𝑆ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑝𝑟𝑜𝑜𝑓 | WTM

𝑻𝒉𝒊𝒔 𝑰𝒔𝒏'𝒕 𝑹𝒆𝒂𝒍

Her first fear in her landscape is an oppressive wasteland that mirrors her deepest insecurities about her ability to protect the people she cares about. She stands in the middle of a desolate, endless expanse, the sky a dull grey with no clouds to soften the bleakness. The wind is completely still, as if even nature itself has given up, and the ground beneath her feels unstable, shifting with each uncertain step. Her chest tightens as the silence weighs on her - a constant reminder of the crushing loneliness she feels when separated from those she loves, when she's unsure whether she can be the protector they expect her to be. The emptiness echoes every footstep she takes, amplifying the gnawing fear that she will fail them, that she'll be abandoned in a world that feels so vast and uncaring.

As the fear presses in, she remembers something important: it's not real. Her hands clench into fists, her breath steadying as the panic begins to subside. "This isn't real," she mutters under her breath, a smirk tugging at her lips. The landscape around her flickers, and she stands taller, facing the emptiness. "I control this," she whispers, and with that thought, she takes a confident step forward, her heart still racing, but her mind clearer. The barren landscape starts to shift, the sky darkening before lighting up in a burst of color as the wasteland melts away, revealing a new path - one she's creating with her own strength, not bound by fear. She doesn't need to be alone in this, and she doesn't have to protect everyone. All she needs is to trust in herself. The fear evaporates, and Ollie breathes deeply, the image of isolation replaced by the certainty of her own power.

In the Great Hall, the reactions were immediate and varied. A hush fell over the room as students watched the fear landscape unfold, the desolate wasteland reflecting Ollie's vulnerabilities in a way that struck a chord. Some Gryffindors exchanged uneasy glances, their usual bravado tempered by the rawness of the scene. Ravenclaws murmured quietly, analyzing the symbolism of the oppressive silence and shifting ground. Hufflepuffs leaned forward, their faces filled with concern, while the Slytherins, ever the skeptics, tried to hide the intrigue in their eyes as Ollie began to push back against the fear.

Lily sat at the edge of her seat, her knuckles white as she gripped the edge of the table. "She's stronger than that," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, though her belief in Ollie was unwavering. James, seated beside her, frowned deeply, his usually carefree expression replaced by one of focused determination. "She's got this," he muttered, as much to himself as to Lily. The tightness in his jaw betrayed how much it pained him to see his daughter confronted by such a stark representation of her fears.

When Ollie smirked and began to take control, the Great Hall erupted with murmurs of admiration. "Did you see that?" a Gryffindor exclaimed, punching the air. "She just told the fear to shove off!" The sass with which Ollie dismantled the fear landscape drew chuckles and cheers from students across the room.

Even the Four and Ollie shippers were beside themselves, one of them whispering, "Four's probably watching this and silently cheering. She's his match, no question." Their excitement only grew as they speculated about how proud he must feel.

Meanwhile, Lily exhaled audibly, a hand over her heart as she leaned into James. "She's not just strong," Lily murmured, her voice brimming with pride. "She's unstoppable." James grinned then, his shoulders relaxing for the first time. "That's our girl," he said, his tone tinged with awe. The Hall buzzed with energy, Ollie's triumph over her fear a rallying point for everyone watching, a reminder of resilience and inner strength.

Her second fear manifests in the form of a dark, oppressive room, the walls closing in around her. The air is thick, suffocating with an overwhelming sense of guilt and failure. The room is filled with shadows, but as her eyes adjust, she sees the familiar faces of Christina, Will, and Al. Their expressions are cold, distant - betrayed. They stand in the corner, their eyes locked on her, their faces twisted in disappointment. "You should have known better," they accuse, their voices cutting through her like sharp knives. The words echo endlessly, amplifying her fear of losing those she loves, of being unable to make things right. Every time she reaches out, they turn away from her, the space between them stretching impossibly wide. She tries to explain, to apologize, but no matter what she says, the distance only grows.