Fates Game

The First Dance

Tunnel Vision is a real thing

The term tunnel vision means exactly what the name suggests:
It is the loss of peripheral vision— the portion of your visual field that lies at the outer edges of your range of vision. 

Tunnel vision may be temporary or permanent, and it can have myriad causes.

But in case: it is more in the metaphorical sense
Complete focus on the task at hand, so much so that nothing can break that focus.
It can be good or bad
But in Phoenix's case, Tunnel vision is highly dangerous.

It can get people killed, has got people killed, got...

And currently standing in the driveway to the shining pillared Plantation reflecting the blinding sun.
The image alone is unnerving, a grand building standing in front of the rag-tag family and them gawking back. But what was worse was the blood-curdling screams that poured out of the building.

Phoenix felt as if someone had knocked the air out of lungs. She had been here before, standing gaping at a haunting building with screams filtering out of the ruins.
Yet, Hogwarts looked the part that coincided with the fear, not the pure white gates to Elysium

No smoke burned her nose from explosion after explosion, the bridge that Neville nearly died on, the missing part of the tower she launched herself off with The Dark Lord himself.
The sky was crystal blue with fluffy clouds you could reach out and touch, not the grey. That shade of grey could never be explained or described; you would have had to be there with charcoal snow falling down from the sky dusting the bodies that hadn't made their way to the great hall.

Her fragile mind knew the difference between the two places, one hot with family by her side and the other cold striking her thin body alone 8 years ago.
Though the burning tears that stung her hetrochromic eyes, they had happened twice.

Teddy was trembling
Any and all tiredness evaporated the second the screams hit his small sensitive ears.
His small hand clutched tightly around his mothers, almost breaking the 27 bones she had re-grown in her scarred left hand.
The little hybrid didn't care, and truthfully neither did Phoenix.

"Stop. Please stop" He would whimper out in the dead of night, with his whiskey eyes screwed shut.
He did it again, but with the evening air flowing around him. Green as far as the eye could see, instead of fluttering curtains let in the rays of the moon and glittering stars.
He naively hoped to be here with his mother and little sister, living in the 1800s the nightly dreams and spells were a thing of the tortious past, not the present and definitely not the future.

Victoire burrowed her icy blonde head into the crook of Jacqueline's neck as far as she could.
The screams of any man made the little Veela think of her Papa, William Weasley-Delacour. The eldest of 7 siblings and was scratched by the monster named Greyback.

She can still hear him plead for them not to touch his wife, Fleur Delacour-Weasley, when even surrounded by pure silence or with small tinkles of shells colliding with a strong breeze.
The tearing of flesh when he sifted to protect his little cub, the smell of the salt in the air from the sea. They would never leave the small child's nightmares.
Hot rivers of salty water fell from the same-coloured eyes as her Papa, as she gripped the Fleur De Lis necklace portkey as she was swept away from her hiding spot to the grey walls of Grimmauld Place and in the arms of her Tante.