More than ten years had passed since the sky had shattered, and the scars of the war between the wizarding families still ran deep, though some wounds were hidden beneath the surface — waiting for the right moment to bleed once more.
As the new year began at Hogwarts, the halls buzzed with a mix of excitement and apprehension, a fresh start for all—but the arrival of a transfer student from a distant school silenced the chatter. She stepped into the Great Hall, her eyes dark and distant, as though they carried the weight of a thousand untold stories, and for reasons no one could explain, the air grew heavier the moment she entered.
Dumbledore stood proud and tall at the podium, "First, I'd like to welcome everyone to another year at Hogwarts. Second, I'm pleased to welcome Professor R.J. Lupin who will be filling as our Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. Finally, we have a new student who will be transferring as a third year. Please everyone, welcome Miss Stella Everhart to Ravenclaw house."
After the professor's words echoed through the room, the Ravenclaw house erupted in cheers and laughter. The tight, unspoken tension that had gripped everyone melted away, replaced by a calm that was almost palpable.
Unbeknownst to all, a greater evil stirred in the shadows, its presence felt but unseen. As the room remained tranquil, unaware of the darkness creeping closer, the false sense of peace only masked the looming danger. The halls, once filled with quiet whispers, now held a sinister secret, waiting for the right moment to reveal itself.
In the dark, gloomy, rainy night, a man in an emerald green suit stood sadly beneath a flickering streetlamp, its yellow glow fighting to pierce the mist that clung to the cobblestones like a ghost too stubborn to leave. The rain soaked through his fine clothes, but he didn't move, didn't flinch. His polished shoes, now muddy, pointed toward an alleyway where a broken watch ticked faintly on the ground, half-buried in a puddle.
He had come back to this place every year on the same date, at the same time. It wasn't guilt that brought him—though he had plenty of that—it was memory. A memory he couldn't shake, one that wrapped around his heart like ivy and squeezed.
Tonight, though, something was different.
From the shadows, a shape stirred. Soft footsteps echoed between the brick walls. The man stiffened. He turned slowly, raindrops tracing his jawline like cold fingers.
"It was you..," he gasped softly. "I should have known." And just like that, everything he thought he knew about that night came crashing down.
"That's right. If I got rid of her. Everything will have fallen back in place. Like it should have been."
Draco Malfoy grimaced, shaking his head at the young girl who looked as if she had been hurt a thousand times over. "Let me save you Draco. I should have been the one by your side. I am the one you love. She doesn't belong in your story. I do."
The rain fell harder now, washing away the years between them—but not the madness in her eyes.
"No, Ella." He started. "Let me. Save you."
Stella, believing he had come to his senses, smiled happily, arms wide open as if awaiting his warm embrace once again.
Slash Splurt Cough
He brought his wand up, and with a swift flick—almost too fast to see—she laid on the floor.
Just like that.
No scream. No fight. Just a soft gasp that slipped from her lips like a final breath of disbelief. Her body crumpled into the rain-slicked cobblestone, limbs folding as if in a reluctant surrender. Her eyes were still open, staring not at him, but past him—maybe through him. Maybe at something only she could see.
The rain didn't stop. Neither did the guilt.
He looked down at the wand in his hand. It didn't shine. It didn't feel noble. It felt like a key to a door he had just slammed shut forever.
"I told you," he whispered, to her, to himself, to the night. "I would save you."
But she still looked like she was waiting for him to say I love you.
He crouched beside her, careful, reverent, unsure if he was mourning her… or the version of her he once knew. The Ella who believed in outspokenness, power, but kind promises. Not this… broken mirror reflection.
The rain suddenly stopped—mid-drop. Frozen. Suspended in air like time itself had paused to inhale. The streetlamp overhead flickered and went out.
He stood slowly, backing away from her body, and then he saw it:
Her eyes, though lifeless… were glowing faintly.
Green.
The same shade as his suit.
A pulse of something unseen trembled through the air, and in the darkness behind him, a dozen more lamps lit up—one by one, in a perfect line—leading deeper into the alley.
And then a girl's voice echoed softly from nowhere and everywhere at once:
"Now it's your turn."