The hallowed halls of Hogwarts were stained with burn marks, blood, sweat and tears, from the curses and spells, the remains of those who had fallen at the expense of the Dark Lord. Their cries of pain and agony, their bravery and courage, were all in vain.

We had lost, I witnessed it myself, Harry Potter was dead, our leader fallen in a flash of green light brighter then the sun. His lifeless body had hit the ground, the stars above us seemed to twinkle as if they were dancing a dance of sorrow, the stars seem to cry, their celestial beauty, falling to the ground as if to bless the battle field of the fallen and to protect our bodies so that we to could have a peaceful slumber.

I tried to get up, to continue fighting. It couldn't be over,I simply wouldn't let it be over, after all the sacrifices that we had made, the fights that we had won and those we lost, it just couldn't be over, What about our spirit? It couldn't be crushed like this. Wasn't good always supposed to win? Weren't we supposed to come through in the end? I silently wept along with the stars over head. This was it, no matter how hard I tried my body refused to obey my command. The pain sered though my nerves, erupting and spreading.
Blood ran down my face from one of my many cuts.

The crimson liquid drooled down my face into eyes, obscuring my vision. The once vibrant vivid colorful world now reduced to a dark dreary color, extinguishing my own spirit to fight. It was futile, my own body was rejecting any possibility of victory, but my mind rejected the realization of defeat. All that was left was resolve; my resolve to fight, that was now dwindling too, soon I wouldn't even have that. I laid my head down, and glanced at the dark weeping skies, I wondered if there was any room for me up in the sea of stars? I took a deep breath and let it out, letting my body relax, finally accept defeat.

This was it. In my final moments, I would be spent on the battle field. In the farthest corner of my mind I thought heard a piano, it's melody seemed to echo though out the battle field, the chords easing the pain of defeat and death, as if trying to send a message that it was alright to die; that we had done our jobs and it wouldn't hurt.. I felt the cold hands of death sweep across the battle field, zeroing into where I lay.

At any other time I would have been scared, but for now I was to tired to be scared. I let deaths cold dry hands wash over me. The piano in the back of my mind slowing it's song, the last few chords stayed in my ear, refusing to leave as to make my final moments better; as if the computer put a fermata to mask the sound of the violence, the agony and the suffering. My last thought, a fleeting hope, was that maybe we hadn't lost and that one day this barren battle field would see a brighter day.


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