Matilda Matlock

The Blink of an Eye

There was something quieter about the corridors of Hogwarts as Matilda walked through them, back down to the Great Hall, alone.

It was, indeed, already quiet, and she had been alone for a while now; but it was as if as she walked down, knowing exactly what she was about to do, the school was remaining very still, holding its breath as it watched her.

Her feet padded along the stone at a gradual pace, not fast, not clumsily, not shaking. No, she was steady, and took her time, looking around the halls more than she ever had before. Even on her first day at the school, as a mere fourteen-year-old with long, curly hair, wide eyes, and a skateboard tucked under her arm, she did not admire Hogwarts' walls this much.

When she found herself turning the corner to the entrance of the Great Hall, she took a breath.

It was no longer lined with students standing before a pacing Severus Snape, no longer dark... yes, it had the torches lit upon the walls, but it was darker in a different sense. A much, much different sense.

As Matilda slowly entered the hall, her eyes flicked across the figures stretched upon separate cots upon the floor, off to the sides and surrounded by students and Professors with their heads bowed in silence or soft sniffles.

She walked past Madame Pomfrey tending to kids, young kids, with cuts along their arms and tears staining their cheeks as they stared at the bodies with whom they had once eaten lunch in that very room.

She saw faces. Many faces. Ones she barely recognized just from passing them in the halls; ones she recognized all too well.

The room was echoing with the grief of those who had fought for her. Hurt for her. Died for her.

And when she looked forward again, her throat grew very dry.

The Weasley family surrounded a young man stretched upon the floor on his back, the tips of his sneakers angled out and his curly, red hair disheveled from battle.

George was crouched beside Charlie, his hands folded on his older brother's lifeless arm, his forehead nearly touching the floor in silence. Fred was on his knees, one hand on his twin's shoulder.

Matilda stopped and stood there a while, far too weak to face them just yet. Especially after seeing Molly and Arthur standing above their son, Molly tucked into her husband's arms, softly crying, her shoulders shaking. Arthur stood still; eerily still, with his eyes closed and jaw tight.

She looked away, something stinging in her throat.

But when she averted her gaze, it only landed on who lay a short distance from her feet.

Moody.

His head was turned sideways on the cot. His leather jacket was still fit to his torso, boots pointed up on the floor, glass eye frozen at the ceiling. He was gone. He was gone too.

Matilda clenched her jaw and blinked quite a few times.

She felt a hand come to her shoulder.

"Don't," emerged Lily Potter's voice.

Matilda still hadn't stopped staring at Moody. "What?"

"I know what you're doing," Lily said softly. "Don't blame yourself. Don't drive yourself mad, Matilda."

Matilda looked forward, swallowing. James came to her other side.

"He put up a real fight," he said. "Alastor. He was pretty fond of protecting you, you know."

Matilda looked at the floor. The tips of her sneakers were stained with dirt and scorch marks.

"I think he died doing what he loved," added James. "He was smiling as he fought 'em. Crazy bloke."