Mark ofTerror
Brandon huddled behind the counter of his small apothecary shop, his breath shallow and his heart pounding in his chest. The wooden walls, usually comforting in their warmth and familiarity, now felt like a flimsy barrier against the terror that stalked the streets outside. The dim light of the single lantern he dared to leave burning flickered, casting long, dancing shadows that seemed to mock his fear.
The hamlet had always been a quiet place, a haven for those who lived on the fringes of both the Muggle and magical worlds. Muggleborns and half-bloods lived side by side with purebloods who had long since abandoned the prejudices of their ancestors. It was a place where magic was practiced openly, but carefully, with respect for those who didn't share the gift. A place of peace.
That peace had been shattered tonight.
Brandon had been in the middle of preparing a simple pain relief potion when the first scream tore through the air. He had frozen, his hands trembling over the mortar and pestle as he listened to the sound of pure, unfiltered terror. It was quickly followed by another scream, and then another, until it seemed the whole hamlet was crying out in agony.
He had rushed to the window, his curiosity momentarily overpowering his fear. The sight that met his eyes was like something out of a nightmare. The streets, usually so peaceful and serene, were filled with chaos. Dark figures moved through the night, their wands casting cruel, green light over everything they touched.
And there, in the sky above, it hung—the Dark Mark. A skull, with a serpent twisting through its mouth, glowing ominously against the dark clouds. Brandon felt his blood run cold at the sight, his stomach churning with a mix of fear and disbelief. The stories he had heard as a child, whispered in hushed tones by adults who thought he was asleep, were true. The Dark Lord's followers were real, and they were here.
A loud crash from outside made Brandon drop to the floor, his heart leaping into his throat. He crawled on his hands and knees to the window, just enough to peer over the sill. His breath caught in his throat as he saw her—Bellatrix Lestrange.
She moved through the village like a vengeful specter, her wild black hair flying around her as she cast spell after spell with terrifying precision. Her laughter, high-pitched and tinged with madness, echoed through the night. She reveled in the destruction she wrought, her eyes wide with a manic glee as she watched Muggleborns and their families fall before her.
Brandon could do nothing but watch in horror as she approached a small cottage across the street. It belonged to the Wilkes family, a kind couple who had often come into his shop for ingredients for their potions. Their daughter, a sweet little girl who had only just begun showing signs of her magical abilities, was playing in the yard when Bellatrix spotted her.
"No," Brandon whispered, his voice trembling as he watched Bellatrix raise her wand. "Please, no…"
But his plea was swallowed by the night as a jet of green light shot from Bellatrix's wand, striking the child before she could even comprehend what was happening. She crumpled to the ground, her small body lifeless and still. Bellatrix's laughter rang out again, louder this time, as she stepped over the child's body and into the house. Brandon squeezed his eyes shut as he heard the screams of the Wilkes family, the sounds of their desperate pleas for mercy.
He opened his eyes only when the sounds stopped, replaced by the crackling of flames as Bellatrix set fire to the house. The flames roared to life, consuming the cottage in moments. The heat was so intense that Brandon could feel it even through the walls of his shop.
Tears streamed down his face as he watched the fire burn, the once peaceful hamlet now a scene of utter devastation. He was powerless to stop it, powerless to save anyone. All he could do was hide and hope that she wouldn't find him, that the darkness would pass him by.
But then, as if she could sense his thoughts, Bellatrix turned. Her dark eyes locked onto the apothecary shop, and a slow, cruel smile spread across her face. She began to walk toward it, her wand twirling lazily in her fingers.
Brandon's heart raced as he scrambled backward, knocking over bottles and vials in his panic. He could hear her footsteps on the cobblestones outside, hear the door creak as she pushed it open. The air in the shop grew heavy, oppressive, as if the darkness outside had seeped in through the cracks.
"Come out, come out, little mouse," Bellatrix sang, her voice echoing through the small space. "I know you're in here…"
Brandon pressed himself against the wall, his body shaking with fear. He was trapped. There was nowhere to run, nowhere to hide. He could hear her moving through the shop, her boots crunching on broken glass.
"Are you scared?" she whispered, her voice suddenly close. "You should be."
Brandon squeezed his eyes shut, praying to any deity that would listen, begging for mercy, for a miracle.
But all he heard was her laughter, dark and cruel, as the world around him faded to black.