The wizarding world is healing after the war against Voldemort, but Pansy Parkinson only feels lost.
Now left to face secrets she'd been able to conveniently bury during the chaos of the war, Pansy wishes she could go back in time. If only she coul...
Pansy's stomach twisted violently as her fingers clawed at the dirt. She had to make a grave without a shovel, and now both blood and earthy black mud mixed underneath her fingernails.
She didn't understand how she got here, or why she was outside with a body to bury. All she knew was to dig.
She didn't understand how she got here, or why she was outside with a corpse. All she knew was to dig and to bury.
The frigid air blew over her skin, creating raised little bumps as evidence of the cold summer night. Pansy shook her head, confused. Was it still summer?
The last thing she could think of was sitting on Daphne's bedroom floor, drinking her parents' cheap wine straight out of the bottle, and giggling about which boys in their year at Hogwarts were prettiest.
Somehow, this recollection made Pansy freeze in her frantic movement.
Horrible tendrils of anxiety wound down her arms like snakes, trying to prompt her to continue digging, but she now felt frozen, being swallowed whole by her panic.
The hole she'd made was about the size of a piece of parchment in width and length and as deep as her wand. How was she going to be able to dig a hole large enough for a body by morning?
When she sat back on her heels and swiveled her head to look at the body she was expected to hide, a scream lodged in her throat. On the short corpse of a young brunette was Pansy's own face, ashen and dead. Clutched in her pale fingers were Pansy's soulmate letters, but the pages were slowly growing larger, starting to consume this deceased version of her.
A light suddenly flooded the area as Mrs. Greengrass stepped outside in her robe, and Pansy felt the urge to jump over her corpse, to hide the evidence, but when she looked back at the soft earth, she realized only the letters remained.
Crumpled and grass-stained.
Lying beside a hole as wide and as long as a piece of parchment and as deep as her wand.
Which her hands rested inside, shaking, with mud underneath her fingernails.
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/AN: You all know I love a good nightmare scene. I hope you enjoyed this one! More chapters coming soon./
