Chapter V:
Harry never thought he would find himself back on the grounds of Hogwarts.
The moon shone an eerie silver from the familiar sky above, basking the castle walls with luminescence. But that was not the first thing he noticed, rather it was the silence. Dead silence. The kind that sucked everything into it, leaving nothing behind except a space devoid of sensation. It permeated all around them, weighing on their shoulders like a heavy blanket.
"This place," Wanda muttered. "Why is it so… quiet?"
"I'm not sure." Muttered Harry himself, eyes flitting back and forth.
Hogwarts appeared abandoned from where they stood, not far away from the Whomping Willow. Not a single trace of any life, let alone people, or a variant. The once magnificent towers had been halved, the walls crumbling, buildings and dorms lying in ruins. Looking further toward the Great Hall, it was as if a meteor had struck it, leaving a gaping crater in its place.
Wanda turned to him. "This was your school."
"It was. How did you know?"
"When I searched your mind, I saw this place."
Harry nodded in understanding, aware now of a new sensation, which Wanda seemed to also notice as they marched toward the castle.
The ground reeked of sadness and anguish, with the air having grown cold, like a storm was about to break. Stepping around where the North Tower should have been, now reduced to a mountain of rubble, he began to put the pieces together. Everything, including the TemPad date, pointed to the night of the Battle of Hogwarts.
"We aren't too late, are we?" Wanda asked.
"What do you mean?"
"Maybe your variant already left."
Harry moved a fallen tree out of their way. "I doubt it, if anyth—"
A sudden crack split the night, the jolt coming from a nearby castle entrance. Wanda raised her hands and a red shield glimmered in front of them. However, nothing came out from the rubble. Just more silence.
Impossibly, the air grew even colder.
"Something's here." Wanda whispered. "Something… powerful."
"I feel it too."
The insides of Harry festered. The carnage around them. The feeling in the air. The harshness of the ground. Something terrible had gone awry. And a variant of himself was somewhere here. Harry could feel its presence, as if he were being watched from behind.
"Harry."
Wanda's voice pointed him to their left, where wraiths made of shadows swirled, attacking a lifeless form on the already lifeless ground.
Harry's wand appeared in his hands,
"Expecto Patronum!"
The silver stag flew out, scattering the dementors in all directions as they desperately tried to evade his attack. Wanda fired her own spells, imitating Harry's with her own beams of light. However, the dementors were not so easily put away. Regrouping, they began swirling and weaving in the air above, but before they could come back together, Harry released another wave of energy.
A loud screech of pain echoed through the air as the dementors were incinerated. From the way they contorted, bony hands clawing at their faceless faces, it was as if their own empty souls were somehow being taken. The disturbance only lasted for a moment before ashes erupted from the sky like the snowy flakes of a blizzard, blanketing the ruins.
Only then, could they see the body that had been hidden beneath the smoke. Bile rose in the back of Harry's throat. Could it be?
Coming closer revealed the truth. The body was not a variant of his. It was an elf, heaving and sputtering, clinging on for dear life.
Harry rushed over,
"Hey! Stop moving will you?"
The fear in the elf's eyes doubled at the sight of him.
"I said, stop moving." Harry knelt on the ground as blood gushed out of the elf's stomach. "We're here to help you!"
"Nghhg!"
Harry recognized her as one of Dobby's close friends as he held her flailing arms down, however as he reached back for his wand, the elf's free hand found hold of a rock.
One bash to the head was all it took.
A sickening crunch followed.
In shock, Harry stared at the now limp, frail body in his hands. The elf's head was split by the side, any semblance of consciousness now faded. There was blood everywhere, on the ground, on the body, on him.
Silence returned to the castle grounds once more.
Wanda stepped closer,
"She… she killed herself."
"It makes sense." Harry muttered, setting the elf down gently.
"It makes sense?"
"Why the elf did what she did." With a flick of the holly wood, the ground below the elf caved inward, laying it to rest. "She was scared of me. My variant."
"Scared enough that she thought killing herself was the only option?"
"Apparently so."
"You don't think it was because of the Dementors?"
Harry shook his head, turning to answer, however something else had drawn Wanda's attention.
Her face was cold as she moved toward the nearby hill.
"Wanda?" Harry called.
No response.
And that was when he saw it.
Following her to the top, Harry was left wishing he never had.
On the very peak lay another body, the body of a man. He had obviously been dead for some time, for not even the moonlight could offer a glimmer of life. His face however revealed a chillingly familiar expression, eyes still filled with a sorrow that had frozen the moment he died.
Snape.
How the professor's body had managed to find its way here from the Shrieking Shack, Harry could not imagine. The black robes of the former Headmaster were barely strung together. Holes from where Nagini's fangs had pierced were indiscernible from those made by fire.
"Harry… look."
Harry turned to Wanda expectedly, only to realize she was not looking at Snape, but at a scene so horrid and disturbing, it made the one before pale in comparison.
Below them, hundreds, thousands of bodies stretched out far beyond the Grounds, seeping into the edges of the Forbidden Forest like waves in the ocean. The red and gold of Gryffindor between the emerald and silver of Slytherin, the blue and bronze of Ravenclaw with the yellow and black of Hufflepuff.
All of them had been here. And it seemed as if all of them had died here.
Harry had known Death. Had seen it's power first hand. But this… this was something entirely different. All those people, the ones with names, the ones he had shared the corridors with, gone.
And in the very center of it all wavered a figure shrouded in black that he knew, even at a distance, belonged to himself.
For the first time in more than half a century, the scar on his forehead began to burn.
Author's Note:
Hey all, sorry for the long waiting time. I'm starting to get back into the groove of writing. Hope you enjoyed :) Constructive feedback is always appreciated.