((This is a little shorter than I expected. And leads into the next (and last!) chapter, which will be up sometime tomorrow.))

The waiting was the worst part. The hushed, expectant silence. The murmuring voices. The pounding of fear, hers and everyone else's, in the air. If it would just start already, if it would just happen, just end, she would be happier.
Happier than waiting.
The night air breezed past, tugging even at her tightly braided hair, unwinding strands from the side to brush against her face. She tucked them away without really registering them, her eyes fixed on the oncoming Death Eaters. Beside her, Professor Flitwick seemed to be feeling the same. He sighed and shifted unhappily, eyes fixed just as grimly in the same direction.
All of this, and she knew she wouldn't know what was happening to Charlie. He had gone with Professor McGonagall to fight from Gryffindor Tower - she had gone with Professor Flitwick to Ravenclaw. Almost as it had been during school, tucked away in their own little towers.
She hoped she'd see him again, before the end of the battle. If only to know he was still alive.

And then, with a crash and the smell of smoke and dust, the waiting was over. She didn't look to see where the first spell had hit. All that mattered was that it hadn't hit her. She fired spell after spell at the oncoming Death Eaters, attempting to slow or even halt their progress. If they could, somehow, keep them from entering Hogwarts, they'd have a better chance.

All of her life, she'd entertained the notion that there was more good in the world than evil. That people would fight for the good, when the time came.
Where were all of those soldiers, now? Why were there so many cloaked figures streaming toward Hogwarts with murder in their eyes?

"Giants!" Flitwick shrieked, startling her out of her thoughts and away from her spells. "They have giants!" His group of fighters, looked up, and Shay could see in their eyes her own chilling fear. It ripped through her, startled her with its ferocity. It was unlike anything she'd ever felt, even during the siege of the wedding, even when the Death Eaters had tortured her. This was the kind of fear they never told you about, in all of the old tales, the myths and legends of knights, of warriors. Maybe it was simply because she was no warrior. Maybe it was some natural switch that had been flipped inside of her. Whatever the reason, she couldn't understand why such an important element had been left out.
How horrible the fear of battle was. How paralyzing the realization of what was approaching.
But she couldn't let it paralyze her. Not for long. If she did, it could mean ruin, could mean destruction of everything she cared about.
She allowed it three seconds. Three shuddering seconds, eyes closed and fists clenched tightly enough to turn her knuckles white.
And then she acted.

If someone were to ask her later what exactly she was doing atop Ravenclaw tower when Hogwarts was attacked, she wouldn't be able to tell them. Only general details would make it through her lips. Spells, yes, but which ones? Who did they hit? What did they do? She couldn't say. Her mind was working without her, it seemed. Telling her which spells to throw, where to step, when to duck the flying jets of light.
There was an explosion somewhere behind her that rattled her bones and jangled her nerves, but she couldn't respond. The Death Eaters were quickly gaining ground, storming toward the castle.
Then, the cry she had been dreading.
They were inside, and Flitwick ordered the fighters into the castle - there was little else they could do from their perch, now.

Shay wasted no time. She sprinted from the tower, joining a cluster of older students at the bottom of the staircase. Hooded, cloaked figures were advancing on them, wands drawn. Soon, green light was flying, blocked only by the spells of those from the tower. As soon as she could, Shay started running down the corridors. A larger-than-most explosion shook the castle, sending dust and bits of rubble falling. The wall Shay had thrown herself against shook ominously.
What would they do if Hogwarts fell, she wondered? If it literally fell, crashing down around their feet? If the ending of the war could all be determined by chance? Who escaped and who didn't.
She thought as she ran, skirting every skirmish that didn't need her, joining those that did. All the time, she kept a sharp look out for Charlie. Several times she caught a flash of red hair, only to find mixed portions of relief and disappointment when she realized it was one of his siblings.
"Charlie?" She would ask, between shouting spells. And between shouting spells, they would shake their heads. They hadn't seen him.
Please be alright, she thought desperately, ducking under a beam of light. It had gotten to the point that she couldn't quite tell which spells belonged to whom, and she was sure some had simply been caught in the crossfire. A casualty of nothing but fate and bad timing. If Charlie had been one of those casualties, a casualty at all, she didn't know if she'd have the strength to face what she knew was coming.

