Veal & Venison {Tomione || 1940s/1990s}

68|| Bishop to F5

68|| Bishop to F5

At first, it is just Neville Longbottom who leaves the Castle, sullen and bloodied and limping with every step he takes.  And then, it is Ginny, seemingly looking to mourn with her friend for those they lost and nameless others.  But with her, more people come, as if drawn by the prospect of mourning, but truly, the air is coagulating and changing about them.  Tom Riddle can feel the magic of empathy, of knowing an unknown person is shocked, of knowing where to go when a scene appears.  And though the others do not feel it, they follow along like sheeps behind the shepherd, Neville, as a flock from the Great Hall.

And though it could be a trap, Tom knows Voldemort will not kill them until he brags about his sacrifice of the leading sheep and how he will slaughter them all.  It's this idea that has him rising to his feet, bearing a hand up to Hermione as Ron also stands, struck by the current flow of people from the Hall.  Luna, Seamus, Cho, Mister Weasley.  And stumbling slightly, the three--not the Golden Trio--follow behind the crowds, amiss in the masses with every intention of hiding Tom Riddle until the last moment, if possible.

The sight that awaits them is to be expected: a parade of death, destruction, and immorality.  In their uniforms of black, the Death Eaters of notable repute are striding with every nerve of victory, bragging before the final duels finally occur.  It's as if they are attending a battle of politicans, one candidate and ideology against another, nevermind the fact that Hogwarts's candidate is dead.

And that's when Hermione realizes the purpose of the procession, knowing Voldemort is inclined to bragging, and this being a joust at the Order, a taunt with the dead body of Harry Potter.  She cannot help the sharp gasp that escapes her lungs upon realizing, others looking to her tear-streaked and solemn face, innately knowing what has occurred--if not from the missing Harry--then from her expression of complete and unadulterated loss.  Their people weave and stutter between their feet and around their spine, a silent call of mourning that is no different from the rest.  But, ever the strength in the strong tides of life, Tom holds Hermione tighter about the waist, nested within the dwindling crowd of students and Order members.

"What's going on here, Neville?" they hear Arthur Weasley ask the boy from the head of the group, the boy stuttering and then lapsing into silence.  And though he is strong from just the continuation of his stance and his conviction to help, Neville cannot manage the truth of words in that moment, Ginny being far too close and still unknowing of what happened.  And then he is looking to the remainder of his friends and allies, a wish for the miracle of Harry's life within his eyes, but trodden down by the look in Hermione's eye.

But like all things dark, the state of the universe in its most natural form, there is always a light to permeate the darkness, needing only a single fuse to destroy the state of lightlessness.  And that's what Neville finds in an oceanic depth of darkness, a glitter of a ruby-edged sword within the confines of the Sorting Hat...all like Second Year.

But blind to the power of these students, the Death Eaters and Voldemort continue their proud approach, pleased to see the blood, dirt, and gore on the faces of righteousness.  And though he attempts to be subtle in his analysis of the remaining Golden Trio, D.A., and Order, Tom knows his attributed actions better than anyone, ducking behind the taller Dean Thomas without the boy's notice.  Indeed, so sly in everything he does, only Hermione and Ron notice the action and immediately understand. 

Harry called him their secret weapon, the boy who would defeat Lord Voldemort--paradoxically himself--if Harry could not.  That time is now, but surprise is necessary.

And even more pleased with each inch he gazes at--war-torn students, the rubble of the destroyed Castle, and disheartened expressions--Voldemort does not notice the extra pair of feet in those masses, ones that could mean his downfall in the most ironic sense of the idea.  He would destroy himself.  But Voldemort does not see through the glazed eyes of his fatal flaw, pride, grinning most maliciously like Tom does, but so much worse.