Looking around me, I felt an overpowering sense of uselessness. I wanted to help my friends, but there was nothing I could do. Seeing all of these dead, mutilated bodies, many of whom I had known, it was crushing. I squeezed my eyes shut and turned around, immediately wishing I hadn't, because when I opened them, I saw an all too familiar face lying on the ground, glassy eyes staring at nothing, forever.
"Pieter!" I screamed, running towards my friend. I sank towards the ground, and started to sob. I shook Pieter's shoulder, and cried "Wake Up!" over and over to his face. Why? I couldn't understand why. Why all of this had to happen? Why was Hogwarts attacked? I looked around as if searching for an answer, and my eyes came to rest on a group of red-haired people surrounding a body. A whole family I thought, and suddenly, I wanted my parents, and to be far away from all of this. I looked again, and behind them I saw Harry Potter. Harry Potter, this was all his fault. If he hadn't come here, none of this would have happened. I found myself feeling an overwhelming hatred for the Boy Who Lived.
I put a hand on Pieter's shoulder, as if trying to comfort him, and sat there for a moment. After I calmed down a bit, I looked back at Harry Potter. No, this was not this doing, because he came back needing to find something to stop You Know Who, and everyone fighting had gladly stayed, or in our case, snuck back in, of their own free will. This was our fault, we had come back to fight, even though we knew we were fifteen and wouldn't stand a chance. I should have stopped us, and maybe Pieter would have lived. I sighed, and whispered, "I'm sorry", and lay down next to Pieter, closing my eyes, still with tears streaming down my face, and lay there for hours, until someone came made me go home.