𝖂hen Winnie was a child, she believed her home to be the safest place on earth. It's where she was born, in the halls of the tainted green walls, black leather and fireplaces coating it with warmth. It's where she broke her wrist at four when her father insisted that she and Millie learn how to ride a broom ( he didn't have a son of his own to chase around with such things, so the girls worked out just fine. ) It's where she would have nightmares created by stories told in the light of day, where her mother would smooth her hair back and kiss her gently.

Whispering words of comfort while tiny tears kissed the apples of her cheeks.

It's just a dream.

You're safe.

No harm will come to you here.

Many times in her life, she wished for that comfort. She would stare at her mother, missing the smiling comfort and the gentle touch of her hands against her cheeks. She missed the way her mother would comb through her hair, telling her of ways she would help dress her for balls, telling her ways she would help teach her everything she had to know for Hogwarts.

Imogen Buldstrode only looked at her with disdain now.

She was giving her daughter the same look as they stood in the main dining area. Every time the Bulstrode siblings came home, the family would greet each other in the dining area. A small feast was prepared by the house elves as they conversed over the events that took place over the months they were gone, which more or less meant Imogen and Elijah got a free pass to point out Winnie's failure.

As if they didn't take every chance they had to do so anyway.

"Mother, Father, lovely to see you again," Millie beamed, her face wide with a smile as the siblings walked in through the opened doors. They had arrived through the floo network at the train station-- their family couldn't be bothered to greet them. Millie's heels clicked against the stone floors, arms outstretched to greet her parents.

Winnie couldn't be happier to know; she didn't know if she could publically deal with her family's hate towards her. At least at home, she could hide it away.

Winnie blinked, watching the pride that blossomed in her parent's faces as they took in her blonde sister. It rolled into her body in sweet waves of peaches, creating an odd mixture of pride and envy in the young brunette's chest. As her father swiped a gentle hand against Millie's shoulders, Winnie turned her gaze away. Jaw locking as she swallowed thickly, hating herself for the sudden need in her that grew.

"We heard you're a part of Umbridge's special club; we're so proud of you," Imogen's voice beamed, her voice a twist of honey and chalk. Scraping against Winnie's ears and causing her skin to crawl.

"She's a brilliant Ministry worker; it's about time they change things at Hogwarts," Elijah added in her, her father's voice added in on the conversation that Winnie was pointedly left out of. Nobody had even spoken to her since she entered the Manor; her sister had simply flickered her blonde curls over her shoulder and walked towards their parents with a head full of air.

Winnie scuffed slightly, picking at her nails as she rolled her eyes. "Yeah, she's a peach," she muttered, placing her hand back on her arm, and she leaned her head back against the door frame. Suddenly wishing she didn't take for granted the silence that she existed in with Hermione in their train cart. Even if the blonde kept looking at her every five minutes with anxiety and pity, it was better than this.

"Oh, what do you want?" Imogen's voice twisted from honey and straight chalk, scraping against her skin harder as her word adjusted towards Winnieow. The blonde looked up, her eyes meeting her mother's, desperately wishing to see the warmth that once was there, the calming flicker she would receive when nightmares ate away at her dreams. Instead, she was greeted with bitterness, blue eyes dark like a storm, uninviting and unforgiving.

Winnie ignored the heartache that slivered through h and that her mother was now a stranger.

"Hello to you, too, Mother; nice to see you too." She spoke, smiling falsely, ignoring her mother's glare at her. All of which she had seen before. Her gaze turned towards her father, standing tall and straight with his wizarding cloak over his shoulders. Dirty blonde hair ran in curls as his eyes stared uncaring at her. Almost as if she could fall to the ground in a heap before him,im, and he couldn't care to lift a finger.

She couldn't decide if anger was better than not caring; at least her mother felt something.

"Father," Winnie added, nodding her head towards him, and for every reason that went against her, she stood taller. She suspected it was due to how he held himself, completely forgetting that he was her blood. She wanted him to r and remember that she was his as well.

"You look filthy," her mother's nose twitched in disgust, eyes narrowed like knives as Winnie sighed. Her eyes traced down the outfit she had picked earlier that morning; though she would never admit it, she had tried hard to look like the daughter they wanted. Though her hair fizzed and tangled at some point, it never worked correctly with her when she wanted. Yet, she still forced herself to swallow the lump in her throat.

