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Summary
The Dark Lord was not winning.
She felt it in her chest like a physical blow, like something had reached into her ribs and closed a fist around everything important. The certainty she had carried for so long cracked straight down the middle and she stood there in the smoke and the ruin of Hogwarts feeling, for the first time in twenty years, entirely unmoored.
She didn't notice the older vampire move.
She was fast—obscenely, impossibly fast—and the pain was brief, sharp, and then oddly distant, like something happening to someone else in another room.