Country: United States
January 19, 2018
[ This blog post is private ]
08/15/2020 09:43 PM
I can't do this ((response to Head Prat))
‘I can’t do this anymore, I don’t want too.’ Nails drumming over the kitchen counter, Zoshia’s heart sunk little by little at the words that overran her mind, the hopeless look on Percy’s face as he spoke them as if he were standing before her. It was all etched there now permanently , pushing and pulling her, toying with her emotions. It picked at scabs of her past, things she locked away surfacing brutally.
The kettle boiled angrily beside her, Zoshia’s movements robotic as she carried it over to the sink, steam covering her face as it rushed the down the drain. Eight times she had boiled water and dumped it, mindless actions to keep herself occupied as Percy changed out his wet things. She wanted to go to him with every screech of the kettle, force open the door and keep him in her sight at all times. It shouldn’t have taken this long, her eyes falling to the clock to decide on the next course of action. Tears threatened her eyes, a shaking breath drawn in as she dropped the kettle. It was nearing thirty minutes since she left him, a rush of panic that sent her quickly from the kitchen to the bathroom that was open and empty.
“Percy?” Fear coated his name as Zoshia turned and ran for the front door, praying he hadn’t left.
Zoshia knew the signs, didn’t need him to spell it out to her what exactly he was going through. She had seen it, knew the dangers of its touch and how it destroyed even the strongest of people. She watched as it claimed her father, claws sunk deep into his soul after the death of her mother, his soulmate. It laid claim to every inch of his life, sucked the happiness from him as if were a dementor, drove him to unspeakable actions. A master obilvator who used his own spell on himself, knowing it would do nothing to ease the pain but erase the reason for it. She could still remember the day she returned from Hogwarts to the madman he became, overcome with grief that made no sense to him without the memory of her mothers death. More than once he confided in her about killing himself, that it was the only way to stop it until she betrayed him by going to her grandparents in fear. Now it was Percy and the same terror she felt at thirteen now coursed through her veins.
Hand on the door, Zoshia froze at the sight of Percy sitting on the top step of the staircase. She witnessed many faces of Percy, dealt with an array of emotions he kept usually well hidden. She had seen him pompous and self-righteous to drunk and belligerent and everything in between. This though. This was a side of him she never saw through any of his darker moments, not even glimpses and it terrified her. How long had it been going on for? How did she not see it, recognize the very thing she grew up with until now?
He looked calmer, the aftermath of earlier still painted over his face in blotchy red patches, his eyes red and puffy as he just sat there with his head against the wall. Zoshia didn’t know what to do, the desire to rush the stairs for him and pull him close like she had outside until this moment passed, until he was the Percy she knew again. Each step was taken with great caution, Zoshia’s hand extending out for him.
Dead eyes settled on her, Zoshia not seeing until then just how much he hid behind his glasses. Without them the dark circles were prominent, no emotion in the blue iris’.
“I just needed a place to think.” Passing a hand over his face, Percy hid away within him. “I’m sorry, Zosh.”
Blinking, Zoshia’s hand dropped to her side as she sat beside him on the step. “What on earth for?”
His shoulder’s lifted, a pained expression as it took all of his energy to do so. “This. Showing up here like a raving lunatic and putting all of this on you.” Percy didn’t look up at her as he spoke, his fingers twisting nervously in his lap. “I didn’t think about you or what I was putting on your shoulders. I just - you never judge me, even after everything I’ve done, all my mistakes. I just thought if I surrounded myself with something good, with you, it would stop, let me breathe for a moment.”
The words splintered through her, old wounds opening to a world of pain she couldn’t stop. Reaching out, Zoshia took his hand, forced his fingers between hers. “I’ll always be here for you, Percy. Don’t ever feel bad or like you can’t come to me.”
He held tightly onto her, pulling her closer as they fell into silence. Eyes glassy, Percy stared down the steps. Zoshia gave him a moment, waiting for him to speak first, to explain what was happening to him but he remained still. Empty.