"Really? And I tried so hard," she finished with a tilt of her lips, raising a hand to wipe a fake tear away before she walked towards the table.

"She's been hanging out with the mud blood more; it seems fit that she looks like a state," Millie sniffed, sitting across from Winnie and placing a neatly folded napkin across her lap. Winnie wished to throw one of her many spoons at her head, wanting to hear it bounce off her arse, kissing her forehead. The blonde looked better than her, for that matter! With her unbuttoned blouse that was wrinkled and skirt that was twisted the wrong way.

"She's a person, and she's quite brilliant," Winnie defended, her chin high as she stared at her sister, who simply rolled her eyes.

"I think hippogriffs are brilliant, but you don't see me spending time with them," Millie drawled under her breath, loud enough to travel across the table and towards Winnie. Who was placing a piece of chicken on a plate, carrots and peas always taking half of the silver dish.

"Yes, well, you look like you could be a Hippogriff," Winnie retorted, shoving a piece of chicken in her mouth as her sister's eyes darted toward her, glaring at her like she killed her cat.

"Winnie! Apologize to your sister," her mother screeched, eyes wide and hands wrapped around her silverware as she stared widely at her. Winnie's eyes rolled as he sat back in her chair, tapping her mouth with her napkin and looking pointedly at her sister.

"I'm sorry," she paused, watching Millie sniff, raising her chin with a self-satisfied smile.

"Sorry that nobody told you that you look like Merlin's saggy ba-"

"Enough!" Her father's voice boomed around the room, causing Winnie's lips to pause mid-sentence. Hands tightly clasping together under the table, her vision twisted towards her father's dark brown eyes. Scorching her with distaste, he placed his fork and knife on his napkins. Winnie's shoulders squared as her father pushed back his chair, loud screeching running through the hall; she could already hear her mother's words of hysteria over her floor.

Elijah Buldstrode was a man of six feet and two inches, towering over his family members without care. Hands twisted with rings, and brown eyes turned with so much heat it could burn your skin straight off your bones. He was the eldest child of the late Bulstrode family, the second being his sister Emilia Buldstrode, now a Flint by name, Cordelia's mother. Lastly, Elliott Buldstrode had the awful habit of thinking with his junk rather than his mind.

There used to be a rumour that Elijah Buldstrode was responsible for a series of disappearances when he was younger, all people who displeased him. It was rubbed off as nothing but a rumour, but Winnie Buldstrode would always believe it was slightly true. Her father always had a way of making the bravest people feel like they were a coward.

Winnie's jaw tensed, her eyes staring straight at the point on her sister's shoulder. If she managed to flicker her eyes up to Millie's face, she would see the slight fear that trickled through her face for her sister. But it vanished just as quickly as it was there. As he walked closer, the anger that radiated from him choked her dry, her skin prickling and mouth turning so sour she almost gagged.

She was terrified of her own blood as he moved closer to her chair. His hatred was aimed purely at her, cutting right through her hot with a hot brandy iron, burning her from the inside out and creating such a sharp jolt of pain through her body. The hatred, however, made her bones turn to stone, and her body refused to move.

"Winifred," her father's voice was as hot as boiling water, sending her skin crawling as one of his hands came up to rest on her shoulder. She shifted, clutching her hands tighter, enough to cause a slight pop to suffice through the room caused by pressing her ring to her fingers. His hand trailed up the side of her neck, stopping at her chin before his bong fingers gripped her tightly. Swiftly turning her face towards him, she grimaced at the harsh movement of it all, ignoring the pain that emitted through her neck.

It's just a dream.

You're safe.

No harm will come to you here.

"We allow you to live here, allow you to eat the food prepared, allow you to sleep comfortably without a care, allow you to prance around like a halfbreed at school, and how do you repay us?" He questioned lowly, brown eyes staring back into ones that matched his own. She felt the curve of his nails dig into the skin of her chin, causing pain to shoot through her face. She ignored the stinging behind her eyes, not giving him the satisfaction of seeing her cry. "You treat us like dogs; you call your sister vile names when we both know she's better than you." He spat, nostrils flaring as he stared daggers at her eyes. Her neck strained against the hold, twisting in a way that would leave knots and discomfort shooting through it for days.

