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Plink. Plink.
It was dark. Too dark, because her eyes were open and she should've been able to see, but she couldn't. It was cold, too. She felt chilled to the bone, even though there was no draft. Something sharp was jutting against her back, and it hurt. And it was dark, so, so dark.
Was she dead?
Plink. Plink.
No. She couldn't be dead. Heaven couldn't be this uncomfortable.
Everything hurt. Her whole body ached and her head felt like it'd been split open. She slowly moved her hand around, feeling for injuries. Her left leg was pinned down by something heavy and scratchy, and she'd lost all feeling in it. Right leg felt broken, twisted at an impossible angle, yet again she felt no pain.
Plink. Plink.
What was that sound?
Something wet was sliding across her forehead, and she lifted her hand to her head. Felt the deep cut, just along her hairline. The unmistakable smell of rust and salt.
Plink.
The memories were coming back now. Slowly, but surely. The last thing she remembered before the blackness was falling. Falling through the air, screaming at the top of her lungs for someone to help, but what else? What before that?
The explosion. Now she remembered it. Bricks, raining down around them, as the corridor collapsed. Folded and buckled like a house of Exploding Snap. That was what had happened. The corridor had collapsed and she'd fallen through seven floors and was now lying, somewhere, covered in rubble and debris. Stuck, trapped, but alive.
Plink. Plink.
What else?
Dennis.
The name came to mind as effortlessly as her own, and she was suddenly flooded with a stream of memories. The day they'd first met, three years ago. Dennis had been the very first friend she'd made at Hogwarts. He'd sat in her compartment on the Hogwarts Express because his brother had given him the slip and he hadn't had anywhere else to sit, and they'd split a Cauldron Cake. Later, when they found out they'd both been Sorted into Gryffindor, they'd eaten dinner together and decided to be friends. Best friends forever, she'd said. They'd shaken on it.
She cautiously touched the cut across her forehead. How ironic. Maybe she'd get a scar, too.
They'd had pretty much every class together. It had been Dennis who'd taught her to fly a broomstick, and she'd let him copy her History of Magic homework. They'd studied for exams together, spent weekends together in Hogsmeade, and even, on one occasion, snuck into the Forbidden Forest together. She'd been terrified, but in his usual Dennis-fashion, he'd convinced her to go with him. They'd barely made it past Hagrid's hut when Filch had shown up, and they'd been in detention for weeks. During detention, Dennis had slipped her notes using bewitched parchment.
She supposed that somewhere along the way, Dennis had become more than a friend to her. She'd started caring for him in ways that overstepped the friend boundary. It was confusing, the line between friendship and more too blurry, so eventually she'd dropped the notion and kept him as a friend. But after that, they'd started fighting and arguing all the time. Her feelings had put a strain on their friendship.
Plink. Plink.
They'd even been fighting earlier that evening. Over something stupid, as it usually was. She remembered now. Dennis had wanted to sneak down to the dungeons after dinner. A group of fifth-years had somehow smuggled a crate of edible Dark Marks past Filch, and word was that Amycus and Alecto wouldn't be doing their regular nightly patrols. Dennis had asked her to come along, and she'd refused. The punishment for being caught out of bed, and with contraband items, was torture by Amycus's Defense Against the Dark Arts class of Slytherins. She'd tried to stop Dennis from going, too, and they'd shouted a bit in the entrance hall before he'd finally told her that enough was enough, and he couldn't see how much longer they could keep up being friends.
Plink.
She tried moving her left leg. Nothing. She could rotate her toes just a little bit on her right, though, but not much. The motion sent stabbing knives of pain up through her leg. Well. At least she could feel again.
Plink.
She'd also located the source of that sound. It was the blood, dripping over her forehead and falling to the ground.
Of course Dennis had gotten caught. Without her, he was reckless, even stupid. The entire group had gotten ratted out by some Slytherin girl, and Dennis had barely managed to get away from Snape and the Carrows. He'd escaped to the common room past midnight—she'd been up, waiting for him, knowing he'd come running back to apologize—and had collapsed next to her, nearly in tears and terrified out of his wits. They'd been asleep together on the couch when McGonagall had sounded the alarm.
Plink.
She'd had a horrible sinking feeling in her stomach as they were herded down to the Great Hall. Like something bad was going to happen tonight. And sure enough, Harry Potter, the Harry Potter, was back, and You-Know-Who was after him, and the castle was under siege. It was beyond bad. The entire school had been in uproar; the first and second years terrified, members of some Order running through the crowd shouting orders and tripping over feet, ghosts floating in and out of the mayhem, friends and family calling for each other, and above all, the ice-cold voice of You-Know-Who himself, a voice so cold and slippery and awful that it felt like it'd seeped right into your bones and taken up residence in your brain.
What had happened next? What next?
Plink.
She strained for a memory, any memory. The bleeding must've been pretty bad because her head felt woozy and if she could see the whole world would probably be spinning. Think. What happened next?
Dennis, his eyes blank and glassy, sprawled on the ground.
No.
"No," she said aloud, startled by the sound of her own voice. But as soon as she'd spoken she knew the truth. The memories came rushing back. Explosion. Corridor. Spells. Masks.
Dennis was dead.
Dennis.
Her best friend.
He was dead.
"No," she said again, a whisper this time. Then louder. Louder. "No, no, no!"
As soon as McGonagall had announced that everyone underage would be evacuated from the castle, she'd turned to look at Dennis. Sure enough, his eyes were bright and a look of excitement was on his face. His brother, Colin, a sixth-year who'd been head of the Harry Potter Fan Club until clubs were banned, was already rounding up former members of D.A. to stay behind and fight. They were talking across the table, excited whispers, making plans. Plans to stay back, sneak back in through the dungeons, and fight with the rest of Dumbledore's Army. And Dennis had been sitting right there, hanging on to every word.
