Perdition Mods (perdition_mods) wrote in perdition_rpg, @ 2009-05-01 20:57:00 |
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[TOC] [1] [2] [3] [4] [5] [6] [7] [8] [9] [10] [11] [12] [13] [14] [15] [16] [17] [18] [19] [20] [21] [22] Michael, Padma and Terry The Great Hall seemed awkwardly quiet now that the fighting was done, only the occasional sobs and sniffles from others rebounding off the walls. This wasn't right. The Great Hall was supposed to be a place for celebrations and festivities and food. It wasn't supposed to be a makeshift funeral parlour. Terry wasn't sure how he'd managed to escape that fight alive. He probably would've been dead if Kingsley Shacklebolt hadn't shown up. Michael too. Terry didn't want to think about it anymore, and instead wandered aimlessly through the hall, through the rows of bodies that were beginning to be lined up on the floor. Terry passed one, though, that made him stop short. He paused for a moment before turning back, calmly taking off his glasses to clean the glass off with the hem of his shirt. Ignoring the churning feeling in his stomach, Terry replaced his glasses and turned back, looking down at the body on the floor. "Huh. Looks like they kept more of those fake corpses around then they let on," he mumbled, taking a few steps back away from the body, not wanting to look at it anymore but finding it hard to turn away. "Very funny, Carrows, top notch." Completely shaken up from her duel with either a Crabbe or a Goyle, Padma Patil got up from the bench Morag had left her on with only one thing on her mind - finding someone who could try to close up the wound in her side at least partially. She'd lost her wand in the last fight, leaving her feeling useless on top of being in a lot of pain. She was halfway to Terry when she saw what it was he was staring at and a cry came from her mouth, high-pitched and wailing. The pain from her wounds was forgotten and in a moment she was at Terry's side, her hand on his shoulder to keep from falling, thin fingers digging, fingernails breaking the skin. The room whirled - she wasn't sure if she could stand on her own. Michael was in a much better mood after talking to Bianca and knowing that she was all right, and felt almost pleased as he wove his way through the crowd to find his fellow Ravenclaws, expecting them to be equally unharmed -- or at least appearing unharmed. When he located Terry and Padma, he made his way over to them with a bound. He had his mouth open to utter some sort of chipper greeting when he realized what they were looking at. His mouth stayed open but any cheerfulness drained from his expression. He couldn't believe it. Anthony? Dead? Terry reached to pull Padma around to where he could actually support her weight himself, rather than having her use him as a human crutch. "Oh god, don't cry; it's okay, it's okay, it's not actually him," Terry tried to assure her, holding Padma in a half-hug, half-hoist in case her legs went out from under her. He pulled his hand away from her side, trying to stay strong and keep from gagging when it came away with blood on it. He wiped his hand on the leg of his jeans, then switched his wand into his left hand to try to perform a healing spell to at least patch Padma's side up for the moment. "It's one of those fakes they had after we all started going into the Room. It's all wrong; it's too red," he noted, referencing the blood covering Anthony's dead body. "Right, Mike? It's totally a fake." He couldn't imagine that the Carrows could have had time to make a replica of Anthony and somehow placed it in the Great Hall for them to see, but he didn't want to admit to himself that one of his friends was dead, so Michael just nodded. He couldn't take his eyes away from the sight -- it was more gruesome than anything he'd ever seen before and though he certainly didn't want to look, he was having trouble pulling himself away. In spite of his agreeing with Terry's assessment, he knew that this was really Anthony, which meant that he was really dead. The more he thought about it, the more he felt as though he was going to throw up and finally forced himself to look away. "Definitely fake," he said, more of a croak than the convincing affirmative he'd hoped. "No, no no no no no," Padma cried, also unable to take her eyes off Anthony. The body on the ground before her barely looked like Anthony - his teeth were smashed, the nose was crooked and red, his eyeball was gouged out of the socket. It was like a bad dream - she had just been talking to him only a short time ago, him telling her they shouldn't stay and her convincing him that they should. He'd hugged them all, told them he loved them in case he died but that was a ridiculous notion because Anthony Goldstein wouldn't die, he was too... Padma's legs finally gave out from underneath her and the tears were silently running down her face and she was glad that Terry's arm was around her. Terry was holding strong to the fact that it did hardly look like Anthony. It could be a fake. They'd been screwing around with their heads all year. Who were they to think that it was going to stop now, just because a fight was going on? "It's okay. It's gonna be okay." How, Terry didn't know, but at the moment he was trying to assure himself as much as he was trying to comfort Padma and Michael. He caught Padma as her legs dropped out, trying to move her away from Dead Anthony. "Come on. You're hurt, let's go sit... somewhere else." He wasn't sure if he could do this, not knowing that one of his best friends looked like he'd gotten tossed in a garbage disposal, but he knew that he couldn't while continuing to stand there at his wake. Taking Terry's cue, Michael walked around to hold Padma's other side and help to carry her away from Anthony's body. He was still in a state of shock -- how could one of the people he'd grown up with be dead? It just...wasn't possible. Once they were finally somewhere out of sight of the bodies, Michael helped lower Padma onto one of the dining benches, sitting next to her once he could. "This sucks," he said, staring down at his hands. Padma wanted to cry out as they dragged her from Anthony, but she was too weak and too upset to do anything but let them carry her away to the bench. As Michael set her down, she moved immediately to latch onto Terry, burying her head in his shoulder. She clung to him tightly, not wanting to let go for fear that he too would suddenly not be real