'And he's the best fuck that ever walked. He's beautiful - rich, in money and everything else; he's a rockstar to boot, trapped in the body of a fighter. And how he fought; at a state of turmoil with himself - somewhere inside his soul that only she...
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'Love is a doing word Fearless on my breath Gentle impulsion Shakes me makes me lighter Teardrop on the fire Fearless on my breath
Nine night of matter Black flowers blossom Fearless on my breath
Water is my eye Most faithful mirror Teardrop on the fire of a confession Fearless on my breath Most faithful mirror Fearless on my breath'
"You have fought, " said the high, cold voice, "valiantly. Lord Voldemort knows how to value bravery. Yet you have sustained heavy losses. If you continue to resist me, you will all die, one by one. I do not wish this to happen. Every drop of magical blood spilt is a loss and a waste. Lord Voldemort is merciful. I command my forces to retreat immediately. You have one hour. Dispose of your dead with dignity. Treat your injured.
I speak now, Harry Potter, directly to you. You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself. I shall wait for one hour in the Forbidden Forest. If, at the end of that hour, you have not come to me, have not given yourself up, then battle recommences. This time, I shall enter the fray myself, Harry Potter, and I shall find you, and I shall punish every last man, woman, and child who has tried to conceal you from me. One hour."
The castle was unnaturally silent.
There were no flashes of light now, no bangs, screams, or shouts.
The flagstones of the deserted entrance hall were stained with blood.
Emeralds were still scattered all over the floor, along with pieces of marble and splintered wood.
Part of the bannisters had been blown away.
In the Great Hall, the House tables were gone, and the room was crowded. The survivors stood in groups, their arms around each other's necks.
The injured were being treated upon the raised platform by Madam Pomfrey and a group of helpers.
The dead lay in a row in the middle of the Hall.
Two plain stretchers, two pale bodies.
Two dirtied pillows, two bloodied faces.
Hera sank to her knees, her chest heaving as she immediately brought her hand to her mouth to stifle her sobs.
