Dean
The world had stopped, just for a moment, when Dean saw Harry.
He’d shuffled out with the rest of the weary resistance when an unknown voice had shouted a warning of their enemies' return. Even as he pushed his way to the front of the crowd, watching with dark eyes as the marching, dark-robed masses approached, he dared to hope. Maybe, just maybe, there was still a chance. Maybe, Harry had found a way, as he always did, to defy the odds.
It took only a few seconds for that last shred of optimism to dissipate.
Voldemort had been strategic in the positioning of his troops. Hagrid was stood front and center, a slumped, limp figure cradled gently in his arms. The messy, jet-black hair was unmistakable. The half-giant’s great frame shook with grief, his usually fierce eyes clouded with despair. The pallor of Harry's skin and the stillness of his form made his state easily recognizable. Dean had seen the same symptoms too many times in the past year.
Morbidly, Dean noted that even in death, Harry Potter looked exhausted.
The moment was surreal. The world around Dean dulled, as though he had been submerged underwater. Distantly, he was aware of the muffled sounds of people reacting—gasps, shouts, the intake of breath as realization swept over them all. But none of it reached him fully. His vision swam, the edges of the world blurring as cold, crushing despair wrapped around him and squeezed.
His legs betrayed him. He stumbled back, barely catching himself on a half-collapsed column. The jagged stone bit into his palms, grounding him in reality even as he wished to be anywhere else, to unsee what lay before him. He gripped the rough surface with shaking arms and tried desperately to steady himself.
Ginny’s scream pierced the silence like a blade, raw and gut-wrenching. Dean felt his insides twist at the sound. Her father caught her as she collapsed, gasping and sobbing. She scrabbled at the ground like a dying animal, clawing at it as if trying to anchor herself to a world that had suddenly lost all meaning.
Dean’s heart ached with a raw empathy for his ex-girlfriends' loss. He wanted to move, to comfort her, to do something, anything—but his feet stayed stubbornly rooted to the ground.
This was almost certainly the end.
Their savior, The Boy Who Lived, lay as lifelessly as Professor Lupin and Fred Weasley had in the Great Hall. What could possibly exist that would challenge the Dark Lord’s power now?
Dumbledore was dead. The Ministry had fallen. So many of their own were gone.
And now, hope itself had been extinguished.
Dean mourned not just for Harry, but for everything his dorm mate had stood for.
Neville stepped forward. Defiant. Unyielding. The Gryffindor in him shone through as it failed in Dean.
Don’t he thought desperately.
“And who might you be, young man?” asked the Dark Lord, a hint of dark amusement in his tone.
Dean shut his eyes.
“Neville Longbottom.” His voice was clear and steady. The soldiers behind the Dark Lord snickered. Bellatrix, the Dark Lord’s second-in-command, seemed particularly entertained by this.
Neville stood at the precipice—planted in the no-man’s land between the survivors and the Death Eaters.
“Neville Longbottom.” Voldemort said the name as if he were testing how it felt in his mouth.
“He’s the one who's been stirring up all that trouble for the Carrows, my Lord. The son of the Aurors, remember?” Bellatrix said, her lips twisting into a cruel grin.
“Yes.” Voldemort said coolly, “I remember.” He cocked his head at the limping boy. “You are a pureblood, aren’t you?”
Neville sneered. “As if it matters.”
“You show spirit and bravery, and you come of noble stock,” said the Dark Lord, still amused. "You will make a very valuable Death Eater.”
“I’ll join you when hell freezes over.” Neville snarled. Dean came back to himself, a primal survival instinct kicking in.
Voldemort’s red eyes narrowed, fury a flickering fire within them. Yet before he'd even raised his wand, Bellatrix acted. She shrieked out an incensed, “Advada kedavra!"
Neville dove to the side just in time, the jet of green light missing him by inches.
Dean barely had time to react before spells erupted from both sides, the battle reigniting in a storm of fury and defiance. He didn't even register his wand in his hand before he was fighting again, ducking a jet of green light and sending back a Blasting Curse.
"For Harry!" Ginny roared.
Despite the redhead's battle cry, the Death Eaters fought with renewed vigor, emboldened by Harry's death.
In the melee, Dean found himself back-to-back with Seamus. Their wands worked in tandem, deflecting, casting, and countering. Nearby, Dean saw Mandy Brocklehurst crumple to the ground, her body hitting the ground with a resounding thud. He'd seen the spell that had hit her. Unmistakably green. He swallowed down bile and kept fighting.
He'd barely processed Mandy when he caught a glimpse of the Malfoys. Their panicked cries rang out over the din. Lucius and Narcissa weren’t dueling; they were shouting, heedlessly pushing through the battle in search of their only son.
