Chapter Two

The most awful feeling... In the back of his head... Like someone had hit him really hard with a rock.

...Oh.

He came to slowly, finding that he'd fallen backwards and was now staring up at the night sky. Propping himself up on his elbows, he turned his head and stared a bit stupidly at the rock on which his head had landed. It was coming back to him, trickling into his memory just a little bit at a time until he finally processed it all and realized that they'd actually been attacked.

Michael started a brief frantic search for Daphne, only to find that she'd fallen right next to him. She was stirring, and didn't seem much worse for wear except for the fact that she'd fallen rather uncomfortably on her stomach. He couldn't help it; after the dream he'd had, he had to reach out a hand and gently nudge her shoulder. The girl's nose scrunched up a bit, and she grunted.

A second later, she was awake. Fully awake. In fact, she was struggling to get to her feet until Michael again put out a hand to stop her. The panic in her eyes faded as she regained her bearings.

"We're still on the grounds," Michael said quietly. He couldn't understand why, though, or even why they were still alive. If they were, indeed, attacked by Death Eaters, it stood to reason that they wouldn't be waking up.

Daphne nodded, settling back down onto the cool grass and massaging her head. "...Should get back."

Michael couldn't help but notice that they both seemed to be taking this rather well. Calmly, too. Neither of them were celebrating their luck at being alive, nor were either of them panicking. What had happened? Why was it like this now? Didn't anyone feel anymore? He bit back the comment, "If there's anything to get back to." and merely nodded, adding, "Did you happen to see what attacked us?"

Daphne looked thoughtful for a moment, then responded, "Only one."

"Just one?" he asked, but Daphne just shook her head. Whoever it was, she didn't seem to feel now was the time to discuss it. He bit back an exasperated sigh and stood up, offering her his hand. "Let's get back, then," he said, starting to jog towards the castle. He glanced over his shoulder just to make sure she i was /i close behind. He didn't want to think about how worried he really was upon waking up. His heart was still pounding painfully, but he forced himself to not think about anything except what lay ahead of them. It was easier that way, and he needed to be on top of his game for what he expected lay before them.

As they crossed over the top of the hill leading from the Pitch to the courtyard, he noticed that dawn was starting to creep across the sky. The world around them was eerily silent, and he was tempted to tell Daphne to hide and wait for him, only he knew by now that two wands were better than one. Potter had foolishly tried such heroics earlier on, and his charges had ended up in St. Mungo's... They were still there. Michael readied his own wand, waiting for Daphne to catch her breath before cautiously approaching the doors of the Great Hall.

A part of him really wished he could hold her hand. He didn't want to open the door and see bodies and carnage and rubble. He could smell the faint, acrid scent of smoke, which meant something had blown up during their state of unconsciousness. It was just a matter of body count now. He didn't want to tell himself that everyone would be fine. He'd tried to do that before, but it turned out that every time he did, it was another dousing with cold water, because someone always was grievously injured or dead when Death Eaters appeared.

Taking a deep breath, he started to push open the door only to have it swing wide open, nearly knocking him over. He jumped back, wand out and ready for whoever was coming out...

"Expelliarmus!" Someone shouted, just before Michael could rattle off his curse. This was it. He was going to die. At least, he thought as his wand flew out of his hand, he'd been ready.

It took him a moment to realize that the voice belonged to Daphne. He turned to look at her, then at the black-robed man standing in the door. Both of them were staring at him with their arms crossed. Severus Snape, however, looked very much as if he'd like to dock points from Michael's now-disbanded House.

"Hm." Snape said simply, scowling at the boy as he practically glided away. Michael wondered where the once-professor was going, though it wasn't wise to ask him questions. More often than not nowadays, one was met with silence from Severus Snape. He was still cold, though, like everyone else, he lacked a certain something that made him himself.

Snape stopped a few feet away, though, turning back toward them. His face was unreadable. There was no worry or unkindness or despair or anything else there but a faint scowl that meant nothing. "I wouldn't go in there," he said before resuming his retreat.

Michael looked at Daphne. She seemed to be thinking the same thing he was. They had to know. Michael crouched down to retrieve his wand, and he had it pointed toward the door as Daphne slowly opened it again.

...But there wasn't any need to fight. Not anymore, anyway.

Had Michael been thinking about anything more than the fact that Terry and Anthony had been in the castle, he might have taken the chance to ponder Snape's exit. As it was, he didn't put his wand away. He wasn't holding any hope, but he didn't want to get himself killed either. However, this time, he did reach out for her hand. He didn't really care if she thought less of him for it, but his best friends had been in there, and... He didn't think he could walk in there bravely on his own. Daphne hesitated. She was probably worried about the ever present need for alertness, but in the end whether she understood or not she took it. She didn't say anything, though he thought she looked like she might be close to becoming ill. He couldn't say he didn't feel the same. Maybe he was projecting.

They made their way through the smoky halls towards the Great Hall--it seemed the majority of the smoke was issuing from that direction. The doors had been blown off and were lying in pieces across the hall and stairwell. They carefully picked their way over the debris, and finally Michael was forced to relinquish her hand to cover his face with his sleeve--the soot in the air was too thick.

