He was running, shooting curses to his kind and avoiding the ones that came from the other side. He felt like a true embodiment of his house, slippery and flexible, careful yet fast in his own way of slipping through the ongoing battle.
It's all because he lost her earlier. He didn't know where she had gone. His best hunch was that she was doing something with her wonder boys to once again save the world for, he hoped it was, the last time. He waited somewhere high enough and destroyed enough so he can hide behind the rubbles and have a better vantage. He also did some charity work when the fights mellowed down, almost like a break, like levitating some rubbles of someone injured or levitating the body of someone dead to help the retrievers, or rescuers depending if their found person was still breathing, found them and return them to their families and friends. What he was doing counts as good karma right? That was he thought. A goodness piled up will be returned to you in an even better way. He hoped that it will be of use to him in someway. Or her. He added as a second thought. He knew she deserves it more than he do.
He hadn't saw her until the fight became frenzy once again. He trailed after her and Weasley (and he hated the fact he had to see his mug again with her, but thought that it was better than she was alone, that was riskier even though he knew she was more than capable) fighting off some of the Death Eaters along the way. He kept throwing off sneaky curses to his own side to help the people he knew that will not hesitate to kill him off the bat. That thought scared him, if he was being honest. But he just kept on thinking that it was good. Piled up goodness will be returned. For him. Even better, for her. That his actions will let her side win. She'll live in a world where she can thrive. Where there's less of him.
The fight hits its climax when Longbottom did the most Gryffindor act he had ever seen in his life and Potter became this miraculous boy once again who uses the element of surprise against his own leader, some slimy old bald man obsessed with power. (Not to mention that he became one of the elements of the act. He hated it, it reminds him of his arrogance once in his life. But secretly liked it, because even he was terrified, he noticed that she looked at him.) And so he fought left and right for his own battle and sneaking off some defense for her. Fighting on the sidelines to avoid her becoming a victim of rogue spells or those who actually wanted to do some damage to her.
It was tough but he carried on.
The fight ended. Everyone's happy. And he was tired. He was also happy that it ended, not fully because of the things he has to face right after this. The happiness he felt was mostly from her raduating presence on the now peaceful battlefield. She was smiling and was around the people she cared for.
He was slightly smiling until there was someone who still wanted to deal damage to either one of the trio and that bastard had chosen her because they're supposed to hate her. To their eyes, she and her kind were scum.
He sent a killing curse to that man while running to put a barrier between her and the bastard's view. The curse he sent landed on the man perfectly as it should be but not until the man's own curse landed on his own chest.
He knew immediately what will happen to him. He knew. That was why, with a strong conviction on his side, he turned his head towards the direction she was at. She was celebrating and talking with the people she cared for. And that was enough for him.
He fell on the dusty, ruined floors of Hogwarts. Far from everyone because he was supposed to be hiding from everyone's eyes. He focused himself to looking at her, smiling so beautifully amidst the disastrous curls that crowns her head. He would chuckle if he can.
He stopped breathing. And his last thought was that he was thankful it was her smiling face that he saw last.