Phase one begins at nightfall, two nights later.
Ariel is quiet during this phase. She reckons even without a master plan to vanquish the monster in the closet, she'd be quiet anyway. She's barely spoken to Dad, who's back to pretending she's a piece of furniture, and Ariel holds an impromptu hunger strike. Not that she's hungry anyway — food is unimportant — but she scrounges around after dark, once Dad has holed himself in his study and raids the fridge then.
She lives on stale pretzels and peanut butter. It's a pretty good combination — she remembers Mum mentioning that those were her pregnancy cravings, once. Dad had thought it was repulsive, but Mum had snidely reminded him that he hadn't been able to be repulsed, and he'd gone very quiet.
Phase one involves reconnaissance. Ariel needs to know her enemy, needs to understand what she's dealing with before she can figure out how to destroy it. So she watches and she waits, keeping vigil from the living room couch, eyes trained on the shadowy hallway.
Ariel keeps a close watch on the hallway those first two nights, but the thing in the closet doesn't make an appearance. She's not sure if it's gone into hiding or if it's just biding its time, waiting for the right moment to strike again. She supposes it's the latter, because that's what it did the other day — waited until she'd let her guard down before showing itself again.
At this point, Ariel isn't just afraid anymore. She is, beneath the terror, burning — seething — a quiet rage simmering in her veins that threatens to consume her from the inside out. How dare that thing use her mother's face, her mother's voice, to taunt and torment her? How dare it try to turn her against her own father with its whispered lies and twisted half-truths?
She will destroy it, whatever it takes. Even if Dad doesn't believe her — even if she has to do this alone. That monster picked the wrong little witch to mess with. One monster took her mum away, and even though Dad can't see this one, doesn't believe in this one, Ariel's not letting it get to them, too.
On the third night, Ariel decides it's time to move to phase two. She's learned all she can from a distance — absolutely nothing. She needs to confront this thing face to face, and she's not going to wait for it to appear when she's least expecting it. No — she's not going to be taken off guard again.
She starts her evening on the couch, as usual. Dad pretends to work in his study (she hasn't heard a page rustle in nearly twenty minutes, which means he's just sitting there). When he finally emerges, Ariel pretends to be watching the telly, but tonight is different. Maybe it's his Dad-Senses tingling — maybe he knows she's up to something, but he stops behind the couch.
It takes Ariel a good minute before she decides to look up at him. Dad's staring down his nose at her — expectantly.
And then he frowns.
"You're still not sleeping," he sighs.
Ariel just glares at him. Is he serious?
He smoothes her curls back from her forehead. Ariel lets him, only because she's too bloody tired to argue. Too tired, and too determined. She's not going to bungle her plan.
Dad's hand lingers on her forehead for a moment before he pulls it back. His brow furrows. "I can give you Dreamless Sleep again tonight, if you'd like."
Ariel shakes her head vehemently. The idea of being unconscious and vulnerable, with that thing still lurking about, sends a shiver down her spine. "No. I don't want it."
He sighs again. The shadows under his eyes are dark, like bruises.
"You need to sleep." Dad says, his voice low and strained. "This cannot continue. I won't allow it."
Ariel bites the inside of her cheek, trying to keep her expression neutral. She can't give anything away - not now.
"I know," she lies. "I'll try to sleep tonight, I promise. No potions."
He studies her face for a long moment, searching for any hint of deception. Ariel holds his gaze steadily, willing him to believe her.
Finally, he nods once, curtly. Then, to her annoyance, he sits.
Ariel doesn't want him to sit with her tonight. She'd wanted that days ago. Now, he's just — messing with things. Even if he thinks she's completely barmy, Ariel isn't going to wait another night to get some answers — get some payback.
She shimmies away and hikes the blanket over her shoulders and stares at the floor. She stares for so long that after a while she's surprised a hole hasn't appeared in the wood.
"Come for a walk with me," Dad says.
