𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐂𝐑𝐄𝐓 𝐆𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐄𝐍

❃ filthy little mudblood

❃

𝑴𝒂𝒚𝒃𝒆𝒍𝒍𝒆 𝑪𝒍𝒊𝒇𝒇𝒅𝒂𝒏𝒆

Draco's calming draught helped heal the shake in my hands as I continued to heal the wounded.

At first they were reluctant to accepting my help but soon realized I was one of the most talented healers in the room.

I was putting burn healing paste over my shoulder when Potter entered, staring down at the dead bodies with a somber expression; as though he hadn't been hit by the reality of his surroundings until he'd stepped into the room.

His coat was tattered, glasses half broken, boots covered in mud.

"May," a shaking voice was heard behind me.

"Theo?"

He immediately pulled me into a hug, "I can't do this, I want it to be over," he cried from exhaustion, pulling me into his chest.

"I know, I know," I exclaimed, "I'm so sorry, but I have a job to do, I'll be there for you when this is over, I promise," I wiped his tears with my thumbs, sitting him down on a nearby chair.

"I have one more calming draught. Would you like it?"

"No, no. Give it to George. He needs it more than I do."

"You give it to him," I placed the vial in his hands, "I'm sure he'd listen to you more than he would me."

I continued on, healing gruesome injuries, calming panic attacks, disposing of bodies.

Even as dawn approached us, the sunrise filling the bleak, crumbled hall with orange light, the death count continued to rise as high as the sun.

If it weren't for the calming draught I would've gone into a fit of hysteria. Every person I couldn't save was a blow to the heart; as though a somber song to a chalice, eventually growing so exhausted by the hymn of death the glass would shatter to pieces.

Colin Creevey was hit by a bombing curse, his arm having torn off in the blast, a chunk of brick punctured in the side of his stomach. He passed from blood loss before he was saved.

Lavender Brown had half her neck chewed off by a werewolf, making it barely thirty feet from the corridors as she collapsed onto the great hall's floor, the top of her spinal cord visible as blood spewed from the teeth marks, staining her brown pigtails and purple headband a shade of crimson red.

"How are you?" I handed Ginny Weasley a tea laced with a drop of calming draught, sitting down next to her.

"I don't know what to feel," she exclaimed, sipping her tea before laying her head on my shoulder. "If I lose one more person I don't know what I'm going to do with myself."

"I feel the same," I sighed.

"It's good of you to help these people. When we win, if we win, they shouldn't charge you. For being a death eater, I mean. I wouldn't even call you a death eater. I'd just call you a kind healer with a dark mark," she smiled softly.

"Thank you, Gin. That'd be nice, wouldn't it?" I chuckled.

People began to stare as a stampede of slow walking death eaters trudged along the main bridge, Voldemort seen in the front as he pushed dead bodies out of his way, falling into the deep water below.

We all began to make our way outside, the sorting hat in Neville's hands as he stared at the snake slithering next to The Dark Lord.

"Who is that Hagrid's carrying?" Ginny breathed shallowly, "Neville, who is it?"