Plot Twist [GEORGE WEASLEY]

65.

Amara struggled against the wind battering her. Gritting her teeth, she forced herself into the opening of the woodlands. The impact of the wind forced her on her knees. She dragged her body forward into the threshold and all the chaos quit.

The howling died down. A spine-chilling tranquility replaced it. She sucked in a shaky exhale and stood up. Depleted from the effort of fighting the resistance, she staggered forward.

The woods pilfered any sense of time as she walked through them. She swore she came across this same tree. Lightning had struck it and left it charred. Odds were, it couldn't be common for so many trees of the sort to be scattered about.

She was lost.

Spinning in a circle, she searched for a landmark, an anchor. Nothing, not even the chirp of a bird. An unnatural, vivid blue, the sky didn't change. There was no sign of life.

Then, a rustle disturbed this false reality. Swift, desperate feet scurried across crunchy leaves. Amara felt air zip past her. Yet, she couldn't see the person.

She called out. Nothing called back. Where could've the person gone?

"Hello? Is anybody—" She ceased at a shocking sight.

A woman stood ahead, arms crossed. The determined lift of her head screamed of a familiarity she couldn't recognize. Braids tumbled down her neck in graceful waterfalls. "Hello? I seemed to be lost?" Amara asked, drawing near.

The woman failed to respond. She burned her gaze into the tree facing her. There was something inherently noteworthy according to her. Small, full moons were carved into tree. They peppered the entirety of its bark.

Before Amara could inspect the tree closer, the woman brandished her wand at it. Her stance rooted to the ground. She was nothing different from the other trees in the forest. There was something familiar about her.

Like she heard her thinking, the woman turned. The flash of brown eyes alarmed her. It was her mother. But, every detail was sharpened to a degree she knew something was wrong. She didn't remember her mother this well.

This wasn't real. This was a corrupted dream from the dark object. Responsive to her disgust, the dream yanked her ankles underground. Her mother scattered into butterflies. Screaming, Amara melted into the ground, the sky vanishing to darkness.

She found herself in a deserted field. The weeds grew diminished and sad. A dilapidated manor shone in the sunset's beckoning of the night. It also swathed a tall figure within in the manor's ruins

She couldn't discern the person. What she could register was the lightness of her hair. The stranger pointed her wand at her. A column of flame blew out of it and scorched the inside of her arm.

Amara fell backward on the weeds. A cry was stuck in her throat. Another person's warm hand went around her arms, dragging her onto their lap. Madeline's concerned face peered down. She set her jaw and glared up at the attacker, appearing much like their father. In slow motion, her arm lifted to fire a spell.

"Maddie, don't!"

The scene transformed again, to another field. A beautiful one, wildflowers embroidered here and there. She was still lying on her back. The weeds caressed her arm. Even in this dreamscape, the sun set. It drenched everything in gold.

Including the silhouette beside her. His brown eyes eased her in their softness. He rolled to his side and grinned. "Did you get all that?"

She contemplated the question as she dwelled on the freckles dotting the bridge of his nose. Taking his hand, she replied. "I'm not sure."