"I'm sorry, I'll do better," she meant the words, lips trembling as she stared up at his eyes, so much like her own in every way, yet she could not find herself in his eyes in any way. As his fingers tightened around her chin, she felt the urgency of his feelings, as if her skin was a sponge and she soaked up everything. He could kill her, and she doubted he would even blink an eye at the thought. She couldn't be better for them. She couldn't be enough for them; she was never enough. But the fear of her father's vile words and harsh grip made her lie as quickly as it was to breathe.

It's just a dream.

You're safe.

No harm will come to you here.

His fingers dug into her skin too tightly then, causing her to let out a sharp cry of pain as his hand left her face. Only to push her harshly towards the front of the table, her eyes squeezing shut as the wood hit her square in the chest. Her fingers clenched together as she bit sharply on her lip, not wishing to let out another wail of pain. However, her chest heaved sharply, even though her chest was burning with pain, taking over her bloodstream and causing a haggard breath to leave her glaring nostrils.

He could burn you, indeed.

"We have a special surprise tomorrow," Elijah started calmly as if he didn't regard his flesh and blood as nothing more than a piece of meat. "Your cousin Marcus and Carlton will join us for it." She heard the shuffle of a chair being pushed into the table again, resuming dinner as if it was never interrupted.

Not wishing to anger her father further, she pushed her back up against her chair. Her fingers were unclenched painfully as she lifted her hand to her fork. Stabbing a piece of chicken softly and stuffing it into her mouth, grimacing slightly at the pain that shot through her mouth every time she chewed. The pain heaved through her aching chest every time she swallowed, her heart pounded loudly in her ears, while her brown eyes stayed glued to her plate. Suddenly wishing she could lift her hair down rather than up, expecting it to cover her like a curtain to keep her safe from the nightmare.

It's just a dream.

You're safe.

No harm will come to you here.

"Yes, girls, you'll find your best dresses laid out on your beds. We expect you to wear them and be neatly done and cleaned by one o'clock tomorrow, no later," her mother announced, dapping at her lips gently as she eyed her food. Winnie turned her gaze towards her, brown eyes full of fear and anger, willing her mother to look at her. Willing her to protect her from the dreams like she used to, to offer her a hand of comfort.

But Winnie's nightmare was her real life. She would never get out of it.

It's just a dream.

You're safe.

No harm will come to you here.

"What is it, mother?" Millie asked, her voice wavering slightly as she avoided looking at her sister, whose eyes now faded toward her. Winnie's eyes drew to a line, lips pulling downwards as she swallowed the food. The sudden events around her caught up to her then, causing her mouth to run dry and her hands to shake. The pendant on her chest felt too heavy, sagging down her neck and begging her to use it.

Maybe she should; it would all end if she disappeared in a whisk of movement. Perhaps she could wake up from her nightmare, but knew she couldn't. The nightmare would come back; she had to wait, had to wait for a hand to be outstretched through the dark.

"The Dark Lord calls upon us all." "We've been chosen for the better good, dear daughter," Elijah smiled, his eyes on Millie, whose face broke out into a smile. Winnie's stomach whirled as if she would throw up every piece of food she had eaten that day. Her fingers shook slightly as she lifted a glass of water to her lips, staring blankly at the windows now swirling as snow swirled around them. She wondered briefly if a storm was calling them; it would make sense if it was.

It's just a dream.

You're safe.

No harm will come to you here.

Winnie Buldstrode returned to her room fifteen minutes later, her hands shaking and her heart pounding in her ears. She walked straight past the green dress on her bed, past her bookshelves, and past the expansive windows that she spent many of her days staring out of, wishing she was anywhere but here. Her feet carried her to the bathroom, swinging, opening the door and allowing it to shut with a slam behind her.

Winnie Buldstrode tried not to make it a habit of crying. She had called back when she found out her grandfather died when she didn't understand why her parents turned their backs on her. She had cried again in her third year when her parent's hate vested so firmly in her she could not hold it in anymore. A third time this year, when her magic betrayed her in every way and pushed her boundaries beyond repair. A fourth time, when a mix-up of letters greeted her, she fell into a rabbit hole of what-ifs. Finally, a fifth, when her chin was marked with half-moon nail marks, breaking through skin and glistening red. When her chest heaved, begging for air despite the fact it burned with the aftermath of smacking against the wood.

