Blood Below the Stars

The Rescue

Ginny nearly fell out of the fire place when her feet finally thumped into the soot. The baby screamed and wailed and she pitied him, but didn't have time to comfort him. No matter how many times she blinked, she could not get rid of the image in her mind. The flailing limbs, the blood, the gnashing of teeth spilling towards them.

"What is Dumbledore's name is going on?" Shrieked Mrs Weasley, now covered in ash and shocked at the commotion in her living room. She looked at each of their faces.

"WHAT IS MUNGDUNGUS FLETCHER DOING IN MY HOUSE?"

Ginny flew forward and handed Mrs Weasley the baby, who stared down at it with knitted eyebrows and mouth wide open.

"No time mum - we have to go back - Hermione and George..."

There was a crackle behind her and she spun. Mundungus had been shoved out of the fire grate, he squirmed holding onto his satchel for dear life.

Ginny just caught Mr Weasley's face as he disappeared back into the green. His mouth whispering,

"I'm sorry..."

They stood in silence for a second, staring at the empty fire place.

"What's happened Ginny?" Mrs Weasley said gently, rocking the baby to no effect.

She rose her voice slightly above his screams.

"What's wrong dear?"

Ginny just shook her head. She looked into her mother's eyes.

"Oh mum, it's... it's....hell!" She broke.

Mrs Weasley wrapped an arm around her as she began to wail, while Mundungas rooted around a far corner like a rat, humming to his satchel. 

_______________________________________

Draco gripped the sword firmly in his hand. It was slipping, dripping with black ichor and guts. He glanced behind him. Weasley wasn't much better off. He was unsure where the redheads hair stopped and the blood began. But Draco had to admit, he didn't think the ginger would have had it in him.

It hadn't been long after finding the swords that they stumbled across their first infected.

He had been a cleaner, judging by his tan overalls, now stopping in a trudgy brown mix of blood and innards.

George had nearly thrown up at the sight of his face. His cheek tendons where in show and his left eye was hanging limply out of it;s socket. 

Despite everything - Draco couldn't help but watch as the orb bounced as the man staggered forward. The way it swung almost made him laugh. Almost.

Three years in Azkaban really does a number on ones humour.

Draco had been the first to strike, a clean blow right through his neck, severing his head nearly clean off. The body fell and the head flipped to the side, hanging on my a small flap of torn skin.

"Like nearly headless Nick," Draco said to no one in particular, but George looked at him like he was insane.

"Oh Merlin, he's still alive!" Cried George pointing down at the collapsed corpse.

Disgusted but intrigued, Draco bent closer and watched as the mans teeth continued to chomp at him, still wild and determined, like he was trying to thrust himself forward with his eyelids alone. 

He lifted his sword and thrust it down as hard as he could, right through the center of the cleaners forehead. Finally the man lay still.

Draco sweated. He took a breath and looked at George.