So, hey. This is a really short, dark fic. I now I haven't posted for a while, life's been pretty hectic.

Dean and Seamus, the dynamic duo, the ones who were always together had fought side by side for- how long was it? An hour? Two hours? Three? Neither were entirely sure. They hadn't left each other's side for the whole battle. Many saw this as a tactic, but to Dean and Seamus it was simply loyalty.

Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, was nearby. He appeared to be watching the pair, worried for their safety. Then suddenly, it was all a blur, and Dean would never know who had shot the curse, but Seamus Finnigan was on the ground. Dean ran straight to him, breath caught in his throat. His relief to see the young man alive was short- lived. Seamus was clearly dying.

Dean let out a terrible, wounded howl of anguish, that curdled the blood of all who heard it and fell to his knees beside his best friend, who's breaths were short, quick and ragged. There wasn't time left. And Harry Potter just stood silently and watched. Perhaps, he had seen so many deaths, he was past caring.

Nothing could be done. On the 2nd May 1998, Seamus Finnigan died, his best friend at his side. And Dean Thomas stayed there throughout the terrible massacre, before he too, finally fell. Harry remembered how Seamus had asked him what it felt like to be completely alone in the world. He also remembered the answer.

It's just like when we die.