CHAPTER I:

The Girl with an Eye

♱

𝕻riscilla Foster. Single mother of two. Came from a big family of syndicates, trying to give her children a life much better than what she grew up to. Working from a 9-5 job; on some days, Priscilla would miss the taste of corrupted luxury and dirty bands of cash. But she left that life way behind her and chose to live in the shadows. And for it, her family thought of her as a traitor. It was as if they nurtured a viper in their bosom, she was a stain in their own bloodline.

Wake up, cook breakfast, get her children ready for school, go to work, cook dinner, go to another work, sleep. Repeat. It was a fixed routine for her, never did she change one thing about them — it might be tiresome and repetitive but it was a relief to her, knowing what's going to happen and it was the same thing every single day.

It was Wednesday, still a busy day for London. Priscilla came back from her office job and immediately ran to the kitchen. The house felt quiet although the television was playing loud enough that it is possible even the neighbours could hear about Jamie, a young lad with an Osmonds blow-wave, yellow pyjamas and a bobble-hatted hat who has a torch revealing the psychedelic fantasy world of Cuckooland. She opened the pantry only to see a single can of beans, sitting there alone in the dark. Priscilla pulled out a barely working rusty can opener and rotated the knob to cut it open.

Priscilla poured the can of beans into a cheap plastic plate and then feasted on the reddish-brown plump beans soaked in a gooey brine. As their dinner finished — the moon rose up and the night ate the day. Only the bright-lit moon and the blinking street lights were lighting up their silent neighbourhood. Now that everything's done, time for her night job. The train station was only a walking distance away from her neighbourhood but Priscilla still rushed herself out of fear that someone might jump her at this late night. Well of course, growing up in a family of criminals, you will learn a thing or two — but she cannot take any chances.

The night was particularly cold and breezy, her hair was slapping in her face and her coat was flying in the air trying to get away from her arms. An evening was filled with a bustling crowd at the King's Cross, and Priscilla was pushing herself through the tight and almost bursting at the seams train station.

It was a normal day for Priscilla, until it was not. A single mother of two, found dead in King's Cross Station. Murdered, lying lifeless in a busy night of London.

There was a ghost crawling inside Siobhan's mind, a woman whom she had not known once in her life, nothing but a stranger.

It was the 1st of September 1977, Siobhan dragged a cart filled with her trunks across the halls of the train station. She turned her head around, her eyes scanning the packed mob of muggles and wizard kinds striding into their intended destinations. The petite girl, her arms and legs were thin, almost fragile, still struggling to force herself into the thick crowd, it almost felt like she was a sardine stuck into a thin aluminium can.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry," She'd repeatedly apologise as they stare at her whenever her body and her huge cart, almost as if she packed her whole house with her, would crash into them.

Siobhan can't help but bump again to a stranger, it was a woman, just a bit taller than her, her cheeks were hollow, accentuating her sharp cheekbones, and her collarbones stood out prominently against her chest. And her curly hair was swept up into a messy bun, the loose tendrils escaping framed her face.

The woman gave her an uneasy look and shouted at her face, "Watch where you're going!" but her voice was almost muffling in Siobhan's ears. And her vision was all a blur and she could feel the cart slowly getting out of her grasp. There was a whirlwind of sensations, it was almost as if she was being transported into another person's body. She slowly opened her eyes, she was still in King's Cross Station but the light was gone and the moon was shining through the sunroof.

She felt every whisper of air on her skin, every flicker of light in her vision, as though her senses had been amplified. The body she was in was soaking in blood, her breath caught in her throat, a gasp escaping her lips as the agony intensified. The world around her blurred, her vision narrowing to a tunnel focused on the source of her pain. Every heartbeat seemed to amplify the throbbing, the sharp ache radiating from the wound, making her acutely aware of every nerve, every inch of this body. Siobhan could feel every bit of pain as if it was hers. Her consciousness floated, detached from the physical pain, observing someone's body struggle with a detached curiosity.

It was the woman.

Siobhan came back to her senses, time seemed to stretch and contort, moments feeling like eternity, but in reality — she was only gone a swift. Despite the throng of people moving around her, she seemed isolated, as if a bubble of stillness surrounded her. She was just there, standing still, in the middle of the crowd.

