Stigmata | H.P.

0. Prologue

"You know we've tried everything, your father even begged for a special pardon," my mother said.

All I wanted was to study magic in fear of becoming an obscurial in a deserted country. I told my father that moving to France was an option for me to go to Beauxbaton, but he insisted on his English pride wanting me to attend Hogwarts.

"Maybe wizarding is not an option for you," my mom argued, afraid that I'll leave them. They were bigoted against other schools, telling me Hogwarts was the best. Though it is my dream and I knew they wanted the best for me, I was willing to take anything at this point. Anything. "You could become a magical botanist, or yet a magician like I am! Our kind adapts, and its easier to adapt than to assimilate."

"You'll never understand!" I stomped outside and took my broomstick.

It was dark, but not dark enough that mum wouldn't see me flee. I took my wand and my broomstick, Thunderbolt VI—an international grade broomstick that sacrificed its rider's safety for speed as well as my father's gift. It didn't matter, my safety. I just wanted to leave and it was better if I dropped dead than come back home now.

I quickly left Gibraltar for UK, I always do this when I needed to clear my head. I roamed around its skies, lights dimmed and opened below me.

Weirdly, I spotted flames below. It was uncommon for forest fires to happen so suddenly in England. I sped through, using as much speed as possible that my broom could handle.

Once I arrived, there were witches and wizards using their wands for destruction. Green and red lights came out of their wands. I could hear painful screams, panicked screams. I could hear some scream the words 'Death Eater.'

The dark witches and wizards spotted my stature and I immediately caught their attention. The broomstick I rode was fast enough to evade their spells but turning sharp was hard because of its speed.

I dove under the fog made from the fire, seeing people run away. I observed them all as I thunder past them: a pack of red heads run away with brunettes accompanying them.

I turn a quick left and used the temporary wand that my mother gave me. I point at one of the dark wizards that tailed me.

"Glacius," I cast, hoping it would hit, but it much to my chagrin, it didn't. The wizard easily evaded my spell.

The wizard casts bombarda, an exploding spell that made me lose my balance until I regained it seconds later.

I groaned. Holding my arm, I quickly glanced at it seeing it all bloodied.

"Bombarda Maxima," I cast. It was a powerful form of bombarda that created larger explosions, hoping that this one would work.

I looked behind and saw a few Death Eaters fall down from the sky. I was proud that I pulled something as hard a spell.

But it didn't take long that more Death Eaters followed me behind, alarming me as a threat to their cause that was unbeknownst to me.

I flew high so that people below had enough time to leave. My breath heaving from the stinging feeling I felt from my injury.

I know I'm not leaving this dangerous battle alive nor am I leaving it as a hero; I wished it earlier, that death was a better escape than becoming an obscurial in an obscure country like Gibraltar, but at least I'm leaving with my mind clear of conscience. That I at least got those people below enough time to leave.

I was loosing balance of my broom, and a blast of fire had secured my demise. I closed my eyes and wished for the best, that it'll be a quick and easy death.

But when I open my eyes, I could see a Bulgarian man had caught me with his stern face plastered on. He looked straight, and didn't even try to look at me.

"Vhere did you come from?" He interrogates. His accents was thick but I still understood of what he meant. I was immediately intimidated by him so much that I felt like I was shrinking in size. "Do not move, ve vill fall."

"Left home." I muttered.

"Vhere is home then?" He asks. I think he wishes to put me at a safe place, I knew my father had usually gone to The Leaky Cauldron at this hour when he had business at London.

"Far away," I said.

"I vill take you home, do not worry." His face still solemn, but cracked a smile when I comfortably placed my back on his chest.

I admitted that I ran away from home in Gibraltar but asked him to leave me at the Leaky Cauldron. He soon warmed up to me, his voice stayed the same yet his stern look became softer.

Once we landed in front of the Leaky Cauldron, of course at the Diagon Alley side of it. Eyes were glued on him and I, but I couldn't possibly know why.

"I don't have anything to give, I'm sorry," I said, but he shook his head not asking for anything in return.

"If you could tell your name," he starts, a little flustered I could tell but it was only with a bit of observing when I noticed it. He was quite the stoic man otherwise.

"(Y/N)."

"Viktor," we exchanged names.

"At least I know the name of my savior," I chuckle.

"Maybe ve could see each other again." I frowned when he said that, knowing there wouldn't be a next time when I couldn't even be here. I'm not even supposed to be here.

"Well, hopefully," I said, giving him a little bit of hope.

He soon rode his fancy broom back to where he came, and I went inside of the pub. Luckily, my father was there. He didn't press for answers when he saw me covered in soot and burnt clothes.