Ariel's head snaps up at her father's words. A walk? Now? She was all set to execute phase two of her plan tonight. She can't afford any distractions or delays.
She hesitates, trying to think of an excuse. "I — I don't know. Maybe tomorrow?"
His eyes narrow slightly. "The fresh air will do you good. Come."
It's not a request.
Ariel sighs inwardly. She knows that tone — there's no arguing with him when he gets like this. Reluctantly she stands up from the couch, but keeps the blanket firmly around her shoulders.
"Fine," she mutters. "Let's go."
The salty night air hits Ariel like a slap as they step onto the beach. The sound of the waves crashing against the shore fills her ears, a steady rhythm that normally calms her frayed nerves. But not tonight. Tonight, her mind is back in that dark hallway. Ariel trudges after her father, the sand shifting beneath her feet. She pulls the blanket tighter around herself, warding off the night chill that seems to seep into her very bones. Dad walks a few paces ahead, his long strides eating up the distance.
After a while, Ariel slows down and ventures a little closer to the shore, shooting a glance at Dad to make sure he's not watching. He's not — she's not sure when he even bothered asking her out here if he's just going to bloody ignore her. Ariel lets the frigid water lap at her toes, shivering at the sensation. She kicks at the sand, sending little puffs of it into the air. The grains catch the moonlight before settling back onto the beach.
After a few moments, Dad finally turns to look at her, stopping a few yards away.
She pretends not to notice that he's staring. She pretends that his words hadn't cut her to the core. The briny air stings her nostrils as she breathes in deeply, trying to steady herself. In her mind, she rehearses what she'll do once they return to the flat —
"Do you know," Dad's voice startles Ariel with how close he is all of a sudden. "that the very first time I met you, it was on this beach?"
Ariel feels her breath catch and swallows the fifty questions that bubble to her lips. "How would I know that?"
Dad gives a quiet huff of laughter, more to himself than to her. "No, I suppose you wouldn't remember. You were too young."
He's silent for a long moment, gazing out at the inky black waves. The moonlight casts his angular features in sharp relief. Ariel watches her father carefully, waiting for him to go on. The strange, almost wistful look on his face is one she's never seen before.
"You were down by the water — she was letting you wade in the shallows by her legs." Dad says, his voice low and distant, as if he's speaking more to himself than to her. "I nearly had a heart attack. All I could think was that if a wave swept you away, you'd be gone in an instant."
Ariel feels something loose inside her chest at her father's words. She tries to picture it in her mind's eye — her as a tiny toddler, Mum holding her hand as she splashes in the shallows and Dad watching from a distance, his heart in his throat.
A realization falls over Ariel, then. "We've been here before?"
"This was an Order safe house. Well, it still is, I suppose. You were born here."
"I was?"
Dad hums. "We left just after you turned four. Some of the townspeople recognized you when we first returned — I had to Obliviate them, of course. The first whisper of you, especially with that damnable scar…"
His eyes linger on the lightning bolt on her forehead. Ariel ducks her head and covers it with her hand, pretending to be brushing her fringe out of her face. She hates it. She wants to scrape it off with her fingernails, some days. She knows the shape — knows what made it — and it's a constant reminder of what she should not have survived, of what has caused her world to collapse.
She turns fully to look up at him, then. His eyes are two blots of inky, the only thing moving in them the waves behind her. "Why are you telling me this now?"
Dad kneels down in front of her, gets eye level with her. He tucks the blanket firmly around her shoulders, but the look in his eye makes her shiver. "Because the moment I laid eyes on you, I knew I could never let anything happen to you."
Ariel's throat tightens at her father's words, emotion swelling up inside her chest like the tide. She blinks rapidly, trying to clear the sudden mistiness from her eyes.
Dad reaches out and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, his fingers lingering for just a moment. "I need you to understand that. No matter what happens, no matter what you think you see or hear, I will always protect you. Always."