As the gods condemned Sisyphus, a trickster who tried to cheat death — into an eternal punishment of rolling a boulder up a hill only for it to roll back down each time he reached the top; Sissyphus still felt contentment in his futile labour. A French muggle philosopher argued that death is the unavoidable end that underscores the absurdity of existence. It makes clear that no matter what we achieve or how we live, death will eventually nullify our efforts. Siobhan never liked the concept of death, or the act of dying itself. She loathes how mortifying it is and thinks about all the blood, sweat, and tears she had shed through her lifetime only to result in a meaningless death, like every other man, ordinary man, in this world. Disappearing just like that? It disgusted her.

She was dying, she felt as though she were teetering on the edge of existence, experiencing the sensations of dying. Her mind remained acutely aware, trapped in this liminal state between life and death. Siobhan was not dead, but she experienced for the first time what it was like to die. Was it called phantom dying? or some such thing.

"It wasn't real," she whispered to herself.

"What isn't?" She hears a voice coming behind her. Siobhan turned her body around only to see two girls, Eden Conkin and Manon Walker.

"What took you so long, Shiv? It felt like eternity trying to find you," Eden spoke in grievance.

"You are aware we have to get there early, right? We have to set an example," Manon lectured her, walking in a haste. Both Siobhan and Eden had no choice but to keep up to her speed.

Siobhan could not comprehend what just happened. She slapped her face and felt a burning, stinging pain through her skin.

"Ow!" she exclaimed. Her pale skin reddening as blood rushes to the surface. One thing's for sure, she is alive and breathing.

"Shiv, are you okay?" Eden asked.

"Yes, Eddie. I'm fine," Siobhan replied in return

"You don't seem like it. Did something happen?" Manon gave her a concerning look.

Siobhan didn't breathe a word about what had happened to her, as alarming as it might have seemed, she chose to keep it to herself. She wondered if it had all been a figment of her imagination, perhaps brought on by sheer exhaustion. After all, she had collapsed into bed at three in the morning and had barely touched her breakfast, waking up late and scrambling to get ready.

The bustling scene at Platform 9 ¾ was a whirlwind of excitement and anticipation. Parents and their children hurried through the barrier, their trolleys clattering over the cobblestones. The air was filled with the shrill whistles of the Hogwarts Express and the chatter of students reuniting with their peers. Trunks thudded onto the platform, and owls hooted from their cages, their amber eyes wide with curiosity. As the three girls entered the train, Siobhan settled in the Prefects' compartment, Manon patrolled the corridors, and Eden was with her fellow quidditch team mates.

Remus Lupin, a fellow prefect from the house Gryffindor pulled out a worn, faded leather notebook. He was squinting, quickly scanning the light yellow pages of his notebook. Another prefect from the house, Lily Evans, then cleared out her throat to catch everyone's attention.

Lily Evans gave a glance to every person in the compartment as her lips curve into a gentle arc. "I see the same faces here, except for Severus Snape and Heather Tintwistle," greeting them with a quick smile. "It is a pleasure to see all of you."

The prefect from house Slytherin, Severus Snape had the same grim expression in his face only that there was a hint of light in his dark sullen eyes, which have gone unnoticed for others but Siobhan. She looked at both of them, only to see Severus Snape fixating his eyes intensely on Lily Evans, while she was conversing with the newly instated prefect of house Hufflepuff, Heather Tintwistle.

"If you guys haven't heard, Rosie Burns has been murdered. And as to pay our respects, we will be arranging a memorial ceremony in respect of her name," said Remus Lupin with sorrow written on his face.

The summer of 1977 was filled with Rosie Burns' face posted on the walls of London and Hogsmeade Village and was found dead along the depths of alleyways of Knockturn. Rosie Burns was the prefect of Hufflepuff, a muggle-born who was known for her kindred spirit and steady demeanour. With her strawberry blonde hair cascading in soft waves, complementing her warm tan skin, Rosie exudes a natural grace that draws others to her, only that it seems even the worst of the worst were also drawn to her.

"She was a sweet girl, we lost her at such a young age. I'm sure she would've had a great future," Lily Evans expressed in a mournful manner.

"May she rest in peace," Orla Mulciber, another prefect of Slytherin, uttered. Her eyes, perhaps hazel or green, rolled dramatically, and a smirk played on her thin pale lips, underlining the irony in her statement.

Siobhan was sickened with her insolence.

She then gave her a sarcastic smile. "Do not mock the dead, Orla."

