Chapter Text
Flashbacks/dreams from original timeline
Flashbacks/dreams from current timeline
'thoughts'
merging of realities (Past/present)
Present.
Flashes.
That’s all her thoughts are – barely there images and sounds that slip away before she can make sense of them.
Running, running ...
Her existence doesn’t make sense at the moment.
Screams, yells flashes of light...
A name: “HAZEL!”
Is that her name? She’s not sure...there’s so many in the flashes...
FredHermioneRonTonksColinDeanRemusLavenderColinSirusLilyJames.....
No. None of those are her name. They belong to other people....people dear to her...
Still bodies, lying in the centre of a hall....
Something wet trails down her cheeks, a growing emptiness in her chest making her feel colder than she already is.
“I shall punish every last man, woman and child who has tried to conceal you from me...”
This was her home.
Cold air...red eyes...
Green light...
Emerald green eyes snap open, and within seconds she is on her feet throwing herself at a magical barrier that her magic sensed....
She stumbles back, breathing heavy as her magic writhes and cries out in distress. A group of unfamiliar men dressed in dark cloaks stand outside the shinning barrier, gazing at her like she was a fascinating specimen.
She SCREAMS.
I~I
Time runs together.
Her holders – whoever they are – run test after test (some far more painful than others) and ask the same questions over and over and over...
“What’s your name?”
“Do you remember anything more today?”
“How does this make you feel?”
From her, they always get more or less the same answer: “Why don’t you fucking tell me?”
It’s still written down on their stupid clipboards.
Every. Fucking. Time.
They never tell her why she’s there exactly, but she often hears them talking things about “Time” and “Dimensions” so it’s not hard for her to figure out the gist of it.
She’s not supposed to exist. It makes her fascinating.
It wouldn’t be such a problem, if being fascinating to them didn’t mean you no longer have many basic human rights.
A dark cupboard, a tiny worn mattress that sagged under her little weight...
“FREAK!”
No. She knew she was human. The flashes told her that much. Human – with abilities that made electricity spark in the air, lashing out at her captives during particularly harsh tests.
“You’re a witch, Hazel.”
A ball of golden light dances on her fingers.
I~I
They are ever so curious, like children they poke and prod at every inch of her to watch her different reactions with gleeful excitement. There comes a day, however, when all children must learn that there are some things you definitely should leave alone no matter how much it intrigues you.
In this case, it’s the lightning shaped scar on her forehead that they themselves decreed was the result of very dark magic.
Green light. High cold laughter. Screams...
The room is destroyed, their bodies still but for the slight rise and fall of their chests. Tears are in her eyes...
Emerald eyes fall close with the wish to be anywhere but here.
I~I
No one looks at her twice in the grey city. Just another juvenile left on the streets for causing trouble.
“I don’t go looking for trouble. Trouble usually finds me.”
January 20th, 1926 a discarded newspaper she grabs from the trash reads. A sense of wrongness hits her, but she brushes it off; tucking the newspaper under her arm to read more later.
She is used to the feeling of not belonging.
I~I
“Would you like to see something?”
His face is young – handsome and etched with lines of worry and uncertainty. Kind eyes, blue like the sky she remembers as a distant dream flickering between her and the fluffy creature (Niffler) in her arms -
She nods before thinking it through, though still follows him warily when he leads her to the nearest alcove where he places protective enchantments around before placing his case on the ground.
He offers a coy grin as he flicks open the latches, holding out a hand to her once it’s open. “It’s a bit steep on the way down.” She swallows, her feet which had been drifting towards him with burning curiosity halting. Images of dark rooms, cold eyes and her bloodied fists makes her hesitate. He notices, and his expression softens: “It’s alright. You don’t have to be afraid.”
“House of the noble and brave...”
She grits her teeth, shifts the niffler in her arms and closes the distance. “I’m not afraid.”
His hand is warm.
I~I
All the creatures were so magnificent – she knows, knows someone would love them
Warm dark eyes and a face hidden by a mass of shaggy hair....
“Is there anywhere you have to go?” The wizard asks as she holds a hand out for Dougal to examine -
Blank eyes of different colours of so many different shades...
Bluebrownhazel...
Red hair that she had run her fingers through...
A smile he had so often given her frozen...
Her heart is crushing in on itself and she can’t breathe...
Tears sting her eyes: “No. I don’t have anyone.”
