People believe that history always finds a way to repeat itself
Perhaps, not entirely
But it still does.
Where the past watches their future
OR
Where the past is attacked by the train of deja-vu's
* I DO NOT OWN HARRY POTTER. *
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Cytherea is shown sleeping on the hospital bed.
The camera focuses on her closed eyelids as the background fades away.
Everything is visible again as the camera shifts into an angle just overhead; right at the same time Cytherea opens her eyes.
A young Cytherea of around nine is shown sitting alone at the back of a muggle classroom. Her hands filled with scratches.
She was digging her nails in her palms until they left a mark.
" I wonder why they let you in the school " A girl with beautiful brunette hair spat at her
" Freaks like you should be killed "
Many muggleborns frowned, they hadn't being the only one bullied in School it seems.
Cytherea said nothing and just bit her cheeks
" It's okay, it's not scary" she quitely mumbled to herself
" Did you call me scary? "
" Yes, I did " Cytherea drawled
" Why are you antogonising your bully? " Hermione smacked the redhead
" Hey! It's fun to rile them up. Harry back me up "
" She's not wrong. Calling voldemort ' no-nose was very fun "
" What will I do with you both "
The brunette did not take that as a light comment and pushed Cytherea from her chair.
The screen shook violently and only stabilized when Cytherea was on the ground, her nose bleeding and the side of her arm scratched badly.
Loud thumping noises echoed around the hall and the screen went hazy
The heartbeats of everyone sitting synched with the thumping noise, gradually increasing as the tempo depended.
Cytherea looked up to the hazy figures towering her, her head felt heavy and she wanted anything more to be chilling on her bed right now. She grinned at the laughing figures and started maniacally laughing with them
Suddenly the temperature of the hall decreased sending shivers down everyone's spine.
Was a child's laughter supposed to be this satanic?
The strings of black left her palm. The strings that seemed to be invisible to muggle eyes stretched out of the classroom, flowing towards the teacher who had just thrown his cigar on the ground, forgetting to stomp on it.
Just as the strings touched the cigar, a spark ignited, travelling all the way to the classroom from the strings.
