The cold night air was sharp against Brooklyn's skin, the world around her a blur of pain and chaos. She didn't know where she was going, only that she needed to escape. The house—the house where everything had been twisted into something unrecognizable, a place she once called home—was behind her. She didn't dare look back, not when the weight of her mother's death and the horrors she'd witnessed were still choking her, pressing down on her chest.
Her legs ached with every step, but she couldn't stop. She didn't know where she was going, or what she was doing—she just knew she couldn't stay there. Her body was numb with shock, yet her mind screamed in a haze of fear and confusion. Her heart felt like it was beating out of her chest, a constant reminder of everything she was running from.
Brooklyn stumbled through the streets, her thoughts tangled in a web of panic. Her father's face—his cruel, twisted smile—kept flashing in her mind. Her mother—her bloodied, lifeless body—was all she could see. Brooklyn's body ached with pain, blood dripping from- somewhere, and the evidence of the cruciatus curse evident throughout her body. Her breath was shallow, her body trembling violently with every shuddering breath. She was beyond the point of crying, tears long since dried on her cheeks. She felt like a ghost, detached from everything around her.
But then, as though her body was no longer her own, something happened. Something that she couldn't control. It wasn't her doing, but she could feel it—the magic inside her, wild and uncontrollable, flaring up, acting on its own. The world around her began to shift, the streets blurring and twisting in a whirl of colors. She didn't know what was happening—couldn't comprehend it—but before she could process anything, she collapsed.
The world around her spun out of control as the magic pulled her through the air. She felt herself fall, her limbs heavy, her body aching. Then, with a jolt, everything stopped.
Brooklyn's head hit the ground, and the world went dark.
When Brooklyn opened her eyes again, she was no longer outside her house. No longer in the street. No longer anywhere familiar. The cool night air was replaced by a warmth she couldn't quite place, the scent of a fire somewhere nearby. Her vision was blurry, her muscles aching as if she had been run over by a manticore. She could hear the soft rustle of footsteps, followed by a gasp.
The first thing she saw was a woman's face—a redhead, kind but startled. The woman's eyes widened as she took in the sight of Brooklyn, sprawled on the porch, trembling, covered in dirt, blood, and bruises. Brooklyn's vision swam, and she tried to stand, but her body was too weak. She collapsed again, her hands scraping against the ground.
"Arthur!" the woman screamed. "Arthur, come quickly!"
Brooklyn's thoughts were jumbled. She didn't know who this woman was, or where she was, but the warmth of her voice felt like a lifeline. Her vision flickered again, and before she knew it, two men came running out of the house.
The first one, tall and a familiar face, took one look at her and rushed to her side. "Charlie, Bill" the woman said, her voice trembling. "Arthur!—come quickly. She needs help."
The second man, with the same red hair, knelt beside her, gently brushing her hair back from her face. Brooklyn's gaze flickered up to him, her eyes wide with fear.
"Charlie," the woman said again, her voice soft but shaking. "Who is she?"
Charlie's face went pale as recognition hit him. His eyes softened with something between concern and disbelief as he crouched beside Brooklyn, carefully lifting her up. "It's Brooklyn," he whispered, his voice thick with shock. "Fred and George's friend."
Molly's eyes widened at the name, the pieces falling into place. "Brooklyn Mclair?" she asked in disbelief. "Oh my goodness, what has happened to you, dear?"
Charlie gently cradled Brooklyn in his arms, lifting her effortlessly despite her limp form. "We need to get her inside," he said, his voice firm yet gentle. "She's hurt."
Molly quickly stepped aside, motioning for Charlie to bring Brooklyn in. The warmth of the house enveloped her as he carried her to the living room. The sight of a cozy, quiet space—so different from the chaos she had left behind—did little to ease the storm inside her. But at least she was safe, at least she was away from the horrors of the house she used to call home.
Once inside, Charlie gently set Brooklyn down on the couch. His parents rushed around, getting blankets and whatever they could to make her comfortable. Molly, with her kind hands, began to try and heal some of Brooklyn's most visible injuries—stopping bleeding, setting a broken arm, and a terrible black eye that had begun to swell.
Bill stood nearby, his face full of concern, while Charlie knelt beside Brooklyn, gently asking her what happened.
Brooklyn could barely answer, her chest heaving with sobs. She tried to speak, but all that escaped her was a broken whisper: "My dad… he killed my mom."
The room froze. Charlie's hand, which had been gently resting on her shoulder, tightened. Bill's face went pale, and Molly's hands stilled in horror.
"What did you say?" Bill asked, his voice trembling.
