Wayne had met a coworker for drinks, and didn’t realize how buzzed he was until he attempted to Apparate home, and overshot his front door by about 500 feet. Whoopsy. Tipsily giggling to himself, he made sure he had all his fingers and toes, and then spun in a slow circle to figure out which way to point himself home.
And then he froze, his smile abruptly fading as he spotted a body—there on the street—sprawled out— right here on Fat Friar Lane. He ran a few steps toward it, close enough now to confirm it wasn’t anyone he knew well—then froze again, unsure of what to do. Was he supposed to run for help? Stay with the body? Go bang on a door and ask someone else to get help? What if he wasn’t dead yet but was dying, this minute, while Wayne stood here trying to figure out what to do?
Hands shaking, Wayne fumbled for his journal and dashed off a plea for help. In his panic, he didn’t even think to include their location. Then he closed his eyes and took a moment to steel himself before starting to run again toward the body to see if he could help. He didn’t want to see it. He didn’t want to touch it. He was picturing faces—faces from the Battle of Hogwarts—
“Please don’t be dead, please don’t be dead,” he chanted to himself as he jogged the last few steps, once again—stupidly—squeezing his eyes tightly shut. So, of course, he tripped on the kerb, toppling down next to the ‘body’ and clobbering it with a knee as he fell.