Chapter 208 "The cost of victory"
Harry stood atop the Hill, his gaze sweeping over the remnants of the battleground where he and his forces had clashed with the relentless horde of undead. The first light of dawn painted the scene in stark relief, highlighting the contrast between life and the unliving that had fallen. The battlefield around them lay in stark contrast to the night's chaos. Bathed in the gentle light of dawn, the once tumultuous ground now rested quietly. The morning sun, rising above the horizon, cast a soft, golden hue across the field, illuminating the aftermath of the night's conflict. Shadows retreated, revealing the contours of the land that had witnessed their struggle.
The remnants of the undead horde, scattered across the expanse, now lying motionless, an eerie testament to the battle's intensity. Here and there, weapons and shields were strewn about, abandoned in the heat of combat, or dropped in the final moments. The earth bore the scars of magic and might, scorched patches mingling with areas trampled by the feet of the living and the undead alike.
Yet, amidst the desolation, there was a sense of solemn beauty. The new day's light seemed to offer a silent homage to those who had stood and fought, promising their bravery and sacrifices would not be forgotten. The battlefield, transformed by daybreak, was a stark reminder of the night's terror and a symbol of hope and spirit.
In this moment of quiet reflection, the significance of their victory and the cost at which it had been achieved were laid bare under the watchful eye of dawn. With all its somber and serene beauty, the battlefield was a canvas upon which the tale of their courage and unity was etched, a tale that would be remembered and retold with each rising sun.
He could sense the approach of Captain Feliona and Lieutenant Elysia even before they were within speaking distance, their presence a testament to their survival through the night's ordeal.
"Good morning to you both," Harry greeted, his tone warm yet carrying the weariness of their shared battle. "You both performed admirably last night."
"It was our honor to serve under your command, Tribune," Captain Feliona responded with a respectful nod, the morning light glinting off her armor. Her voice held a deep sincerity, acknowledging their victory's gravity.
Lieutenant Elysia offered only a smile, but it was one of genuine relief and pride, her youthful features belying the steeliness of a seasoned warrior.
"I'll have correspondence for your Colonel before you depart," Harry added, already thinking ahead to the necessary debriefings and commendations that would follow such a harrowing encounter.
"Of course, Tribune," the captain replied, her demeanor professional yet open, indicating her readiness to carry out any further orders.
"And your casualties?" Harry inquired, his concern for their losses evident in his voice. Despite the victory, the cost in lives was a burden he carried as their leader.
"They were light, Tribune," Captain Feliona assured him, a hint of pride in her voice. "The undead fear our blades and our tactics."
Harry nodded, a sense of satisfaction mingling with his exhaustion. "Yes, I noticed. It's clear you've faced the undead before."
Their brief yet meaningful conversation underscored the bond formed in the crucible of combat—a bond not just of duty but of mutual respect and understanding. Harry remained on the Hill a moment longer as they parted ways, reflecting on the night's events and the battles yet to come, bolstered by the knowledge that such capable warriors stood beside him.
Harry's voice carried clearly in the crisp morning air, authoritative yet imbued with the gravity of their recent trial. "Please reform your command to the left and place scouts to the left, forward, and rear. I want no surprises." His orders were precise, reflecting his strategic understanding honed through recent encounters.
"At your command, Tribune," Captain Feliona and Lieutenant Elysia saluted, their movements synchronized and filled with the solemnity of their duty. "Blood and honor," they echoed a mantra that bound them in their shared purpose. With a shared look of determination, they turned on their heels as they set off to reorganize their forces and deploy scouts, ensuring the safety and preparedness of their contingent against any further threats.
A sense of purpose marked Harry's approach towards Thunderbeard and Bjorn. His footsteps moved him across the soft earth of the battlefield, now quiet in the aftermath of their recent clash. The first rays of the sun lent a golden hue to his hair, almost as if crowning him with light, a subtle testament to the leadership he had wielded through the night's darkest hours.
As he neared, both warriors noted the steadiness in Harry's gaze, a depth of character and spirit that had steered them through countless perils. "I witnessed your battle against the skulls and your triumph, Thunderbeard, and Bjorn," Harry announced, his voice carrying across the short distance that remained.
Confusion briefly clouded the faces of Thunderbeard and Bjorn, their glances toward each other betraying their bewilderment. The sprawling and chaotic battlefield seemed to swallow each fight in its vast embrace. Harry had been stationed a significant distance away amidst his turmoil of combat against the undead.
Momentarily caught off guard by Harry's acute awareness, Bjorn managed a nod of acknowledgment. "Yes, Tribune," he responded, the element of surprise still lacing his voice, a note of respect threading through the formal address.
Yet, Harry's ensuing smile, warm and imbued with an unmistakable respect, bridged the distance between command and camaraderie. "It's Harry, Bjorn. You fought alongside me and bled for me. You have every right to call me Harry or Thrain," he said, his tone imbued with a genuine friendship that transcended mere rank or title.
This exchange, brief as it was, seemed to solidify a bond forged in the crucible of battle. Thunderbeard and Bjorn shared a look, and an understanding passed between them this time. The recognition they saw in Harry's eyes was more than that of a commander acknowledging his soldiers' valor—it was the acknowledgment of their shared humanity, their collective struggle against the darkness.
At that moment, the titles that had once defined their interactions seemed to fall away, leaving the foundation of a newfound respect and fellowship in their stead. They had not only earned the admiration of their leader but had been welcomed as equals, as brothers in arms. This subtle yet profound shift marked a turning point in their relationship, cementing their unity and mutual respect in the face of whatever trials lay ahead.
"I need to cleanse myself, Thunderbeard," Harry's voice held a gravity that matched the weight of his recent trials. "Even though magic can rid me of the outward signs, the sensation of battle, the blood... it lingers until I wash it away with water. It was important to tell you that fighting by your side was a privilege. You're more than soldiers to me now; you're friends."
With this heartfelt admission hanging in the air, Harry turned and made his way toward the rear lines, where the promise of water offered physical and emotional purification from the night's grim deeds.
As Harry sought his moment of respite, Dumbledore, leaning on years of wisdom and a deep sense of duty, made his way over to an old friend, Sebastian Delacour. The war had thrown them together again, allies in a fight that had tested every fiber of their being.
"Albus, should you be up and about?" Sebastian's voice was tinged with the same concern that had likely echoed through the halls of Hogwarts more times than could be counted.