Orla Mulciber let out a scoff. "And what will the dead do to me, Xu?"

"Well, I do not know. But isn't that....a basic form of respect?" asked Siobhan, expressionless. "Or maybe you know nothing of respect," she whispered.

"I heard that!" Orla exclaimed, slamming the table.

Orla Mulciber's outburst was interrupted when the door was opened revealing a startled James Potter. The boy almost hit his head in the casing of the doorway, he scratched his head in annoyance, making his curly dark hair dishevelled.

"Is everything okay?" he asked in concern.

Orla's cheeks flush with a noticeable scarlet tint, spreading to her ears and neck, it was almost as if she turned into a ripe red tomato. "Everything is absolutely fine! How can we be of help to you, James?" she looked at him, expecting a response.

Siobhan's eyebrows furrowed as she heard the voice who was full of rage and was as deep as the depths of hell turn into a voice of a twelve year old girl. High, pitchy, sweet as a candy. It was a shock to her how someone's attitude could change in a swift.

James Potter did not take a single glimpse of Orla but to Lily Evans instead. "Uhm...Lily, can I talk to you?"

Orla turned her head away in mortification. And the rest of the ride was creeping silent.

♱

Siobhan stepped off the train, her heels crunching on the gravel. The dark silhouettes of the carriages waited in the distance, their eerie passengers obscured in shadow. She could feel the pull of their quiet presence even before she saw them.

As they approached, the sight of the Thestrals stole her breath. Winged horses with skeletal frames stood silently, their thin, leathery skin stretched over protruding bones. Their massive, bat-like wings folded neatly against their sides, and their ghostly, pale eyes gleamed faintly in the moonlight.

Siobhan stopped in her tracks, her heart racing. She had read about them before, and Eden had described them vividly during their second year, but seeing the creatures now was something else entirely. They were both haunting and strangely beautiful, exuding a calm that belied their macabre appearance.

"Are those... Thestrals?" Siobhan whispered, her voice barely audible.

Eden glanced at her, her expression softening. "You can see them now?"

Siobhan nodded slowly, her wide eyes fixed on the nearest creature. It regarded her with a steady, knowing gaze, and she felt an inexplicable connection to it. Was it her brush with death — however fleeting or illusory — that had unlocked this vision? The question gnawed at her as she climbed into the carriage.

I can see them. The thought struck her like a lightning bolt. Her mind raced as she tried to understand why she could now see these creatures, their unsettling beauty filling her with a strange mixture of awe and discomfort.

She could feel the weight of their silent observation as they regarded her, their pale eyes unblinking, as if they were waiting for her to understand something they knew but could not share. Her stomach churned as she tried to make sense of it all. Had it been her visions? Her experiences with death, even if only in fleeting glimpses, that had made her see them?

As one of the Thestrals turned its head slowly, its gaze locking with hers, Siobhan felt an overwhelming sense of vulnerability, as if the creature could see deep into her heart, into the darkest corners of her soul. A wave of dizziness hit her, and she quickly looked away, blinking rapidly as if to clear the unsettling image. Her mind was swirling with too many questions, but the answers felt far too distant.

The creature's presence was oddly calming, like it was reminding her that death, though terrifying and inevitable, was not always to be feared. But in the same breath, it was an omen. A reminder that she had witnessed something — whether real or not — that had made her different, made her aware of things she hadn't been before.

She glanced at Eden and Manon, both of whom seemed unfazed, though they must have sensed the shift in her mood. Manon caught her gaze and gave her a sympathetic look. "You alright?" she asked quietly.

Siobhan nodded slowly, her throat tight. She swallowed, trying to force the unease out of her system, but it lingered, gnawing at the edges of her thoughts. She wasn't sure if it was the Thestrals themselves or the strange realization that she could see them now — the feeling that the invisible boundaries of life and death had somehow started to blur. But she couldn't shake the feeling that this sight, this moment, was somehow tied to something much deeper, something darker that she couldn't yet understand.

"Yeah," Siobhan finally managed, her voice soft, though it trembled ever so slightly. "I'm fine."

But she wasn't. Not really. The sight of the Thestrals had shaken her in a way she hadn't expected. They weren't just creatures of the night or symbols of death. They were witnesses, like her — silent observers of the lives and deaths that crossed their paths. And now, it seemed, she had become one of them.

