Watching the flames grow and swell, the heat increasing with every inch in height, was comforting in a sense. Despite the smell and despite the high temperatures, people showed a vague shine of hope. The inferi were failing as the flames lapped and barked at them. The roar of the flames seemed to drown out some of the quieter shrieks yet nothing could really stop them. The powers combined for each of the witches and wizards involved was a powerful and beautiful sight. To see exactly what the determined forces of Ministry loyalists could do was comforting and reassuring. Watching the efforts of each caster there, seeing their unique talents. It didn't take a genius to understand that despite what would lay beyond the fires, the inferi and the doors, some people were less nervous. The Auror's were feeling the familiar feelings of growing victory, an upper hand, the civilians couldn't easily hide the vague elation some of them had. 

It was until the cold set in. It was an unnatural cold, a harsh wind on a summer's day. A looming black cloud on a clear blue sky. It was a simple drop in temperature that caused George's heart to thunder in his chest. His hands pulled into themselves, tightly gripping whatever was nearest; one being his wand, the other being his own fist. He could see the fire decreasing in size, the floor beneath his feet chilling until the soles of his own feet were beginning to chill and freeze. He took a stumbling step back, as if trying to combat the icy floor would stop the one thing on the earth he'd never wanted to see again. The dead hands and grotesque mouth beneath the hood. His heart continued to pound, visibly had he been laid down. It thundered in his chest, the feeling of his stomach twisting and knotting growing stronger as the things got closer. He couldn't see them yet, he couldn't see anything. He stared straight ahead, watching the black figures drift closer through the huge wall of ice. Yet, the images didn't rest in his eyes, instead he saw a world made entirely of shadows, a place similar to the Ministry yet without light.

The world George saw was black, dark and twisted. The huge wall of ice remained yet it was black and dripping black liquid as if melting. His hands shook, no matter how hard he balled them. No matter how hard he tried to keep himself in the real world, he couldn't. He could hear a voice on his right, but the words weren't human. They were merely sounds, vague snippets of meaningless dribble. He could feel his heart thundering in his chest, his throat, his ears, and his own mouth. The sound of blood rushing past his ears was immensely loud, much louder than anything else he'd ever experienced. His body shivered, laced with a freezing layer of cold sweat, chilling him to the core. The dreaded feeling of hopelessness, despair, insecurity and the hideous sense of his own real mortality took over. This was it, he was actually going to die. It wasn't going to be by the wand like he'd always hoped, but through the kiss like his brother had thrown at him during his trial eight years ago. 

George lifted his eyes, each glazed, and watched at the first of what was probably far too many appeared over the ice wall. He shivered, a wave of nausea, agony, fear and sheer terror formed within his stomach. He could hear things he'd forced out of his own head. His dad's response to his Second eldest brother's retreat to Ukraine, his parents response to his own desire to join the Ministry, the hideous noise that filled the house when his eldest brother did something wrong. The pained screams of the muggle family next door when his father had finally had enough of their 'ignorance and insolence'. The noise filled him, pulling every vague hope and fantasy he'd ever had from his head.

His appearance and struggle, however, was noticed. Travers, the strong and tall looking wizard on George's right pulled himself closer to George and shook on the boy's shoulder. 

"Nott?" The sound passed through into George's hearing, although remained distorted and twisted. "George, now isn't the time." There had been a small number of instances that involved the sight of a dementor since the introduction of what now seemed to be a paralyzing phobia. Most of which came from a Dark Wizard trial that whoever had caught the villain had been forced to sit in. His return from those meetings as a pale and shadow of his usual self had clearly been noticed yet a small trip up the corridor and into the large office they all shared, kept his fear pretty quiet and close to home. Travers again shook his friend and co-worker, although panic was clear on the elder man's face now. Even despite the remaining few, neither of the two could feel the inspiration and new found determination that the Minister seemed to shower on most of them. Travers took a step forwards and placed himself between the oncoming beasts and George, he could provide more protection from the front and the sooner they were free from the cold, the sooner they'd be back on their feet as a group. 

George couldn't however take his eyes off the hoods and floating cloaks. He shivered constantly and desperately fought his need to close his eyes and curl up. It was embarrassing, humiliating. Some distance part of his brain, perhaps the only part of him that spoke sense, pushed hard against the fear. George knew the spell, he couldn't cast a fully formed patronas but the shield of light he knew would help was far out of his reach. He stared ahead, his eyes and body wincing as a strong white light appeared by his side. He turned to his left and spotted Caroline, or what he assumed was Caroline. He heard more and more of the real world yet his feet and eyes remained fixed ahead on the creatures that he feared so much. If they survived this, and George knew they wouldn't, only a fool would believe they had a chance, he'd need to push hard, to save face and his own job. He knew full well that the sight of himself staring with direct and uncontrollable fear was something he'd clearly lose his job over. He couldn't lose his job.. He needed this, he enjoyed it, but he knew he would lose it, if he didn't die instead. 

The racing thoughts within his own head were strong and dark, each one picturing the various ways he'd possibly die. There were some he preferred and some he'd shivered against. He was afraid, incredibly yet he couldn't shake them away. Vivid green light, strong hands ripping at his skin, pained screams and agonising torture, fire, snakes, The Kiss. The wave of nausea grew and grew, his shivering sweats growing stronger and stronger. The small part of his brain kept saying four words, over and over, barely audible against the intense despair that lingered within his own head.

 [i]Stay standing. Expecto Patronum.[/I] [i]Stay standing. Expecto Patronum.[/I] [i]Stay standing. Expecto Patronum.[/I] [i]Stay standing. Expecto Patronum.[/I]