Incendio

Chapter 43: McGonagall's Arms

While she had continued her fight, the faces of those who had died before her eyes littered her mind. She couldn't stop seeing their last expression of hope or exuberance as they died. It had only fueled her fight more. She didn't even see who she was fighting anymore, it was all just a blur of sights and sounds. She was sweaty and she could taste blood in her mouth.

A single solitary face brought her out of her furious mayhem. Her brother stood before her. Amongst the fighting circled around them, they stood still looking into each others eyes. He looked like another man, the baby fat stripped from his cheeks, dark circles enrapturing his eyes and his hair to his shoulders now. He wore black robes that he'd rolled the sleeves up on. Samantha felt a small relief he did not bear a mark on either arm.

Samantha's guilt continued as they stared in an infinite lock, she had killed the woman he loved. He didn't know it yet, at least she presumed he didn't. She wondered if it really was her fault that he was the way he was.

He didn't raise a wand to her, he didn't move to duel, which brought Samantha a deep gratefulness. She did not want to be pushed to kill him too. He nodded at her, his dark eyes never leaving as if he was thinking the same way.

The two of them moved a part and joined other duels. The hot tears continued in her eyes as she watched him duel her friends. The mercy he had bestowed, was reserved for her alone. He was soon out of sight and she continued in her battles.

When Voldemort called for the armistice, she couldn't bring herself to follow everyone to the Great Hall. She felt like an extreme failure. She couldn't face everyone. She wasn't a good leader, she wasn't a good friend, she wasn't even a good sister or daughter, she wasn't anything in the moment other than a failure. She knew no one was going to give up Harry, she certainly wouldn't. So she also knew by extent, she would probably die.

It was an hour or so before dawn was to arrive and Samantha just wanted to spend her last moments alone. She glimpsed out the windows as she walked through the halls of her old school. The grounds outside looked like it was covered in a blanket, a blanket of bodies and debris. She climbed a few stairs in slight solidarity. There were a few students who seemed to be in similar states, quietly huddled up or standing with their eyes wide. She didn't look to see who was alive or dead.

She rounded an old corner down a hallway near the Transfiguration classroom. At the end of the hall was the door to the Gazette headquarters. She opened the door, it was seemingly untouched, aside from the window being blown out. She looked out to see people were collecting the dead and she peeled her eyes away.

She looked around the room, missing the days when the contents of this room were her whole world. She missed when being a writer was all she had. Samantha noticed one of her old notebooks sitting on a desk near her. 

She wanted to say goodbye to her parents and she wanted to have a single account of the battle that wasn't twisted. She was sure Voldemort and his followers would tell a different story so she wanted her account written.

She poured everything she had gone through, onto the page. None of it was her normal style, it was unfiltered and honest as she wrote in first person. Everything, down to every little thought or detail made it onto the page. The sounds of the bombs, the smell of flesh, the taste of blood in her mouth all were explained in fervent detail. Her own personal thoughts about the battle, her friends, her family and even her enemies poured from her onto the page.

She fidgeted a bit and felt a burning in her side. She lifted her shirt to see a large gaping gash across her lower abdomen. She decided maybe she'd need to clean it. It was pretty bad and it smelled rancid. She dug into her bag and grabbed her Essence of Dittany. She pulled out bandages and began wrapping it.