Spitfire | Fred Weasley [2]

Chapter Ninety-Four

[trigger warning: disassociation]

[Spitfire : Chapter Ninety-Three]

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2 May, 1998 pt. 6

       Fiona found Cassie in the Great Hall, standing in the center of chaos as healers switched from person to person, seeing if the dead had any chance of reviving. There was a distant look on the girl's face, and her hands were plastered in blood. Fiona ran up to her, adrenaline taking over as she spotted her friend. Was she injured? She had to know where it came from, that blood had to have come from somewhere. A few people stopped her along the trip, but Fiona ignored their begs and pleads. It hurt her soul to run by people in their most tragic moments, but at that moment, there was only one image in mind. Her best friend. "Cassie?" Fiona placed her hand on the girl's robes, they were torn but well enough to provide comfort. However, by the way the girl's shoulders sagged, it seemed to be doing more bad than good. "Hey Cas, are you alright, hun?" Cassie continued to stand frozen, goosebumps riddling her body with her eyes presenting her disassociated, faraway mindset.

    Obviously, she was in shock. Fiona just had to figure out what had happened.

    Fiona moved ahead of her, to where she was looking, but Cassie made no sign of comprehending her presence. Fi placed a hand on her cheek, observing her over. Her head moved from side to side easily without restraint, thankfully making things easier. Still, Cassie was as limp as a ragdoll, the only signs of life being the fact she can stand, and breathe. Scared, Fiona grabbed either of Cassie's hands to hold them comfortingly, if she wasn't harmed, then she had to be shocked by something she's seen, right? But where did the blood come from?

    Both of Fiona's questions were answered when Cassie flinched at the hand-contact. Fi looked down at the girl's right hand to find that it was all discombobulated. Not only was it broken, but there was bone obviously sticking out. Fiona cringed, it was a horrible sight. One of the worst she's seen that night. Cassie went to speak, but her mouth only opened and closed like a gaping fish. She was pale in the face, and her hair was actively changing from its original raven-hue to the whitest of whites. She hadn't any control, Fiona could sense it. It was like back in fourth year, when Kennedy was trapped in a state of petrified imprisonment. "Cas, you'll be okay. Let's just get to the hospital wing, yeah? Pomfrey can help you there, sweetheart."

    Cassie didn't move, looking frantically around the room for a specific target. She could hardly concentrate on one thing or the other. In the far distance she could spot Kennedy, she was hugging someone . . . was that Isaac? Yes, it was Isaac. And on the ground was Wendy and Remus. Oh goodie! She didn't dwell on it wrong, trying to rearrange the jigsaw mess that was once a perfectly arranged brain. The entire Great Hall was filled with people, every house table had been removed along with their flags. Replacing them were bodies covered in tarp, or not even covered at all. Their families and friends surrounded them, sobbing and sodden with war-ridden debris. Was there a truce called? Why wasn't there anyone fighting? Cassie was confused, only recognizing Fiona ahead of her, and the pain in her wrist. "Cassie," Fiona said, the girl's eyes readjusted onto the girl, her pupils a dilated mess. "What happened?"