I Know The End {Fred Weasley, ACT I}

Chapter 56- A Supermassive Black Hole

The air was hot. Heavy. It was as though all the magic that had flowed through Eleanor was suffocating them, the particles packing the room so tightly that there was no longer room for oxygen. The smell of overcooked meat was the only thing that could perforate the bubble of unkept magic currently sitting upon them. It was making Eleanor sick.

Slowly, she opened her eyes, allowing herself to take in the destruction of the room around her. The stone walls were smoldering, steam billowing from cracks in the foundation that may or may not have been there before. A light haze fogged her vision as though she were seeing everything through smudged lenses. The chair she had been strapped to could no longer be classified as a chair. It had splintered apart, its pieces shot haphazardly across the room.

She was sprawled out upon the hard floor, her shoulder screaming in pain. A pain that reminded Eleanor greatly of lying in the infirmary, her bones shattered after she'd plummeted off her broom at Quidditch practice, two years ago. Gingerly, she made at attempt at moving her arm, only to be met with a stabbing pain in her armpit. Dislocated, she thought grimly. Somehow, she'd dislocated her fucking armpit by falling out of her Merlin-damned chair.

Correction- fallen was not quite the correct verb for what had occurred. Flown was a much more accurate description.

Ever so gently, Eleanor used her undamaged arm to prop herself into a sitting position. Her right shoulder was swollen, her heartbeat pounding at the location of the injury. She wanted to pop her shoulder back into place herself but knew better than to attempt such a thing. Most likely, she'd do more harm than good, and Madam Pomfrey would throw a fit. Better to just leave it to the professionals.

Small cuts flecked her legs, the blood already drying. Tiny shards of wood were pocketed into the palms of her hands, the flesh of her calf, her ankle. Unsurprising, seeing as though the chair had exploded right from under her.

A low groan sounded from her right, dragging her away from her injury inventory. She turned her head to find Lee lying flat on his stomach a few meters from her side. Blood was clotting at his forehead, dark red and bubbling. His chair was in the corner of the room, the backing ripped away from its bottom half.

He groaned again, reaching for the open wound on his head. A sign of life. She thanked the heavens above and hell below that Lee had survived whatever she'd just done.

Because she had absolutely no clue as to what chaos she'd brought upon them only moments prior. She'd only hoped for escape, hoped to bring pain upon Umbridge.

Umbridge.

Eleanor jolted up, ignoring the pain in her arm, searching the floor for Umbridge's form. She found her, fallen upon her side, head lolling on her shoulder as she faced away from where Eleanor and Lee had ended up. Cursing, Eleanor limped over to the Headmistress, turning her over upon her back as she crouched beside her.

She held her breath as she watched her for the heaving of a breath, the twitch of her arm, the flutter of her eyelids.

Nothing.

No, Eleanor couldn't have killed their professor. She hated the wench, more than anything, but she wasn't a murderer. Had she wanted Umbridge dead? She couldn't pretend that she hadn't wished for it. But now, peering down at the woman's weak, lifeless lump of a body, she was scared.

Please don't be dead, please don't be dead, okay maybe brain dead would be fine, but please stay alive, please, please, please...

A slow, drawn-out breath escaped Umbridge's thin lips. Eleanor fell back on her heels, relief washing through her.

Relief and... disappointment. Although that part of her was small, miniscule even, she couldn't deny it's existence. There was a piece of her that was willing to take on the title of killer if it meant she could be rid of Umbridge. If it meant Umbridge would pay for the unspeakable things she'd done to not only Eleanor but to Lee, and Harry, and the twins.