He was starting to panic, but he didn't want to say it aloud. The sight of billowing smoke and the smell of ash sent him into memories he didn't want to think about, not after that dream... But Daphne seemed relatively calm, moving forward when he paused in front of the open doorway, her wand out and already illuminated, and her hand over her mouth and nose.

From what Snape had inferred, there was no need for wands now, but just as Michael might have let down his defenses, feeling the weight of utter failure beginning to fall upon his shoulders, a shot of red light burst past him and burned into the wall behind him. He heard Daphne scream, and he didn't waste another minute, sprinting into the thick gray cloud and abruptly tripping over a table, going down, and losing his wand. He cursed, scrambling around, coughing and blindly searching for his wand.

"Stupefy!" a heavily accented male voice shouted. He heard wood splinter, and Daphne gasp, but it didn't sound like she'd been hit... Their footsteps weren't far away from him, and it was definitely two sets.

"Finnigan?" he queried, hoping his voice hadn't been consumed by the sounds of struggle and the muffling ashes around them.

"Aye, it is," Seamus said quietly. There wasn't any fight in his voice now. It was actually rather... Well, if Michael could pick a term for it, dead. Tired, too. He looked up to see the Irish Gryffindor staring down at him, now and then throwing glances to either side. Daphne was turned the other way, looking out behind him. No one was letting their guard down anymore it seemed.

Michael stood up, brushing himself off a bit and squinting through the smoke. His eyes burned. His nose burned. Finnigan's eyes were following his every move, and even though it seemed that the other boy had just... Well, done something decent, Michael couldn't help but feel distrustful. Old rivalries died hard, even now.

Finnigan didn't wait to be asked what happened. He just spoke, as if the very idea of telling someone was a comfort. And Michael listened, although not out of concern for Seamus' need to feel some sort of comfort, but out of the fact that he had to know what happened so that he could help, if at all possible.

"Death Eaters. A bunch of 'em. Tore through the camp out on the grounds. Don't know how many are dead. Seemed like most they did was stun until they got to the castle, but..." He looked around. "You can see what they did here."

Michael noticed Daphne wandering away. His instinct, of course, was to go to her, but she seemed intent... As she disappeared into the smoke, he continued listening to Finnigan as he filled in the holes in his story.

"I was just staying behind to take care of the stragglers. I think that was the last of 'em, though I..."

He stopped as Daphne tapped him on the shoulder, and turned around. She seemed to regard him carefully for a moment, then quite unexpectedly smashed him over the head with a brick she'd been carrying. He slumped to the floor, unconscious.

"He stunned Terry," she explained. "And I'd like to think I trust Terry more than this one. Imperius Curse. You could see it in his eyes."

Rather at a loss for words, Michael looked between his girlfriend and the lump of Finnigan on the floor. "...You could have stunned him..." Michael muttered.

"I know," Daphne said, looking over her shoulder at Terry, who'd been revived and was now approaching. "But how many other chances will I have to knock Finnigan over the head?"

Terry rubbed the back of his neck. When he spoke, his voice was still slightly slurred. "Of course, now we'll actually have to wait for him to wake up for him to tell us what happened."

Michael nodded. Somehow, he wasn't quite sure that simply knocking Finnigan out was going to remove the curse, but perhaps it was just the general paranoia sinking in. "Maybe we should tie him up," he suggested after a moment. Terry glared at him at first, but then nodded.

"Yeah, probably best," the stoic Ravenclaw said softly, seeing to it. Apparently Michael wasn't the only paranoid one.

"This place is a mess... I can't tell one body from the next," Daphne sighed, the momentary amusement at getting to knock Seamus out subsiding.

"Nothing to do until the dust clears," Michael muttered. Of course, they could go off and search out the rest of the castle, but at the moment, he really would rather let those who had gotten away to hide come to them rather than the other way around.

"We could break out the windows. Might make things air out faster," Daphne suggested. Terry and Michael exchanged glances, wondering why they hadn't thought of that. The three set to task, smashing all the once beautiful, coloured windows. It didn't really make that big of a difference, seeing as most of the castle was already in ruins, so one more thing really couldn't help. Of course, as soon as the smoke had somewhere to go, the room began to clear.

Michael walked back over to where Seamus was tied and crouched down. The Irish boy was going to be feeling that one when he woke up, but it had probably saved his life, so Michael couldn't complain. Terry and Daphne joined him after a moment, both crouching, because there was still soot in the air, and it seemed even pure-blood wizards knew that the best air was lower to the ground in such a case.

Seamus coughed, and then just as suddenly, he was back to life and furious--attempting to free himself from his bounds by force, which of course only caused him to breathe in more of the cloudy air, causing him to nearly choke on smoke.

"Seamus, calm down," Terry said, touching the other boy's shoulder.

"They took Ron," he wheezed, pale eyes looking a little misty, probably from nearly suffocating a moment ago. "I reckon they might have taken off with Hermione, too, but I couldn't see because of the explosion," he was talking rapid fire, half-sobbing, his accent sounding thicker than usual. It was hard to understand him, but Michael caught the Ron big at least. He and Daphne stepped back, letting Terry try to soothe the hysterical Irish boy.