Siobhan shook her head, trying to push the unsettling feeling of the Thestrals out of her mind. She took a deep breath, willing herself to focus on something — anything — else.

"That train ride was painful," she muttered, her voice laced with frustration as she adjusted the straps of her bag, trying to distract herself from the lingering chill that had settled in her chest.

Eden raised an eyebrow, clearly curious but also a little concerned. "What the hell happened there anyway?" she asked, her tone blunt as always but with a hint of something softer beneath it.

Siobhan ran a hand through her hair, looking around the darkened grounds of Hogwarts as they walked toward the entrance. "Orla Mulciber," she said, the words tasting bitter in her mouth.

Eden's expression shifted immediately, her eyes narrowing slightly as she processed the name. A low sigh escaped her lips as she shook her head in understanding.

"Right," she said with a knowing look, falling silent as she took in Siobhan's irritated mood. There was no need for any further explanation; Eden could already tell that Orla's behavior had struck a nerve. Orla's obnoxious smirks and sharp tongue were never far from trouble, and Siobhan had always been the one to get tangled in her web.

Siobhan wasn't sure why, but the exchange with Orla had left her on edge, her emotions simmering just below the surface. It wasn't just the words they had exchanged, or Orla's annoying smirk. It was something deeper — a sense of discomfort she couldn't quite shake.

"I hate that she can just get under my skin like that," Siobhan continued, her voice quieter now as she tried to articulate the frustration gnawing at her. "She's always been like this, but today... I don't know. It's like she was pushing me, testing me."

Eden looked over at her, her face softening a little. "You don't have to explain. I get it. Some people are just like that — like she's looking for a reason to cause trouble."

Siobhan nodded, her gaze drifting back to the towering silhouette of Hogwarts ahead. She could still feel the heat in her cheeks from her confrontation with Orla, the frustration bubbling just under the surface, but she also felt the weight of the Thestrals' gaze linger in the back of her mind. There was something about the entire evening that felt off, and she couldn't quite place it.

"Let's just get inside," Siobhan said, her voice steady now, though her mind was still unsettled. "I don't think I can handle any more of this weirdness tonight."

♱

As twilight gives way to darkness, the castle's silhouette looms against the star-studded sky. The ancient stone walls, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, seem to hold centuries of secrets within their rugged facade. Hogwarts was a treat to Siobhan's eyes; with its mediaeval Gothic architecture, high-vaulted ceilings, and intricate, ivy-clad archways. She had a taste for art; from the great Lady Zhongji to italians like Vitruvius and Botticelli. Despite being of witch ancestry, she still feels connected to her muggle roots.

Siobhan, Eden, and Manon stood before the large, ornate mirror in their dormitory, making final adjustments to their robes. The evening felt weighty, a sense of anticipation hanging in the air, but there was a heaviness about it that none of them could shake. Manon tightened her tie with extra precision, while Eden absentmindedly tugged at the hem of her robe.

Siobhan glanced at them both, her voice quieter than usual. "Ready?"

Eden gave a distracted smile, glancing up from the mirror. "Yeah, let's go."

Together, they walked down the hallway toward the Great Hall, surrounded by the excited chatter of students. Though the castle buzzed with the energy of the new school year, Siobhan felt detached, her thoughts swirling with darker concerns.

As the three girls entered the Great Hall, they were greeted by the familiar sight of first-year students waiting to be sorted. Siobhan's gaze immediately found her younger sister, Bonnie, standing nervously in line, clutching the edge of the Sorting Hat. Their eyes met across the room, and Siobhan offered Bonnie a soft, reassuring smile.

The Great Hall buzzed with excitement as students, new and old, filled the long tables. Candles floated lazily in the air, casting a warm glow across the room, while the enchanted ceiling mirrored the starry night sky. Siobhan sat at the Ravenclaw table, her sharp eyes scanning the room. Orla Mulciber was at the Slytherin table, whispering to her peers, her smirk as unsettling as ever. Siobhan felt a pang of unease, her instincts whispering that Orla was somehow connected to everything brewing beneath the surface of the school.

The Sorting Hat was brought out, placed ceremoniously on the stool. A hush fell over the hall as the Hat began its song. This year's tune was darker, its cadence slower, and the words felt heavy, weighted with a warning.

"The times are dark, the ties will strain,

A growing rift, a hidden bane.

