Disclaimer: Harry potter-not mine. Marari and company-my puppet slaves

Yep nothing else much to say.

Part 6: Of Dreams and Memories:

A young Marari Yanamari crept silently down the hallway of her home for the fourth time that night, with the excuse of having to use the bathroom, in truth that was not the real reason. She paused before the door through which she heard her parents continual late night argument, catching fragments of what was said, this particular night she heard, "Have to tell them," and "No we agreed we never would-" when the voices rose in volume, but then they would become quiet once again and she could hear no more. Then she headed on to the bathroom at the end of the hall, so that if she were discovered she could claim she as only returning from it and heard nothing, she was determined not to get caught eavesdropping.

A four-year-old Marari wandered down the hallways of her home one evening, searching for her father to say good-night. After searching the whole house she finally came to a closed door, a small cinch of light shining beneath it. She stood on her tippy-toes to reach the handle, grinning in success as the cool metal turned beneath her tiny hand, and the door eased forward slightly, and the lights inside the room flashed off instantly and the door slammed shut with a sudden force, jamming in its frame. The small girl shoots across the hallway to huddle against the wall on the other side, knees shaking. Less than a minute later the door opens and her father steps out, his eyes apologetic; only the tiniest clouded bit of impatience fading from his eyes as he spoke.

"Sorry sweetheart, but you mustn't go opening closed doors." The young Marari nodded dumbly, and her father patted her fondly on the head, then turned around and squatted down for her to climb on his back. She smiles widely and does so, shrieking happily as he gives her a piggyback all the way to her bedroom, jumping and dashing and spinning. Finally reaching the girl's bedroom her father tucked her in, kissing her forehead and turning out the light as he backs out of her room, closing her door, leaving her to the slowed sounds of her sisters breathing, and their glowing stars, moons, and galaxies all over the walls and ceiling, hugging her stuffed dog Valentine to her chest, face buried in its soft fur and fresh clean scent.

A six-year-old Marari was going over to the home of a friend of her mother, one whom had a daughter her own age. And so, in the way of Mother's, when Brienna was going to have tea with her friend she brought her young daughter Marari along. The two children were left to their own devices to play. The other child lead Marari to her room were her toys were, coming upon the other girl's closed girl, Marari stopped, and the other girl peaks around her, "Why'd we stop?" she asks, staring wonderingly about.

"The door is closed." responds Marari carefully, she no longer remembered the reason she didn't open closed doors, she just...didn't.

"Of course it is silly, don't want the dog to get in there and chew on all my toys." Finally, since Marari stood still and refused to open the door, the other girl stepped around her and opened in herself, walking in. Marari then smiled and followed the girl.

Though the other girl thought it was strange that Marari refused to open closed doors, she soon got over it, the two became quick friends. Neria was her name.


Eight-year-old Marari and Neria sat on the floor of Neria's room, paper spread around them, crayons, markers, and coloured pencils flung around the floor in a bright array to rival the colours and patterns drawn all over the papers. Their childhood discussions often consisted of childhood dreams, unicorns, great beasts, fearie tales, magic. But one day the discussion changed, somehow.

"Marari, what if magic were real? What if there really were witches and spells and unicorns, and we just didn't know it?"

"Don't be silly Neria, how could they be real," said the young Marari, not looking up from the squiggly green line she was drawing that somewhat resembled a turtle.

"But what if it was?" reiterated Neria boldly, Marari finally looks up from her paper.

"I don't know. But if magic were real, then wouldn't all the bad things be real as well? You can't have one and not the other."

Neria stared at the other girl, then finally whispered, "It is real." Marari heard her though.

"What is it that makes you think it's real?"

Neria looks at her then whispers, "I think my grandma's a witch." Marari stared at her, sure, Neria's grandmum was...strange, but everyone was different. Neria's grandmother lived in the basement of Neria's home, and seldom came up, but on a couple occasions when Marari had been over she had seen the old women, wrapped tightly in shawls and going about her own business.

Suddenly Neria's mother was in the doorway, "Neria, will you come here for a moment?"

And Marari's mother came up behind her, "Marari, it's time to go." Neria and Marari said their goodbyes and Marari left.

After Marari went home, she decided to forget about the strange conversation she had with her friend, and neither of them ever spoke about it again.

The ten-year-old Yanamari triplets stood huddled together in the door way from the kitchen to the front hall, where a 12 year old Cael stood, suitcase and stick in hand, facing their parents standing on the stairs. Brienna Yanamari stood grasping the railing, tears in her eyes but she said nothing nor let them fall down her face. Quauhtli Yanamari stood strait and calm, though his eyes told a different story, one of the pain of loss and the knowledge that he had to let his son go. Cael Yanamari stared at his parents and though he didn't exactly understand why, he knew there was a reason he must leave. He must protect his younger sisters, even if that means he cannot see them or speak with them. Then he turned and opened the door, taking one last glance at his family, then shut it behind him. The triplets cried after him, flinging out their arms and the glass on the door shattered, but the girls were too distressed to think on it, their brother was gone. If the girls had cared to look about when the glass broke they would have noticed the panicked looks on their parents faces, followed by relieve as they saw their daughters had not thought anything of the magically broken glass, caused by their own distress. They could not bare having to lose more then one.
At age 13 Marari and Neria were still good friends, and spent a lot of time together, at school, the mall, arcade, each other houses, they were nearly inseparable, and Neria could always tell which of the Yanamaris she was, even as other's struggled to even get their last name correct.

One Friday, Marari and Neria were walking back to Neria's house for a sleep over after school. Marari was telling Neria of the strange dream she had had the night before, she had been flying, but on a broom, like a witch from a story. It had been so strange, and Marari laughed at the thought, and did not notice Neria's uneasy look or lack of laughter.

When they got to Neria's house they found her parents not home, and that her grandmother was out and about. For the first time ever Neria's grandmother's eyes focused on Marari, her eyes widening as her mouth forming a large 'O' and raised her arm in which she helda strange stick.

"Grandma no!" calls out Neria, but the stick wasn't aimed at Marari, it was pointing just the side of the partly frozen girl. Marari turned her head as she realized this and saw a tall man there, dressed in black cloak and clothing, as well as black gloves.

Marari jumped sideways as she felt energy sizzling past her, and bodily hit a wall, thudding forcefully into it.

After a short bit of time she woke groggily, seeing Neria and her grandmother's face hovering before her. Her eyes were only slit open, so they didn't know she was awake. "We'll have to put a memory charm on her." Marari heard a voice that wasn't Neria's so it must have been her grandmother's.

"But she's my friend, why can't she just know?" asked a voice Marari could easily identify as Neria's.

"You know perfectly well why!" responds the elderly woman sharply to her granddaughter and then Marari felt a warmth trickle into her head and she phased out. The next day Neria informed Marari tearfully that she was moving to England, and they would probably never see each other again. The two cried together over Neria's departure, then said their final good-byes, knowing despite promises to write and stay in touch they would never hear from each other again.

Marari, 14 yeas old, wakes from a nightmare, shaking and screaming, sweat pouring down her face, and sits up in her bed, images of blood and pain flashing before her eyes, screams echoing in her head, and she sobbed into her hands knowing that hundreds of miles away Neria's parents were dead, even before the newspaper describing the horrible explosion that took 19 people's lives had arrived. Neither Neria nor her grandmother were ever found.
And that is all for this chapter. Please review!