She keeps her gaze on Dougal playing with her fingers when footsteps draw nearer before halting next to her. “You know...” He speaks quietly. “I could use an assistant.”
Emerald eyes snap up to meet green-blue, stunned by all the emotions laid out on the surface of their depths. By the compassion. She does not quite remember what a smile feels like, but she thinks one curls her lips just a bit at the corner. “I’d like that.”
I~I
His name, is Newton Scamander (“Call me Newt.”) and it rings something in her jumbled head –
Laughter...
Ink splotches on a page...
The scratching of a quill as she writes above neatly printed words she can’t make out...
It frustrates her, and a few objects suffer because of it – shattering to pieces in front of a stunned auburn haired wizard.
Despite logic and magic telling her that this man is made of nothing but kindness, she still flinches slightly when he makes his way over to her and reaches out a hand. She curses herself for her reaction when she sees the way his eyebrows furrow, blue eyes darkening with grim understanding as he crouches and slowly places his hand over hers.
She likes the feel of his hands – skin calloused and marked with small scars in testimony of years of work in the field. She likes his voice to, the way words roll off his tongue like honey when he asks gently...soverygently what her name is.
In comparison, she sounds like a dying toad when she answers him.
“Hazel.” He repeats her name like it is something to be cherished, a breathtaking smile spreading across his lips as he states: “That’s lovely.”
‘You’re lovely.’ The words dance on her tongue when he does not push for a last name, but she bites them back stubbornly even when he rubs his thumb over the back of her hand gently.
I~I
Newt is talking of the things he will teach her when her fingers brush against something soft in the pile of clothes he had offered for her to borrow. She tugs it open, breath getting caught in her throat as her emerald eyes take in an achingly familiar black badger sown into the yellow cotton.
Gray eyes...Kindness...warmth
“Take my body back, will you?”
When Newt faces her a moment later, his chattering stops at seeing her old clothes pooled at her feet and nothing but that sweater covering her to her thighs. “I forgot I still had that.” he says with a wistful smile as she stares down at the badger. “It was from school – Hogwarts. We had different houses and I was...”
“Hufflepuff.” She breathes, not sure where the word had come from but knowing it was right.
She feels his gaze burning into her when he responds. “Yes. House of the hardworking and loyal...”
He trails off as her hands fist into the large amount of fabric pooling over her arms, a burning in her eyes that she can’t make go away...
Anger
Hurt
Sorrow
Guilt
A question pierces the silence: “Did you go to Hogwarts?”
Burning...her home was burning.
Confusion.
At the last second, she bites back an answer she knows he won’t understand- that she doesn’t: ‘I think so.’
After getting her own clothes, she goes to return the sweater – only for it to be pushed back into her hands. “Keep it.” Newt says softly, a small smile curling up his mouth as he looked at her. “It suits you.”
I~I
“Please, Hazel.”
Her body stiffens, eyes widening in disbelief as they meet Newt’s imploring ones, because ‘did he really just...?’
“What?”
“You need to eat.” Newt responds patiently, shuffling his chair closer so that he can grab her abandoned fork and stab a small piece of red pepper. He holds it in front of him, peeking through his golden bangs imploringly: “Please.”
It takes her a moment to realize that he was concerned for her, but when it does sink in her mouth parts, allowing him to place the fork in her mouth.
Briefly, she wonders what had happened to her. She, who had withstood her captives worst experiments and questions with biting sarcasm, reduced to allowing a bright-eyed young man spoon-feed her because he had said please.
The answer is in the blinding smile he gives her when there is no food left on the plate.
I~I
Long red-hair and red rimmed eyes.
"You are so loved Hazel...”
Screams...a g o n y s e a r i n g h e r f o r e h e a d...
Something warm, brushing aside her hair then gently skimming against the source of her pain... taking it all away...
Her magic coos in delight and she leans into the warmth, curling her body around it possessively as she inhaled the comforting smell of sun-dried earth and rain. Something softer brushes against her scar...leaving behind a pleasant tingling sensation that ran through her whole being...
Just before she slips away, a voice of honey speaks:
“It’s all right. You’re safe Hazel...”
I~I
She likes to wanders bare-foot among his creatures – after being cooped up in a stone prison for so long, the feel of grass between her toes is liberating...
Silver hair, dreamy blue eyes filled with understanding...
