AN. Harry Potter IS NOT MINE. JKR beat me to it!
Chapter 4 - Misery Business
Why do I do it? Am I ashamed of it? Of sparking change?
You've built your paper castles in the bloody clouds and now you're asking the wind whether it's ashamed of blowing them away?
This is bollocks! Harry was right, you people haven't changed, you probably will never bloody change and the best thing we can do is leave you and your barmy "Magic is Might" until the sodding wizarding society crumbles on its own bloody self.
And mark my words, you won't get any help from ME!
- Ronald Billius Weasley, in an interview to respected reporter Rita Skeeter, just weeks before The Incident.
Ron Weasley was running down the grand staircase, vaulting over dead ends and landing on the staircases that swung freely below him. He was aware of only his objective, the huge front doors that stood opposite the great hall.
He ran along a sixth floor balcony, only to duck into a shortcut (while rudely shoving an indignant picture of a troll) and reappear scrabbling amidst the rubble, from a corridor on the fourth floor. Seeing a staircase aligning itself, he simply heaved himself over it's hardwood rails and tumbled down, arms flailing onto a second floor staircase that abruptly stopped moving. Huffing, he pushed himself up and hopped off, landing with a thud, spread eagled amidst the rubble, on the ground floor.
Soot and the dust that rose from the old bones of broken buildings caked his face. His fiery orange hair was subdued with a myriad shades of gray and ember. He was weeping. The soot mingled with his tears to form a black paste that streaked from his eyelids like rivulets of tar. It looked strangely appropriate, considering that he was feeling particularly murderous.
Harry had gone, the sacrificial lamb dragged bleating into the clearing. Nothing would have changed if he'd been with them, it would probably would have been much worse. No, Harry had left, so that they could live on, and kill that foul bastard.
They had sworn to him, Ron, Neville and Malfoy (Merlin knows why harry even thought of trusting that asinine ferret.) They'd sworn to kill the snake, and protect Hermione. In that he was sure, nothing had changed. He still had a duty to do. He still had to obliterate that snake faced maggot skinned... thing.
Only, Luna had died. And his world had ended.
In one fluid movement, Ron pushed himself up, onto his knees and then onto his teetering feet, he gazed around. He had fond memories of this place. Of Harry, Hermione and Him laughing at a prank they'd pulled on the ferret, they'd been bright and young then full of life, not weathered and dull, full of its many cruelties. Now the portraits hung in odd angles, If they hung at all, and huge chunks were missing from the walls, results of curses and jinxes that'd flown everywhere just moments ago. Bricks, ripped paneling and shreds of wallpaper littered the floor, along with about an inch's worth thickness of dust. Even the gargoyles and suits of armor lay, hideously disfigured and groaning amidst a few nameless bodies that sprinkled the floor. Save for them, Ron noticed for the first time, the halls were curiously empty.
Grunting in dismissal, Ron arched his back near the wall and pulled out a tarnished brass claymore from the hands of an unwilling suit of armor. It's head piped up from a few feet away.
"Oh, right. Go right ahead, don't even thank me! Children these days, bloody ungrateful critters if you ask me!"
Ron ignored it. Propping the blade of the sword on his shoulder, he walked towards the Entrance Hall.
Rubble crunching underfoot, he stood before the great doors, and soundlessly pushed them open.
Harry Potter stirred, he was in a warm, tight place. He stiffened immediately, as a drop of something warm dripped onto his forehead and dribbled down the curve of his cheek. He was aware of someone shouting, the volume faltered, as if emanating from an old un-tuned radio. He was also aware of someone blubbering incoherently, very close. Somebody was carrying him, somebody huge, somebody crying. Hagrid!
He opened his eyes a crack, and had to bite his tongue to keep from shouting. Voldemort was standing, dead center on the castle courtyard, his wand pointed at Neville Longbottom, the sorting hat lit ablaze on his head. And then as his eyes fell on the lump of clothes that lay next to Neville and his world tilted on its head.