any longer, that this warm, living person she was attached to would too be a mess of a body on the cold stone floor just a few metres away. The tears began to leak out onto Terry's shirt and she didn't even notice the pain from her own wounds on her chest as they touched him. "No," she cried, beginning to beat on Terry with her fists. "No no NO NO!" Michael reached out to put a hand on Padma's shoulder, glancing over at his friends with a sigh. He didn't know how to even begin to approach this situation. Sure, he'd had to deal with death before. His own father had died a few years ago. But he hadn't been there when his mother heard the news -- he hadn't had to deal with the immediate aftermath. After everything they'd been through this year, he hadn't thought it was possible that one of them could actually die. But there wasn't much he could do about it. He guessed the only thing he could do right now was comfort Padma. So, he slipped his arms around her as she leaned against Terry, resting his head on the back of her shoulder. Terry didn't have the slightest idea as to what to say to try to make things better. He wasn't really sure if things could. Anthony was dead. Other people he cared about might've been, too. Hell, he hadn't seen Morag yet, and he wasn't sure what he'd do if he'd lost one of his best friends and his cousin all in the same go. None of the fighting from earlier in the year mattered just then. Not anymore. So instead he stayed silent, holding Padma tight and staring off into space, trying to avoid letting his eyes drift back to the spot where Anthony was laying on the ground. "It's gonna be okay, guys. We'll get through this." Terry wasn't quite sure how -- honestly, for the past year Anthony had been the one making a lot of their plans -- but they would figure something out. Probably not immediately, but someday. "You think he'll come back as a ghost?" Part of Michael wanted to laugh at the idea of his friend coming back as a ghost -- it was comical and probably more suiting than a quiet death, if only so that he could watch them all cry for him or whatever people did when their friends died, Michael wasn't entirely sure. Right now, it seemed surreal to him. He wasn't angry. He wasn't even all that sad. He was more in shock than anything. He was sure that when there was a chance for it to sink in that he'd be far more gutted than he was now, but it was difficult trying to process his own emotions when Padma was in the middle of such a visceral reaction. "I don't know," he mumbled, glancing up at Terry. "Wouldn't be surprised if he did." Padma pulled herself off Terry, her choking sobs subsiding slightly. "Just shut up, will you?" she snapped, not truly angry but not at all able to handle their words. She gave them both a nasty look and (slowly) rose to her feet. Her chest hurt, and not from the curse Goyle had set upon her and all she wanted to do was talk to Anthony but she couldn't and she never would be able to again and-- "This is all my fault," she said as she walked away from Michael and Terry on the bench. She approached Anthony's body again, her stomach churning, then turned away, holding her arms and sobbing. "It's all my fault," she said again, turning back to him and sitting down near his side, positioned just far enough away and to the side that she didn't have to look at him but could still see out of the corner of her eye. "I'm sorry," she told him, the phrase that had been on her lips for the past two days so many times, but this time she meant it more. She reached out and laid her fingers gingerly on his wrist. She would rather hear his voice but this contact, physical contact, the kind she had always wished he had liked just a little bit more, was all she could get and it suddenly felt very empty. She felt hollow knowing that she soon wouldn't even be able to touch his cold wrist or look at his broken body and the sobs came again, loud and desperate. "I'm so sorry. I'm so sorry I convinced you to stay," she cried. "You were right. You were always right." Angelina and George Ritchie. Ritchie. The name filled her head. Angelina was fighting to pull herself back out of the thick blackness that had covered her. She'd been fighting, aiming to protect him to defend him. That was the last of what she remembered. She had to get back up. She had to continue to fight. She couldn't just give up and give in like this. She had to keep going. She had to pull herself up. It wasn't over yet. She had to make sure Ritchie was still breathing. She needed to get him help. He could make it. He wasn't dead -- was he? She didn't hear anything but footsteps and conversations moving around them now in the distance. It was blurred in her head. There was no battle around her at the moment. She could distinguish that much. She struggled to open her eyes but the movement was not coming easy. The lids felt heavy. Her body felt broken but she couldn't begin to tell what was broken anymore. It all hurt. She used an arm to maneuver ever so slightly to a crawl which made her head throb. She touched where it hurt and her hand got blood on it. She wasn't sure where all the blood was coming from anymore. "Ritc-" she murmured trying to find the other body in her crawls. She used her bloody hand to grab his wrist and search for a pulse. She found none. He wasn't breathing. He was still warm but he was gone. He'd been considerably younger than her but he was still one of her own. Gryffindors were supposed to protect Gryffindors and she hadn't done it. It hadn't been enough. She resisted the urge to bury herself in his chest and sob. Instead she closed his eyes and used the ends of her robe to wipe his face. "I'm so sorry, Ritchie ..." She had to get his body somewhere safe. That was all she could do for him anymore. She wasn't getting anywhere fast. Her own injuries were too severe to get up on her own. She couldn't do this alone. She deluded herself into thinking that if she laid there for a few more minutes she could find the strength though. She leaned back into the ground, hand moving back to hold her head. Were her brains falling out? That was what it felt like. Stumbling slight through the chaos, George Weasley's ginger hair was plastered to his head with sweat and blood, and he was walking with a bit of a limp, head throbbing from being knocked unconscious earlier. He felt utterly sick to his stomach, but for now there seemed to be a lull in the battles - a foreboding calm. Had