Throwing Stones
Prologue
27th December 2023
A girl sat in the corner. Her red hair fell over her face, her eyes downcast towards a book, posture relaxed.
In the opposite corner, a young man watched her. He was about twenty, with dark eyes and a sour feeling in his stomach. Where the girl sat by a warm fire, the man sat by a window, watching late December snow fall. He was cold because he chose to be.
He was in The Three Broomsticks with a purpose. He tapped his wand thrice with his middle finger, contemplating what he was supposed to do. The young girl sat up straight, her eyes – a dark brown – going to the man. The man stared at her, and they were locked in a staring contest of sorts.
He closed his hand around the wand, gripping it tightly. Orders of him rang in his mind: the coward that was making him do this. Using blood purity over his head, the young man was forced to do it. He was a pure blood, and his master wanted blood purity back. He wanted what it meant again. He was sick of constantly seeing muggle borns everywhere. The young man hadn't stood a chance when he was approached.
The girl, about sixteen with shaky breaths coming from her mouth, rose to her feet, averting her eyes from the man's. Her butterbeer was left un-drunk, her book placed spine-up and almost unread. The man's dark, dark eyes followed as she walked from the bar. She steps were hesitant, and he knew that she knew. Of course she'd know. Other patrons stared at her, because she was from a family well praised in the wizarding society of 2023 – almost 2024.
The young man stood up, too, but no one paid much mind for the richly dressed boy with a wand out. He followed, his robes swishing against his feet; passing people who would witness something possibly terrible. He could already hear her talking hurriedly to a boy of a similar age to her.
She said, "James, I think there's a man following me!"
"Rose," the boy replied, incredulous, "stop being stupid. No man is following you."
The young man chuckled to himself, thanking Merlin that the boy didn't try to protect Rose. It would make his job a whole lot harder, especially when he was already regretting it.
He could see snow falling onto the girl, the white flakes landing in her hair. He stood in the doorway to The Three Broomsticks, heart thumping with terror, eyes flickering closed for a second to get his bearing. With shaky arms, he raised his wand, pointing it straight at Rose.
His voice wasn't exactly solid, but he said, "Avada Kedavra!"