29. It is now...

Before either the Doctor or River could even think about letting the Master out of his makeshift prison, the celebrations behind them erupted into sudden commotion. Snape, who had previously lowered his wand and stopped his vigil over Voldemort's dead body, was once more on the defensive. But instead of defending himself against escaping Death Eaters or Voldemort, his wand was warily pointed into the crowd of Order members and Hogwarts students who had somehow made their way to the battle field un-noticed. At the front of the group was Ron Weasley, eyes blazing furiously, wand pointed straight between Snape's eyes. Hermione stood by his side, looking warily between the two, looking like she was trying to calm Ron down. Harry, for his part, was still seated wearily on the floor, his pale face devoid of expression. Dumbledore was still by his side, a hand resting on his shoulder, watching the situation unfolding, his expression grim.

River and the Doctor ran over to them immediately, and it was only when they reached earshot that they understood what was going on.

"-TRIED TO KILL HARRY!" Ron was bellowing in the general direction of Hermione, keeping an eye on Snape, his wand still pointed straight at the Potions Master.

"Ron, just put your wand down," Hermione was pleading. "Attacking him won't solve anything."

"I'LL KILL HIM!" Ron yelled back, jerking his wand emphatically.

"Weasley," Snape said, voice smooth and emotionless, "put the wand down."

"No."

"He didn't do anything," Hermione reasoned. "Think about it, Ron – if he was on their side, he would have fled as soon as he saw You-Know-Who dead!"

Dumbledore chose that moment to stand, and River and the Doctor drew up next to him so that all three were creating a barrier between the two wizards.

"Put your wand down," Dumbledore said.

Ron gaped. "How can you – what are – didn't you see Harry?" He asked, apparently lost for words that the one wizard he truly trusted was saying nothing in his best friend's defence. "He," he said, gesturing at Voldemort's corpse, "almost came back!"

"Perhaps," Dumbledore said, "and though I agree that it was Severus' fault, it was not intentional."

Both wizards glared at him at that.

Dumbledore glanced back at Harry regretfully. "And I have been a foolish old man; I let my own fear and worry get in the way of your well-being. I should have monitored the process more closely."

"Or done it yourself," Harry said tonelessly, not quite meeting Dumbledore's eyes.

There was a beat of awkward silence.

"Put the wand down, Ron," the Doctor said gently. "There's been enough killing today."

Reluctantly, Ron put the wand down. He clearly didn't agree with Dumbledore, but he knew when he was outnumbered. Hermione sighed in relief, and the on-looking crowd broke into quiet, hesitant conversation, some looking angry that Dumbledore had once again come to Snape's defence, but too weary from battle and conscious of the Death Eaters waiting to be imprisoned to do anything.

Dumbledore, having determined that the immediate crisis was over, moved to join the Order members and began making plans for the Death Eaters' incarceration. Ron and Hermione walked over to Harry and helped him to his feet, where he stood simply staring at the destruction around him. His eyes fell on the bodies of those who had died, and a look of immeasurable grief and guilt settled on his features like a shroud. Ron was still glancing murderously at Snape, but his main concern was now Harry and the surrounding dead. He started glancing around frantically, and, having caught sight of his family alive and recuperating within the crowd of survivors, seemed to relax marginally. Hermione, for her part, looked pale and strained, her hands clenched and hair in disarray. She was staring at the group of survivors and their families with a vaguely envious expression, and The Doctor wondered if the Hermione of this universe had also sent her parents off to Australia and wiped their memories. He desperately hoped that nothing worse had happened.

Around the clearing the bodies of Order members and Death Eaters alike were scattered, some lying in broken positions, some looking like they were sleeping. A few seemed to be missing body parts, or a body completely. Some were terribly deformed from the spells that had eventually claimed their lives, some were forever frozen in screams of pain, while yet others lay on the ground, smiling, clearly having been caught by Fred and George's concoctions and killed while helpless.

