Til The End

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`Til The End

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Orla Quirke had always wanted to be an Auror.

Ever since she had been a little girl, and her parents had told her of how, before she was even born, an Auror named Mundungus Fletcher had saved them from a Death Eater attack, she´d thought that the Auror Guild was the finest, most respectable profession one could possibly have.

The year she started Hogwarts, she had been fascinated by the Defense Against the Dark Arts lessons taught by Mad-Eye Moody, and the stories that Moody told, though they were frightening at best and downright blood-curdling, bone-chillingly terrifying at worse, had captivated her.

At the time when she had just started out at Hogwarts, her idol had been Roger Davies. Then a seventh year student and Prefect, Roger had been one of the most respected members of Ravenclaw House. Handsome, intelligent, a Quidditch captain, well-liked by all... she had worshipped him with the adoration of a child towards a deity since the first. And then, she had gotten to know more about him, through the brief talks that she´d had with him her first year, and also his younger friends, who mentioned him frequently. He went to join the Auror Guild too after he´d left Hogwarts.

Now, she had started training under him. Fresh out of Hogwarts, she was a new applicant to the Guild, but an extremely competent one. Having worked assiduously to attain perfect scores in her N.E.W.T.s in both Defense Against the Dark Arts and Arithmancy, she was a credit to both her house and her school.

He was somewhat different from how she´d remembered; the bright, boyishly handsome Prefect with the meditative smile had been replaced by a young man with lines around his sharp blue eyes whose voice was deeper and gruffer than she´d remembered and whose hair was often unkempt and left too long, the fringe falling into his eyes when he was still, only to be blown out of the way when he moved. And he moved like the athlete that he was: with power and certainty and speed in every step. And she found herself looking at him less as a legend, and more as an ideal. Her ideal. Something to strive towards.

She had paid diligent attention to every lesson that he´d taught her. The curses and countercurses she´d practiced on her own time, over and over again, until she had mastered them all and could perform each and every one at any given time. The physical drills... she´d been no Quidditch player like many of the rest of them; unlike her friend Emma Dobbs, she was not muscular or particularly robust in any way, but she had practiced those, too, as long as she could, until her body was worn out from exhaustion. But she had learnt them as well.

Roger noticed her eagerness and commended her, though each time he told her that she was doing an excellent job, he would sigh softly, and there would be a sorrowful look in his eyes that she noticed but could not understand. But Orla cherished his compliments like jewels, and thrived on them, out-performing herself each time.

And every evening, when training was over and she would go home, she would bid him farewell gravely, and he would always muster a smile for her before waving goodbye. And Orla knew that she was doing the right thing with her life. This was exactly where she was supposed to be.

Thus it went throughout the summer, and in August, Orla Quirke finally became an Auror, like she´d always dreamed to be.

* * *

That August, Harry insisted on accompanying Gabrielle, Anthony, Una and Fleur to Diagon Alley. These were dangerous times, and he wouldn´t be able to bear it if anything possibly happened to them. And so, the Auror went on the shopping expedition with the group of students and teacher.

Anthony and Una were Head Boy and Head Girl this year, and shopped together, as they had done the last year. Except this time, they talked, and there was no awkwardness. And Gabrielle, unoccupied with matchmaking schemes, looked for her books with a light heart, chatting with Harry about Quidditch.

The shopping expedition, thankfully for Harry, was uneventful, and when they went home in the afternoon with their books and supplies, they were in somewhat good moods. Somewhat. The calmness was like the lull before a storm.

That year would be a year of drastic change.

* * *

The term started out calmly enough. Anthony and Una went about their business: classes, Quidditch, Prefect Meetings and rounds. There was a new team captain for Hufflepuff this year: fifth year Seeker Estella Madley, sister of the Hufflepuff Prefect Laura, who had just left school. Also new was the Quidditch Commentator, Gryffindor third year Katherine Fawcett, whose sister had been in Ravenclaw.

Harry was doing well as the new Quidditch and flying instructor. The first-years had been a bit in awe of him at first; the Boy Who Lived, teaching them how to operate a broomstick. But things had been going smoothly. Harry spent a good deal of his time on the pitch, flying classes or no. It was a way for him to keep on top of things, and any... incident would certainly occur from outside.

He and Fleur made rounds twice every day to check the wards guarding the school, looking for any breaches. So far, there had been nothing suspicious, and the wards had remained untouched. But Harry never let his guard down. The information that had been given to them had come straight from the mouth of Voldemort.

