Ariadne's Thread ⭒ h. potter

Street Fighter

Ariadne got to her feet the same time that Hermione and Ron did, pushing past Astoria in her haste to get to the field. Draco grabbed her arm, gripping tightly in an effort to hold her back, but Ariadne only shook him off.

Fred leaned down next to Harry, pressing an ear to his heart to listen for a pulse. Nearby, George was yelling at Cedric Diggory, whose grin was fading as he stared down at Harry's body, grasp on the snitch loosening.

The dementors were gone by the time Ariadne reached the field, sent away by some silvery light that Dumbledore had expelled, though she'd stopped noticing them from the moment that Harry began to fall. She reached Harry mere moments after Hermione and Ron did, and her stomach felt hollow when she watched Hermione throw her arms around Ron's neck and begin to cry. Ariadne said nothing, reaching Ron's side and kneeling down besides Harry. Though he was ghostly pale, his face was placid. He looked–

"Is he–" began Oliver Wood, hands grasping the side of his neck anxiously. He swallowed before looking up at Madam Hooch. "Is he dead?"

"He's not!" someone screamed, and it wasn't until Ariadne was on her feet and running at Wood that she realized it had been her. "He is not dead!" She pushed him with all her might, and although Wood did not budge, he stared down at her with a sad expression. "He's not!" she insisted, pushing again. She wanted him to say something, anything, to admit that he was wrong. How could he say something like that? She pushed again. "Take it back!"

Two large hands wrapped around Ariadne's waist, lifting her from the ground and placing her away from Wood. George watched her sympathetically, an uncharacteristically grim look on his usually smiling face. "It's alright," he soothed, and Ariadne realized she must have been a sight to evoke a reaction like this from one of the twins. She searched his face for any sign before she opened her mouth to speak, voice small when she did. "Is he? George?"

George did not respond, looking away towards Madam Hooch instead. He didn't have an answer.

Ariadne shook his hand off her shoulder, making her way towards Harry once more, when a kind voice stopped her in her tracks.

"Harry will be fine, Miss Black," said Dumbledore gravely, arriving from the stands with McGonagall. "But we must get him to the Hospital Wing quickly. Minerva? Inform Poppy of what has occurred, please. And tell Minister Fudge that I wish to speak with him about his dementors, immediately."

Ariadne had never heard Dumbledore so angry.

Professor McGonagall nodded, running back to the school as fast as she possibly could. Dumbledore pulled out his wand once more, pointing it in Harry's direction. He conjured a stretcher before levitating Harry's body onto it, charming Harry to float at a steady pace in front of him.

"Miss Granger, Mr. Weasley, if you please," Dumbledore summoned, and Ron and Hermione scurried to reach the Headmaster's side. Hermione grabbed Ariadne's hand and gripped it tightly, providing silent comfort even as she worked through her own tears. Ron was silent, though his face was ashen. They were utterly drenched, as though they'd just been swimming. Ariadne imagined that she was the same.

The walk back to school was silent, as had been the eerie stadium, and no one spoke again until Dumbledore approached Madam Pomfrey and McGonagall to discuss their plan of care in hushed tones.

Ariadne took the opportunity to summon a chair using a charm she'd learned back with the Malfoys, before summoning one for Hermione and Ron as well. She planted herself at Harry's side, grabbing one of his cold, clammy hands. It was larger than her own, lightly calloused from holding his broom. Most importantly, it was attached to a wrist with a throbbing pulse.