The war is upon them, and it will bring hellfire as soon as it cascades like a house of cards. Emily and Harry are faced with their own decisions, choices will be made for the betterment of the Wizarding World. Will the twins be ready for the conseq...
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She lay on her back with her eyes closed against the bright mist surrounding her, her fingers flexing to feel the damp grass beneath her. Emily, though deprived of all senses, knew that she was perfectly alone. But even in that sweet silence, she was not entirely convinced that she was there herself.
It felt like hours had passed as the young witch slowly gained her consciousness ounce by ounce. It had seemed to Emily that with each passing thought that crossed her brain, the more her surroundings solidified into a different sort of reality that she had never encountered before. She sat up, the palms of her hands denting the soft earth as she held up her body from the ground. Her body had appeared unharmed, Emily stretched her fingers and was pleasantly surprised to see that her knuckles were free of the bruises and scratches from the war.
"Oh, you truly are Lily's daughter."
By instinct, Emily brought her fingers to push her glasses up before looking for the source of the voice, but to her revelation, she was not wearing glasses anymore. Emily touched her face and felt the bare skin on the bridge of her nose, dragging her fingers down to her scarred cheek where she had not felt the dragon's wrath but instead her own soft, unscathed face.
"They're gone." The voice spoke yet again, snapping Emily out of her brief rejoice. "Did you really think you'd carry those scars all the way here?" Her eyesight was still fazed by the bright mist that surrounded her, but her head turned to follow the sound of a girl's footsteps that crunched over dead leaves. "To be fair, I kind of did the same when I died. Broken neck, shattered ribs, chunks of my body being torn off like meat from the bone – that's not exactly what I want to look like in my afterlife."
Curious as to who was speaking, Emily wished for the mist to clear. The thought was barely formed in her mind and yet, the air cleared and revealed a dark hair girl standing over her. She was no older than Emily, though her stance gave off the air of grand maturity. The Potter girl remembered the face from the painting hanging on the wall of the Black Ancestral home. True to her portrait, Anne Harris was no extraordinary beauty, but her spirit and strength had completely blessed her with a sort of alluring quality that Emily had only seen in Ginny's persona.
Anne cocked her head sideways, watching Emily carefully. "You know, I think you have James' nose."
"Thanks?" Emily said unsurely. She stood up, looking around Anne and then herself. Her surroundings seemed to develop the more her eyes glazed over nothingness, and at the end, her supposed afterlife proved to be in the rolling green fields of Hogwarts. "Where's – "
"Your brother?" Anne interjected. "He is elsewhere."
Well, that's not really a helpful answer. Emily stared at her, her eyes piercing to the point of prodding a much more clarified explanation from Anne. "Your brother is still at King's Cross." She added, rolling her eyes at Emily's apparent intimidation.
"Still? What do you mean by still – "
"I mean," Anne took a step forward, almost daringly close to Emily. "You are ahead of the finishing line. Your brother is out there talking with Dumbledore for his peace of mind, while you are here with me."
