Comedy and Tragedy

They circled 'round and 'round the Death Eaters, as vultures descend upon their prey. The sky was an odd shade of iron, where the horizon glowed brightly but the sky was grey.

The Death Eaters held their heads high proudly, necks stiff with centuries of pride and regal bearing. They sneered at the children who surrounded them, groping for wands that were not there.

The children adorned masks in mockery of those the Death Eaters wore. The servants of Voldemort wore polished, steely grey masks, smooth and angular and flawless. The students' were crude, painted white, with black down turned mouths and onyx streaks splashed vertically across the eye holes.

"Hello, Lucius," asked the shortest child softly, politely. The mass of brown wire falling over the edges of the mask betrayed her identity; it was Hermione Granger, genius of Hogwarts. "I would ask how you're doing, Mister Malfoy, but I can see that things aren't going too well for you."

"How very insightful of you, Miss Granger," smirked Lucius, staring straight into her mask. She tilted her head, the eyes of Tragedy boring holes into his head.

"I suppose," drawled a very bored Rabastan Lestrange, "You're going to interrogate us? Or perhaps just Crucio us until we talk? You needn't bother, we have nothing to say to you."

"No," said another masked face, a tall black boy. "Nothing like that. We just have one question for you. That's all." The children moved closer, tightening the circle, craning their necks forward as they waited for the Death Eaters to respond.

"And what might that be?" asked MacNair lazily, managing to lean insolently to one side despite his bindings. "Our Master's whereabouts? His final plans? I'm sorry to be the bearer of bad tidings, but I'm afraid we couldn't tell you."

"That's not what we wanted to ask," stated Ron Weasley behind his pitted mask. His voice was the epitome of civility, unnerving some of the Death Eaters.

"We have but a simple questions, sirs," added another voice, almost eagerly. The long, wispy blonde hair and flash of silver behind the eye holes named her Luna Lovegood.

"Just one," continued another red head, once held captive by their Lord. "And then the Aurors can have you," finished Ginny Weasley. There were other students as well; the canary-blonde hair of Longbottom and the dark plait of hair reminiscent of the girls of the Bones family stood out amoung others. A pale, skinny head filled with wild dusky hair stood between Hermione and Ron.

"Well then," proclaimed Lucius in mock joviality, refusing to show any fear towards the ragged tribe of children, "let's have it!"

Hermione stepped forward, moving her face up to stare into Lucius' cold one. "What will you do, Mister Malfoy," she asked quietly, "to gain absolution?"

Lucius blinked, not quite comprehending the question. "Absolution?" he echoed blankly. "Absolution for what?"

"For everything you've done, Lucius," murmured Harry's quiet voice. "Everything your friends and yourself have done."

"Yes," chorused two girls with black hair, voices identical. "What will you do for forgiveness? We're curious."

"Everything we've done has been for the good of the Wizarding World. No, Lucius, let me speak," snarled Jugson, ignoring Lucius' outflung arm. "We're keeping our bloodlines pure. We have not done anything wrong!"

Luna shook her head sadly, her thin blonde locks swaying against the edge of her mask. "You must give penance, Mister Jugson," she said softly. "You must pray for pardon."

"We should ask for the leniency of those below us?" chortled Rodolphus. "For disinfecting the impure bloodlines? I think not. We will not ask for clemency of mudbloods and half-bloods and blood-traitors."

"You must," said Hermione, reproach mixing with sorrow in her voice.

Lucius sneered. "Never."

"You MUST!" she thundered, and Lucius jumped as her mask contorted in fury before settling into a hollow-eyed grin, the black smile of Comedy taunting him. All the students' masks smirked at the Death Eaters, their dead, sunken eyes ridiculing them. They advanced one step.

"You must ask for reprieve," said the tall black boy- Dean, was that his name? "You must make payment for what you did."

"What you did is wrong," added Susan Bones persistently. "You have to ask for forgiveness."

"Enough of this," grumbled Lucius, angry at being shaken by the masks. "This is sheer idiocy. We will not ask for anything."

Hermione looked down at her feet, then looked back up at his face. "You don't even remember the faces, do you?" she questioned softly. "What they looked like?"

"Why should I remember a person of filthy blood?" he sneered. She blinked, and then put her hands around the darkly-grinning mask.