It would be very soon. Very, very soon. He could feel it.

* * *

In mid-November, Ravenclaw and Slytherin faced off in the first Quidditch game of the season. Una and Anthony shook hands in the center of the pitch, and then took to the air, facing each other with their teams behind them. Harry Potter, green eyes alert, released the bludgers and Snitch, and then threw the Quaffle into the air.

The game had only barely begun when there was an unnatural-sounding crash, followed by a scream of an animal somewhere in the Forbidden Forest.

This was wrong. There were no screams... not during the day. Una, who had just entered the scoring area of the Slytherin goals with the Quaffle, gave Anthony a look, and the Slytherin Keeper shot forward on his broomstick towards the Commentator stands. Grabbing the magical megaphone from Fawcett´s hands, he bellowed in imperious tones, "Students, GET INSIDE THE CASTLE! Team, make sure that everyone gets in the castle as fast as possible! NOW!"

His team, confused, but having enough experience to know that that tone of voice meant business, started circling the pitch, making sure that no one was left behind as the teachers and older students ushered the younger ones inside. Una nodded towards her team, and the Ravenclaws joined the Slytherins in ushering the students in.

Most of the teachers went indoors as well, as the Quidditch teams dismounted and entered the castle at a run. Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, and Harry remained outside, and as Harry captured the Quidditch balls, the Transfiguration professor changed the chest into a makeshift fireplace, with the Quidditch equipment as wood. An Incendio and a sprinkling of floo powder, and Roger Davies´ face appeared in the flames. Harry merely spoke, "It´s time."

Davies´ face disappeared, and the fireplace once again turned to the Quidditch chest, charred and ruined. A Banishing Charm and it was sent to the broom shed. There was a harsh, grating sound, and then a bang. The air filled with the crackle of dark magic, and the wards around the school gave way.

Anthony and Una, flying side by side, saw the great doors of the castle shut. They were still outside.

And as the fighters on both sides emerged onto the field, they flew as quickly as they could to the small, open window of the Astronomy Tower.

This was it. The Apocalypse had arrived.

* * *

Flying faster and harder than they´d ever flown before, Anthony and Una entered the castle through the window of the Astronomy Tower, and jumped off their brooms as soon as they were completely inside. Whipping out their wands, they fired the Charms that they had learnt, and sealed the little window shut behind them. Dropping their broomsticks on the ground, they ran across the room to the door.

The students were several flights below. They must be kept safe. At any and all costs. Anthony Weston threw the door open and dashed out, pausing for a brief moment as Una ran out as well, right at his heels. Together, they sealed that door, and hand-in-hand, minds filled with one thought, to do anything they could to keep everyone safe, they ran down the first flight of stairs from the Astronomy Tower.

The steps shook, though Anthony was not sure if it was with their thundering, quick steps, or with the sounds of battle going on outside. There were screams that could penetrate even Hogwarts´ walls, and he knew full-well that there would fall blood and tears to stain the field today. Una was panting slightly, her hand clutched tightly in his. Her eyes were wide, and he could see fear in them.

The ones in the black Death Eater robes out there were out for blood... blood like hers. Blood that he had, once upon a time, scorned as well. But her mouth was set firmly, and her chin was up. She knew as well as he did that they had a duty to fulfill, the same duty, the one that they´d both accepted with the silver badges that they had received over the summer.

"Come on, let´s go... three more flights of stairs," she breathed out. He nodded, and they continued to run down the stairs together, as the screams and curses continued outside.

Another flight of stairs, and they paused for a brief moment to catch their breaths. Anthony looked at Una, who was leaning slightly against the wall, her brown hair tangled from the wind and damp with sweat from their running. Her face was flushed, the same way as it would be just after he kissed her, but her expression was far more grim and dire. Looking at her, he made a quick, impulsive decision, but one that he was certain that he would never regret.

She had caught her breath, and was just about to continue on, when Anthony pulled her back, and looked at her with serious eyes. "Wait... Una, just one moment."

She paused, and looked at him expectantly. And in an instant, he pulled something small and blue from his pocket, something that he´d kept for several years. It glittered even in the dark landing of the stairs, like a cerulean star. It was a sapphire brooch in the shape of a rose, and it had been Charisse´s. He´d found it in her room, shortly after her death, and taken it. Everything else had been destroyed.

Una´s breath caught in her throat, but before she could say anything, he spoke, his voice low, hurried, urgent, and she leaned forward to hear it over the sounds of battle still going on all around them.

