So guys, the author is still away. She IS NOT GIVING UP ON THIS STORY. I'm her friend, Izzy. She sent this to me and asked me to post it. She's not sure when she'll be back, but she'll do her best to keep writing this when she has time.
Now here's the good stuff :)
We fought. I don't know how long. It felt like hours. Hours of ducking under, dodging, and jumping over the bright jets of light emitted from the different wands and spells.
Most on our side, like me, were fairly lucky. We didn't get hit with anything too serious. A few minor scrapes and bruises here and there, torn clothes. Others weren't so lucky. Some of our ranks crumpled. I could tell some were dead, others dying. I couldn't help them. Not yet. It hurt me that I couldn't. But I had to keep fighting.
I, along with some others, left our school robes at the entryway. I was wearing a simple black sweat shirt and black jeans, ripped in several places from various things. Not typical battle wear, I know, but this wasn't exactly typical battle, was it?
Somewhere, Nico was helping me raise dead skeletal warriors to help us. A few people on our side were surprised by the appearance of skeletons by fighting by their sides, but got used to it. I could feel the anger rippling off the people around me, the way only a child of Hades could. It fueled my own anger.
I could feel Nico and I's combined power, and adding that to the aura of the dead and dying... I'll just say it really wasn't a good feeling for anyone. And that was before I saw her
My anger became even more intense than before, as though her presence made me mad. About 100 yards away, stood Bellatrix Lestrange.
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I made my way toward her, drawing my dagger as I went. I dodged through spells, and Deatheaters and other students. I got closer, trembling with anger.
Suddenly, I felt arms wrap tightly around my waist. So tightly I gasped. "What are you doing?!" an oddly familiar voice asked in my ear.
They tackled me to the ground. I slashed wildly with my knife, until the person on top of me knocked it from my grip. They pinned me to the ground. I couldn't reach my wand, or knife. They pinned my arms, to the ground, and sat on my waist. I couldn't move.
I looked up at my tackler, whose face was less than a foot from mine. My eyes met a pair of familiar brown ones. I swallowed.
I was looking up at Peter.
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DUN DUN DUN. Anyway....... (For a refresher on what happened with Peter, take a look at chapter 14)