A soft chuckle escaped Dumbledore, a sound that seemed to lift the weight of the world from his shoulders momentarily. "Poppy seems to think not," he admitted, his eyes twinkling with the mirth that so often provided a balm to those around him. "But I couldn't miss the chance to commend you and your men. Your bravery was nothing short of extraordinary, Sebastian."
Sebastian looked almost out of place in the aftermath, a man more accustomed to the order of the law than the chaos of war. "Was it akin to the Great War, Albus? I've never faced anything of this sort. I'm a policeman, not a soldier."
Dumbledore's laughter, warm and reassuring, filled the space between them. "Your actions today could easily prove otherwise, my friend. You've led your men with grace and effectiveness that would make seasoned generals envious. You've shone brightly in the face of darkness, a testament to the courage that lies within."
Their exchange, set against the backdrop of a world slowly healing from the scars of battle, was a reminder of the strength of unity and the unexpected roles many are called to play in times of need. Dumbledore and Sebastian, two old friends, stood together once more, not just as soldiers in a war but as beacons of hope in a world that had seen too much darkness.
Sebastian's question hung in the air, a bridge spanning millennia, linking them to the warriors of old who stood beside Alexander the Great at Granicus. In those ancient eyes, too, there must have been reflections of awe and disbelief, of witnessing the impossible made possible by spirit and sheer will.
Dumbledore's response, laden with the wisdom of ages, affirmed this connection. "Indeed, Sebastian, I think they must have felt much the same," he mused. "To stand at the precipice of history, to see it unfold before one's eyes and know you played a part in shaping it. Alexander's generals watched a young king challenge the might of an empire and win, much as we have faced down our own Goliath tonight."
There was a pause as the weight of Dumbledore's words settled between them, a recognition of the enormity of what they had achieved and the cost at which victory had come. The parallel drawn to ancient times wasn't just an acknowledgment of their struggle but a testament to the enduring spirit of those who dared to face the darkness.
"In every age, there are those who rise to meet the challenges of their time, who stand firm against the tide of adversity," Dumbledore continued, his voice soft yet carrying an unspoken strength. "Tonight, we were those individuals, bound by a common purpose, united in our defiance of a threat that sought to undo the very fabric of our world."
The comparison to the legendary figures of history served not to magnify their actions but to remind them of the thread of courage that weaves through humanity's story. It was a reminder that, in every era, there are moments that call for extraordinary courage and individuals who answer that call.
As they stood amidst the remnants of their battlefield, the sense of continuity with the past brought a solemn pride and a humble acknowledgment of their place in the grand tapestry of human endeavor. Their victory was not just for the here and now but a chapter in the ongoing saga of humanity's spirit and valor.
Sebastian looked at Dumbledore, seeing not just the headmaster of Hogwarts or a powerful wizard but a fellow soldier who had stood shoulder to shoulder-with him in the face of oblivion. Their shared experiences had forged a bond that transcended time, connecting them with the warriors of antiquity who also faced down their fears for a cause greater than themselves.
In that moment of reflection, there was a silent vow—an understanding that, while the battle was over, their fight for the light, for the good in the world, would never truly end. As it had been at Granicus, it would be for all time: a never-ending struggle against the forces that seek to overwhelm the light with shadow.
Under the clear skies following the tumult of battle, Colonel Bellareason found his way to the Supreme Mugwump, Sebastian Delacour, with a brisk stride that betrayed the urgency of new developments. "Supreme Mugwump, a messenger from headquarters, has just arrived with urgent news," he announced, his voice steady but carrying the undercurrent of anticipation for what might be revealed.
Standing amidst the remnants of their hard-won victory, Supreme Mugwump Delacour nodded solemnly, extending a hand to receive the dispatched message. His eyes, marked by the wisdom of countless encounters, scanned the document swiftly, absorbing the weight of its contents.
"It seems our fears of a coup were unfounded," Supreme Mugwump Delacour revealed, a slight smile breaking through the gravity of his features. "Instead, General Freemont and a small faction in the International Confederation of Wizards concocted a scheme to discredit me. They hoped to pin the city's ruin on our retreat, sacrificing countless innocents for their political gambit."
The revelation stirred a mix of relief and anger, highlighting the treacherous waters of their political landscape. Yet, the anecdote that followed painted a stark picture of the aftermath faced by their adversaries.
"When Freemont regained consciousness, panic took him," Supreme Mugwump Delacour continued, his tone tinged with a hint of irony. "He believed himself beset by the undead who were trying to eat him. They had to stun him to silence his screams."
The story, while brief, underscored the chaos and desperation that had engulfed those who sought to manipulate the conflict for their ends, revealing the folly of their machinations in stark relief against the backdrop of their broader struggle.
At this moment, Supreme Mugwump Delacour and his trusted friend Albus Dumbledore had a shared understanding of the intricate dance of power and politics that framed their world. Yet, amidst the intrigues and betrayals, their focus remained unwavering—on justice, the protection of those they served, and the unwritten future they fought to secure.
In the calm aftermath, with the echoes of battle fading into the distance, Dumbledore and Sebastian found a moment of quiet to reflect on the recent turn of events. "It seems Harry's judgment spell has decided on the fate of Freemont," Dumbledore mused, his voice conversing with contemplation and finality. The spell in question, a rare and powerful form of magical justice, had been invoked to ascertain the true nature of Freemont's actions and intentions.
With a furrowed brow, Sebastian turned to his old friend, his mind wrestling with the implications of such magic. "Do you think there's a counter curse for that spell?" he inquired, the weight of his role as Supreme Mugwump pressing upon him. The question was not just academic; it considered the boundaries of magical law and the ethics of irrevocable spells.
Dumbledore shook his head gently, leaning on a lifetime of magical scholarship and experience. "Perhaps your Spectres know, but I highly doubt it," he replied, his tone imbued with the wisdom that had guided him through decades of wizarding challenges. "In all my years of traveling and studying under some of the greatest masters our world has known, I've never encountered a judgment spell quite like this. The closest parallel might be the enchanted mechanisms within our Ministry that can discern truth or intent, but it's a far cry from what Harry has employed."
His explanation shed light on the unique nature of the spell, distinguishing it from curses or enchantments designed for harm or coercion. "This isn't a curse; it's a judgment. The distinction is crucial. A curse might be undone, but a judgment? It's a final determination, a verdict that emerges from the essence of one's actions and intentions."
The conversation between Dumbledore and Sebastian, steeped in the complexities of magical jurisprudence and ethics, underscored the gravity of Harry's actions. By invoking such a spell, Harry had not only rendered a decisive verdict on Freemont but had also ventured into uncharted magical territory, where traditional notions of counter curses and remedies held little sway.
