"Didn't know you was into gingers, Malfoy?"
"Shut up Weasley"
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Gemma Weasley shared many similarities with her siblings, the ginger hair, pale skin, freckles and a super sense of humour, yet she was the one that stood out from them all. Even her tw...
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Pain. A gut-wrenching, all-consuming pain. It wasn't mine, but I felt it—radiating, twisting, suffocating the room like a thick fog. My breath hitched as my eyes locked onto Harry.
He was on his knees. Writhing. Hands gripping his head like he was trying to claw something out of his own skull. His screams—ragged, raw—echoed through the vast, shattered hall of the Ministry.
And then, I saw him.
Voldemort.
Not just standing there, cloaked in darkness, but inside Harry. Through Harry. I could feel it—the weight of his presence pressing down on all of us, colder than any winter frost, heavier than the deepest grief. Harry's body jerked like a puppet, his eyes flashing a horrifying shade of inhuman red before dulling into something worse: emptiness.
"No—Harry—" My voice barely worked.
His head snapped up.
His eyes locked onto mine.
For a single, horrifying moment, I didn't see Harry anymore. His eyes weren't green—they were darker, hollowed, filled with something ancient. A smirk curled at his lips, a smirk that didn't belong to him.
"This isn't you," I thought fiercely, as if sheer willpower alone could pull him back. "Fight it, Harry."
I felt Ron grip my wrist, grounding me. He was trembling, but his grip was strong. Hermione stood stiff beside him, wide-eyed and motionless. Ginny, Luna, and Neville stood frozen too, wands clenched, as if waiting for something—anything—to shatter the awful grip Voldemort had on Harry's body.
Harry's entire frame convulsed. For a brief, fleeting second, something flickered in his expression—past the pain, past the twisted smirk.
Recognition. A desperate plea.
I swallowed, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Voldemort was trying to rip Harry away from himself, drown him in the abyss of his own suffering. If we stood by and let that happen, we would lose him.
And I couldn't—wouldn't—let that happen.
I dropped to my knees beside Ronald, but I wasn't reaching for Harry's hand. No, something deeper was calling me, pulling me towards him. I clenched my fists and closed my eyes, pushing past my fear, past my hesitation.
"Her power lies not in what is said, but in what is concealed."
The words of my prophecy rang in my mind. The words I had never fully understood—until now.
I took a breath and opened my eyes, locking onto Harry's once more.
