dementors invasion

November 6th, 1993

THE DAY OF the long awaited Quidditch match finally arrived, and breakfast at the Great Hall was buzzing with tension as well as excitement.

Gryffindor was supposed to play Slytherin, but Malfoy argued that his arm was still injured and their opponent was switched to Hufflepuff, led by their new captain and Seeker, Cedric Diggory.

"It's going to be a tough one," said Oliver Wood, Gryffindor's team Captain, who wasn't eating anything. Fred looked over his shoulder and saw dark grey clouds, painting the sky in opaque color, as big droplets of rain left streaks of water all over the window.

"Stop worrying, Oliver," said Alicia soothingly, "We don't mind a bit of rain."

Oliver didn't reply. Instead, he sauntered off towards Harry and repeated the tips he had been showering the poor boy all week.

"It's his last year," George explained to Hermione and Ron over the ruckus Alicia, Katie, and Angelina made about last minute strategies. "He's dying to finally get the Quidditch Cup."

It was considerably more than a bit of rain, though.

The whole school still turned up to watch the match as usual, but they ran down the lawns toward the Quidditch field with their heads bowed against the ferocious wind and hands clawed tight onto their umbrellas.

The team changed into their scarlet robes and waited for Oliver's prematch pep talk, but it didn't come. He tried to speak several times, made an odd gulping noise, then shook his head hopelessly and beckoned them to follow him out.

Fred looked around at his teammates, who silently replied his gaze. Quidditch match was never this tense nor uneasy as this one.

The Hufflepuffs were approaching from the opposite of the field, wearing canary-yellow robes. He watched as the two Captains shook hands before Madam Hooch's mouth moved as if saying, "Mount your brooms." Fred swung his right foot over his Clean Sweep 5, tightened his grip on the handle of his bat, and felt the world spun in a dangerous slow motion.

George giving him a nod.

Oliver, looking so serious, squatting over his broom.

Harry continuously fixing his glasses.

Madam Hooch raising her whistle then blowing into it —and he was off.

Fred tried to constantly move, eyeing his friends or the flying Bludgers, just so he could keep his mind off the fact that he was soaked to the bone and he was freezing. He couldn't let his bat go, not only because it would be a stupid thing to do, but also his fingers... They were glued in their places. He couldn't feel them.

Gryffindor scored. Then Hufflepuff. Then Gryffindor, and another Gryffindor.

He saw Oliver pumping his fist to the air for a second before flying back to his position.

The game rolled on for what felt like forever. A time-out was issued, then they continued. The rain kept plummeting down so thickly, and it had turned into a complete thunderstorm. A forked lightning cut into the field, followed by a thundering boom, and then—

"Harry!" came Oliver's anguished yell from the Gryffindor goalposts. "Harry, behind you!"

Fred whipped his head and saw Cedric Diggory pelting up the field, approaching a tiny speck of gold that shimmered in the rain-filled air between them. The umbrellas in the stands quivered in excitement, though the spectator's roars were drowned by the weather.

He was telling himself to keep his eyes on the Bludgers when something odd happened. Eerie silence began to cover the stadium, and then a horribly familiar wave of cold swept over him. The same chilling scream filled his head once more.

"I'm sorry! No, don't hurt me!"

"I'm not trying to hurt you! It's okay, shush, shush..."

"Please stop! Stop him!"

"Baby. It's okay, you're safe now."

Where... What is that memory?

"Fred!"

Fred shivered as he snapped back into reality. He heard Alicia gasped, looking down, and he followed her gaze.

At least a hundred dementors were standing beneath him. Most were moving, slowly but surely, towards... Harry?

"Godric— Harry!"

"Watch out!"

"HARRY, DON'T LOSE YOUR GRIP!" Angelina screamed.

But he did, and Fred sat stoned on his broom as he watched Harry fell. Loud screams and gasps erupted from the crowd.

His senses returned as a flash of white emitted from somewhere, and his entire team rushed onto the ground, and Harry slowed down despite the force of gravity, and it was Professor Dumbledore, angrily rushing the Dementors away.

The unconscious boy looked ghostly pale, his glasses crooked though surprisingly in tact.

Hermione and Ron ran towards them from the stand, their stomps beating along to the quick rhythm of his heart beat. Lee Jordan's dejected voice somehow managed to float into Fred's ears. "Cedric Diggory caught the Snitch. Hufflepuff wins."

No one there could utter a word.

✿ ❀ ✿ ❀ ✿

November 6th, 1993

THE GRYFFINDOR TEAM, still spattered with mud from head to toe, sat and stood around Harry's bed in the Hospital Wing. Ron was trying to comfort a crying Hermione, awkwardly patting her back.

"Lucky the ground was so soft," Alicia muttered out of the blue, to which Katie replied with an audible scoff, "Lucky Professor Dumbledore was there."

"Did you see? He looked absolutely livid."

"Of course. Dementors in Hogwarts' grounds. What are we— Prisoners of Azkaban?"

"I thought he was dead for sure."

"But he didn't even break his glasses," Lee quipped.

Hermione added between hiccups, "That was... the scariest thing... I've ever seen in my... life."

Harry twitched, and a second later opened his eyes. Everyone scrambled to get closer to him.

"Blimey, Harry!" Fred, who looked pale underneath all the mud cake himself, exclaimed, "How're you feeling?"

