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"Oh, bollocks," says Sage.
And she means it. Because, as life goes when you're next to Harry Potter, the proverbial shit's hit the fan. At full force. Like, it's a hot summer's day and the fan is spinning so fast it looks like it might come off the ceiling, and the shit's been hit so with so much force that it goes everywhere and covers everything and that's the sort of trouble the four Gryffindors are in right now.
Scabbers (or, Peter, as Sage assumes), has just taken a chunk out of Ron's finger. Sage doesn't understand why he bought the bloody thing with him to see a massive bird-horse get executed. She thinks maybe it's a comfort thing, but who would find comfort in a rat? Sage doesn't understand. But, back to the important thing she should be paying attention to.
Ron's gone running after Scabbers. Hermione tries to go after him and so does Harry, but Sage is frozen. She's glued to the ground, eyes wide, hands quivering.
There's a massive black dog on the horizon, and she thinks it's probably going to stab her.
"Sage!" Hermione screams, beckoning to the girl as the dog approaches her.
"Why are you after me?" Sage whispers. The dog's near. But so is Ron, and he dives in front of her as the dog lunges. The stupid great thing sinks it's teeth into Ron's leg and drags him off. Sage can hear muffled screaming. She can't hear anything past the thumping heartbeat in her eardrums.
"Sage, come on!" Hermione's cries finally get through to her. Sage reaches out and clutches the girl in her arms like there's no tomorrow.
"Hermione, Sage!" Harry yells. Sage opens her eyes, bleary from held-back tears, and sees that they've moved too close to the Whomping Willow for her to feel completely sage.
"Fuck," she hisses. She sees Harry get hit across the face. Then she feels a branch maul itself across her back, almost lifting her off the ground when it catches on her shirt collar.
"Are you okay?" Hermione shouts. Sage gives her a half-hearted thumbs up from her position lying on the ground. A streak of mottled orange passes through her vision and she thinks she's hallucinating Weasleys, but then she sees that the thing has a tail and four legs and a squashed face. "Crookshanks!" Hermione gasps.
"He's friends with that dog," calls Harry grimly, still recovering from the branch that whacked him in the stomach. "I've seen them together."
"Traitor bastard," Sage grumbles as she tries to catch her breath back. "Morceau de merde."
"Now isn't the time for French, Sage." Hermione's pulling Sage to her feet, and they stumble towards the trunk of the Willow as a two-headed, four-legged creature.
Sage asks, "Why isn't it trying to brutalise us anymore?" and her mind drifts to Conner. She wonders why the bastard isn't here to squawk bloody murder at her like he usually does.