Newt doesn’t question her on this habit, and sometimes even joins her with his trousers rolled up despite them already being a bit too short for him. On those days, he teaches her how to handle the animals, telling the stories of where and how he required them. They never cease to amaze her, these stories...
Emerald eyes soften as they take in the image of Newt gently running his hands down a Nandu’s flank, her thoughts whispering: ‘He never ceases to amaze.’
I~I
Her face is green enough to match her eyes some days, the first two weeks travelling to Africa. Despite her feeble protests, Newt sticks by her side through the whole ordeal – holding her hair out of her face when she needed to vomit, placing hot cloths against her forehead and telling her more stories to pass the times.
A part of her feels mortified and guilty: because both in reality and in the flashes, she hasn’t (nor has she had to) have someone care for her so vigorously before.
Another part (larger part) is happily soaking up all the affection because
she never had anyone to take care of her like this before.
I~I
The breath leaves her lungs as he stares down at the body of the young girl (Aminata) he had tried so desperately to save, his body shaking as tears run freely down his cheeks (because he had never been like her, afraid to be seen as vulnerable)
“I’-I’m sorry...” He chokes, voice ragged, broken and wrong. “I’m so, so sorry...”
Her legs move as if on their own towards him to pull him into her arms. This, she is used to, the flashes tell her as his tears seep into her shirt and skin – slim fingers running through his hair gently while his twine into her shirt –
In those moments she never tells him: “It’s not your fault.” or “You did all you could.” because those kind of things always sound like lies no matter how much truth they hold. Instead, she remains silent until his trembling had stopped...and even then her voice is no more than a whisper: “There’s a meadow she would have loved: lots of open space and flowers.”
He draws in several deep breathes before his head jerks forward frantically in understanding, one hand releasing her shirt to shakily curl around the cooling wrist of Aminata before the small room disappears in a blur.
When they arrive, she reluctantly releases him in order to slip into the case for a moment. She comes back out grasping two shovels, one of which she hands to a red-eyed Newt. “We’ll do it properly.”
Here lies Dobby, a Free Elf.
I~I
With not much to do once the feeding of the animals is done, she reads all the books he offers her on spells and potions and history along with his detailed notes on a wide variety of magical creatures.
She finds it all fascinating and absorbs the information hungrily: trying to memorize some of the more important details even as Flashes try to distract her
“If you’d only apply yourself...”
Bushy hair...bright brown eyes...
Newt is positively delighted when she asks him if he could teach her to brew some potions. His grin stretches almost the whole of his face as he guides her into making an antidote for seasickness.
It’s nothing like the hateful glare directed at her in the damp unpleasantness of the dungeons behind lank greasy hair...
“You’re a much better teacher than the bat.” The words slip unconsciously from her mouth, and she doesn’t quite realize she said them until he let out a warm laugh.
“The bat?” He chuckles breathlessly, but she barley registers it...too busy staring at the way the light hit his curls, highlighting the bits of red mixed in with the gold and his sea-sky eyes alight with with so much life...
A bubbling sound interrupts her thoughts, and she hurriedly throws some mint leaves into the sickly green mess in the cauldron to stop the sputtering and turn it back to soft blue.
If her cheeks were burning, it was only because of the heat.
I~I
“What’s this?” He asks when she reaches for a cup of tea with her right hand, his fingers lightly wrapping around her wrist before she could pull it away. She swallows as he reads the words written on the back of her palm, a darkness settling over his expression even as he lightly run his thumb over them. “Who did this to you?” The words are quiet, but there’s an anger there she had never heard from him before laced in every syllable – his sea-sky eyes focusing on her with so, so much concern....
Too much pink, simpering voice: “You are to write: I must not tell lies.”
Hers, quiet: “How many times?”
A sick smile: “As many as it takes to sink in. ”
Tugging her hand from his grasp, she adverts her eyes and pretends she doesn’t see his expression fall.
I~I
“Kill the Spare!”
Green light...dull grey eyes.
She comes out of it with a stickiness on her right cheek and a group of twelve men on the dirt around her with various injuries. Her heart is racing with barely-remembered anger – her breath coming out in short puffs with the exhilaration of battle...
She remembers quickly.
Broken occamy shells crunching under her feet...
Frail blue bodies...
Crying...Newt had been crying...
Anger.
Poachers.
Vengeance...