Ariel stares at her father, the sincerity in his voice and the intensity of his gaze making her chest ache. She wants so badly to believe him - to let his words wash over her like a soothing balm, erasing the fear and uncertainty that have plagued her for days. But she can't. Not when she knows what she's seen, what she's heard.
"Then why won't you believe me?" Ariel asks quietly, her voice trembling despite her best efforts to keep it steady. "If you want to protect me, why won't you listen to me about what's happening?"
Dad's brow furrows, a flicker of frustration passing over his face before he smooths it away. "I understand that these past few months have been rather trying for you. I am not denying that taking you from everything you've ever known may have taken a toll, but I am doing what is best for you. We must stay here."
"That's not what this is about!" she insists, pulling away from his touch. The blanket slips from her shoulders and pools at her feet. "I — I want to know what's going on, but that thing wants to hurt us! If we can't leave, then why?"
He stares down at the blanket, his lips pressed into a tight line, like it's going to snap. "You're not ready to hear that, yet."
"Why not? Remus —"
"The werewolf didn't know anything." Dad snarls. "Whatever he told you was rubbish."
Where's my Dad?
Who, darling? Who? Your father was here?
What do you mean? He lives here and he's gone —
What's his name, Ariel? Your father?
Please just tell me where he's gone, he thinks I'm dead —
"I want to go back." Ariel bites her lip to keep it from wobbling. "I want our old house. I want our old life back. I don't want to stay here anymore!"
Dad just shakes his head at her. "Even if we could, my girl, it was not a life. We were secluded — cut off from the magical world. You don't know the magnitude of what's happened."
"The great bloody git died but you said he hasn't — is that why? What are we meant to do, hide from him forever?"
"No, it is a symptom. There are other circumstances that need to be dealt with without our presence mucking it up."
Ariel stomps her foot, splashing the two of them, but she doesn't care. "That thing in my closet would fit the bill! How do you know he hasn't sent it?"
"I don't want what else I can possibly say to convince you that your nightmares cannot hurt you."
"LIAR!" she shouts at him, rips free of his grasp, and marches back up to the house. She doesn't get very far before he catches up and pulls her to a halt, his fingers digging into her shoulders. She whirls around, ready to unleash a torrent of anger, but the look on his face stops her cold. His eyes are wide — haunted.
"You've no idea," Dad whispers, his voice brittle and coarse, making her shiver. "There are things out there , in the world, that can. Things that would destroy us both if they knew where we were."
She swallows — it takes her a few tries before she can force words out. "Like You-Know-Who?"
"Among other things."
Ariel doesn't think she wants to know what he's talking about. She doesn't even get a chance to ask before he's pulling her into him, letting her settle against his side as they begin the walk back up to the house. Ariel wants to argue some more — and doesn't. It's no use, without proof. She reckons she could ask Dad to look inside her head with that mind-reading magic — he'd used it with Mum, sometimes, when they'd have more private conversations, but Ariel finds herself too scared to ask. She's afraid of what else he might find — the stuff she doesn't want him to know.
Maybe Dad is just as scared as she is.
They don't talk anymore, but Dad settles next to Ariel and pretends to watch some Muggle game show while Ariel waits for him to leave. She sits on her own end of the couch and stews, swinging her feet and wringing her hands in her blanket and trying to ignore the eyes of her father, who linger more and more on her as the night carries on. Ariel can tell he's waiting for her to break first — that she'll storm off to her bedroom — but she's not going in there unless she chooses to. She's not giving that thing a shred of power — a shred of fear.
After a while Ariels' eyelids grow heavy and she finds herself sinking into the sofa, struggling to stay awake. It's the safest she's felt in days, sitting on the couch with the telly, her father between her and her closet, but before she can fully let herself go — before she can consider taking the night off — Dad finally stands up.
Ariel watches as Dad retreats to his own bedroom, the door shutting softly behind him. She counts to one hundred before rising from the couch, her bare feet silent against the worn floorboards.
