SALEM ᵈ ᵐᵃˡᶠᵒʸ

xxiv. Revolution

THE march back to the castle felt like the longest walk of my life. It didn't help that my legs threatened to give out under me with every step I took.

Voldemort had ordered Bellatrix to keep a careful watch on me, doing so by grabbing a fistful of the back of my collar with a wand jabbed at my back.

On the other hand, Harry. . .his corpse bore a heavy weight in Hagrid's arms—Voldemort's punishment for him. The shock of it all hasn't hit me yet, unlike the half-giant, who was trying to muffle his whimpers as he carried him.

I was just so drained and tired, I wanted nothing more than to just lie on the ground and never move again; even worse, getting closer and closer to the castle didn't help push that feeling away at all.

My lips were cracked and my throat raw from all the screaming I had done. No doubt my clothes were dirtied and bloodied up even more than they had been.

We marched on until we were finally out of the forest. A faint glow lit on the horizon, vibrant against the grey and colorless stone walls and debris that surrounded the courtyard of the castle. It was coming from the Entrance Hall.

"Stop," Voldemort ordered.

The sounds of boots against stone hated immediately, every single Death Eater surrounding the only exit out of the castle, forming a barrier of solid black.

Bellatrix painfully forced me down to my knees with a gleeful snicker and roughly pressed her wand under my chin for emphasis. A punching bag—that was what I am to be. 

I let out a steadying breath against the choking point of her wand, not having the energy to even thrash against her.

Voldemort and the Death Eaters waited, me with them, for someone to emerge from the hall; to see what had been done.

Every second felt like hell as I knelt on the ground uselessly, dread circulating in my veins. It seemed like hours later when the first cry came, and it didn't prepare me for what was about to come.

"NO!" The scream was so terrible and haunting, filled with so much anguish that it made me shut my eyes tightly.

I didn't want to see it; McGonagall—a witch who was always so strong-willed—fall apart at the sight of Harry's dead body or my own held captive by a lunatic.

More voices came, along with more people. Just this once, I dared my eyes to see.

"No! Margo!"

"No!"

"Harry! HARRY!"

Ron, Hermione and Ginny's screams were so much worse than McGonagall's, especially as they were combined with Ruby and Ernie's. The five of them pushed their way to the front with the others, sobbing and yelling at the sight of us vulnerable and dead in the wrong side.

My breathing was staggered now and I bit my tongue hard. I wanted to call out to them, to assure them, but I'm certain that my eyes would start watering before I even uttered a word out.

I had to appear strong. For them—and for my mother, who was being held back by Mr. Weasley as she cried once more, having to witness that not only she had lost her husband, but might lose her only daughter too.

And that was so close; too close to my breaking point that I had to look away quickly, my eyes burning.

"MARGO!"

But it was that scream of my name that hammered the wall and burst the dam completely.

I didn't bother hiding a shameful sob as I watched Draco run and shove his way through the crowd, only to be held back by Ruby and Ernie as they grasped his arms tightly.