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Summary: Vignette. First reactions to the end of war. Dark and depressing imagery warning.

Categories Author Rating Chapters Words Recs Reviews Hits Published Updated Complete
Harry Potter > Non-BtVS/AtS StoriesEllandrahSylverFR1316250165810 Apr 0510 Apr 05Yes

Rating, PG for dark themes

All thing Harry Potter are the property of J.K. Rowling And other legal proprietors who are not me. I'm borrowing them for entertainment purposes and mean no harm.

This not a happy little ficlet. You have been warned.


As post war battlefields go, this one wasn’t so unusual. Bodies littered the landscape, survivors moved as if their limbs were made of lead. An unearthly silence blanketed the scene, reinforcing itself with the sheer weight of the horror behind it. Slowly, realization dawned on the warriors. It was over. Though there were remnants left of each side, it was indisputably over. The Dark Lord was dead. Albus Dumbledore was dead. Many others were dead. Amid the carnage, one boy stood silently, his eyes hollow, his body numb. He had done it. He had killed the monster who had murdered his parents. In the back of his mind lingered the nagging thought that he should be happy about it. He couldn’t bring himself to be happy, however. The price of this fight was much too high for him to be happy. He stared at the bodies at his feet, and tears welled in his emerald eyes.

Remus Lupin. The only link he’d had left to his parents…to Sirius. The closest thing he had left to a real parent. The werewolf lay, still curled protectively around a young woman who was just as dead. Hermione Granger. The most intelligent girl he had ever known. Sprawled nearby, another precious link to the only time he’d ever been truly happy. Ronald Weasley, flame red hair nearly obscuring sightless blue eyes.

As the young man stared at the remains of the only real family he’d ever had, tears streaming unchecked down his ravaged face, two of the other survivors stepped up to flank him. A choked cry escaped the girl to his left just before she buried her face in his chest. One of his arms wrapped around her automatically, purely on instinct. The other figure placed a gentle hand on his shoulder, wordlessly offering the consolation that would not pass his lips. The touch broke through the numbness, and the Man Who Lived Again broke down, pulling the two bodies into a tight, desperate embrace as harsh, racking sobs shook his thin frame. The three of them sank to the ground, each overcome with grief at their individual losses.

They stayed that way for an indistinct time, comforting one another and grieving together. As the crepuscular light of nightfall gradually darkened, giving way to the rising moon, they rocked slowly together, harsh sobs giving way to shuddering moans and sharp sudden coughs of lingering pain. So caught in their mutual misery were they that none moved as each finally fell into exhausted slumber there, on top of a hillock, in the middle of the field of the worst battle in the history of wizard kind.

When the harsh light of day broke once more over the field, it found the three of them twined together like children, slumbering in the comfort of each others’ touch. For a brief moment, the scene appeared peaceful…serene. Then, almost as one, the three survivors woke. They spoke not a word to one another, simply gazing into the war torn souls of fellow refugees of several lifetimes’ worth of horrors. Eyes…silver, emerald, cinnamon…all reflected what they had seen, and the ghosts of all they had lost.

After several moments, three pairs of eyes turned away, followed by bodies that moved with a somnambulistic quality. Then, without a word between them, they left, each in a different direction. They had not spoken to one another, and they never would. They had survived. The war was over.

The End

You have reached the end of "Aftershock". This story is complete.

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