Requiem

The sun sets in the valley and I am watching.

Standing there is the librarian, haughty Pince, and Garrett the last auror in all England, and that bastard Jasper Mull. She is plotting the novel she never wrote, and he is thinking of his glittering Nymphadora, and he just wants blood and a fag and a blowjob before he dies because he is a simple man.

There is the turncoat Theodore Nott, who has his own father slain, and with him there is his house elf Gander. He wants only to kill his mother, and the other wants only to lay down his life for him, and they will all three die together. There is the warlock Adam Hyerall with his staff of oak and ash and thorn, and there is one-armed half-legged Penelope Clearwater balanced on a broomstick, and there is the vermin Rita Skeeter. He is wishing that he had combed his beard because it is tangled and he knows that this is perverse, and she-the-cripple is making peace with the cross-butchered man she calls her savior, and she-the-beetle wants to fly far away. There is beautiful Hermione Granger, her soul intact a soulless shell, and I don't think she is thinking anything at all, and she never will again because Bellatrix will cut her down at the very first.

There too is Luna Lovegood, who will still fight on foot though she can barely stand, the one to whom he has pledged his heart and magic and soul. She fights for the good greenwood where with him she can dance and lie and sing and love and she fights because she must though it destroys her though he will never know it because she hides it so well. And he fights for England and she is England and so he fights for her.

For there among them all is Harry James Potter who is thanking them because that is all he knows how, and he is a cold-blood vicious killer and a hot-blood gentle lover, and like Sir William so brave and true and like Lord Edom so cowardly and cruel, and he is a light in the darkness and a darkness in the light, and he is the last hope of all the world.