Brooklyn couldn't stop crying. The words had come out before she could stop them. "He killed her," she gasped, her voice barely audible, choked with tears. "I couldn't save her. He killed her."
Molly stood frozen, unable to speak for a long moment. Arthur, who had just entered the room, froze too. The heavy silence hung in the air like a thunderstorm about to break.
Arthur's voice cut through the silence, hoarse but resolute. "I'll call the Ministry," he said, his expression hardening with determination. "We need Aurors at the Mclair house now."
The room was filled with the sound of Arthur stepping briskly to the fireplace, muttering incantations to call for help. The rest of the Weasley family was stunned into silence, but Brooklyn could feel them, their presence like a steadying force.
The warmth of the house felt strange against Brooklyn's cold, bruised body. She was still shaken, her emotions raw and her mind clouded with the horrors of the night. Molly had been gentle, helping her to the bed, Charlie's bed, with soft words of reassurance. Brooklyn had barely processed anything as Molly tucked her in, her hand lingering for a moment on Brooklyn's head, smoothing back the matted hair.
"Rest now, dear," Molly said, her voice warm but tinged with sadness. "You're safe here. No one's going to hurt you again."
Charlie, standing in the doorway, exchanged a look with his mother. "I'll sleep on the couch tonight," he said, though his eyes were full of concern for Brooklyn. "You go ahead, Mum."
Molly nodded but lingered for a moment, watching Brooklyn's tired eyes. "If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask. You're part of the family now."
Brooklyn's throat tightened. She didn't know how to say the words, but her heart swelled with a feeling she hadn't known in years: the warmth of safety, the comfort of being cared for. It was like an unfamiliar, aching balm over a wound she hadn't realized had been festering for so long.
Molly turned off the light, leaving the door slightly ajar, and Brooklyn tried to sleep, but the pain in her body and the images of her mother's death haunted her. She drifted in and out of a restless sleep, the nightmares of her father's face never far behind.
Downstairs, the atmosphere was tense. Bill and Molly sat in the living room, speaking in hushed tones. Charlie had joined them after making sure Brooklyn was settled. The faint sounds of Brooklyn's sobs from upstairs reached them, and it made the conversation harder to bear.
"Did you know anything about her home life?" Bill asked Charlie quietly. "Fred and George mentioned she's been through a lot, but we didn't know it was… this bad."
Charlie's face twisted with frustration. "I had no idea. The twins told me she came back from Christmas break with a black eye. I was worried, but she wouldn't talk about it. She's always been so… closed off. I didn't think it was this."
Molly's voice was quiet but filled with sorrow. "How could anyone do this to their own child? To kill her mother like that?"
Charlie shook his head, his eyes dark with anger. "I don't know. But I know one thing—Brooklyn didn't deserve any of this."
As the conversation shifted to what they could do for Brooklyn, the sound of footsteps echoed from the hallway. Arthur entered, his expression grave, and his wand clutched tightly in his hand.
"The Aurors are on their way. They should be here soon," Arthur reported. His eyes were heavy, as though the weight of the situation had already sunk in. "I'll be speaking with them once they arrive."
As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Arthur opened it, and the tall, imposing figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped inside, his robes sweeping the floor with quiet authority. He was known in the magical world as one of the most formidable Aurors, and though Charlie was grateful to see him, a sense of dread settled over him again.
"Arthur, Molly," Kingsley greeted them, his voice low and serious. "I understand we have a young witch in need of some answers."
Bill, Molly, and Charlie stood to greet him. Molly's voice was soft as she spoke, her hand still pressed to her chest. "We're here to help. Whatever you need."
Kingsley nodded, his dark eyes focused on Charlie for a moment. "You're the one who knows her correct?"
"Yes," Charlie replied, his voice steady. "She's a friend. My little brothers' best friend. I've been coaching her in quidditch."
"Good," Kingsley said. "I'll need your statements too. You might know things that can help us understand what happened."
After their brief exchange, Kingsley turned his attention back to the rest of the family. "Arthur, I'll need your statement as well. We'll begin by gathering information on what happened at the Mclair house, but we'll need all of you to stay put for now. Aurors are already on their way to the Mclair residence."
As Brooklyn slept, her body exhausted from the events of the night and the emotional toll of everything she had endured, the Weasley family remained in the living room, waiting for Aurors to come back. The sounds of murmured conversations and soft footsteps filled the house, but the weight of what had happened pressed heavily on everyone.
Arthur, Molly, Bill, and Charlie were seated in the living room, their eyes dark with concern, their minds racing with questions. The faint sound of Brooklyn's breathing from upstairs was the only sound that brought any semblance of peace to the otherwise tense atmosphere.
