𝟕𝟐 - 𝓣𝓱𝓮 𝓔𝓭𝓰𝓮 𝓸𝓯 𝓤𝓼

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The war had turned Hogwarts into a battlefield unlike anything I had ever imagined, and as I moved through the Great Hall, ducking beneath spells that tore through stone and shattered glass, dodging hexes that whizzed past my ear, I realized that there was no longer a clear front, no true safe haven—only the fight itself.

The air was thick with smoke and fire, the scent of blood and destruction clinging to my skin, the walls groaning under the weight of explosions that sent stone and wood raining down like shrapnel, and yet there was no time to stop, no time to think, no time to let the panic clawing at my chest take hold. There was only survival.

Through the chaos, I caught sight of Percy, his face streaked with dirt and sweat, but his wand was unwavering, his every spell landing with sharp precision, his movements fueled by something more than just the instinct to survive—there was a fury in him, an anger that burned through his exhaustion, pushing him forward with relentless determination as he fought against the Death Eaters who pressed toward him.

One of them lunged, his wand raised, his lips forming the incantation for a deadly curse, but Percy was faster, his voice ringing out sharply over the battle as he spun, flicking his wand toward his attacker and sending him crashing backward into a pile of broken stone.

Further across the hall, Kingsley fought with the same measured precision that made him one of the finest Aurors of his time, his movements fluid, effortless, his spells controlled and deadly. Even in the midst of chaos, he remained unshaken, his deep voice cutting through the noise as he countered a Killing Curse with a golden shield charm that absorbed the blow before rebounding toward the enemy who had cast it, sending him flying across the hall with a force that left him motionless before he hit the ground. Kingsley's wand never wavered as he turned, already preparing for the next attack, his body moving with the ease of a man who had spent his life in battle and knew that hesitation meant death.

And then, near the entrance of the Great Hall, standing with her wand raised high, her face set in a mask of unyielding defiance, was Minerva, her torn robes billowing around her as she commanded the enchanted suits of armor that lined the walls, her voice ringing with a strength that sent them crashing forward.

But she wasn't done—her wand slashed through the air once more, her command sharp and unwavering, and above us, the stone gargoyles that had once stood watch over the castle tore themselves free from their perches, their wings snapping open as they swooped down into the fray, their stone claws raking through the enemy ranks as shrieks of fear echoed across the battlefield.

For a moment, I thought we had gained ground, that perhaps the tide was shifting in our favor, but then I saw them—Tonks and Remus, fighting side by side near the shattered staircase, their spells intertwining, their movements synchronized in a way that could only come from years of trust, of knowing each other so well that words were unnecessary.

Remus was precise, his every spell calculated, his defenses impenetrable, his wand cutting through the air with deadly efficiency, while Tonks was unpredictable, her magic wild and powerful, each attack coming from a different angle, her energy seemingly boundless despite the exhaustion creeping into all of us.

The battle had consumed Hogwarts, turning its once grand corridors into a war-torn maze of destruction and chaos. Flames licked at the edges of tapestries, stone walls groaned under the weight of dark magic, and the very foundation of the castle trembled as spell after spell struck against it.

I heard something else.

A whimper.

It was faint, barely audible over the chaos, but enough to make me stop in my tracks. My heart pounded against my ribs as I turned sharply, my wand raised, my eyes scanning the shadows cast by the flickering flames. At first, I saw nothing—just the broken remnants of what had once been a hallway filled with laughter and the hurried footsteps of students rushing to class.

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