DEMONS ➤ HARRY POTTER AU

nine ; little soldier boy

If Wanda learnt one thing her timeline, it was how cruel the world can be to children.

Children just want to have fun. They want to be able to play chess, move the horse to F6, and accidentally lose their bishop to their opposition. They want to be able to play without any care, be able to only think about the consequences of lying about who broke their father's 100 year old pawn. Sometimes, and Wanda knew that the adults forget, that children just want to be kids.

Instead of playing with the chess pieces, they became the pawns on a board designed for adults. Seduction, murder, and death. The parents and adults do not ever wish to lose, because losing means certain death, a death that no one wants. Children become a commodity, a barrier between the adults fights... little soldier boys. They strategically place them in scenarios where they have no option but to become nothing but a statistic. A statistic of those who have died.

It was all for the greater good. That is what every adult and parent said... it was for the cause. Their pathetic excuse for robbing their childhood was a war that should have ended years ago, a war that could have been stopped if the adults weren't so prideful, so determined to undermine the younger generation. Wanda knew that no matter what happens. Harry would become a little soldier boy... fighting against the human version of a typhoon . Wanda knew that no matter what happens. She would become a little soldier girl... fighting against her greatest enemy; herself.

Rising from her bed, she made her way to look into the mirror. She did not meet her brown eyes in the mirror, instead she saw his haunting green eyes. Slowly, she saw her greatest enemy, staring right back at her. She did not want to become a little soldier girl, she was not a soldier, nor little or a girl. She was simply just broken, shattered.

"How could I let this happen, how could I let this happen" She whispered to herself, refusing to look at herself in the mirror. Her hands holding onto the drawer for dear life, she was not okay. Suddenly her arm, her back, her legs started to itch like a bad rash, her forehead was sweating uncontrollable, she was no longer in control.

She was no longer alone. She no longer needs to be alone. She was no longer alone.

Quivering as she slams her fist down on the drawer, "Why... why me?" She whispered, "Why me of all people..."

Her questions were left unanswered; her eyes being forced shut as she refuses to see the cuts she received from her fist colliding with a splitter filled drawer. Wanda was a tragic mess, she was the embodiment of every teenage bed room, a complete utter mess.

"I can't do this..." She whispered louder, "Not with him here... I can't... I simply can't"

Her eyes remained tightly closed as her fingernails started to glow a familiar red, a sensation of burning waves overcame her murderous fingers. Twisting her head ever so slightly, her mind couldn't but help torture her crippling mind, reminding her how she had killed more than Loki. She killed half of everything. It was her fault, and she couldn't seem to escape her house of memories... memories of vision... of clint... of her life before scarlet witch.

How was everyone so calm? They were signing their children up for years of mental instability: unable to hold a knife at the kitchen table without remembering how their brother died, unable to sing a gentle hum without reminiscing her life before the nightmare, and unable to not cry herself to sleep.

Ho was everyone so calm? How could anyone expect children, children who haven't even finished their education to fight against a God? Loki was a fucking god. Wanda couldn't help but let out a loud, slightly psychotic, laugh, auditable to everyone in 12 Grimmauld place.

Wanda was not okay and she knew it.

Rising her head to face herself again in the mirror. No glowing green eyes... instead it was red. Wanda never feared anymore more than herself. She had powers the gods wished for, she had the power humans wished for, and she had powers that Albus wished for. Yet, she can't help but see herself as the devil in disguise.

"How can I help a boy when I can't even help myself?" She questioned, "How can I help win a war when all I want to do is destroy every part of me, to destroy..." Her voice died from her sobs, choking her from finishing her sentence.

Her knees clashed with the dusty, and dirty floor, that same sensation of a burn reignited within Wanda. She was simply a girl who had no voice, and certainly no choice.

"I hate..." She whispered, "I hate..."

Unable to finish her sentence, her sobs become increasingly louder. All she could think about was Clint's words minutes before her brother's death.

Doesn't matter what you did, or what you were.

She hated what she was, she hated what she did.

If you go out there, you fight to kill.

She hates killing people.

Stay in here, you're good, I'll send your brother to come find you.

She missed her dear brother too much.

But if you step out that door you are an Avenger.

She stepped out the door.

Wanda made a decision to step out that door so many years ago, she believed in her cause, her reason to live. She fought for her brother, her parents, clint, and herself. Now, she only can fight to save a boy. Save the boy from being a foot soldier ... a little soldier boy.

Forcing herself up, she looked at herself one last time,

She no longer lives for those who died, she lives for those who are alive.

In those last few seconds, Wanda let lose a nebula of red lights within all of 12 Grimmauld Place, blinding everyone. The mirror shattered, her bed collapsed, and Wanda?

Well she simply walked out the door, and clicked her fingers. The red disappeared.

She was an avenger but now... now she was a witch with a nasty attitude.

She was finally scarlet witch, the pawn the adults tried so hard to control.