𝐏𝐋𝐀𝐘𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐆𝐀𝐌𝐄𝐒 | 𝐎.𝐆𝐀𝐔𝐍𝐓

1 | prologue

( four years ago )
(June)

THE YOUNG GIRL SAT IN FRONT OF HER DAD, HER DEAD DAD, AND STARED AT HIM IN HORROR. The missing patch of skin was evident in his stomach region and patches of burnt skin were peeling off his body like the wallpaper of an old house. She frowned at his humiliating death and then glanced up at his murderer, Victor Rookwood, in a way a murderer would look at their next victim. The way he had looked at her dad.

[y/n] was never sane, she knew that herself, but when she threw herself at the man, who had just killed her father; a famous auror, with only a limited amount of spells; [y/n] knew she was now a down-right maniac.

Victor just stood there, his stance unwavering; smirking at the eleven-year-old who thought they could kill him. Laughing, he deflected an incoming assault. [y/n] howled in frustration, nothing they did caused an affect: they were too weak. She peered over at a barrel and launched it at Victor with accio. He deflected it again, "you've got to try harder than that, young one." He grinned manically and [y/n] faltered: was he also not sane? What was she saying, of course he wasn't.

Thoughts swarmed in her what while she thought of what to do, wand casting was useless and she didn't own a knife. She paused her rapid spell casting and raised her hands. "I surrender." She yelled at the man opposite her. Her confession caused Rookwood to laugh, "you surrender? I just killed your dad!" He screamed, cackling to himself. [y/n] sighed, she was glad she wasn't on that level of insane yet.

In defeat, she stumbled over to him where he bent down to see her better. "Why did you kill him?" [y/n] whispered, although she already knew why, and Rookwood hummed condescendingly, "because I wanted to."

She nodded hesitantly, "teach me." She settled on saying, not knowing whether she'd make it out alive if she didn't join him.

"Teach you?" He repeated. A look of intrigue in his eyes. [y/n] looked at him with unwavering eyes. He glanced left and right before nodding, "okay then." he finally said, his guard rapidly dropping at her lack of hostility. [y/n] smiled at him innocently.

He turned around and [y/n] watched as his necklace came out of his top, "you're a Christian?" [y/n] pondered, staring at the cross.

He glanced at her, "no, I killed one though."

"Oh." She gaped, somehow not expecting that answer.

[y/n] watched as Rookwood turned around to call over his loyalists. She then took a large step forward, "you've hurt my legs." She whined at the  cold man and he stopped in his tracks, he had forgotten momentarily their little spar just ten minutes ago. Turning around, Victor Rookwood nodded, "get on." He ordered, kneeling. Humility had overwhelmed him but Rookwood didn't know what else to do.

[y/n] smiled as she gracefully jumped on his back, he frowned at her ease: did her legs not hurt? She relaxed, leaning close to his body; her hands around his neck. "Where are we going?" She asked and he titled his head, "to my camp."

[y/n] hummed, "your people are there?" She questioned, glancing around. The wind was harsher higher up she noted. Victor Rookwood nodded, "I had Business here."

With a noise of understanding, [y/n] stayed in silence for a few seconds before something clicked, "you're alone?" she asked and Rookwood paused momentarily, "yes, why are you asking that?" he questioned her and she just shrugged; a smirk laced itself on her features but she was out of sight from Victor Rookwood. He couldn't see the flash of victory that had filled her eyes; the look of insanity in her smile.

She waited — as silently as she could, not wanting to make a scene or put the attention on her — for ten minutes until she slowly grabbed his stolen necklace that dangled and wrapped it three times against his neck: unbeknownst to Victor himself, his death — or whatever harm [y/n] could do — was being planned by the silent girl on his back. She grinned manically, raised the cross that was situated in her hand, out of his eyesight, and "boo!" She cackled, stabbing it into Victors right eye and pulling on the chain; strangling him.

He fell to the floor immediately, screaming out curses. "You— Agh!" He gasped for breath as [y/n] jumped off peacefully and watched the man suffer; screaming for someone to help him, but [y/n] already knew that he was all alone. She turned away and walked back to her father, as she was a few metres away, [y/n] heard the words 'children should be seen, not heard.' Leave Victors mouth in agony just before he fainted. [y/n] just giggled.

* * * *

"Where's your father?" [y/n]'s neighbour asked her for the seventh time that week and It wasn't even Sunday. [y/n] paused, "I've told you, he's on a mission; not that hard to understand." She snapped, watching her neighbour roll his eyes at her words. She continued walking through the street, ignoring the stares of pity from passing neighbours.

[y/n] didn't know why it was that big of a deal that an eleven-year-old was left alone. She could clean, cook and manage the house perfectly fine; she just didn't get why everyone was so worked up about it. It wasn't like she'd be alone for long, [y/n] was going to Hogwarts in September and she was probably never going to come back here; the memories of her late father were too strong for her to bare.

She slowly gained a small smile as she imagined attending Hogwarts, sneaking into the restricted section and tormenting the teachers. But most of all, she wanted to learn enough spells and tricks to kill Victor Rookwood and all of his accomplices. If that meant for her learning the dark arts and winding up in Azkaban: [y/n] didn't mind. In fact, [y/n] wanted to learn the dark arts. She wanted undeniable power; to never feel as defenceless as she felt four days ago. Although, [y/n] couldn't deny the fact that she learnt something: never wear a necklace.

She chuckled at the jewellery, a cross, Rookwood wore being used for such a sin. She reminisced the memory: she had sat next to her fathers unconscious body; Rookwood's a few metres away but God, at the sight of a dead body and one half-dead, had never stirred. So it couldn't have been that bad, her gorging out Rookwood's eye that is. The death of her father was unforgivable.

A glint of hope raised in her heart as she opened her house door, hoping that her dad would still be there, reading his newspaper. But alas, the house was still cold, his chair still tucked into the table. [y/n] wasn't strong enough to carry the wood so she had to embrace the coldness for a few more months. "I can do it" she whispered, "a few more months."

* * * *

Two years passed by the blink of an eye and [y/n] sat in her dormitory, the green accents on the walls glistened in pride. It was late, at least one in the morning yet [y/n] was sitting on her bed, reading a book from the restricted section. The book being on the dark arts; [y/n] had been researching them for the past two years she had been in Hogwarts. Now in her third year, well she would be when September rolled around, [y/n] had a myriad of knowledge on the unforgivable curses. But, she now just needed someone to teach her and she had the perfect person.

Ominis Gaunt was her target. However, she needed to observe him; to learn everything about him. Having an extensive knowledge about someone always made it easier to negotiate. A smirk rose on [y/n]'s face as she circled the picture of Ominis Gaunt on her notebook: Sebastian sallow and two others crossed out with the reasons why.

Unfortunately, "he doesn't seem to like the dark arts at all." [y/n] whispered, a furrow formed on her face. "That's something I'll need to figure out. . . What does he want? That's if there's anything he wants. He's rich, so I can't offer anything material. . ." She hummed in thought and then scribbled something down in her pink notebook that her father had gifted her.

"Watch out, Ominis." She giggled, careful not to wake her sleeping roommates.

For the next two years, she spent them observing, some would say stalking, Ominis and practicing her spell casting. It was only when her fifth year rolled around did [y/n] think she was capable to confront Ominis. She woke up and checked her notebook, the same pink one, "his friend, Sebastian Sallow, is meddling in the dark arts to figure out a cure for his cursed sister: threaten to Dob him in or offer a cure." She read out her notes. Of course, she didn't have a cure yet. But, that's nothing he needed to know.