The walls rattled around her and dust clouded her vision as she made her way out of one corridor and down another, screams and shouts from the bodies of other students surrounded her as she fought against the crowd for freedom before the all consuming panic took even her breath away. Battered and bruised she reached out, fingers itching to reach the old worn wood of the door. Straining her hand she allowed the crowd to jostle her forward and into a free fall. A scream of her own threatened to escape her lips when her vision faded away with black wisps of fog only to return with an abruptness of a light blindingly bright, sunlight. She was standing and in a field, a very familiar field, one she had seen countless times in both her reality and her nightmares.
She was trapped again and tears formed in her eyes as she remembered what would come next. If only she could close her eyes, stop it from happening, but there was no reprieve for her. Her eyesight returning she was able to bring the field, and all that lay on it, into focus. Body stacked upon body welcomed her back to the grounds of her once beloved school. Blood seeped into the ground creating an unmistakable slosh as her body moved forward, her eyes wide open.
A spiral of fire shot above the top edges of the Quidditch Pitch at the far end of the grotesque field before her. Her heart begins to race the closer she draws to the pitch, deafening growls reaching her ears. Dragons await her on the other side, along with death, heart breaking death. She wants to dig her feet into the ground, drop to her knees, turn around, anything. Anything to make it stop or maybe even just let her scream.
Far more vociferous than the growls of dragons or the screams of the students was the silence she knew was waiting for her. Her body finally stilled and before her lay the vastness of the pitch and with it the dragons. Her attention, though, focused on a lone figure standing in dead center of the pitch. The figure stood just out of reach of each of the four dragons, breeds she would never be able to forget, Welsh Green, Chinese Fireball, Hungarian Horntail and Swedish Short-Snout. Sweat slicked brown hair and piercing grey eyes enraptured her gaze. His trusting smile renewed her struggle for control over her body as her hand wrapped around a familiar tendril of magic. As if welcoming an old friend the bit of unicorn tail hair encased in fig at ten inches longs molded against her hand. Well balanced, she had been told, good for charms. What about an Unforgivable?
Her wand arm raised to shoulder height, pointed straight ahead, ready to strike its blow. His smile became confusion, his eyes portrayed fear. An unforgettable green light shot from her wand and struck him mid chest. His body crumbled to the ground seemingly releasing the dragons and allowing them to feed ravenously upon him. She willed her heart to stop beating.
White wash walls and the smell of antiseptic greeted her as her eyes fluttered open, cheeks tear stained and heart racing. With a groan she moved into an upright position and rubbed her eyes with her fists. Taking deep breaths she willed the nausea to pass. She sighed and glanced toward to the door, the healer would be in soon. Questions. That’s all he seemed to do: ask questions, questions she didn’t want to answer, to acknowledge.
He would make note of everything she did and didn’t say, put it on her chart. She had seen her chart once. Lies, all lies. An addict? Surely not. She had never abused any substance. So she had used the occasional Sleeping Draught and always made sure she had Dreamless Sleep by her bed for bad nights, but that didn’t make her an addict. They just didn’t understand how much she needed them. How was she to get any sleep at all?
He says it affects her magic. She had seen the smug smile on his face when Accio did not respond and the needle didn’t transfigure. That didn’t mean they should take her wand, how would she prove them wrong without it. She shook her head, she didn’t belong here, why couldn’t she just go home?
She noticed it, sitting innocently on her bedside table. Reaching out, she gripped the letter, confused. Who would send her a letter? It had been so long, surely no one remembered her, so she didn’t know of anyone who would send her a letter. It had to be a mistake. But according to the address, it wasn’t.
Cho Chang Room 12
Slavina Hook Ward (Rehabilitation)
St. Mungo’s Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries
This was originally written for the House Cup challenge, but couldn't be submitted due to rating. I hope it was enjoyable.