the Death Eaters backed off? George didn't know. He was still dwelling on everything he'd seen so far... and how he'd be a blt to get through this if Fred were still with him. Now, he wasn't so sure. Physically, we wasn't much more than fairly battered, but one look at him and his eyes were bloodshot and red from tears, his posture hunched and completely unlike a Weasley twin. Now that he wasn't fending for his life, he was beginning to wallow all over again - until he spotted Angelina. His heart leaped into his throat, and just when he thought Fred's death and his encounter with the Death Eater earlier had taken all his energy, the adrenaline kicked into his veins once more. "Angie!" he called, voice cracking. Not her too, Merlin, not her too! Dashing over to her, he clumsily fell to his knees beside her and quickly bent down to touch her shoulder, face - but there, she was breathing, moving, she was even awake. "Ang," he said again, looking her over. There was blood everywhere, and he couldn't tell if it was her's and if it was, where was it coming from. His eyes only glanced at the body of the other young Gryffindor boys for a moment. He was dead, George knew it before he even checked for a pulse. Pressing his lips together, he tried to concentrate on finding Angelina's wounds so that she'd get up for him. She had to be okay. He wouldn't get through any of this if his friends and family didn't make it. Not without Fred. "It's George, I'm here, can you move?" "It's just a few scratches!" Angelina managed with a wince when she saw him. "I'm okay - Everything can be fixed." She was putting on the tough act now. It was her captain voice. The one she used when bludgers smacked her silly on the pitch when they were in school and she was refusing to go to the infirmary. It always was a losing battle though. She was strong but she was never a match for the likes of the Weasley twins, Wood or her girls. If he was worried about her, she wanted to elevate it. When there were so many other people around that were dead, she hardly thought she was anything to be be making expressions like that over. The throbbing inside her head made opening her eyes painful but she kept them open long enough to look him over account for any major injuries. His face was what caught her eye more than any blood or injury. "George?" she asked when she saw the red lining of his eyes. She used the good arm to wince herself back to sitting, forcing herself to endure a little pain for the sake of her friend. Something wasn't right. She'd seen this look before. It reminded her of when they were fourth years and Ginny had gone missing and was presumed dead. A sinking feeling of dread filled her, sending goosebumps over her dark skin. Something was missing. Something was very, very wrong. "Did something - He's going to be okay though, right?" She couldn't bring herself to suggest it. "Tell me where he's at!" The idea made her want to try and get up and she did try and failed miserable again. She couldn't! She was going to lose it. The idea alone had her sick to her stomach. The remaining half of the Weasley twins only paused when she questioned him. Still halfway in denial himself, he didn't bother to answer, trying to keep it together and focus. "Ang, it's more than a few bloody scratches," he told her, voice shaking and completely devoid of humor or at least it's usual snarky or optimistic tone. "Lie back - can you move your legs?" he asked, eyes not meeting hers and taking out his wand to at least start healing the areas that were bleeding out. He wasn't brilliant with healing, that was for sure, however his experiments with Fred for so many years left the boys needing to know the basics lest some of them go very, very wrong. Which some did. So he could stop some bleeding and put a few injuries back together. Angelina didn't like this! He wasn't answering her questions and he wasn't looking at her. Why wasn't he answering her question? Fred had to be okay! Nothing ever happened to him. He was Fred. He was like cat. He always landed on his feet one way or another. This had to be some sort of joke. "Did he put you up to this?" she asked trying her best to be calm but she wasn't feeling it at all. She leaned back down trusting him to fix her. The minute he fixed her, the sooner they could get this over with. The sooner they got this over with, the sooner she could beat the living daylights out of Fred. "It's not very funny -" she offered before answering his question about her legs, "My left leg hurts but I can move it. I can't do anything with the right." She quickly moved back to the topic of Fred though as she let George try to patch a little. "I'm going to beat you both senseless when I regain use of everything - I'm serious - Where is he? George, look at me! Please. Tell me you're acting like this because of some big inappropriate joke. George let out a hollow laugh with that thought. It was so unlike him, it sounded almost bitter. A joke. A big elaborate plot to pretend one of them had died - part of him wondered if that was beneath them, and for a minute he thought that they might have actually done it at some point or another to a mate or two - but not to each other. And not in a battle. And not ever to their mum. His chuckle hiccuped and he held back a sob as he narrowed his teary eyes to keep concentrating on what he was doing. Her leg was in bad shape, she couldn't move it. Her left arm looked like it very well might be at not quite the right angles too. He ripped off part of his shirt and fashioned an amateur sling from the fabric to hold her arm still and against her chest. He'd have to levitate her. If her leg was as severely broken as she was acting, carrying her wouldn't work, or it at least wouldn't be very good for her. Meanwhile in the back of his mind, he was being reminded that she deserved an answer - the truth, really. But George didn't want to say it - saying it made it real. Made him accept it, and he wasn't ready for that yet. "Will it hurt too much if I lift you?" he asked after calming the spasms in his face. The silence spoke louder than words. Angelina resolved to not cry. She wasn't going to cry in front of George. Crying would mean facing the truth that was staring her straight in the face. It was too hard to believe but even more impossible to imagine ever accepting. Her good hand reached to touch George's patting it lightly with her fingers. "You could have made a decent healer," she