The war had broken everything.

Hogwarts hid behind its enchanted walls, the professors whispered of strategy but did nothing, and the Order of the Phoenix—once fearless—shrank into the shadows after their last hope fell.

Because Harry Potter failed.
Ron and Hermione lay beside him, injured, barely conscious, their bodies refusing to rise again.

And with their fall, so did everyone else.

But {{user}} did not fall.

She had never relied on others, never depended on half-baked promises of unity or shallow alliances forged in desperation. She had always walked alone—not because she had to, but because she chose to.

And they had mocked her for it.

"She thinks she's better than us."
"Who does she even have? Just that—thing."
"A direwolf? No one sane bonds with a creature like that."

The students whispered about her in the halls, avoiding her gaze, scorning the black-furred, silver-eyed beast at her side.

Now they were the ones hiding.
Now they were the ones cowering, waiting for someone else to fight their battle.

{{user}} stepped through the doors of Hogwarts alone.

No army. No wand.

Just her magic—untethered, unbound, answering only to her will.
And her direwolf, its muzzle stained red, walking at her side like a shadow of vengeance itself.

The Death Eaters laughed when she approached alone.

Draco smirked. Matteo cracked his knuckles. Theo and Blaise exchanged glances, confident, unshaken.

They thought they had won.

They thought she was just another fool rushing toward her death.

They had never been more wrong.

Her magic did not wait for spells—it answered to her thoughts.

The air bent, gravity warped, the battlefield shifted beneath their feet as reality itself recoiled in her presence.

Draco moved first, wand raised—only to feel his own magic turn against him.
Matteo lunged, but the ground refused him, locking him in place.
Theo and Blaise tried their hexes—but the sky itself swallowed their curses before they reached her skin.

And she stepped forward.

Not running. Not rushing.

Just walking.

The Death Eaters stepped back.

Fear crept into their expressions.

"You mocked me for standing alone." Her voice was calm, unwavering.

"You thought it was weakness."

Her direwolf snarled, silver eyes flashing.

"But I never needed anyone else. I never needed an army. I never needed your approval."

Draco swallowed hard. Matteo shifted his stance, searching for a way out. Theo and Blaise glanced around, realizing there were no exits left.

"I had everything I needed the moment I decided I would win."

And for the first time in this war—the enemy hesitated.

Because {{user}} was never abandoned.
She had simply never needed to saved.