Tony could only stare as the macabre procession formed a line in front of them.

Harry Potter was dead, they claimed. Looking at the limp body in Rubeus Hagrid's arms, Tony had no trouble believing it. The half-giant was a blubbering mess.

All was lost. Despite their best efforts, they had failed to keep the boy safe. Voldemort would never keep his promise and let everyone live, even though Harry had surrendered himself willingly. They were as good as dead.

Those of them who could die, anyway.

Tony moved closer to his brother and Evey. He had to get them out of here alive. That was now his top priority. What else could he do? Harry was the one who was supposed to defeat Voldemort, and he was gone. Killing Greyback had been quite a feat, but Voldemort was something else entirely. Tony had no idea how many Horcruxes remained, how many had been destroyed. If Voldemort had created one whose existence even Dumbledore had not guessed, how many more could there be?

They were thoroughly fucked.

Then he heard it. So faint, so distant… Everyone was quiet as Voldemort and his minions faced them, smug expressions on all of them. Tony concentrated, straining his ears, obliterating everything else around him. Yes, it was there. A heartbeat.

The Chosen One wasn't dead.

"He's not dead," he repeated aloud, wonder transpiring in his voice.

Evey and Walden turned to him at the same time. Evey was closest to him. "Are you sure?" She didn't seem to doubt him; she just wanted confirmation that she'd heard correctly.

"His heartbeat's a little weak, but he's definitely alive," Tony asserted. How, he had no idea. Nor did he think it mattered, not right then. If they could revive Harry... There was hope for them after all.

"Thank Hades," Evey whispered. She smiled then; a fierce, almost feral smile that would have disconcerted even Voldemort, if he'd seen it. The dark wizard's focus was elsewhere, however.

Several things happened all at once: hundreds of unexpected allies joined them – families of the younger students who'd escaped earlier, presumably, and everyone else they'd managed to contact. A giant went mad and targeted the Death Eaters. The horde of centaurs who dwelled in the Forbidden Forest decided to crash the party, armed with bows and arrows. A dragon roared fire at the enemy lines. On it sat a familiar red-haired lad: Charlie Weasley. Merlin, had he travelled all the way from…was it Romania?...on a bloody dragon? Talk about making a dramatic entrance. Walden was looking at the unexpected arrival with obvious yearning in his eyes and Evey was gaping openly, her eyes twinkling with awe.

Tony turned his attention back to the main scene just in time to see some random kid – Neville Longbottom, he learned later; his dad, Frank Longbottom, had been one of Tony's classmates at Hogwarts – cut off the head of the basilisk Horcrux with what appeared to be the Sword of Gryffindor, which was making a timely reappearance.

Then, as The Boy Who Lived (Again) rose from the dead, chaos ensued. This time, however, the chaos seemed to be favouring them.

Evey had fought for her life, before. She'd had little hope that this battle could be won – if a battle could ever be said to be truly won. There were always casualties. There had been casualties, terrible ones. But with the added allies, hundreds of them, from all over Great Britain and abroad, the only way that this could end badly for them would be if Voldemort had made more than seven Horcruxes, but like Tony and Walden, she simply didn't think that it was the case. For all his cunning, he was a man of superstition. He believed in magic; he relied upon it heavily, perhaps too much so. The number seven was the key, and at some point during the chaos that followed Harry's surprise resurrection, Ron had assured them that the last Horcrux had been taken care of: that fucking pet basilisk. The rest had been destroyed.

Gods, Neville. How he'd changed. Evey remembered a shy, awkward boy, afraid of his own shadow, righteously terrified of Snape, barely able to make eye contact with anyone without stuttering or blushing. Now he was transformed: a hero wielding a sword, like in the fantasy novels she loved so dearly. So brave, so confident. Tony had told her about his parents, the Longbottoms, Alice and Frank, and what had been done to them toward the end of the First War. How proud they would be that their son had picked up right where they left off.

War really did change people, and sometimes it was for the better.

Evey spared a glance at Nagini, the fallen basilisk. She had often envied Harry his ability to speak the language of snakes. She knew that it was considered a curse in the wizarding world, because it was something that was rare, but most often found among dark wizards. But it was just like being a Slytherin, wasn't it? It was only a bad thing because it had been used for evil in the past. But snakes, like Slytherins, were not inherently evil. In all likelihood, neither were basilisks. They were just what they were, deadly creatures, but it was hardly their fault, wasn't it? Was a venomous animal evil simply because its bite could kill? It was only defending itself, the only way it knew how.

Still, in this particular case...good riddance.

She'd been thrilled enough when the allies she'd recruited with Walden had joined them, but this was something else entirely. The battlefield was now almost crowded, the Death Eaters and their lesser subordinates outnumbered at least two to one. For all their ruthlessness, they didn't stand a chance. If Harry managed to accomplish his prophesised destiny, to kill Voldemort…then their victory was all but guaranteed.

