I Know The End {Fred Weasley, ACT I}

Chapter 51- The War on Umbridge

Eleanor awoke to the momentary bliss of a thoughtless mind. To an unburdened heart, her sleep fogged brain unable to decipher what day it was, where she was. The memories of the previous day scattered to parts of her brain that had yet to fully awaken.

But it was only a moment.

Because in her next breath, she was hit with a burning pain radiating from her chest, her memories seeping in to make sense of the agony. The slicing of that invisible knife replayed through her head as the sting of the scars found themselves to be the sole focus of her attention. All her senses zeroed in on the word branded upon her chest, on the pain and embarrassment that radiated from her skin.

Fear came next. Fear that she'd passed out in Umbridge's office and dreamed the end of her torment only to be forced to begin carving into herself once more. It wouldn't be the first time such a thing had happened. Her heart squeezed as old memories entangled themselves with the new, the familiar sense of peril overcoming her.

But when she opened her eyes, Angelina lay next to her, eyes closed, breathing even, and the tightness in her chest loosened a notch. Iris was on her other side, hugging the quilt to her chest, curled tightly into a ball, her back pressing against Eleanor's.

Safe, safe, safe, Eleanor repeated to herself, her breath catching on the word as it echoed through the walls of her mind. She was between her two friends, out of Umbridge's reach, even farther from Malfoy Manor.

But she found herself losing grasp of the word, of the safety she felt tucked between Iris and Angelina, as the pain became all consuming. Aching as older wounds do but stinging as though she was still being cut into.

Whore, whore, whore.

Her heart squeezed once more, and she shut her eyes, hoping to block the memory out. No she was safe and sound. The word was nothing. The wound was nothing. It would hurt, but she'd heal. She'd been through worse, fallen a few hundred feet from her broomstick and lived to tell the tale. This was nothing.

Safe, safe, safe.

But... was she really? Umbridge was inescapable while Eleanor was still attending Hogwarts, and all powerful. Backed by the ministry, checked by no one. Headmistress. Sadist. Psychopath.

The word pounded on her chest, her heart racing against it.

Whore, whore, whor-

No. No more of that.

She tried to breathe, tried to count her breaths, count Angelina's, but found nothing could distract her from the agony. Eleanor sat up slowly, doing her best as not to wake either girl on her side, afraid that they'd leave her alone, unguarded, and grabbed the rest of the sleeping drought from the bedside table.

She drained it, falling back upon the mattress as she let sleep guide her away, her pain raging on as she lost consciousness once more.

When she next awoke, Angelina and Iris were gone, the sun high in the sky. Eleanor's heart leapt out of her chest as she grasped at the sheets where Angelina had been, her warmth long faded. Air escaped Eleanor's lungs as she jolted upright turning to look for Iris. Iris, it appeared, was gone, but in her place Alicia lay with a book draped across her chest, eyes closed.

Eleanor sighed, grateful for her presence. A new, full vial of sleeping drought lay untouched on the dresser, and she thanked Merlin for whoever had grabbed it for her. She did not care what classes she missed, what punishment she would receive. Nothing could be worse than what she'd already endured.

Safe, safe, safe.

Alicia would keep her safe. She wasn't alone. She brought the elixir to her lips, doubling the dose as her chest burned. Sleep would heal her; physically, mentally.