Within these walls, a shadow stirs,

Betrayal lurks, and silence purrs.

United, strong, you'll see the day,

Divided, all will fade away.

Heed my words, both young and old,

A story ends, but not yet told."

The students exchanged uneasy glances as the Hat's warning echoed through the hall. Siobhan felt a chill crawl up her spine. This was no typical whimsical rhyme about bravery, intelligence, loyalty, or cunning — it felt like a prophecy.

"Xu, Bonnie!" Professor McGonagall called.

Bonnie stepped forward, her hands trembling slightly. The hat barely touched her head before it bellowed, "Gryffindor!"

The Gryffindor table erupted in cheers, but Bonnie hesitated, her eyes flickering toward Siobhan at the Ravenclaw table. Their gazes locked for a moment, Bonnie's filled with fear and confusion, Siobhan's with forced reassurance.

As Bonnie made her way to the Gryffindor table, Siobhan felt a pang of guilt. They had always promised to stick together, Shiv had always promised that she would always look out for her sister...together, no matter what. But now, for the first time, they were separated — not just by houses but by the swirling uncertainty that seemed to loom over the castle this year.

Eden nudged Siobhan. "She'll be fine. She's tougher than she looks."

Siobhan gave a faint smile. "I hope you're right."

The rest of the Sorting passed uneventfully, but Siobhan couldn't shake the heaviness in her chest. Even as the feast began and the aroma of roasted meats, pumpkin pasties, and treacle tart filled the air, her appetite remained absent.

Eden and Manon noticed her lack of appetite but said nothing, both focused on the conversations flowing around them. Siobhan's thoughts, however, were elsewhere — haunted by the shadow of something dark, something she couldn't yet name.

She glanced across the Slytherin table, catching the eyes of Orla Mulciber, who seemed to look at her a moment too long. Siobhan's stomach tightened. The sensation of being watched gnawed at her, but she forced herself to look away, trying to focus on anything but the unease creeping into her thoughts.

After the feast, the usual chatter and laughter filled the hall, but an undercurrent of tension lingered. Siobhan overheard a group of seventh-years from Hufflepuff whispering as she passed their table.

"Do you think the Aurors will ever find out who killed her?" one asked, his voice low but urgent.

"They've already ruled it unsolvable," another replied with a shake of their head. "They're calling it a random act of violence. But we all know better."

Siobhan's heart quickened. She slowed her steps, pretending to adjust her tie while leaning closer to hear.

"They say it happened because of something she found in Knockturn Alley," the girl continued, her voice barely above a whisper. "Something tied to the Death Eaters."

The mention of the Death Eaters sent shivers down Siobhan's spine. Her gaze darted across the room, settling on Severus Snape leaning close to Mulciber. They were speaking in hushed tones, their expressions serious. Snape's face was inscrutable, but his intensity suggested their conversation was anything but casual.

After the feast, the three made their way back to the Ravenclaw common room, the brisk echo of their footsteps filling the quiet corridors. The door, carved with intricate constellations and riddles that shimmered faintly in the torchlight, opened with a low, ponderous creak as they approached.

Inside, the familiar scene of Ravenclaw life unfolded. The room, bathed in the soft glow of floating candles, buzzed with quiet activity. Students lounged in the high-backed armchairs near the hearth, their laughter and conversations mingling with the occasional rustle of parchment and the scratching of quills. Others were already engrossed in books, some leaning against the tall windows that offered a breathtaking view of the moonlit grounds below.

Manon immediately took on her role as a steady presence among her peers, her gaze sweeping the room with practiced ease. Without hesitation, she wove her way toward a cluster of first-years huddled awkwardly near the entrance, their expressions a mix of awe and apprehension. She crouched slightly to meet their eyes, her tone warm as she reassured them. "Everyone get here all right? Dorms all sorted? Let me know if you need anything." The younger students visibly relaxed, nodding and offering timid smiles.

Siobhan, however, stood apart from the hum of activity, barely noticing Manon's efforts or the lively scene around her. She lingered near the edge of the room, her gaze sweeping across the faces gathered there. At first, it seemed casual, as if she were simply taking in the crowd. But her eyes moved with purpose, lingering just a beat too long on the unfamiliar faces of the first-years scattered throughout the room.

Her mind buzzed with questions that refused to settle.

