One of Hermione's sectumsempra sent a teenage girl crashing to the ground and a boy ran to her side, ignoring the battle around him and Hermione's heart wrenched. He slipped in the girl's blood as it pooled around her body, like some horrific pratfall joke, falling next to her, face to face, and Hermione could see the anguish twisting his mouth into a silent rictus of a scream. These were people. People who, like Pansy, probably didn't have a choice in being turned into ravening beasts under Greyback's brutal rule. People who loved each other, and who didn't want to die. The boy struggled onto his hands and knees and lifted a hand to the girl's face, patting her cheek with small, urgent motions, stroking it as he spoke desperate and pleading, his wand forgotten on the floor at his side.