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Summary
“Run, Ron!” she gasped, her voice thin against the sudden silence. They bolted, their feet pounding the earth, but it was useless. The cold intensified, a creeping, insidious numbness that seeped into her very soul. Memories, good and bad, flickered and faded, replaced by a hollow ache. It felt like drowning in despair.
Ron stumbled, a choked gasp escaping his lips, and then he collapsed, a limp heap on the ground. Hermione turned back to grab him, but a horrifying realization dawned on her: the dementor had passed him by. It wasn't interested in Ron. It was coming for her.
The cold intensified, burrowing deep, her mind reeled, grasping for a happy memory, anything to fuel a Patronus, but the despair was too profound, too quick. She felt the darkness closing in, a suffocating embrace that promised oblivion. Her eyelids fluttered, heavy, so heavy…