The title for chapter twenty-seven is from…Les Mix. Congrats to maureen is me, Easterly Winds, X-Kate-X, RECblue8, and Yank2324.
This is it. The final battle. We're on the final stretch- Only five more chapters left! (Including this one.)
Chapter 28: The Impossible Dream
This was it. This was the moment multiple generations had been anticipating yet dreading for years. Wizards and witches of every adult age group were gathered in the medical deck that was once an entrance hall, gravitating towards the one concentrated area and leaving the rest of the castle's innards lacking human life.
"How many has You-Know-Who brought?" shouted an Order member from the large crowd.
Dumbledore surveyed his soldiers grimly, his seriousness sobering to any jovial being. "I am not one to lie. It is a discouraging number. In addition to an estimate of one hundred Death Eaters, Voldemort has called upon the aid of Dementors, giants, and various spare creatures." The meek uproar was unsettling, with most of the soldiers dwelling on their own thoughts instead of voicing them.
"However," the old Headmaster's voice rose into the familiar volume required of speech making, "thanks to Hagrid, we have with us several valuable allies as well. We have the cunning of the Centaurs, the speed of the Hippogriffs, and the danger of a few dragons. Hope, my friends, is far from lost."
Outside of the castle, Elphaba could hear the approaching opposition. The rhythmic sound of boots marching into earth in unison sent a flutter of terror through the miniscule number of Light Fighters, in comparison to the number of Voldemort's army. Elphaba felt herself tense up, but forced her limbs to settle, finding goose pimples riddling her flesh. The Headmaster continued.
"Is there last-minute business that needs attention?" he asked, as though it were a usual start of a school semester. When no one made to speak up, he nodded. "Severus, I want you to be watching over Fae and Harry during their spell instead of the position discussed earlier; it's too valuable a strategy for them to be unprotected. They are not, by any means, to be interrupted while casting the spell from the Grimmerie."
"Alright, Albus," Snape replied, looking sour and mentally preparing himself for the, literally, walking battle.
"Fiyero, you'll be scouting on the back of a Hippogriff: I need you to patrol the grounds by means of the skies," Dumbledore ordered, turning to the darkened Winkie. "Use your Order necklace to contact me, and should I not reply for any reason, you're to send your messages to Harry. And if you wish to strike from the skies, for goodness sake, be discreet about it."
"Yes sir." Fiyero nodded, his hand itching to salute now that he stood erect, a habitual tradition of the Ozian Guard. This was a fitting opportunity to use his Gale Force training in a positive manner.
"Harry." Dumbledore searched the front of the crowd for the Boy-Who-Lived, who stepped out from the throng. "If I am in any way incapacitated during this battle, you are the new leader of the Order of the Phoenix. Are you prepared to accept this?"
"No, Dumbledore-" Harry looked disgruntled at the thought, but a hand was raised against him.
"Do you understand?" Dumbledore repeated over Harry's protests.
"I do, sir," Harry said, swallowing his tongue. Now was not the time for foolish protesting. "I understand the implications and responsibility of the position and if you are unable to continue, I will uphold it in dignity, pride, and mourning."
"Good." Dumbledore looked as though he would smile at how proper Harry became, but turned to the rest of the Light Fighters, his voice rising to a regal, thunderous degree. "The rest of you, listen to me. Yes, Voldemort may have a vast number of soldiers. Yes, Voldemort may be stronger. But that equals nothing in the face of our good intent. We are fighting for the freedom of the Wizarding World, for the safety of your children's children, and for human moral!
"Banned together as we are, we can defeat the lot of them by our efforts. It will not be easy, but we will be fruitful. We will be fortified. We will be triumphant. When the odds seem meek, remember all we are fighting for. Remember all that has happened to us, friends. We are fighting for a brighter future, one without the lingering fear of Death Eaters and killing curses, and in that intent, we have already won!"
With the parting words of wisdom, he stepped over to the huge double-doors separating the two armies. Everything was silent but the almost deafening sound of marching. He paused. "Good luck." And then, without any warning but the feeling in their hearts, the doors were thrown open.
With a shocking uproar, the Order members charged forward toward their impending doom, faster than Elphaba anticipated, but she didn't falter. Instead, she locked eyes with Harry, who was staring at hr expectantly, unmoving. "Together," she mouthed. They had planned to stay at each other's side, in view of Voldemort, to cast the spell, thus ending the war. However, even the most logistical or practiced strategies can be broken by one misdemeanor.