said her own voice choking. She was joining him in the land of make-believe because she wasn't ready to face it either. If the truth was this bad, she didn't think she wanted to know it. She wanted to run circles around it until there was no where left to run. That was how she'd always dealt with things. She'd always been good at Quidditch because she threw herself into the match. When there was something bothering her, she took it out on the opposing team. Being an adult meant that she could no longer lose herself in the sport. She broke things, she screamed - her body wouldn't let her do that at the moment. Everything hurt but nothing ached as badly as her heart in her chest at the moment. "If you lift me, will it hurt you?" she asked turning the question back to him. She was being her typical stubborn, tough self. Finishing the task felt important. She was a quieter no matter what. "Is it over? If not, I need to find someone who can get me walking. I have to get back out there." Shaking his head in answer to her question, George carefully slid an arm behind her shoulders, lifting her torso slowly, paying close attention to how she reacted and what made her wince. "I don't know," he replied hoarsely. "They've slowed for now - looks like people are regathering... we need to get you to someone who can heal you," he told her, fairly sternly for George. He glanced around, noticing some more students rushing in one direction. Maybe that's where their side was trying to recompose themselves. Would she be safe there? "I'm getting you out of here," he said, looking back to her then to the younger boy's body who she'd been with. His empty stare up at the ceiling made George feel nauseous all over again. Scooping Angelina up as carefully as he could, he held her close, ignoring how his shoulder burned. He knew a short-cut to the Room of Requirement, and he couldn't think of where else she'd be safe. Even if he was gentle, it hurt. The pain was intense but she hid it from flickering on her face. She bit her bottom lip until it bled just to protect George from her watching every movement show on her face. The occasion slip-up might have happened but if she could protect him, she was going to. He didn't need to know how badly things really were. She'd never been a big fan of making a fuss over herself. "I don't want to leave," she insisted, "I'm not leaving without you and the others. We came in together and we're leaving together." She felt particularly strongly about that. She didn't care if there was more battling or if she was putting herself at danger by staying. She felt horrible enough because she couldn't save Ritchie. She wasn't going to let something happen to George. She wouldn't be able to go on. Her head leaned into the crux of his shoulder, finding comfort in the way his arms felt just like Fred's. He smelled like Fred. "I can't lose you too," she said quietly. That was as soft as Angelina Johnson got. George's jaw tightened stubbornly when he heard her, quickly managing his way through the halls and into a dark alcove. Pausing to catch his breath and shove the curtain that led into the next hall out of their way, he didn't answer for a long few moments. "Your leg's broken," he finally told her, closing in on the short staircase he needed to climb. "Arm maybe too... you're not leaving, Ange, you're just taking a rest - you can't fight anymore and if you stay out there you'll just get yourself bloody killed." His voice was almost cold until the last sentence. That's when it cracked and his nostrils flared slightly as he forced himself not to tear up all over again. He couldn't save his own brother, his best friend in the entire world... the least he could do was save the girl he'd loved. "Fred wouldn't want that," he told her, finally glancing down and catching the pain in her expression. "Almost there." Resting felt like leaving. The physical reality was that she couldn't fight anymore. She'd given it all that she could. The tough as nails Quidditch mentality had her fighting to come up with reasons why she should be allowed back despite her injuries. George using Fred against her is what did her in. It started with a choking cough and then sobs started to fall out almost uncontrollably. Angelina did not want this. She couldn't do this. She and Fred had been saying goodbye since they were sixth years and it never stuck. The off and ons were easier than this. She couldn't remember a break-up that lasted more than a week. They were never permanent. Death was permanent and completely out of her control. "He wouldn't want something to happen to you either," she insisted defiantly pushing aside the aches of her body to stand her ground verbally. She didn't have much concerned for where they were or where they were going. Her mind was having trouble processing the layout of the school at the moment. "If I let you leave me somewhere and something happens to you, I'll never forgive myself. Captains look out for their teammates, George." The effort it was taking to convince Angelina that this was the right idea was almost forcing George back to being a bit of himself. His brows raised and he shook his head. "Dunno, Ange. Think Fred and I followed you more because you were fit than because we liked listening to your orders," he managed a joke. Not a great one, and one that would normally result in having things thrown at him, but he'd needed some sort of relief from the serious talk now that they were doing something productive like getting her to safety. He welcomed the distractions. Through another hall, around another corner. George's hand was swollen and his back was starting to clench, but he carried her on. Finally, he saw the door ahead, and swung inside, ignoring most of the other people who may or may not have been there for now, and went to go set Angelina gently against one wall. "Look..." he started, face disturbingly sober (for him) once more. "Fred and I were going to keep fighting. That's why we came back. I've got a sister and four other brothers out there... you're hurt, you need to get healed, badly." He was kneeling next to her now. "If I can keep going, I'm going to keep going... just like I know you would if you bloody could." Angelina wasn't sure whether to laugh or to cry over that joke. It wasn't actually that funny at the moment. Maybe her sense of humour had died along with Fred. "Liar," she said calling him out. If it didn't require more concentration than she