Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ The End of It All ❯ Chapter 1 ( Chapter 1 )

The air exploded. They had been grouped together, Harry, Ron, Hermione, Fred, and Percy, the two Death Eaters at their feet, one Stunned, the other Transfigured; and in that fragment of a moment, when danger seemed temporarily at bay, the world was rent apart. Harry felt himself flying through the air, and all he could do was hold as tightly as possible to that thin stick of wood that was his one and only weapon, and shield his head in his arms: He heard the screams and yells of his companions without a hope of knowing what happened to them -

And then the world resolved itself into pain and semidarkness: He was half buried in the wreckage of a corridor that had been subjected to a terrible attack. Cold air told him that the side of the castle had been blown away, and hot stickiness on his cheek told him that he was bleeding copiously. Then he heard a terrible cry that pulled at his insides, that expressed agony of a kind neither flame nor curse could cause, and he stood up, swaying, more frightened that he had been that day, more frightened, perhaps, than he had been in his life…

And Hermione was struggling to her feet in the wreckage, and three redheaded men were grouped on the ground where the wall had bashed apart. Harry grabbed Hermione's hand as they staggered and stumbled over stone and wood.

“No- no- no!” someone was shouting. “No! Fred! No!”

And Percy was shaking his brother, and Ron was kneeling beside them, and Fred was choking on something unseen. He dry heaved and coughed and his eyes rolled back, but nothing came out. Suddenly, his body reeled into a fit convulsions, limbs flailing, head shaking, still coughing. Ron and Percy immediately lunged at his arms, legs, and head, trying to hold him down. Hermione ran forward to force them off.

“No!” she shrieked, “You'll break his neck!”

They stood back and watched in agony as Fred seizured violently. It stopped. The only thing that moving was the unsteady rise and fall of Fred's chest.

“Fred,” Ron whispered, hesitantly, “Fred are you alright?”

They waited for an answer in the cold wind to the sounds of the war going on without them. After minutes of stillness, Fred's breathing steadied, and a familiar smile crept onto his face.

“Dandy,” he said in a croaky-frog voice, but as soon as he had done so, his eyes widened and he turned onto his side, curled up in pain.

“Fred!” the group yelled as they ran towards him. They laid their hands upon his side and the back of his head as he shivered and coughed. He uncurled himself and looked at a dark puddle in horror, and the others stared at the corner of his mouth. His smile had been replaced with his lips, slightly ajar, tainted dark and dripping a mix of spittle, blood, and something dark. He spat more out and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. He bent over and released some more.

“Maybe,” he mused, wiping his hand once more, “I'm not as dandy as I thought.”