As they continued to deliberate, the implications of such unassailable magic loomed large, a testament to the evolving landscape of wizarding justice and the perpetual quest for balance between power and responsibility.
Sebastian's gaze met Albus's, a severe undertone marking his following words. "There's another matter we must address," he began, the weight of his responsibilities as Supreme Mugwump pressing upon his voice. "Harry's abilities as an elementalist. This is bound to complicate the upcoming session of the International Confederation of Wizards."
Albus, ever the beacon of wisdom, leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. "And what might that be?" he inquired, though the furrow of his brow suggested he already anticipated the direction of Sebastian's concerns.
"It's his elemental abilities," Sebastian reiterated, the urgency in his voice reflecting the gravity of the situation. "Given how elementalist magic is viewed, I foresee significant challenges. You're aware of the fear and misunderstanding that surrounds elementalists."
Albus nodded, his expression somber. "Yes, you're correct," he acknowledged. "While there's no law against being an Elementalist, fear can cloud judgment and incite rash actions. History has shown us the unfortunate outcomes when fear overrides understanding."
"Every powerful Elementalist we've known has faced suspicion, and in some tragic cases, their inability to control their powers led to dire consequences," Dumbledore continued, his voice carrying a note of sadness. "We've had to intervene more times than I care to remember."
Sebastian's expression hardened with resolve. "Exactly my concern," he said. "The ICW is a maelstrom of political agendas and deep-seated fears. Introducing Harry's newfound abilities into that environment... it's akin to igniting a powder keg."
Albus, stroking his beard thoughtfully, leaned back. "We must tread carefully, then. Education and transparency may be our best allies in this. Harry's mastery over his elemental magic, his ability to wield it for the greater good, must be communicated effectively. We need to dispel the myths and fears surrounding elementalism."
The conversation between the two old friends, seasoned by countless magical and political battles, underscored the complexity of the path ahead. They recognized the delicate balance between celebrating Harry's unique talents and navigating the treacherous waters of public perception and fear.
"Indeed," Sebastian agreed, a plan forming in his mind. "We'll need to prepare Harry for the challenges within the ICW and beyond. His journey as an Elementalist is about mastering his powers and changing the world's understanding of what it means to wield such magic."
As the conversation drew close, both men understood the enormity of the task ahead. They were not just preparing Harry to face the ICW but laying the groundwork for a broader acceptance of elementalists within the magical community. In the quiet of their meeting, a resolve was forged to stand by Harry, guiding him through the trials ahead with wisdom, courage, and an unwavering belief in the power of understanding to overcome fear.
Sebastian's voice carried a gravity that immediately captured Dumbledore's full attention. "There is another matter we need to discuss," he began, his gaze steady, hinting at the importance of what he was about to reveal. "Upon his arrival with the army, General Freemont brought along ten reporters. They have documented every phase of this battle, from the first clash to the last stand."
Dumbledore's reaction was a mild shock, realizing an oversight that could have significant implications. "I hadn't foreseen the possibility of reporters on the battlefield," he admitted, his voice tinged with concern. "This changes things. We must now brace ourselves for a detailed account of our struggle, laid bare for the entire world to see."
"Indeed, it's something we need to prepare for," Sebastian agreed, the corners of his mouth tilting downwards in contemplation. "The narrative that emerges from their reports will shape public perception. We must ensure the story told is one that accurately reflects our efforts, our sacrifices."
"Thank you for bringing this to my attention," Dumbledore responded, his mind racing through the potential outcomes of such widespread coverage. "I understand the need to brief Harry immediately. The way he's portrayed, the depiction of his leadership and abilities, could significantly impact his future and how our actions are viewed in hindsight."
Sebastian nodded, his expression somber yet resolute. "Exactly. The power of the press in shaping heroes and narratives cannot be underestimated. Harry's role, decisions, and emerging powers as an Elementalist will be under intense scrutiny. We must guide him through this, ensuring that the story told is fair, balanced, and true to the spirit of what we've achieved here."
The two men shared a moment of silent understanding, acknowledging the new challenge ahead. The battle's documentation by the press added a layer of complexity to their victory, intertwining their feats of magic and courage with the pen strokes of journalists. As their conversation drew to a close, Dumbledore and Sebastian were united in spirit to navigate the forthcoming storm of public opinion with wisdom, preparing Harry for the spotlight that awaited him.
Chapter 209 "A Shower"
As Harry paused and turned, the battlefield became an impromptu stage for a spectacle none had anticipated. Bjorn and Thunderbeard stood agape as, with a mere gesture from Harry, an ethereal armor rack materialized before him. They watched, a mixture of bemusement and awe taking hold, as Harry began to disrobe his battle-worn armor methodically. First, his helmet vanished into the air, followed by the chest piece, leggings, and boots, each disappearing as if swallowed by the ether.
"Is he... stripping right here?" Bjorn whispered his voice a mix of disbelief and curiosity, unable to tear his eyes away from the scene unfolding.
A mystical fog seeped from the earth, gently enshrouding Harry's lower half, a curtain of mist preserving his modesty as if responding to Bjorn's disbelief. The air around them seemed charged with magic, hinting at something more profound than a simple disrobing.
With fluid, practiced movements, Harry then shed his shirts, revealing his upper body to the elements—and to the eyes of his comrades. The sight of the grim reaper tattoo, stark and imposing against his skin, drew a sharp intake of breath from Bjorn. It was as if the very symbol of death had chosen to mark Harry, a silent testament to his burdens.
Above, the skies mirrored Harry's actions, dark clouds coalescing as if summoned by his will. Rain began to cascade down in a torrential downpour, drenching him, yet he stood steadfast, embracing the deluge with an almost reverential calm.
From their vantage point, Dumbledore, Sebastian, and Colonel Kostas were observed with a complex tapestry of emotions—concern, wonder, and a dawning understanding of the depth of Harry's elemental connection. Beside them, Captain Feliona caught her daughter, Lieutenant Elysia, watching intently, her fascination with the scene before her undimmed by the rain or the implications of Harry's display.
The collective onlookers, warriors and leaders alike, were gripped by a shared sense of awe and unease. Harry had inadvertently laid bare the extraordinary nature of his magic in invoking his elemental powers not for battle but for something as mundane as cleansing. The sight of him, exposed to the rain and their gazes, underlined a moment of vulnerability and strength intertwined.
