and waving his hands about.
She knew she had to do something.
"Ginny, Neville, something's wrong. Everything is wrong. Get up. We have to move away from him."
And before their eyes, Harry, whose cloudy eyes now resembled the creature's, got up.
His movements silenced them. They rose too and with wary eyes slowly started moving backwards away from him, back to the crowd. Madame Pomfrey however stayed where she was, just staring, eyes unbelieving. Before she could say or do anything else, Harry was on her, clawing at her chest and biting her neck.
Like before, everyone was shouting. But now, they were in a frenzy, running away from what was transpiring in the centre of the Great Hall.
Professor McGonagall, shocked by the turn of events, wasn't moving. Harry and Madame Pomfrey attacked her and Kingsley next. It only took a few moments before the professor and the auror now numbered among the attackers, adding to their number exponentially.
They were zombies now. And they didn't give a care who they attacked. They knew nothing else except to attack and, as if adhering to Voldemort's last command, to feed.
The few who tried to reason with the people they believed they knew, clinging to the hope that their family and friends were still there, hidden underneath the urge to attack and feed, were fed on and turned as well.
Everything was happening so fast. Many couldn't get fast away enough with everyone panicking and stampeding, terror impeding rational movement.
"I won't become a zombie, I won't become a zombie, I won't become a zombie," chanted Hermione over and over under her breath as she stood in a darkened alcove. Fumbling with her wand, as her fingers trembled with terror, she thought to Disillusion herself. She was alone, having lost Neville and Ginny as they tried to get away from the madness.
She had started the incantation, when she felt arms grabbing her shoulders and, shortly after, teeth sinking into her neck. She tried to do something, defend herself, anything, but in her panic, she lost her wand.
The attacker's grip was strong and she couldn't get away.
She saw a familiar red-haired figure walking away from her, a sliver of hope blooming in her chest. "Ron!" she cried. He stopped moving and turned towards her, opening a bloodied mouth.
Belatedly, she realised that it was Ron no longer. There was no help coming. She was alone and she was dying.
There was nothing left to do.
But feed.
A/N: My Deathly Letter was Z and among the choices, I went with 'Zombie'. So in the interim, I got familiar with zombies in movies and a TV show. Maybe something will come out of a couple of other ideas that came out while planning for this.
This has been a challenge to write. I hope this has been to your liking.