Hermione Granger lay twitching next to Neville. Golden embers from the dying cap flitted through the air and landed on her brown tresses that were gradually tinting red, robbing from the growing pool around her. She was bleeding, profusely from a few select but deep cuts. She twitched, and her head shifted, and Harry finally locked eyes with hers. Tears had streaked down her cheek. She groaned in pain at the sight of him. Something broke deep inside Harry James Potter.
A guttural roar of rage ripped itself from his throat and flew into the startled air. The curious thing was, he was not alone! He was mildly aware, even as he pounced off Hagrid's gentle arms, of Ron Weasley spinning on the top of the entrance staircase.
And then with an almighty CRACK! All hell broke loose.
Ron appeared right in front of a stunned Voldemort, whipping his signature left hook into the startled Dark Lord's Jaw, all the while yelling incoherently. Harry caught snippets of what seemed like "killed her", "Bastard and "Luna", as he himself landed and pulled out his wand. Just as Voldemort raised his own, Ron disappeared with a blur of his robes.
Behind him, Neville Longbottom had pulled off the flaming hat, his hand reaching in, already grasped firmly on a silver hilt. In one single elegant move, Neville Longbottom pulled out the Sword of Gryffindor and slashed it sideways in a wide arc, beheading the Dark Lord's familiar; Nagini, the final Horcrux.
As Nagini's head spun for what seemed an age, Voldemort screamed, and Harry started to cast.
Draco Malfoy stood over Hermione Granger, helping her up. The dark Lord and Potter were dueling a few feet away, and Weasley was clobbering both Bellatrix and the Carrows with a dirty great sword Merlin knows where he found. Granger whimpered, quite pitifully as he pulled her into his arms. He could hear Weasley screaming bloody murder over the din that Potter's bombarda was causing. Pieces of tile, brick and aged cement flew everywhere like flurries of early snow.
Gripping Granger to him, Draco scampered into the entrance hall, dodging Amycus and tripping over Alectus, Her head lolled lifeless, eyes glazed as dark merlot seeped from a long gash along her ribs. Draco ducked as Weasley yelled, and felt a whoosh as Weasley's sword missed him by inches. Turning back, he saw Dolohov's' head rolling away, leaving in its wake, a river of garnet.
Fighting the urge to throw up Draco dragged Granger into the entrance hall, and collapsed in a heap in front of her. Vaguely he was aware of thousands of house elves streaming around them, screaming war cries, they rushed out of the Great doors and into the fray.
Ronald Weasly swung his claymore in an arc above his head, as he slashed at a tall cloaked figure. The steel blade glinted crimson in the waning sunlight. He was panting, flecks of spit and perspiration flying as he exhaled. His skin was afire, and he felt as if he'd never felt more alive
The Death Eater, screamed as the sword bit through flesh and sinew. He breathed in deep ragged breaths as he clutched his left shoulder, rivulets of crimson springing in between his fingers. His eyes were shifty, searching for an escape that would not come. Scared eyes. Dangerous eyes
But surprising even himself, Ron acted, drawing his wand out, he snapped a diffindo directly at his throat. Another slash from his sword and the death eater crumpled, into the dusty cobblestone walkway.
Ron drew his sword out of the limp figure, its blade a patchwork of glinting crimson lines and rusty patches.
Drawing a deep breath, he steadied himself. Staring around, he saw Hogwarts in all its bitter glory. Silky rays of sunlight throwing it's tall towers into stark relief. Red, green, yellow and blue banners fluttering atop the battlements,
And a rhyme from what seemed an age ago came to his mind.
Hogwarts, Hogwarts, Hoggy Warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something, please,
Whether we be old and bald
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could do with filling
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest,
And learn until our brains all rot.
A grim light crept into his eyes as he got to the end, a rueful smile twisting into the lines of his mouth.
They were legion.
The products of a fool's war. The real victims of a victimless age, and the last left standing at the closing of an era... They were legion.
And he'd be damned if they all died before they'd even started to live
AN: It's short I know. I'm easing back into it :) Tell me how you liked it!