Each present was left to grapple with their reactions—amusement, respect, concern, fascination. Yet, beyond the immediate spectacle, there was an unspoken acknowledgment of Harry's profound connection to the elements, a reminder of his extraordinary capabilities and the isolation such power might bring.
As the rain continued to pour, washing away the grime and blood of battle, it also seemed to wash away pretenses, leaving behind a raw, unguarded moment of human and magical connection. In witnessing Harry's unconventional use of his elemental abilities, they were reminded of the fine line between the mundane and the miraculous and how easily one could slip into the other in their world.
Bjorn's voice carried a mix of awe and apprehension as he murmured to his companion, "He's the shadow of death. My sister warned me I would be tested in his shadow."
Thunderbeard, always ready with a boisterous response, let out a hearty chuckle. "Well, look at him—with 'death' emblazoned across his back and the very scythe of the reaper etched along his arm. He doesn't just court death; he's its harbinger."Bottom of Form
The scene caught the attention of Colonel Kostas, who, puzzled by the unusual display, voiced her bewilderment to those nearby. "Why on earth is Lord Potter-Black taking his ablutions for all to witness?" Her tone was genuine confusion, struggling to reconcile the sight with the decorum expected of their ranks.
Dumbledore, ever the observer of human quirks and idiosyncrasies, couldn't help but release a chuckle rich with warmth and understanding. "Harry likely believes his elemental magic affords him some privacy," he explained, his laughter echoing the lightness of the moment.
Sebastian, watching the scene unfold with a fond smile, couldn't help but join in the laughter, his heart lightened by the reminder of the youth's endearing blend of boldness and innocence. "Ah, to possess the fearlessness of youth once more," he sighed, his laughter echoing Dumbledores.
Captain Feliona, observing the unfolding spectacle with a blend of professionalism and maternal concern, glanced toward her daughter, Lieutenant Elysia. Her voice carried a light reprimand mixed with amusement, "Is it proper to stare at our Tribune, Elysia?"
With a shrug that spoke volumes of her pragmatic view towards the unexpected performance, Elysia responded, "If he's going to put on a show in front of us, who am I to complain, Mother?" The hint of joy in her voice suggested she found the situation more amusing than scandalous. "Besides, I don't think he realized that the fog wasn't quite...sufficient at first to hide all of his, shall we say, 'manliness' from our view."
Her mother's laughter echoed her daughter's, a shared moment of levity amidst the aftermath of battle. "At least try to maintain some decorum, Lieutenant," she teased, the titles used more for their playful banter than any actual warning.
"And remember, he is our Tribune," Captain Feliona added, her tone softening, a reminder of the respect owed to Harry's position despite the humorous circumstances.
"Well, Mother, all I can say is his girlfriend is going to be quite content," Elysia quipped, her comment tinged with jest and a hint of admiration for their Tribune's unexpected display of vulnerability and strength.
Their exchange, light-hearted and filled with familial warmth, offered a brief respite from the gravity of their duties. It highlighted the human side of their leaders and the strong bonds and camaraderie within their ranks, even in moments as peculiar as this.
Chapter 210 "The Speech Heard Around the World"
The field before Hero's Hill was a mosaic of readiness and anticipation, each group of warriors a testament to the variety and harmony of the forces gathered. Wizards, their breaths coming in quick gasps from the exertion, hurried to set up their magical apparatus, their movements a blur of efficiency and purpose. The urgency in their actions was palpable: "Hurry, the soldiers are assembling, and it's a sight to behold!"
The atmosphere buzzed with anticipation and relief as the final checks on the arrays were completed. "It's finished. The arrays are functioning; we're in the green," announced one of the wizards, his voice carrying a note of triumph and relief. This was a moment of victory, not just over the forces of darkness but the shadows of obscurity that often shrouded such battles from the public eye. "The world will know about this day. No government can hide what happened here, and these heroes will be remembered for what they did, not what the governments choose to let their people know."
Scarlett Rosewood, a figure of determination and purpose, stepped forward with a runic-enhanced microphone. This was her moment to ensure the truth would not be buried and that the valor and sacrifice witnessed on these plains would be honored and acknowledged. "Let's set this up for the magical world," she said, her voice steady and relentless.
"Hello to the magical world, this is Scarlett Rosewood, an independent reporter. I'm coming to you from the plains just before the magical African city Eldorath." Her voice, clear and powerful, carried across the airwaves, a beacon of truth in a world often shrouded in secrecy. "We are standing on a large, flat hill that dominates the plains just before the city. But many of you don't know that this city was placed under lockdown three days ago. A large undead army was thought to number in the 20,000 but, in reality, numbered 50,000 or more and was marching toward the city to destroy it."
She paused, letting the gravity of her words sink in. "The necromancer leading this army of the dead was named Zuhadoom. He was one of the most feared necromancers outside the Council of 13." Scarlett's report wasn't just a recounting of events; it was a testament to the courage faced by those who stood against the tide of darkness, a narrative that would ensure the heroes of Eldorath would be etched in the memories of all who heard her words.
As Scarlett continued, her report would weave the tales of bravery, sacrifice, and unity defining the Eldorath battle. The world would know of this day, not through the filtered lens of governments or hidden in the shadows of forgotten battles, but in the voices of those who witnessed it, fought it, and lived to tell the tale.
In a remarkable turn of events, it has come to light that His Holiness Pope Benedictus Castellano took an unprecedented step in the face of the undead threat that loomed over the city of Eldorath. In a move that underscores the gravity of the situation, the Pope personally approached the newly elected Supreme Mugwump, Sebastian Delacour, with a plea for assistance to halt the advancing army of the undead.
Understanding the urgency of the matter, Sebastian Delacour bypassed the usual protocols that might have delayed action. Opting not to get entangled in the web of meetings or prolonged discussions with advisors, he made a decisive move. Delacour marshaled a formidable force, a Brigade of regular combat wizards numbering 5,000 strong, and dispatched them to confront the looming menace.
In addition to seeking aid from the ICW, the Pope dispatched a Paladin and two Templars on a mission. Their destination was none other than Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, a venerable institution known for its academic excellence and magical instruction.
This collaboration between the Vatican and Hogwarts marks a historic alliance, casting the school as a beacon of learning and a pivotal force in defending against darkness. The decision to involve Hogwarts in a critical role underscores the school's reputation for producing skilled witches, wizards, and true heroes willing to stand against the forces threatening peace and safety.
