𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐃𝐎𝐖𝐍𝐒𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐒 𝐎𝐅 𝐈𝐑𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐁𝐋𝐄 [𝐣.𝐩𝐨𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫]

26: 𝔱𝔥𝔢 𝔭𝔯𝔞𝔫𝔨 {𝔭𝔱. 𝔦𝔦}

The wind whistled eerie tunes in her ear, causing a shiver to run down her spine like fingers, caressing the curve of her back. The booming clap of thunder caused her to bite the palm of her hand, use all the remaining force she'd preserved to prevent herself from screaming. Mere seconds later, a brilliant flash of lighting illuminated all the awful silhouettes, of the Forbidden Forest.

Brigitte Alarie was scared.

So scared, in fact, at the prospect of meeting a werewolf and then her untimely end (despite knowing that the aforementioned werewolf was Remus Lupin, possibly one of the only people she'd consider her best friend), that she wanted to lay down and cry. She wanted to jam her fingers into her ears and squeeze her eyes shut and pretend like she was back in her dormitory, hidden safely under Lily's covers, the two of them giggling nervously as they counted the seconds between thunderclap and lightning stroke.

It was horrible, stumbling through the abysmal school ground, pelted by frigorific artillery as she listened for any sign of a howl. She was too scared to use her wand for light, for fear that the werewolf would take interest in the luminant glow and come to play.

She could've sworn she heard two voices, arguing over the heavy rainfall. She listened closer.

"Get out of my way, Potter!"

James.

Her heart skipped a beat, wondering if she even dared to hope for something that good. For James Potter.

"So why don't you duel me, then. Eh, Snivy?" His arrogant voice carried past the thundering rain, but there was a lacking quality in his voice.

James Potter was scared. Not only that, he was scared out of his bloody mind.

Brigitte followed his voice, strides quickening.

"Come on now, don't be scared." His voice shook ever so slightly. She could imagine him, standing with his stance wide, wand pointed at his opponent. She knew what he was doing now, goading Snape, trying to fuel their rivalry in hopes of coaxing him away.

She peered, hiding behind a large tree. They were both standing by the Whomping Willow, wands at the ready with equal precision. A flash of lightning struck. James's jaw was square, hair plastered to his face, glasses presumably tucked away in his pocket. Snape glaring venomously at his target, two malicious eyes staring at James Potter, looking for the best way to draw blood.

It looked as though James's idea was working. Brigitte could see him gain courage, see the cogs turning in his brain. She didn't know how long he could withstand Snape's curses. They were brutal and positively illegal. But if he steered him away from moony, at least long enough for Peter to find Professor McGonagall as they'd planned, all would be well.

But as they bowed, under the smattering of rain, a long, lonesome howl pierced the night. Brigitte felt as though her whole body had just been plunged into ice cold water.

Instantly, Snape made a quick motion with his wand, sending James flying directly into the course of the Whomping Willow's thick, thrashing branches. He was batted away with a crack, body falling limp against the soft earth.

Snape shook his head dismissively, levitating a branch up to a certain knot at the base of the Willow, and to Brigitte's astonishment, it stopped as though petrified. It was clear that this was the final piece of Snape's twisted puzzle, and Sirius had delivered it into his waiting palm. Slowly, Brigitte had begun to fill in the gaps in her knowledge, too. The Shrieking Shack, The Whomping Willow, Snape's predatorial gaze towards Remus.

Brigitte felt a surge of panic flood her veins. She aimed her wand from afar, holding it steady.

"Petrificus totalus."