She hadn't expected him to stay. She tells herself the pain in her heart is from holding her breath, and not heartbreak.
Phase two involves getting up close and personal with the monster.
Ariel needs to confront it directly if she has any hope of defeating it. And she has to do it while Dad is asleep and unaware. He can't interfere — not that he would have, anyway.
She pads down the dark hallway, the shadows seeming to writhe and twist around her. Ariel's heart pounds in her chest as she approaches her bedroom door, left slightly ajar. With trembling fingers, she pushes it open, wincing at the faint creak of the hinges.
The room is dark, illuminated only by a sliver of moonlight peeking through the curtains. Her bed is unmade, covers strewn about haphazardly — just as she'd left it.
And there, looming ominously in the corner, is the closet.
The door is closed. Ariel takes a deep breath, steeling herself. Her hands shake as she reaches for the doorknob, the metal cold beneath her fingers. She turns it slowly, the click of the latch sounding like a gunshot in the stillness of the night. If she hadn't known that he'd fixed the thing with magic, Ariel might've thought her father had never checked her closet. It doesn't have a mark on it — not a singe mark, not a scratch, not a single chip of paint.
The door creaks open, revealing only darkness within. Ariel squints into the gloom, her heart in her throat.
She steps forward, one foot and then the other, until she's standing in front of it.
And then she sits — settles with her legs crossed.
And waits.
It doesn't take long.
The darkness seems to pulse and breathe around Ariel as she sits vigil before the open closet door. The air is thick with a heavy, oppressive silence broken only by the faint creaking of the house settling. Ariel's skin prickles with goosebumps despite the stuffiness of the room.
Minutes tick by like hours. Ariel's eyelids start to droop with fatigue, but she forces them open again and again, refusing to succumb to sleep. She cannot let her guard down, not even for a moment.
Then, just as she's beginning to think it won't happen, it does.
A flicker of movement in the depths of the closet, so subtle she almost misses it. She leans forward, squinting into the darkness, her breath catching in her throat. There's a faint rustle, like fabric brushing against wood. Ariel's heart hammers against her ribs. She swallows hard, tasting fear bitter on her tongue.
"I know you're in there," she whispers, her voice trembling only slightly. "I want to talk."
A low chuckle emanates from the closet, sending chills down Ariel's spine. "Clever girl," a voice rasps, grating like nails on a chalkboard. "I knew you'd come back."
Ariel sets her jaw, hands clenching into fists at her sides. "Show yourself."
Silence stretches for a long, tense moment. Then, slowly, a shape emerges from the shadows. Pale, skeletal limbs unfurl as the creature slinks into view, milky white eyes glinting in the darkness. Matted auburn hair frames its gaunt, bone-white face in stringy clumps. Ariel's breath catches in her throat as she takes in the ghastly sight, her stomach twisting with revulsion.
"What's the matter, little witch?" Not-Mum croons, its thin lips peeling back in a grotesque mockery of a smile. "Aren't you happy to see me?"
Ariel steels herself. "Not really, no. You haven't given me much of a choice."
"We all have a choice, sweet girl." it clicks its tongue at her. "Didn't our last conversation tell you anything?"
Ariel leans away — it's taking all of her strength not to fly out the door. "All you did was make accusations. I want to know what you know."
The creature tilts its head to the side, a jerky, unnatural movement. "What I know?" it repeats in voice like oil slithering over gravel. "I know many things, little witch. Things that would make your blood run cold."
Ariel swallows hard but holds her ground, meeting those eerie white eyes without flinching. "You said my father has secrets. That he owes something to You-Know-Who. I want to know what you meant by that."
Not-Mum's grin stretches wider, baring jagged, yellowed teeth. "So curious , aren't you? Desperate to uncover your daddy's dark secrets?"
It leans forward, bringing its grotesque face uncomfortably close to Ariel's. She fights the urge to recoil.
