Leah Labelle has spent most of her years at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in the shadows, always present but never quite noticed. She often felt caught between not being ugly enough to be bullied and not being captivating enough to seiz...
The world blurs as my body hits the floor, a low groan escaping me as I register the faintly softer press of wood beneath me. Dazed, I blink, focusing on the floorboards—polished oak, lighter and far smoother than the rough, splintered planks of the cellar. This isn't the cellar. My mind whirls, grasping for answers, tethered only by the aching pain that clings to every inch of my body.
Where am I?
With a feeble push, I roll onto my back, the glare from the overhead lights stabbing through my half-shut eyes. The brightness here is shocking, like stepping into daylight after a lifetime underground, and for a fleeting moment, I think I might be dreaming. But the echo of footsteps and the hum of whispered voices say otherwise.
"Leah?"
The voice reaches through the fog clouding my thoughts, soft and familiar. I open my eyes with a sharp inhale, my heart lurching at the sight of Hermione Granger standing there, her face pale and strained, her brown eyes reflecting the fear mirrored in mine.
"Hermione?" My voice is hoarse, a raw rasp that barely resembles sound.
"Well, good. At least you know each other," Bellatrix's voice slithers through the room, sharp and smug, dripping with a satisfaction that chills my blood. Before I can process her words, she raises her wand, and in a flash of green light, she sends me hurtling into a world of fire and agony.
My body contorts as the curse seizes me, wrenching screams from my throat that I can't suppress, even as I feel my voice crack and splinter under the strain. It's as if my bones are being twisted, crushed, and reformed again and again, until pain is all that I am. My fists clench helplessly against the floor, fingers digging into the wood as I try to fight the unrelenting agony.
"Stop!" Hermione cries out, her voice raw, shaking as she reaches out, trying to shield me with whatever strength she has left. Tears glisten in her eyes, desperation carving lines into her face. Her hands are trembling, her own body still marked with bruises from her time with Bellatrix, yet she throws herself forward, pleading.
Bellatrix laughs, a cold, detached sound that feels like nails scraping along the inside of my skull. She tightens her grip on her wand, twisting it in mid-air, and I feel the curse deepen, the pain folding in on itself, consuming me in layers so thick I can no longer tell where I am or who I am.
I lose myself, slipping in and out of awareness as time loses its meaning. Days, hours, or maybe just minutes blend together, each moment dragging out with excruciating slowness. All that exists is the curse, looping over my senses, smothering my thoughts, until all I am is pain.
Then, suddenly, the air shifts. An explosion of sound shatters through the room—a crash of splintering wood, shouting voices, and the blinding flare of spellfire streaking through the air. The pressure lifts, and I draw a shuddering breath, each gulp of air stabbing into my lungs like broken glass. I force my eyes open, blurry shapes swimming into focus.
Chaos has erupted. Figures in dark robes battle against newcomers, flashes of spells ricocheting off walls, streaks of light mingling in frantic, dizzying arcs. I see Hermione crawl towards me, her fingers wrapping around my wrist with a strength that surprises me.
"Leah, hold on," she whispers, her voice barely audible over the clash of spells around us. She tugs, urging me to sit up, her grip steadying me as I fight to regain my balance.
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