The Sanctuary of Yesterday

1.17 | Stand Tall

It had been a little over a week since Sage's anxiety attack during History of Magic and she had a feeling of Deja vu all morning. She couldn't place why exactly but she had a feeling it was to do with not talking to her brother for over a week again. Something about the day felt too familiar, hitting too close to home.

Sage had learned that hearing from her brother and best friend would not be a regular thing, especially with what was going on back home. A few days, maybe even a week, would be a regular response time. Logically, that made sense, but three weeks and not even a smidge of feeling from the bond had her worried. The last time that had happened, Draco showed up in her dorm at one A.M.

She sat at the Viper's table dropping a sandwich on her plate when an undeniable surge of anxiety-no panic ran through her. Her body went rigid as she took in deep, calming breaths. But her fingers were not tapping. She hadn't unconsciously moved towards Grace, who was sitting to her left eating fruit. She didn't feel that pressure in her chest. The world and its noises were clear, coherent. She could even breathe completely fine.

Then it hit her: The panic wasn't hers.

It was Theo's.

Trying to clear her mind, a task that seemed impossible at that moment, Sage looked for her childhood drawing-room door. She searched and searched but it was as if there was a notice-me-not charm on it and every time she got close to it she was steered away. She reached out for her brother's magic and gagged, almost throwing up in front of the whole Hall.

Sage retreated, practically running, from that feeling. Dark. Corrupted. Angry. Pain. That's what she felt in her twin's magic. It was ugly and suffocating and did not like her light counterpart. Her whole body felt on fire with burning pain. Her body was being turned inside out and shoved into a small box. Knives were being stabbed into her, everywhere. Anywhere. All over. But a small section of his magic felt like it was fighting. Theodore's magic was fighting the dark.

She knew Theodore's body was rejecting the mark.

"Miss Wilson," someone yelled, "Miss Wilson are you alright?" It was familiar, she knew this person.

Someone squeezed her hand. It hurt, but their magic was so warm, so welcoming. It was dancing in the rain. It was laughing at silly jokes. It was long walks. It was Grace Gardner.

"Grace," she croaked. The hand squeezed a little harder, and a sob of relief left the mouth the hand belonged to. Sage felt herself slipping out of consciousness, just breathing was tiring. "Theodore."

That was the last thing she said as the Matron rushed over to them, carrying a bag of supplies. Sage didn't see the face of her best friend as a teacher dragged her away as she struggled and fought, screaming that her best friend needed her. She didn't see Grace handed off to Jasmine, who had her tears rolling down her face. She didn't see Leah's color drained face as she stood planted into the ground staring at the spot her best friend had just laid screaming. Sage didn't see the pain and recognition in Willow's eyes as she put two and two together as she had been watching her as collapsed to the ground holding her left forearm.

Sage didn't see any of this because Sage and Theo were both unconscious, 3,207 miles apart, in their heads comforting each other.

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Everything was brighter and louder than normal as she woke in the hospital wing. Whispers sounded like yelling. The sun seemed to have made an appearance just for her and decided to sit in the Infirmary right above her bed. Someone was eating something, the smell made her gag. The whispering stopped, as did all movements at this sound.

Someone shot out of their chair and ran towards the other side of the room. Two sets of footsteps came back this time. The Matron she realized.

"Miss Wilson," she whispered, "How are you today?"