BK's Tale: Part 6

Post-Apocalyptic Medieval Battle of Hogwarts and The Love of Maidens

Part 6

Disclaimer: I don’t own any of these characters, they belong to J.K. Rowling. Please review and share with your friends! The final part of this saga, part 7, is due out tomorrow.


Harry and Draco were fully kitted out. Their wooden uniforms restored to their former glory, their leather helmets snug against their skulls, they were ready to fight. Both were now talking to their troops before heading to the Quidditch Stadium.

“Listen!” yelled Harry. The chatter in his preparation tent fell silent. “You have come to help me fight for the love of the woman who is everything to me. It was King Dumbledore’s wish that we have a battle, and a battle we shall have!” Everyone cheered. There were one hundred witches and wizards crammed into the circular tent, each wearing whatever armour they had been able to cobble together. Some carried pitchforks, some broomsticks, some large ladders, the purpose of which was unknown. “And not only that! We will have a battle, and we will win it!” Loud cries of affirmation resounded within the tent. Harry’s troops were ready to fight for him.

“My dear friends,” shouted Draco. His troops turned their gaze at him. “We came here for many reasons. Ginny, the most enchanting woman in the world, will be the prize of this battle. So we will win! I’ve got to win! And you will help me!” The witches and wizards let out ecstatic cries, and someone grabbed Draco and put him on his shoulders. The tent was stuffy and small, and the atmosphere was tangible; it was one of excitement, nerves and impatience.

Suddenly, the doors of the tent were flung open.

“You may now enter the battle grounds,” said Sir Nicholas the Nearly-Headless. He, too, had put on his finest uniform. On the way to the Quidditch grounds, both troops walked side by side, with Harry and Draco leading the way. The two friends didn’t look at each other for fear of losing their focus. As they reached the big stadium, they realised it was decorated elaborately in green, silver, red and gold. Their old House colours. A rush of the old enmity filled both Harry and Draco’s lungs. Mixed with memories of years of friendship, jealousy and envy for Ginny’s affection, and the adrenaline of leading a troop of people ready to fight on their behalf, it made for an explosive emotional cocktail.

Inside the stadium, Harry and Draco both saw that the ranks were full of people cheering. It was like a Quidditch match, except this was more serious, and people were likely to die. In what had been the teachers’ booth, they spotted Dumbledore, McGonnagall and Ginny. Ginny was looking incredibly uncomfortable, shifting from one side to the other in her seat. She waved when she saw Harry and Draco, but, quite reasonably, didn’t seem at all excited at the prospect of being a prize people would kill each other to attain.

“Take your places,” shouted Dumbledore. The cheering in the stadium grew louder and louder as both troops lined up along their semicircle.

Ginny stepped up to join Dumbledore at the front of the teachers’ booth, and Harry and Draco saw that she was holding a blue handkerchief up high in the air.

“When this handkerchief lands on the ground, you may begin. You have as long as it takes. I decide who wins. Thank you.”

Ginny let go of the handkerchief. Everyone held their breaths and watched as it fell.

Harry thought about not wanting to die. Maybe he could lose and survive, and at least then he’d still get to see Ginny.

Draco thought about his wish, and about winning. He would. He had to.

Then the handkerchief landed on the dusty ground. There was an immediate reaction from the troops, like tectonic plates moving they shifted forwards, rushing to meet one another halfway in the stadium. Pitchforks, crossbows, colonial pistols, and wands, many wands. People’s legs were being cursed together so they could no longer walk, others were momentarily blinded with bright lights erupting from the tips of wands. Harry was caught in the middle of it all, but he had lost sight of where Draco was. He fired a stunning curse all around himself with a circular sweep of his wand, and pushed forwards in the muddle. It was hot here among all the other witches and wizards, and the noise was drowning out his every thought. Never mind winning, or surviving, he thought he’d be lucky if he didn’t get trampled within the first few minutes of the battle.

Draco was fighting in another corner of the stadium, stunning, exploding, repelling and blinding with his wand, and wielding a sword as well, for good measure. He was a ball of movement that no one dared even approach.

And so they fought. Harry’s wand arm got really tired, but he had to keep fending off enemy  fighters. He found himself completely surrounded by them, and he wasn’t sure where his troops were; hadn’t he been safe with them behind him and on either side of him? Suddenly he was among his enemies, and they weren’t holding back.

A booming voice stopped the fighting after two hours.

“All of your troops are injured or dead, Harry,” it said. It seemed to be the voice of a God, but it was only Dumbledore addressing the whole stadium. “Draco Rodolpho  Salazar Malfoy, you are the winner of this contest,” he said. At the same time, Harry saw, Dumbledore waved at Madame Pomfrey and her helpers to head into the battle ground and heal those who could be healed.

Harry looked around him. Among his enemies, he hadn’t noticed that his own troops were so far gone. He was disoriented and pushed past rows and rows of fighters until he was in the clear. Yes, there it was, the ground was strewn with bodies who were aching and bleeding, and those who were not breathing anymore. I did this, he thought. Never mind that it had been Dumbledore’s idea to send them to battle: he made these people fight. And now he had lost his one true love to Draco. But it was fair enough, he deliberated, after all he wasn’t worthy of her love, not after having led so many people to their own deaths.

A deafening rumble went through the ground as a large silvery ghost appeared above them. In that moment, Harry spotted Draco, who was standing next to a big battle horse one of his knights must have brought along. The knight was long gone, but the horse was still there, wearing shiny armour and foaming at the mouth.

“I am Helga Hufflepuff,” the ghost screeched loudly. “And no one came to me to ask for help in this battle.”

Draco and Harry looked at each other in confusion.

“This isn’t your battle, Helga,” said Dumbledore, but the ghost took no notice.

“I am here to bring chaos!” she said, and flew to the ground with incredible speed, crashing into the soil and sending a large ripple like an earthquake all around the Quidditch stadium. The spectators in the ranks fell over themselves, some falling off their seats and down onto the battlefield.

The armed horse next to Draco had fallen too. Harry ran over, stepping over witches and wizards, to see if it was okay, and it looked like it was still breathing, but underneath the horse, he could see a leg and an arm sticking out. Draco. Where was Draco?

Ginny was suddenly beside Harry.

“Draco!” both of them shouted, looking around, not wanting to face the reality of what had happened. Helga Hufflepuff was laughing menacingly behind them, stomping on the ground and creating more small earthquakes.

Harry and Ginny crouched beside the horse and tried to move it off the person trapped underneath it, but it was too heavy. They shot spells after spells at it, but it wouldn’t move. Maybe this was a magical earthquake, dooming everything to stay where it fell? Or maybe Harry was exhausted from the long battle. Then, out of nowhere, the horse shifted.

Dumbledore walked up to them, his wand pointed firmly at the horse, murmuring a powerful levitation spell. It was clearly taking a lot of out of him to perform, he had beads of sweat trickling down his face.



The horse had fallen onto him with such force that it had actually pushed him into the ground. He was flattened, and completely still. They felt for his pulse, but it was gone. There was nothing anybody could do, and even Madame Pomfrey said it was a lost cause. He was dead.

Harry and Ginny refused to leave Draco’s body. They sat beside it crying, each holding one of his hands. Around them, there was a flurry of movement as the Quidditch Grounds were cleared.

And so Draco had won the battle, and his prayer had been fulfilled.