Scattered

Author's Note: As stated before, each chapter is a seperate, stand-alone incomplete...I am posting these because they, even in their unfinished states, have a very deep emotional impact to me, and I may return to them and complete them at one time or another...


Just a warning, this chapter is MUCH darker than the first.

The Second Untitled

The LORD is my shepherd, I shall not be in want.

He makes me lie down in green pastures,

he leads me beside quiet waters,

he restores my soul.

He guides me in paths of righteousness

for his name’s sake.

Even though I walk

through the valley of the shadow of death,

I will fear no evil,

for you are with me;

your rod and your staff,

they comfort me.

You prepare a table before me

in the presence of my enemies.

You anoint my head with oil;

my cup overflows.

Surely goodness and love will follow me

all the days of my life,

and I will dwell in the house of the LORD forever.

There was nothing left, when the smoke faded into fog. When day faded into night. Survivors had fled, and the dead were nothing but piles of ashes, unrecognizable between the pillars and piles of rubble. Hogwarts was completely gone. It had become the center of the battle, a target turned battlefield.

Stars twinkled, and movement erupted from a small space. A cement block moved, and a weary figure appeared, blonde hair flashing brightly against the darkness. Dark robes, torn and only echoes of the fine garbs they had been, clung desperately to his figure, as he looked around, his sense of panic growing. He shouted, wanting someone to reply. But his voice went no where. It could not carry among the dead, and they were all alone.

He moved, stumbled along, a slight limp to his left leg. His voice broke, weary, pained, and he paused, holding his hand over his side, and closed his eyes. A light silver glow enveloped his hand, and he tried to cast a healing spell, looking a bit more relieved when he pulled his hand away again. He still had the limp, but he was moving faster, crying out again.

Noise. A shattered scream. And he was moving, faster than he thought he possibly could. Almost running, darting through the mess and memories of the land he’d grown up on. This was a maze, a test to remember who he had been. What he’d been looking for. Here, here was the main hall to the gardens, a reminder to himself that he would have had Herbology today if all of this handn’t happened. And that memory brought on the memory of Neville. Falling. Oh god, falling. He froze, memories washing over him hard, like an undertow sweeping him down into the darkness.

Neville had been there, and had rose in front of him.

He would have emptied the contents of his stomach, if he had anything left in there. But he could clearly remember doing that earlier. When he’d watched Bellatrix die. Because of him. Both dead because of him.

The scream, pained, came again. Startled, he moved again, forcing his mind blank. Turn here, now on the path to the Great Hall. He could have gone the other way, find out if the dungeons were still intact. But he kept moving, that feral scream driving him on, making him want to know...