The boy locked the door of his ratty apartment behind him, humming as he descended the stairs. It was eleven o'clock in the evening and he probably shouldn't go anywhere alone, seeing as he was only nineteen, had a target on his back, was a bad dueller and they were in the middle of a war, but he was only popping down to the grocery store to get some milk. It wasn't as though anything would happen now, of all times.
Still humming, he strolled along the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets. He'd get some sweets for his friends, too, he supposed, maybe some chocolate and some gummy bears. They were coming over tomorrow, after all.
Suddenly, a familiar figure lept out of the bushes in front of him. The boy only had the time to rip his eyes wide open in fear before the green light streaking towards him engulfed his field of vision entirely, and then everything went dark.
The boy came to slowly, blinking blearily. He felt as though he was floating, and he was surrounded by gloomy twilight and hoarse whispers.
Wait a moment -
Darnitdarnitdarnit fiddlesticks!
He really was floating. The boy floated into an upright position and looked around. For some reason, he had no problem seeing in the gloom. There was a group of people dressed in filthy dark grey and black wizarding robes who appeared to be the ones talking, and there - just below him -
The boy let out a shriek, but nobody seemed to hear him. There, below him, that was - that was - that was his body, frozen in time, eyes wide open and glassy, terror forevermore etched onto his features.
"No", he gasped, falling to his knees. "Nonononono."
Suddenly, one of the voices got his attention.
"Yes, I'm sure, Macnair", it hissed. "We've got them now. Bye bye to my pathetic little brother - bye bye to the Order! We've got them now. Our dark lord will win, and it'll all be because of us, you'll see."
"NO!", the boy shrieked, pummelling the scruffy man with his fists. "No! Jonathan! No! You can't!"
His punches did nothing, and he could only watch as the men transfigured his body into a plushie and kicked it into the bushes. Then they left, and he could only pray his friends would be strong enough to survive. After all, all he could do was watch - he was less than a ghost, less than a guardian or a spirit - he was just a soul, unable to influence the world around him in the slightest. They couldn't even hear him.
The boy broke down crying.