"What happened?" Harry shot up onto a sitting position so abruptly, surprising the others. He whipped his head around, trying to drink in the situation.

"You fell off. Must've been— what—" Fred turned to look at George, "Fifty feet?"

"We thought you'd died," Alicia said. No one knew if she was shaking from the cold or the shock of seeing the accident.

"But the match," said Harry, "What happened? Are we doing a replay?"

No one said anything. The horrible truth sank into Harry like a stone. "We didn't... lose, did we?"

George planted a hand on his shoulder, smiling a smile that looked more like a grimace, "Diggory got the Snitch just after you fell. He didn't realize what had happened. He tried to call it off, wanted a rematch, but they won fair and square. Even Wood admits it."

"Where is Wood?"

"Still in the showers," said Katie, "We think he's trying to drown himself."

Harry put his face in the crook between his knees, gripping his hair in frustration. Fred hurriedly grabbed his other shoulder and shook it roughly, breaking him off his self-blaming trance, "C'mon, Harry, you've never missed the Snitch before."

"Yeah," Angelina quipped, "There had to be one time you didn't get it."

Everyone began to twitter about the possibility of winning Quidditch Cup despite their first loss. Calculations of points were thrown all over the room as Harry laid at the center, loss at word. After ten minutes or so, Madam Pomfrey came over to kick them out, so they left, leaving a trail of mud and one last encouragement for their Seeker.

"He looks so sad... that poor kid," Alicia cooed, "I can't imagine the look on his face when he finds out about his broom."

✿ ❀ ✿ ❀ ✿

✿ ❀ ✿ ❀ ✿

November 7th, 1993

THEY WERE PROBABLY... Seven. Or eight, or six. Fred forgot when exactly it happened.

But he remembered that they were young, and he couldn't forget the soft sound of sobs the morning wind carried that day. He abandoned his quest to feed the chicken and went after the voice, frowning.

"Who's there?" He called out, "Hello?"

He went into the woods that stretched between the Burrow and the Allen Residence. It was so soft, but so heart-wrenching, so... painful.

"Daisy? Is that you? It's probably not."

He stopped when he went pass a huge oak tree. The cries came from it. What could possibly cause a tree to howl that painfully?

Fred patted the tree twice, then peered around it. He couldn't see anything.

"Hello? Mr. tree? Is anyone here?"

He stepped forward to circle around it and his heart jolted in his chest.

His doe eyes widened at the horrifying sight of his favorite (and only) neighbor, crouching into one tiny, shivering ball.

She was rocking on her bare feet, and her fingers clawing pinkish lines onto her pale arms. Fred could hear the chatters of her teeth and he was disgusted to see a plethora of bloodied cuts as well as bluish bruises all over her beautiful face. Her nose was purplish and crooked sideways. Her hair was sticking all over onto the mixture of blood, sweat, and tears. She was hugging her chest —they found out later that her ribs were broken in multiple places.

"Daisy?!" Fred exclaimed, "What are you doing here? What happened? Are you okay? We should see Mum and ask for help, hurry! Can you stand up?"

Daisy stayed rooted in her spot. Her quivering ocean eyes met his steady, hazel ones. Sobs began to rack her body once more and she wailed, louder than ever.

Fred didn't know what to do. He should call an adult, or at least Bill, but he didn't want to leave her alone either. Finally, he decided to squat beside her and carelly —very, very carefully, pulled her lightly into a hug.

At first, Daisy flinched and resisted. She thrashed, as if it was her father laying a hand on her. "I'm sorry! No, don't hurt me!"

Fred tried to remember what his mother would do in situations like this and said gently, "I'm not trying to hurt you! It's okay, shush, shush..."

"Please stop! Stop him!"

"Okay, okay. Open your eyes and he'll stop," Fred shushed again, carefully patting her shoulder, "Look at me. You're safe now, see?"

Daisy's scream was reduced to cries.

"Awh... Baby." Fred shushed, "It's okay. You're safe now. Let's go to Mum, yeah? She'll flick her wand and cast your boo-boo away!"

Fred's eyes were thrown open and he found himself in bed. He was staring up at the ceiling of his bunk bed, covered in sweat, cuddled in a thick woolly sweater and two layers of blankets.

He breathed out shakily. Ah... I remember now.

"Oi, Fred."

Fred tilted his head to the left and saw George, half-awake in his bed.

"You okay?"

"Yeah."

"Dude, you had a bad fever," George yawned, "It went down, though. Just go back to sleep, rest some more."

"Okay."

Fred wriggled back to a comfortable position and contemplated for a few seconds before saying, "George. D'you remember that day... The day we called the Muggle police on Daisy's dad?"

"Of course," he heard George's soft reply, "Stupid Muggle police. He should be arrested then."

"She was in a very bad shape, wasn't she?"

George hummed in agreement, "Dad sent her to the Muggle hospital, didn't he? Broken ribs, broken fingers, fractures... It was the first anniversary of her Mother's death."

"Frightening, wasn't it," Fred mumbled, "I was scared, I remember."

"Why are you talking about that now? That was, like, eight years ago."

Fred paused, making a mental note to send her a letter first thing tomorrow.

"Freddie, her father's out of town. She's safe now."

"Yeah..."

"Go to sleep."

"Yeah."