She sat alone in her own misery, with the screams of the others resounding in the darkness. She had stopped trying to distinguish which of her friends were in agony, it had stopped mattering. The only thing that mattered was that door, and when it would open.
When she would break.
It was only a matter of time after all. They would not kill her, that much was clear. Her information was worth more than the gratification of another muggle-born dead. She had told herself to never open her mouth, never to scream, never to beg for mercy. To protect them... him.
She was stronger than the pain, she had thought. But her resolve was wearing thin, another layer peeled off every time that wretched door opened. Soon, she would not be able to keep her mouth shut. Soon, she would betray them all. Soon they wouldn't need her. Soon she would disappear in a flash of green.
Soon.
The chains binding her hands and feet clinked, as she moved further into her corner. The cell was solitary, with thick walls that shut out most sound. Except for the screams. You could always hear the screams. Her mind was no escape from reality. The pain had driven a spike through her memory and reason, thoughts of happier days unable to compete with the cruel present.
She knew that she should feel something. Some shred of her former self should have survived this torment. But when she peered at her soul she saw only blood running black. She wondered whether the dementors themselves could steal her soul, if there was nothing there for them to steal.
The door flew open, banging against the stone. She squinted against the wand-light at the figure towering in the frame, as she shrunk back into the stones. No, it wasn't him. No pale face that twisted in a grin at the flash of a curse or scream of a victim. No wand held in spidery hands, aching for her blood. There were others to do his work for him. Bellatrix and her husband liked to visit, taunting and torturing her equal parts.
She tensed her muscles, awaiting the cold words and knives with eerie calm. She would not break to these cowards.
No pain came.
Her eyes opened, and she saw clearly for the first time in weeks. The blue eyes behind familiar glasses. The wrinkles and pointed wizard hat. The crooked nose. It was Dumbledore. She was free.
"Relashio."
With that her chains were broken, and a hand gripped hers, helping her to her feet. She wobbled uncertainly, but upon finding her balance, followed her leader out of her cell.
She would not return, of that she was sure. In the following hours she would either die for her cause, or live free from this prison. There was no other option.
She strode out into the dank hallway, lined with cells. She took note of the hole blasted in the wall. She ignored it. There were bodies moving everywhere- fighting, dying, escaping. He had to be there. He would not have been left out of this. He had to be alive.
He had to.
Dumbledore had disappeared into the fray, towards the man with the pale face in the middle of the destruction. She was on her own.
Rage filled her, and she turned into the person in black running past her, punching to the groin and grabbing the wand in his outstretched hand. She hoped to God that he wasn't one of her own. Turning, she sped into the fray, finding herself battling alongside Gideon Prewett. As they overpowered their opponent, she called after him, asking if he had seen her husband. Gideon turned and pointed, shouting something unintelligible. She sprinted off in that direction, green eyes wild.
Find him, find him, find him.
She was leaping over the rubble when a body barreled into her, knocking her down as a jet of green flew centimeters over her head. She grappled with the person as they clung to her, trying to escape as thoughts flew through her head.
Fenrir Greyback killed a girl a month ago while in human form. He ripped her to shreds.
"It's me, it's me!" Yelled a voice in her ear, making her pause. Could it be? She found his face with her hands, feeling the square jaw, the crooked glasses. It was him.
The hazel found the green, and drank in the sight of each other like a dying man given water. A kiss, then they leaped to their feet, ready. They were no cowards; they did not run from the fight. The knowledge that the other was alive was enough courage for the two.
She had a reason again. She was back where she belonged, and doing what she was meant to do. Fighting to make the world a safer place.
And with that, they charged back into the building, together.