The End

Disclaimer: Don't Own HP.

Dedicated to Robin White, my 'vunduhvah' Creative Writing teach.

Rock on Mr. White.

You stood there and you watched it.

And you did nothing to stop it.

You stand behind him, like you always do. You’re holding someone, but your mind can’t quite remember who. All you know is that they’re getting colder by the second, and that causes your heart to beat a little faster. You want to look down at them, but your eyes are glued to the fight.

Curses and jinxes fly in every direction, you wonder why you haven’t been hit yet. You wonder why you haven’t died. Your mind starts calculating how long the fight will last. Something green whizzes past your ear, snapping you out of your trance.

“Hermione!” He yells, “What the bloody Hell are you doing just sitting there?! Move!”

You look up at him and nod. His face looks like it’s been half eaten by one of Hagrid’s Blast-ended Skrewts and then regurgitated, the other half in drenched in blood. You figure that it looks much the same.

A tree explodes behind you, showering you and whoever’s in your arms with splinters. He whips around and fires a curse.

“Move!” he commands again, this time you’re quick to your feet.

You drag yourself and what you now presume to be a corpse towards the corpse of trees behind you, but you’re not fast enough. Everything seems to slow down, like the fabric of time itself wants you to forever remember those few seconds.

It, because, after what you’ve seen tonight, it can never be rightfully called human (you wonder if it ever was), fires a curse from the tip of it’s decaying wand.

The curse is heading toward you, you can tell. You try to move your feet, but they seem to be as deep in the ground as the roots of the trees surrounding you.

He notices, and runs towards you. He pushes you to the ground, the corpse lands beside you. The curse skims his shoulder, and he doubles over in pain. You thank God that neither of you got hit with it full on.

It rushes toward him, you scream, “Run! Get up and run!” But he doesn’t hear you. You jump to your feet, forgetting the corpse momentarily, and drag him.

You don’t get far.

It stops before him, and bows. He looks up at it, his eyes showing no fear.

“You have been a formidable opponent.” It says, it’s voice as smooth as butter.

No, you think.

“Nothing like your parents.” It continues

“No.” your voice is nothing but a whisper.

“NOW DIE!”

The killing curse, in all of its green glory, flees from the end of it’s wand and pierces his heart. He slumps forward.

You stood there and watched it.

And you did nothing to stop it.

“NO!” You scream, “No Harry! No! You can not die!”

It looks up, as if noticing your for the first time, and smiles.

“Tsk, tsk!” It scolds, “It’s a bit too late for that! Now, isn’t it?”

You’re shaking him now, “No, Harry! No!” You repeat, “Harry!”

It shakes its head and turns away. You stand and draw your wand.

“You coward!” You scream after him, having abandoned your attempts at waking Harry up, “Come back here and fight!”

You blink, and it’s in front of you, millimeters away from your face.

“You’re not worth the effort,” It sniffs, as if you’re some kind of animal, “Disgusting Mudblood.”

You fall.

Its face is the last thing that you see for a while.

This was a writing assignment for school. "Write a story about Harry Potter, it's due on Friday. "

Let me brag here, for a moment.

Ever heard of the book Hostile Waters? Or the movie, maybe?

Or maybe the other nine books that Mr. Robin White, my writing teacher, has written and published.

HAH.

(sorry about that)