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Her fingers wove around the steely cold of the prison bars, gripping them tightly, furiously. She stood staring, invulnerable to the cold of the dementors, welcoming them to feast upon her nothingness, for she had grown cold to her pain over the years...
Sophie was standing in rocky sand, the cold sea wind biting at her hands as she pressed herself against a grimy stone wall. She wore a torn black cloak and a tattered veil masking her face. The wind lashed bitterly against her pallid skin and whipped loose strands of extremely shortcropped hair in her eyes as she waited pressed against the wall for someone, as to who she was waiting for, she did not know…
Sophie gave a start as a gust of wind came from behind her and the door creaked open. She whirled about, eyes narrowed and scanning the Entrance Hall, but there was no one in sight. She stepped forward and closed the door firmly behind her.
“Well,” Sophie sighed, her sweaty hand gripping the sides of the rickety ladder. “Here goes.”
The Writing On The Wall
“Did you hear something?” Harry asked. “Upstairs, quickly!”
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