"Your father made a grave mistake, little witch," it whispers conspiratorially. "He betrayed the Dark Lord. Turned traitor to save his own skin. But the Dark Lord does not forgive — and he does not forget."
Ariel's heart stops. "What are you talking about? My dad wasn't — he didn't work for You-Know-Who!"
Not-Mum throws back its head and laughs, a harsh, grating sound that sets Ariel's teeth on edge. "Oh, but he did. He was one of the Dark Lord's most loyal servants, until he betrayed him for that Mudblood mother of yours."
Ariel feels like she's been punched in the gut. She shakes her head vehemently. "No. My dad would never. He —"
But then she remembers — Dad hadn't been around until she was three or so. Ariel hadn't been able to remember back that far, but she'd asked, sometimes, about the start of the War, and Mum had always talked about it like she'd been alone, then. It hadn't made sense to Ariel, who'd assumed Dad had just been — away, on some important mission for the Order the whole time —
But every time the Order showed up, Dad had left —
— And James' fury the last time she'd seen them —
You coward! You left her here and now you come back? What have you done? What have you done?
"Wouldn't he?" Not-Mum sneers. "Think, little witch. Why do you suppose the Dark Lord came for you that night? Why was your father so desperate to hide you away?"
The creature leans in even closer, its rancid breath washing over Ariel's face. She fights the urge to gag.
"Your father made a deal with the devil, and now the devil has come to collect his due. The Dark Lord will not rest until he has what rightfully belongs to him."
"There was a Prophecy —" Ariel whispers. "That's why. Not because of Dad. He said there was a Prophecy."
Not-Mum cackles, a sound like breaking glass. "A Prophecy, yes, but it was your father who delivered it straight into the Dark Lord's hands."
Ariel's blood turns to ice in her veins.
"Oh yes," Not-Mum hisses gleefully. "Your precious daddy, so eager to prove his worth, his loyalty. He overheard the Prophecy and ran to his master with the news, never dreaming it could refer to his own child."
She rises to her feet. "You're lying."
"Then why am I here, little witch?" Not-Mum's smile widens. "I've not come to kill you for nothing."
Ariel's heart sinks like a stone.
She moves just in time as the thing lunges. It's all legs and arms — inhumanly long limbs, so when it moves, it slides across the floor like a spider with roller-skates. Ariel dives to the side as the creature lunges, its spindly arms swiping at empty air where she had just been standing. She scrambles backwards on her hands and knees, putting as much distance between herself and the monster as possible.
Not-Mum hisses in frustration, milky eyes darting wildly as it searches for its prey. Ariel's heart pounds in her ears as she crouches behind her bed, mind racing.
And this is where phase three unfolds.
Ariel's hand closes around the smooth glass vial hidden beneath her pillow.
And then she chucks it at the thing's head.
The glass vial shatters against the creature's skull with a satisfying crack. For a split second, nothing happens — and then the room explodes with a blinding flash and a deafening bang.
Ariel had come prepared. Earlier that day, while her father was shut away in his study, she had snuck into the kitchen and pilfered a few key ingredients — baking soda, vinegar, a dash of chili powder.
And a great, heaping portion of Instant Darkness.
Even just a pinch would turn a harmless concoction into a magical bomb. The other ingredients were just enough to cause a reaction — Muggle chemistry, really — but the Instant Darkness only needed that little spark to ignite. Ariel had found it hidden away in the darkest recesses of her father's bedroom closet, wrapped in a scrap of midnight blue velvet and tucked behind a stack of dusty potions journals in a tiny glass vial, no larger than Ariel's pinky. Dad kept it in case of intruders. Mum hadn't liked Ariel knowing where they kept stuff like that, but Dad had always been paranoid and twitchy about it. As Ariel had gotten older, he'd shown her spots in the old house where he'd kept — well, he'd called them defense mechanisms. Mum had called them liabilities.