Hogwarts's involvement in stopping an insurmountable army, marching towards a city cornered with nowhere to run, will forever change how the school is perceived. No longer just a school of magic, Hogwarts will be remembered as a critical ally in a battle that united disparate forces against a common enemy, protecting countless lives and safeguarding the future of the magical city of Eldorath.
This unprecedented alliance and the swift action taken by Supreme Mugwump Sebastian Delacour, with the support of Hogwarts and the blessing of Pope Benedictus Castellano, exemplify the power of unity and the strength found in coming together to face a seemingly impossible adversary. Scarlett Rosewood continued her report to the world.
The Paladin and Templars, emissaries of the Vatican, embarked on a mission steeped in desperation and hope. Their destination was Hogwarts, a bastion of magical education and legacy, to seek an audience with Headmaster Albus Dumbledore and, perhaps more surprisingly, Hadrian Potter-Black—the young man known worldwide as the "Boy Who Lived." This request, born out of a dire need to confront an overwhelming darkness, was unprecedented in its acknowledgment of Harry's prowess and Dumbledore's wisdom.
What ensued from this plea was to resonate far beyond the hallowed halls of Hogwarts, extending its ripples across the magical and mundane worlds alike. The Pope's call to arms, seeking the aid of a legendary figure and a young wizard whose life had been defined by his battles against darkness, was audacious. Yet, the response it elicited was nothing short of astonishing.
Dumbledore, ever the paragon of calm and measured wisdom, recognized the gravity of the situation and the potential for a turning point in the war against the undead. For his part, Harry Potter-Black embodied the strength and courage that had become his hallmark. Together, they represented a formidable force, a synthesis of experience and youthful valor.
The world braced for a response, anticipating perhaps a reinforcement of wizards, a strategic counsel, or even the deployment of Hogwarts' best. What they received, however, exceeded all expectations. Dumbledore and Hadrian Potter-Black did not merely agree to stand with the Vatican's forces; they mobilized an alliance that spanned races, realms, and allegiances, uniting under a common banner to face the encroaching shadow.
This coalition, brought together by the urgent summons of the Paladin and Templars, marked a pivotal moment in the battle for Eldorath and the broader war against darkness. The involvement of Hogwarts' finest—led by Dumbledore and Hadrian Potter-Black—was a testament to the power in the face of adversity.
Leading this extraordinary assembly were the goblins from the nation of Gringotts. Known for their fierce independence and unparalleled skill in combat, the goblin battalion brought with them not just martial prowess but also a deep understanding of magical artifacts and warfare.
Accompanying them was a company of Crows, the elite home guard of the Black family, renowned for their loyalty and dark magic expertise. Their presence added a layer of strategic depth and power to the forces arrayed against the undead.
Among the ranks were also individuals of rare and powerful lineage: a Dwarven curse breaker, whose knowledge of ancient magics and ability to dismantle the deadliest of enchantments was unmatched, and a Lycan from the land of Ulveland, a warrior whose might and ferocity were amplified under the moon's light.
Adding to this tapestry of warriors were several professors from Hogwarts, each a master of their craft, ready to apply their academic expertise to the battlefield. Their presence was a testament to the courage and dedication that defined the spirit of Hogwarts, a willingness to defend the principles of the magical world beyond the classroom.
This coalition, forged from the corners of the magical community, stood as a beacon of unity and strength. As they took to the field alongside Headmaster Dumbledore and Hadrian Potter, their combined might turned the tide against the undead menace, securing a victory that would be celebrated for generations.
The Pope's initial request had been a call to arms, a plea for aid in desperation. In return, he received a demonstration of the magical world's capacity for solidarity and heroism. The battle that unfolded on that fateful day halted the advance of unimaginable evil and showcased the depth of commitment and bravery that dwelled within the hearts of those who stood ready to defend the light against the shadows. Scarlett looked over those standing at attention, waiting for their leader to talk. But she had more to say before the world had to hear the words of victory.
The revelation I bring you now weighs heavily upon my heart, stirring anger and sorrow. Sebastian Delacour, known for his decisive actions and unyielding resolve, marshaled the mightiest force he could summon to confront a dire threat. Yet, within the ranks of those appointed to lead, treachery lurked. Chief among the betrayers was General Freemont, a man whose ambition and prejudice blinded him to the sanctity of innocent lives.
General Freemont, entrusted with the command of ICW forces, harbored a sinister agenda. His objection to Sebastian Delacour's leadership, spurred by Delacour's union with a non-human, poisoned his duty to protect. Instead of rallying the forces against the undead menace that advanced towards the city, Freemont conceived a despicable plan. He intended to abandon the city and retreat under the guise of strategic necessity, leaving countless innocents to a grim fate.
The plot, however, begins to unravel when Sebastian Delacour, acting not through intermediaries but on his own accord, intervenes. Arriving to confront the situation head-on, Delacour was met with a scene that confirmed his worst suspicions. General Freemont, rendered unconscious in a failed attempt to detain Hadrian Potter-Black, lay as evidence of his folly.
With no time to waste, Sebastian Delacour assumed command of the ICW forces, orchestrating their deployment against the encroaching darkness with a precision and urgency that brooked no delay.
Yet, the narrative that unfolded on the battlefield diverged from expectations. One might assume that figures such as Sebastian Delacour, Albus Dumbledore—adorned with countless honors—or even a Paladin sent by the church would take the helm, leading the charge against the shadow that threatened to engulf them.
Contrary to such assumptions, Hadrian Potter-Black, a young man barely in his teens, emerged as the beacon of hope, the commander of the light's formidable might. At thirteen, Hadrian stood ready, a symbol of courage and determination, as the darkness loomed on the horizon, poised to descend upon them.
This young warrior, bearing the scars and burdens of a past marked by sacrifice and trial, assumed a role few could have anticipated. In the face of overwhelming odds and in defiance of the machinations of those who sought to undermine the forces of good, Hadrian Potter-Black led with wisdom and valor that belied his years.
The battle that ensued was not just a clash of magic and might but a testament to the power of true leadership and the indomitable spirit of those who rally behind it. As the world learns of these events, let it be known that a young man's bravery, supported by the spirit of his allies, turned the tide against despair, shining a light that would pierce the deepest shadows. The audience, stunned as they listened from around the world, could hear the anger, sorrow, and tears in the report's voice; all her emotion was carried to them as she continued her story that had them spellbound and people around the world continued to tune in and listen to hear words.
