I woke up on the ground, in a very awkward position.

I either had survived the fall, or Willowed and come back to life.

Willowed.

I like that.

I smiled because I’d invented a new word for coming back from the dead.

Well, it looks like I’ve got to rewrite the bible.

Jesus Willowed.

What the hell is wrong with me?

I sat up before letting out a scream.

It appeared that I’d fallen onto a giant shard of glass, and sitting up had cut the side of my stomach open.

I couldn’t feel it though; it was like it was numb.

Wow. Okay. I don’t really know what to think.

I sat there for a period of time. It could have been minutes or hours, I wasn’t entirely sure. But I was thinking.

I had no idea what I was supposed to do, and I realised that all of the order probably thought I was dead. I hope they’re all okay. I hope they know I love them. I hope that if I die today, it is in their place.

I blacked out.

I woke up in a room, but it wasn’t any old room. It was my old bedroom/torture chamber/thing.

“Well this is awfully nostalgic.” I said to the air as I stood slowly. My head was all swirly and the wound in my side was still there, but it had been wrapped in bandages like Muggles do. It was as though the people here didn’t want me dead, but wanted to torture me.

I took small steps and my breathing was sharp and painful as I walked around the room. There were large things in the corner that weren’t there six years ago. I made my way over to the room before letting out a piercing scream.

They were bodies.

Random bodies and among them was Moody.

I felt tears sting my eyes, but I wasn’t going to let myself cry.

I knew I could easily apparate my way out of this place, but I probably had that bullshit trace thing for underage wizards. I knew if I apparated back to the burrow, that they’d end up blaming the underage magic on Harry and then everything would be screwed.

So, I’ve got to pull myself together and be strong.

I need to keep him safe at all costs.

Even if I’m the cost.

I took a shuddering breath and blinked back tears as I planted a kiss on Alastor Moody’s forehead. I hoped with all of my heart that the others were okay, that they were alive...

I knew they wouldn’t miss me too much; maybe they’d even be excited with the peace and quiet.

I heard the door open and my heart stopped, which was probably not a bad thing because it might subdue the bleeding in my side.

“Come here.” Said a voice, but my head was still a little weird and I couldn’t tell who it was. I crossed the room slowly and obediently before I could actually focus on his face.

“Snape.” I whispered, and I felt like crying and screaming and kicking and murdering, but I knew I couldn’t do any of these things. I was defenceless and injured and I couldn’t do anything at all.

“Are you alright?” he asked, sounding cold and merciless. It was mixed signals.

I replied by vomiting all over him and the floor, which hurt a hell of a lot. I proceeded to slip in my own vomit and knock myself out.

Ha.

***

My blood gushing across the dusty stone ground; the manic laughter of Bellatrix Lestrange: the jeering of the swarm of death eaters; and the cold voice of Lord Voldemort rebounded in my head.

"Why don't you just kill me?" I screamed at Voldemort as I lay defeated on the floor.

"No. No. No. Willow! I need you alive see?" Voldemort said in that mocking tone he likes to use.

"And why is that?" I sounded surprisingly strong for someone who's just been tortured for sixteen hours.

"You possess quite a strong power. I want you to join us."

"Or what?" I spat.

He laughed high and cold.

"You die."

"Alright, kill me." I said flatly.

"You're all the fool then."

"Am I?" I asked Voldemort calmly. "Am I a fool for believing that there are things worse than death? You for example."

"YOU WILL JOIN ME OR I'LL KILL YOUR FAMILY!"

"Hit a nerve did I?" I asked mockingly. If I'm about to die, I'm going out with a fizzle and a bang. Haha, that sounds funny.

"You act all noble, yet you couldn't care if your family died. We're not unalike you and I."

"Voldemort, honey, don't get all sentimental on me." I said as carelessly as though I was talking to Ginny. "It’s just, well, you’ve been trying to kill my brother for the last seventeen years. My life won't affect the fact that you want to kill my family and friends."

"That is true.” Voldemort said silkily. "Well then, Bellatrix. She's all yours."

Now, let me tell you this in plainest truth. You do not understand pain until you've met Bellatrix Lestrange.

She has invented her own spells for torture, and the one she was trying out turned the end of her wand into a knife and the wounds would scar. Not only that, but it hurt more than the cruciatus curse.

But I wouldn’t make a sound. I refused.

I’d banished myself into silence while I was tortured because if they knew, they would win.

And they couldn’t win.

Not now.

