The few that remained in the building that had been the stronghold of Voldemort and his Death Eaters struggled with the heart wrenching task of removing the bodies that remained, alive or not.
The majority of the offenders had already been captured, and herded off to the fortress in the sea–Azkaban Prison.
It was a time of relief, a time of sadness and joy. The surviving members of the Order of the Phoenix slowly allowed hesitant smiles to cross their lips, smiles that hadn't been seen in almost a year.
Three floors underground in the recesses of the old building, four young people remained–locked in a stalemate.
The tall redhead stood, hatred in his eyes and terror in his heart. His breathing was heavy, from both exhaustion and anger, and beads of sweat had gathered on his forehead.
Beside him was his best friend and brother, a shorter man with black hair, and eyes that shone with barely restrained fury. He was leaning slightly against the cold, dank wall, his outstretched arm shaking slightly as the pain in his injured shoulder rocked though him. His other arm was banded around his stomach in an attempt the stem the flow of blood from the long, shallow gash that wrapped around him.
These two men, who'd been instant friends from the moment they'd met, now stood together to face an enemy they'd shared for just as long.
He stood, an expression of hysteria and desperation on his face. His dull grey eyes were clouded with fatigue, and he struggled to stay upright as his vision swayed. His once slick blond hair fell over his eyes as he squinted through the haze. He was slowly inching backwards, his precious cargo in tow. His left arm was wrapped around her stomach in a way that made the young redhead nauseated, and in his right hand he held a wand to her throat.
She struggled valiantly against his arm, hating herself for her weakness. She stared longingly at her wand, which lay a few feet away on the floor. With her eyes she tried to convey a message–End this. Just take him down.
He knew, as most on the losing side of a war did, that this was his end. He would likely not make it out of the building a free man.
As he looked upon the figures of his enemies, the hatred that had been inside him for too many years exploded through him. He made a decision, in madness and fear, that would change their lives.
He stared into the eyes of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, a feeling of giddiness sweeping through him. This was it. This was the time to take something from them. She would no longer look upon her brother with affection, would no longer look upon the Boy Who Lived with love and yearning.
His hand steadied as he took another step back, toward the doorway behind him.
"Obliviate nosceres," he snarled against the young woman's neck. He could feel her body stiffen as the curse hit her, and the satisfaction he felt left him breathless. As the two young men across the room started forward, he made his move. Shoving her towards them with a force aided by adrenaline, he fled the room.
The young woman's eyes reached theirs as she fell, a look of confusion passing over her features. They were too far away, and stood helpless as her head connected with the stone floor, and blackness enveloped her.