She hears a noise and she whirls, prepared to fight again...only to freeze when Newt’s wide sky-sea eyes met hers. In that second, the fight drains from her bones – but her frame is still tense – waiting and dreading the fear that is sure to appear in those eyes...
Accusing stares boring into her as she stood...so, so glad she had stopped the snake..
“What’re you playing at?!”
He walks towards her like she is one of his more temperamental creatures, careful and silent with his eyes never leaving her face. When he stops, so close she can count all the freckles on his face, she is stunned to feel the tears pricking at her eyes and her wand hand shaking in preparation for the sting of rejection...
The pad of his thumb is slightly rough against her cheek, but his voice is soft: “We need to get that looked at.”
His fingers are so very, very warm when they steady hers.
I~I
Newt’s birthday is on April 10th.
It makes perfect sense: of course someone so full of life would be born in the true beginnings of Spring...It makes so much sense, Hazel wants to hex herself for not thinking of it or bothering to ask about birthdays at all, really.
She never did do a birthday party for anyone before...
Hazel shoves the flash away as she feeds the owls that gave her the information, green eyes determined:
'There’s always a first time.’
When Newt wakes, sleepy-eyed and barely dressed he finds a neat table set with all his favourite breakfast foods, three cards placed upright at his setting.
As he gawks, Hazel – covered in flour and other various kitchen-y things - shifts nervously before offering a shy smile: “Happy Birthday.”
His beaming smile made her feel like it was hers.
I~I
It’s an accident.
Hazel did not intend to walk into the shed while Newt was changing, nor had she meant to stare at the multiple scars scattered all over the toned freckled skin...
It’s an accident, but when his sharp intake of breath has her gaze meeting his, she can’t find it in herself to regret it.
She does regret the uncertainty in his gaze...the way his hands reach for a clean shirt.
Without much thought, she steps in his space...her hand wrapping around his wrist firmly to stop him. His body is tense, but his eyes are curious as she brings her scarred hand to his chest...slowly, carefully brushing the tips of her fingers against the ragged skin.
His pulse races beneath her other palm, but he stays still – his gaze burning into her form as she mapped every scar that spanned across his skin...
"Mudblood and proud of it!”
“Scars are only ugly if you got them fighting for the wrong reasons.” She whispers, dragging her eyes back up to meet his.
He licks his lips, gaze intense: “Is that why you never try to hide yours?”
She wouldn’t let them die in vain...
“I like to think so.”
The words I must not tell lies stay hovering over the steady beating of Newt’s heart.
I~I
He tells her the laws of the American-Wizarding Community on the boat ride there – and the table beings to tremble as a result.
“Hazel...” He whispers, his hand moving to grip hers which had clenched into a fist
A disgusting statue...men and women cowering on their knees to hold up a throne...
MAGIC IS MIGHT!
That horrible voice...
“Could you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took that wand?’
A woman chained to a chair...sobbing.
“I didn’ t t- take it from anybody. I b – bought it when I was eleven years old. It – it – it – chose me...”
“What about muggleborns?” She breathes out, clarifying when he frowned in confusion. “If...if wizards aren’t allowed to interact with muggles...then what do they do about muggleborns?”
His eyes widen slightly at the question, and he bites down on his lip as he lowers his head to gaze at their entwined hands. “I don’t know.” He admits quietly, his thumb gently running over the words that so troubled him...words that she still had not explained.
“My mum was muggleborn.”
His eyes are wide as they snap up to meet hers. “What?”
“My mum...she was muggleborn.” She offers a slight smile which he returns happily. She fights to remember something else the flashes told her so to keep it there.“I look like her. Especially my eyes.”
“She must’ve been beautiful then...your mother.”
She doesn’t quite understand why his ears are turning red, or why he stammers the words out...all she can see is green light and....
"Not Hazel, please no, take me, kill me instead -”
Hazel swallows. “She was.”
I~I
“Witches live among us!”
She hates the woman. Hates her even though she does not know her...
Because she knows her type.
“Filthy Half-breeds!”
“Bloodtraitor!”
“Filthy little mudblood!”
Her lips twitch at Newt’s off-hand comment about being a chaser rather than seeker – only to fall back into a grim line when she spots the boy handing out leaflets....
His shoulders are hunched, his hands are shaking and look to be in bad shape.
The words on the back of her right hand tingle.
The woman stumbles on her next words when an emerald gaze meets hers deliberately, alight with a burning accusation.
