And the Band Kept Playing

And the Band Kept Playing

Gazing from the hilltop over the battlefield that’s strewn with the pieces of your friends and enemies, you know that it’s hopeless. Both sides nearly wiped each other out in the first few hours of the battle, and then it came down to who had more numbers, who was stronger physically, and who was more powerful magically. Looking back, you realize there’s no way your side could win.

Hands had grabbed you during one of the struggles to rescue the captives taken during the battle and dragged you up the hill to the camp. It’s been at least three hours since that happened and still the battle isn’t over. Darkness had fallen by the time you were taken and you find yourself wishing for a wand. Yours was snapped during the fighting, accidentally trod on by a pair of rather large male feet. You seem to remember thinking it might have been Goyle, but it could have just as easily been Neville. It had been hard to see; even then, and you wish someone on this godforsaken hill would cast a Lumos, so that you wouldn’t have to see by the light of the curses what’s left of each side throws at the other.

You can understand why Voldemort allows the captives (and you were surprised to learn that there were less than you’d suspected) to walk freely around the camp. They have nowhere else to go. Were they to venture down to the battle, they’d be killed immediately, and anything worth attempting to steal is well guarded by Death eaters whom the Dark Lord deemed unnecessary in battle.

You’re well aware that Harry’s working with the last of what he’s got, and you know they won’t last much longer. Even in the dark night you can hear him mustering the troops for another run to the wounded, another volley of curses. You’re strangely reminded of the story they told you in muggle school when you were small about the sinking of the Titanic and how the band continued to play even as the ship sank.

You desperately wish for someone to talk to. You tried Ginny but she’s curled up against a tree with her head in her hands. You have a strong suspicion that every one of her brothers is dead by now, and that she watched a fair amount of them die. You wonder why you don’t care more. You wouldn’t have minded talking to Susan Bones, but she’s slit her wrists with something sharp that she found on the ground. It looks like the pieces of a wand. Someone touches your shoulder.

Bellatrix Lestrange. Or perhaps she’s going by Black seeing as her husband was killed ages ago. (You wonder in the back of your mind if Tonk’s mother is still alive. Somehow you doubt it.) “It’s New Year’s Eve,” she whispers, and you glance down and see a martini glass in her hand. “There’s a clock around here somewhere and it’ll be striking midnight soon.” You find yourself nodding and reply, “Yes, Professor Dumbledore mentioned something about hoping that the war would be over by the time a new year rolled around. That was right before someone killed him.” She laughs and tosses her lovely black hair. “You’re a funny girl, Hermione is it?” You nod again, and manage a small smile. “Well my lovely Hermione, since it is midnight, and it’s a great bloody New Year, fancy a kiss?” You taste the gin in her mouth as she pulls you in for a long (and quite nice) kiss, and somewhere, far off, you think you can hear music playing.