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Mrs. Potter's cries of disbelief seemed to be permanently etched in her brain, destined to replay forever. The way she had been hugged before departing worried her to no end. Remus seemed to hold her tighter than ever, as if he was distressed that she would be next. Nothing had ever been entirely under a wing of safety since the rise of Voldemort, but it seemed the death of Fleamont Potter revealed the world to be even more dangerous, more impure. The lovers realized any moment could be anyones' last.

She unlocked the door with a hushed whisper and a flick of her wand. Freya's mother happened to be seated comfortably on the sofa that faced the door. Mrs. Bradberry let out a gasp of her daughter's name once setting eyes on the blonde girl. Her knees trembled and she faltered at the entrance for only a moment before stepping through.

The woman immediately stood from the chair she was curled up in. A dusty brown colored blanket that covered her legs slipped to the floor as she did so, and she clumsily attempted to place her bookmark between the pages of the novel she was reading while staring at her daughter with disbelief, as if she was a hallucination, an oasis in the middle of a sandstorm.

"What's the matter?" Mrs. Bradberry approached cautiously. Comfort was not something that Freya often looked for from the woman, as their bond was not close enough to provide much of it. However, as Freya saw the figure of her mother standing before her, she immediately fell into the woman's slightly parted arms. She felt her mum stiffen before she rigidly attempted to soothe the tension by patting Freya's back, but she could care less.

She allowed herself to be held for only a few moments, but the second's pause gave her enough time to calm. With a raised chin and still tear glazed eyes, Freya escaped her mother's grasp and shook her head, "I'll talk to you in the morning, mum. I . . . I need to sleep."

Though the statement was true, she doubted she would get any rest at all. With a final nod of the head, she turned to the stairs, barely remembering how she stumbled numbly up the steps, or how her mother called out a stiff utterance of, "Sleep well."


She had no clue why, or how she had managed to end up in the middle of an empty extent of grass, as if nothing else was with her on the earth besides the lush, green ground. It caused her stomach to twist as she realized how alone she was. The isolation seemed to taunt her with a chill of the spine and the cringing curl of her fingertips.

For some reason, despite the absence of castle and lack of students, the blank area of only grass reminded her of Hogwarts. As she completed her circled gaze, the Whomping Willow proved this thought to be true. It stood alone in the distance, in the middle of the blank earth, threatening as ever.

The girl stood rooted to the ground, just as the grass and the distant tree were, as she pondered over her options. The already faded blue tint of the sky began to darken with such a fast pace that she barely had a chance to exhale. The sun was setting at an alarming speed.

Before Freya knew it, fate's crippling hand seemed to entwine around the azure sky, the same sky that once matched her eyes identically. The ruthless palm enclosed its fingers around the blue, and darkness overcame the heavens as the sky died slowly, right before her eyes. Not even the flickering stars, the pulse rate of the night itself, blinked above her with life.

Bleak, haunting blackness was all her eyes could see, and she was floating. The grass underneath her bare feet that her curled toes had dug into suddenly disappeared completely. How she still stood was unknown, for nothing was under her feet to support her. Just more darkness.

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