The notebook Gabrielle had so lovingly held in her hands hit the ground, pages flapping over themselves in the night air. Everything she had ever been taught about Dark Creatures told her to run. She thought about Bill, forever maimed by the werewolf Fenrir, and suddenly saw herself gored about the streets of Hogsmeade. No decision could be made, though, because what was before her did not make sense. This was a friend...
"Quoi! D-d-d-d-" she tried to speak but failed. After a deep breath, again, "D-... Den-ees, you... you are joking, oui??" He had to be. He absolutely had to be, because they had been talking, and she had been holding onto his arm, and she supposed it may have been a bit cold, thinking back, but no colder than it should have been at night, and he was in the dark, and... par bleu, how she wished she were at home!
"You... you are not funny, Den-ees Creevey," she faked a smile through a trembling voice.