The bomb explodes with a force that rocks the room, sending Ariel stumbling backwards. Darkness engulfs her like a living thing, thick and viscous, swallowing all light and sound. For a moment, there is only a profound, unnatural silence — then the creature's scream pierces the void, a sound of pure rage that makes Ariel's blood run cold.
She'd nearly forgotten the other one — Skrewt venom. That part had been personal.
Ariel can't see, can't hear anything beyond the ringing in her ears and the thundering of her own heart. The darkness presses in on her from all sides, suffocating and disorienting. She can't see her own hands in front of her face, can't even tell which way is up or down.
Somewhere in the void, the creature is screaming. It's a sound unlike anything Ariel has ever heard before, a feeling like scissors in her teeth. She throws her hands over her ears and huddles beneath the bed frame, tries to shove herself between it and the wall, but she's too big, and it's too bloody dark — why had she used so much?
How long Ariel sits there, silent and still, she doesn't know. The next thing she does know, however, is that beneath her hands, the floor is hot.
She looks up and — squints.
There's a green light blooming, the creature's shrieks fading. Even though she can't see her hands directly in front of her, she can see the light getting brighter, and can feel a warmth pulsating from it, like a heartbeat. She blindly swipes her hands forward as she stumbles closer to it, a pull fueling her feet to move towards it while the darkness sucks in all of the sound away, letting it fall behind her like ash in the wind.
Ariel can see shapes through the murky light. She forces herself to keep moving — you must always carry your light — and that what she's doing, she's carrying on towards the light, because something inside of her feels like it might die if she doesn't.
The shapes form into familiar things, and Ariel knows instantly where she is, a pang of longing so strong thundering through her that it's a wonder she stays on her feet. It's their old flat — the rickety old kitchen table, the mismatched chairs, the chipped mugs in the sink. Ariel blinks, not quite believing what she's seeing. It's like stepping into a memory, except everything feels too real, too tangible to be just inside her head.
A flicker of movement catches her eye. There, seated at the table, is a woman with long, auburn hair cascading down her back. Ariel's breath catches in her throat.
She stops short. Is it — her? Or is it that thing?
The second Ariel sees her, the scene seems to fizzle and vibrate, like a telly sorting through static trying to find the right channel. Everything brightens, the warm, yellow light of their home replacing the dusty green, and Ariel can see all of them — herself, Mum, Dad — they're all there. Pumpkins are strewn about on the counters and table, the bloody ridiculous paper bats Mum had made tacked up on the kitchen cupboards. She always insisted on doing the decorations the Muggle way, and they'd always come out hideous.
She doesn't think she could miss something so much. Ariel freezes, heart pounding, as the achingly familiar scene unfolds before her. It's Halloween — it's that night — their last Halloween together before everything shattered. She watches, transfixed, as her younger self bounces around the kitchen, excitedly chattering about carving pumpkins.
Dad is on the couch with the Prophet, sneering every few sentences or so. He'd been on edge that night, muttering about the Wards and the last time Dumbledore had been by to see them. Mum has her sleeves rolled up, pumpkin guts screen about the countertop, laughing as she attempts to shape a pumpkin into something resembling a grinning face. The sound of her laughter fills the room, a soothing balm that pushes back the shadows clawing at Ariel's heart.
"Is that meant to be a nose?" Other-Ariel grins, turning over Mum's pumpkin to inspect it. She'd made one eye far too big and too low, it's half so lopsided it looked like it was melting off. "Or another mouth?"
"Cheeky!" Mum tousles her hair before smoothing it back into place. "Just wait until you see the finished product."
"That means she's botched it," Dad comments from behind his newspaper.
Mum shoots him a playful glare. "I'd like to see you do better, mister."
"I'd rather not. The artistic endeavor lies with you, unfortunately."
Mum sends a pumpkin seed whizzing through the air. Ariel hides her giggles behind her hands when it thwacks him in the forehead, causing him to scowl as he throws the paper down.
