Brown Eyed Boy // Fred Weasley ( Rewriting )

1.

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Elizabeth navigated the bustling throng of children and parents exchanging heartfelt goodbyes. Her navy blue trunk was gripped tightly, and she wove through the crowd with deliberate care, determined to avoid any collisions. Once aboard the Hogwarts Express, she walked the narrow corridor in search of solitude.

It didn't take long to find an empty compartment. With a quiet urgency, she slipped inside and closed the door behind her, exhaling as she sank into one of the plush red seats. Pressing a hand over her heart, she fought to steady the rapid beat.

**Two Months Earlier, France**

She sat on the edge of a small bed, her gaze fixed on the rain-streaked window. The sky hung heavy with clouds, and the rhythmic tapping of a branch against the glass filled the otherwise silent room. Beyond the window, a playground lay abandoned; the yellow slide and blue swings stood still, their earlier laughter now a distant echo swallowed by the gloom.

She wasn't watching the playground, though; instead, she stared blankly at her own reflection, searching the depths of her own eyes—eyes that once sparkled with joy and warmth—now hollow, reflecting the emptiness she felt within.

A sudden knock interrupted her thoughts, followed by another, more urgent. When silence met the insistent tapping, the golden doorknob turned, and the door creaked open.

"Elizabeth?" The voice, rich and resonant, cut through the stillness.

She turned to see a tall, thin man standing in the doorway, silver hair framing a face marked by wisdom. His blue eyes shone with an intensity that contrasted starkly with her own, while half-moon spectacles perched on his long, crooked nose. Dressed in a flowing robe of light blue and gray, complete with a matching tassel hat, he radiated an air of authority that was unmistakably magical.

"Who are you?" Elizabeth asked, her curiosity piqued.

"My name is Albus Dumbledore, but most know me as Professor Dumbledore, headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry in Scotland," he replied, his voice steady and calm.

Confusion flickered across her face. Hogwarts—she had heard whispers of the school, tales spun by her classmates back at Beauxbatons. "Why are you here?" she questioned, her French accent rolling off her tongue. 

A gentle smile broke across his features as he produced a small paper bag from within his robe. "Sherbet lemon?" he offered.

She shook her head, her brow furrowing as she awaited his explanation, impatience creeping into her thoughts.

"I had the honor of meeting your mother on a few occasions—briefly, but her kindness left a lasting impression. She was a truly remarkable woman." He paused, a shadow of sorrow crossing his face. "I was heartbroken to hear about the incident. Your mother was a beautiful soul indeed..."

Elizabeth's gaze fell away, her lips trembling as she bit the bottom one, struggling against the swell of emotions rising within her.

"That's why I'm here," he continued, his tone turning serious. "A few months before the tragedy, I received a letter from your mother. She asked me to care for you should anything happen to her. I promised her then, without hesitation, that I would."

Her heart raced with a whirlwind of questions—could she trust him? Was he telling the truth? What did it all mean?

"Miss Baudelaire," Dumbledore said softly, "how would you feel about leaving this dreary place behind and coming back to Scotland with me? There is a special place waiting for you at Hogwarts." His warm smile pierced through her fog of despair, eyes twinkling with possibility.

For the first time since the incident, a flicker of hope ignited within her.

Perhaps this wasn't the end after all...

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