❝She wore her scars as her best attire, a stunning dress of hellfire.❞
In a world where children are orphaned by dark wizards and destinies are bestowed upon the most unlikely of people, Lily Potter II must choose between what is good and what is ri...
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IF FRED WEASLEY would have ever known how horrible it was to have nightmares every other night, he would have had more of a sympathetical understanding for Harry and Lily, who were notorious for their gruesome dreams and haunting nightmares. For the past few weeks, instead of dreaming about the undecipherable nonsense he usually did, Fred found himself awakening from nightmares in the middle of the night in a cold sweat.
Tonight, he retreated to bed early after George insisted he get some rest -- his twin brother did not give him a choice when he almost collapsed after closing the joke shop up for the night. It didn't take long for him to drift off into a slumber after he crashed onto his bed, but soon after, he wished he never had. The sound of George's incessant humming as he prepared for bed became distance, growing into the sounds of taunting laughter. Fred found himself standing idly in a dark and unfamiliar alley. His surroundings blended into the inky sky above him, the only light provided to him being the rays of the graceful half-moon. He looked around in searched for any sign of other people or living creatures, but could only hear a dim scratching noise -- an alley cat?
He looked in front of him and found that the alley veered off into a residential area, which was dark as most people were already asleep. In the other direction, the alley ended on a large street which he presumed to be Diagon Alley -- maybe he was in Knockturn Alley? Yeah, that had to be it. He was so tired when he left the shop, maybe he didn't realize he had wandered off in pursuit of his loft. He walked towards that exit of the alley and as he neared the lit street, a low, taunting cackle rung behind him, just where he was standing previously. Fred whirled around and reached into his pocket for his wand but found it empty -- all of his pockets were empty. And when he pulled his hands from within his pockets, they were coated in a thick red substance he hoped to dear god was not blood. The laughter rung again, louder this time.
"Who's there?!" he called out into the inky darkness. After a beat, "I'm armed!"
As the laughter became louder, it also became more distinctive and a snarl form on his face. He could recognize that taunting laughter anywhere. The taut pallid-face of Bellatrix Lestrange grinned at him with rotten teeth in the darkness.
"Now now, Weasley, don't lie."
He gritted his teeth, "What are you doing here!?"
"Oh, dear boy, I can't answer that. It's your dream, after all." she edged towards him, lifting a bony finger to his chin. Her long black nail scratched his skin. "But I so wish it wasn't. I would just love to grab--"
"Get away from me!" he shoved her backwards. She merely laughed again and the scratching on the concrete grew louder. Behind her, two silhouettes appeared from the darkness and remained partially hidden. They stayed completely still.