“How long have you felt like this?”
The question was asked as delicately as Zoshia could put it. She hated not knowing, that he had been going through this alone for some time. Zoshia saw the switch in him after the war, the reason he had started drinking. A part of him broke that day, a part that no one could ever reach but she didn’t think it would lead this this. “Before the war or after?”
Waiting a moment, Zoshia watched as Percy’s eyes darted in thought. “Let’s just forget this, pretend I was drunk.”
In his own desire not to answer her Percy did just that, Zoshia’s breath lost. “Was it before the war?”
“Zosh.” Percy gave her a pleading look. “Please, just pretend for me.”
“No!” Her chest constricted, brown eyes wide as pain seared into her. “It was before the war, wasn’t it? For the love of - why didn’t you say anything!” She knew why, didn’t need him him to explain that it wasn’t in his nature to talk about his emotions, to admit that there was something wrong. Pulling her hand from his, Zoshia hugged herself, angry tears forming as he said nothing. “God damn it Percy!”
Zoshia was in her feet, rushing down the stairs as she gasped through the cry that wanted to break free. He didn’t move, no footsteps taken down the stairs after her and she paused, needing a moment to think and assess the situation until she found an answer, a path to help him. She was losing him, felt Percy slipping from her and there wasn’t a damned thing she could do to help. There was no way out, no right path taken that she was certain would be enough. There was nothing, a realization that hurt like hell, uprooted a strangled sob that sent her curling in on herself.
Steps hit the floorboards, Percy’s arms around her in a rare act of affection. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled against the crown of her head. “We can forget this. We can go back -”
Hitting her fists against his chest, Zoshia shoved him back in anger. “Why? So I can wake up one day and you won’t be here? No. I’ve lost almost everyone I love. Not you. I’m not losing you too. We will fix this, you just have to talk to me and tell me what’s causing this.”
His face went stony, a wall of stubbornness put up that only threw Zoshia into more rage. Percy had been there for her, even when she least expected it. They battled at each others side, stood beside her through his own turmoil as she was finally able to mourn her father. His concern had never been on himself but always others, his own struggles ignored and bottled up until now. She wasn’t walking away from him.
“Was it the Ministry?”
Her mind was racing, grasping at straws to find the source of it all, a place to begin. “Tell me this isn’t down to Penelope.”
Percy’s face twisted back in annoyance. “Don’t be ridiculous.”
“Then what!” Zoshia was pushing him, putting a toe over a line she wasn’t sure she wanted to fully cross. She thought of everything over the past years they had been friends, even back to Hogwarts unable to pinpoint a singular event that would have started this. “Your trial? When you moved into your flat? Your…” Her words trailed off at the sudden look of discomfort on Percy’s face and quietly she swore. It wasn’t one singular event like her father but a span of them that came in the memory of his boggart at the Ministry. “Percy, your family loves you. I know you’ve had - don’t shake your head at me, they do!”
“They blame me for Fred.” His eyes shone bright with sudden tears, Percy’s voice low and broken. “They’ve never said it directly to my face but I hear things.”
Zoshia wanted to argue with him but she knew the long-standing problems he had with his family, saw how it affected him when he moved out of the Burrow suddenly. Their friendship had only just started then, Zoshia not seeing the hurt for what it really was and now it was too late.
“You know their right. It should have been me. I just kept thinking while I was out in the lake, that if I could go back and switch placed with Fred everything would be okay, that they’d be okay.”
“And what about me?” She was being selfish at the moment, thinking only of herself and the terror he was inciting in her. Percy’s eyes locked with hers in slight confusion as Zoshia hit him hard in the shoulder, finding herself at her own breaking point. “What about me? I wouldn’t be ok - or does that not matter to you?”
A wounded expression flashed over Percy’s face, shame coloring his cheeks. “Of course you matter. Please don’t think you don’t, but it should have been me.”