The room around her seemed distant, the students' voices reduced to a faint hum at the edge of her awareness. Someone laughed nearby, a bright sound that should have pulled her from her reverie, but it barely registered. Her gaze flitted over a boy hunched over a chessboard, a pair of girls animatedly discussing their new classes, a first-year flipping nervously through a book much too advanced for them. Each face blurred together, indistinct in the haze of her restless thoughts.

Manon's voice broke through the fog, sharp but not unkind. "Shiv?"

She blinked, startled, and turned to find Manon watching her, a note of concern in her eyes. Beside her, Rowan, the head boy, raised an eyebrow, his arms crossed as he leaned casually against the back of a chair.

"You okay?" Manon asked, her tone low enough to keep the question private. "You've been quiet since the feast."

"I'm fine," Siobhan said quickly, but her voice lacked conviction. She glanced back toward the first-years, the unease still gnawing at the edges of her mind. "Just... tired. Long day."

Manon didn't look entirely convinced, but she let it slide, giving Siobhan a small nod. "Fair enough. Get some rest — you'll feel better tomorrow."

Rowan, however, didn't let her off so easily. "You're distracted," he said bluntly, his keen eyes studying her. "Something on your mind?"

Siobhan hesitated, her grip tightening slightly on the edge of her tie. She considered brushing him off, but the weight of the day made it hard to summon her usual deflection.

"Just... thinking about something strange," she admitted finally, though she kept her tone vague. "Nothing important."

Rowan didn't look convinced, but before he could press further, Manon gave him a light shove. "Leave her alone, Rowan. If she says she's fine, she's fine."

Siobhan managed a faint smile, grateful for the reprieve, and turned toward the stairs leading to the dormitories. "I think I'll head up. Goodnight."

"Goodnight," Manon called after her, while Rowan offered a noncommittal grunt.

As Siobhan climbed the winding staircase to the girls' dormitory, the noise of the common room faded behind her, replaced by the rhythmic creak of the steps beneath her feet. Her mind, however, remained anything but quiet. The vision of this unknown woman's death, suddenly seeing Thestrals — it was all confusing to her.

Reaching her dormitory, she pushed open the door and slipped inside. The room was cozy and warm, illuminated by the soft glow of enchanted lanterns. Her roommates were already there, chatting in hushed tones or settling into their beds. Siobhan offered a distracted smile and a murmured "Goodnight" before retreating to her own bed.

She lay back against the pillows, her wand resting on the table beside her. Sleep felt like a distant possibility, but she closed her eyes and tried anyway, her thoughts churning into the night.

♱

That night, Siobhan's sleep was a fragile, fractured thing. She drifted in and out of uneasy slumber, her mind caught in a tangle of half-formed thoughts and memories. When she finally succumbed to a deeper sleep, it brought her no peace — only a vivid, haunting dream.

She was back at the train station. The scene was achingly familiar: the bustling crowds moving with purpose, the crisp, cold air biting at her skin, and the distant sound of a whistle echoing through the cavernous space. But this time, everything felt sharper, more oppressive. The world seemed muted, the colors dull, as though the scene existed in some liminal space between reality and nightmare.

In the center of it all stood the woman at the train station. Siobhan's heart clenched at the sight of her. The stranger's face was drawn, her once-vibrant features now gaunt and shadowed, but her eyes burned with a fierce, unrelenting determination that defied her fragile appearance.

"Hey!" Siobhan called, but her voice seemed to vanish into the void, swallowed by the unnatural silence that enveloped the station.

She didn't respond. She stood motionless for a moment, her gaze fixed on something unseen, her body tense with an almost preternatural awareness. Then, suddenly, she turned sharply, her head snapping to the side as though she'd heard something — or sensed it.

Siobhan felt it too. A chill crept through the air, and an oppressive weight pressed down on her chest. Fear surged, sharp and visceral, but it wasn't her own.

Siobhan tried to move, to step forward, to shout a warning, but her body refused to obey. She was trapped, a helpless observer as the dream unfolded.

The air crackled with energy, and Siobhan's eyes locked onto the woman, desperate to convey a warning. But there was no time.

A blinding flash of green light seared through the dream, obliterating everything in its wake.

Siobhan bolted upright in bed, gasping for breath as though she'd been drowning. Her chest heaved, her heart pounding a frantic rhythm against her ribs. It took her a moment to register her surroundings — the familiar, comforting space of the Ravenclaw dormitory — but the lingering echoes of the dream refused to release her.

