the last verse ; harry potter [2]

twenty nine ; husband and wife

{important A/N at the end}

Above the halted courtyard, there was no god.

It hummed the way static did: each breath held in unison, each deadened eye held toward each other in a mass of stares. Harry Potter was dead, Harry Potter was dead, Harry Potter was dead.

Above the halted courtyard, maybe they didn't need a god.

Maybe the Beauregard girls were enough, they all thought, their hands all stained with the blood of those who died tonight. The reaching bodies of Remus and Tonks, together even in death; the blank stare of Fred Weasley, the empty half of a now-broken whole. I did this, Diana thought over and over until the words were no longer words and she was only hollow, leaned against the tight grip of Aberforth Dumbledore. She was no longer struggling from his grasp. There was something freeing in this confinement.

Lord Voldemort, his eyes already flickered back to red, looked on with his Death Eaters by his side.

There was something new. Something had awakened tonight, and it wasn't just her mother.

The words still hung in the stale air: hello, Tom. They were the words of old friends together at last, though it was bitter. More like two friend meeting after leaving on bad terms.

The silence held them in its grasp. Voldemort, the almighty king, could not speak. The Death Eaters, his trusty followers, awaited their leader's instructions. There were none yet.

Aberforth loosened his grasp on the settled girl. She did not run. She was empty. Hollow.

"You didn't think I'd find her, did you? You were waiting to find her yourself," Diana called. She stood now at the head of the remaining rebels, her mother at her side. This was the way it should be. The way it should've always been.

"I surely. . ." he trailed. His crimson eyes swirled. They were burgundy now. "I was planning to, yes, but it seems you've done it for me!"

The Death Eaters laughed, even though he hadn't said anything humorous. Voldemort, his face slicked into a twisted smile, held strong once again.

"You killed him," she said quietly, weakly. Her voice carried with the whispering breeze. "You killed Harry."

"He was trying to sneak out of the castle grounds," Voldemort replied grandly. "Killed while trying to save himself!"

Diana seethed. "Tell the truth!"

Her voice shook the courtyard. Rattled their bones. The words took her back to an old memory she had watched, the one displaying young Tom Riddle being told of his powers. He had uttered the same words through his young, devious lips.

"You killed a boy for your own siege for power."

It was the woman. The stale air was electric beneath their fingertips. No one breathed, for the queen was speaking.

She took a small shuffled step forward.

"You killed a boy."

Voldemort's arms hung at his side. "I did what I had to do," he said, his voice raspy and raw. "All I have ever done was what I had to do to be great, with you at my side."

"This is not greatness," said Vera, her voice quiet, hidden. "This is tyranny."

"Is there a difference?" he shouted back. His eyes flickered to brown like a dying light bulb. His fists clenched until the sallow skin wrapped around his knuckles was white.

Diana grew red. "You half-blood," she spat, "you are no different than those you wish to rule over, Tom---"

"That is not my name!" he shouted, seething. His Death Eaters cowered. "Do you not see? Do you not see that you serve me? You foolish girl, a shame to our very name, I should kill you along with the weak boy---!"