The Cell

Chapter 17: Pandemonium

And I will hold
I'll hold onto you
No matter what this world'll throw
It won't shake me loose

I'll reach my hands out in the dark
And wait for yours to interlock
I'll wait for you
I'll wait for you

'Cause I'm not givin' up
I'm not givin' up, givin' up
No, not yet
Even when I'm down to my last breath
Even when they say there's nothin' left
So don't give up on me

- Andy Grammer, Don't Give Up on Me

"We need to go after him," Hermione argued, beginning to get aggravated with the conversation. They had reconvened in the Great Hall after leaving the Headmaster's office and there was dissent among the ranks in regard to what happened next.

Hermione, Ron and Remus were ready to run into the forest, but Kingsley and McGonagall had reasoned that it may already be too late, in which case they would likely be running to their own deaths.

"I don't care," Ron shouted, face red, "that's my bloody brother out there!"

His father came up behind him and placed a steadying hand on his shoulder.

"Mr. Weasley," McGonagall replied, "I want Mr. Potter to live just as much as you, but the fact of the matter is that he left some time ago and is very likely..."

"Don't say dead Minerva," Remus growled, his eyes flashing golden for a split second. "You had better not say dead.

She quieted and pursed her lips.

Hermione was flexing and unflexing her hand around her wand, preparing to run off on her own when they heard a shout from the courtyard.

"NO!" Neville screamed, dropping to his knees in front of the gigantic oak doors. Everybody conscious and mobile sprinted to the entrance and stuttered to a halt behind him, a chorus of dismayed sobs and screams rising from them.

Approaching from across the grounds was Tom Riddle, surrounded by a swarm of dark witches and wizards cloaked in black.

Near the front stood Hagrid with chains wrapped around his neck, clutching the limp, lifeless body of Harry Potter and sobbing.

oOoOoOo

Draco had just made it to the ground floor when he heard the screaming start. Still disillusioned, he took off running toward the noise and discovered a massive collection of people with their backs turned to him, looking out across the grounds. He slowly picked his way around them, skirting the edge of the front doors, to see the Dark Lord and his forces advancing on the school with Potter's body in tow.

Draco resisted the urge to swear.

Of course Potter had gone. It was all well and fine when his own life was on the line, but the toll taken on those around him must have become too much for his Gryffindor sentimentalities to bear. Draco, like any sensible person, was terribly frustrated with the short-sightedness; had he thought Voldemort would suddenly be disinclined to slaughter his friends if he sacrificed himself?

As he moved to the side of the group, keeping his back tight against the stone wall of the building, he finally saw her. Hermione.

She was battle-worn, covered in dust with her hair in complete disarray from the neat plait she had pulled it into earlier and a streak of blood down one cheek. She looked positively distraught, clutching the Weasley girl's hand and sobbing.

He fought the urge to go to her, to comfort her; it was stronger than he imagined something like that could be. But this war needed to end, and whatever distant hopes he had for a future with her were dependent upon them not losing today.