The Girl Who Saw Tomorrow III » Harry Potter

3.13 | Once and Future

Whispers...

Constant. Unceasing. Hushed.

Shh...

"You are our only hope..."

Who are you?

"You said she was healing."

"She is, at an alarming rate. I've never seen werewolf wounds heal so quickly. It's... strange, if I'm being honest."

There was a soft hum in the air. Not entirely audible, nor something to be felt. It was akin to one's instincts when they were being watched. It indicated a presence. A powerful presence.

"She showed up covered in blood. Her heart wasn't beating," says the woman.

"I don't mean it as a bad thing. Her condition has improved much since then. She is well on her way to recovery. You need not worry, Your Majesty."

Your Majesty?

A split moment of silence. A sigh. Then, the woman spoke again, her voice was low and smooth as dark chocolate.

"Keep me updated on her condition."

The voices faded, muffling as though underwater. Flashed images and strings of incoherent thoughts fluttered by, punctuated by hints of urgency and desperation. One constant recurring thought stood out:

I need to go home...

She needed to convey the words to him. She needed to let him know that she was fine.

That she was alive and well.

That she was battered but breathing.

She needed to... She needed to go...

"Home..."

"Margaret?"

Margaret was six when she first discovered what a kaleidoscope was. Twisting around the cogs made the colours dance and the patterns sift prettily, it was the greatest joy she had ever experienced.

But opening her eyes and seeing swirling visuals of violets and reds and dizzying circles and squares was anything but joyful.

It was unsettling. It was nerve-wrecking.

She could not see.

Desperately she reached out and grabbed the arm of the one who had called her name.

"Fred," she gasps, her voice full of desperation and panic. Please let it be him.

"Margaret, breathe. Deep breath in through your nose, and out through your mouth. Slowly. That's right."

It was not him.

She did not know where she was, she could not tell what was going on, and she could not recall how she had ended up here. Still, she tried to do as told. Panicking would do her no good, especially if her magic began reacting to her stress.

The man coached her through the exercise until her lungs remembered how to function on their own. He sounded patient and his voice was somewhat familiar, but she could not place him.

A cool hand grazed her forehead, apparently checking her temperature. Then a bright light shined in front of her eyes. She flinched away as they watered.