"What would they want with Weasley?" Michael wondered aloud.

"...Felt this calm out of no where." Seamus continued, oblivious to Michael's musing. "I know we're supposed to know what to do to resist it, but I wasn't ready..."

"No one's blaming you, Seamus," Terry said quietly. Michael, personally, would have been furious at the person that stunned him, under a curse or not. His best friend, however, had never been inclined to rage. Terry looked up at Michael for a moment, waiting until Finnigan wore himself out talking, and then he repeated Michael's concern.

"What would they want with Ron?"

"Don't know." Seamus took a couple deep breaths, then demanded, "Let me go."

Daphne kneeled down next to him in the rubble, but instead of going for the ropes, she grabbed the Gryffindor's chin. Seamus was too surprised to protest, and so he sat there while she looked into his eyes. She nodded to Terry after a moment, and he started undoing the knots in the ropes. Daphne let go of the boy's face and stood again next to Michael. Briefly, he wondered when she'd become so harsh, but realized after a second that she'd always been rather grating. It was just that now, she was being less subtle about it.

"Sure do know a lot about curses," Seamus mumbled. He didn't seem to want to provoke a fight, but he'd let that little bit slip. Michael, at least, knew what he was implying, and he was certain Daphne must have, too. Finnigan used to openly insult Daphne by calling her a Death Eater back when they actually attended the school. Those words weighed heavy now, though. They weren't just childhood insults anymore, and they could very well be accusations now. The only good thing about Seamus throwing around senseless verbiage was that it made Michael pretty sure that he'd been reunited with what good senses he had.

Daphne didn't show any expression other than a brief twitch around her eyes. Instead, she wandered off, looking at the bodies that remained draped across the floor. Perhaps she was looking for survivors, though Michael wondered if she might just be looking at them just to see if anyone she knew well had died. It wasn't long before she stopped over someone, and he saw the faintest tremble of her jaw. Without a second thought, he was off, going to see whom it was she had found.

It wasn't Anthony, and he couldn't help but let out the softest sigh of relief at that. His friend was probably still alive... somewhere. He noted that Terry had undone Seamus's bindings, and the two were making their own survey of the room. He turned back to the body, this time taking it in with a more subdued manner. After all, he had been a Slytherin. Michael admittedly didn't know his name, but he was only a few years younger than they, and he'd been on the Quidditch team... Number 17, if Michael recalled rightly. He felt shallow for recalling the Quidditch number, but not the name.

Daphne continued to stand, staring into the boy's glassy eyes. She'd suppressed the trembling in her chin, and now she just looked ... too young to be in a room filled with corpses. Or maybe too old. She looked a little of both in that moment, and he wanted to shake her loose. It made him furious that she was forcing herself to internalise all this. That she could do it in the first place. He wanted her to cry; he wanted to hit something until his knuckles bled, but instead he just quietly ran his hand over the young man's face, shutting his eyes, and tried very hard to not think about the fact he was touching a dead person, because that made the queasiness rise again.

"You okay, Daph?" he asked quietly, reaching out to touch her shoulder, but she shrugged him off and turned away to continue looking through the bodies.

Michael was failing to see the point. The professors had abandoned the school. If Potter's friends had been taken, then most likely he'd also vacated the premises. There was nothing here anymore, and the four of them couldn't do anything about the bodies. There were just too many for four people to bury, but if there were any survivors... They would have to wait. To try to lure the last in and then decide what to do.

He watched his friends and Seamus walk slowly around the room, feeling for signs of life, turning away when there were none, and he really just wanted to turn and run as far away from the Wizarding world as he could.

"Sure an' here's a live one!" Finnigan shouted, breaking through Michael's weary thoughts.

The response was instant. All four of them, within the blink of an eye, were huddled around the survivor Seamus had found. Though she was unconscious, her breathing was quite strong. The girl bore the marks of burning and the resulting partial collapse of the Great Hall all over her and had become barely recognizable. Brown hair was nearly all singed off, and her face was burned down one side and badly lacerated on the other. Her arms, too, which were visible through the holes the fire had burned through her robes, were in bad shape.

But she was alive. Thank Merlin she was alive. Michael never thought he'd be so ecstatic to see the girl. But out of everyone in the Great Hall, this one would have been able to cast a powerful enough shielding charm to protect herself.

Perhaps they'd left her for dead. Their loss.

Daphne kneeled down as Seamus pulled the survivor up out of the rubble. Terry and Michael shoved heavy boards out of the way, and the remnants of a broken table that had actually protected her from being crushed when the ceiling panels fell to the floor. Absently, Michael looked upward, noting that the enchantment on the ceiling was finished. He'd never see it again.

Meanwhile, Daphne was gently shaking the girl's shoulder, actually smiling a bit as she opened dark brown eyes. Seamus held her up as she came to, offering a rather pained moan as she realized the full extent of the damage. Understandably, she was having a moment of great despair; the castle, after all, was in ruins. However, for Seamus, Michael, Daphne, and Terry, this was the ray of hope they needed.

"Hermione," Daphne said. "You're all right. We're going to get you out of here."