She fell helplessly to her knees when her fingers shook, and her lips trembled. Her body curled in on itself, arms wrapping around her knees and a hand covering her lips. Nightmares swirling around her with greedy hands and smirking lips. Trying to block out the loud sobs of fear and despair, the loneliness that circled in her heart as she rocked herself, alone.

It's just a dream.

You're safe.

No harm will come to you here.

༺♥༻

        𝕿he Manor was eerily quiet when she finally peeled herself up from the frozen floor, her dull eyes casting one subtle look at herself in her bathroom mirror. Her eyes were puffy, red-rimmed with tears that had long since dried into the apples of her cheeks. Flushed, pink half-moon marks trailed along the left side of her chin. Winnie's fingers ran against the marks, hissing slightly as she snagged on a torn piece of skin. Biting her bottom lip, she found her wand tucked into the pocket of her trousers, mumbling a quiet healing charm as a white glow emitted from the tip of her wan prickled, trickling with tiny brushes of magic as she healed her chin.

There was a sharp emptiness in her chest; with every breath, she sucked in and every swallow she took, she felt a hollowness tickle her heart. She felt empty like everything had been sucked out of her, and she could no longer recognize a happy moment in her mind.

Her father would've killed her and wouldn't even think twice about it.

Pushing open her door, she stepped inside her room. Seeing nothing but dull memories of a life she used to have, a life she could've had. In another world, she might've been happy here; laughter filled these walls, and secrets were whispered by the chairs facing the expansive windows.

Alas, she is not that person. Winnie could never be the person her parents may have yearned for her to be. She could never follow them blindly when their ideals seem so twisted when they justify killing others simply because they have a different heritage.

Quickly, she lets her feet carry her out the door and into the bitter hallways of the Manor. The walls in the room seem to have shrunk, her crawling and her chest tightened with anxiety as she flickers her eyes down to the wooden floorboards. She has no idea where she is going; she just knows that she can't stand in that ghost of a room anymore without breaking all over again.

Her wand stays tight between her fingers, knuckles turning white from the urgency. She holds it as if her life might be in danger as she reaches a stairway that leads upstairs. Winnie supposes, after the events that had taken place at dinner, that it may just be the case.

She walks, ears straining against the quietness of the Manor. It can not be much longer after Midnight, with the moon still high in the sky, full of a blossoming glow of white. The light creates shadows against her face as she walks past expansive windows, tracing the straight line of her lips and the pinched line of her eyebrows. Hazel's eyes flicker every few seconds, looking into corners that are full of voids of darkness.

It isn't until she reaches a closed door that she realizes where she stumbled. Wrapping her hands around slowly turns the door opening the door open slowly. It creaks, reaching her ears with a hiss as she tenses, freezing for a moment and casting her eyes over her shoulder.

It stills her, placing her pendant back under her shirt as she turns and walks into the room. Her fingers trace around the silver pendant against her chest, feeling the heat radiate from it in rhythms. The silence tickles her ears, wrapping around her eardrums and whispering secrets of what-ifs. What if she is caught and strangled by the dear hands of her father, another victim falling dead to the thirst of a bloodthirsty wizard? Winnie could take it now, shove the metal in her throat and disappear forever from her family, but there was an urgency to know what would happen tomorrow.

Yellow glows of lit candles flicker across her eyes; a bed lays in the corner, covered in moss-eaten sheets and dust floating around it. Winnie's feet carry her in further, letting the door creak close behind her as she reaches to grasp a candle stick. Her wand was clutched in one hand while her fingers looped around the handle, tiny flickers of heat going through her face as she held the candle stick close.

Up above the bed lays a portrait, white hair with whiskered mustaches, wrinkled skin with dark moles laying in under the eyes. Her grandfather stares down at her, unmoving, with his suit pressed closely to his skin and mousy hair combed to the side of his head. Lips twisted into his typical frown that always laced his skin when he was alive.

"You lack the observant skills I so wish you had," Winnie jolted, eyes widening as she snapped her neck behind her. Spotting rows of library books she used to scroll through as a child, she laid an emerald armchair in the middle. Her mother lay right in the middle, curled up, dressed in the finest silks. A book propped upon her knee, and a steaming cup of tea hovered in front of the air. Winnie blinked, staring at her mother's glowing eyes in the dimly lit room before she turned, looking back up at her grandfather's painting."He only speaks if that's what you are waiting for. We ordered him not to from the painters; he couldn't stand his wheezy drawl." Imogen added, Winnie's eyes floating back to her mother, watching the blonde women wrinkle her nose.

