ruins ; harry potter [1]

twenty ; the second war begins

Wind caressed her face softly, her cheeks tinged pink from walking and her hands shoved in the pockets of her sweatshirt. Her wand was where it always was now: the inside pocket that she had sewn into her black zip-up sweatshirt, hidden from all. It was reassuring to her to feel it against her rib cage, a vice to hold on to when she was saddest. Or when she was the most scared.

It had been two weeks since Sirius Black died, and two weeks that she had finalized her death. She had received a letter from Harry, apologizing. He said he didn't hate her, and that he understood. He knew her loyalties would always be with the Order, and he told her that. She had written letters to Ron, Ginny, Hermione, Luna, and Neville to explain. Luna was the only one to reply so far. Luna told her that as long as Diana didn't kill her, she was alright. And that they were friends, and Luna understood. She was still awaiting letters from the others still, but she often wondered if she should even bother waiting anymore.

She opened the door to the Hog's Head, said a hello to Aberforth and made her way up to the room she had been staying in since the night in the Department of Mysteries. The Extended bag she had gotten from Dumbledore lay completely packed on her bed, ready for any time she might need to leave in a hurry. She decided that from then on she was going to carry it with her everywhere. She could never be too safe. Not in times like these.

The sound of fabric shifting behind her made her jump and whip out her wand in the blink of an eye. She rounded on the intruder at once, but when she saw it was only Dumbledore sitting in the tattered, moth-eaten lounge chair in the corner she dropped her arm. "I'm sorry," she said, pocketing her wand and taking a seat on the end of her bed. "You scared me. You can't sneak up on me like that."

He chuckled and idly twisted the end of his beard around his finger. His hand had already gotten blacker since the last time she saw him a few days ago; the Gaunt ring gleamed from his ring finger in the bright light streaming in from the window. "I apologize, Diana. Next time, I'll warn you."

"How's your hand?" she asked him. She watched him glance down at it, his face considerably more exhausted and withered since just a few weeks ago. He looked severely older than he did just a little while ago, and seeing Dumbledore so much more frail unnerved her. She didn't like seeing the invincible old man so not invincible.

"Never better," he joked with a chuckle. "Severus' potion is helping considerably, but I'm old. It was only a matter of time before something were to happen to me."

The seconds ticked by with bitter silence that Diana hated. She wanted to say something, but there was just nothing to say. The clock on the wall ticked loudly in her ears, and it seemed to echo through the room.

It was a painful reminder of just how little time she had left. Probably a year, maybe more until she knew her time would be up. But at least she knew it would be for a good cause: Harry deserved to live much more than she did. As long as he lived, she would be happy.

"How are you, Diana?" Dumbledore asked lightly, peering deep into her eyes to get a shred of what she was feeling. Anger. Despair. Fear.

She scoffed humorlessly and rolled her eyes. "Does it even matter?" she asked bitterly. "Does it even matter how I feel? I'm going to die. My father is back and the second war is starting. How the hell to you think I feel, Albus? I have nothing. I am nothing."

The silence was once again deafening, but shorter this time.

"I'm sorry, Diana. I'm so sorry."

"Yea, well, me too," she said quietly. She decided to change the subject. "Who's getting the new Defense Against the Dark Arts job?"

He paused, about to press the last subject, but he decided against it. "Severus will be the new Defense teacher. I need to contact an old Potions teacher, Horace Slughorn, about coming back to teach. He'll take some special persuasion, though."

She decided to bring up the inevitable conversation that she had been avoiding for so long.

"You and I both know Voldemort ordered Malfoy to kill you."

He sighed and closed his eyes, pinching the bridge of his nose in a moment of vulnerability. "How did you know?" he asked.

"I had a hunch."

He nodded. "You're much smarter than everyone else seems to think you are," he said with a chuckle. He had said the same thing to her all those months ago when he met her at the hospital. That felt like a whole other lifetime.

"I won't be able to do this without you, Albus."

"Yes, you can. You'll have too."

With that, he stood slowly from the chair and began toward the door. He halted before reaching the door and turned to say one last thing before he left. "The both of us may not have much time left in this world, but the least we can do is make it a good last run. Don't throw the last of your life away to sadness. The world will need you to be strong. Harry will need you to be strong."

He turned the doorknob and left. The click of the door shutting sounded so loud in the brutal silence, and Diana twirled a piece of string that hung from the frayed seam of her jacket sleeve.

She knew that things were going to get worse. The days already seemed darker now that everyone knew Voldemort had returned. She had lost her friends, her family, and she had lost the shred of hope she had left.

But she did know one thing: she was going to give Voldemort hell until her last breath.