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Desolation Row, Creative Writing

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Desolation Row Harry Potter had died at his mercy. The boy who lived was an idiom that would soon be forgotten, the boy who lived would be known as an inept child who couldn't fulfil the wants of the filthy mudbloods who claimed to be 'one of them'. Hitherto Harry Potter was seen as the beacon of hope but the flames of courage had obviously burnt out and he lost his losing fight. Voldemort listened contently to the jests of the witches and wizards whilst giants stomped, sending tremors through the earthy ground as those remaining of the Order and the DA were shedding tears uninhibited over the demise of Harry. The body of the boy was where he had fallen. Only moments ago had he collapsed in a heap, all signs of him breathing had diminished and all that remained was his body as proof that the boy who lived, died. The dishevelled hair of Harry swept across his ashen face; his pallid eyelids enclosed his notorious emerald eyes which would never be seen again. ...read more.


It made no gentle ticking noise like all of her other previous watches, the sound she was so accustomed to was no longer there because if she was hiding from the opposition then a ticking watch would only reveal her presence. Hermoine sighed, once again finding herself on desolation row once more with only herself for company, something she now found on a regular basis. Hermoine couldn't help her stomach snarl at her for feeling empty and not being satiated, the thought that she would have succumbed to looking around the floor of an empty train station a few years ago would have repulsed her, but there was nowhere else to find food. She often rummaged through dustbins but rats had often beaten her to the chase and eaten anything edible, or people had saved the scraps for themselves as everything appeared to be rationed unless you were 'worthy' of eating such a delectable luxury. Her status was 'detrimental to the Wizarding society' like many other Muggleborns all over Europe now. ...read more.


Flakes of crimson red were slowly peeling away and revealed rotting wooden slats, it wasn't the most enthralling accommodation but it was better than sitting on the cobbled stone streets. "Neville, what happened?" Hermoine asked in the most soothing voice she could muster, her blemished cheeks were the colour of the deteriorating paint; her eyes were profound with worry as she stared at him intently. "Well, they saw us. It was like they knew we were moving headquarters tonight. Ron was with Ginny and I assumed they would be okay but I haven't had so much as a patronus from them, Hagrid and Luna will be here shortly, they're walking and then you've got..." Glistening tears left trails like snails down Neville's cheeks, Hermoine fumbled in her pocket for a handkerchief but all she had was a serviette from a derelict caf´┐Ż off an empty motorway covered in filth from her travels. She handed it to him meekly; she did not say more until others came. Neither of them needed to be comforted by words, the fact that they were not alone on desolation row was just fine. ...read more.

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