had at the moment, she would have used her good hand to smack him over the head for insinuating such a thing. She was arrogant enough to know that she was in fact good-looking but she never would take that being the only reasons someone hung around. She knew it went far deeper than that with those prats. That was why it bothered her so much to see George in so much pain. She hated situations that she couldn't fix and this was one of them. She couldn't make the battle stop. She couldn't bring back Fred. All she could do was sit like a lame duck while everyone else got into the action. Of course, it irritated her! She leaned against the wall, as he set her down. This was her dumping ground and she couldn't even bring herself to focus on any of the other faces around her. "I know but I don't have to like it," she stated just as soberly in response to what he was saying, eyes trained on him, eyebrows furrowing slightly. She would have noticed his hand if she'd taken a moment to look away from his face. She certainly didn't have to like the fact her friends would be going back in but she did have to accept it. "I bloody hate this." Smiling just a bit, and with such rare extreme sympathy, George bent down to place a light kiss on his former Quidditch captain and best girl mate's forehead. "Hate it all you want, Ange, you know I do too," he told her before letting himself move to his knees and he started to heal what he could of her cuts and bruises. There wasn't a whole lot he could do though besides clean up the blood there and try to bandage the bleeding. "I'll let them know to come have a look at you - I have to find Ginny, though. And Lee." He pressed his lips together in thought. "I'll look for Alicia and Katie too - I'll tell them where you are when I find them." He couldn't let it be an If statement. This was some mighty fine situation they'd gotten themselves into. She just hoped that in the end their efforts were going to be enough and their losses would be worthwhile. This was the one time where Quidditch didn't make a fine counterpart. You could look at a lost Quidditch match and say that it had been a good match. If they lost this war, there wouldn't be anything to find happiness in. Harry Potter would come through for them! He wouldn't let all the death and suffering be in vain. She had to trust that Harry would come through again for them. She just hoped that he did it in time. "You'll come back too, right?" she asked. She didn't necessarily mean there or to her. "You have an order to come back in one ..." Her voice trailed off as she affectionately patted the hole where his ear used to be, watching some of her own skin grow back together. "... Well, as many pieces as you went back in as." George let himself smirk at that and he brought his hand up to take hers. He wasn't self-conscious about his ear - he looked a little ridiculous, sure, but he usually did that on purpose. He found it great to look silly by default - so much less work, and being a bit more hard of hearing on one side of his head was completely worth it. "The Earless Wonder will do his best, I promise," he told her with a wink, before squeezing her hand once more. "Don't be stupid, Ange," he told her affectionately, if bluntly. "If I come back in almost one piece, you have to promise to let yourself be seen to." He stood, still bending enough to hold her hand, and shook a finger at her expectantly. "Deal?" "You drive a hard bargain. I was actually planning on trying out the cripple thing for the rest of my life but I guess I'll let someone fix me if you come back. I might want to use my body parts again some day," she suggested with a raised eyebrow. There was the Angelina that got on with the boys. The playful troublemaker hid just beneath the organized little freedom fighter. There were a number of jokes that came to mind involving uses of legs but all of them felt in bad taste. It was too soon to crack jokes about the sorts of things he would have to do in Fred's absence. She did want to make George laugh because that would mean she was picking up some of the slack. She couldn't bring herself to go there yet though. "Deal," she informed him shaking his hand. "You best be getting on with it though before we get mushy." George's smile in return was shaky. His hand had been bitten by a snake, his head bruised and lumpy from rocks and hitting the floor, his outer robe was gone from being set on fire, and he was bleeding in more than one place. But he was okay with that. "Right," he said with a nod. "Take care, Angie." And with that he stood, and reluctantly walked away, moving quicker the further and more determined he got. Well... time to find some of the others. And hopefully keep his promise. Fred's death was overwhelming, so instead of dealing with it, George Weasley gave himself a mission to continue on and last in this battle until the end. Hermione and Ron Something hurt. Everything hurt. Everything hurt at once. How was that even possible? Ron didn't know it was possible for this many things to hurt at the same time. He knew what it was like to fall down and smack his knee, and he knew what it was like to fall off his broom and hit his head. The physical pain, that he understood. But that little teaspoon filled with his emotions didn't really know how to cope well with loss. He had tried to sympathize with Harry over the years. When Harry would talk about his loss, Ron would sit there and wonder what it would be like if both of his parents had died. Then, when Sirius was killed, he again tried to wonder what Harry was going through. The Weasleys had always been a tight bunch, perhaps even obnoxiously so. When one hurt, they all hurt. When one died...well, they all died. It was like he was living and not living at the same time. The calm before the storm, the eye of the hurricane. That's where they were right now. And as Ron looked around the Great Hall and saw nothing that he remembered seeing during his very first Christmas feast, he wanted nothing more than to just get away. When his eyes came across Hermione, where she was sitting with Ginny, he twitched slightly, involuntarily reaching up to itch at a nonexistent tingle on his neck. When he started moving, his steps were strangely large and slightly shaky. "'Mione?" he spoke, voice sounding deeper than he was used to. Normally he'd be pleased at this sudden manly note to his voice, but he didn't exactly care right now. Instead of sitting down next