The Doctor caught sight of Lupin lying on the ground, his mouth clenched shut, his eyes open in wordless surprise. His hand loosely clutched his wand, his other hand was entwined with Tonks'. The Doctor turned his gaze away, jaw clenched, only to catch sight of a tiny child – likely a first year – who had died alone, covered in blood, tears running down his cheeks, a look of abject terror on his face. His parents were either far away or dead, for no one was by his side. The Doctor crouched down next to him, and ran his hand through his hair, hoping against hope that the boy was still alive, that he would feel this small measure of comfort before he moved on. But the boy's eyes just stared sightlessly through him.

The Doctor's hand came back covered in blood.

"-we should burn it."

He blinked, the words only barely penetrating the fog that had started to surround his mind. "What?"

Apparently, the other person hadn't heard his reply – hardly surprising, given that it had barely been a whisper – because a hand suddenly landed on his shoulder, making him jump. He immediately jumped to his feet, trying to rearrange his facial features into something resembling serenity and calm, but instead found to his horror and confusion that tears were dripping down his face, soaking his shirt. He reached a trembling hand up to feel them, frowning, and realised he had smeared blood all over his face.

River was standing in front of him, looking concerned, grim, and shaken, all rolled into one as only she could manage. Yet somehow, she managed to project an image of strength and just general together-ness that would ordinarily have helped the Doctor re-find his own centre.

"Doctor?"

He nodded, still staring at the blood on his hands. The last time he had stared at his hands in such horror popped back into his head, shredding what vestiges of calm had remained. He made an unidentifiable, strangled sound as blond hair, blue eyes, and an innocent expression seared itself in front of his eyes.

Rose.

The hands were on his shoulders again, and the Doctor stumbled away from them in a panic, tripped over his own feet, and landed on the ground, staring into the eyes of the dead boy. Suddenly, he couldn't breathe. The hands were back, this time gripping his temples, and he fought and struggled to get away from them, only to find them tightening their grip. Something started to force itself into his mind, and an inexplicable sense of calm began to drown his panicking mind, slowing down every thought until he almost began to wonder if he would ever think again.

He stared up at a pair of eyes hovering in front of his own, wondering how they had got there. The eyes frowned, and some of the calm lifted, allowing the Doctor to think rationally again. He swallowed, fighting down the panic as the presence withdrew.

"River," he rasped. "Don't do that to me again."

"What was I supposed to do, let you go into a full on panic attack in the middle of a battle field?" River asked.

The Doctor slowly sat up and looked around. Mercifully, no one seemed to have noticed his little episode. "I just don't like other people in my mind."

"You never used to object," River said in concern.

"Well I do now," the Doctor snapped, getting to his feet.

River sighed and joined him, flicking her wand at him. The Doctor felt his face dry, and looked down to see that his hands and clothes were now clean. Somehow, that made him feel even worse.

"What were you saying?" he heard someone ask in a toneless voice. It took him a moment to realise it was his own.

"We need to burn the body," River replied. "Voldemort's body needs to be destroyed – we can't have any escaped Death Eaters getting their hands on it."

"Yes," the Doctor said, nodding vaguely, and started walking.

River's arm gently pulled him in the right direction. Death Eaters were being rounded up now, presumably being taken to Azkaban. Order members were fixing the wounds of those who had been less lucky – good and bad alike – and then sending them on to Madame Pomfrey, who was still manning the temporary hospital at Grimmauld Place.

Finally, the Doctor stopped at an empty patch of grass stained with blood. "River…" he muttered, "we might have a problem."

River drew up beside him. "Maybe someone beat us to it."

The Doctor briefly scanned the once-calm forest, his hearts sinking into his shoes. "So where's the Master?"

River sucked in a breath and exhaled a long string of violent swear words – most of them anatomically impossible, and some the Doctor wasn't even sure existed.

The Master and Voldemort were both gone.