Worlds can be shattered in an instant. Children go from experiencing new things in blissful innocence, to adults facing the harshness of ever-changing existence in the span of a single moment. Those who see the truths of the world are presented with...
"Ginny, you could've been killed," Artemis hissed, dragging her friend into a quiet alcove away from prying eyes and ears. She cast a wordless Muffliato, which caused Ginny to raise a brow, "There are Half-bloods and Muggle-borns on the run right now simply because of the circumstances of their birth. For what you did? They could have locked you up somewhere and thrown away the key."
"Artemis," Ginny reached out a hand but fell short before she could touch her friend, "I know you're worried, but — "
"I'm not worried; I'm terrified. Any day I could receive word that my father is in Azkaban, and I'd have to make a run for it. I carry a Portkey in my pocket everywhere I go, which I don't even know the destination of. Harry Potter is on the run, and the Ministry has implicated him in a murder we both know he didn't commit. The Dark Lord's reach magnifies each day, and it's only a matter of time before we're rounded up and culled."
Ginny's brown eyes hardened, "You think I don't know? My family puts their life on the line alongside dozens of other witches and wizards to oppose him. Death is a possibility, but so is life. If no one fights back, nothing will change."
Artemis let her body fall against the cool stone of the wall, the fight leeching from her form. She tipped her head back and knocked it lightly against the wall once before tucking her chin in and looking down at Ginny's serious face, "Christ, Weasley. You're going to be the death of me. I'm working with Pomfrey every spare second I have. I want to be of use when the violence begins. If you need anything or someone you know needs anything, send them to me. Just know that I can't be implicated in this. The second they have an excuse to strip me of my wand and snap it in two, they will."
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The first victim of the Cruciatus curse was dragged into the Hospital wing one month into the school year. He was a Gryffindor who'd broken up a fight between a few Slytherins and a first year Ravenclaw. He'd been punished for it by being presented to a Dark Arts class for practice.
Artemis felt sick.
The first few weeks of the term had been a slow descent into darkness. The Carrows had taken over most disciplinary action as deputy heads. Many ex-members of the DA had appeared in the infirmary experiencing adverse effects of interrogation potions and migraines from repeated exposure to clumsy Legilimency.
Pomfrey and Artemis hadn't taken long to fall into a routine. The cases were divided up between them based on severity. Artemis brewed simple potions and performed basic healing charms, whereas Madame Pomfrey took care of the more delicate work.
There had been an instance of a second year Hufflepuff with a fractured skull that had been gut-wrenching to watch. Yet, the Hospital Wing had been entirely silent as the mediwitch performed the intricate magic required for head injuries.
The worst part about the endless stream of injuries was the obvious fact that they were mainly inflicted by members of the staff. Of course, there were the odd broken bones and more serious cases inflicted by students, but most of the hurts were caused by the Carrows, directly or indirectly.