The skepticism surrounding the notion of a young boy leading an army in a battle where the stakes were unimaginably high is understandable. The prospect of entrusting thousands of lives and the fate of a city to someone so young might seem unfathomable. Yet, it was precisely Hadrian Potter-Black's strategic genius and leadership that carved the path to victory on this hallowed ground, not just the wisdom of Headmaster Dumbledore or the experience of the seasoned officers following the commands of their unexpected Tribune.
In the midst of the clamor and the chaos, amidst the heartbeats of thousands poised on the brink of an abyss, a revelation unfolded that challenged every preconception. The notion that a boy, Hadrian Potter-Black, could command an army where the stakes towered so immensely, where the cost of failure was not just unthinkable but catastrophic, seemed beyond the realms of possibility. Yet, the reality of the battlefield told a different tale. Hadrian's strategic insight and a keen mind for tactics sculpted the outcome of this epic confrontation. Not Dumbledore nor any high-ranking officer who set foot on this battlefield, but they, too, turned their eyes and ears to the young commander they've come to respect as their Tribune.
What many outside the immediate circle of conflict didn't know was that an army unlike any other had rallied to the call. This army defied the annals of history and expectation. Dressed in armor reminiscent of ancient Rome, a formidable host emerged, bearing not the visage of house elves as known to the magical world but those of a kind transformed. These elves, taller, more muscular, and unfettered by any restrictions on their magic, took their place on the battlefield with a presence that commanded attention and respect. Their formation alone was enough to instill fear in the hearts of adversaries, a silent testament to their might and readiness.
Accompanying them were the creatures of legend, the wingless griffons known as Gryphos, serving as their cavalry, and the Felinari, the feline race of warriors who formed the light infantry. These forces, varied in their origins but united in their purpose, arrived not just under any standard but under a banner that spoke of legacy and lineage—the Banner of the House of Potter. The war flags they bore were not merely symbols of a family's heritage but the emblems of Hadrian's own house, a clarion call to arms that resonated across the plains.
This assembly of magical beings, drawn from the pages of myth and legend and rallied under the war flags of Hadrian's house, marked a turning point in the conflict. Their presence and allegiance to Hadrian underscored the gravity of the threat they faced and the profound respect and loyalty they held for their young Tribune.
As the story of this battle unfolds, remember that amidst the shadows of impending doom, a beacon of hope shone brightly. A young commander, wielding not just the power of his lineage but the trust of an army as diverse as the magical world itself, led the charge against darkness. They stood under the House of Potter banners, a testament to the unity and strength that can emerge from the most unexpected leaders and extraordinary alliances.
Chapter 211 "Formations of Victory"
A battalion of goblins was first to catch the eye, their discipline unyielding as they stood at attention, poleaxes and armor catching the morning's first light, casting reflections that danced like fireflies. Beside them, two entire cohorts of elves, clad in the storied armor reminiscent of ancient Rome, presented a vision of ethereal might, their banners snapping proudly in the gentle breeze.
Emerging from the realms of legend, beasts that seemed to leap straight from the pages of mythical tomes made their silent claim upon the scene. Wingless, majestic, and imposing griffons waited with their riders, a picture of calm anticipation for the commands of their Tribune.
Besides the regal stance of the elves, a striking presence commanded attention—a race as enigmatic as it was majestic, the Felinari. With their lithe forms and alert postures, these cat people stood in stark contrast to the other assembled forces, a testament to the mixture of the alliance formed under their Tribune's banner.
Clad in leather armor that seemed to meld with their sleek bodies, the Felinari exuded grace and latent power. The armor was a marvel of craftsmanship, fitted perfectly to accommodate their agile movements and the subtle contours of their feline forms. Intricate patterns etched into the leather told stories of their heritage and the pride of their people while also serving the practical purpose of protection.
Perhaps most surprising about the Felinari was that they were all females. This matriarchal warrior race brought their prowess in battle and an air of mystique and reverence for the feminine strength they embodied.
The Dark Templars, enigmas shrouded in their full magical plate armor, stood as silent sentinels, their massive forms a statement of unwavering spirit. Nearby, Templars adorned in white surcoats bearing the stark red cross seemed caught in a moment of prayer, their stillness a profound echo of their devotion.
Arrayed with a semblance of order, the ICW Regulars held their ground, the Supreme Mugwump, Sebastian Delacour, at their forefront, embodying leadership and awaiting Harry Potter's address with composed anticipation.
Set apart from the main force, the Crows, under Harry's direct command, manifested their loyalty through their disciplined silence and their position behind their commander—a clear symbol of their dedication and readiness to follow him into the fray.
In stark contrast to the assembled military might were the professors of Hogwarts, their presence a vivid reminder of the world worth fighting for. Clad in armor that bore the emblems of their noble School of Hogwarts, they stood not as warriors born but as educators thrust into the crucible of war. Their presence on this day, having faced the long night of the undead, was a declaration of their commitment to securing a future where they could continue to teach and inspire the next generation.
As the assembled forces stood, a living tapestry of courage and unity under the rising sun, the anticipation for Harry Potter's words grew. The silent understanding among them was palpable: they were not just an army but a symbol of the world's hope, ready to defend the promise of tomorrow. Scarlett's voice went quiet for a minute as she collected herself, her emotion easily heard. There he is. Hadrian Potter-Black has just left his command tent and is approaching his army.
Chapter 212 "Listeners"
The Great Hall, usually filled with the cacophony of student chatter and the clinking of cutlery, fell into a sudden, palpable silence as Hagrid, the half-giant professor known for his booming voice and an even bigger heart, burst through the grand doors. Every student's attention snapped towards him as he lumbered quickly, with an uncharacteristic urgency, towards the professor's table.
"Professor, turn on the wireless runes!" Hagrid exclaimed, his usually cheerful face etched with seriousness. "There's an important message from Africa concerning the Headmaster and Harry."
At his words, a wave of silence swept across the hall, every pair of eyes turning towards Professor Snape, whose expression remained unreadable. Rising slowly from his seat, he withdrew his wand with a grace that belied his austere demeanor. A flick of his wrist and the air seemed to shimmer as the wireless runes, ancient magical artifacts designed to capture and amplify broadcasts, came to life.
The voice that filled the Great Hall was clear and compelling—the voice of Reporter Scarlett Rosewood. Her narrative unfolded, a riveting account of the events that had transpired on a distant battlefield, involving figures whom the students had come to respect and admire: Headmaster Dumbledore and Hadrian Potter-Black, known affectionately and reverently as Harry.