'Monsters live among us.’
I~I
Wrong.
There was something very wrong with that man...the one the auror called ‘Graves.’
It wasn’t something he said or did...it was just a feeling...a horrible feeling that churned her stomach and made it hard to breathe...
Figures dressed in black with skull-like masks covering their features as they set fire to tents...
Without fully realizing what she is doing, her hand finds Newt’s and grips it tightly as the man goes to open the suitcase. “You all right?” Newt whispers in concern even as he squeezes back.
She shakes her head, startling the both of them. “There’s something wrong with that man.” She says it while barely moving her lips, making sure to keep her gaze on the man.
Newt frowns, eyebrows furrowing. “What?”
Her head was itching, right where that odd scar was and she resisted the urge to scratch it. “Just... keep an eye on him.”
I~I
“You’re a legilimus.”
The blonde woman’s eyes are kind, but Hazel’s back still tenses. She knew that word...knew what it meant...
“Clear your mind!!!”
Tearing...someone was sorting through all her memories roughly and without care...
A black door...
“Oh...sweetheart.” Hazel snaps back to the present to see the woman’s eyes on her filled with concern and anger. “He was not qualified to teach you anything about Occlumency.”
“What?” Newt questions, his head whipping around so fast to face her she worries he might have whip-lash.
Before she can open her mouth, the woman is speaking. “When she was fifteen she kept having dreams about the same door...and for some reason that lead to several very bad lessons in Occlumency.” She frowned, tilting her head in a considering manner. “It’s hard to read...it’s all...messy...and her accent isn’t helping.”
She is all too grateful when Jacob’s unwellness distracted the two...though, she did make a point to avoid both The blonde (Queenie) and Newt’s gaze throughout the delicious meal.
I~I
“Leta Lestrange?”
The world comes to a halt...the breath leaving her lungs once that name processes...
She had always known that woman in the picture on Newt’s desk looked familiar.
It was wrong in some ways...the smile was too bright, the features a bit too soft and open...but that didn’t stop the itch in the back of her mind, her churning stomach or the fury slowly heating up her blood as that name repeated itself in her mind over and over....
A man falling through a veil...
Dark hair...eyes alight with inhuman glee....
Mad laughter...
“I killed...!”
She stumbles backwards, spinning awkwardly as she forced her legs to move away from the two conversing before they noticed...
Fury she had never know...simmering... boiling her blood as she ran madly through the halls...
“Did you love him?”
‘Yes...’
She hears an inhuman moan and it takes her a moment to realize it was coming from her as hot tears trailed down her cheeks.
A boy with a bloody nose...shrieking in agony
“...Under arrest for the torture of Frank and Alice ....”
“Crucio!”
“You have to mean it...!!!”
A shout...running footsteps.
She picks up speed.
Screams...
A dark cellar
Jagged writing in pale skin...Mudblood
The dirt is hard on her knees...rough between her fingernails...
A forest...
“My lord...”
Her head is pounding...vision distorting as she scrambles to her feet. Before she had taken a step someone grasps her shoulders and pulls her back....
Feverish excitement in those cold dark eyes as she stood there...ready to...
“WHAT ARE YOU DOING HAZEL!”
Queenie’s eyes are wide, filled with horror, shock and tears, but her grip is unrelenting...
“Hazel...”
There were too many flashes...too many feelings...
She sees a familiar blue coat flapping as the figure wearing it came closer...
A new emotion grips her then, and in a state of panic and delirium she grasps Queenie’s shoulder tightly...nails digging in with urgency:“Don’t tell Newt."
I~I
She stares at the trembling boy with black smoke rising from his form not with fear or anger, but deep, terrible understanding...
“Parasitic growth...”
Hate...fear...anger...
She steps nearer, forcing herself to ignore the sounds of Newt’s battle raging behind her... ‘He’ll be fine...he’s all right... he better be...’
The thoughts pause when the boy tenses. More smoke rising from his form...
A dead, slimy hand...
A hideous gaping mouth...
Those hands, colder than Death ever was...wrapping around her throat even though she was already choking on despair...
She halts.
Dark, red rimmed eyes: “S-stay away!...I...”
A little girl in a cupboard cradling her sprained wrist, whispering wistfully “Happy Birthday...”
Trembling lips...a cry:“I’m a freak!”
A young woman hidden behind a cell, drawing a mockery of a cake in the dirt despite her-keeper’s gifts making it hard...
