shadows and blood ; wizarding world

❛ prologue ❜

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1991

The rotting, wooden door burst open as a feeble frame sprinted into the home. Her hands shook ferociously as she stumbled about, accidentally knocking over a dust-coated vase balanced on the edge of an entryway table. Cursing, the girl kicked the broken pieces under the furniture and hastily carried on down the corridor.

Her thin fingers were coated in drying crimson, and in one hand she clutched a tattered scrap with an address messily scrawled on. The other was briskly searching around a tall bookshelf, selecting and grabbing a plethora of literature and clutching it close to her chest.

Dark floorboards sprang to life beneath her feet as she trod around the room, squealing as they were disturbed from a long rest. A blanket of discarded paper covered the ground and sharp shards of glass rejected from shattered window panes warned the girl not to march any closer.

Smashed picture frames decorated damaged walls, injured from a powerful blast which stripped the walls of their linen, leaving scathing scars scattered about the room.

The figure's wide-eyes darted around, briefly pondering why such trauma was inflicted onto such a fragile home. A thick sheet of dust clung onto the room - this was no recent occurrence.

Something in the corner of her vision caught her attention. She swiftly advanced towards it, loud screeches tailing her every move.

It was obviously old - the edges were extremely worn and a little of its shimmering core poked out - but would work all the same.

The girl snatched the murky stick after pocketing her scrap paper, and studied the wand. It had a ragged shape, as if its edges were carved out with a blunt knife. It was unusually dark - unlike any wand colour she had ever seen before. What were the chances that she would find exactly what she needed in an old, abandoned home?

There was no doubt about it, she needed it. She closed her eyes and focused on her breathing, praying that the wand would choose her - she had no other options. If it did not take to her, she would definitely have no opportunities to develop her magic unless she stumbled upon another wand - not likely.

After a few tense seconds, she waved the wand. A cool pulse travelled the length of her frame, from tip to toe, instantly calming her nerves. She felt as if the thin stick in her hand was an extension of herself, and a surge of power coursed through her right arm. A bright bolt erupted from the wand, her wand, and struck one of the fragmented frames strung from the wall. Instantly shards from beneath her feet shook and levitated, flying back into it. The girl stared in dumbfounded disbelief as she repaired what was broken.

The sheer chance that the wand chose her was against all odds... But there was no time to question it. Her father had warned her that they would be looking for her. She could not stay in the same place for too long.

The girl began to retreat from the home, holding onto her new wand as if it was her lifeline, along with several books she collected. Torn paper spread around the room crunched under her and the front door waved goodbye with a feeble creek.

The girl paced through Godric's Hollow, unaware of the past she was leaving behind and the troublesome future panning out before her.

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