Extinguished 🩵 Harry Potter [2]

xiv ⟶ (Bad) Ending, Part II

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xiv. (Bad) Ending, Part II
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"MISS CINDERCROFT? PLEASE, Miss Cindercroft, we need you to come inside. Can you do that for us?"

The sun glares down on the scene below it. Voldemort's orders for his Death Eaters to retreat and for Harry to hand himself over had shattered her, and she knew that she had lost everything. She doesn't know what has happened to her friends. She feels her father start to slip far, far away from her again...

She has stayed firmly out of sight, tucked behind a wall with her Jude next to her, planning not to move until it is safe enough for her to get help. She hasn't looked at him for at least an hour, in a strange kind of trance brought about by the horrid silence floating around her.

Thea doesn't acknowledge the St. Mungo's Healers taking him away from her. She stays utterly still, until those kind, aged eyes full of sadness come into her vision.

"Thea, we need you to come inside, dear."

Thea nods, in such a small way she is surprised Professor McGonagall sees it, as she helps Thea to her feet, and places a maternal arm around her shoulders, as they make their way into the castle.

"Have you seen Harry?" she asks, her voice hoarse and sore.

"I'm afraid not. You heard the announcement, I suppose?"

Thea frowns. "Yes. He's gone to meet him, hasn't he?"

Thea's glassy eyes match McGonagall's.

"I believe so, dear. He's been so brave."

They both know Harry enough to know he'd be there, walking straight into the arms of death. Like he has to. Like she warned him. And she didn't even get to tell him goodbye, and that, for him, she'd let the fire wrap its arms back around her and claim her as its own if it meant he got to live.

But he's Harry. As if he'd let her.

A tear falls down her face as she makes her way into the Great Hall, preceded by the cluster of Healers bringing in Jude on a stretcher, his white face covered by a somehow whiter sheet.

The eyes that are trying to comfort her and pity her send a surge of fury right up her veins, but she has nothing left within her to fight. She thinks McGonagall's arm around her shoulders tightens as she takes her over to Madame Pomfrey. Thea numbly drops into a seat, and looks up at the nurse. She uses everything left within her to crack a teary smile.

"You must be sick of the sight of me."

The woman smiles back, before turning around hastily, and bustling about with the kettle and the ointments behind her.

Thea is dazed.

Bandages are wrapped around her limbs, and cooling, orange cream is smeared over the many bruises and slashes decorating her skin. She can't feel the pain anymore; it's like it's all locked up, and nausea bubbles within her at the thought of it being unleashed.

There are no more hourglasses. She cannot feel time, not anymore. She thinks maybe it's all gone, that she's used it all up. She has no Jude, no Fred, no Harry. She's not sure she wants any more, anyway.

People come up to her and ruffle her hair, or offer their condolences, but there is only person she wants right now. She gets up, her legs shaky, and a tea clasped in her stiff fingers. She thanks Madame Pomfrey, who is reluctant to let her go, but lets her leave, and Thea searches the crowd for his lined, wise face.