Loki - Bellatrix - Remus - Regulus
Loki was not a fighter. A few weeks in the castle had not changed that.
Somehow ending up in the main group set at the head of the road to the castle to block the death eaters' approach didn't seem able to change that, either.
He'd tried to keep himself as far to the back as he could. There was one of the three leaders, one of the werewolves who'd been training them in combat flight, -- uselessly, apparently, in Loki's case -- and a host of other more qualified individuals who all seemed to be born for this sort of thing in his group. One lone street rat should have been able to easily hide amoungst them, keep his head down, and stay the hell out of the way. It shouldn't be that hard to slink to the back and stay there, maybe just stay behind that nice rocky knoll?
But, the enemy's apparent penchant for blasting curses made that difficult. Even hunkered down there was flying debris and as against type as it was, charging into the fray, or the edges thereof, seemed the better part of cowardice. If he just stayed near the guys who knew how to fight well, he'd stand a better chance of someone saving his sorry arse.
And that was how he came to be so near the werewolf, where he was fighting several of the death eaters, when a flash of green he was certain couldn't be meant for him became his personal Heimdallr and took Loki out of the fight permanently.