to her, he stayed standing behind her, as though afraid to close that gap between their bodies. "Do you want to take a walk?" There was something about that night that had made Hermione realise that, no matter how much hope she had put into her best friends and the people around her, there was always that possibility that they were not going to survive -- not even her. Everything was just surreal to her; there were students that she had known, and those she might have just passed on the hallway that had smiled at her, or those she had helped with their studies that had been killed so easily by the Death Eaters, even though they had put up a fight. She had been sitting with Ginny for a while and trying to comfort her as best as she could. It was the least she could do. She wanted everything to be all right again -- she wanted to go back to her parents and have them remember who she was. She wanted to go back to school and have everything be normal again. This was supposed to be her last year, and by this time she would be slogging for her NEWTs and nagging Harry and Ron to study as well. But she had already known since the beginning that she would be facing something like this -- and she didn't regret it one bit for making a choice to go with Harry and Ron. As the years had passed by, Hermione had realised more and more that the things she thought was important paled in comparison to what was needed to be accomplished that night. She looked up when she heard Ron's voice, and despite everything, she managed a small smile, because when she looked at him, he was still Ron, and he was still there. "Yes," she answered, getting up and began to walk slowly towards the other direction, though she waited for him to fall into step with her. There wasn't really anywhere they could go, really -- there was always that chance that the Death Eaters would attack them, and they had to be prepared for that. After having spent so many months with the same people, Ron should have been surprised that he still wanted to spend more time with them. But he wasn't. Sure, he needed and wanted breaks from his family from time to time, but there was something different about being with Harry and Hermione, something that was beautiful and perfect and flawed all at the same time; he depended on them to be there, even when he threw a fit and stormed off on them, like that horrible night when he sauntered off into the trees all by himself. That was certainly proving to be one of the worst days of his life, aiming as high as this current day was. "Thanks," he said, thinking that he sounded rather lame but not knowing what else to say. They walked away from the gathered Weasleys and close friends and headed for the entrance to the Great Hall, a direction that seemed to get both quieter, darker, and lonelier at the same time. Perhaps leaving the injured and dead was not exactly a good idea; they could end up injured or dead if they wandered too far. But he just needed a few moments alone to simply look at her. Once they were in the corridor and a few steps away from the chatter in the Great Hall, Ron reached has hand out and gently touched Hermione's arm to stop her as his body turned and stopped, standing close. "Are you...alright?" Hermione swallowed a lump in her throat, trying to fight the tears that were threatening to come out of her eyes. All of them had lost so many people from this fight -- and they were probably going to lose a lot more. She could hear the distant echoes of voices of the students who were comforting each other. Her gaze went to them for a moment, and then it rested on Ron once more. He had just lost his brother -- she was the one who should be asking him that. But she already knew that he wasn't all right; she had known him long enough to know that this was probably one of the worst nights of his life. "I'm all right," she answered; trying to be strong for the both of them -- and for Harry as well -- though her voice shook a little as she spoke. But she couldn't give up now. They had lost too much for her to break down right now and not keep going. "Ron--" she began slowly and took a step forward, looking at him right into his eyes, a determined expression on her face. "Promise me we're going to see each other again after this is over, right?" There were a lot of things she wished they had done earlier. She wished they had realised their feelings for each other earlier; she wished she had told him how he felt earlier -- back when she had the opportunity to do it. But it seemed like it was pointless to wish for the past to change when they couldn't ever go back to it. She was perfectly aware that it was a promise that would be too difficult to keep, but she wanted him to try, and if he tried -- then she would try as well. A part of Ron's brain, the part that had learned to constantly stay alert, couldn't help but wonder where exactly Harry had wandered off to. He knew that they weren't all supposed to separate, especially now. He could understand the need for being alone, sure, but Harry still didn't have the privilege of being alone right now; he had the duty of sticking around so everyone knew that he was okay. Ron would have actually gotten angry with Harry if that little bubble of sympathy inside him wasn't there. How could he blame him? Ron wouldn't mind wandering up the Gryffindor common room and sprawling out on the couch in front of the fireplace. Then he could pretend that there was nothing wrong and ask Hermione to do his coursework for him, or at least let him glance over hers. But as they stopped together, standing close outside a place that was filled with death, injury, and mourning, Ron realized that he was going to cherish whatever alone time he and Hermione were allowed to have because, despite his deepest pleas and wishes, this thing wasn't over yet. Something could happen at any time, he knew that; even though he knew that, Hermione's words still made his eyes widen and his heart beat a bit faster. In the past, he would have just muttered his promise quickly and that would be that. Now he wanted to choose his words more carefully. "You can't get rid of me that easily, 'Mione," he responded, suddenly painfully aware of how difficult it was to smile, even when he was trying especially hard to do so. Now wasn't the time to start declaring his love for her in a confusing and repetitive attempt at poetry, despite how much he was feeling it in his soul right now, so he instead