The world was in pieces.
It was an overcast day. Appropriate, he supposed. The gloomy, dark gray sky went well with the streams of smoke rising from the burnt trees and remnants of buildings. It went well with the unpleasant, putrid green of the residue from so many corrosive potions poured at once. The stone walls that had been their aim were ruined, half-melted and giving off a smell like burnt plastic.
Bodies littered the ground. He knew that there were less than there appeared; the entire operation had gone remarkably smoothly, the enemy easily disarmed. It had been his order. He had fought long and hard with the Master about it, but had eventually managed to convince him that depleting the Wizarding World even more would not do.
I never wanted this!
He quashed the feeling immediately. He had been waiting for this moment for…it seemed like an eternity. The training, the lying, the deception…all waiting for this moment. This victory.
He stood on top of a tall hill that had somehow been created out of magic during the battle. For what purpose, he didn't know. Now it served as a way for him to see his victory.
It was unfortunate, of course, that they had chosen to stage their battle on the grounds of an age-old school. Many items of indeterminate value had no doubt been lost. But here the old man had invited them, and here they had come. If he wanted to leave a smoking battlefield as his legacy as Headmaster, they would not argue.
He reached up to scratch his cheek, moving his hand carefully under the white mask to keep it from falling off. He knew that it was kept there by a charm, but there was no sense in becoming careless. He smiled wryly. Constant Vigilance! A lesson from an old auror, in a time that seemed a lifetime ago. He glanced around and located the grizzled auror's body, smiling grimly. The wooden leg, as well as the real one, lay several feet to the left of the rest of the body. His own prodigy had beaten him in the end.
"My lord."
He turned, seeing another white-masked person coming toward him. No sense in being over-confident. He allowed his wand to snap out of his wrist holster. Anyone could put on a white mask.
"Identify yourself."
"It's me, Flint, my Lord," said the man, rolling up his sleeve to expose the Mark. "The school is secure, sir. If you would like to check yourself…"
He thought about it. To walk the halls, one last time. For the most part, the school was undamaged; they had done their best. After all, the Master knew that it could continue to be a school, under different…guidelines, of course. But before the school could be changed, to see it once again, toremember…
He strode off abruptly, passing through the gates that had kept them out for nearly two hours, with all the teachers continually pouring their strength into the wards. They had been no match for the Master, of course. No one was ever a match for the Master.
It was just as he remembered, although he had left close to a year ago. The portraits still in their same spots, the bulletin boards…here was the Great Hall, here was the grand staircase that led to the dormitory he had stayed in for the better part of six years…
Figures clad in black with white masks swarmed through the halls, looking through secret passageways, hidden staircases…looking for survivors. One approached him. He had no need to identify this one. He could have identified her without even seeing her. Just listening to her beautiful voice was enough.
"Lord, there is no one left in the school," she said quietly. "However, not everyone is accounted for."
Hermione breathed as shallowly as she could, barely allowing her chest to rise and fall as she held absolutely still. More men and women in black rushed by, none even glancing at the corner where she was concealed by a simple Disillusionment charm.
It had happened…so fast. One moment a siren had been blaring, signaling the failure of the wards, and the next, the halls were swarming with terrifying figures in white masks and black robes. She had heard screaming. She had made an effort to fight, but there seemed to be hundreds, and there didn't appear to be any reinforcements on their way to Hogwarts to save them…
And now she was sitting in this corner, wondering how to get out of here.
"The third floor," whispered a voice in her ear, and she barely stifled a shriek. She turned, but there was no one there.
"It's Ron," he whispered, nudging her carefully. "I found you on the Marauder's map. I have Harry's cloak. We need to get out of here. They'll be rallying at the Ministry or at Grimmauld. Hogwarts is a lost cause now."
She felt her eyes brimming with tears, but she brushed them away, nodding. She reached out and let herself gingerly under the cloak, being careful to avoid Ron's wounded shoulders.
"How did you get out of the Hospital wing?" she murmured quietly. The hallway was empty now, but she wasn't ready to let her guard down as they moved cautiously through the hall.
"I still had Harry's cloak with me in my bag there, and when the door got blown open…" Ron stopped, shivering. Hermione looked up at the statue of the one-eyed witch. The passage was open already.
"Neville and Ginny are there already. Luna, too," muttered Ron. "Can you help me?"
