Waverly Place
I was on my way home. I knew I needed to get home right after school – Dad told me it was really important that I got home right away. And I was trying too, but my feet would hardly move. The street kept going backwards underneath my feet. I was running as fast as I could, and I was hardly moving. It felt like my backpack weighed a ton, but I had to get home as soon as possible.
I got to the crosswalk, and it wouldn't let me pass. I was standing there, running in place to keep the street from sending me backwards, waiting for the crosswalk signal to turn. But the cars just kept coming and coming until it seemed like there was no end to the constant stream of New York traffic. Didn't they know I had to get home? Dad wanted me home now. I couldn't remember why, but it was really important that I get there.
Finally, the crosswalk turned. I started running across the street. I was so close, almost home like I needed to be. It was so important I get there right away, if only I could remember why. I got to the middle of the crosswalk, and all of a sudden, I tripped and fell face first onto the concrete. Nobody else seemed to notice. They just walked passed me, talking on their phones or checking their watches, paying no attention to the twelve year old who just face-planted. The worst part was, though, that even though they didn't seem to be effected by the crazy, moving concrete, I was pushed backwards, away from Waverly. Away from where I needed to be, and it was just so important.
But why? What was so important about me getting to Waverly. If I got there, everything would be alright. I knew it in the pit of my stomach, knew that something was wrong and getting to Waverly would fix everything. But it was suddenly dark outside, and I wasn't anywhere near home. Everyone on the street changed. They had been just going on there way, but now they all grew long, black cloaks, and their faces changed into masks. Their eyes glowed, and they laughed at me, still on the ground but no longer moving. They raised wands at me, laughing.
Suddenly, I could move again. I got up and ran inside the nearest building while they followed me slowly. They were hardly moving, but it seemed like they were always a step behind me. I knew if they caught up to me, I'd be dead. The inside of the building was a long, dark, narrow hallway. I could barely see, and I could feel something sliding around near my feet. Down the
hallway, there was the most terrible screaming I had ever heard in my life. I didn't want to go anywhere near the screams, but I couldn't stop myself from moving.
I got to the end of the hallway, and there was a door with light coming from underneath it. My hand reached up all on its own and opened the door. Inside was my home. I stepped inside, and there, in the middle of the living room was my family, dead and mutilated, staring with eyeless sockets up at the ceiling. Standing over them was Jake in Death Eater robes, holding a mask and pointing his wand down at them. He was laughing at them, laughing harder than I had ever heard him in my life.
Jets of green light kept shooting down at their dead bodies, and every time they got more horrific. Finally, I spoke.
"Jake, you killed them…" I could only whisper I was crying so hard. There was no way he could hear me over his laughter. But he did. He looked at me and shook his head.
"No, Max, why don't you ask them whose fault it is?"
Then they were all standing around me, their bodies dangling in midair. The socketless eyes stared at me, and they all lifted their fingers. Mom's mouth opened and she screamed.
"It's your fault!" They all started screaming at me, all of them screaming "It's your fault!"
I screamed back at them, crying, trying to tell them how sorry I was until I jerked up in bed in a cold sweat, safe in Grimmauld Place, my heart pounding. I was freezing and soaked from my own sweat, but no matter how many covers I wrapped around myself, I still wouldn't warm. I cried into my pillow, too scared to get up in the dark, until sunlight finally crept in through my window.