Zoshia hated herself for adding guilt to him. The damaged words, the way he cracked under them making her step forward. Her hands gently cupped his face, thumb brushing away the tears. “If they really make you feel that way, f*** them. I’m here for you, always. You always have a place here with me. You can be angry or sad, punch things or scream until you lose your voice. Vent all you need or just sit in silence or talk about nothing - I’ll be here through it all. But don’t you ever tell me it should have been you that day.”
Percy’s eyes danced over her face, his face trapped between her hands. There was no smile, nothing to show that he heard her as his gaze averted. When he finally spoke her voice was shy and timid. “Can - can I stay here tonight?”
She wasn’t going to let him leave anyways, Zoshia ready to stay up all night if she had too if it kept him safe from himself. “Of course, you know where the guest bedroom is.”
“Actually, I - I don’t really want to be alone right now.” Percy’s face was red as he made himself speak, his jaw locking. “At least until I - f*** I sound so stupid, I’m sorry.”
“You don’t sound stupid. You remember which room is mine?” She waited for a nod, Zoshia offering a comforting smile. “I’ll make sine tea and be right up, yea.”
She watched him retreat back up the steps before she turned for the kitchen. Throwing on the kettle, Zoshia worked quickly, quill scratching over the scrap piece of parchment. It was a gamble sending it but she didn’t know what else to do, feeling in over her head. The owl vanished from sight, her letter attached to its leg as it took off through the dark sky as the kettle hit a boil. She only hoped that Percy would be asleep by the time her message reached the burrow.
08/15/2020 09:40 PM
You need to eat ((Mamabear))
Numbness spread through her body slowly, crept inch by inch until her body felt encased by ice from the missing part of her that was now missing. Pins and needles dotted her skin, pulled her under like a sleeping drought that had been injected into her veins under the false promise of sleep
Sleep. Zoshia wasn’t certain when the last time she rested her eyes was, nights and days blending into one massive time loop for the red-head. Even as those around her moved and lived their days out, she remained in the same secluded spots of the home, tucked away from curious eyes. She saw it every time she closed her eyes, was surrounded by the unnatural silence in a place full of noise. Death robbed her of the last family she had. For days, she was tried to make sense of what had happened, tried to find a means for justice for her father’s murder. But there was nothing. There wouldn’t be justice while the war raged, nothing Zoshia could do while in hiding.
She was a fugitive now. Sought after by the Ministry, hunted for by the snatchers. If she hadn’t followed the instructions, ran like instinct told her too, Zoshia knew she wouldn’t have lasted long. She barely had enough money in her pockets to survive, no chance for her to go to Gringotts and remove added funds she had stored away. Even in the muggle world she wouldn’t have lasted out on the streets. The twins came for her just as Percy had said they would, resistance in both parties before they relented and returned to the hiding place of the Order. Even then, Zoshia still struggled to trust the people she had only heard stories about years ago from the one that left them.
Zoshia shrunk in on herself, closed off after her initial recount of what had happened. It all came barreling down on her then. The memories locked in her mind as her words picked up in speed, breaths turning into short gasps, hysteria building as reality closed in around her, pulling Zoshia down and away from the protective barrier she put in place long enough for her to reach safety. When she finally calmed, there was nothing more to her, brown eyes puffy and red with a vacant stare. She felt nothing but the numbness.
“You need to eat something.” The smell of food overwhelmed her, made her stomach growl loudly and pull her from the comatose appearance. The plate nudged in her direction, the older witch taking a seat just across from Zoshia with what she assumed was a motherly smile on her face. “You haven’t eaten since the day you arrived, we can’t have that now can we?”
Zoshia studied Molly Weasley for a long moment. There was no changing her mind, Zoshia’s fight gone as she gingerly picked up the fork. She waited a moment, picking at the potatoes in hopes that it would spark something, that the presence of someone else would force up the tears that seemed to have dried up. When nothing happened, Zoshia quietly sighed. “Thank you.”
