𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐎𝐑 - A Harry Potter Fanfic

𝟲 - Found

Hill stared at the owl as it continued to peck against the stained glass window.

After leaving Privet Drive, she headed to the mountains. She had shoved jars and pots in a big garbage bag, threw it over her shoulder, and lumbered out of the house without looking back.

She couldn't risk living with muggles now, as wizards existed among them. Her only hope was the potions -- if they didn't work, she would have to hide for the rest of her life in this world.

Hill had trudged for days in a forest before she came across a wooden cabin. She then peeked through its windows and lurked around. After making sure it was empty, she broke in. It wasn't an easy job; the metal door of the cabin had rusted and was covered in moss. Dirt filled up the crack of the door, and it took her a few kicks to loosen it. The inside had an awful smell -- it was as if she was back to the prison again. Spider-webs scattered across the ceiling, and on the ground were brown and yellow stains from the leaked-in rain.

The only furniture in there was a bed. Hill had been very grateful for it, even though its sheet radiated the smell of dead rats and rotten fungus.

I don't think dementors can get sick.

That was her last thought before she collapsed on it and slept like the dead.

For the rest of the days, she continued with her daily potion-brewing. When she was done she would walk around the cabin for some fresh air. Often some animals lingered around, but upon seeing her they would dart away. Even little birds chirping on the tips of branches would flutter elsewhere when Hill came out. One time she had spotted a bear striding through the bushes a few meters away from her. It then caught her scent and gawked at her for a moment before hastily dashing away. After that incident, Hill had mixed feelings about her intimidating identity.

She admitted she felt quite lonely. Her looks were improving, but the process was slower than the passing of time. At times when she had felt hopeless and discouraged, the promise she'd made to Harry kept her going.

Every night Hill would fall asleep stroking her hand. The lumpy and scarred skin was turning pink, and she would rub her fingers on it to feel the smoothness of the new skin. At some point, she looked at the window and saw the reflection of a woman -- a woman covered with burnt skin, looking like she had suffered fires of hell.

Hill didn't know how long she had lived in that cabin. Nights and days lapsed without any warnings. Outside, leaves turned from green to brown, then the branches once covered in them were blanketed with snow. Soon the snow had faded away, revealing a sheet of fresh green.

What stayed the same was the pot of potions, bubbling and swelling with smoke as it sat unmoved in the corner of the cabin.

This morning Hill had woken up to the smell of worn-out bed sheet creeping into her nose. She groaned and rubbed her eyes harshly, then stretched her back and wiggled her toes as her feet reached for the floor.

It was then she felt a wet, slimy sensation grazing her feet. Hill mumbled a curse word and quickly pulled them up. A puddle had formed beside the bed due to last night's rain. She wiped her feet with the fringe of her cape drowsily. Her vision was still blurry from yawning, and when it slowly cleared she found herself glaring at her feet.

Then she screeched and shot up from the bed, standing as she stared down.

Her feet were pale and cloaked with a layer of smooth, new skin. She shakily reached out her hand and bent down to touch them. They felt soft, like the skin of a newborn baby. Hill pulled her hands up and brushed her fingers together -- slender, small fingers. To her, they almost felt velvety. She then quickly pressed her hands on her face, her cheeks feeling cool and fluid under her touch.