Ilvermorny Year 2

Theme - An innocent being turned into a scapegoat.

Special Rule - You must set your story in a single location. The location has to be small and specific (eg. Hogwarts wouldn't count, but a single classroom would).

Mandatory Prompt - [character] Original Character (limitation, the name must be Verity Grahams.)

Additional Prompt - [first line/last line] The second I finished reading the text, I threw my phone across the room.

Author's Note - The Dursley's have been murdered by an irate Draco Malfoy, who's in a relationship with Harry. Having been murdered by the very magic that they hated and feared, they've turned into angry spirits looking for revenge. Unfortunately for Verity, she is their only option for vengeance.


The New House

The second she finished reading the text, she threw her phone across the room. It thunked off the headboard and settled with a light bounce on her overstuffed pillow. As far as days went, this had been the worst one Verity had ever experienced, and that was saying something. She certainly had plenty to choose from recently.

Her last day at her old school, for example. There was no farewell party, no waving from the gates, no friends brushing tears from their eyes at the thought of her impending absence from their lives. Instead, she'd been handed a card as the final bell rang. That was all she was worth— a card. They hadn't even spelt her name properly. Who even spelt Verity with an 'ie' anyway?

She thought of how she'd curled in on herself as she'd read the card, her body mimicking the feeling of insignificance that sat heavy in her gut. It had been a rubbish day, but it was still nothing compared to the crap she'd had to put up with today.

It had been the first day at her new school and, although Verity's expectations were already set low, it had still managed to surpass them.

For a start, everyone had stared at her. Yes, she was new, but did that really give them permission to stare at her like she was some zoo animal on display?

Then, when she'd gone into her first class of the day, the teacher had maliciously forced her to stand in front of the class and introduce herself, as if she didn't already feel like a freak in a sideshow.

Doing her best to swallow down her embarrassment, she sighed and faced the scrutiny of her classmates.

'Erm…hi. I'm Verity, I'm fifteen. I used to live in Scotland and just moved here last week,'

'Whereabouts in Scotland did you stay, and where are you staying now?' the teacher asked, who was obviously a sadist hell-bent on torturing her.

'Glasgow, and now I live not far from here on Privet Drive. It's different…' Verity trailed off upon realising that a collective mass of gasps, whispers and giggles had just swept around the room. Verity stood there feeling like a plum for what felt like at least five minutes, but really must have only been a few seconds, until a girl sitting in the front row with Sandy Shaw looks vocalised what was on everyone's mind.

'You live at the old Dursley place?' she asked

'I don't know, no one told us it had a name like that.'' Verity was starting to think the entire class had gone mad. 'Why, what's the problem?'

'It's haunted that's what!' replied the girl. 'People have actually seen ghosts. I can't believe you sleep in that house!'

Before Verity could reply the bell rang and the previously immobile class immediately sprang to life, grabbed their coats and bags, and scrambled to leave the room. Verity stood perplexed until the only people left in the room were her and a rather shifty looking teacher.

'Sir, what were they talking about, my house being haunted or whatever?'

'I wouldn't worry Verity, it's just silly rumours turned into ghost stories. Don't pay any attention to it. You'd better go on to your next class now.'

As soon as she'd got home that night she'd looked into the history of the house. The reaction of her classmates was like an accelerant to her curiosity as she entered her new address into Google.

Immediately an entire page of results had appeared on the screen, mostly newspaper articles and blogs. She'd opened the first link for the local newspaper and gasped as she saw the headline - FAMILY OF THREE VANISHED AMID SIGNS OF A STRUGGLE. A quick scan of the article told her that twenty years ago a rather prim family had lived there, but had never been seen again following a visit from a mysterious blond male with a strange costume on. The article had pictures, showing a hole blasted in the front door, the furniture inside reduced to piles of debris. There were even cracks on the walls as if a large surge of electricity had struck them. What could cause that damage, had thought Verity with building horror.

The most striking image was the family portrait taken in front of the house. They looked ordinary enough, if not a little dull. She'd taken in every detail of the family— the gruff masculinity the father exuded, the fixed smile of the mother as she hugged her huge son. They didn't appear super-rich or members or any cults from what she could see, so why someone would target them for this kind of attack was beyond her. The article certainly didn't seem to have any decent theories either.