Her sheets were damp with sweat, clinging uncomfortably to her skin. Her hands trembled as she raised them to her face, brushing away tears she hadn't realized she'd shed. The vividness of the dream left her disoriented, the images of the woman's face and the searing green light burned into her mind.

The room was silent, save for the faint sound of her roommates' even breathing. Siobhan drew in a shaky breath, willing herself to calm down, but the dream's intensity refused to fade. Her pulse still raced, and her skin prickled with the ghost of the fear she'd felt.

Throwing back her covers, she swung her legs over the side of the bed, planting her feet on the cold wooden floor. The chill grounded her, offering a small reprieve from the storm raging in her mind.

She reached for her wand on the bedside table, clutching it tightly as though its familiar weight could anchor her.

"What's happening to me?" she whispered into the darkness, her voice shaking.

The dream wasn't just a dream — it felt like a memory. Or something more.

As the common room grew quieter, Siobhan excused herself, slipping away unnoticed. Her footsteps were soft as she walked through the common room, her mind heavy with a mix of unease and curiosity. She didn't know where she was going, only that she couldn't stay confined in the common room with the oppressive sense of dread building inside her.

The heavy wooden door of the dormitory clicked shut behind her, and she found herself in the dim, sprawling halls of Hogwarts. The sconces lining the walls flickered weakly, their golden glow barely pushing back the shadows. The castle at night was an entirely different world — mysterious, ancient, alive in a way that made Siobhan feel both insignificant and watched.

Her footsteps were soft, but every sound — every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of her robes — seemed amplified in the stillness. Her mind raced, a jumble of unease and curiosity swirling in her chest. She didn't know why she had left the warmth of the common room or where she was heading. She only knew that staying put hadn't been an option, not with the oppressive sense of dread coiling tighter and tighter inside her.

The corridors stretched endlessly before her, the familiar stone walls seeming foreign in the faint light. Shadows pooled in every corner, spilling across the cold floors in strange, shifting shapes. Siobhan's eyes darted to every movement, though most were just tricks of the light or the castle settling in its ancient bones.

She descended a staircase without thinking, her pace quickening as the air grew cooler. The corridors became narrower, less familiar, their labyrinthine twists and turns leading her closer to the outer edges of the castle. Somewhere deep inside, she knew where she was going before her conscious mind caught up.

Ahead, through a narrow window, she caught a glimpse of the grounds bathed in moonlight. The Forbidden Forest loomed in the distance, a dark, jagged silhouette against the star-speckled sky. The sight sent a shiver down her spine.

Her pace faltered for the first time. Logic prickled at the edge of her thoughts, warning her of the danger of wandering the castle at night, let alone stepping beyond its protective walls. But the pull was stronger than reason. She couldn't explain it, but it thrummed in her chest like a second heartbeat, growing louder with every step.

The night air hit her immediately, sharp and bracing. The scent of damp grass and distant pine filled her lungs as she stepped out onto the stone steps. The castle loomed behind her, its many spires silhouetted against the starry sky, but her focus was drawn forward.

She moved quickly across the dew-damp grass, the pull in her chest growing stronger with every step. There was no logic to it, no clear reason why she was drawn to the forest's edge, but she couldn't stop now. The oppressive weight that had driven her from the common room had morphed into something else — something urgent, undeniable, and inexplicably right.

Reaching the forest's edge, she paused. The ancient trees rose before her like silent sentinels, their gnarled branches twisting together to form an impenetrable wall of shadow. The air here was different — heavier, charged with a magic that was both alluring and dangerous.

As she stepped beneath the canopy of gnarled branches, the air grew cooler, damp with the earthy scent of moss and pine. Moonlight filtered through the dense foliage, casting shifting patterns on the forest floor. Her footsteps were slow, deliberate, her ears attuned to every crack of twigs and rustle of leaves. The farther she went, the more the forest seemed alive — not with the usual hum of nature, but with something deeper, older. Magic. It thrummed beneath her skin, a low, steady pulse that made the hair on the back of her neck stand on end.

Siobhan's wand was already in her hand, her fingers gripping it tightly as she pressed forward. She couldn't say what she was looking for — maybe answers, or maybe just silence. But the forest had other plans.

