#the second war

In Harry Potter whether its the canon books or the marauders era they're were kids calling a child evil is insane

Biggest examples

Draco, James Potter, Sirius black, young Severus snap , Regulus black and so on

"I'd heard that Humans had strong memories."

She could feel a phantom wind blowing through her hair. She could smell salt, even though she knew there was none in the air. She could see small flashes of movement in her peripheral.

"Do you... do you believe you are able to recall the Battle of Stil'mon?"

She heard the humming of the blade, the warcries from the enemy, the song that never ceased. She smelled copper, the dampness of metal and dirt. Her mouth was dry, but she could taste the soup from dinner. She could feel the strange weightlessness, the fabric rubbing on her skin, the compression of her shoes.

"We didn't know that much about our enemies. We knew they were older than us. More evolved and more advanced. We knew they were superstitious. They thought music was magic. It is, but they thought all music was of war and danger. It's not. Not for us. We knew they were scared. Scared that we kept going.

They recruited the children. There were rules, of course. Testing, restrictions, the same as always. But they recruited us. They said to run at the first sign of a true assault, of violence along with the fear. They told us that we could fight, but we couldn't actually fight.

Our jobs were simple. Sing. We were to sing and dance, to do it in unison, to do it wild and strong and loud. We were meant to be summoners. To our enemies, we were summoning ancient magicks, calling upon our world for protection. To our allies, we were summoning them to the battle.

We were singing everything from professionally made songs to those we would sing around a fire while sleeping in our wilds. We sang and we danced and we ran when they raised their swords at us. We laughed and we cheered even as we retreated, and not once did we ever stop singing. We counted it as a loss, a further defeat, to end the songs, to end our terror tactics. It was our job, and we would not fail.

The children were hired to guard things. We were on a boat. The Still Man. That's what we called it. We were to warn the adults, the soldiers, of when our enemies boarded.

I remember the night it happened. Darker than it should've been, and we didn't notice enough. Quieter than it should've been, and we didn't notice that enough either. I was patrolling the upmost levels. I was on the top, the very top. My friend was there. I'd known her for years.

We were boarded. I remember the first thought in my head was that they were ugly. Not because of structure or style. They wore armor that was this hideous color. It made my nerves act up and was far too bright for a stealth mission. We learned later that they can't see what we call neon colors.

We sang a camp song that time. Yogi Bear. A silly song, about a silly animal. They were terrified. Everyone that could hear us started singing along, rushed up to join us. We were summoners, calling to our brothers-in-arms.

The inevitable moment came. Our enemies had realized we would indeed flee from their weapons, even if we continued our magic. A bold one swung early. They hit their mark, injured one of us. They didn't know we were children, that that's why we ran. They wouldn't have attacked, then.

Everyone kept singing. And for once, for the first time, none of us moved. None of us fled or started a retreat. We sang. We sang and we danced and we scared them off the ship. They carried word back to their leaders, a message that we were unstoppable now. Our magic had come to fruition.

We won that battle, easily. And the Battle of Still Man was the last one of that war, because they knew they wouldn't defeat us. To do so would be their undoing, for we do not falter. Even when faced with death, we keep singing and we keep dancing and we stay wild.

I recall the Battle of Still Man, because it is etched into the minds of everyone who was there."

She smiled, small, calm. The past was behind her. The wind was the vents. The soup was from lunch, not dinner. The sweat and blood she smelled was from biting her lip and generally being nervous. The movement was like all the other illusions her brain conjured. She could not hear the voices singing, only the song she sang during rainstorms, playing in her head.

"You said they hit their mark. What... what was their mark, Ambassador?"

Her smile got a little smaller, but she kept it up. Even as she tugged up the fabric. Even as she pressed at the seam. Even as she let her prosthetic glow purple and green.

She walked away, the black cloth falling back down. There was no mechanical whirring, no clunks of metal on metal. She was broken, bruised, damaged, and she kept smiling. She bore the marks of one who had seen Death, and yet she was alive. Alive to give help. Alive to give advice. Alive to be more than the warrior she had no doubt become.

Even after Umbridge left hogwarts, peeves still strove to piss her off. Once or twice each week, he would rock up at her office and release a cage of nifflers, or send her 200 copies of harry's Quibbler interview or lace her tea with a potion.

One time, while harry was on the run, peeves used a measure of polyjuice potion, complete with harry's hair. (After mad-eye's death, the ministry found a disturbingly large collection of different wizards' hairs. It was really too easy for peeves to slip in and steal some). And oh, the pandemonium that ensued when harry potter himself ran screaming through the ministry foyer. Least of all, clad in umbridge's pastel skirts and fussy pink ribbons.

Inspired by this success, peeves tacked adverts in all the common rooms. Three days later, the ministry was forced to shut down again as minestry officials began randomly morphing into hogwarts pupils and staff. It was roumered that the minister himself spent three hours as snape, and was forced to leave immediatrly to wash his hair.