In another time the food would have been delicious, would have soothed her soul and brought Zoshia comfort, but it was heavy and thick. It felt impossible to chew, unbearable to swallow. With a small glance up, Zoshia forced it down as her brown eyes rested on Mrs. Weasley who remained across from her. In the days Zoshia had been with the Order, she watched Mrs. Weasley mother over others, hoover over those that were hers and those that she considered as good as. It was admirable but didn’t match with the what Percy often vented about but in a way Zoshia understood him better now than ever. It cast a dark shadow over Zoshia, over what she never had growing up. But the look on the older witch’s face wasn’t the same look she usually wore. She wanted something; the question was what.
Lifting a brow, Zoshia gave silent permission for her to proceed, noting how the witch resembled Percy when he too was nervous.
“I know you are suffering at the moment, and I truly hate to ask anything of you,” Molly began, her voice so low it was barely above a whisper and Zoshia leaned in slightly to hear her. Whatever she wanted, it was clear she didn’t want the others to know, at least not yet. “I just need to know… Arthur said you worked with Percy at the Ministry and that you spent a lot of time together… just tell me that my boy is ok.”
Zoshia’s heart went out to the mother before her, someone who was clearly broken by the estrangement from one of her children. Her mouth opened and closed, a lie at the tip of her tongue to give Mrs. Weasley the comfort she desired. “I don’t know. We haven’t been in contact recently, not since he…” Zoshia stopped, the sudden rush of tears to her eyes, her heart twisting in her chest that made her catch her breath. She didn’t want to make him look worse, didn’t want to add any more hate against him by saying that he had sided with Umbridge when she took charge. “He’s not bad, he’s done stupid things, but he’s not like them, he’s trying to get out. He got me out…I think he gave me Polyjuice potion he brewed for himself so I could escape.”
The words forced out the tears, angry and broken streaks running down her face. She wanted to say she believed that Percy was ok, but even if they didn’t catch on to the fact that he was the one who helped her they were still working him to death. He served no purpose to them since he cut ties with his family, had nothing to offer but doing multiple jobs at once as the Ministry fell to the death eaters.
“I wish I could give you better news. I’m sorry.”
Hands rested around hers, Mrs. Weasley’s face crumpled but somehow still strong. Her attention seemed to shift off from herself and what she needed wanted to hear to the young witch breaking down in front of her, beaten by a war that was just hitting its heights.
08/15/2020 09:37 PM
Battle of Hogwarts
Emptiness. The feeling hit Zoshia hard in the gut, almost sending her to her knees. The void consumed the red head, swallowing her whole until there was nothing left, just a shell of a human. In the midst of war, what was one to expect? She had killed people, seen people younger than herself perish before her eyes. It was only natural to feel nothing, if she allowed his emotions to take control he would be dead. It didn’t alter anything on the logical side of her mind, didn’t change the fact that for the remainder of her life, should she live past this, the battle of Hogwarts would haunt her.
The scream tore through air like shards of glass shatter into pieces. Zoshia felt her eyes widen, her pulse quicken as her wand dropped to her side. The scream came again, desperate and seared in pain that immobilized her in her own terror. Through everything she bore witness to, of the death that seemed to follow, she had never heard a scream like that before. It was a pure animal cry that was yet extraordinarily human. Blood drained from her face, her legs moving before a conscious decision had been made. Instinct drove her towards the noise, her wand held tightly in her hand, ready to bring and end to whatever was causing the horrific noise.
The cloaked figure towered, face twisted and snarled back in hatred, a death eaters wand pointed with purpose, unwavering. Zoshia’s voice was lost in the agony of the imposed target, her spell going unheard, unnoticed until it hit the death eater. Brown eyes turned to the ground to find the source of the noise, to know what poor soul he had pinned.
In the grip of silent panic, Zoshia’s pupils dilated, a shrill scream running aimlessly through her body, searching for an escape. She couldn’t concentrate, couldn’t look anywhere else but at the face she came to care so deeply for twisted in torturous pain.
