The Scorch || Marvel/HP

12 - Halloween

Harlow tuned them out as she fell deep into thought. The boys rambling and messing around seized to exist to her.

Sirius' suggestion of her being an angel almost made her burst out laughing. Harlow knew she was the opposite. The things she had done resembled the devils actions. Nothing about murder, torture or violence sang angelic, it rather screamed devil.

She wasn't a saint. She was a sinner.

Harlow was planning on using Halloween to scare away her demons. And to do so she knew she had to face them. So she was taking the first step and satisfying the boys.

What better than to dress up as an assassin, what Harlow was trained to be. The so called costume was sat up in her dorm, untouched and intimidating.

In a way, Harlow was fed up of pretending to be someone else. But when she thought that, she was admitting to herself that she truly was a murderous monster. Perhaps she didn't know who she was, and she wanted to figure it out. She had no chance at doing so if she couldn't move on.

So she was facing the past. And what better way than dressing up as her old self, in her old uniform, claiming it to be her Halloween costume.

It didn't work out quite how she planned it to go. She pulled on all her individual articles of clothing and fastened her chest piece on-top. She grabbed her wore in black boots that she used to be forced to wear with it. The last piece of the puzzle was the mask she wore that covered the majority of the bottom half of her face, it reminded her of a muzzle. Before getting changed, Harlow plaited her hair into two french plaits, simple and quick but secure.

Harlow walked over to the full body mirror, avoiding looking at herself until she was fully in it. She rose her head and her eyes snapped around her body.

Gunshots.

Two gunshots fired.

The view of her body in the mirror was fading. It snapped between the sight of Harlow standing in front of the mirror to her figure in a dirty window. Harlow was being sucked back into a memory, one she didn't recognise.

Harlow sighed heavily as she felt a spatter of rain on her forehead. She tilted her head back and looked up at the sky. Her eyes next moved to look around the run down alleyway she was currently standing in.

Her gaze dropped to the floor or better yet the puddle she just stood in. Harlow shook out her foot and continued moving. She had her instructions and she had to stick to them. She had experienced the repercussions if she didn't follow them before. She hated to admit it, but she feared the punishment.

Harlow froze, the sound of something moving  around in the alleyway, and needed to investigate. Her hand grasped the USP. 45 gun stored on her thigh as she pressed herself tightly against the wall of the alley. She slowly and silently pulled the gun out of its holder and held the gun in her two hands.

As the sound came closer she took the safety off and held it ready to shoot whatever was coming if necessary.

Bounding round the corner came a small dog. A dog that was very lucky not to be shot in that moment. Harlow let out her held breath, sorted the safety lock and replaced the gun in its holder.

She lent down and gestured for the dog to come over, which it did. She let her hand run over the matted and disgusting fur that coated the poor dog. It was incredibly thin and had a slight limp. The weak and beaten dog reminded Harlow of herself. Starved and castaway.