Not ever.

My silence stopped Bellatrix from receiving true pleasure though.

She hated it.

Despite the fact that my side was still cut open and I now had the word ‘pathetic’ engraved into my arm, I was silent and Bella was really pissed.

 “Now tell me, Willow Potter,” she hissed, bringing her face right up to my ear. “Where is your brother hiding?”

“Bite me.” I snapped, and she actually bit my cheek, drawing blood.

I cringed, but no sound escaped my lips.

I was covered from the top of my head to the underside of my toes in cuts and bruises, but it didn’t matter as long as Harry was safe.

Bellatrix screamed in anger and threw be back into the dungeon/basement/bedroom/thing, where someone gave me water and some food I could hardly eat. I wasn’t entirely sure, but it could have been Draco.

“They don’t want you dead yet.” The possible Draco whispered to me. “I’m sorry.” He left at some point I think.

I wasn’t sure how long I was down there, but I started to drift in and out of consciousness. Faces kept swarming in my mind. My friends. Dead.

Dead Harry.

Dead Ron.

Dead Hermione.

Dead George.

Dead Lupin.

I didn’t know what was real or what were hallucinations, but I started to cry.

And crying hurt.

And breathing hurt.

And existing hurt.

I didn’t think I could apparate then, even if I wanted to.

I would die before Harry’s birthday, and then the fact that Lucy was only around for sixteen years made sense to me.

I knew it was almost the end, and found myself praying for the close.

***

I wasn’t sure when, but Voldemort, Bellatrix and someone else who was only young walked down into the vault. I could hardly move, but had been slowly making my way towards where Moody lay, so I could have someone to die with.

“Willow, did you hear me?” Voldemort’s voice seemed happy, which is more terrifying than when he isn’t. “We’ve brought someone to see you. He said that you’ve met before.”

I heard his and Bella’s laughter as I tried to focus on the boy’s face. Who was it?

The world stopped spinning for long enough for me to recognise him, and suddenly, I was more terrified than I had been the entire time I was here.

I wasn’t scared to be tortured by Voldemort or Bellatrix Lestrange, but him. I was terrified.

Bartholomew Clemens was staring at me with that twisted smile.

He lifted up my hand with both of his and snapped my wrist. I screamed out in pain.

This time, there was no Dumbledore to save the day.

This time, Snape wasn’t on my side.

This time, there was no McGonagall to help me.

This time, there were no best friends, or jars of nutella.

This time, I could hardly defend myself.

And I don’t remember being this scared before.

“You are so beautiful.” He whispered. “And you’re all mine.”

I heard Voldemort and Bellatrix laughing as I tried to squirm away from his clutching hands. I tried to push him off me, but I only ended up with him pushing me around the room as we fought. He’d pushed me next to the pile of dead bodies, and torn my shirt until it was almost off.

“Does this turn you on?” he whispered, forcing my face against the dead, as I whimpered. “I could turn them into inferi, if you want to. What about him?” he said pulling Moody up by the arm. “You knew him, wouldn’t that be great?”

An idea.

“Strip for me.” I said in the weakest voice. “Go on.” I whispered, tasting blood in my mouth as my body ached. “Show me what you’ve got.”

He smiled more broadly and stood up saying, “Be prepared to be amazed.”

I waited until he was not touching any part of me before I rolled on top of Moody.

“Horny bitch.” He said, impressed, but Voldemort knew what I was doing.

“NO!” he shot a curse my way.

It was too late, I had apparated.

I was gone.

***

I woke up in a cold sweat and I wasn’t sure where I was. My body was still aching like a bitch, but I felt better than I had.

Lupin was asleep beside my bed; Harry had fallen asleep in the opposite bed and George was sitting beside me, still awake.

I get all the bitches.

I looked at George and tried to smile, but it didn’t work.

He kissed my forehead.

“You are so beautiful.” He whispered, and I started crying, as my mind flickered back to Malfoy Manor. Bart had said that. “Um, that’s a compliment.” George said, he looked really scared. “Willow, it’s me. It’s George.” He kept trying to reassure me, but the memories of the past few days kept creeping into my mind and I couldn’t block them out. “Willow, it’s okay.” George said frantically. His voice was getting louder and more terrified and I was freaking out. It was as though I was watching myself from a T.V. camera or something, because I wasn’t acting like myself.

I’d gotten out of the bed and hid myself in the corner of the room, where I painfully crawled into a foetal position and buried my face in my knees.