Peeves continued in this vain even after the war, leaving hogwarts once a week with a new prank or trick to play on her. It kept things fresh for peeves. Got him out of the castle. Although, with little teddy lupin now at hogwarts, life was rarely dull.

Okay so adoption is a sort of tradition in our family, (sadly my mum broke it, but I'm hoping to start it up again).

So back in the 1800's, around 1880, a lady was born. I believe her name was Clemence. Between the times of 1900 and 1910, she found herself with a little girl who was not her own. None the less, she raised her as if she were. They survived the first war together, and the young girl found herself a husband.

They planned for a family, but sadly they were unsuccessful. Now, Clemence stood by her daughter, and one fateful day the couple found themselves with three daughters, one of which was my great nan. No one really knew what happened, my nan was much too young to remember and her older sisters have sadly passed.

The couple took in the children, but not too many years later the second war broke out. Luckily, they lived in the outskirts of town. They were safe, and my great great grandfather was not forced out to war.

He was, what my nan called, a street warden. When the sirens went, he had to check the entire village was safe and in their protective areas (usually small closets or basements, no one here really had bomb shelters,) before he got into his own. He often put his wife and three children in the basement, and simply waited out instead of going back into the house and risk being seen.

I'm not entirely sure what happened after that, because my nan often mentions her parents dying when she was young. She was fourteen when the second war ended, so it is possible they died during it, but it's also possible she's getting confused and talking about her biological parents.

Either way, she mentioned living with Nanny Clemence for awhile, then messing around with the American soldiers.

Years later, in the fifties, she married a man. They were unable to have children, and her oldest sister ended up with a bastard of a son. She was disgraced by his father, a man who had abandoned her and left back to Italy when she went into labor, and was struggling with the judgemental people of the times.

My nan offered to adopt him, to spare her the shame. She agreed. My nan then raised a son.

He had two biological daughters, the second one my mother. He adopted his third wife's two children, and so that is where it ends. My mother, nor her half sister, adopted children. I hope to remedy that.

Now, my mother's father is not my grandfather. He's not a part of our lives at all, and so I don't really know anything about him, which is a bit sad, but I'm not too bothered.

After rereading this, I'm going to point something out, how strange it is for history to repeat itself;

Nanny Clemence my great-great-great nan: Born around 1880-1885

My great-great nan, (who I don't know the name of): Born anywhere between 1900-1910

My Nanny Queenie, my great nan: Born 19th of March 1931

My biological grandfather: Born around 1955-1960

My mother: Born 6th of May 1981

Me: Born 22nd of August 2006

Look, all I'm saying is my mum was born almost one hundred years after Nanny Clemence and I was born nearly one hundred years after my unnamed nan. If I have my first child around 2031, we know there's something fishy going on here.

Thank you for coming to my history lesson, and please wish my nan a happy birthday. She doesn't get many nowadays.

pansy parkinson stops with her back against the wall. why was she back in hogwarts, this was the dumbest decision of her life. hours before she had stood on a table, and had given up potter in front of the entire school, and yet when all the slytherins were being marched out, she had run back to grab her ring - why had she done that?!

she glanced at the ring, a black diamond - held in silver wiring. she could remember when she got it, a cold night the year previous, she had sat in the owlry with draco for hours, just talking about what was to come. as they stood up, draco had gone on one knee, and offered it to her, and pansy had said yes of course.

the ring was all she had wanted for honestly her whole life, draco to be hers, and hers alone. and yet the day after, when their headmaster had been killed, and everything seemed to be becoming different, she had cried while looking at that ring.

now she stood, crying again as she stared at the ring. she could year fighting, cries and shouts, she should’ve gone back, she shouldn’t have looked for it for so long.

“help! anyone!” a voice called, from down the hall, and out ran a redhead. pansy didn’t have her glasses, and had forgotten to cast the charm for her eyes that morning, but she could tell from the shout that something was wrong.

against all her instincts telling her to leave, pansy ran straight into the ginger, who she had suddenly realized, was Weasley’s younger sister. great. just great. pansy has found herself at the mercy of weaslette (the chosen one’s girlfriend) just her luck.

“are you gonna stare, or are you gonna help?” weaslette suddenly asked in a brash tone, glaring down at pansy.

pansy nodded, turning to corner to see what she had been screaming about, and noticed a body laying on the ground, large amounts of blood falling out.

“fuck.” pansy swore, walking closer and suddenly recognizing the face. it was lavender brown, a girl who was in her year. pansy had had classes with her, and although she was annoying, there was a slight burn in her eyes as she looked down.