reached out and wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her close. "It will be over soon. And then we'll have forever to, you know. Live like this. I reckon we will even figure this love thing out, too." Hermione closed her eyes as he hugged her close, leaning against him and trying to breathe steadily even though at that particular moment, she found it painful thinking of the prospect of not being able to be this close to him again. She remembered when he held her close when Professor Dumbledore died, and a long trail of memories passed through her mind that had him there. Even though there were times when he irritated her, he had been there for her -- she should've realised it when he had saved her from the troll during her First Year. Perhaps she did, but it was something that she had to remind herself about. Until now, of course. Now there was no need for such reminder. Forever. Yes, they had forever to be like this, to think about it, to resolve everything -- she knew they had forever in their hands, no matter how bleak everything seemed. She pulled away from him a little and smiled, because if -- just in case -- this was going to be the last time she was going to see him, she wanted him to remember this. "We will," she affirmed, her voice re-assuring, without a hint of doubt in it at all. Ron felt his heart stop hurting just a tiny bit, though it was hardly anything to get excited about, especially considering that the amount of pain that had already swelled there was almost beyond curable. But Hermione always had a way of being able to calm him down, even when she, and he, didn't know it was happening. He had taken her for granted way too many times over the years, but it seemed that he had finally learned to just be open to it, to her, to her and him and no one else. Maybe all that bickering was what they had needed to build some sort of foundation; maybe if they hadn't had all those fights and random shouting matches, and there had been many, things would be different right now and they wouldn't be able to struggle to be this strong. The idea of just crumbling and breaking down wasn't even something he could fathom, despite how easy it might have actually been if Harry said they should just give up. They couldn't give up. They could get hurt, Hermione could end up dying right in front of him just like F- No. That wasn't allowed. No. He wasn't going to think about that. A noticeable flinch washed over his face until he shook his head and thought of something else. "Brilliant," he whispered, studying her face silently for a second now that they weren't pressed as tightly together anymore. Ron moved his head forward a bit, but then hesitated for a second and tried to clear his thoughts. Once he did, he learned forward again and placed his lips on her face, in the crook between her lips and between her cheek. He stayed there for only a second before he pulled back again. "Should we go back and wait for Harry, then?" She closed her eyes momentarily as he kissed her, relishing the moment and hoping that she would still remember it for the rest of her life -- it didn't matter how 'the rest of her life' was going to be defined. When he pulled back, she nodded slowly. They had so many things that needed to be done -- they needed to help Harry, and they needed to make sure that by the end of this night, things were going to be all right again. After that, they would be free to decide what ever they wanted to do. With this thought in mind, she turned around and started to walk back towards the Great Hall, but kept her pace slow that she would be walking in step with him. Lavender and Padma How much worse could it get? Lavender's injuries had been treated quickly, too quickly for her liking, and she was afraid to move. What if something inside her moved or fell over or something, and she ended up in even more pain? Grimacing, she looked down at the bite marks in her waist, deep welts left by Greyback's teeth. She couldn't stand it. She looked away again, squinting her eyes to try and stop herself from crying. She knew she wouldn't be an actual werewolf, not if he wasn't transformed, but she would be scarred for life. Blood was caked in her blonde hair and it flicked the sides of her face as she turned her head, searching for those she knew in the Great Hall. People had died, she knew that. Where was Parvati? Where were Seamus and Dean and Neville and Ginny and Sasha and... she hoped they were doing better than she was, and not being attacked by werewolves. At least they could stop for a moment, take a deep breath, treat their injuries, and she could find everyone. Her ears were ringing and her heart was still pounding; she had never been this scared in all her life and all she wanted to do was find her friends. Seriously, where was Parvati? If Lavender had looked toward the number of bodies that were already starting to collect in the Great Hall, she might have thought she saw Parvati, but instead it was Parvati's twin who was there, finally healed up a bit but still wandless, sitting next to Anthony Goldstein's body. It was a strange sight, Padma sitting far enough away that she could only just reach him, facing the other direction, her hand on the boy's wrist. She couldn't bring herself to look at him but nor could she bring herself to leave him. Katie entered the Great Hall, floating Parvati's body in front of her so she could make sure not to bump her into something. Dead though Parvati might be, Katie didn't want to damage her even further. She had died fighting for justice, just like the other people now laid out on the floor of the Great Hall, and their bodies should be treated with the respect they deserved. So many, too many had died already, and it was only hours since the battle had first started. Katie cleared her throat, blinking back the tears that had sprung into her eyes as she remembered her best friend was one of them. Halting in her tracks for a moment, Katie looked around for a free spot where she would be able to lay down the body. As her eyes went past the row, she tried not to focus on their faces. She still had to fight, so she couldn't afford to break down and grieve, no matter how tempted she was to do just that. Spotting Padma sitting next to one of the bodies, Katie took a deep breath and began to make her way over, sorry that she would have to be the one to break the news. Thinking she spotted Parvati in the crowd, Lavender started, but then