She stands at the edge of the battle, watching him because now it's all she can do. She's quiet but she's there and that's all any of them can do, it's all that matters right then.

And they watch. He ducks, and counters, and attacks, and she's afraid for him because every other second or so he jerks his head a little to the side and she's unsure of what he's doing – and then she realizes that he's looking for them, trying to see if they're all okay, and she wants to slap him, wants to shake him and scream at him; he's in the midst of battle with the Dark Lord and there's nothing that matters more than this moment, for him, for her, for them all.

But his eyes keep flickering away from the battle and she knows he's looking for her.

She fists her hand in her cloak around her wand because she needs, so, so badly, to do something, to run to him and fight with him and to be with him, there, on the edge of death because where else does she belong if not next to him, if not in his arms?

She knows she can't, though, and so she wavers on the sidelines and she watches, she hopes, she prays and she can't think because suddenly something is happening, something is happening –

Neither of them watch the Dark Lord fall because all of a sudden, he sees her, and her world is righted because in that moment, she is there with him.

He smiles and she's about to run to him, grab him and hug him tight and tell him what an utter prat he's been for putting her in that position but mostly, just to hold him and hold him and love him –

And she sees, out of the corner of her eye, a black-robed figure dragging himself off the ground. She knows there is something wrong with this image, and it's trying to get to her brain, but she's overwhelmed with love and excitement and an infinite sense of exhilaration –

The man's face is twisted, charred, ugly and he throws his wand arm up and screams something she doesn't want to understand, something horribly familiar, and sharp consonants are cutting the air and the smile is still on her face and he's still smiling at her and everything is right, everything is perfect and something is wrong.

The bolt of green hits him in the back and he's still smiling, still standing, still there, on the edge of the world he stands resolute and she's stretching out a hand because she thinks she can feel him from here, anything is possible in this moment and he's still smiling.

She doesn't understand why Ron is running, shouting hoarsely, why Hermione is screaming and screaming and why the world seems about to implode and sparks are going off in the corner of her vision, white flashes of heat and suddenly she's not smiling anymore. But everything is all right because he's still there, he's still smiling at her, for her, and her world shudders to a stop because –

He's not there anymore. Where is he? She lowers her hand tentatively and her heart is beating so, so fast and her breath is coming short and she feels like if she moves just a bit she might collapse and where is he? He was there – there, with her, just a moment ago, she knows this but she can't feel him any longer; where is he?

Ron is gone, Hermione is gone, and they've thrown themselves on the ground next to another fallen body but she pays them no heed, another body, another death, it doesn't matter – where is he? She takes a step forward.

And the world comes crashing down on her.

She falls to her knees in the mud and she's pawing senselessly at the ground, searching for a handhold because she needs to be anchored right now, the axis of her world is spinning crazily and she's screaming, she's screaming, and something is so, so very wrong.

Where is he?

Her world shatters.