"Stop being a pill and show us your carving skills, then." Mum smirks when Dad throws the paper down and stands, his eyes lingering on the windows. He's drawn the curtains, much to Mum's dismay, but the amount of people walking about outside was making him nervous.
Ariel feels herself lurch forward as Dad's eyes sweep over the table, arching an eyebrow. He picks up a carving knife and examines it.
"I fail to see how mutilating vegetables constitutes as a holiday tradition," he drawls.
Mum rolls her eyes. "It's fun, Sev. Fun. "
"Look, Dad!" Other-Ariel tries to lift up her pumpkin to show him, but it slips from her small hands. Dad's reflexes are quick — he catches it before it can hit the floor.
"Careful," he chides gently, setting the pumpkin down. He lifts Ariel up so that he can sit beside Mum, setting Ariel on his lap. "If you smash yours, your mother will be crowned the winner, and we can't have that happen. That thing is an abomination."
"I'll have you know this is a masterpiece in the making."
"I think it's very scary, Mummy." Other-Ariel chides, poking Dad in the ribs.
He snorts. "That's one word for it."
Mum scrunches up her nose playfully. "Oh, is that so? Well, let's see what the master carver can do then."
Dad's eyes linger on the windows again as he cranes his neck above Other-Ariel's head. His fingers drum against the table, a nervous rhythm that sets Ariel's teeth on edge. She can see the tension in his shoulders, the way his eyes dart around the room as if searching for unseen threats.
Ariel knows what's coming next.
And there's nothing she can do to stop it. She wants to shout a warning, to tell them to run, to hide, but she knows it's useless. This is just a memory, a cruel echo of the past that she's powerless to change.
"Sev?" Mum lowers the knife, eyebrows knitted together in concern.
Ariel tries anyway. She lurches forward and makes it to the table, tries to shake her Dad's arm, but she's nothing but mist and vapor. Her hand goes straight through, and when she tries to speak, nothing comes out. Ariel tries to kick the table but Other-Ariel traces lines in marker on her pumpkin and Dad watches her work.
Mum is frowning, now, noticing the worry lines tightening in Dad's face. Other-Ariel doesn't notice, grabbing her carving knife to start on her pumpkin's eyes while her parents seem to have some sort of silent exchange. Mum's hand squeezes Dad's shoulder, her hand threading through his black hair soothingly as they sit quietly for what feels like eons.
Other-Ariel breaks the silence. "Dad, you're not helping!"
Dad blinks, as if coming out of a trance. He looks down at Other-Ariel and gives a small smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "My apologies. What would you like me to do?"
"Help me with the eyes," Other-Ariel says, pointing at her lopsided pumpkin. "I can't get them even."
Dad's just picking up the knife when it happens.
The power goes out, plunging the room into darkness.
Through the inky blackness she sees Dad shoot up — nearly knocking Other-Ariel to the floor. Mum catches her just in time, just as Other-Ariel lets out an indignant "hey!" and something shoots through the air. It shimmers above their heads and then dims, fading as the calls of children and parents outside become the only sound in the room.
"Sev —" Mum starts, her voice tight.
"What happened?" Other-Ariel asks.
Dad doesn't say anything. Golden light pulses around his wand and up his wrist. It goes out with a hiss, smoking at the ends as Dad hurries towards the front of the flat.
Ariel closes her eyes when the front door caves in with a deafening crack.
The screaming, Ariel realizes, is coming from her.
Her eyes are shut, not wanting to see him again, but when she realizes what she's doing, they snap open as she gasps for air, her screams dying in her throat. The warm, golden light of her memory has vanished, replaced once again by inky darkness. Her heart pounds wildly as she tries to orient herself, panic clawing at her chest. She's back in her bedroom, she realizes with a rush of relief.
Until she remembers she's still in there with that thing — and it hasn't stopped its own agonized howls — only now it sounds angry. Very angry.
