𝓓𝓸𝓾𝓫𝓵𝓮 𝓓𝓮𝓿𝓸𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷𝓼 - [EDITING]

𝓒𝓱𝓪𝓹𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓔𝓲𝓰𝓱𝓽𝓮𝓮𝓷

"He's coming back!" Mother screeched. "He's coming back and he'll kill you for me! Kill you both! Traitors!"

Uncle Lucius flared his nostrils. "Will you quiet down?"

"TRAITOR!" She roared in reply.

Lucius closed his eyes like he always did when he was trying not to explode. His fist was white around the knob on top of his walking stick.

Mother, however, shook with fury, pounding against the cell walls until her fists her bruised and bleeding. Her already sallow face had sunk deeper into a state of living decay with a pale, yellowish hue. Her skin sagged as limply as her hair, but worst of all was her eyes. The once lovely blue orbs were now glazed over and blood shot. The pupils dilated unceasingly and rarely ever held still. The dementors had finally gotten to her.

I clutched my bag of chocolate chips tighter and popped one into my mouth, letting it's warmth melt over my tongue. They were the only thing keeping me grounded. Hardly anyone dared visit Azkaban, but even fewer knew to bring chocolate. Half of the people who did come left with a bit of their sanity left behind and the other half either passed out or ran.

In fact, the only person I'd ever really seen come and then leave with everything intact was Minister Crouch.

"Lucius, if you ever cared about me, END THIS. Kill the boy so the Dark Lord can come back! Kill him! Kill them all! Kill the traitors! Kill them all!" Mother's crooked finger pointed at me as she screamed.

At last, I spoke, tugging on Lucius' sleeve. "I'm ready to go now, please."

"I don't know why we do these visits. She's gone batty. What sort of mother does that?" Lucius muttered under his breath as he guided me out. At last.

I cast one final glance back at her cell to see Mother back on the floor, hands tangled in her hair as she rocked back and forth. Back and forth. Back and forth. As she rocked she repeated the same sentence over and over again.

"He's coming back. He'll kill them."

---

"Shut up, I think she's waking up."

"Gwen?"

Instead of opening them, I squeeze my eyes tighter shut. "Don't tell me. I don't wanna know."

"Dementors," George said.

"What did I just say?" I curl further into a ball and press my face against the chest of whoever holds me in their arms, relishing in the rumbling it makes when he speaks.

"You're lucky I was there to catch ya!" Fred piped up.

"We didn't think Harry was gonna make it-"

"But he did!"

"You should've seen the look on Dumbledore's face-"

"Wouldn't want to be on his bad side!"

I sit up, rubbing my eyes, to find myself back under the umbrella with Fred and George on either side of me, but everyone else crowded around something on the other side of the field. Madam Pomfrey charges over from the castle and carves a path straight through the middle of the spectators. "Wait, what about Harry? Is he alright?"

"Well, I think so-" George says, not easing my worries in the slightest.

"Looks like they're taking him to the infirmary now," Fred finishes.

Sure enough, Dumbledore floats a stretcher, that I can only assume contains the unconscious Harry atop it, with the healer walking at his side while checking him for injuries.

"Dementors you said?" I reiterate. "They took out Harry too?"

The twins nod in sync. George grimaces. "I got your broom, but Harry's is... toast."

I shove off of Fred, somewhat forlornly, and jump to my feet. "Thanks, but, what happened to Harry? Is he alright? How far did he fall? Did he just pass out or did someone hurt him or-"

"Gwen!"

"What?"

George puts his hands on my shoulders to calm me. "He's going to be fine."

"The real question-"

"-is are you alright?"

I don't want to think about it. I don't want to tell them what I keep reliving. They don't deserve to be tangled in my mess.

"Yes. I'm fine." I shrug George's hands off of my shoulders. "Let's go check on Harry."

I don't give them any time to even think about objecting before marching off the pitch and trying to ignore the searing pain in my side that has made itself known; partly because I'm concerned about the younger boy and partly because I'm afraid I'll start crying if I have to speak more of it.

The moment we reach the infirmary, twins hot on my heels, Madam Pomfry swings the doors wide open. "Ah, Macnair! Just who I was looking for. I hear tale that Mister Potter wasn't the only one that took a bit of tumble because of those nasty creatures?"

Her hands are on my shoulders, guiding me to one of the cots where she pushes me into sitting position. "Yes, but I'm fine, honest! I just came to check on Harry-"

"Time for that later," she says, beginning her examination, "You're lucky that Weasley noticed in time to catch you or- well I don't like thinking about the what-ifs."

She straightens and claps her hands together, apparently finished. "Looks like a few broken ribs and a bruised lung. Nothing I can't fix right up for you."

"Thank you, Madam Pomfrey," I say with a curt smile.

"Yes, thank you, Poppy. Do send Harry my way after he's feeling better, would you?" Professor Dumbledore speaks from behind me, resting his hand on my shoulder as he turns his attention to me. "Don't give us such a scare again, alright Miss Macnair?"

I wet my lips anxiously and speak with mock enthusiasm. "Can certainly try, but no promises, Professor!"

He laughs his rich, belly laugh and walks out of the room. Madam Pomfrey says something else to him before bringing me a tray with two glasses of potions, the size of a shot.

"Drink those and you'll be better in no time at all," she says.

I nod in thanks and say to myself, as I always do, "Bottoms up."