Dean spun out of the way of a jet of red light, sending him stumbling toward Professor Flitwick, who was locked in a duel with Antonin Dolohov.
Their fight was vicious, and Dean had taken note of it earlier on account of its intensity. They battered each other with incantation after incantation, the jets of light coming so quickly that Dean became dizzy just from watching. Now, he observed with morbid fascination as Flitwick hammered his opponent with a hail of spells that were deflected to the sides, tearing through Hogwarts' ancient walls. Rubble cascaded around them, and dust filled the room, tinging the air a yellowish-gray.
Flitwick nearly lost his balance shielding himself from a piece of the falling ceiling. Seeing his stumble, Travers made the mistake of attempting to join the fray. He tried to sneak up on the distracted charms professor but Flitwick noticed him before Dean had opened his mouth to shout a warning, and his deft incantations violently hurtled the Death Eater into Amycus Carrow.
Dean lost track of the fight when he was pulled into a duel with Terence Higgs. The older man, who Dean only vaguely remembered from his first year, luckily wasn't the most adept at spellcasting, but he had a brute force to his magic that left Dean sweating.
Seamus came to his aid just as his parries began to slip. He was exhausted. Dueling had never been his strong suit, and prior to today, when he'd managed to win a wand in the first round of battle, he hadn't used magic since March. Snatchers had stolen his wand and left him defenseless and, months later, with a lowered magical endurance.
Spells ricocheted, the ground cracked beneath them, and the air itself felt charged with magic. Dean risked a glance at Seamus, a few feet away, and noted an intense level of concentration he'd never seen before in the sandy-haired boy. Dean had barely turned his full attention back to Higgs when—
“Expulso!”
The explosion sent Dean flying. He only registered that he'd hit something belatedly, his first thoughts after contact dedicated exclusively to pain. It'd exploded in his ribs as he crashed into the wall. Not only did the curse knock the wind from him, but it also sent him into agony with every subsequent breath.
His vision flickered, black spots dancing in his peripheral. He tried to move to get away from the pain, his frazzled mind not registering it was coming from within, but agony kept him pinned. His breath came in ragged gasps, and he tasted copper in his mouth. His dizziness only seemed to be increasing as he inhaled to the smallest extent possible. His head felt heavier than it should be, and his brain, only registered static and pain when he tried to kick it back into gear. Living on the run had given him the ability to snap out of this sort of daze more quickly than the average person.
Seamus, his exhausted mind remembered. His friend hadn't been far from him, closer than Flitwick, when the explosion had hit. Oh fuck - he began to panic. Where's Seamus? Blindly, as his vision was swimming, he tried to find a sort of hold on the cracking wall behind him - looking for something to help pull himself up. Merely attempting to lift his arm, however, sent him into another pain spiral, nearly blacking out as his shoulder did something it most definitely shouldn't be able to. He shut his eyes and didn't move, just let the waves of pain rattle through him.
It was sound that eventually pulled him out of it. A syllable was being repeated, frantic, and growing increasingly loud with each repetition. He cracked open his eyes, distantly aware that he was against a wall, his wand smacked out of his grip, leaving him completely defenseless. The word repeated once, twice more, before he managed to get a fix on the origin of the sound. His eyes found a short, sandy-haired figured running toward him, a cut along his cheek, blood mingling with sweat - dirty but alive. Seamus.
Relief surged through him. Dean! he realized the Irishman was shouting. He forced his face into an approximation of a smile to let his friend know he was alright, knowing that words were a bad idea. Before the expression could dance across his lips, however, Dean caught sight of Thorfinn Rowle. The Death Eater was just behind Seamus, wand raised, with a wicked grin on his unmasked face.
Dean tried to shout, to warn his friend, but his voice escaped only as a wheeze. The tip of Rowle’s wand glowed—
“Protego!”
The shield charm burst forth, solid and unwavering, deflecting the Death Eaters' curse. The stern, imposing voice was unmistakable. Professor McGonagall. She stood between them and the threat, shielding them as his friend reached him. Seamus didn't hesitate, throwing Dean's arm over his shoulder, sending white-hot pain lancing through his entire torso.
“We have to go,” Seamus huffed, struggling under the weight of Dean’s taller frame.
Dean managed a few gasps and a weak shake of his head, but Seamus wasn’t in a listening mood. The battle was turning, and the tide was against them.
A guttural scream rang through the air, and blearily, Dean turned his head just in time to see Dolohov collapse, his leg twisted unnaturally, his wand shaking in his grip. Flitwick, disheveled and breathing hard, was advancing, his wand moving in precise, furious strokes. The normally composed professor was unleashing spells with an uncharacteristic, almost ruthless intensity.
