Brutal. | Fred Weasley

one!

The ticking of the clock echoes through Aurelia Riddle's chest as she lays in bed, as awake as if it were midday rather than midnight. She's tried reading, tried listening to music, tried forcing herself to sleep, but nothing seems to be working. She knows why she can't sleep, but God knows that she's not going to admit it to herself. She's been having nightmares. Scarily detailed nightmares that keep her up all night in fright. She can't make heads or tails of them, really, and half of what happens disappears from her mind almost immediately, but the fear lingers.

She knows that she has to go back to Beauxbatons in the morning. But right now, in this moment, the sound of the clock is making her head buzz and her chest roar with irrational and uncontrollable anger. Thoughts of the morning that is coming are pushed to one side to make way for the irritation building in her skull like pressure from a chemical reaction. The sounds of London, the sounds of the night, are audible from inside and Aurelia half wishes to be out there living her life, drinking with her friends and dancing with people she shouldn't be. But she has to return to school tomorrow and she can't do that after dragging herself back home at five in the morning still drunk and definitely worse for wear.

The January chill infiltrates her room despite the warming charms that Finn, the home's primary care worker, had put on the room in an attempt to save some money on heating. In fact, Aurelia is half-convinced that it's a psychosomatic chill that her brain has invented as a way to keep her awake. Her throat is dry and her glass is empty, but she's been far too lazy to get up and get some water up until this point. If she was at school, she'd just summon some water, but the stupid Trace from the stupid Ministry of Magic stops her from doing that at home. She stops herself from thinking about the passive aggressive organisation, placating herself with thoughts of her birthday just passed; she's turned fifteen, just two more years and she'll be able to use magic whenever. But then her thoughts lead back to the Ministry and it just makes her even angrier.

She runs a hand through her hair, the recently-dyed red streak a sign that Madame Maxime hasn't been around Beauxbatons for a while. Aurelia will be the first to admit that her behaviour tends to lean towards being what some would describe as 'sub-par'. She prefers to describe it as having personality, but Mademoiselle Dubois hadn't seen her (high-level) Transfiguartion of her desk chair into a pig in quite the same way and she'd gotten an additional detention for the suggestion that the telling off was an attempt to minimise and oppress her.

Grabbing the glass from her wooden bedside table, she also makes a note to ask Finn about when she can next pick up some more contact lenses. Her glasses are too much of a fuss during the winter. They fog up when she drinks anything warm and every time she walks inside after being in the cold air, they mist up and she has to take them off anyway. She peers out into the dark hallway before venturing out of her room. She walks slowly, doing her absolute best to stay as quiet as possible so that she doesn't disturb anybody's sleep.

The kitchen is a couple of degrees cooler than the rest of the house and Aurelia shivers slightly as she walks in. Her bare feet pad across the tiles, stopping in front of the tap and filling up her glass. She leans against the worktop, sipping the water slowly before she has to reclimb the stairs. A small rattle comes from the corner of the kitchen and her head snaps up. She moves quickly, placing the glass down and reaching out for the light switch. Her eyes fly to the newly-illuminated corner and a small laugh bubbles out of her mouth. It's just a cat.

She crouches down and holds out a hand gently. "Hi, baby," she coos, her eyes bright. "You spooked me." The cat creeps forward and she pets it softly as it walks around her legs. She grabs a small bowl and puts some water in it, placing it on the ground for the cat. She finishes her glass of water and refills it before unlocking and opening the back door. She considers briefly how the cat got in, but accepts that they really are just that smart.

"I'm sorry, I know it's cold, but you can't stay," she hums, slowly picking the cat up and delivering it back outside. "Bye, sweetie." She closes the door, locking it behind her, and makes her way back upstairs with her drink.

Unbeknownst to her, the cat is making its way down the street with purpose. It turns the corner and in its place stands a woman. Her emerald robes help her to blend in with the darkness.

"So, Minerva? Is it up to standard?" a man asks, his long white beard and hair a strange sight to be held in the middle of Muggle London.

"She is exactly as Madame Maxime describes," she answers curtly. "Gentle, calm, kind." She already feels protective over the young girl, knowing that she has a lot of potential that will only be stunted with the burden of her last name weighing heavily on her shoulders at Hogwarts.

"But?" the man prompts, sensing that she has more to say. A siren wails in the distance as Minerva considers her next words. She lowers her voice to a whisper.

"You really think he's coming back, Albus?"

Dumbledore surveys her over his glasses. "I am certain that he is gaining strength. She has been well hidden at Beauxbatons, but she cannot stay that way much longer. He will come for her, whether she's joining him or not. So what is your concern, Minerva?"

"She's got friends at Beauxbatons, she's got the favour of many of the teaches, she's performing N.E.W.T level Transfiguation spells for pranks. Albus, moving her will not do her any good. Starting again will unbalance her, it will make everything ten times harder for her."

"You don't think she's capable."

"That's not what I said," Minerva scolds, giving him a stern stare. "What I'm saying is that you're already putting massive amounts of pressure onto Harry's shoulders with this Tournament. You must remember that he is only a child and so is she."

Dumbledore sighs. "Young, perhaps. But a child? The word isn't quite right. A teenager, perhaps, is a more suitable word." A pause. "Nobody can deny their youth, Minerva, and that's not what I'm trying to do. What I'm trying to do is help the two of them achieve their destinies. It's been prophesised—"

"Then surely it will come to fruition without our meddling!" Her emotions are getting the better of her. This conversation reminds her of a particularly angry one that they had when Dumbledore made the decision to place an orphaned Harry Potter on the doorstep of the Dursleys. Minerva had seen the impact it had on the boy and she's not planning on making that mistake again.

"I didn't think you believed in Divination."

"I don't," she replies swiftly. Her tone is as sharp as a knife. "But the theory stands to reason that she will be fine wherever she is— Hogwarts, Beauxbatons, what's the difference?"

"The difference is the amount of tabs we can keep on her when she is not right under our noses. Tom Riddle got away with far too much under our guardianship and we will not let her be sneaking around at Beauxbatons. We must convince her that moving to Hogwarts is for her benefit," he implores. He can see that Minerva is upset. Her voice has raised slightly, her cheeks are tinged with pink and her eyes are blazing behind her glasses. She finally concedes, her shoulders dropping from their tensed position.

"She looks just like him, you know. Aurelia looks just like her father. Same eyes, same hair... although she's dyed a strand of it red. It's almost scary how alike they look. I thank Merlin that she acts more like her mother."

"I wouldn't thank him too fast. Her mother was just as much trouble, if not more. She was just better at hiding it."

And as the two professors walk away from the care home that holds the person who could change the fate of the wizarding world, they both have vastly different ideas of just who that girl is.