“You say goodbye, and I say Willow. Willow Willow.” A voice was singing. “I don’t know why you say goodbye, I say Willow.”

“Who’s there?” I called.

“You say yes, I say no. You say stop, and I say go go go!” Someone was singing but I couldn’t see them. “Oh no! I don’t know why you say goodbye I say Willow.”

“Who is it?” I called out again.

“It’s Black, Black, Sirius Black. I am here, but I can come back.”

“What?”

“Here’s Bella, Bella, Mr. Diggory, I’ll come back it you can see.”

“What?”

“James and Lily, it’s mum and dad. Couldn’t bring us back, but now we can.”

“I don’t understand!” I shouted.

“DON’T PLAY WITH MATCHES! YOU GET BURNT!” voices yelled, and I wrenched my eyes open.

I was still in Dumbledore’s arms in the ministry of magic; Dumbledore was looking at me more worried than I’d ever seen him.

I stood up, feeling hot, very hot. Boiling.

My blood burned within me, and it hurt.

A lot.

“Willow?” Dumbledore said softly.

“Get away from me.” I said pulling myself from his grip and backing up a few paces.

“Willow, It’s Professor Dumble-“

“Yeah, I know you’re Professor Dumbledore. I haven’t got amnesia, I’m just about to catch on fire, that’s all.”

“What?” said a hundred different voices.

And then I caught on fire, I felt my flesh burn. I felt my blood boil. I felt everything seem to die. No amounts of the cruciatus curse could compare to this.

Somewhere in the back of my flaming mind, I remembered reading a book (I did that, isn’t it weird?) Katniss Everdeen, the girl who was on fire.

Now it’s my turn.

Willow Tree, the girl who was on fire...Let the wood burn.

I began to cry as I was engulfed in flames.

It fucking hurt, fyi.

I realised what Voldemort had done.

This was his test for my immortality.

He was going to try to kill me in a billion different ways.

He came back to the ministry obviously so that heaps of people know about it, and it would have to be published in the daily prophet, so he’d know if I died or not.

Yay.

So pumped for this guys.

I collapsed to the ground in pain, curling my knees up to my chest in itself was agony.

Don’t play with matches, you’ll get burnt.

“DOES THAT MAKE VOLDEMORT A MATCH?” I wasn’t sure if I shouted it, or if I got an answer. Or if I was capable of speech.

Rightio.

 After a while, the flames stopped, and I saw my skin. It was burnt, red and bloody.

Oh, look, the whole fucking ministry of magic is here, and I’m burnt to a crisp, and my clothes were burnt off.

Yay.

Someone important looking stumbled over to me and was just staring at me in shock.

“See something you like?” I croaked, and the man screamed like a banshee and ran away.

“IT’S STILL ALIVE.”

“I’M A SHE!” I shouted.

I can’t die....

Dumbledore was beside me now.

And I began to freeze; I was ice cold.

Freezing from the inside out.

THIS IS SO SHIT! AND IT HURTS! I'm SO COLD IT HURTS!

“Let me die.” I whispered to him. “Please. Kill me.”

“I Can’t.” He told me, and he grabbed my hand, where my own prophecy was. I didn’t even remember grabbing it, but I did.

“Keep it safe.” I whispered. “And fix me because this is shit.”

I was frozen into my solitude of pain, with no one to help me.

From freezing I caught fire again. From the fire I was cut by invisible knives. From the knives came this constant feeling like I kept stubbing my toe, but each time was as painful as the last. From toes I went to eating salty chips with a cut gum.

I was just in like six billion types of constant pain, and it was stupid.

Migraines. Toothaches. Stomach cramps. Broken bones. Asthma. Drowning. Hypothermia. Lemon juice on cuts. Bent back nails. Plucking eyebrows. Waxing hair. Some more burning. Beaten to death.

But never emotional pain.

Ever.

I guess Voldemort doesn’t know how to curse that, considering how he hasn’t got emotions.

In St. Mungo’s while they mended my burns for the eighth time, and I was having bad fake period pains, I vowed to come up with a spell that would give Voldemort some remorse.

I had this one healer, who was the only one who stayed with me. I’d met her before, in here, Jia Jizzles. This one time, she punched Harry in the face. It was awesome. She was a patient then, but now she’s a healer. She had an amazing voice, and would keep singing this old song to me. Apparently, some chick in a Shakespeare play sang it before she died, but neither of us cared, because it had my name in it.

“The poor soul sat sighing by a sycamore tree

Sing all a green willow

Her hand on her bosom, her head on her knee

Sing willow, willow, willow, willow!

Sing willow, willow, willow, willow!

My garland shall be;

Sing all a green willow, willow, willow, willow

Sing all a green willow

My garland shall be.

The fresh streams ran by her, and murmer'd her moans

Sing willow, willow, willow

Her salt tears fell from her and soft'ned the stones.

