Depths of Despair ✶ Theodore Nott

fifteen. moonlight sonata

The sky had gone dark when Valeire finally returned from underground — climbing out of the tunnel, frowning in slight confusion at the womping willow which no longer seemed committed to the act of utter violence.

For a blink of a second she thought of asking Sirius Black, who had been first to exit the passage-way, how he'd managed to halter the tree, however she deemed it unfitting — instead placing herself at a safe distance from the branches, just in case it would unexpectedly break free from it's odd trance.

Although her hands were still shaking, body still aching as a byproduct of the cruciatus curse previously inflicted upon her, she'd gained back control over her own emotions — ever so often glancing toward James Potter, embarrassed that she had so eagerly melted into his embrace and cried until she could no longer muster up any more tears. Rarely did she let down her own guard, and at the few occasions she actually did, she oftentimes found herself regretting it.

From the haze that was her memories following the excruciating pain, the thousands of imaginary needles piercing her skin, she recalled no real efforts from her part to stop the wave of emotions: a lingering sense of humiliation therefore tugging at her brain.

She could not come up with any worse way to make a first impression, hence had she remained at a distance from the man ever since.

Peter Pettigrew had been tied up and restrained: watched closely by professor Lupin as they now stood prepared to return to the castle and finally let the dementors do what they had been positioned around Hogwarts to do. The Azkaban escapee was turning out to be more and more intolerable for each minute passing them by, as he had now fallen to his knees before Harry's feet, pleading for his life in the most ridiculous, self invalidating manner he could possibly think of resorting to. "Harry! Harry, please, you can't let them do this!"

Harry grimaced in disgust, and when Pettigrew tried to grab a hold of his pant leg he simply kicked his hand off. "Don't touch me."

The man was left a whimpering, self-pitying mess as his routine continued — turning first toward Remus and then toward Sirius. Valeire stopped listening as the mere sound of his voice caused her body to tense with discomfort: the memory of his wand trailing against her neck still causing her heart to race within her chest, her breathing to become irregular.

"Are you okay?" spoke a voice suddenly from beside her, and the teenage girl snapped out of her mindless trance to see James stood alongside her. She had not even noticed him approaching, yet he must have somehow spotted her inner distress, for his eyebrows had furrowed in concern — eyes displaying a shadow of rage toward his old friend whom had dared move a muscle with the intentions to harm her.

Only half an hour before had she been asked the same question, breaking into tears when unable to conceal her own attempt at a lie. This time, she swallowed down and suffocated the re-surfacing sense of panic, before somehow nodding her head without appearing too stiff in her movements. "I'm fine."

Her voice was strained, however James could tell she wished not to share with him whatever was bothering her. Therefore he instead followed her gaze: eyes landing upon Peter Pettigrew. His suspicions were confirmed, and after pushing past a flicker of hesitation did he place a hand upon her shoulder. "He'll be taken care of," the man said calmly, Valeire able to tell he meant his every word. "You don't have to worry about him anymore, I promise."

He would make sure of it. Although he did not speak the words aloud, he stared upon his old friend: experiencing difficulty to restrain his own murderous rage. Not only had he placed an unforgivable curse and tried to kill Valeire, he had also threatened Harry, and now — when faced with the possibility of a Dementor's kiss — laid begging at his feet with the intentions of saving his own, pathetic life.