You'd think she'd cried enough.

The Slytherins had long since taken the fight out into the open, in the full view of the castle. Pippa had a rather perfect view of said castle and she could watch through the bodies of trees as people darted around firing spells. She wished she could join in. She wished she could help. She wasn’t neglecting to do so out of fear however, it was simply because she couldn’t get there. Philippa, you see, was still strung up in a tree where the Slytherins had left her what felt like hours ago. The cold was seeping in now and she was tired of pulling at her restraints. It felt as if her ankles were broken – her wrists too – from the struggle she’d put up. Merlin only knew where her wand was now – long gone by the looks.

Pippa had seen the werewolves run through the forest – and oh hadn’t she screamed. She’d writhed and her hands had clawed at the robes and herself as she tried to scramble out of the hold she’d been put in. It was only about five minutes earlier that she’d realised how truly stuck she was. It was then that screaming ceased. It was then that she began to cry. Huge tears fell from her eyes, slid down her cheeks and fell to the ground. Her sobs resounded around the forest, loud enough to hear there but not loud enough to hear beyond the perimeter of the trees.

“Help?” Pippa asked the trees brokenly. Her head tipped forward, her dirty blonde hair gathering around her shoulders and obscuring her face. Her body sagged in the tree and she hissed as the robes pulled at her wrists. Her eyes watered even more and she bit down hard on her lip to try and deal with the pain. It was impossible though, and as her body sagged further forward, the robes cut into her skin. It was then that a final scream sprang from her chest – the final scream before she allowed darkness to envelope her in its warm, peaceful embrace.