A large boulder came at her like a comet falling into the atmosphere as Elphaba made her way toward Harry, forcing her to dive aside to avoid the hit. She crawled to safety, dodging unearthly large boots, scanning for Harry all the while. She called for him, but her call was lost amid the chaos that unfolded so quickly, one would call it stage choreography.
All around her swelled the sights and sounds of war: the two armies colliding immediately, curses flying in mesmerizing colors, guttural cries and shrieks of anger growing louder, and the grasses once pranced upon reduced to muck at the uncontrollable stomping. It was too loud to hear, so there was no use in yelling. It was too dangerous to search to the center of it all. Not even the most courageous of men would brave the uncontainable, unruly flying curses and blades, Hippogriffs swooping to pluck Death Eaters off their feet, Dementors creeping along the length of dragons, and the slopping of blood as it flew in all directions. Not if they weren't already in it.
There wasn't any time to find Harry anyhow, as Elphaba quickly turned to throw up a shield when she felt a curse being cast at her back. The curses were being exchanged so rapidly, it was dizzying to keep track.
Ron, in the heat of battle, caught a glance of the green witch dueling with both Avery and Goyle, who looked to be suffering under her skill. At first he was baffled as to how quickly she'd recovered, or survived at all, but it passed like the thud of the dead Auror the redhead threw a curse at. Then, he felt angered, having specifically told the two Death Eaters that Thropp was his to finish- his kill- having been humiliated enough by her to earn the right. The day was young and the opportunity to send Thropp off to hell was especially ripe.
"Avery! Goyle!" he bellowed. "Move!" He pointed his wand at Elphaba. "Renac Mortis!"
Elphaba didn't recognize the curse, but from the sound of its dialect, it wasn't going to be pleasant. She had no room to dodge it, seeing that she was cornered by Avery and Goyle, so she fumbled to put up a shield. It was approaching too rapidly, giving her no time to prepare a shield. She decided to crash sideways into Avery's gut when something intercepted the curse, absorbing it for her. Elphaba's eyes widened to discover it had been Dumbledore, who staggered from side to side.
"No! Albus!" Elphaba emitted a scream, a real scream of fear, as Avery attempted to compensate for Ron's failed attempt. A bottled up rage surfaced in Elphaba, and she raised her wand to utter every potentially fatal curse she knew at the two Death Eaters, who were quickly disposed of. Looking almost madly around for Ron, she found that he had disappeared into the swarm of despair just as much as Harry had.
With the free time, Elphaba turned to the Headmaster, having to half-carry, half-drag him to a deserted cluster of trees away from the battle. "Albus?" Elphaba gasped at the tremendous amount of blood soaking through the old man's robes, her own voice sounding diluted under the battle. "Albus, hold on. I'll get you to Pomphrey, or St. Mungoes, or something!"
"No." Dumbledore held up a weary hand, stopping her. "It's no use, Fae. Do you recognize the curse Ronald used?" Elphaba shook her head no and busied herself with moving the Headmaster into a comfortable position. "Renac Mortis was recently discovered by the Ministry and is being taken into consideration in addition as another Unforgivable Curse. It is very similar to the Killing Curse, yes, but it was designed to painfully slow down the process. And like it's brother, Avada Kedevra, it cannot be blocked." Dumbledore paused to cough wetly, bringing blood to pass his lips.
"Are you in a lot of pain?" Elphaba asked, her eyes filling with tears at the creeping sensation of uselessness.
"No," Dumbledore lied for her sake, acting it out well. He was a dignified man and didn't wish to send Elphaba into hysterics. "Fae, listen to me-"
"Why, Albus?" Elphaba choked out. "Why would you do that for me? I'm just Elphaba Thropp, Thropp Third Descending from Oz. I'm not even from your damn world; I'm not worth your life."
"But that is where you're wrong." Dumbledore granted her a smile, gripping her hand firmly to ignore the aching throb growing in his chest. "You are needed in this battle, Fae…Elphaba." She looked up, startled, realizing that Dumbledore never used her birth name. "Elphaba, you and Harry have an obligation to defeat Voldemort, and if you were killed, all hope would be lost. We cannot afford to keep drowning in the fear of a magically endowed, semi-invalid monster of a Wizard. I can't read the Grimmerie, but you can."
"I'm sorry, Albus." Elphaba tried not to let her voice waver. "I should have been more careful. I should have been watching out for other Death Eaters. I should have-"
"Elphaba, do not blame yourself for this. In fact, I want to thank you for everything you have done for England, especially Hogwarts, in the past few years, and allowing me the privilege of being at your side." The Headmaster's breaths turned to slow wheezing now, his years showing greatly from his facial features.
