Atropos → george weasley

xxxiii. a special case

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thirty three

a special case

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"AHH! Put me down!" 

George flinched violently and accidentally let Ottilie's legs drop. When her injured foot hit the ground, she shrieked, which caused him to shout, "Sorry!"

She was in too much pain to respond.

He sort of awkwardly lowered her onto the grass and then walked backward until he ran into a glass pane of the greenhouse. He stared at her with wide eyes. The rain hadn't yet relented, and strands of his red hair were now stuck to his forehead, the ends dripping water into his eyes. He didn't seem to notice it.

"What," he breathed out, "was that?"

Ottilie still couldn't find her voice. Her breathing was shallow. She felt like something would shatter if she tried to fill her lungs all the way.

"Why were you just standing like that?" George continued. With great difficulty, Ottilie got out her wand, which she had fortuitously relocated to a pocket in her robes before heading back to Hogwarts. Based on how her ankle felt, she didn't want to know what her wand would've looked like if it'd still been in the sock.

"You didn't even look scared, you just looked blank."

"Episkey," Ottilie said, directing her wand at her ankle. The spots of blood from the scrapes she'd sustained disappeared, but the severe pain did not waver.

"It was so weird. It was like there was nothing behind your eyes. For a second, I was worried that I was too late and you'd already lost your soul."

Her breathing grew faster. She felt trapped. How was she supposed to make it all the way back into the castle and down into her common room?

"I grabbed your arm and tried to pull you out of the way of the dementor, but you would barely move, so I had to pick you up to get you back. I know you didn't appreciate being carried—you made that clear—but I don't know what would've happened if I hadn't."

She shot George an irate look, hoping he'd get the hint and be quiet.

"I've never been that close to a dementor before." He shivered. "It felt so awful. I couldn't stop thinking of the worst moments of my life. I felt like I would never experience happiness—"

"Shut up for a second, George! For god's sake!"

His mouth snapped shut. He continued to stare down at her, rocking his weight a bit like he was trying to distract himself.

Maybe she should turn into a moth. How could her ankle be broken when she didn't have any ankles?

But, unlike usual, the transformation wasn't instantaneous. Most of the time, all she had to do was decide to change into a moth—essentially as easy as lifting an arm or taking a step forward. But now, she was chanting, please change, please change, please change, and nothing was happening. She squeezed her eyes shut, trying to stop thinking about the pain. 

Nothing.

She was brought back to her many failed attempts to become an Animagus. Those disappointing nights when she'd drink all her hard work for the past month with nothing to show for it other than a lingering unpleasant taste on her tongue.

When she opened her eyes, George was kneeling on the grass beside her.

"I saw you fall. It looked really bad. I'll go get Madam Pomfrey. Will you be okay by yourself for a minute?" he said, now with a much calmer demeanor.