the last verse ; harry potter [2]

twelve ; broceliande

The little village of Broceliande sat in a low valley, lit with dim lamplight through quaint windows and dusted in a layer of fine white powder, covering thick brambles and turning the roofs a frosting color. Diana Riddle, her eyes glinting brightly in the glittering snowfall, appeared atop one of the bordering hills, her eyes trained on the little village below.

Cottages dotted the small town, lining cobbled streets and lit by the soft light of lamps. Each of the neighborhoods of the small town surrounded the main street in the middle, lined with Christmas decorations and colored lights. In the yard of one of the houses, she noticed a crude snowman topped with a brilliant black top hat, now tainted with the soft dust of the snow.

Diana Riddle, the last heir of the Merlinian bloodline, felt her hairs bristle. Her teeth, which were previously chattering, stilled when she gazed calmly upon the town, her body pulsing with a foreign electricity, igniting even the deepest marrow buried in her bones.

To the north, the outcroppings of cottages seemed to dwindle until there was only a white meadow with a single, cobbled path. Her eyes trailed the path all the way to a large, intricate building, windows stained scarlet, standing lonesome amongst the remnants of a dead garden and a small, crumbling cemetery.

Her blood gushed in her ears the moment her eyes landed on it. As if submerged in water, her body had suddenly been warmed, her ears ignorant to the howling wind and her nose unaffected by the icy air.

Her feet began to move on their own. She stepped down the hill, carefully avoiding slippery spots and hidden rocks that could catch her feet. Though she braved against the wind, her body seemed to be encased in a warm shell, a comfortable barrier between herself and the ice. In fact, the closer she got to the valley, the warmer she felt.

Soon, she reached flat ground, idly padding her way through the snowy lanes, occasionally slowing to watch two happy children play in the snow in their yard. Once, she got honked at by an impatient driver behind her who, as soon as she cleared the street, zoomed past her with dangerous force.

Main Street was bustling with Muggles, streaming in and out of stores with bags full of Christmas presents and dipping into pubs to sit by the warm fires inside. Her eyes caught on a young, pregnant woman sitting on the sidewalk against the nearest pub, her tattered scarf tied tightly around her neck. The woman, not much older than twenty, wore torn and ancient clothing that only barely kept her warm, her eyes dull as she sadly watched happy families and couples walking up and down the street. The woman would've been quite beautiful if it wasn't for her hollow cheeks and dull eyes, her skin slightly sallow and it stretched across her bones as if she hadn't eaten a decent meal in months.

"Excuse me?" said Diana lightly as she approached the woman, her eyes soft and her demeanor calm, as if not to startle her. The woman tensed, her eyes darting to Diana quickly, and she huddled further into the wall behind her.

Diana crouched right in front of the woman until they were eye-level. She kept a small distance to avoid scaring her, but upon seeing Diana's kind eyes, she seemed to relax slightly.

Finally, Diana took notice of a purple bruise on the girl's cheekbone. Light green and yellow swirled amongst the indigo like paint, hidden partially by her dark brown hair.

"Where'd you get that bruise?" asked Diana gently, her eyes only briefly darting to the colored mark. Her body stayed loose, her eyes trained on the girl's, assuring her that she meant no harm.

The girl seemed to huddle even further into herself as well as she could with her swollen belly.

"I-I fell," she finally answered quietly. Her voice was light and broken, as if she had never quite spoken louder than a soft murmur.