tradition

15

The room was left in an uncomfortable silence as Harry Potter stumbled out of the Department of Mysteries, his breaths coming in ragged gasps. The air was thick with a mixture of fear and confusion as the children and members of the Order of the Phoenix hurriedly made their way towards the Atrium of the Ministry. The cold marble floors seemed to echo with their frantic footsteps. Briar's eyes darted around, her heart pounding with a mixture of dread and desperation. She gasped as she saw Harry crumpled on the ground, his body writhing in visible agony. Dumbledore, with his usual calm yet grave demeanor, knelt beside Harry, his hands gently cradling the boy's head. The normally serene and wise face of the headmaster was now etched with deep concern. Briar moved closer, her voice trembling as she spoke. "Harry... no. You're an amazing person, inside and out. That's something that Voldemort will never know, he will never know that as long as he lives." Her words were a desperate plea, a hope that Harry could hear her and feel the truth in her words amidst the chaos.

But as Briar spoke, the atmosphere shifted abruptly. Dumbledore's eyes widened as black smoke began to emanate from Harry's body, swirling and coalescing into a dark, ominous shape. From the smoke emerged Voldemort, his pale, snake-like features and slitted red eyes striking terror into the hearts of everyone present. "Holy shit..." Briar muttered under her breath, her eyes widening in horror as she took in the sight of the Dark Lord. Voldemort's voice was cold and filled with malevolent satisfaction as he addressed Harry. "You're a fool, Harry Potter, and you will lose... everything, including your precious rose." The words dripped with venom, a promise of further suffering and loss. With a final, menacing glance, Voldemort faded away, leaving behind a palpable sense of dread and foreboding.

As Briar's heart raced with fear and anguish, she ran towards Harry, her arms outstretched as she embraced him tightly. "You're okay, you're okay," she repeated over and over, her voice a soothing, repetitive mantra in the midst of the chaos. Her hands shook as she held him, her face buried in his shoulder. However, the moment was abruptly interrupted as the Minister of Magic, accompanied by several stern-faced Aurors, stepped forward. His gaze was fixed on the place where Voldemort had stood moments before. "He's back..." the Minister murmured, his voice barely above a whisper as he stared in disbelief at the remnants of the dark presence.

~

Briar was no stranger to loss, a painful truth that only her closest family members truly understood. At just eight years old, she had witnessed her grandmother's passing, a loss that had left a profound impact on her young soul. The memory of her grandmother's frail form, lying motionless, had haunted her dreams for years. Two years before that, at the tender age of six, she had lost her aunt to a prolonged illness. The sorrow of watching a loved one slip away to the unrelenting grasp of death was something Briar had thought she might never fully recover from. At fourteen, the anguish had reached a new depth when she saw her friend's lifeless eyes staring back at her. It was a vision that had scarred her deeply, leaving a void that nothing seemed able to fill. She had hoped and prayed fervently that no one else she cared for would be lost in the aftermath of the previous year's events. Yet, as life often does, it had dealt her another crushing blow.

Sirius Black had been more than just a friend to Briar and her family; he was like an extended member of their own. To Briar, Sirius was a mentor, a confidant, and a beloved figure whose presence was deeply cherished. The bond between them was forged through shared experiences and mutual respect, making his loss all the more devastating. As Briar stood in her dorm room, packing her trunk with deliberate, almost mechanical movements, she was overwhelmed by a sense of finality. Each item she packed was a reminder of the life she was leaving behind, of the moments she had shared with Sirius and the others. As she shoved the final sweater into her trunk with a decisive thud, she closed it with a sharp shove, the sound echoing her frustration and sorrow.