A/N: They say it's always darkest before the dawn. It's definitely gotten dark in here.
"Circe's saggy tit! Not again!"
That statement was followed by muttering in which only every third word was intelligible. Something about "bloody plants" that couldn't be "arsed" to stay in "their own pots."
Harry turned around and, for the third time in the last 30 minutes, saw Ron's left leg tangled in a particularly aggressive yet (thankfully) fangless hybrid of venomous tentacula. Professor Sprout must have been cultivating the plants en masse. For what? Some kind of nightmare ornamental plant? Whatever the reason, the ground was treacherous thanks to dozens of the creeping vines set free in an apparent attack on the greenhouses.
With a quick flick of his wrist, Harry cut the vine away from Ron's leg and stunned the plants that remained in their path. The spell's effects wouldn't last long, as they had already learned the hard way, but at this point, he hoped they were close enough to get to the other side of the greenhouses before it wore off.
It seemed like it had been several hours since they set off toward Hagrid's, when in reality it couldn't have been more than one. But it had taken them that long just safely and stealthily maneuver around the wreckage of the castle and the rough terrain to reach the path that wound among the castle's greenhouses and out through the sloping lawn. It was a 5-minute walk under normal circumstances. And now that they had reached the path, their progress had been slowed by bloody plants. As least they could see a little; their dimly-lit wands showed what the moon hanging low in the pre-dawn sky couldn't, and they were able to avoid some of the more dangerous plants littering the ground. It could have been much worse; at least Professor Sprout had spelled the mandrake pots to be unbreakable.
Neither Harry nor Ron were looking forward to whatever they might find ahead. The night had been so difficult already, with so much death and destruction. Plus, it had been an age since either had seen a friendly face. Granted, they didn't know every member of the Order or all of those who came to fight on the side of the Light. But still, where was everyone they knew? The Weasleys, with their bright hair and large numbers, should have been easily spotted. What about Neville? Luna? McGonagall? Remus? The others?
As they approached what was left of the greenhouses, they could see that there had obviously been fighting here. There was no evidence of casualties, so far. With any luck, the greenhouses had been deserted when the Death Eaters arrived. But then, if they were, why would the Death Eaters expend the energy to create such a mess so far from the castle proper? It had to have been a proper battle.
Well, whatever had happened, they had to keep moving. It was taking longer than expected to cover the ground between the castle and Hagrid's hut, and they were anxious to be reunited with Hermione, after which the endgame would, hopefully, reach its final round.
Suddenly, Harry flung his arm in front of Ron to stop him. "Oh, Mer—" He stopped mid-word and gagged. "There," he managed to choke out while pointing to the right.
Ron turned his head and sucked in a ragged breath. Staked to the door of what used to be Greenhouse #4 and barely visible in the darkness was a bloody arm, its fingers positioned such that they pointed down the path. The arm wore the sleeve of a student robe. Ravenclaw.
"Merlin, Harry. I think I'm going to be sick," Ron said, bending over and putting his hands on his knees. Nothing they had seen in the past several hours of fighting had been quite as gruesome as the display before them. Sure, it had been awful to see wizards and other magical beings being killed, but Avada Kedavra isn't exactly bloody, and most of the dead were either enemies or unknown members of the Order. This was obviously part of a student – a older girl, by the looks of the dainty fingers and well-shaped fingernails – which meant it probably belonged someone they knew.
Harry shivered for a moment, but then blocked the image from his head. "Ron, we need to keep moving," he urged. "The only way out of here, to Hermione and to … to him, is forward. We'll get past the greenhouses and then it's basically open ground until Hagrid's. We can do this."
He grabbed the back of Ron's jacket and hauled him up to a standing position, then tugged him forward, ignoring his whine of protest and green-tinged face. As they drew closer to the next building, they saw something in the middle of the roadway. It was hard to tell in the dark, but it looked like a person. Moving cautiously forward, wands out, they could see that it was indeed a person, or at least what used to be a person.
The body was laid with its arms outstretched, each hand holding something. As the light from their wands illuminated the body, they could see that it was Professor Sprout. Her left hand held her decapitated head, while her right hand held her heart. There was a pool of congealing blood within her empty chest cavity and on the ground around her. She had obviously been dead for some time. Harry let out a stifled whimper, and Ron stepped back in speechless, wide-eyed horror.
A quick glance between the boys confirmed that they were each thinking the same thing. Someone was sending a message, and it was time to clear out, fast! They extinguished their wands and began to run down the path, navigating as best they could in the shadows between broken buildings.
They didn't see any more bodies until they were more than halfway through the line of damaged buildings. Suddenly, with each step, new horrors awaited. Every few feet, there was a body or body part arranged in a gruesome tableau – arms pointing from impossible angles, gory intestines arranged in the shape of arrows, heads on stakes with their wide eyes turned toward the path, disembodied feet of all sizes placed in a mocking arrangement of footsteps. Among the unidentifiable bodies, some familiar faces appeared – Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones, oh God, Tonks!
Ron jerked to a stop. "We can't go on, Harry! We have to turn back! This is obviously a trap. They're leading us somewhere. We'll find another way!" His voice raised in volume and pitch with each word, until he was practically hysterical, begging Harry to turn around.