As the broadcast continued, a palpable tension settled over the students, especially among those closest to Harry. Seizing Tracy's hand in a grip that spoke volumes of her concern, Daphne became the center of a small group that included Neville, Luna, and Draco. They stood together, united in their worry, hanging on every word from the runes, eager yet fearful of learning Harry's fate.
Elsewhere, the urgency of the unfolding events breached the walls of the Ministry of Magic. Driven by a force that admitted no delay, Elizabeth charged into Director Bones' office, interrupting a high-level meeting that included the heads of departments and the Minister of Magic himself. "What is the meaning of this, Elizabeth?" Director Bones demanded, her authority challenged by the sudden intrusion.
With no time for pleasantries or explanations, Elizabeth, under the watchful eye of her uncle Moody, activated the wireless. Initially filled with tension and surprise, the room became a collective focus as Scarlett Rosewood's voice emerged from the runes, weaving the tale of their fellow countrymen's fate.
As the reporter's voice filled the spaces of Hogwarts and the Ministry alike, a shared silence bound the listeners—a collective breath held in anticipation, fear, and hope. The story of a battle fought far from their shores, yet close to their hearts, unfolded, connecting them all in a moment of profound unity and concern for the outcome that would shape their world and the lives of those they held dear.
In the serene and elegant home of Sebastian Delacour, a sudden outcry shattered the calm. "Maman!" Fleur's voice, laced with urgency and fear, echoed through the corridors, summoning the matriarchs of the Delacour family.
With grace befitting her Veela heritage, Apolline rushed into the room, her aura radiating concern and authority. Following close on her heels were several other women of the Delacour family, each a vision of ethereal beauty and power. The sudden tension had drawn them together, wands at the ready, prepared to face any threat that might have prompted such a distress call from Fleur.
"Fleur, why are you yelling?" Apolline inquired, her voice a soothing balm even amidst the storm of emotions. Her presence was commanding yet filled with the warmth and care that only a mother could offer.
As Fleur caught her breath, the room's attention was palpable, hanging on the words she was about to speak. "Maman, it's about Dad. He's in Africa, fighting the undead alongside Harry Potter," she explained, her voice evident in her concern for her father's safety.
A collective gasp filled the room at her words, the reality of the situation dawning on them. Fleur's younger sister, Gabrielle, slipped into the room, her large eyes wide with worry and curiosity. She stood silently, absorbing the gravity of the news that her sister had just shared.
The revelation that Sebastian Delacour was on the front lines of such a perilous conflict, fighting alongside Harry Potter against a force as formidable and terrifying as an undead army, sent ripples of shock and anxiety through the hearts of the Veela women. Their initial readiness to defend their home transformed into a shared concern for the well-being of one of their own, far from the safety of their familial embrace.
In this moment of vulnerability and strength, the Delacour women stood united, their familial bonds a source of comfort and resolve. While alarming, the news of the battle in Africa also ignited a sense of pride in Sebastian's bravery and the noble cause he was fighting for. Amidst their worry, there was a silent acknowledgment of the courage it took to stand against such darkness, a courage that was very much a part of the Delacour legacy.
Across the globe, in homes and gathering places steeped in magic and tradition, people huddled around their magical communication devices, all tuned to the same frequency. From the cozy living rooms of wizarding families nestled in the Scottish Highlands to the sun-drenched verandas of sorcerers in Brazil, the air was thick with anticipation and a collective breath held in suspense. In every corner of the magical world, communities came together, united by the voice of Scarlett Rosewood as she narrated the epic tale of the battle that had unfolded just the night of Form
In a small cafe in Paris, filled with the aroma of freshly brewed potions and enchanted pastries, patrons sat with their eyes closed, envisioning the battlefield as Scarlett painted it with her words. Each description of courage, desperation, and unity against the darkness resonated deeply, stirring a mixture of pride and anxiety.
In Paris, a group of young wizards and witches who had just finished their day at Beauxbatons Academy gathered around a magically enhanced radio. Their eyes were wide with anticipation and awe as they absorbed the tale of bravery and magic that had transpired so far from their peaceful surroundings.
Meanwhile, in the bustling heart of New York, the members of the MACUSA, from interns to the highest-ranking officials, had ceased their endless flurry of activity. Together, they listened as the battle's details unfolded, a reminder of the interconnectedness of their world and the common threats they faced.
Far to the east, in the shadowed halls of Durmstrang Institute, even the stoic and reserved found themselves drawn to the broadcast. Instructors and students shared a moment of solidarity with their distant counterparts, feeling pride and relief at the news of the undead army's defeat.
And in the humble homes of No-Maj-born wizards and witches, families gathered, marveling at the magic and heroism that defined the world they were now a part of. Parents whispered explanations to wide-eyed children.
In a grand hall in Japan, where ancient banners of magical families fluttered silently, ancestors and current guardians alike listened intently, their stoic expressions betraying an undercurrent of tension. The battle story of the unlikely heroes who rose to meet the challenge bridged continents and cultures, reminding them of the fragile threads that held their world together.
High above a tower in Canada, where the northern lights danced across the sky, a group of young witches and wizards gathered, their usual laughter and banter replaced by solemn attention to the wireless runes.
And in a cozy kitchen in New Zealand, a family clustered around the hearth, the flames casting shadows that danced to the rhythm of Scarlett's narration. Children clutched their wands, wide-eyed and hanging on every word, while their parents exchanged glances of worry and awe.
But it was not just the recounting of the battle that held the world spellbound; it was the anticipation of what was to come. Hadrian Potter-Black, the boy who had grown into a beacon of hope and leadership far beyond what his years would suggest, was set to make his victory speech. This was not just any address; it was a message from one who had stood at the vortex of conflict, whose decisions and courage had directly influenced the tide of battle.
As the time for the speech drew nearer, the sense of unity and shared destiny among the listeners grew stronger. This moment transcended borders and bloodlines, uniting the magical community worldwide in a shared experience of triumph, reflection, and anticipation for the words of a young leader who had proven himself on the battlefield.
Across the world, scenes like these underscored the universal bond among all who cherished peace and stood against the forces of darkness. The upcoming speech by Tribune Hadrian Potter-Black was not just a conclusion to the tale of one battle; it was a beacon of hope for the future, a testament to the strength found in unity, and a moment that would be etched in the memories of all who listened, forever uniting them in the aftermath of a night that had tested the very fabric of their world.