“Lupin, wake up. Help me.” George said fearfully, and Lupin stood up, wide awake and came over.

“Willow,” he said calmly. “You’re safe now. You’re at the burrow. We’re not going to hurt you.”

I wasn’t completely sure why I was so terrified, but I was.

If I were some therapist or something, I’d say it was all of the pent up fear from Malfoy Manor being released at once, after being triggered.

I tried to calm myself down, but I’d only remember something else and be triggered again. I felt almost like I did after Christmas in my first year. I felt as though hurting myself would make the pain go away, but I couldn’t tell them that. They’d think I was crazy.

“You are crazy.” Said a snide voice in my head.

I pressed myself further against the wall, hoping that I might become the wall.

“Willow,” said another voice. I finally looked up. It was Harry. “Are you alright?” he asked me, even though it was a bit of a stupid question.

Yeah, I’ve just lost my mind, I’m bawling my eyes out and trying to become a wall because I’ve been tortured for three days. I’m fucking dandy Harry.

What I actually said was, “Happy Birthday.”

The three of them laughed awkwardly, and then I started crying again.

“Wil, what do you want us to do?” Lupin tried, but I cried harder and started bashing my head against the wall.

“Getting Hermione seems like a good idea.” Harry said, “She knows everything. She should know how to fix a broken Willow.”

A broken Willow.

A. Broken. Willow.

Broken. Willow.

Willow of the broken.

Willow is broken.

Willow broken a.

I stood up, walked over and slapped Harry across the face, taking complete advantage of my newly unbroken wrist.

“You twat.” I said, and I stormed out of the room, pretending that I wasn’t in intense pain, and leaving the three boys to their confusion.

I happened to walk past a mirror and saw that I looked like complete shit, so I proceeded the whole way downstairs, wincing in pain with each step.

“Mrs Weasley?” I asked, walking into the kitchen.

“Yes, my dear?” she said distractedly, mixing what looked like a cake.

“Could I use your shower please?”

“Of course you can Willow...”

Her spoon made a clattering sound as she dropped it into the bowl and she faced me.

“Willow.” She said simply, and she smiled at me tearily and hugged me. It was a painful hug. “I’m so glad you’re okay.” She said sniffing. “We thought – we thought...”

“I was dead?” I offered, and she nodded, turning away, possibly to hide some tears. “I wished I was.” I said cheerily, because I’m sort of bipolar and then I walked agonizingly upstairs and had a shower.

It was only when I’d finished my shower that I realised I didn’t have any clothes.

I wrapped a towel around myself and stumbled the whole way upstairs into Ron’s room in the attic where I found Harry, Ron and Hermione all talking about me. Harry was filling them in on my insanity.

I still can’t believe he called me broken.

Bitch.

“Hey Hermione, could you be a sweetheart and pass me some clothes.” I said calmly, and the three turned and saw me there, wrapped up in a towel that made me feel shockingly insecure.

“Get out.” Hermione ordered the boys, and they left, looking awkward and embarrassed.

I have that effect on people.

“Here,” Hermione said throwing clothes at me and laughing.

She’d given me a button-up green dress that I didn’t know I owned, and I only just sorted through my trunk.

“How do I look?” I asked, posing dramatically, and injuring my side.

“Pathetic.” She sighed as I kept doing all these dramatic poses.

“I know I am.” I said in a weird voice, taking off the bandage and showing her Bellatrix’s engraving.

“Oh my god.” She whispered, and she hugged me. “What did they do to you?”

“I can’t really remember.” I lied because I didn’t want to have to relive it all.

It was wrong of me, I guess, but I didn’t want to.

 “So,” I asked. “How have things been around here?”

“Miserable.” She said, taking a seat on Ron’s bed. “It seemed like the longest three days...We thought you were...”

“Dead.” I said again, wondering why no one could say the word. I wasn’t that important. They should only freak out if Harry died, right?

“Most of us did, anyway. Ron thought you just couldn’t come back because of the trace –“

“That’s true,” I said. “The ministry would have used that against Harry, said that it was his fault and he had used magic. They would have thwarted the rules or something.” I said softly. “I had three hours to go, but I just couldn’t stay there any – anymore.” I let out a shaky breath and Hermione wrapped her arm around me.

“You do remember, don’t you?” she whispered.

“Yes.” I said, almost inaudibly as my head collapsed onto her shoulder.

“I won’t say anything.” She said softly. “Best friends don’t tell.”