"He would've wanted to speak," Winnie spoke quietly, frowning as she turned towards her grandfather again.

"Yes, because you knew so much about my dear old father," Imogen drawls before Winnie hears a deep sigh from behind her, the abrupt book shutting. "Well, come here. Don't just stand there," her mother orders, a strain in her voice that causes Winnie's shoulders to tense. Sucking on her teeth inside her mouth, the blonde glances one more time at her grandfather before she allows her feet to carry her toward her mother. Imogen Buldstrode sits straighter now, the floating tea cup lying flat on the round table beside the chair. Winnie reaches her, standing tall as her mother's blue eyes trace over her.

It's difficult, for a moment, to feel anything at all from her mother. Until it reached her all at once when her mother reached out to tug her down by her wrist. Causing the young blonde's knees to hit the floorboards, it isn't the sharp pain in her bones that hits her chest; it's the mixed emotions that drown her from her mother. Bitter anger taints Winnie's veins with no surprise; it mixes with guilt. Twisting sharply in her system, turning her cold; somewhere deep down, love is buried deep within it.

Winnie's mouth runs dry, eyes staring at her mother, who stares back at her. Blue eyes traced Winnie's face as the blonde frows her eyebrows, confusion seeping into her skin, prickling and poking at her heart. She had never felt anything other than disappointment from her mother in years; it was a routine, a system that the girl learned to understand, to expect. Until now, when her mother tilts her head, emotions pour out of her like a faucet.

"You look different," Imogen murmured quietly, her manicured fingernails reaching up to take a piece of Winnie's long hair in between her fingers. Rubbing it softly between the pads of her forefinger and thumb, "exhausted. You're usually more ... bright; you seem dull now." Unable to tell if her mother is insulting or curious about the change in her daughter, Winnie pulls her hair away, glancing away as she shifts to her knees.

"Didn't think you noticed anything about me, Mother," Winnie spoke bitterly, rubbing her finger along her wand softly before laying the candlestick she still held onto the round table.

"Don't do that," Imogen snapped sharply, causing Winnie to glance over at her, spotting the tightness of her mother's jaw. "Don't pretend you know how hard it is to be a parent. I see everything." Winnie swallowed, biting down the inside of her cheek as Imogen ran a hand down her hair, blonde locks whisking against her shoulders.

"But you do nothing," Winnie mumbled, staring up at her mother with hard eyes as Imogen turned to look at her. "You show me nothing but hatred and distaste," the blonde added, expecting her mother to perhaps argue and deny her daughter's words no matter how true they were. Instead, her mother sighed, reaching out to place a hand against Winnie's cheeks. Against her better wishes, she leaned into her mother's hand, feeling a sharp, bittersweet happiness trickle down her spine at affection, no matter how twisted it may seem.

"What has happened to you this year?" Imogen whispered, rubbing her thumb against her daughters cheekbones as she stared hard at her face, blue eyes melting into brown as Winnie looked down. Pulling her face away from her mother's hands, no matter how much her body may yearn to stay connected to her.

"Why are you doing this?" Winnie whispers, chewing on her bottom lip and ignoring her mother's glare for the action. "Tomorrow, why are you allowing it to happen? There must be another way, I mean-" she pauses as her mother stands, pushing back the chair with her as she turns, brushing her silk robe against Winnie as she goes. The young blonde pushes herself up, following her mother's figure down through the rows of dusty books. "There must be another way; tell me you know it's wrong. Mother-"

"You don't understand, Winifred; we don't have a choice," her mother snaps, turning to face her as Winnie's feet stumbles. Halting in its frozen state as her eyebrows knot against her head, Winnie shakes her head, a bitter scoff leaving her lips.

"There is always a choice; we could leave right now-"

"How? Don't be such a child, Winifred-"

"I have a way out! This doesn't have to happen, Mother!" Winnie interrupts, fingers clenching as her mother freezes, blue eyes tracing her daughter with a raise of her chin. Her heart sinks, her throat feeling like she swallowed a thousand cotton swabs. The blonde steps back, wishing she knew how to shut her mouth. She had gotten caught up in the split-second affection her mother offered her, the love she had yearned for; she drowned in it and could no longer think.

She was blinded.

