𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐇𝐎 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏𝐏𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐖𝐀𝐑

desert flower

“It feels like coming home
after being away too long—
the way I gravitate
towards you.”

•

MONICA AND WENDELL Wilkins were found, their memories were reinstated, they had hugged their daughter and her friends, and in a shower of tears and laughter over tea and sponge cakes, they had narrated their adventures. Monica and Wendell Wilkins were once again Hermione's parents, and they were sent back home, without magic, to London, where they'd re-enter their homes and wait for their daughter, a warrior, a prodigy to come back home. Hermione was once again light, Ron was once again relieved and Harry was once again happy. The true happiness however, came on the last day of June, a terrible day for all, as they waited outside the Orphanage, between soft sniffles of Hermione, Draco's hands firmly gripped on Skylar's, Ron's eyes hard and blazing and Harry pacing around wildly on the dried grass.

"You should stop that," Draco said pointedly to his girlfriend who blew out smoke from her cigarette. She rolled her eyes.

"I'm nervous," she stated. "We waited a month and nothing happened. This is the last day. . . I don't want to get my hopes too high." She took another drag. The smoke billowed out, mixing with the light fog that lingered in the air.

"Quit crying," Draco directed towards Granger. "You're making me nervous, stop."

"Oh, don't you tell me not to cry!" Hermione snapped, dabbing her eyes with her handkerchief, glaring at Draco before softening the gaze at Skylar. She was her first friend who wasn't a boy. Of course, Ginny was there, but Ginny wasn't Skylar. Ginny was a beautiful, strong girl who had more friends than Hermione had finger's. Skylar was the bookworm, the one who discussed question papers with her after exams, the one who studied with her, offering tips, taking advices. Skylar was the one who told her about Ron, and shared her secrets over how to make him realize that she loved him; she was the one who taught Hermione that knowledge wasn't power—curiosity was. The true magic wasn't books and spells, but was the will to do it, no matter what. Skylar was her friend, and this was the last day, and anything could go wrong. "Skylar, put that wretched thing away!"

"I can't!" Skylar snapped, her fingers slightly shaking as she took a last drag of the already burning out Winston. "I'm just as nervous as you are!"

"Quit it!" Harry snapped, running his hands through his hair, messing it up even more. Skylar stomped on the cigarette bud and pulled out her packet to take another.

"Evanesco!"

"Why!" Skylar whined as her packet disappeared from her shaky fingers.

"You're an addict!" Ron hissed, lowering his sweater from his nose, crinkling his nose. "At this rate you'd have asthma before we start our training!"

"I won't —"

"Shut up—"

"What the fuck is that!"

They all turned to the direction Harry pointed with a long, bruised, shaky finger. They all looked; Skylar's hair whipped in the cold wind as she watched, her fingers tightening around Draco's. The air at the kissing gate of the Orphanage shimmered; something extraordinary, seraphic was happening. She could make out the strange form of a billowing black cloak; she was ready to die. Everything was coming down to this one day. She had died before and it hurt. She wondered how this one would be like. She loosened her grip on Draco and closed her eyes, feeling her skin sizzle with magic and then—