She'd begged him not to stay behind. Begged him to get to safety, get away from Hogwarts. But he'd refused. His voice came floating back through her head.
"I can't leave. How can I leave? My brother's staying back and so am I! We've got to help them fight. We've got to be a part of this. Wasn't this what Dumbledore's Army was all for? How can you not jump at this chance?"
So in the end, she'd given in, as she always did. They'd dutifully tramped after the Head Boy and Girl down to the entrance hall, past the gargoyles and towards Hogsmeade. The village was in stony silence, all the residents fled or up at the castle to fight. The Caterwauling Charm was blaring, but there were no Death Eaters there to silence it. As they passed Hogsmeade, she and Dennis and Colin and nearly twenty others had ducked into Honeydukes, found the basement tunnel, and followed it back up to the castle.
Why did you go back? Stupid, stupid, stupid
Fighting had already started by the time they reached the castle. People were running everywhere, up and down the stairs, dragging injured friends and shooting spells, and in the pandemonium no one paid attention to a group of teenagers coming out of a hole in the wall. She and Dennis had run down to the third floor, to find someone, anybody to either side with or fight, and had come across Fenrir Greyback sinking his teeth into a fallen student's body.
Plink.
There'd been so much blood everywhere, pooling on the floor, running down Greyback's teeth. The student wasn't moving, didn't look like she was breathing, either. Dennis had shot a Stunning Spell at the werewolf, and he'd flown backwards, off guard. Somebody had run up the stairs. Tonks. Nymphadora Tonks. The Auror who'd been guarding the school last year. Told them to go upstairs, to the Room of Requirement, away from the battle. Threatened to jinx them into oblivion if they didn't.
Dennis hadn't wanted to go. He'd wanted to continue downstairs to where the fighting was, to find his brother, but she'd put her foot down. He wasn't getting killed, and neither was she. She'd grabbed his sleeve and practically dragged him to the staircase.
They'd never made it to the seventh floor. On the fifth floor, as they ran past the portraits of dead wizards screaming at them to flee for their lives, a pair of Death Eaters had crashed in through the window. Drawn their wands and aimed Killing Curses at them. She and Dennis had fought their hardest, even managed to Disarm one of the Death Eaters, but on their best days they couldn't have taken down two Death Eaters. They were only thirteen, after all.
Only thirteen. He was only thirteen. He shouldn't have died. If only you'd done something, maybe he wouldn't've had to die.
The remaining Death Eater had shot another Killing Curse. A jet of green light, aimed straight at her. She'd jumped, instinctively, to the side, but the split second she'd taken to dodge the spell was the split second in which she could've shouted to Dennis, but didn't.
My fault. If I'd shouted. If I'd warned him. One second. That's all it would've taken.
The curse had flew by her, nearly grazing her shoulder, and hit Dennis square in the chest.
He'd fallen in slow motion. First his wand, clattering to the ground. Then his eyes had gone glassy, blank, empty, and he'd fallen backwards. Hit the ground with a thud. The Death Eater had shouted with joy, and she'd just stared at him. Stared at his body. The body of her best friend.
Why didn't you tell him. Opened your mouth, warned him, said something, anything. You could've saved his life.
The Death Eaters had advanced on her, but then suddenly, a man, Kingsley, the man from downstairs, had come barreling down the hall. Jinxed one of the Death Eaters. She'd cowered in the corner, shielding Dennis's body, as the two wizards fought. The ceiling cracked and started raining debris. A spell had hit a portrait on the wall behind them, and it burst into flame.
And then the Death Eater had pointed his wand at the ground. Mouthed a spell. Kingsley shouted and ran backwards. The floor exploded. And she fell. Bricks dust carpet debris choking noise screams falling Dennis Dennis Dennis.
Plink.
The Death Eater had blasted a hole straight through all seven floors. And she'd fallen through that hole, bricks and stones and dust raining around her, Dennis's body somewhere in the vortex of falling debris.
Dennis's body.
Dennis was dead.
He.
Was.
Dead.
Then blackness. All she remembered after that was blackness. And now she was awake to blackness. Blackness and pain.
She was buried somewhere, under seven floors' worth of stone and brick, hundreds of feet below the place where her best friend had been killed.
And it was all her fault.
One second. One second was all it would've taken. One second to shout, to warn Dennis that death was speeding his way, and maybe she could've saved his life.
And now he was dead.
And she was alive.
Plink.
Dennis was dead.
"Dennis!" she shouted to the darkness. No one could hear her. No one would care. She was responsible for killing her best friend. If not for her, he would be alive.
Dennis was dead.
He was gone, somewhere, lost in the falling.
And now there was nothing but darkness.
Plink.
Her leg felt like it was on fire. Her head hurt. As hard as she tried, she couldn't forget Dennis's glassy eyes as he fell backwards.
As he died.
She'd tried so hard to get him to leave. So hard. But she'd failed. She failed to save her friend.
Two opportunities. Once, as they left the castle.
And again, as they fought.
Dennis was dead.
He was DEAD.
It was so dark. But she wasn't sure if she wanted light. If there was light, she might be able to see Dennis's body, somewhere in the brick.
Or worse, she might be able to see herself, and she would see the guilt written all over her face.
He was dead.
Oh god, Dennis was dead!
She'd never told him how she felt.
Now he would never know.
Natalie McDonald closed her eyes and cried.
This story is in no way connected to the real Natalie McDonald, the one Queen Rowling based the character in Goblet of Fire on. I hope you liked it-this is my first Harry Potter fic! xox