Chapter 30: Some Battles

As soon as a green streak of light flew from the wand of the man known as He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, the world seemed to zoom back into focus. It was as if the appearance of their master had spirited a new life into the Death Eaters; eager to impress in his presence or desperate to make up for their failings so far, Amelia could not tell, but they began to fight with a new ferocity. Amelia herself was beginning to regain her Auror instincts, her initial fear at the sight of the most dangerous wizard in Britain still simmering but slowly being subsumed by the quick thinking practicality that governed her work as an Auror. This was a job, just like any other, and she always did her job.

She jumped up and ran to join Mad-Eye and Fabian, casting a shielding spell that combined with their own to send the Dark Lord's curse flying off to the side, shattering every remaining window in the room.

"What do we do?" Amelia called to Mad-Eye, deferring to his experience.

Mad-Eye sent an aggressive body binding spell at their opponent, though it did not take.

"We can't lose the hospital," he barked.

Amelia knew that he was right. The building might have been a wreck on this floor, but there would be areas still intact enough to be of use, not to mention supplies that could still be utilised. No doubt the Death Eaters also saw some value in the resources on offer at St. Mungo's, perhaps explaining why they had remained to fight for it after killing Mitchie. No, the hospital was not an asset that the Auror's could afford to lose. They had to keep fighting then. Amelia saw Frank and Alice coming forward to join the battle. She looked at the tiny witch and, seeing her fierce face, knew that the woman would not leave, no matter how dangerous, now that this great enemy had appeared. And though it worried her, Amelia was grateful to have her friend by her side.

An explosion rattled the building and Amelia was sent sprawling to the floor. A hand reached down to pull her to her feet; Fabian. Sweat glinted on his brow and his chest heaved, but there was still a hint of grin.

"Keep up, Bones," he said, as he hauled her up.

Amelia squeezed his hand. She knew his smile was for her, to tell her that it would be alright. But she knew it was just as much for him, so he could convince himself that he meant it.

They fought on, the sounds of battle ringing through Amelia's ears; the sharp cracks of breaking wood as spells hit the walls and furniture, sending splinters in all directions; the dull crumble of shards of window glass, coating the floor like sand as the combatants had no choice but to step through it; the quick inhale of breath as an attack was barely avoided, the pained exhale of breath as it wasn't. As a trainee Auror, Amelia had once heard of great battles being fought like dances, with each participant seeming to know their steps as if by heart. It had been a beautiful simile for a wide-eyed apprentice, but the hardened woman knew that there was no grace in war. As she skidded on the floor, wiping glass dust and sweat from her eyes, Amelia could only wish that she knew the steps. Sure, she moved without thinking, but that was purely because there wasn't time to do anything else. It was a matter of survival, less like dancing and more like running in the dark; keep moving and hope you don't fall over. As she threw spell after spell at her opponents, it occurred to Amelia that there was nothing she enjoyed about fighting. Even at school, formal dueling had no appeal to her. Every time she fought, she hated it more and more. And, every time she fought, a secret hope would build inside her, one that she never shared for fear of ridicule: that this fight would be the last one. She felt silly for feeling it when her entire job was predicated on conflict. Conflict and the assumption that there would always be conflict. But a tiny part of her would never be able to shut that hope out. As she caught glimpses of her co-workers - Alice, Frank, Phillip, Gideon, Fabian, all blurs of colour in the rising heat - she wondered if deep down they felt the same thing. She saw Mad-Eye Moody and wondered if there was a chance that he felt it too. She doubted it. His body, grizzled and deformed, was a living testament to the truth that the conflict goes on.

Through all the sounds around her, a cry like something she had never heard before caught Amelia's ear. She turned her head and her heart jumped into her throat. Gideon lay on the floor, his limbs splayed out at unnatural angles. The hulking figure of Fenrir Greyback leant over him, the werewolf's mouth tearing at the Auror's throat, teeth that were somewhere between man and beast finding the flesh in a raw frenzy. The cry had come from Fabian. His wand forgotten in his hand, he launched himself at Greyback with such force that the unsuspecting wolf tumbled backwards as Fabian ricocheted off and fell to the floor. Reaching out to steady himself, Greyback's gnarled claw found nothing but air; the wall had been destroyed and, in a crisis of his own making, he plummeted downward. A stream of black smoke shot past, perhaps one of his comrade's going to catch him, but Amelia didn't care. She just watched with a sadness in her stomach as Fabian desperately pressed against Gideon's neck, trying to stop the blood that was seeping out. But it was already too late. Gideon's open eyes were glassy and he did not move.

"Fabian," Amelia heard Cho yelling behind her, "Fabian!"

She look up and saw what he had noticed that Fabian had not. Anton Dolohov, his wand raised and pointed directly at Fabian, was running forward, a curse passing through his lips. Amelia started running toward her partner but there was nothing she could do. Fabian was exposed; he had dropped his wand and was far too focused on his brother to notice the imminent danger. Dolohov's cursed hit him square in the chest and he flew backwards, weightless and flailing like a rag doll.

"No," Amelia could barely get the word out as she ran, "No!"

She sent a flurry of spells at Dolohov, knocking him off his feet. Then she hoisted Fabian up under both his arms and dragged him behind a ragged, overturned couch, out of the line of fire. She pulled him up so he was sitting, his torso leaning against hers, her arms wrapped around him. He didn't look good. His face was white. The only blood on him was Gideon's, but he shivered all over, his hands shaking as they sought out the witch's.

"Amelia," his voice was weak.

"I've got you," she whispered.

A panic swept over her and she looked around desperately. Alice and Frank were holed up in the opposite corner of the room. Cho was battling three people at once, a large gash ripping down one of his arms. The layers of dust rose from the ground as more Death-Eater reinforcements flew in. Mad-Eye looked to Amelia and, his face grim, shook his head. Amelia nodded somberly and hugged Fabian closer to her. It was over. A single tear ran down her cheek. The world melted around them and the whirring sensation of Apparition took over.