In one swift motion, every student removed their masks, facing their enemies with bare faces. They cast their masks on the ground, the faces grinning woodenly at the grey sky.

"Will you remember ours?" demanded Neville childishly. The determination flashing across his eyes belied his otherwise eerily calm demeanour. "Will ours stick with you?"

"One does not heed minor annoyances," shot back MacNair.

"Will you still not ask for peace?" asked Harry, his face drawn and sad. He seemed to be a distant reverberation of his normal self- old and decrepit, merely seeking quiet in his final days. The ghost of the war haunted him, chased him, and all he wanted was for some finality in his life. He was only sixteen, but a thousand years of warfare rode on his back, and it was beginning to show. Wisdom came at a great price.

"Maybe you should see their faces again," said Ron, rubbing his jaw. "Maybe that would help you remember what you've done." The dark circles around his eyes proved that Harry wasn't the only one suffering, the only one permanently changed and scarred from years of running and mere survival at times.

"I suppose you'll summon their ghosts," snapped Lucius scornfully, "Or do you have a Pensieve stuffed up your sleeve?"

Hermione studied them, no expression crossing her weary, ashen face. Her puffy eyes and raw hands bespoke of pain, of joy taken away by warfare and happiness stripped by a loss of innocence. She moved her hands to cup her face before her ears, the other students following suit.

And with a sudden jerk, she yanked her face off.

Casting her mask on the ground, she looked back up into the eyes of Lucius Malfoy. He blanched. Hermione Granger was not looking at him anymore.

Marlene McKinnon stared back into his face. Her eyes, cobalt blue instead of Hermione's sable ones drilling into his head.

"What will you do for my child, Lucius?" she asked, a voice deeper and more honeyed that Hermione's slightly scratchy one. "Will you provide for him, since I cannot?"

"Will you protect my brothers and sisters, MacNair?" boomed the voice of Benjy Fenwick from behind Harry's glasses. "Will you shelter them from the coming war?"

"Can you protect my children?" cried Dorcas Meadows, tears streaming into Ginny's robes. "Can you keep them safe, keep them happy? Can you shield my husband? My mother?"

Dean stumbled to the ground, sobbing. "Will you tell my son about me?" he screamed, Patrick Thomas' face twisting in anger. "Will you teach him everything? Can you show him what a father's love is since you have denied me that right?"

The Death Eaters stood horrified as the faces of their victims surrounded them, screaming at them, begging them to shelter their children and loved one. On the ground, the masks of the students stared at them, asking them to pray for forgiveness. The masks' quiet voices mingled with the loud requests of dead victims, whispers of the past brought into the light.

Their faces, fixed on the bodies of the next generation, stared with differing emotions. The children put their hands to their faces again, and with a savage motion, they ripped those masks off. Now the faces were bloody, ripped, pain and terror in their eyes. They were the faces of the Death Eaters' victims in their final moments of anguish, as they died. Blood tribbled down their faces, skin hanging off, facial features often hanging on by a thread.

"WILL YOU SAVE THOSE WE LOVE FROM THIS?!" they demanded, blood mixing with tears. The masks all began to wail now, save those of the faces of comedy. They merely laughed in wicked glee, and all the eyes turned to the Death Eaters, who were now vomiting and stifling their own cries. Louder and louder, the bloodied faces of the victims screamed in horror, pain, and anger, crying for retribution and vengeance, and for the love of those lost to them. They wailed, asking to come back, to live again, to have all the things denied to them. The students ripped off mask after mask, forcing the Death Eaters to face all their victims, every life lost at their hand. As each mask was discarded, it fell to the ground screeching.

One by one, the Death Eaters fell. They tore through their bindings, but could not escape the faces of the students. In desperation, they clawed at their eyes, their ears, trying to rend the sight and sound of their victims. The faces, the masks, continued to scream and sob until every Death Eater stopped thrashing, victims of their own past. Eventually, every mask fell silent, save the masks of Comedy, who continued to chuckle in rich darkness.

The children flung off their last mask, letting their own faces breathe. They walked away together, no words spoken.


Hours later, Aurors arrived on the scene. They wept at the sight of mangled bodies; the very ground seemed to be soaked in blood and madness.

And they never understood the meaning of the masks scattered everywhere, Tragedy and Comedy staring silently into the sky.

Fin