"What do you mean?" Imogen questioned slowly, eyes narrowing as Winnie's jaw locked. Biting down on her tongue, she takes another step back, her head shaking. She will say nothing, already spoken too much, any more words about the plan emitted in her brain, and she will have dug her grave. "Your father will kill you if you do this," her mother speaks calmly, though this is a gift of heartbreak that reaches Winnie as the words trickle out of her mother's mouth. Winnie holds back the urge to flinch; there is no point denying that she had felt it herself at dinner.

"I suspect he will kill me either way," Winnie admits, watching her mother lift her chin, sniffing as her shoulders rise quickly. Her breathing was quick and haggard as she had run a thousand miles; the older witch glanced away.

"You are being stupid," her mother's words reach her ears quietly, and though Winnie expected it, her shoulders tightened. Winnie ran her tongue along the back rows of her teeth, mouth twisting as she glanced down at her feet before looking up, squaring her shoulders with whatever bravery she had in her system.

"No. I'm just surviving; you guys left me no choice," Winnie answers simply, watching as her mother looks over at her, a frown lacing her round, delicate features.

"You will have no family," and despite herself, Winnie let a laugh leave her lips. Her lip trembled as she smiled sadly at her mother, feeling Imogen's sadness sweep inside her system.

"I haven't had a family since I turned twelve," the blonde whispers sadly, shaking her head as her mother stalks forward. Winnie's body tenses when her mother wraps her arms around her, a hand placed itself on the back of her head as she tucks Winnie's head into the crook of her neck. Lavender reaches her nose, tickling an old emotion Winnie had tucked away for so long; the only way she could ever keep moving on was to forget her mother's smell. Now, it wraps around her in a warm embrace, making her eyes prickle, and her lip tremble as she wraps her arms around her mother. Winnie doesn't allow herself to question why her mother suddenly shows her affection after so long or what it means. She simply soaks up as much of it as she can now before it's gone.

"I hope one day you will understand everything, my daughter, and I hope this will not be the last time I hear of you," Imogen whispers quietly, pressing a chaste kiss to Winnie's forehead before her arms are gone. Winnie is left standing alone, the warmth of her mother's hug still ghosting around her as Imogen leaves the room, leaving Winnie alone with every thought and every feeling that radiates from her mother.

Tears leak from Winnie's eyes for the second time that night, and she has no will to stop it.

༺♥༻

              𝕮overing you in honey and giving you armour that never faltered. A certain air surrounded you when you wore fine silks; it touched your skin as if you were made from the hands of gods. It made you feel tall like you could enter a room with the most beautiful people and still feel like you were a sight.

It's how Winnie Buldstrode wished she looked as she stood with her hands smoothing down the green skirt of her dress. Her brown eyes were sunken, burrowed deep with violet shadows under her eyes. She hadn't slept the night before and stayed curled up into a ball on the green armchair in her grandfather's room. She hadn't even realized that she stayed there for so long. Tears had choked her dry, leaving her lips chapped and tears hard with dried tears. Her face pressed against the cold stone as her fingers wrapped tightly around the pendant.

She could use it, she thought. She could disappear forever and never return. But it wasn't enough; it wasn't enough to make her leave. They gave her a way out, but the fear pooling into her soul made her as cowardly as a snake. Fear that Harry and Hermione could be harmed, fear that she showed up so suddenly if she showed up so short, they would accuse her of wasting it. Fear that if she left, she would forget the smell of her mother's skin.

Maybe they needed to know what he was like, how he held himself. She didn't realize that they already knew more than she ever did.

So she stayed, turning herself into a shell of who she was. She wished to be around a boy with brunette hair as she fastened her curls behind her head in a green ribbon. She missed the comfort he offered her, the simplicity of simply existing around someone who didn't expect anything of her. Who didn't ask her questions she couldn't answer? Who didn't push her? She missed Theodore Nott more than she would ever care to admit.

However, she put thoughts of him out of her mind, stilling herself to think of nothing but a blank coldness. Her fingers reached forward, tracing a small smiley face into the window, her body leaning against the wall in her room, trying to cover herself from the fear of being caught by the small bubble of light she created for herself despite the looming nightmare that surrounded her. Her eyes watched as dark clouds rolled over the skies above; it seemed a storm had greeted them. As if the gods above knew of the terrors that would occur that day and had taken their anger out of the world.

