Had the dementor just…………………………...

Shaking her head and tightening her hold on her wand despite the Gripping Charm still in place, she kept her other arm wrapped around the little boy (although she was still not entirely convinced that this was just that cowering behind her back). Her porcelain hand pressing into him and slender fingers knotting themselves in the fabric of his clothing to hold him securely in place against her, her mind reeled as the dementor returned and came swooping back towards them. It had not worked. Why had her memory not worked this time?

Now was not the time to dwell, particularly as the cold's intensity tore her skin and other nightmares from the past began seeping in threatening to shroud her thoughts in darkness. Fight or flight instincts were locked in battle in her mind, a part of her already formulated an escape plan. She could just imagine the snickers of a few choice competitors were she to flee like a cowardly dog with its tail between its legs from a Dark creature as straightforward to defeat (in principle) as a dementor. So no, not yet. She would execute Plan B should all other options exhaust themselves.

As the dementor drew nearer and her hold on the boy strengthening, his trembling form against hers triggered another memory. One that she had been ignorant of (perhaps even avoiding) as she foolishly allowed this challenge to play mind games with her. Inhaling deeply, she allowed the memory to fill her while her trained eyes remained focused on the creature and its gaping mouth.

She is five-years-old and Shane (then three) shivering next to her as they squeeze in one of the cheap plastic chairs around the matchbox sized kitchen table. Mom is carefully counting out the crusts bread (a tunafish day according to some bits clung here and there), affectionately making sure that there is enough for each of them before taking a few for herself. Today had been an especially productive day at the factory, meaning that mom had come home with a surplus of crusts. Enough so that she could fry up a dozen or so with a small sprinkle of brown sugar for a sweet treat. She had also come home with a carton of cranberry juice now poured into three separate glasses, Valerie’s being the most full because “tomorrow was her special day,” as Shane had proclaims. Mom’s face turns up into a weary smile. Warm and sweet smells fill their shabby kitchen. Her little brother hugs her tight and not because of the cold. The three raise their glasses of cranberry juice in a toast to unconditional gratitude and each other. Leaning in smiling at one another, they create their own little utopia for three christened with the gently clank of their cups.

“Expecto Patronum!” she shouted clearly as she repeated the circular wand movement once more. The ram, brighter and seemingly with larger horns than the previous, stood proudly before her for a moment before lowering its head and charging forward.