A low growl broke the fragile quiet. It came from the shadows to her left, reverberating through her chest like a warning drumbeat. Her heart leapt, her breath hitching as she froze in place. Slowly, she turned toward the sound, every instinct screaming at her to run but her curiosity rooting her in place.

The growl grew softer, replaced by the faint crunch of leaves. Then, stepping into the pale shaft of moonlight ahead of her, a figure emerged — a centaur.

Siobhan had seen centaurs before, from a distance, but never this close. Its coat was a deep chestnut, muscles rippling beneath its sleek hide, and its dark, intelligent eyes gleamed with a mix of curiosity and something sharper — something that felt like judgment.

"You shouldn't be here," it said, its voice deep and resonant, like the forest itself was speaking through it.

"I didn't mean to—" Siobhan started, her voice trembling, but the centaur held up a hand, silencing her. Its gaze shifted suddenly, piercing the darkness behind her.

"They're watching you," it said, each word weighted with meaning that made Siobhan's stomach twist.

"Who's watching me?" she asked, glancing over her shoulder instinctively. The trees stood silent, their shadows unmoving.

The centaur didn't answer. Instead, it turned abruptly, its hooves striking the ground with a hollow thud as it galloped away, disappearing into the depths of the forest.

Siobhan stood frozen, her thoughts racing. They're watching you. The words echoed in her mind, twisting into a thousand implications. Who? What? And why? Her instincts told her the centaur wasn't speaking in riddles for sport. Its words were a warning.

She glanced behind her again, her grip on her wand tightening. She felt exposed, as though the forest itself had eyes. The shadows seemed to stretch longer, the whisper of leaves louder. Her thoughts spun wildly. Was it the centaur's kind? Something else? Or someone? The idea that she might not be alone in the forest unsettled her more than she cared to admit.

Caught in the churn of her mind, she didn't notice the sound of approaching footsteps until she collided with someone.

The force knocked her back a step, the impact startling her from her thoughts. Her wand hand shot up instinctively, ready to cast a spell if necessary. But as she looked up, her breath caught.

James Potter.

He stood before her, rubbing his shoulder where they'd collided. His glasses were askew, and his brow furrowed in irritation. "Watch where you're going!" he snapped, clearly more startled than angry.

Siobhan opened her mouth to respond, an indignant retort already forming — but she never got the chance.

The world tilted violently, and the forest around her dissolved. Another vision crashed into her mind with the force of a breaking wave.

James again — but older. His face was pale and drawn, his hair messier than ever, and he stood in the dim confines of a small house. His wand was raised, his jaw set, his voice hoarse as he shouted something she couldn't make out. The air was thick with tension, crackling with dark magic.

A child's cry pierced the air, sharp and desperate. James turned, his face twisting with fear and unrelenting determination as he moved toward the sound. His hand trembled slightly, but his steps were firm.

Then the shadow loomed.

Before James could react, a flash of green light erupted, blinding in its intensity. The vision shattered, leaving Siobhan reeling.

She staggered back into the present, her heart racing and her breathing ragged.

"You're going to die," she blurted, the words spilling from her before she could stop them. Her voice was raw, shaking with the weight of what she'd seen.

James frowned, his confusion giving way to concern. "What are you on about?"

Her hands trembled as she pointed at him, her thoughts a tangled mess of fear and frustration. "I saw it. You — you were older. There was someone attacking you. And then..." Her voice broke, the memory of the flash of green light searing her mind.

"Okay, slow down," James said, his voice firm but edged with unease. "You saw what? Are you okay?"

"I'm fine!" she snapped, though every nerve in her body felt frayed. "But you're not. You're going to—" She stopped herself, shaking her head violently. "Never mind. Just stay away from me."

Without waiting for his response, she turned and fled, her footsteps pounding against the forest floor. She needed to get away — away from him, away from the vision, away from the suffocating weight of what she'd seen.

James stood there, staring after her with a mixture of confusion and unease. Slowly, he adjusted his glasses, muttering under his breath, "First Lily avoids me, and now Ravenclaw girls are predicting my doom. Fantastic."

Despite his attempt at humor, a cold knot of dread coiled in his chest, one he couldn't quite shake.

&.   HI!! i dont know if people are still interested in reading this fic but chap 1 is finally here. i know so many things are happening in this chapter and it seemed very packed alsoo first interaction with james!! TADAH! / word count: 6776

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