𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑

the one with the unforeseen attack

“Your mind is your most
lethal weapon.
Keep it loaded.”

•

I FELT PAIN all over my body. Everything around me was dark, like the underground cellar in a castle. And there was a woman there hitting me with hexes and crucios so many time that I lost count. I tried my best to block them but nothing seemed to work.

"Are you ready to work for the Dark Lord now?"

The voice sent shivers down my spine. I could barely open my eyes and see straight through all the tears. It was Voldemort.

He leaned on the stone wall on the other side of the cellar and watched as this woman tortured me, laughing manically. He watched as if it were normal to watch fifteenth year olds get tortured. The woman—

Bellatrix.

"Bellatrix," I muttered. "Bellatrix."

"You're saying something, little girl?"

"Don't you," I gasped as I was hit by a stinging spells. A burn mark started forming on the back of my wrist. "Know me?"

She didn't respond as another crucio came my way.

"Firegold," I managed to say before a scream escaped me.

She laughed manically, without caring what I said.

"That name means nothing to me!"

I woke up in cold sweat, gasping for air, holding myself to shield from more unforgivables. It was Little Hangelton all over again, except, instead of Voldemort, it was the woman I was terrified of meeting the most.

Jesus fuck.

But it wasn't over yet. Even though my dream was over, I could sense the chaos from a mile away. Lavender and Parvati were still sleeping but Hermione was nowhere. I got out of the bed and quickly ran out, running fingers through my hair to ease it out a little. When I got to the Common Room I heard it.

Harry was feverishly speaking and Ron was muttering things to him so as to not wake Dean and Seamus up. I anxiously looked as Hermione emerged from the boys dormitories, running downstairs in a craze of bushy hair and panic.

"Mr Weasley," she said grabbing my arm and pulling me with her. "He was attacked."

My mind didn't register the things quite as fast my body had. I was sprinting down the hallway to Dumbledore's office, as Hermione made her way to McGonagall's. It was on the other end of the building. My heart was racing and my mind was calculating.

It wasn't December 18. It wasn't the date Mr Weasley was supposed to get attacked. It was three days before that. It was a Saturday. He doesn't even have his duties at the Ministry today. Why was he attacked? Where was he attacked?

I reached Dumbledore's office. The gargoyle looked at me. "Fizzing Whizbee."

The gargoyle sprang to life and leapt aside; the wall behind it split in two to reveal a stone staircase that was moving continuously upward like a spiral escalator. I stepped onto the moving stairs; the wall closed behind me with a thud, and I was moving upward in tight circles until I reached the highly polished oak door with the brass knocker shaped like a griffin. It opened the door and I stepped into the room. I took deep breaths. I felt acid rising in my throat and my chest constricting.

"Professor Dumbledore," I screamed in his office. A lot of portraits woke up with a start. The room was in half darkness; the strange silver instruments standing on tables were silent and still rather than whirring  and emitting puffs of smoke as they usually did. The portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses covering the walls were all snoozing in their frames. Behind the door, a magnificent red-and-gold bird the size of a swan dozed on its perch with  its head under its wing.