Chapter 213 "Heros Hill"
Harry stood atop the newly christened Hero's Hill, a gentle breeze stirring as his gaze swept across the sea of faces before him—warriors, mages, and allies who had stood shoulder to shoulder with him in the shadow of adversity. Now bearing a name that bespoke their collective bravery, the Hill served as a solemn backdrop for the words he was about to impart.
As the assembly quieted, Harry stepped forward, embodying the essence of leadership and unity in his stance. The air around him seemed to pulse with the magic of their recent triumph, a silent testament to the power of their united front.
He paused, letting his eyes lock with those of the warriors who had shared in the battle's chaos and glory. Then, with a warmth that seemed to fill the space, he smiled—a simple gesture that spoke volumes.
"You all stand before me, not just as soldiers, but as pillars of the strength that held us through last night's storm," Harry began, his voice steady and clear. "It is to you, to us, that we owe the dawn of this new day."
"Last night, under a sky torn by magic and conflict, we faced an enemy that sought to undo the very fabric of our world. It was not the strength of one, but the courage, the spirit, and the unity of all that turned the tide. You, every one of you, are responsible for the victory we celebrate today. There are no singular heroes here; our triumph was forged in the shared heart of our alliance."
"What we achieved under the cloak of the night was a symphony of courage, each of you playing a vital part in our shared victory. If even one of us had faltered, had not risen to the call, we might now be among those we fought so desperately against."
The gravity of his statement hung in the air, a solemn reminder of the thin line they had walked together.
"This victory, monumental as it is, was not born from the actions of a lone hero. No, it was shaped by the spirit, the determination, and the unwavering faith of every one of you. Together, we stood against a tide that sought to sweep away all we hold dear, and together, we emerged victorious."
The wind seemed to echo his sentiment, carrying his words across the Hill, a hill that had witnessed the depths of their determination and now bore witness to their unity and strength.
"In the annals of history, this battle will be remembered not for the horror we faced but for the indomitable spirit of those who stood fast against it. You are those warriors, those guardians of the light. And it is with profound honor and respect that I stand before you today, not as your Tribune, but as your brother who shared blood with you on this Hill."Top of Form
Harry's voice, firm yet imbued with emotion, resonated with the conviction of his words. "So, as we depart from this place, let us carry forward not just the memory of a battle won but the knowledge that together, there is no darkness we cannot overcome, no foe we cannot defeat. Hero's Hill stands as a monument not to war but to us—to our spirit, courage, and enduring bond."
As he concluded, the assembled soldiers erupted into cheers and applause, a harmony that seemed to carry their shared pride and resolve into the skies above. Hero's Hill, bathed in the light of their fellowship, stood as a lasting emblem of their collective heroism, a beacon of hope for a future forged in unity and strength.
Chapter 214 "The Pry of Honor"
As the exuberant cheering gradually subsided, a hush fell over the assembled multitudes, anticipation and reverence hanging palpably in the air. Harry stood solemnly, his presence commanding the silent attention of all present. "There is one last thing we must do," he began, his voice steady yet imbued with deep emotion. "We must honor those who gave everything to ensure we can continue to live and grow old surrounded by our loved ones. These brave souls will never know the joy of aging, of holding their loved ones close again."
A palpable wave of sorrow and respect washed over the crowd as Harry continued, his voice softening, "So, I shed tears for them, for they made the ultimate sacrifice—they gave their lives so that we might live ours." His heartfelt words resonated deeply, echoing the collective grief and gratitude felt by all who listened.
Harry paused, allowing the gravity of his words to sink in, before making a solemn vow that seemed to resonate not just on Hero's Hill but across the world. "Even as I shed tears for them, I make a promise—to them and all of you. I will not let their sacrifice be in vain. I will live, love, and grow old because they cannot. But I will always remember them." Now barely above a whisper, his voice carried a weight of commitment and memory that transcended the battlefield.
The silence that followed was profound. A quiet feeling was felt worldwide as Harry's words were broadcast across the wireless. It was a moment of collective mourning and remembrance, a tribute to the fallen, whose names and deeds would be etched in the hearts of all who benefited from their bravery.
In that solemn silence, a bond was forged—a shared promise to honor the memory of the fallen not just with words but with actions. To live fully, cherish each moment, and build a future worthy of their sacrifice. Harry's promise became everyone's pledge, uniting all who heard his words in a silent vow to remember and honor the heroes who had paved the way for peace with their courage and their lives.
Harry, his arms raised solemnly, summoned forth a profound silence, broken only by the crackle of magic that enveloped the field. As the assembled warriors watched, the air vibrated with the raw power of his elemental command. Before them, the fallen heroes lay in honored array, their armor glinting one last time under the sun's caress, their weapons at their sides, silent testimonials to their valor.
Then, five greater fire elementals emerged from the ether, their forms majestic and fearsome. With deliberate, reverent steps, they traversed the rows of the fallen, each step leaving trails of heat in their wake. As they passed, the fallen burst into flame, a soldier's send-off that was both a farewell and a tribute to their courage. The intense and consuming fire transformed each hero into ashes, ensuring their spirits were freed with honor and returning them to the earth from which they sprang.
The heat from the fire elementals was palpable, a tangible manifestation of the power at Harry's command, yet wielded with respect and solemnity befitting the moment. Once their task was complete, the elementals turned, facing Harry. They bowed their heads in a silent acknowledgment of the gravity of their deed before vanishing, leaving behind a hallowed silence.
Harry then turned to face his army, those who had stood by him in the darkest of times, their faces a tapestry of grief, pride, and exhaustion. His voice, when he spoke, carried the weight of the moment, the burden of command, and the depth of his gratitude.
"We have paid our respects to those who can no longer stand with us, who have given everything so that we might continue forward. Let their memory guide us, inspire us, and remind us of the cost of peace. As we return to our homes and loved ones, we carry the scars of battle and the light of their sacrifice. Let us honor them not just in word but in deed—in how we live our lives, in the kindness we show others, and in our continued fight for a world that knows no more such sorrow. They have given us our tomorrow; our duty is to make it worthy of their sacrifice."
With those final words, Harry lowered his arms, the mantle of leadership settling around him like a cloak. He turned his back to the field of honor and began to walk away, a lone figure against the horizon.
Behind him, the army began to disperse, each individual moving off to return home, their hearts heavy with loss but also alight with the promise of the future—a future bought with the courage of those they had just honored. The journey back would be long, and the memories of this day would forever mark their souls, but they walked forward, buoyed by the strength of their shared purpose and the unwavering leadership of Hadrian Potter-Black, their Tribune, who had led them through darkness into light.