"Una... I love you. If we both come out of this alive, marry me someday. I want to spend however much longer we both have to live with you."

The words were rushed, unpracticed, and gruff. There was no romantic candlelight or glimmering starlight. He was not down on one knee, and the world was in turmoil. The only light came from their eyes, and the only warmth came from their hearts, and their clasped hands. But he was sincere. She blinked back her tears, and a smile broke out over the fear on her face. She nodded, and pinned the brooch to her robes, next to her badge, and he drew her into his arms for a quick, profound kiss, a moment of sweetness in the middle of a blood-splattered world. She kissed him back, feverishly, and, both of them feeling better, they continued down the rest of the stairs together.

They reached the Great Hall a few minutes later, where the students were huddled together. The first years were grouped, regardless of houses, together in a mass, some crying, clinging to each other. Michael Arlington was holding tightly to the hand of Hope Doyle, his Hufflepuff girlfriend. Gabrielle and the other Prefects were trying to calm down as many students as they could, despite the fact that they, too, were terrified. And with an unspoken agreement, Anthony Weston and Una Markham stationed themselves together at the door, and, along with a white-faced, tight-lipped Fleur Delacour-Weasley, cast one ward after another to encircle them all. They did not know what would happen, but they would do anything they could, to make sure that all of them would be able to walk out of the chaos alive.

* * *

As the students clung to each other inside and prayed for safety, the world outside was being torn apart, as the Dark and the Light engaged in a death-grapple the likes of which had not been seen for centuries.

Walden Macnair, most impulsive amongst the Death Eaters, had rushed forward, a maniacal glint in his eyes behind the mask, at Draco Malfoy. The "traitor", gray eyes cold, had faced him, undaunted, and just as Macnair had been about to cast the Killing Curse on the blond man, Jing-Li, with a look of fierce hatred in her dark eyes, had whipped out a dagger from seemingly nowhere, and the silvery blade was a blur, flying forward, until it had buried itself in the Death Eater´s chest with a sickening hiss. That had been the first casualty on the field.

Draco and Jing-Li found themselves fighting back-to-back, protecting themselves and each other as screams of rage and pain filled the air around them. Aurors young and old dueled and battled Death Eaters, and in the very center of the Quidditch pitch, Harry Potter and Albus Dumbledore faced the Dark Lord.

There was a cry, and a thud. Mundungus Fletcher, one of the most experienced of the Aurors, fell to the ground, dead, as Erasmus Parkinson hit him with the Killing Curse. In another part of the field, Orla Quirke saw the hero of her family fall, and her eyes widened in sadness, before she turned back to the task of dueling with Xavier Bulstrode.

Roger Davies was fighting two Death Eaters at once, and somehow, managing to keep both Demetrius Avery and Edmund Mulciber at bay. Finally, he managed to bring both of them down, and was just about to turn and face Nigel Parkinson when a cry of `Avada Kedavra!´ caused him to turn sharply for an instant. And he watched in a stunned sort of sadness as Severus Snape fell before the wand of Augustus Rookwood. The spy killed by the spy.

The moment´s distraction proved to be a grave mistake.

Desmond and Regan Lestrange had always been first and foremost amongst the Death Eaters. The two were faithful, cunning, and merciless. They had been responsible for some of the most horrific acts of all the Death Eaters, and had been in Azkaban, lying in ruthless wait for the return of Voldemort to power. Regan Lestrange was a woman of terrible beauty, like a goddess of war, slaying everyone in her path. Now, she smiled cruelly through blood-red lips, and pointed her wand at Roger. "STUPEFY!"

The Death Eater couple smiled heartlessly, and Desmond Lestrange waved his wand. Ropes shot out of seemingly nowhere, and bound Roger tightly. The Lestranges then turned then towards Orla Quirke, who was rushing over towards Roger, wand drawn, intent on setting him free. And before Orla could do anything, the Lestranges both pointed their wands at her.

"Imperio!"

And as Roger watched with wide, horrified eyes, Regan Lestrange, in a horrifyingly, perversely elegant, graceful movement, drew a cruel, sharp-looking dagger from a sheath on her belt, and handed it to a dazed-looking Orla Quirke.

The female Death Eater smiled her chilling, sadistic smile once again, and spoke in Orla´s ear, but loud enough for Roger to hear.

"Kill him!"

Orla walked forward slowly, her face blank and expressionless; the knife, its steel blade gleaming harshly in the sunlight, in her hand.

And time slowed to a nauseating crawl.