"How could I do anything else, Albus?" Elphaba smiled through tears she couldn't blink back, knowledgeable that she was about to watch a man die. "After everything you've done for me. After the way you accepted me."
"Fae, a last request. You and Fiyero have been running from your past ever since you came here. If I am correct, only I know your real motivations for leaving Oz. You'll need to tell Harry and Severus: they deserve the truth. Haven't they earned it?"
"Albus-" Elphaba protested.
"Listen!" Dumbledore urged, pulling all his strength to speak. "If there's one thing I know well, it is that no one can run forever. No one is fast enough, or has the endurance to cheat their gaining past. Just take my advice and tell Harry and Severus so that when it catches up, they'll know what really happened to you and will be able to protect you, because I won't be able to."
"I-" Elphaba began, but before she could finish, Dumbledore's body gave a series of painful spasms, joining with the cracking of bones. "Albus!" Elphaba called, ignoring the amount of blood covering her robes, hands, and arms, crimson with freshness.
"Promise," gasped the Headmaster, more dead than alive. Elphaba didn't protest his request.
"Good." Dumbledore nodded. He fell silent, and after a few moments, there was no life left in him. His hand grew limp in hers, and he looked vulnerable and weak in his unresponsive state.
"Oh." Elphaba placed his hand down as gently as she could, wanting to avoid the dead flesh. It unnerved her to hold the hand of a corpse, but she was humbled. "Thank you for giving me another chance here," she said awkwardly.
"Well, it would seem the great Albus Dumbledore isn't as great as we all thought," Ron drawled, approaching lazily against the unfitting backdrop of war.
Elphaba felt her heart constrict with an almost effortless rage at Ron. She immediately found her stance and pointed her wand at the Death Eater. She was breathing heavily, huffing with a confusion of emotions. She didn't know how to react, be it grief of anger that won in the wreck of her emotional state.
"What are you going to do, Thropp?" Ron raised an eyebrow. "You don't have the guts to kill me."
At that moment, Elphaba wouldn't have felt more pleased to have the snooty Death eater begging for his life at her feet, writhing in agony as she had before him, or wheezing in pain as Dumbledore did. She wanted him to retain all the aguish and torture he conferred to others, the sound of what he might sound like screaming in pain mingled with the memory of how Elphaba had in the Riddle House. She steadily uttered two words she vowed never to use. "Avada Kedevra!"
Not entirely surprised, Ron jerked backwards to avoid being hit, but stumbled at the malice Elphaba's voice radiated. Her eyes were dark with anger, and she was slightly shaking at the intensity of her own voice. Ron had yet to hear the green woman speak in such a tone. It eerily reminded him of the evil, vengeful witches in Muggle fairytale books his father used to read him, especially that one about a girl with a dog name Dodo. Those images used to give him nightmares as a child. He made the decision in a split second that he would require support to face Elphaba. Thus, he turned on his heels and ran to catch up with Malfoy.
Elphaba was still breathing hard as Ron disappeared in the direction of the bloodshed. She glanced at Dumbledore's body and chastised herself, shaken by her own strength. She tried to rub the old man's blood on her cloak, but it was drying and sticky. Her conscience was practically yelling: she carried intent to kill Ronald Weasley, another member of the human race. It was not last resort- it was revenge, and she felt shamed at the thought.
In wanting to kill him, she was no better than the Ozians who went on a witch-hunt for her blood: they were passionate with blood lust for no reason. Of course, Elphaba had her rationale to murder Ron, but that sounded like an incomplete statement. When was it rational to commit murder? It made her no better than Voldemort himself.
"No. No, no, no," she whispered harshly to herself. She wasn't a Wicked Witch; she contradicted everything Oz accused her of. She was nothing like Voldemort. Human beings always exaggerated their sentiments in thought. "I'm nothing like him." She tried to convince herself, trying to remember Glinda, but the blonde's face came up blurred in the ardent heat of the Killing Curse, still fresh on her lips.
Perhaps Morrible was right about Elphaba all along. Perhaps she deserved what she got.
Pushing away the thoughts for now, Elphaba heaved on Dumbledore's dead weight to hide his body. She didn't want the uproar to turn anymore passionate with the turn up of one leader's dead body, else it would signify defeat. She concealed it, and went to follow Ron, simultaneously hoping Harry was all right in the battle.
Ron was coming back to the spot Elphaba and Dumbledore resided before, this time with Malfoy behind him. Malfoy was bloodied, but the green witch was pretty sure it wasn't his own. She ducked behind a massive oak tree to eavesdrop.