Red hair plastered over the sweaty face, back arched unnaturally upwards as the screams went silent. Percy laid on the ground, agony etched over his face. How long had he been being tortured for, minutes at most from the time Zoshia had first heard the scream to when she arrived. Red sailed just past her vision, Zoshia whirling to find Runcorn back on his feet.
There was no thought process, no concern for herself as Zoshia ran headlong for at the death eater, placing herself between him and Percy. Throwing a spell with everything she had, Zoshia’s lips pulled back in a snarl, baring her teeth. All the loss and grief hit her at once, exploded through every spell she used. She was determined not to lose anyone else.
There was a look of momentary amusement on the death eater’s face as the blue light hit him, Zoshia refusing to back down or look away. She wanted her face to be the final thing he saw, to see the fury and rage that brought him down. The amusement morphed slowly into terror, cracks forming over his body. A horrific gurgled noise left the man before he shattered into pieces around her.
It wasn’t the first life she had taken, probably wouldn’t be the last. Others were out of survival, but Runcorn was different, it was the first she took in cold blood, the first one she used magic in a way it wasn’t supposed to. Arm dropping to her side, the groan from behind her, Zoshia casting a small shield around her as she darted for Percy. His face was pale and pulled tight, Zoshia’s hands shaking as she searched for his glasses.
“I...I don’t think that’s a spell you’re supposed to use on people.”
She laughed, quietly to herself as she plucked the glasses up from the ground, gingerly setting them on his face. Gripping his hand, Zoshia helped Percy to his feet, the quiver felt between them as he staggered. Carefully, her eyes danced over him before she lunged forward, arms barely wrapping around him before he pushed away. She knew he had never been one for acts of affection, never one to respond emotionally but it still cut.
“Sorry,” she muttered quickly. The world was burning down around them, death everywhere she turned. There wasn’t time to check in on each other, no time for a hug that would grant them a moment of safety. “Percy -”
Blinding red light filled her vision, the spell hitting Zoshia before they had a chance to react. The curse hit her square in the chest, all air knocked from her as her body was thrown back. Pain radiated through every inch of her, pulsed through her veins as white dots danced in front of her. Her name rang through the air, desperation to it as she saw Percy just beyond the rubble, eyes wild and searching before he was gone.
Pain spread from her chest, Zoshia pawing at herself as endless pins and needles took over her body briefly. It exploded in a wave, a gush of red staining her shirt. Panicked, Zoshia lifted her shirt, the laceration spreading across her body, leaving a trail of fire as it covered her. Crying out silently, Zoshia drew in shaking breaths, the gouges draining her. Blindly, she felt for her wand, trying to think of anything that would help her, that would bring an end to the pain.
She tried many counterspells, energy-depleting, brain fogging from the lack of blood, Zoshia lay dying on the ground alone. A broken sob left her, head lolling back as the world around her fell into silence, sharp cracks through the air. She hoped it was a retreat or that they had finally won, that something good was coming despite her impending death. Screams rang out, endless screaming that even in death Zoshia didn’t think would leave her.
The incantation was hummed gently beside her, Zoshia’s eyes widening at the sudden appearance of the wizard. There was momentary panic, uncertainty at who was casting on her. A sharp intake of breath filled Zoshia, the pain gone, the face above her coming into focus.
The friendly face came into light, Zoshia letting out a dark and pain-filled laugh. She felt hysterical, unable to control any part of herself and the insanity of what she was now facing; the ghost before her. William Higgs was dead. She remembered the report, recalled the severity of the attack against him and the horrific display left for the Ministry to find. Another lost to the war, just like her father, just like Fred - just like so many others. Still, the face above was a spitting image of him. There was a somber look on the male's face, a strain of emotion to the name that told her all she needed to know. It wasn’t William but his younger brother.
“Your wounds need to be tended too properly.” Terence Higgs offered out his hand, gently easing her from the ground. His attention shifted briefly, a wicked smile on his face that gave Zoshia a moment of pause. “Seems they are retreating, I have some old friends to catch. Make sure you get seen quickly.”
