I searched, and couldn't find the rules, but this is at least SORTA based on Droxy's Final Goodbye challenge. The idea has been floating around for a while. (really, i normally write happy stories!) As the warnings state, character death (lots of character death) is involved. Please do not continue if that bothers you.

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My friend is here again. Do you see her? She is a fine weaver, keeps the flies from swarming me. Can you hear the buzz? A fly caught in her web. Perhaps I will name her Charlotte.

The buzzing. The buzzing. It echoes in my head. It’s a short circuit; the sound a wand makes when it’s been burned out.

I heard that sound too much on the battlefield.

Buzz. Buzz. Drop in a bumblebee’s buzz, after stirring counterclockwise 37 times. Levitation potions. Got the idea from that bloody git Mr. Weasley. If it worked for a damned first year against a mountain troll, it would make sense to use it for the upcoming battle. Every little weapon counts.

The Dark Lord would laugh. Exotic curses, Unforgiveables and rare potion ingredients. No wonder Pure Bloods are dying out. They have no concept of inventiveness. Never had to do without.

Simple is always best. It was why he was so easy to fool.

The buzzing dulls. It sounds like the cicadas on a summer afternoon. Do you remember the games we played, Harry? Quidditch in the middle of the afternoons? Around and around the old orchard. Damn you could fly. Up and down, floating and zooming and buzzing. Maybe we can play again tomorrow? Mum said she would make your favorite bangers and mash…

The Mediwizards can’t seem to understand. They weren’t there. They didn’t lose everything. Such a shame, they mutter on their way past my door.

Damn it Charlotte! Just kill the bloody fly already!

Kill. Kill. Blood. Everywhere. Empty stares. Empty stares. Oh, Gods no!

Gryffindor Red. It was his favorite color. Not that he would ever admit it, but he loved the color on me. I had found the perfect silken slip of it, and after an Order meeting, met him in his rooms.

His eyes burned so dark. His hands trembled, not sure if I was real. In the muted candlelight, his hands traced against my body. His long thin fingers…he was a maestro. I never wanted to leave.

He will come to me, you know. He always does. His arms hold me at night. But shhhh, it’s a secret.

The mediwitches think I’m crazy. “How does he get past the Wards?” they ask. Hmph. Like I could tell them. I’m not about to open my mouth and give away my secrets.

His long fingers, those gentle hands…and I look, and they are skeletal, I open my mouth to scream, but no sound comes out.

If I don’t say it, it can’t be true. If I don’t say it, it didn’t happen.

I’m not bloody well telling you anything. No potion, no charm, no curse can make me. I like my fantasy world just fine thank you.

The buzzing is silent now. I look at the white walls of my room. It is so silent now. Too silent. I remember this silence.

Once Voldemort was gone, and the survivors looked out across the expanse. Fatigue and despair. Too many…Too many. Gryffindor red blood soaked through the Slytherin green grass. We were always more alike than we would give credit to.

Hold me, Severus, I don’t want to remember.

But the memory always returns. Next to Harry. Next to Albus. Next to Remus. Next to Hagrid.

His dark eyes…empty, staring soullessly up to the pale blue sky.

It wasn’t supposed to be him. Anyone but him.

I watch as Charlotte repairs her web.

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This was a bit of a writing exercise. Allows me to kinda go mental without having the huge doctor bills usually associated with it.