Anger, certainty: “No. No you aren’t Credence.”
But words aren’t enough. Words are lies without proof to one who has been lied to for their whole lives...
“A Patronus is a kind of positive force...hope, happiness, the desire to survive...”
Emerald eyes flutter close:
Newt stares back, eyes bright and smile wide as she lay across his lap, drinking in the way the sunshine shone in his eyes...
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!!:
A sliver doe and stag trot towards the black-haired boy, gently nudging him...
“The ones we love never truly leave us.”
The boy jolts...shrinking in for only a second before the fear begins to fade...
Letters, so, so many letters...and that girl in overgrown clothes is jumping – beaming because they are proof that someone else out there knows her...
A pale hand reached out...a puff of breath escapes Credence’s mouth: “What is this? I...feel... happy."
The room was filled with silvery forms and the laughter of her friends and for a moment she could imagine there was no war...that they could be children again...
Sky-sea eyes filled with wonder as the phoenix flew over to perch on his arm...
“What magic is supposed to be.”
I~I
Running...Running...
Always running towards the screams...
Towards the battle.
Towards Death.
Red hair...wonderful laughter: “You’re joking...!”
Explosion...the silence. Smile, but no laughter...
A thrashing body in a blue coat...
A man on the platform, relentlessly hitting him with lightning...
White masks...
A green skull in the sky...
Red in her vision, wand aimed towards the man’s feet
“REDUCTO!”
Rubble...crashing...and the man is flying as she runs, runs, run toward the blue coat...
“I’M DONE! I WANT IT TO END!”
Dazed eyes, slurring speech... “Hazel...what...?”
Forced calm, words between healing spells: “Credence is safe.”
“Credence...? No. You...you need to get out of here!” Realization...desperation...a hand closing around her wrist...
“You have permitted your friends to die for you rather than face me yourself...”
Tears in her eyes, fury bubbling in her voice: “No.”
Sitting up, hardening gaze – sincere concern:“Hazel...”
Anger. Desperation. Love...
“I’ve seen enough people die!”
Shock. Silence...
Then, explosions....
I~I
Spells..
Red, purple, white... green
Cracked ground -rubble
White knuckles – warm wand...
A spell...the wand is gone...
For the first time, Graves smirks, gloating: “What’s a witch without a wand?”
‘I’ll show you.’
Flying, flying towards the smug man...fists clenches...lips snarling...
She punches the smirk in. Then does it again.
Again.
Again.
Again.
He tries to throw her off...going so far as to change in a misty form to fly around the station...
She holds on, scratching...clawing at him...
Blood beneath her nails...
He yells: “ENOUGH!”
A blast throws her off..she tumbles into rubble...
Heavy breathes...
The taste of blood..
A force yanks her back into the air, squeezing on her windpipe...
Shouts. Panic...and she sees Newt pounding on the shield she had placed around the area...eyes wild, hair a mess...
Cold fingers grip her chin, forcing emerald orbs to meet cold black filled with interest: “Why are you fighting me, girl? We could achieve so much together...”
“...There is only power and those to weak to seek it...”
“LIAR!”
Despite his grip, emerald eyes manage to meet sky-sea brimming with tears and fury... “There are better things worth fighting for than power.”
Loud, bitter laughter. “Let me guess, Friendship?”
A boy with a bloody nose running down stone steps.“She’s dot alone! She’s still god be!...”
Jacob unsuccessfully trying keep in his laughter as they watched Newt perform the mating dance...
“Forgiveness?”
A large boy: “I don’t think you’re a waste of space...”
Tina, choking out apologies that she and Newt wave away: “You can’t have known...”
“Love?”
Red hair, warm brown eyes filled with mischief looking down at her: “Ooh..is that a challenge?”
Long fingers marked with scars running down Frank’s beak, laughter like sunshine....
More harsh, amused laughter: “Tell me girl, how is love to protect you from death?”
A golden snitch...a whispered fact...
A stone, ancient and smooth in the palm of her hand...
“Protection? Why would I need that?”
Three turns...
Five figures not much older than her...
Mum, Dad, Sirus, Remus...Fred.
A smirk, a wink...a familiar wand in the red-haired boy’s hand...
“Stay?”
“Until the end.”
Black eyes widen with fear when they finally spot the figures closing in...
Green light.
“Death is an old friend.”