Charlie Weasley, the somewhat reserved young man she'd danced with at Fleur and Bill's wedding, was locked in a duel with Travers – he'd left his dragon at the main gate, to prevent Death Eaters from Disapparating outside the castle's wards. The ones who were fleeing toward the Forbidden Forest were met with uncompromising centaurs. Lethal hexes and curses flew from the Death Eater's wand, in rapid succession, but Charlie countered each one with purely defensive spells. He was likely waiting for an opening, a chance to Stun the older man, but he was reluctant to cause harm, despite the tragic circumstances.

They all were. Professor McGonagall had given the order: incapacitate, don't kill, just like Scabior had told his werewolves – who were currently fighting off the giants. Most of these wolves had been turned by Greyback; whatever else it might mean, it gave them some protection. They were faster, stronger, better suited for the task, just like the vampires who were aiding them.

Werewolves and vampires, fighting together side by side. If Evey had had time to spare to shed a tear at the beautiful irony of it, she would have. But she had to help Charlie. He was holding his own against Travers, but she didn't want him to be overwhelmed. They couldn't lose anyone else.

She shot Travers in the back without the slightest qualm; a mere Stunning spell, but he was out cold in an instant. She wished she could do more – Hades knew he deserved worse – but Charlie was safe. That was all that mattered. He waved his thanks at her and came running. "That was a really dishonourable move," he said flatly. "Shooting him in the back like that." He grinned suddenly. "Well done!" They returned their attention to the battle. "Who's next? Have you seen Rookwood?" he asked, his smile vanishing.

From what Evey had gathered, Augustus Rookwood was responsible for Fred's death. "No, I haven't." She understood. She was still enraged that Rodolphus Lestrange had somehow escaped, earlier; though in all fairness, it was probably for the best. If he'd been here, she would have killed him and, for some reason, Walden insisted that she shouldn't. He didn't know her quite as well as he believed, if he thought her conscience would suffer for it. But what was done, was done. They'd probably never see him again. He had to be out of the country by now. "Charlie, I'm sorry for your loss." She hadn't had a chance to speak to him since he'd arrived. Mainly because he'd been riding a fucking dragon.

"I think I haven't processed the news yet," he said slowly. "It seems…impossible. Fred can't be dead. It's always been Fred and George, you know? How can it be just George now?"

She knew. She felt the same way. "We should keep moving. There's-" Something caught her eyes. "Ginny! Bellatrix is…" Another figure came into sight. "Oh. Never mind. Your mum's got the situation well in hand, it looks like." Mrs Weasley had just shouted a word that Evey had never thought to hear from her mouth, but it felt appropriate. Jeanne would have approved.

Evey scanned her surroundings quickly, looking for a new target, someone to help. Walden was fighting off Thorfinn Rowle, the impossibly massive Death Eater, but he wasn't alone. Hagrid was beside him, pointing his ratty pink umbrella menacingly and roaring very basic spells. Tony was moving at unnatural speed from one place to another, tackling Death Eaters, stealing their wands, occasionally picking up someone to prevent them from getting hit by a stray Killing Curse. They all looked at him in shock, but by the time they realised they were safe, he'd already moved on. Somewhere in the distance, an elderly lady was smacking Amycus Carrow with her cane. She didn't bother with magic; he was curled up in foetal position at her feet, arms over his head, whimpering. His sister was lying at his side, paralysed but obviously alive; it had to be a Full Body-Bind curse.

"Evey, look," Charlie said in a low voice, pointing to their left. Harry and Voldemort were locked in an intense duel. Everyone had stepped back to give them plenty of room to fight.

This was it, Evey thought. The duel that would determine the outcome of the battle, the only one that truly mattered at this point. Many of the onlookers had stopped to watch; the people who were still standing understood that this would ultimately decide their fate and, after all, most Death Eaters had been dealt with, one way or another.

Including Bellatrix, Evey noticed with some surprise. She'd never doubted Mrs Weasley, but the Lestrange madwoman looked quite…dead.

Voldemort bellowed and came at Harry with renewed ferocity when he realised that his most trusted lieutenant had been taken out of the game – permanently so. It was all the Chosen One could do to keep his mortal enemy at bay. Evey briefly wondered if she should assist Harry in some way; perhaps a well-placed Stunning spell in the back…

But there was no need.

Her knees buckled with relief, exhaustion catching up with her at last, but Charlie held her upright, just as he joined the mounting clamour that rose all around them, cheering for Harry, cheering for victory.

It was done. It was over. It was a bittersweet victory, but a victory nonetheless.