i. screams

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i | screams

i | screams

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          𝕾creams seemed to follow Celeste Baker around like unwanted ghosts, lingering at her shoulders and watching all that she did with increasing scrutiny. Sometimes, they were loud and persistent, pleading with her to pay attention to them, other times they were quiet.

Celeste couldn't quite decide which she liked more.

The whistling of the kettle distracted her from her thoughts, and the girl was quick to leave the safety of her tent, trudging over to her little campfire to remove the kettle from the heat. It would have been far quicker and simpler to use her wand, but Celeste had to keep the Snatchers far from her back and magic was a sure fire way to be found. It would be like shooting up a flare or walking into the middle of Hogwarts screaming 'I'm here! Come and get me!'.

When the Dark Lord had won the war, he'd effectively placed the trace back onto the magical population of Britain to be able to hunt down his enemies, if they were stupid enough to use their magic. She'd heard of three people being caught that way, no one she had known well but foolish Gryffindors, trying to train to be able to take the battle back to the Dark Lord. He'd also done it, she could suppose, to make sure that if one of his was killed, he would know who had cast the spell to do so.

In all essence, it was just a more malevolent version of the trace.

Celeste tipped the boiling water carefully into one of the Muggle inventions, boil in a bag, stirring the contents round with a less than pleased face. She disliked these things, but food was food so she had to make do. Celeste had grown up with the finest food in the world being on her plate, but she couldn't afford to live like that anymore, having to spend her money sparingly at best.

A cold wind blew through the clearing, and Celeste poured the remainder of the water into a tin mug, adding some powder for coffee whilst looking around in fear that perhaps someone had found her.

Trees clawed to get access to the summer sun, though there wasn't much of that anymore, fighting with each other for root space and packed together so densely, that if Celeste allowed her mind to wander, she could imagine that they were moving. But yet, nothing stirred in the forest.

No animals or birds, just the wind.

Huffing, Celeste grabbed the food, stirring it around with a plastic spork (a bizarre Muggle invention that had all of the utensils in one) and stirred the rice and chilli around until she felt that it was good enough to eat. Blowing on it, the witch wondered how she had ended up in this position.

Less than a year ago, she'd been preparing for her OWLs and considering what NEWTs she would have to take, before thinking of jobs to apply for. She'd been young and naïve, ignoring the news of an upcoming war to continue to live in her fantasy of happiness for a bit longer. But burying your head in the sand wouldn't delay the inevitable. Despite all of her younger self's ignorance, war had still come around and Celeste had found herself with no home, hiding from people years older than her who would kill her without a second thought.

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