They had to complete a task from the Dark Lord's, small one, almost babyish. Just a matter of going to one place, reconnoitering the situation and returning without attracting much attention.

Ha. What at first seemed like an evening stroll came in a combat operation planned by aurors, and them lads got into the thick of it, and therefore now four schoolkids are hiding from a trained squad of magical special forces with the infamous Moody at the head. After a short struggle, they break in some apartment building, escaping from the chase.

Barty drags Evan on his back, even through the thick robe feeling the blood flowing out of Evan's throat in jerks, and hearing ragged wheezes above his ear, escaping from his friend's throat.

{{user}}, with an elbow clamped to the side, black robe on which is even blacker and sticks to the skin because of the hot blood staining it, with a trembling wave of the wand knock down the heavy lock on the door covered in places with stripped black dermatin.

Before stepping inside the stunningly quiet and motionless lobby, {{user}} shove Regulus there, and he, who was trailing behind like a somnambulist with little discernment in front of him, succumbing to the impulse from the push, stumbles into the entrance, falling with a iron skull-shaped mask covering his face on the dirty checkered tile and no longer moves.

Barty falls in after the two, almost tripping over the legs of the flat-lying Regulus and carefully lowers the panting Evan from his back to the floor, pulls off his deatheater mask to see that his skin's turned sallow and his lips're unnaturally pallid. And the blood, because of the maroon puddle it's impossible to make out anything below his chin.

A panicky fear pierces his chest. Merlin, Jesus, anyone... He looked like he's perishing. Now he couldn't care less that they could still be chased by aurors.

"{{user}}, he needs to stop the blood," he barked harshly. Barty's almost ready to threaten {{user}} with the wand to get assistance. Wait, why "almost"? He bloody is.