Running. You were running from something, but what was it? A loud sound resonates from behind you, crashing and clanging, you can hear things falling all around you. Suddenly your surroundings become clear. You were in a long hallway, pictures of people lined the walls. A particular picture captured your attention. The picture was of a couple, they were smiling and holding each other, In-between the couple you could see a small bundle wrapped in cloth, a baby. This house is so familiar, like you've been in there a million times. You knew the ceilings, the pale yellow walls, dry cracked doors and shaggy green carpets. Your parents weren't the best of interior designers. Your parents! This is your parents house! Your childhood home, lying in ruins as a glass vase topples over and shatters, releasing you from the hold your thoughts had on your brain. The rumbling of the hallways and shaking of the doors on their hinges reminded you of an earthquake. But this cannot be an earthquake can it? Of course not, earthquakes of this magnitude never occur in this part of England, earthquakes don't hiss either. The hissing grows louder and it suddenly occurs the memory of who you are running from. The Basalisk breaks down the door at the end of the hallway and you immediately avert your eyes. "Mommy, Daddy! Help me !" but to no avail. This is it, your end. You were going to die. "SECTUMSEMPRA!"