Blood coated the stones she used to pull herself up with. Her blood. Feet unsteady, she gripped the wall, refusing to let the tears fall. There was no goodbye, no generic thank you as the Higgs brother ran off, his wand in hand. Her head ached, any questions of why smothered in smolder ashes of her mind.
Carefully, Zoshia made her way into the ruins of the castle, every breath sending pain through her ribs. One by one she counted the faces she passed, eyes closed in an almost peaceful manner, their faces ashy and lifeless. She waited to see his face in the masses, waited to find the familiar shade of red that would send her whole world crumbling. The war had cost her so much, took away nearly everything, she prayed it left it one thing.
Dirty red hair laid out in the line, long legs stretched out as the face was tilted away from her. Tears welled instantly, her steps staggering forward, a cry brushing her lips.
Zoshia’s face lifted, the faint call of her name just barely reaching her ears, making her second guess if she actually heard it. Brown eyes scanned the crowd before settling on the blue pair hidden behind cracked and dirty horn-rimmed glasses. Percy stood across the hall alive; beaten and bloodied but alive. Relief filled his face, the strange emotional display that he tried to cover with his hands as he called out her name again.
Zoshia was the first to move, once more placing the concern for herself aside as she ran towards him, stopping just shy in reminder and respect of how Percy was. His eyes found hers briefly, Zoshia catching the rising shine to them before she was pulled into him. His hug was crushing, all-consuming and Zoshia melted into the embrace.
08/15/2020 08:52 PM
Red hair cascaded over her face forming a protective shield from what was happening around her. Fear pricked at her skin, the thin hairs on her arms standing on edge as her father advanced to the stand. Just inches above his head the dementors hovered, ominous black humanoid swirls that filled the room with their stench of decay. Long, glistening fingers caressing the barrier, grey boned fingers reaching out for her father. Even across the room, the cold they inflicted pieced into Zoshia’s core as she held her breath for the trial to begin.
“A wand was taken from you today…” Umbridge’s voice sliced through the barren room, a few smug faces all that could be seen.
Eyes locking in on her father, Zoshia felt her heart drumming in her ear, a deafening white noise that covered everything around her. Muggleborns everywhere were being rounded up, some tricked into coming while snatchers descended like locusts to capture and bring in those that ran for a price. It was only a matter of time before her father was called in, only a matter of time before he too was taken away.
“Please. I...I have my family tree. I can prove I’m of magic descent.”
Attention snapping forward, Zoshia’s eyes widened. She had found the forged paper days ago and destroyed it. Everyone knew that anyone caught with fake documents were punished to the highest extent. He swore to her, promised on her mother’s grave that wouldn’t dare to make another.
The crumpled paper floated gracefully over to Umbridge, a malevolent sneer on her face as she glared down at him. Beady eyes skimmed the paper, her attention every so often flickering back to Zoshia’s father until at last the sneer curved into a smirk. “Mister Burnley, this here is a false paper you presented.”
Zoshia’s heart lept in her chest, her hand instinctively reaching for her wand that was no longer with her. Like her father, the moment Zoshia entered the Ministry for work they took her, separated her from her father before confiscating her wand. Hours she was kept in a small holding room packed with other witches, each wearing the same terror filled expression. They knew their fated options; stripped of their wand and banished from the wizarding world or Azkaban. The screams were endless, the room close enough to the interrogation chamber to hear; to install a deeper fear into them. No one ever came back.
“You know the punishment for presenting forged documents, Mister Burnley.”
“This is wrong, these people have done nothing wrong - I’ve done nothing wrong. I was born a wizard! Damnit Dolores, we went to Hogwarts together.” Rising to his feet, Lukas Burnley glowered up at the woman before him.
Lukas Burnley snorted, eyes rolling. “What people should be saying enough too, is you treating muggle borns like criminals! What next, half-bloods like yourself?”
Umbridge’s beady eyes shifted in her direction, Zoshia trying to remain hidden behind the corner. Meaty hands gripped her upper arm, Zoshia’s eyes wide as she was hauled out into the room.
