ruins ; harry potter [1]

forty two ; the end of the beginning

Dumbledore is dead.

It was all she could think about. She and Harry were ushered to the hospital wing by Ginny, but Diana was not listening to whatever she was telling them.

Dumbledore is dead.

The hospital wing was crowded with familiar faces, but none eased the pain inside of her now. Neville, asleep, was laying on top of one of the beds near the door. Ron, Hermione, Luna, Tonks, and Lupin were gathered around a bed in one of the far corners of the wing. When they heard the doors opening, they looked up.

Hermione launched herself at Harry and Diana respectively, but Diana could not bring herself to hug back. Her arms were made of lead and her skull throbbed as her eyes were glued to the figure in the bed, injured and bandaged.

Dumbledore is dead.

It was Bill, his face grotesque and gory, and Madam Pomfrey was dabbing his face with a harsh-smelling potion. He was attacked by a werewolf. For a fleeting moment, Diana almost felt a sliver of joy for torturing Fenrir.

Diana had not been listening to their conversation, but the words tumbled out of her mouth on her own.

"Dumbledore is dead."

She did not listen to Harry explain how Snape murdered Dumbledore in cold blood. She walked to the window, facing the forest that was now being illuminated by the rising sun, the orange glowing against the burnt remnants of Hagrid's hut and the swaying branches of the Whomping Willow.

She had never felt more alone.

She was the only one left. The only one who knew that Snape was no villain, the only one who knew how dangerous the world will really be now. She was alone, and never before had she felt so tormented by that fact.

McGonagall joined them some time later, and she, too, indignantly shouted about the wickedness of Severus Snape. They all called him a traitor, evil, and they were all thinking how Dumbledore was a fool for trusting him.

Diana wanted to shout. She didn't. Diana wanted to scream and cry. She didn't. She only blindly looked out of the window, her back to the others, her mind somewhere far, far from where they were standing.

She did not jump like the others when the door burst open and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley came rushing in, closely followed by a terrified Fleur. She did not listen as they were told Dumbledore was dead, and she did not listen as they cried over Bill Weasley and the fallen headmaster.

Dumbledore is dead.

She did not jump when the door was pushed open again and Hagrid waddled inside, sniffling and weeping loudly.

Later on, she only vaguely heard McGonagall say something to her, and she was being pulled by the arm out of the wing and into the corridor.

Harry stood beside her, and McGonagall peered at them both.

"I would like to know what you two and Professor Dumbledore were doing this evening when you left the school."

Harry answered something, but she could only hear like she was underwater and listening to something outside.

The conversation began to get heated, and Diana's voice, quiet and flat, interrupted them.

"We cannot tell you where we were," she said. "If you've ever trusted me, trust me now."

McGongall said nothing else and nodded, ushering them back into the hospital wing and setting off for somewhere else.

Dumbledore is dead, and I am alone.

++

Suddenly, it was the next day. She didn't sleep. Ginny and Hermione quietly come to her room and helped her to the shower and helped pick out a dress, and they grabbed each of her hands as they walked outside to the lake, where white chairs and flowers had been set up. Diana recognized many of the faces, and some tried to say hello. She said nothing to them. They sat in the front row. She was right next to Harry, and he slipped his hand in hers.

She stepped up to the marble tomb, which was open, with Dumbledore sleeping inside. His robes were a brilliant blue with golden stars, and his spectacles perched perfectly on the bridge of his nose.

She touched his hand. It was cold.

"Please don't leave me," she whispered. "Please don't go. . ."

But he didn't answer, and she didn't expect him to. She floated back to her seat mindlessly, and Harry once again slipped his hand in hers.

Later, people milled around the grassy grounds, talking and mourning and drinking firewhiskey and champagne.

"The locket was a fake," said Harry quietly. "Someone else had stolen it before us."

At this point, Diana couldn't find it in her to be surprised.

"We'll find them," he whispered to her, giving her hand a squeeze. "We'll find the Horcruxes, and we'll destroy him."

She wasn't thinking when she leaned her head onto his shoulder and gripped his hand tighter.

"I'm so tired, Harry," she whispered. Her voice cracked.

He leaned his head on hers.

"I know," he breathed back. "I am too."

There, sitting with each other at the funeral of their only parent, they were not alone. Maybe they felt like it, maybe they felt so alone and empty that they thought they could die from the pain, but they weren't.

Together, they were going to find the Horcruxes and destroy them. Together, they were going to kill Tom Riddle. Together, they were going to make Dumbledore proud of them, and they were going to give their friends the lives that they always deserved.

Together, they will figure out Vera Beauregard's secrets, and they were going to avenge Sirius Black and Cedric Diggory and Harry's parents and Dumbledore and all the people who have been lost, because if they didn't do it, they didn't know who will.

Together, they were going to win the war that they were born to fight.

Together, they will destroy Lord Voldemort like he destroyed them.