She could see the tree she would climb as a child, the tree that stood taller than the hedges, taller than the forest, separate from any demons and the world surrounding it. It was Winnie's favourite tree, her favourite place to run and hide, to pretend she wasn't anyone important. That her life simply existed to watch muggles in their everyday life; she wished for their freedom. An action she finds herself still wanting to this day, she may be a lion, but she was never free of the snakes.

It's just a dream.

You're safe.

No harm will come to you here.

A knock ran around her room, causing her body to stiffen, eyes squeezing shut as she tried to brace herself for the words that she knew would come. Expect, they never did. She was only greeted with footsteps walking through her room, towards her where she stood beside the windows, beside the looking bookcase she hadn't touched. She didn't dare turn around to look at who it was; she kept her eyes trained on the same tree now, wishing for its escape.

"Cousin," Marcus Flint's voice trailed around her, causing her shoulders to relax in a way she never did around him. They may never stand on common ground, but for that moment, Winnie took comfort in knowing he meant no harm to her. She turned her gaze to him, seeing his hair gelled back in a way that screamed Malfoy in his first year. She wrinkled her nose at the thought, choosing to look back at the tree instead. "You look horrid."

"Ah, it's the notorious welcome home present," Winnie retorted, her hand leaving her chin as she stared out the window. Marcus was quiet after that; out of the corner of her eye, she could see him watching her, dark eyes staring at her with his lips pressed to a frown. She shifted in under the weight of his stare, her heeled feet clicking against the floor. "Does Cordelia know?" She questioned finally, breaking the silence, as she turned to look at him, watching as his lips pressed to a frown.

"No," he replied quickly; this time, he turned and looked out the window. Situations reversed as she studied him, another common ground breached under their feet. Their lies to Cordelia Flint piled up on top of each other; she could only wonder whose pile would fall first.

A sharp crack emitted through the air, causing Winnie to swiftly turn around, Marcus following suit as they stared at a tiny house elf. Tillie, by rights, with a pink pillowcase over her petite body.

"Tillie is to tell Miss and Mister that it's time; they must come down right now, Tillie says," and with a crack, they are left alone. It's time. The air swirling around them, all too thick and suffocating as Winnie's hands began to shake once more. Her breath came out heavily as she stared at the empty spot where the house elf was.

It's just a dream.

You're safe.

No harm will come to you here.

Her eyes shot open as she felt a hand wrap around her wrist; the long sleeves she swore fell in wide holes at her shoulders, acting like a cape more than a sleeve. She looked down at her wrist, seeing Marcus's hands gripping them tightly. "You need to breathe, Winnie; this is not a time to be weak," Marcus advised, eyes hard as stone as she turned her attention toward him.

"I'm not weak!" She argued, eyes narrowing as he rolled his eyes. Her wrist tore from his hands as he held out his arm for her to take.

"Yeah, yeah, alright. You're a scary lion, doesn't mean you can't be afraid," Marcus spoke sternly, arm still outstretched as she stood clenching her hands into fists. "You just can't show that right now. It's time to be smart, not stupid," he added, turning his head downwards as she pressed her lips into a line. Before she swiftly moved forward, laying her hand in the crook of his elbow.

"Why are you here? We don't like each other much; we only share Cordelia as a common ground," she spoke, keeping her eyes straight ahead as they walked out of her room.

"Yes, well, Cordelia would want me here," Marcus replied nonchalantly, their feet clicking as they walked down the staircase. Winnie's skin crawled, and her hand squeezed the skin on his arm tighter as they neared the dining hall. Whether he minded that she did so, he didn't say anything. She eyed him from the corner of her eye, deciding that his answer was enough for her. Cordelia Flint was someone they both cared for profoundly and, by default, each other.

"Thank you," she whispered, keeping her gaze trained in front of him. His hand reached up, laying on top of hers as he squeezed her fingers tightly before dropping his hand again. She didn't get to say anything further, for they reached the doors, allowing them to swing open slowly. Her heart pounded loudly in her ears, fingers turning white as she squeezed his arm, pulling any bravery she had in her to the front as she walked with her head held high.

And as her eyes saw searing red staring at her through beady eyes, she knew the absolute nightmare hadn't even started.

It's just a dream.

You're safe.

No harm will come to you here.

EDITED MAY 11TH 2023 /