realised it was Padma she had noticed. In seven years she had never confused the twins once, and she felt ashamed for a moment before shaking her head and continuing her search of the room. But if anyone knew where Parvati was, Padma would, right? Heaving herself to her feet, her wounds aching so badly that she gritted her teeth and had to pause for a moment, Lavender set off in Padma's direction. After she had limped a few steps, another figure came into her line of vision, heading for the same spot she was. And hovering in front was.... She screamed, the piercing cry echoing off the stone walls of the Great Hall. Lavender ran the last short distance, no longer caring about her injuries. She whipped her wand as she ran, focusing on nothing but her best friend lying lifeless (no, not lifeless, she was just unconscious, of course she was) on the ground in front of her. "Parvati, Parvati can you hear me? We're going to heal you, ok? It's going to be ok!" In somewhat of a panic, she kneeled down by the body, looking helplessly at Padma as she did so. "Help me please Padma, help me wake up her up. Oh god Vati, wake up!" Everything had been going in such slow motion for Padma; she felt as if she had no more tears and then suddenly she heard Lavender's cry and her sister's name and then behind her was some Gryffindor standing over her sister's motionless body and Lavender kneeling there and Padma's hands were on her sister's face and in her hair and when she pulled them away there was blood on them. The room suddenly went silent. Padma was aware of Lavender's mouth moving and people talking off in the distance but she couldn't hear any of it. Bruise marks were on Parvati's neck. She grabbed her sister's wrist and picked it up - it felt different. There was a different sort of weight to it that wasn't there before - wasn't right, and as she looked down at her hands and the blood on them, she realised she couldn't breathe. Her breath came finally in a GASP and with her sharp inhale came the scent of her sister's body-lotion and she started coughing, all the sights and sounds around her rushing in and suddenly she could hear all the conversations at once and she could hear Lavender telling her sister to wake up. Her face was wet with tears once again, she realised, and she could hear her own raspy breath but none of it mattered to her, not now. Parvati is dead. The thought crossed through Padma's brain and she let out a cry - desperate and primitive - leaning over to embrace her sister's head and hold it in her lap, never wanting to let go. Katie had stood back a bit when Lavender approached them, intending to give the girls some space. She didn't want to intrude on their grief. Then Lavender started speaking, somewhat hysterically, and so she took a step forward, briefly resting a hand on her shoulder in an attempt to calm her down. "I'm sorry. She's not going to wake up anymore," she said to the both of them, her voice as soft and kind as she could manage. Were they to ask how Parvati had died, there wasn't much she would be able to tell them, but she would stay here for a moment longer, if only to offer a silent support. Desperation started to seep through Lavender. This wasn't the reaction she expected from Padma, she thought the other girl would help... but it was going to ok, really, she knew healing charms, this was why Flitwick had been teaching them, it was going to be ok. She muttered the charms, moving her wand over Parvati's body then trying again and again when they had no effect. "No!" she snapped at Katie when she heard those words, those words that were exactly the last thing she wanted to hear right now. It wasn't true. "Don't lie to me Katie, she's going to be just fine!" Her voice got shriller and shriller, cracking at the top, as her cheeks grew redder and eyes grew wider. "Padma?" Lavender turned, seeking reassurance before she gave in to the tears that were threatening to spill from her eyes. "Padma, tell her that Vati's going to be all right. Tell her, please. Please." Padma looked up, still cradling her sister in her arms. The blood in Parvati's hair now spotted Padma's cheek and neck and she turned toward Lavender and looked at her, eyes shiny and wet. She couldn't say anything, but she reached her free hand out toward Lavender, the pain she felt etched into every bit of her face. This wasn't fair, she thought. Not that she expected any part of war to be fair, no based on the entire last four months, but somewhere deep inside she thought she had paid for the pain she created as an IS member - she had lived in hell herself the last few months and so when they left they could go home together. They'd need therapy, for certain, and they might have had to move to India to get away from the Carrows, but thing would be better. Maybe she was just fooling herself. Maybe happiness was just a dream and life was really about tragedy, horror, darkness. She'd spent the last months persevering, hoping for a brighter future and then this. What point was there in hoping? What point was there in a world where she could lose her twin sister and her best friend in a matter of minutes. What point was there to any of it? The slow dawning of realisation came upon Lavender in rush of emotion so intense that she didn't know exactly what she was feeling; upset because she'd lost her best friend? Upset because Parvati had lost her life? Upset because Padma had lost her sister? Angry at whoever had done this, angry at Parvati for leaving her, angry at Harry for coming back and bringing this battle to Hogwarts, angry that she didn't get to say goodbye, devastated, wrathful, mortified, numb, lonely and scared, so very scared. Without a word she took Padma's hand, the tears now running freely down her cheeks as she made no attempt to check them. Why? Out of everyone, why did Parvati have to die? After everything she'd been through this year, why here, why now, why like this? Briefly, she ran the backs of her fingers down Parvati's cheek, feeling stillness and cold where there had so recently been life and vitality. Her wand on the floor, completely forgotten, along with everything else in this world that wasn't her, Parvati or Padma. She still didn't know how on earth she was feeling, and gripping Padma's hand just for something to hold on to, she finally succumbed to the tide of emotion. Bending her head down low, she cried with anguish, with sorrow, and because her heart felt utterly broken. |