Screams echoed throughout the halls and classrooms, cloaked figures appearing in clouds of black smoke. Debris flew through the air in response to fiery explosions that shook the foundations of the building. Blood flowed out of injured students and teachers in waterfalls of red, staining the one pristine walls and floors. Her friends were dying. Her classmates were dying. Her teachers were dying. She couldn't move. She lay in a pool of blood that was not her own. Or was it? She couldn't tell. All she knew was that people were dying and she couldn't move. She couldn't breathe. She couldn't speak. Her transfiguration teacher lay on the ground, head completely detached from his body. Did people really have that much blood in them? Her best friend was sprawled out on the stone, eyes open and gazing at her with a blank expression on her face. Blood rhythmically pulsed out from a wound in her chest, slowly draining the life from her body. She should help, but she couldn't. She couldn't do anything about the mass destruction and death. All she could do was lay there on the blood-drenched floor and watch as the Death Eaters murdered every one of her friends, classmates, and teachers. Then the halls became silent and the cloaked figures disappeared, the echoes of screams reverberating throughout the empty stone-filled passageways. Still, she lay there, unable to get up. All she could register was her own racing heartbeat pounding in her ears and her rapid, wheezing, breaths echoing in her head. All she could see was red. Blood on the walls. Blood on the floors. Blood on the ceiling. Blood on the desks. Blood on her clothing. Blood in her hair. Blood on her skin.
She gasped as though waking up from a dream, sitting upright and ignoring the pain radiating throughout her body. She looked around as though in trance, still unable to make a sound. Various body parts were scattered haphazardly around the room, far away from their owners. Death. All she could see was death. All she could comprehend was the fact that they were dead. Every single one of them. Dead.
She heard footsteps running down the hallways. Her heart rate quickened and her breathing came faster and more frantic. Were they coming for her? Did they know they she was still alive? How could they? She was drenched in blood! The footsteps came closer and four figures walked by the doorway, failing to pass through into the room. Suddenly, one fair of feet stopped.
"Wait. I thought I heard something back in that room over there." One of the figures spoke. They were coming. She started to hyperventilate, hugging her knees to her chest. This was it. This was the end.
"Are you sure?" Another voice spoke.
"Absolutely."
"The Congress said there were no survivors."
"I am positive that I heard something."
The exchange moved something within her. The accents were not typical of Death Eaters. They were American. And they mentioned Congress, the Magical Government for the United States of America. Footsteps approached the room again, but this time, she did not panic. The figures entered the room. One of the figures whistled.
"Wow. This...I don't even know what to say."
"It's horrific! Look at the amount of blood!"
A set of footsteps closed in on her spot in the corner of the dimly-lit room until she could clearly see the owner's face. He was young, about 30 years old with little facial hair and a messy mop of brown upon his head. His eyes widened in shock when he discovered her presence.
"I found her." He called the other three men, who rushed over to the spot at which he was standing. The man knelt down to her level and spoke quietly.
"Don't be afraid. My name is Stewart and these are my partners Michael, McCormick, and Andrews. We're Aurors." The man, Stewart, reached out to her and put a hand on her shoulder. She flinched, but did not pull away. Stewart turned back to the others and whispered something to them. They walked out of the room and continued down the hall where they were headed before. He turned back to her.
"I'm going to help you, okay?"
She nodded in response.
"What's your name?"
"Amy." She whispered hoarsely. Stewart smiled kindly at her.
"Alright, Amy. Let's get you out of here."
He helped the girl, Amy, to her feet and checked for any sign of injury, finding only a few ugly bruises. Then, they headed out of the room, Amy gripping Stewart's arm the entire way out of the building. Once they were out of the grounds, Stewart disapparated with a crack, taking her with him.