“not her.” the other girl said sharply, poking pansy’s shoulder rather hard - not that she could blame her, pansy was basically on the other side. “over there.” the ginger said, pointing to the boy that was leaning against the wall, and pansy wandered over, unable to understand how she had missed him.

she couldn’t recognize this person, but from the tie he was a ravenclaw, and he seemed off balance, looking around the room in amazement. pansy huffed, plopping down beside him, and sticking her finger above his eyelid, pulling it up to get a closer look.

now she wasn’t sure why she was doing this - she blamed shock to be honest. pansy had never had any plans to fight in this war, her dad did, but she was going to be like her mother - stay out of it and stay safe.

but despite all that, here she was, trying to help a ravenclaw that couldn’t be older than a fifth year, he must’ve snuck in. “wand.” pansy said, holding a hand out, she was pretty sure she knew what to do next.

a wand didn’t get placed in her hand, and she turned around, glancing at weaslette, about to say something rude until she saw her face. the girl was scared, stubborn, and obviously had no idea what pansy was doing.

“i’m on your side.” pansy muttered, but when the redhead still hadn’t moved, pansy told her the charm to use. it would reduce dizziness, and hopefully give the boy some semblance of knowledge of who and where he was. pansy was quite certain he had been hit with a memory charm.

once the spell was cast, the boy seemed to almost wake up, and nodded once the other girl told him to head to the infirmary. pansy didn’t know there was an infirmary still, she figured everyone would be fighting.

“thank you.” weasley said, nodding at pansy. “for the help.”

pansy didn’t know how to respond, here she was, in the middle of the battle, helping people that she was certain were trying to kill her father. she had no idea what to do next.

“we need more healers, by the way.” weasley mentioned, and then she was off. running back towards the noise and the screaming, her wand drawn obviously ready to fight.

"For Stormwind!"

The warcry rallied among the mounted soldiers as they rode into the fray, their training evident as they pushed their steeds beyond compare at the warband of orcs and trolls. Steely eyed and legs gripping tight into their saddles, the company of ten would rise up and steady as they shouldered their rifles. Breaths taken, pulses slowed, and eyes trained for their targets as they had done for these last two years.

The volley was loosed into the mix of green flesh followed by the painful cries of the dying.

Eld lowered his rifle from his shoulder and held tight with one hand as he grasped the reins of his horse again to steer the frenzied beast beneath him. The first volley was enough to tear through the ranks, but hardly enough to take the orcs completely. Now was the time to use the momentum of their charge with the confused enemy. At least until the footmen could file in behind them to close the distance. They just needed time.

Heavy horse flesh barreled through the large monsters, as red eyes burned with fury to match the roar from tusked mouths. Eld would tuck in tight as he rode, his head bowed to the wind and vicious rebuttals of the enemy. Thick hands would reach out in hopes of grabbing hold of him but the stallion was as much enraged as it was terrified of the grunts as it ripped through and past back into open field.

It was like coming out of hurricane, much like when they had first sailed north toward Lordaeron and across the sea. The memory would always be burned into his mind of those wretched days and nights of escape from the Horde as they sacked his home. Of the many losses.

"Candell!" Came a cry from behind him as he wheeled his horse back around to see the warband rallying with their leaders, a division of blue soldiers charging along still beyond them at the red of the Horde. It was all so stark on this green field. His eyes and heart returned though as the other riders reached him, only seven after their initial charge. The one he cared for most though sent a wave of relief through.

Eld offered a grim smile to his friend, Reese who's grin did nothing to hide the fear in his eyes. He was sure his said the same. "Ya alright, Reese?"

"Never better," replied Langston as he was already moving with efficient speed in breaking open his musket and reloading from the saddle. Reese was a far better shot than Eld could ever imagine becoming, his friend's hands seeming made for the fancy dwarven instrument. "Best get to reloading."

"Right," Eld said as his own hands began to quickly to move powder and ball to the barrel of his rifle. "Who'd we lose?"

"Crab, Doyle," Langston spoke quickly as he let his hands down the thinking while his eyes scanned the other riders for faces. "Looks like Smarthe as well."

Candell would grunt as began to wrap up his reload, "Damn. Smarthe was a good guy."

"They all were," Langston was already done as he used his teeth to pull his powder bag close and tuck it away again. "Got yer saber?"

Eld was finishing as he slipped his powder away as well. "One more volley pass?"

"I reckon so, figure we'll wrap back around with the foot and finish em off," Reese was peering back as he gauged the distance of the footmen and the warband. There was already a few orcs trying to chase up to them despite the distance. "Norm, take that lead man off."

"Y'alrite," came the gruff reply of an Kul Tiran rider to their left as he lifted his rifle to aim and fire with an explosion of thunder. The lead greenskin went down in a heap.

Reese nodded, "Good shooting, hold your reload and stick behind us as we charge through for another go. We all good to go?"

A chorus of 'ayes' followed by the stamp of horse hooves. Reese would look to Eld who would nod to his best friend.

The seven would raise their voices again as they kicked in their heels to charge once more.

"For the Alliance!"