Which was when she'd texted her cousin, who was a total computer nerd and loved a good mystery. When he'd finished relaying all the weird stories and ghost sightings, she'd felt frazzled and more than done with the whole thing.

She forced her breathing, which she realised was coming out in rapid puffs, and forced herself to embrace the one friend who was always there for her— reason.

'If you can't see, touch, feel or smell it, then it isn't real. Ghosts aren't real. My house isn't haunted.'

She repeated her mantra over and over until she finally felt calm enough to retrieve her phone. She slid it into her pocket, happy that the screen remained intact, and grabbed her bag. She had so much homework to do for the first day.


Blinking back the stinging sensation in her eyes, Verity looked from her book over to the alarm clock on her bedside table. The garish red display told her it was 23:59. No wonder she was having trouble focusing. She put her homework back in her back and scrubbed her hands over her face. Giving in to exhaustion, she switched off her bedside lamp and snuggled down into her blankets.

The lamp switched back on.

"Stupid lamp," mumbled Verity, reaching out her arm to switch it off again.

Once again, the lamp switched back on almost immediately.

Sitting up in her bed, Verity stared at the lamp as if it were ludicrous. Reaching down behind the bedside table she located the wall socket and pulled the plug out, plunging the room into darkness once again.

Just as Verity went to lie back down again the lamp began to flicker on and off, slowly at first and then gained momentum until it was flashing at an alarming speed, creating a strobe light effect. Before she had a chance to react, the main light began to do the same. A noise began to fill the room, like an owl hooting and swooshing its wings. The slats of the window blinds were clattering against each other, starting as a soft rhythm and working its way into a frenzied beat of horror. It was like someone was trying to get in, or perhaps get out. She wasn't sure which option was worse.

She leapt out of bed and stood in the middle of her room, chest heaving, turning this way and that, trying to find a logical reason, her eyes darting from the main light to the lamp, to the blinds, and back again. Her rapid breath was forming into a mist in front of her face and icy fingers clawed at her bare feet and calves. Her nightdress was thin and she folded her arms over her chest, her fingers clawing at her elbows in an attempt to grab at some semblance of heat. She closed her eyes against the irrational and mumbled over and over she was safe, that there was nothing here that could hurt her. She wished she could believe her words.

A sudden short burst of warm air at her right ear like someone sighing sharply kick-started her body back into motion as she jumped backwards.

"Stop! Just stop it!"

Nothing answered her; there was no one in the room except her.

Slowly, she backed herself away towards the wall and sank down to crouch on the floor. Warm tears turned icy halfway down her pale cheek and her nose was filling up and dripping, only to freeze-dry on her upper lip.

Verity wiped regardless at her face with the back of her hand and buried her head on her elbows, her thin shoulders shaking with the effort of crying quietly. Her instincts told her to scream, but she couldn't bring her lungs to fill with enough breath. The lights had stopped tormenting her and were now stuck at 'on', and the blinds seemed to be pausing for dramatic effect as if they knew that any second her nerves would snap. Then, as if from nowhere, a familiar voice spoke near her ear and the warm body of her mother slid beside her, engulfing her in a comforting hug.

'It's alright sweetheart, it's just a bad dream. Shhh now, it was just a bad dream. Mummy's here.'

Her body sagged with relief and she began to sob into her mother's shoulder.

"My little Duddykins," crooned her mother, stroking her hair with one hand and she held Verity with the other. "Did that nasty little freak upset you?"

"What—?" Verity tried to raise her head at her mother's strange words. Who the hell was Duddykins? What freak? But her mother's hand held Verity's head still.

"Your father will be home soon and he'll deal with the Boy, don't you worry. He won't get meals for a couple of days. Or maybe a week locked inside his cupboard?"

"Mum, what are—"

Suddenly Verity slumped forward as the firm body of her mother vanished into thin air.

The room plunged into utter darkness and silence. Her head and chest felt like they were about to burst before she realised that she was holding her breath.

Verity opened her mouth, sucked in a full lung of air, screwed her eyes up as tight as they would go and threw back her head to release the loudest, most frantic scream she had ever made in her entire life.

A light appeared beneath the door and the padded sound of feet in slippers signalled someone walking down the hall to her bedroom. The door opened and the magnificent sight of her mother almost blinded her as she stood in the doorway, looking concerned and tired.

'What's wrong honey? Did you have a bad dream? What are you sitting on the floor for sweetie?'