All of her anger was spent, all of her rage exhausted. She was tired, weak, used up, and trembling. She couldn't even lift her wand hand to push her black hair out of her face, much less try to defend herself. Fortunately, the fight was over. The Death Eaters were defeated, Voldemort vanquished. Unfortunately, her very best friend in the world was dead, gone forever from this world. She couldn't find the strength to speak, to beg Lavender to wake up. She didn't have the strength to try to close the gaping wound at her friend's neck. She didn't have the strength to look away, to try to send a message to her friend's parents, to do anything. So she did the only thing people devastated by loss can do. She wept, she cried, she literally balled and wailed and screamed.
Her loss was clear to those around her, but she paid them no mind. She did not see Harry walk by, one broken wand in one hand, Dumbledore's in the other. She did not see Neville standing stock still as though someone had put a full body binding curse on him, staring at the sword in his hand, snake blood dripping slowly down the blade. She did not notice the wails of grief from the Weasleys as they learned of their own loss. She did not hear the crackles and pops and latent sighs of spells wearing off. She did not feel the warm hands of several passing friends and strangers offering their condolences. She did not feel the cold breeze brush by her, lifting into the air. She did not hear the angry whispers surround her, unintelligibly cursing fate itself. She did not register the freezing feeling assault her body as though she had jumped into the lake in the middle of a snow storm. Of course, no one else felt or heard any of these last few things either. But what Parvati Patil did feel, what she did hear, was an all too familiar cackle of laughter echo throughout her consciousness.
"Oh, my dear child," the disembodied voice of Bellatrix Lestrange cooed into her mind, "We are going to have such fun, you and I. Such fun."