"This had better be good, Weasley," Malfoy snapped, huffing in the force of speed walking.
"It will be," Ron promised. "Thropp is here alone with the old man's body. I finished him off pretty good, I did, and it's only a matter of minutes before the green freak goes, too. I want you here to see it."
Elphaba's lip curled up into a mix of a wry smile and a snarl. In reality, Ron wanted backup from Elphaba when he would be losing. Despite his Death Eater bulk, he was still a cowardly boy, but an unavoidable one at that. In all honesty, Elphaba hoped for this chance to duel Ron, especially after Dumbledore took the fall for her.
"You want to kill me, Weasley?" she yelled, stepping away from the tree in a fluid motion. "You'll have to catch me first. Trouble is, I never do get caught." She turned towards the immensity of the forest and transformed into her black panther form, feeling the satisfying ache of her human bones confining into that of a cat's. She darted into the Forbidden Forest, the two Death Eaters right behind her. She was careful to be discreet; it was too risky to draw more Death Eaters into the fight, which remained between Ron and Elphaba alone.
It was battle upon battle and only time would tell which victories would win the war.
Glinda looked up from tending to a new patient to find a group of Order members troop into the Hospital Wing. "Well?" she asked Harry anxiously, eyeing the state of the soldiers' dilapidated clothes and dreary faces. "Is it over?"
"Far from it, actually." Harry let out a weak sigh, trying to contain himself until one side won over the other. "We're basically at a stalemate right now; neither side is gaining much ground. Close amount of casualties. And with Dumbledore dead-"
"Dumbledore is dead?" Madame Pomphrey shrieked suddenly, joining Harry's side. "You're kidding Potter. What happened?"
Harry looked down and rubbed his eyes with one dirtied hand, concealing the tears that threatened to fall at the mentioning. "I'm sorry, Madame Pomphrey, but he really is dead. He fell from a curse earlier in the day. No one's located his body yet- there's a chance it's in possession of the other side. If it is, we will get it back."
"Well then, how could you know for sure that he's dead?" Glinda asked, hoping that the bleak optimism she'd been able to maintain since the first patient, and six causalities in bed, could still help her sanity.
"Dumbledore asked me to lead the Order if ever he should be incapacitated, which means we're bonded magically. If he falls, I have access to passwords, meeting places, the works, and now I have it. I have it all, and clever as it is, he's dead." Harry collapsed in the beside chair near a patient who was a bloodied, but otherwise fine.
"How many dead are there now?" Pomphrey asked softly.
"I don't know. I have absolutely no idea. Could be anywhere from ten to fifty. And it's not helping at all that Voldemort still hasn't been defeated."
"You and Fae haven't cast the spell yet, have you? Well, what are you waiting for?" Pomphrey's voice reverted to the stickler school nurse. "You want You-Know-Who to come and kill us all? You've been working on this with her for ages."
"No!" Harry snapped standing from the chair; opportunity for held back tears to jerk from his eyes, falling down his dirtied cheek. Harry clenched his jaw and lowered his voice from the bark it came out as. "We can't… not anymore."
Glinda's stomach clenched sickeningly when she realized what Harry was implying. She gradually became nauseated and dizzied, looking around desperately for the green witch, who was missing from the hoard of Order members.
"Well?" It was Glinda's turn to collapse in the chair, her voice warbled. "Is she, or isn't she?"
Harry cast a sorrowful look at the blonde, and turned to Fiyero, who joined them at the sight of Glinda's despair. The Boy-Who-Lived struggled to collect the kindest words to deliver the news, not wanting to accept it either. "Well, Glinda, it's like this…"
"Dammit, just say it! What happened to Elphaba?" Fiyero roared. He was in horrible condition, riddled with skin-deep scratches.
"The last time anyone saw her, she was facing two Death Eaters. Ron and Malfoy, I think." Harry spoke slowly, inhaling tears instead of crying. "They haven't come back; they disappeared into the Forbidden Forest. She's had bad experiences with both of them, I…well, I…"
"You're lying, you have to be lying." Glinda covered her mouth with both hands, trying to breath properly. She held back a shriek and shook. What happened to the promises they made the night before? "Not Elphie, oh Oz, not Elphaba."
"After we clean up this lot, we'll go into the Forest and find her body along with Dumbledore's. I'm sorry, Glinda. Fae… is… well, she's dead."
Glinda just kept shaking.
Coming up: Despair and hope.
I have nothing to say after this angsty chapter…don't kill me for killing everyone!
-runs away from March of the Wolf Hunters-
-Wolfie