He didn't have to ask Harry twice. They turned back, but not 10 feet into their retreat, Ron stepped in an odd-shaped depression in the ground, and a sudden explosion sent a fireball down the path toward them, forcing them to turn around once again. In their panic, they didn't realize that they had entered a magical minefield of sorts. As they ran forward, they accidentally triggered explosions placed in such a way as to keep the boys running through an endless parade of bloody flesh.
After what seemed an eternity, they cleared the greenhouse complex and the horrific displays. Harry saw a small outcropping of rocks and quickly pulled Ron over behind the nearest boulder. In a flash, he whipped out the invisibility cloak from his jacket's inner pocket and covered them as they crouched low to the ground. They struggled to stay silent as they listened for noises around them.
The minutes ticked by without a sound, save the buzz of insects and the shuffle of nocturnal creatures. With no sign of pursuit, Harry quietly cast a Muffliato spell, then followed it with Homenum Revelio. There was no one else alive within the spell's considerably large range, prompting both to let out a breath they didn't realize they were holding.
"If there's no one here, then what the bloody hell was that all about?" said Ron in a shaky voice.
Harry was silent for a moment. "Maybe it was meant for someone else? Or maybe they're just that sick," he finally said. "The things they did to those people, our friends … oh, God!"
He buried his face in his hands, and his shoulders shook as he was overcome with emotion. Ron put an awkward arm around his friend and became lost in his own thoughts.
After several minutes, Harry exhausted his tears, and his anguish quickly turned to anger. He sat up, yanked the cloak off and stowed it in its pocket. He stood quickly and turned to Ron with a fierce look on his face.
"That's it. No more wasting time. It's time to end this," he ground out through clenched teeth. "It's time to make them pay."
He reached out his hand to Ron, who nodded his head once before grasping it. Harry hauled him to his feet and they started to jog across the open lawn, which covered rolling hills down to the forest line, broken only by occasional rocky outcroppings. They still had to work their way around to the other side of the castle before reaching their destination
They traveled for several minutes without speaking before Ron suddenly stopped and said, "Do you hear that?"
"What? I don't hear anything."
"Exactly. I just realized that we haven't heard any signs of battle since we left the courtyard."
Harry cocked his head to the side and listened intently. "Huh, you're right. We should be able to hear something, even out here. Do you suppose we missed something?"
"I don't know. I reckon maybe they're taking a break to rest or regroup or something."
"You mean like a truce or something?"
"Maybe … I'm not sure I like it, though. What if it's already over? And if it is, who won?"
Both boys were silent at that thought. Harry thought about reopening his link to Voldemort to see what was happening, but then he weighed the risks and dismissed the idea.
"I think we just need to meet up with Hermione and make a plan from there," Harry finally said. "We should be able to see the castle better from there, and anyway it will be brighter by then."
Indeed, dawn was approaching. There was the faintest glow at the lowest point of the horizon. The night was finally coming to a close.
They started to run, following the undulating path as it curved right toward the lower grounds. As they crested the rise, they could just make out the remains of Hagrid's home. Spaced randomly between them and their destination were several small groups of people, who appeared to be talking quietly in the glow of small magical fires.
"It's McGonagall!" Ron said. "I recognize her hat! And look, that's Kingsley!" He grinned ear to ear at the prospect of being reunited with other members of the order. They took off at a sprint and quickly reached the first group.
"Professor! Kingsley! It's us! What's happening?" Harry called as he approached.
When there was no response, he slowed to a walk before stopping directly behind McGonagall. He tapped her on the shoulder, saying, "Professor, it's me, Harry."
No sooner did he touch her than her body pitched forward and fell to the ground, knocking Kingsley down at the same time. Both fell at odd angles, and their heads rolled off their shoulders and across the ground, coming to a rest some distance away. In the glow of the fire, he could see their faces, frozen in a rictus of pain and death.
After a brief moment of shock, he turned back to tell Ron, but Ron was already running to the next group – Remus, Mundungus and Neville. "Wait! Don't—" he yelled, but it was too late. At the Ron's slightest touch, all three men fell to the ground. They kept their heads, but their entrails landed beside them with a wet slap.
Harry ran to Ron and they looked ahead to the next group. Luna and … is that the Patil twins? But where are their arms and feet?
"Oh my God!" Ron gasped. They panicked then, running from group to group, moving ever closer to the hut. Each group had obviously been place with magic to appear alive, only they were dead – some with grotesque injuries and others looking completely untouched, but every single face was recognizable as a friend or ally.
Both boys became more and more unhinged the more they saw, until they came to the last, largest group – all with flaming ginger hair. Ginny, the twins, Bill, Molly, Arthur, even Percy … all dead with the words "blood traitor" carved into their foreheads. The nearly inhuman sound that rose from Ron's throat spoke of his utter anguish at the sight of his family. His hands moved restlessly from body to body, as though touching their hair, their clothes, their faces could somehow bring them back.
Harry hadn't made a sound because he simply couldn't. His throat was so tight he almost couldn't breathe. The shock was visceral. Every fiber of his being was in agony knowing that the only people he had ever known as family had now been taken away from him just like his parents.
Moving as if in a dream, he walked to where Ginny lay. The sight of her lovely, innocent face, framed by silky red locks, was the last straw, and he dropped to his knees, sweeping her up in his arms and screaming out a single word.
"NOOOOOoooooooo!" His cry turned to sobs as he cradled her, touching her lips, her eyes and her neck before pressing his lips to her hair.