Lovegood's Final Stand

Chapter 1: The End

Voldemort was dead. Harry snapped the elder wand over his knee, his phoenix feather one in his pocket. "It's over," he whispered. Harry sat down on Dumbledore's old chair, as that was how he remembered it. Not as Snape's. A small painting greeted him, in the form of Armando Dippet. "Full marks, my good man. Full marks. However, due to your absence this entire year, which Severus as been glad to tell me about," he said, nodding his head towards the newest painting, "we have no choice but to make you redo your final year." There was an awkward pause between them. "I jest! I jest!" Dippet quickly said.

"Well, I deserve a peaceful life after this mess," Harry responded.

For the first time, Harry was happy to leave Dumbledore's office. The office of a manipulative, cunning man willing to drop off a baby onto a doorstep without a single thought. A man who was willing to hand off a child vital to the survival of the entire world to an abusive family.

"Harry, why do you still hate him? He was your mentor," Ron said. "Just because he left you with the Dursleys for 16 ye--"

"You don't get it, Ron. You just don't." Harry walked out of the office, and shoved Ron out of the way. "My life was completely designed by a madman who didn't know what a child was. Someone who expected me to let myself be killed rather than try and save the world while saving myself. I can't idolize him."

"Alright, mate. But really, why leave that much of a mess?" Ron asked.

"What mess?" Harry asked, confused.

"Bloody hell, mate, are you blind? There's glass everywhere!"

"What're you talking about? There's nothing on the floor!" Harry waved his hand in front of Ron's face. "What's wrong?"

Suddenly, Ron's eyes fell. He fell on the ground in a heap. The shadow behind him started to grow, with eerie footsteps climbing the staircase to Dumbledore's once-safe office. Harry quickly backed up as the footsteps got closer and closer and closer. His breath quickened. He could feel his heart beating from inside his chest. The figure ascended the stairs,  as Harry ducked behind a table, his heart racing.

"Harry? Harry? Are you there?" called a voice. "Harry?"

"Ginny! What the hell happened?" said Harry, relieved.

"I think Ron was Imperiused. Something went wrong, probably," Ginny said. "Thank Dumbledore, too. I mean, he could have killed you."

"Let's take him to Madame Pomphrey. She can fix him up." Harry and Ginny carried Ron's limp body down the staircase. Slowly but surely, and with lots of swearing on Ginny's part because she almost fell down twice, the two left the headmaster's office, and made their way to the hospital wing. All of Hogwarts seemed gloomy after the battle; the torches' light felt weak, the losses were insurmountable, and Peeves seemed less happy than normal. They laid him out on  a bed, slowly, with his robe falling off the right side, the Gryffindor patch frayed and worn.

"He'll sleep for the night," Madame Pomphrey said. "I'll lock them in here. There are still Death Eaters out there who might still want to kill them."

Ron slept soundly for hours, without a sound. Harry and Ginny stayed awake in their respective dorms, unsure of what the future would bring. A slight dread set in Harry's mind, with his scar tingling. Yet this time it seemed more ticklish, with joy for the antagonist. Yet an excited joy, not the dream of domination.

Hours later, Harry finally fell asleep, tired and weak. Yet Ron finally stirred from his place, for what could have been the last times. He walked to Madame Pomphrey, dazed and confused, and walked straight towards her, wand outstretched. His eyes were unfocused, and he did not comprehend his movements. His lips parted carefully. "Avada--"