Running. So much running. She was running out of breath, running out of strength. Running out of time. Gasping, she ducked behind a fallen pillar, sucking in air with great, desperate gulps. Until now, she hadn't realized she'd been shaking.
She hadn't seen very many people she knew - it seemed a strange thing, like everyone should be here. Mum and dad and Great-Uncle Herbie. Oliver she'd seen. Many of the Weasleys, too. Katie Bell. A brief glimpse of Luna Lovegood. But the rest had been a blur of Hogwarts robes and vaguely familiar faces, of hands clutching wands and lips mouthing spells.
Shay closed her eyes for a moment, just one, allowing her hands to stop shaking and her mind to stop whirling. When the world seemed steady again she brushed her hands off on the legs of her jeans, stood, and turned.

Right into the tip of a wand and maliciously gleaming eyes.
"Well, well, well," said the familiar voice of her torturer, "If it isn't Charlie Weasley's little whore...EXPELLIARMUS!"
Before the shock could wear off, before she could summon a shielding charm, her wand was gone and she was at their mercy.
It began with another round of Crucios.
But it did not end.
Soon enough, she couldn't recognize her screams as her own.
Couldn't recognize them as human.
Couldn't think.
Couldn't breathe.
Couldn't stay awake.
Couldn't...

"Good aim, Mr. Weasley," Professor McGonagall said as she fought alongside Charlie. "You would have made a decent Keeper!"
Charlie grinned, despite the situation, and returned fire as his group made their way down through the castle from Gryffindor Tower. They'd held the Death Eaters off from above for as long as they could, but now it was time to fight face-to-face. A method which Charlie ultimately preferred. If he had to fight at all, he'd rather be able to see his enemy. Not blindly fire spells from above.

He didn't enjoy the fighting. But he did enjoy the surge of adrenaline, the competitive factor of it. If he could make it a game in his mind, maybe he would survive. Maybe Shay would survive. Maybe everyone he loved could make it out alive.
Or, at least, most of them. He was nothing if not a realist.

Every so often the castle would shake with the force of another explosion. Every time, Charlie braced his legs more stably beneath him, got a firmer grip on his wand, and continued forward.
It was when he reached the vicinity of the Great Hall, just a few corridors and staircases away, when it started. A terrible, high-pitched scream that hit his veins like ice water. He nearly froze in his tracks, somehow managed to continue beating back his opponent with spell after spell after spell.
But his mind was not in the fight.
He knew that voice.
He knew that scream.
He'd been forced to listen to that scream time and time again in his own home not at all long ago.
Shay.

He beat his opponent back, overwhelmed with another surge of adrenaline, of desperation, his only thought that he had to get to her, had to get to her now. Finally, his opponent stumbled. One last spell finished him, and Charlie was flying, feet hardly touching the stars. When he hit the ground floor, the screams stopped.
So, then, did his pulse.
It meant one of two things.
She had been saved.
Or she was beyond saving.
He saw Oliver emerge from the shadows, anger and dust smeared across his face, a long, deep gash bleeding on his forehead. Cradled in his arms was his cousin. He nodded at Charlie in grim recognition and continued on into the Great Hall, his steps even and deliberate. For a moment, all Charlie could do was watch.

Shay had been milky. Ashen. Her skin had never seemed so pale, even in deepest winter. Even when she'd been sick. Even after they'd tortured her following the wedding. Her eyes had been closed, the bright blue he knew better than even the color of the sky had been closed, her chestnut curls a tumble of tangled curls across her face. They, too, had been pale and flat with dust. She'd been limp, too relaxed, as if in sleep. Her arm had dangled over Oliver's, the hand loose, fingers uncurled. Her head had rolled with each step that Oliver took.
When the image had settled, when he knew this was real, Charlie followed Oliver Wood into the Great Hall and skidded to a stop beside him just as they were lowering her onto a makeshift cot. All of the faces were grim as the world hurried on around them, caught in the midst of a war that Charlie could not bring himself to go back to.

She didn't look like she was breathing.

((And so begins the part in which you may want to kill me. I did warn you.))