And then, from the shadows, a scurry of acromantulas spilled onto the battlefield.
Flitwick stumbled, and Dolohov took his chance.
“Avada Kedavra!”
The sickly green light shot forward. Flitwick barely dodged, landing hard on the rubble-strewn ground.
Dean dully registered Ernie Macmillan appearing at their side, eager to help Dean to safety. He hoisted Dean's other arm over his shoulder, and as a trio, they stumbled toward the statue of the One-Eyed Witch, much to Dean's confusion. McGonagall was hot on their heels, her back to them as she dueled three Death Eaters at once. Spells singed at Dean’s hair, and pain made every step a struggle. Belatedly, Dean realized they were making for the passage that led to Hogsmeade. He hadn't even known of its existence until Seamus had referenced it when they were reunited that day.
“Ernie,” Seamus huffed out, “I’ve got him. Help the Professor!”
The Hufflepuff only hesitated for a moment, glancing behind them, before shifting Dean’s weight entirely onto Seamus and coming to the Scotswoman's aid.
They stumbled their way past George and Lee. The duo's fury was unbridled as they jointly slammed Yaxley to the ground.
Seamus grunted under Dean's weight then shifted him. He mumbled an apologetic, “Forgive me for this,” before casting Wingardium Leviosa, sending Dean into the air. The spell was a relief to his ribs, but left Dean more exposed, and Seamus moved quickly to keep him out of range of stray spells.
A silver lynx bounded past them, Kingsley's voice bellowing orders: “Fall back! Fall back!”
A thunderous crash shattered the hallway. A giant tore through the remnants of the left wall and let out a guttural roar. It swiped its hand blindly at the scattering humans below, and Seamus quickened his pace to a jog. Dean craned his head to watch the giant warily, and saw as it closed a massive hand around Ernie. George and Lee abandoned a now-unconscious Yaxley to come to the boy's aid. McGonagall was too preoccupied to help, duelling three opponents again, staggering under the weight of it.
Frantically, Lee and George cast spell after spell at the beast, but nothing seemed to affect it. Dean watched the scene unfold with a mounting sense of dread. The giant hardly seemed bothered, only interested in Ernie, who struggled against the giants' grip. Displaying only a vague sort of curiosity, the giant tightened his fingers. Ernie gasped and beat desperately against the digits. George and Lee’s incantations became more frenzied, but to no avail. The sickening crunch of cracking bone echoed through the hall, nearly making Dean sick.
Ernie became still and gray, and the giant seemed to lose interest. It dropped the Hufflepuff's body to the ground. Before anyone could cast an enchantment to cushion the fall, Ernie hit the floor with a splatter, and a spray of blood splashed into George, who staggered into Lee in shock, sending both of them tumbling to the floor.
“Seamus,” Dean choked, blood thick on his tongue. He panted, tried to gasp out a plea to turn back, to help, but Seamus was deadset, and never even looked back.
They reached the One-Eyed Witch after Seamus carefully maneuvered them around another duel. The sandy-haired boy released Dean from the levitation charm as he simultaneously worked to open the passage. He leaned heavily against a wall as he muttered, “Dissendium." The Irishman was clearly exhausted, both magically and physically. Dean landed roughly on his feet as the hump of the statue opened. The subsequent pain sent him staggering into a wall.
Seamus didn't pause to allow him a break, rather harshly guiding him to a slide that had opened up behind the witch. Seamus manhandled him onto it, then pushed him down it without preamble. It whizzed by quickly and Dean instinctively reached out his hands to catch himself whenever it ended, but the movement did something unpleasant to both his shoulder and ribs, and sent him doubling over his ribs. Accordingly, once he'd reached the bottom of the chute, he didn't land on his feet, but rather rolled in a sort of ball, landing in a gasping heap a few feet from the bottom. He stayed there until Seamus followed him, pained and blindly clutching at his abdomen. Seamus landed on his feet and immediately pulled Dean up by the back of his shirt. Despite himself, Dean let out a whimper, but Seamus didn’t stop, unforgivingly swinging Dean’s arm around his shoulder again, and dragging him through the passage without taking a moment to adjust.
Dean's legs shook beneath him. The tunnel before them seemed endless. Each step was a monumental effort as he struggled to keep pace with his friend’s rapid strides.
“Seamus.” he wheezed.
The Irishman, panting himself, didn’t acknowledge him.
His vision blurred - his struggle to breathe becoming more pronounced with exertion. A scream and crashing sound echoed behind them, but they still didn’t stop. It was only a few steps later that Dean’s legs gave out from under him.
“S’mus…”
His body was failing.
His breath was short.
He could finally see the door to Honeydukes—
And then, everything went black.