Ariel — hadn't thought this far. She'd only thought of what she could gain — and — she'd been growing rather impatient.
"Come here, little witch bitch!" it shrieks, the sound echoing off the walls and reverberating through Ariel's bones. "How dare you! Come here — I'm going to suck the marrow from your bones!"
With a burst of reckless courage, Ariel snarls back: "Oh, yeah? Well I hope you choke on it!"
The creature's enraged howls echo through the darkness as Ariel frantically tries to orient herself. It's not fading — she's used entirely too much — but she doesn't have time to regret anything, she's got to get out of here.
Suddenly, a spindly hand grabs Ariel's ankle. She screams and kicks out blindly, feeling her foot connect with something solid. The creature shrieks in pain and rage, its grip loosening just enough for Ariel to wrench free.
"He will have what is rightfully his!" Not-Mum shrieks as Ariel scrambles away. "You cannot escape your fate, little witch!"
The screaming ebbs, just a bit, and Ariel hears a new noise. A frantic pounding on her bedroom door.
Her father, shouting her name.
Her heart lurches at the sound of his voice, panicked and hoarse.
She forces herself to her feet, disoriented in the unnatural darkness still engulfing the room. Her heart races as she stumbles blindly towards the door, hands outstretched. The creature is still shrieking somewhere behind her, an agonized wail that sends shivers down her spine, but Ariel can't think about that now. All she can focus on is reaching her dad, getting out —
Ariel's fumbling hands finally find the doorknob. She twists it frantically, throwing all her weight against the wood. The door flies open with a bang and she tumbles out into the hallway, straight into her father's arms.
The darkness bleeds out after her. Her whole body is trembling as she clings to him, but Dad swings her up and swears loudly.
Ariel buries her face in her father's shoulder as he carries her swiftly down the hallway, away from the lingering darkness and screams still emanating from her bedroom. Her whole body shakes uncontrollably as the adrenaline drains out of her, leaving only cold terror in its wake.
"What did you do?" Dad's voice is harsh and panicked as he sets Ariel down on the living room couch. His hands move over her, checking for injuries, fingers trembling slightly. "Goddammit, Ariel, what did you do?"
Ariel swallows thickly, her throat raw. "I made a bomb."
"You what?"
"I had to kill it —"
Dad's face drains of all color. His eyes dart between Ariel and the hallway, where the darkness still lingers like a living entity.
"You —" whatever words were next get caught in his throat, and it sounds like Dad is trying to swallow saltwater. He sounds like he's gagging something foul down until he gives a sharp exhale.
The screaming from the bedroom has stopped.
"You didn't hear it?" Ariel whispers.
Dad just stares at her.
"How could you not?" she's — not surprised — but still utterly baffled. "You didn't hear it screaming? It was awful."
Dad's eyes search Ariel's face, as if trying to find an answer there. His jaw clenches tight, a muscle twitching beneath the skin. "The only person I heard screaming was you."
She doesn't argue. There's no point — and if she is going really and truly mad — it's just going to make things worse. Ariel just lets herself fall against the back of the couch, her body heavy as a small smile twists up her lips. She hurt it — she knows it can be hurt. And if it can be hurt, it can be killed. She's going to kill it for what it's said about her parents —
He betrayed the Dark Lord —
Never dreaming it could refer to his own child —
The devil has come to collect his due —
Ariel lets her eyes flicker open to find her father still kneeling in front of her, his gaze on the floor. Something races through his features, fast and furious, a kind of resolve that makes a rush of something sharp startle Ariel back to being awake, causing her to sit up when he stands and stalks towards the unused hearth.
"What're you doing?" Ariel croaks out.
Dad doesn't answer her as he flings a handful of Floo powder into the fireplace. It smokes and coughs to life, green sparks spilling out and onto the floor. Her father's hand gnarls into the mantle with such force it's a wonder the wood doesn't split.
"Albus," her father grinds out. "Albus, are you there?"