Antithesis

Chapter 79: Depression

They cleared out the Great Hall, opening the windows to let the cold air in. It was warmed and warded, but it didn’t take away from the room itself. There were buckets filled with cleaning solutions, soapy water that had turned pink in the corner. The floor was covered with a thick canvas, double rolled over in a cover near the Hufflepuff table or where it used to be. If Skylar squinted, he could see small specks where congealed blood squished through.

It smelled bad in the hall, like antiseptic and vinegar. Madam Pomfrey was running herself ragged, tending to one side of the hall where linens and pillows splayed on the ground in a large infirmary. They were running low on potions, now tending to wounds and injuries with conjured bandages that didn’t fix some of the worst injuries. Cho Chang was whimpering over on one bed, her innards held in place by careful splints and heavy gauze.

Then there were the dead,

There were many of them, laid across the other side where the Slytherin and Ravenclaw table were pushed together. They were in various states, some laying calmly with eyes closed like they were sleeping. The ones that were caught off guard. The ones that had looked at the wrong monster at the wrong time, and then couldn’t look any further. The ones that took a killing curse to the chest, and fell to the ground with cut strings.

Then there were the gruesome ones, the ones where full limbs were missing or looked torn off. The ones where the flesh had been removed and organs lacerated and they were given a waterproof white sheet for modesty. The ones with eyes open in surprise were one of the worst. The ones that were lax and still rattling from where they were laying next to another body.

Skylar had seen a lot of bodies, he had watched as Hagrid and Alastor fetched Dumbledore’s body from the wardline, unflinching from the explosive curses within arms reach. They carried him back in, laying him shrouded in blue silk that shimmered like the night sky. He laid on his own podium, the Headmaster’s spot, with Fawkes perched near his head and watching the world with dry eyes. Skylar imagined the bird didn’t have any tears left to cry.

There was the basilisk corpse, larger than any dragon. Thick and wide, its entire eye was as large as Skylar’s head. They couldn’t move it, not when it wasn’t affected by magic. It was sprawled out in a curled position, mouth open in a silent gasp for air. It was drooling slime, a thick mixture of acid and melting tissue that still pooled out from its nose and empty eye sockets. A House Elf had been considerate and propped up a bucket to catch the foul liquid. Its teeth were buffered with cantaloupes, forcefully covering each tooth to prevent an accidental poke.

It was beautiful in death, the way it must have been ugly in life. Everyone was too shocked to marvel over its horror.

People were crying, high pitched sobbing noises over near the corpses. He hadn’t seen Mrs. Weasley in forever, but now he did; clutching the hand of Percy Weasley as he stayed in the state of nearly dead but not quite there. He gurgled, breathing slowly and too far between to ever come back. His skin had a concerning dark maroon brand across the neck and fingers.

Skylar couldn’t remember the last thing Adrian said to him. He couldn’t remember it, and he couldn’t remember the original colour of his eyes. Only the white haze like molding grape juice. Blue in the middle; periwinkle.

What a cruel world, to tempt them with freedom and tear it away so sharply. Dumbledore was dead. Luna Lovegood was dead. Adrian Selwyn was dead. James Potter was dead.

Skylar hadn’t even been told about that. He walked into the Great Hall, hazy and lost and saw the corpse of his father being held by his mother. Skylar never knew that a neck could be severed that way, a single slice thick and through like beheading a fish. His father died with his eyes closed, or maybe they closed his eyelids for him.