Let nobody blame him, his scorn I approve

Sing willow, willow, willow

He was born to be fair, I to die for his love,

I call'd my love false love but what said he then?

Sing willow, willow, willow

If I court more women, you'll couch with more men.“

We also had no idea what the words meant.

But if it meant death, I’d sing it, so I did.

And I died.

Well, not really. I don’t do that.

Ever.

“Willow potter was taken to St. Mungo’s soon after she was cursed by Lord Voldemort. None knew why he would return to curse the girl. Some speculated that it’s Scare Campaign, but others say that perhaps it was aimed at the girl in an attempt at murder. Though John Campbell was under a different opinion.

“He was aiming for Dumbledore,” he says, “Or perhaps even the Potter boy. The girl was in the wrong place at the wrong time. She’s no one of importance.”

 The curse that was used has never been seen before, and hopefully never will be seen again. Every hour, her condition worsened, or changed. Every hour something terrible would happen. In the first hour, she caught fire, and no one could put it out. The girl screamed in pain for sixty minutes, while no amount of spells or water would put her out. Her skin was badly burned, but she survived. The next hour, as though to be the opposite, The Potter Girl froze. She was a frozen person and doctors could only hope she didn’t remember it.

The hours ticked by, and each time, a different group of healers would try and help her, try to figure out whatever was wrong, but nothing worked. The things experienced by the Potter girl were worse than anything in imagination, but she survived.

Willow Potter was finally handled by a group of trainee healers, who were thrown in as a last resort. Their random suggestions were able to formulate something powerful to destroy the curse. St. Mungo’s refuses to divulge the information regarding what they did, but they said Miss Potter would make a full recovery.” Hermione read.

 “And I did.” I yawned, leaning back into the bed.

As soon as I could, I made them send me back to Hogwarts, but I was expected to stay in the hospital wing. I don’t know why, but I told everyone I couldn’t remember what happened to me after the curse, when in reality, I don’t think I’ll be able to forget.

“So, Harry, tell me again about how bad arse I was.” I said expectantly to him, and for the fiftieth time, he told me about how I mentioned Tom Riddle’s diary, about how I dissolved his Killing curses and about how I scared the shit out of Mouldy pants.

“I wanna see Dumbledore.” I burst out.

“Alright.” Madam Pomfrey said and I was creeped out because I didn’t even know she was there. “Password is Fruit Tingles. He’s expecting you.”

“Rightio.” I cheated, and apparated into his office.

“Hello Miss Willow, I’ve been expecting you.” Dumbledore said, peering at me across his desk.

“How are you?” I asked.

“As well as I have ever been.” He said vaguely. “Yourself?”

“I was all fixed up.” I smiled.

“I assume you’re here about the prophecy.” He stated.

“I was just going to say hello, but now you mention it...” I smirked.

“I waited to view it with you.”

“Ngawsies!” I said in a high pitched whiny voice. “Don’t do that. okay.”

Dumbledore looked as though he’s ask me about my sanity, but thought against it, and tapped the prophecy with his wand.

A ghostly figure rose up from the globe and started talking in a spooky voice.

She looked familiar, but I’d never seen her before.

And I liked her outfit.

“So there’s gonna be this girl, right?” She started casually, and I let out a laugh. I thought these things were like professional. “And she’s gonna smile, she’s gonna laugh, she’s gonna cry, she’s a normal kid. Well, that’s all you see. She is actually a lot deeper in thought than anyone will realise. Even she doesn’t realise. But she has this voice in her head, and her name is going to be Lucy – I’ll get back to Lucy later okay? Well, Willow Malfoy Potter Tree is pretty much the most important person in history. She’s gonna change things. And I’m assuming if anyone listens to this prophecy, it’s going to be Dumbledore, so Bumbly Dumble, keep her alive. She isn’t actually immortal, FYI!

So, Sing Willow Willow Willow. I think she’s heard this song by now, she has to remember it. Oh right, she’s only immortal because she has a will to live. When that goes, she goes, just saying. And Lucy, you know that voice in your head. Yeah, that’s me. Or was me. There was this wobbly light thing, and I went into it, and I was trapped in your head for sixteen years, but when I left, in my world, no time passed. It’s kind of wibbly wobbly, timey whimey. Because I’ve passed those years, but Willow is still going through them.

I doubt this makes any sense. Sorry Dumbledore. But yeah, she’s important. Keep her alive. She’s important, make her happy. She’s important. Willow Tree is practically my biffle, even though she thought I was part of her mind which is weird, but that’s okay because I was. Yeah, this doesn’t make sense, but that’s okay. This isn’t even a real prophecy, but I slipped it into the ministry of magic for you.

Good luck, and steer clear of the forest until the time comes.”

The image of Lucy dissolved and I looked up at Dumbledore.

“Now that’s what I call awesome.”