“Let’s try this again, Mister Burnley only this time it’s your daughter who will suffer for your actions.”
Brown eyes lifted, the ghastly hollowed-out eyes above peering down on her hungrily. Fear pitted in her stomach, an unease that Zoshia had never felt before.
“You leave my daughter out of this!”
Umbridge’s hand lifted, Zoshia forced still just beyond where her father could see her. Righting herself in the chair, Umbridge looked back over the paper her father had presented, making small noises here and there. After a moment of false consideration, her attention moved back to Zoshia, her father twisting in his chair to find her. “Unfortunately, your daughter can’t prove her blood purity considering you married a muggle.”
Face paling, Zoshia instantly knew her fate.
“You really can’t get over your father being a floor mopper that you are killing innocent-”
A sweet smile passed over Umbridge’s face, a look of lunacy mixed in rage befalling her. The patronus cat of hers flickered, Zoshia’s eyes widening as cold pierced her skin, invaded her every pour as a black swarm descended from above.
Hood lifting, the scabbed skin across a skull filled Zoshia’s vision as her father sunk into his chair. The large gaping hole drew closer to her father, a ripple of light feeding into it as her father’s body spasmed below. Every moment another part of his soul was sucked out, Zoshia letting out a scream as she slammed her elbow back into the Ministry official who held her in place. Without her wand she was useless against the dementors but they weren’t her concern, all attention locked on Umbridge as she broke free and ran for the woman.
The spell came from behind, Zoshia breath lodged in her throat as she froze. Her body folded in on itself, twisted and pulled until what remained of her clattered to the ground before flying off through the air. In a moment she was gone, her father’s last light leaving him being the last thing she saw of the courtroom.
Pain riddled her body, Zoshia screaming out as she returned to her natural form. “Da?” The cry for her father was unanswered, Zoshia knowing that what had just happened to her wasn’t his doing. Legs wobbling, Zoshia stumbled forward into the desk, papers flying to the ground as her stomach churned. She could hear the frantic steps behind her, the pacing before wood clattered in front of her. Looking down, gingerly Zoshia picked up the wand - her wand.
“Drink this.” A flask slid across the desk. Logic said to leave it, that it was all some wicked trick and that Umbridge was simply going to poison her but her gut said something different.
Twisting the top open, Zoshia sniffed the contents, her nose wrinkling back instantly. “Polyjuice potion?” Turning to see who was dumb enough to betray Umbridge and help her, Zoshia felt a hit of a spell once more, her body locked into place.
“Just drink it. It’s brewed enough that it should be a quick change, ten minutes tops. You better hope for less because that’s all the time you will have to get out of here.”
Putting the flask to her lips once the spell was removed, Zoshia forced down the potion as she let her mind wander. The voice was gritty, tainted over to hide who it was. They were smart enough to cover their tracks if she was caught, no chance of ever being found out no matter how badly they tortured her or rummaged through her mind.
It started in her neck, heat rising uncomfortably as her stomach gurgled angrily. Bubbles began forming on her skin, Zoshia’s skin twisting and pulling as it began to take the form of another. Hunching over, her eyes bulged, hands gripping tight to the edge of the desk as vomit rose up her throat.
As quickly as it started it was over, Zoshia running her hands over the boxy frame of her body, and hair that now covered her face. Curses were at the tip of her tongue, anger building inside but a smile filled her face, a smirk of sorts. The person was a genius, even if she hated them for making her into a burly looking man.
“Go here. Use the back door to the shop, charms are there to alert them. Tell them what happened and they can help you -”
Picking up the paper carefully, Zoshia read over the address. 93 Diagon Alley. “My dad?”
There was a moment of silence, Zoshia turning her head slightly to try and catch a reflection in the picture in the wall.
“I couldn’t do anything, I’m sorry. You have to go, they are going to lock everything down soon.”
With a nod, Zoshia slipped out the door, catching a quick glimpse of the horn-rimmed glasses in the reflection of the window.
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