Is this the life you chose yourself, or just how it ended up? Is that the yard you pictured when you closed your eyes and dreamed of children in the grass running through the sprinklers? Being somebody's wife, or were you living in another life?
(Wi...
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Nineteen hours and forty minutes.
The amount of time Anastasia spent glued in front of the television with almost no breaks.
The first movie had been the gateway to a world she hadn't seen in forever. Everything was so different, yet it was all the same.
She had moved to her room after the first one, Tony checked in every couple hours to make sure she was still alive. Anastasia cried a lot, watching the movies that supposedly portrayed the life of her beloved son, Harry.
She recognized Vernon and Petunia easily, wondering why Harry was with them instead of one of her sisters — well she could understand why he wasn't with Narcissa or Bellatrix, but Andromeda was perfectly capable to raise her son.
By the end of the third movie, Anastasia had figured it out and she was infuriated. She never hated Dumbledore more than in the moment the end credits for the third movie came on.
Everyone had lied to Harry, except for the ones who obviously thought he knew.
Dumbledore used the confundus charm on the wretched muggles, forcing them to believe they were taking care of the son of Lily and James.
To make matters worse, he used a spell to twist some of Harry's features as a baby.
It had been Remus that revealed his true parentage to him.
Even Sirius and the traitorous little rat confirmed it.
Remus carried the proof, and he supposedly had since Harry was born. It was in the form of an animated photograph in his worn out dragon skin wallet.
An exhausted Ascella and an excited James beamed up at the camera, holding their newborn son. It even showed Ascella subconsciously toying with the dark mop of hair on her sons head.
Harry was rightfully angry. He was used to seeing green eyes whenever he looked at himself in the mirror, though he soon grew accustomed to the gray eyes and previously hidden aristocratic features that actually belonged to his mum.
Seeing older versions of her friends made her wonder what it would be like if she had made it to their age, what she would look like.
From the fourth movie on, Anastasia cursed Dumbledore to the nines, deciding she would dance on his grave given half the chance.
She cried when Andromeda showed up to the third Tri-Wizard task. Then again when Cedric died, marking the beginning of the second war. Again when Sirius died at the hands of her sister.
She laughed when Dumbledore died. She felt almost sad when Snape died.
Anastasia sobbed when she thought Harry died.
She sobbed even harder when Remus and Tonks died.
It reminded her too much of when all of her friends were killed one by one.
Eventually, when the last movie ended, Anastasia sat there in silence before standing from her bed and marching out her door.
If she didn't punch something, she'd punch someone.
Her path was clear all the way to the newly renovated training room, with nobody having a death wish.
She punched, kicked, and screamed at the punching bag until she collapsed to the floor sobbing and drained.
She missed everything, even her deranged family, for some odd reason.
Anastasia didn't even notice when the door slid open behind her and Steve walked into the training room. "Are you okay, Anastasia?" He questioned. His voice made her come back to reality and hurriedly wipe the tears from her face.
It was then she also noticed her bloody knuckles. "Yes, I'm fine." She replied as if she hadn't been crying for God only knows how long.
Anastasia stood from the floor and turned to face him with a beaming smile. He raised his eyebrows as if he didn't believe her.
"I'm fine, Steve, I promise. I just came down here to work out some built up frustration. . . I have twenty some years of it." She chuckled.
Without a word, Steve stepped forward and grabbed her wrists so that he could examine her bloodied hands. Her breath hitched with the intruding grasp, her wide blue eyes darting between his hands and his face.
"You should've wrapped your hands, Anastasia." Steve said lowly. "I know. . . I was frustrated, but I'm fine now. Really, I'm fine. It'll be all healed by this time tomorrow, I promise." Anastasia urged, yet she made no move to pull her hands away.
"You're not leaving my side until these have been cleaned, Ana." "What if I have to pee?" "Anastasia." "Fine! Good lord Steve, clean my hands your damn self if you must!" Anastasia huffed.
Steve smiled slightly. "Come with me, I'm taking you up to Doctor Banner."
