𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐑 - A Harry Potter Fanfic

𝟱 - Goodbye, for now

Hill lunged at the man before he could finish his sentence.

When she saw the fear in his eyes, she knew something was wrong. Wrapping herself up in layers of clothing did make her look creepy and bizarre, but the horror reflected in the man's eyes was remarkably intense. He had looked at her as if she was a murderer, a killer.

She was confused and startled by his actions, as her mind couldn't quite comprehend what was going on. She had blocked her arm in front of Harry when the man yelled at the boy. She then asked herself what the man was going to do with that delicate-looking stick before her thoughts caught up with her.

It was a wand.

He was a wizard, and he knew what she was.

The man had opened his lips and started stammering a word out, and that was the moment when Hill's mind had gone blank. She pounced herself on him.

The next second, the man was on the floor with his wand gliding a few inches away from his hand. She had both of her hands on his shoulders as she pinned him to the ground. Hill stared down at him. He was trembling; his lips pale with sweat gliding down his nose. He tried to pull his face away from hers as he strained his neck with great force, twisting his face to the side with veins popping out at his temples. He had shut his eyes tightly and even his eyelids quivered in fear.

What could possibly make a grown man, a wizard gifted with magical power, so terrified and dreadful?

A dementor.

Panic flooded through Hill as she listened to the man's jagged and pained breathing. She felt the gush of warmth flowing over her again, but this time, she was in no mood to enjoy it.

What was she going to do? What had she done?

The next thing she knew, she was running. Running away from the man lying on the ground, clenching Harry's hand in hers. She didn't know where she was going, she just wanted to get away. Everything was blurry and all she could focus on was the wind slicing past her face and the sound of her heavy breaths.

On a beautiful, sunny afternoon on Privet Drive, Hill and Harry sprinted under the cloudless sky. Her long clothing intertwined between her legs, tripping her, as she hurriedly tugged them with her hand. Her other hand clasped tightly onto the young boy's cold, scrawny fingers, pulling them with all her strength. For a moment Hill did not know if the small hand was trembling in hers or it was the other way around.

They ran.

They ran like the world was tearing away behind them.

The road felt endless for Hill. She felt that it spread far and wide into the horizons, and she was just moving her feet in place.

A voice pulled her back to reality. It was the voice of a young boy, who had silently allowed himself to be hauled by her.

"Hill?"

She stopped running, and all her senses suddenly came crashing back to her. Her feet stung from stepping harshly on the concrete roads. Her skin was covered in sweat, sticking on to her clothes. Her tongue tasted like charcoal and there was a smell of smoke burning her nostrils.

She didn't know where they were in the neighborhood. In front of her were two swings, which creaked against the slight breeze. They stood in an open field with lemon-chiffon colored grass surrounding them. The sky was still as blue as ever.

Hill shakily let go of the boy's hand. She didn't turn around to look at Harry. She didn't have the courage to.

"Hill... are you okay?"