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𝐝𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐲 𝐰𝐚𝐬 𝐣𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐮𝐬
the first hours after
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A purple flash.
Uncertainty.
No thought came to her mind as she stood in the cold air, a castle hauled in shadows looming over her. Her features were illuminated by the light of a hot fire, tickling the right side of her body.
Her gaze trailed down, sure that she had felt something in her hands but finding them empty. Her long fingers were trembling, a smudge of ink staining her otherwise pale skin.
No thought formed when her eyes went up, looking out to see a dark courtyard, grass stretching all the way to a forest with tall trees. But before her were three people. Their faces were blank, she couldn't decipher the clues stretching their features but she tried. She tried to find a hint of recognition. An indication that proved her existence.
It was a scary feeling, having no thoughts in your head. The feeling of a balloon filling the entirety of her mind. The feeling of being freshly washed, mentally. The raw uncertainty became apparent on her face.
There was a shout.
Her head shot up in its direction, longing for understanding.
Dark hair hiding his forehead. His mouth open and his eyebrows frowned. Something was glistening in his eyes but that could be from the fire, an angry warmth right beside them.
It was something like desperation. No. Like defeat.
The boy was defeated.
Another noise echoed over the grounds. A burst of cackling laughter.
Her head shot to the source and found a woman dressed in black. Untamed hair framed her face as her hollowed cheeks were lifted in apparent joy.
She didn't understand. One was defeated and one was merry.
Another figure, him too dressed in black. She couldn't deduct his expression. It was empty. Dark, greased hair hung beside his face. There was nothing in his expression.
But her attention was drawn to the boy again. Her heart pounded in her chest when she looked at him. The defeat in his expression slowly crept up her spine and she felt crestfallen. No thought in her brain could tell her why but she didn't like this. She wanted to get out. She wanted to go away.
She wanted the darkness to overtake her once more.
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Harry was devastated when he had to throw away the bloodied pink bandage.
The reason why he remembered that day so well must be because of how touched he was when those strangers and their little girl helped him and stood up for him when nor his uncle nor his aunt made any movement to help him clean up the wound.
Despite being just three years old, Harry remembered that day like it was only a week ago when, in fact, it had been at least thirteen years.
The clear memory of crying until his throat was sore and his eyes red and puffy made Harry gulp. Aunt Petunia had ripped the bandaid off and threw it in the bin in the small bathroom. The wound had closed up to a crust and it didn't hurt anymore but Harry couldn't bear to see that pretty pink bandaid be thrown away.
YOU ARE READING
Veela .|. H. J. POTTER
Fanfiction"My parents naming me 𝘝𝘦𝘦𝘭𝘢 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘪𝘢𝘮 𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭𝘰𝘸𝘣𝘭𝘰𝘰𝘮 is the first piece of evidence that makes me suspect they're not as 𝘮𝘶𝘨𝘨𝘭𝘺 as they say they are ..." Veela remembered nothing of her life. People told her what they always...