She carefully braced his foot as he climbed in, teetering slightly without his arms to support him.
"How did you activate the map?" she asked as she climbed in after him, maintaining her disillusionment charm.
Ron grimaced. "My teeth," he said bitterly.
"They'll be able to do something for you when we get to the Ministry," she said soothingly.
"If we get to the Ministry," Ron muttered darkly.
"Two Weasleys, Granger, Longbottom, and Lovegood. And…" she licked her lips. "The old man. We have him bound, ready for your mercy."
He smiled, reaching out and caressing her cheek. "Are you coming, Daphne?"
"Of course," she whispered hoarsely. "Seven years I've waited for this day."
They moved through the halls quickly, Daphne taking the lead, as he didn't know where they had bound the old professor. He could make a guess, though.
They stopped at the hallway in front of a familiar-looking gargoyle, where a ring of dark-clad figures parted to allow him through. He smiled.
Albus Dumbledore, lying there helpless, bound and gagged. The group had clearly been awaiting his arrival. He had been awarded this honor by the Master. He frowned at the gargoyle. There would be many items of magic within that office which could be useful to him and the Master.
"It won't open to you, whoever you are." He turned at the hoarse voice from behind him. Someone had removed the gag. He glanced up at Daphne, who held the piece of cloth in her hand. They could have Silenced him, but humiliation was the key.
"Why not?" he focused his full attention on Dumbledore. He knew Daphne would have his back.
"If you understood anything about the laws of magic, you would understand that anyone with an intent such as yours would never be allowed into a sanction for all that is light and good."
He shrugged. "I understand quite a lot about the laws of magic." He twirled his wand between his fingers, and grinned behind the mask as Albus Dumbledore recognized the length of wood he held in his fingers.
"What did you do to…" he rasped, then began coughing uncontrollably, blood dripping from the sides of his mouth.
"To whom?" he asked quietly. His question echoed in the sudden silence in the halls.
"You know who," said Dumbledore, spitting blood onto his boots. "The owner of that wand."
What to do in this situation? Laugh, laugh long and hard at the irony of that question? What had he done to himself, on that day that seemed so long ago, that day that he had placed the white mask on his face for the first time? What had he done all those months ago when he had renounced the light, knowing where the dark would lead him?
He reached up with his wand and non-verbally said the counter to the charm that kept his mask on. With a quick twitch, the mask dropped from his face.
The look on Albus Dumbledore's face was one that had probably never been seen before, and would never be seen again, not after today. It chilled him and warmed him at the same time, to see the shock, the anger, then the disappointment.
"No." Dumbledore's breathing was even more labored now. He was fading, and fast.
"Eleven inches, holly and phoenix feather." He smiled tightly. "You always believe the best of people, don't you? People said it to you again and again about Snape, but they never thought about me, did they?" he chuckled quietly, but there was no laughter in his cold green eyes. "And they were right about Snape, all along. Your pride blinds you, Dumbledore. You thought I would quietly take your abuse, follow your orders, fulfill your prophecy and disappear. You were so secure in your power base that you never looked at what was right under your nose. You thought you were right."
"Right about what?" came the answer, so quietly that he could barely hear it. The old man was dying. He had to speed up.
"Right about everything. Your ideals, your beliefs. You believe that wizards should crawl in the dust, try to cover their exposure to muggles. You believe that we areequalto muggles, to mudbloods. You believed that you could cover up the truth, the truth that we are anything but equal. That any sort of magic that is dark should never be used, even tosave lives." The old man slumped at that, and could not sit up anymore.
"You failed, Dumbledore. You're going to die. You're dead already."
"No," came the whispered reply. "You are. You were dead the moment you took the Dark Lord's offer. You will think that you live, that you are happy, but dark magic does not forgive. It will fight you, and take you over. Perhaps it already has. Perhaps—" he hacked, and his eyes closed, but with great apparent effort, he opened them again. "Perhaps you will never be able to redeem yourself from your actions today."
As Dumbledore stared at him, his green eyes shut tightly, and then opened, sweeping the scene. The crowd of Death Eaters were silent, watching, waiting for him to do the deed. More had arrived, and were jostling to get a view, to watch the scene play out.
He didn't hesitate. He wandlessly summoned his mask and placed it firmly back on his face, then pointed his wand.
"Avada Kedavra!"