Hours later, the door creaked open, and the tall, stern figure of Kingsley Shacklebolt stepped inside once again, his face grave. Behind him were two other Aurors, both looking equally serious.
"Arthur, Molly, Charlie, Bill," Kingsley greeted, his voice calm but filled with the weight of the situation. "We have more information."
Arthur stood, a flicker of fear in his eyes as he locked gazes with Kingsley. "What is it?" he asked, his voice tight.
Kingsley hesitated for a moment before speaking, his words heavy. "The Aurors have secured the Mclair residence. We've found evidence of the murder, and Elizabeth Mclair has been confirmed as deceased. We also found Sam Mclair's wand."
Molly's breath hitched at the mention of Elizabeth's name. She clutched her hands together, trying to hold herself steady. Bill's jaw clenched, and Charlie stood from his chair, his posture rigid with worry.
"Are the other children alright all right? She has three younger siblings I think" Charlie asked, his voice filled with an edge of desperation.
Kingsley nodded solemnly. "We've confirmed that they are safe, but only because Brooklyn managed to get them out. The other children—Emily, Ryan, and Mia—were found at a neighbor's house, unharmed. It seems that only Brooklyn was caught in the worst of it."
Arthur stepped forward, his voice shaking with anger and disbelief. "How could he do this to her? To all of them?"
Kingsley's eyes darkened. "It gets worse. Based on the traces of magic we've found, we believe that Sam Mclair used the Cruciatus Curse on Brooklyn. The magic left behind is unmistakable. There's no question about it."
A heavy silence fell over the room as the words sank in. Charlie's face paled, his eyes wide with horror. "The Cruciatus Curse? She's twelve" he whispered, his voice barely audible.
Bill clenched his fists at his sides, his expression a mixture of shock and anger. "That's…" He trailed off, unable to find the words to fully express his disgust.
Molly's hands trembled as she gripped the edge of the sofa. Her heart broke for the girl upstairs, the one who had suffered at the hands of a man who should have protected her.
Arthur's voice broke the silence, his face filled with grief. "She was tortured. My god…"
Kingsley nodded, his expression grave. "Yes. The traces are clear. The magic is unmistakable."
There was a long pause as the family absorbed the horror of what had been revealed. Bill and Charlie exchanged a look, both struggling with the implications. Molly closed her eyes, her heart breaking for Brooklyn once more.
"Where is Sam now?" Arthur asked, his voice filled with determination. "We need to make sure he never hurts anyone again."
Kingsley stepped closer, his tone firm. "We've already sent additional Aurors to search for him, but he's vanished. The only thing we know for certain is that Elizabeth Mclair is dead, and Sam is nowhere to be found."
Bill stood from his chair, his voice steely. "We'll make sure Brooklyn's safe. She won't have to deal with him again."
Charlie nodded. "We'll protect her. She's one of us."
Arthur turned to Molly, his expression filled with worry and love for their family. "We'll do whatever it takes to help her. We owe it to her, to Elizabeth… to all of them."
Molly's voice was soft but resolute. "We'll make sure she has the support she needs. She's not alone."
At that moment, Molly stood up, her hands shaking slightly as she moved toward the stairs to check on Brooklyn. "I'm going to stay with her. She needs comfort, not more bad news."
Kingsley nodded. "I'll leave it to you to handle from here. If there's anything more we can do, we'll be in touch."
Arthur stood up, his face grim but resolute. "Thank you, Kingsley. We'll get through this. Together."
As Kingsley and the other Aurors left, the Weasley family stood together in the dim light of the living room, each of them grappling with the painful reality of Brooklyn's situation. But one thing was clear—Brooklyn was no longer alone. The Weasley family would make sure of it.
Upstairs, Brooklyn remained oblivious to the conversation happening downstairs. She was still lost in the fog of exhaustion and shock, her body aching, her mind struggling to make sense of everything that had happened.
Molly returned to the room, her steps soft and slow. She sat gently beside the bed, her hand resting on Brooklyn's forehead, brushing back a strand of hair.
"Brooklyn," she murmured softly. "You're safe now. We'll help you through this, I promise. You don't have to carry this burden alone anymore."
But Brooklyn didn't stir. Her world had been shattered too many times for her to comprehend that she was finally in a place where she was cared for. Where she could heal.
Molly leaned forward and kissed Brooklyn's forehead, her heart aching for the young girl who had suffered so much, who had lived through nightmares too awful to imagine.
And as Molly sat there, waiting for Brooklyn to wake, the weight of the truth pressed down on all of them—Sam Mclair was gone, but his actions would haunt them for a long time to come.