Chapter 1 : Forgotten memories
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This was written for the Minor Character Challange created by my wonderful soulmate Lizzac.
This is also the first ever challenge I have completed so I hope that you will like it! :)
Dear great-aunt, dear Batty
I am writing to you to ask whether it would be possible for you to take me on over the summer as my parents are quite busy, and I would need a place to stay.
I do wish to come and find out more about the history of magic in both the U.K. and the rest of the world, and who would it be better for me to turn to then you?
With hopes of hearing from you soon
A tear dropped down on the old parchment as she reminisced. How she had let him come to stay. How she had caused what then happened…
…and how she had done nothing to prevent it.
Gellert had been a fine young man when he came to stay, full of ideas and of life. She knew that the once so sweet little boy had now grown up, and would change the world with his intelligence and wit. Gellert was without doubt the most intelligent young man she had ever met, as well as the most interested in her subject. They would sit and discuss the different causes of wars, the greatest wizards, who and who wasn’t good enough to get a whole book devoted to their life.
But after a few weeks she had gotten a bit scared.
Gellert spent an enormous amount of time on the most vile and horrible battles that had taken place with something that seemed to remind her of a passion, a devotion for the blood that had flowed and the lives it had cost.
She had introduced Gellert to a nearby young wizard whom also possessed a great knowledge for such a young age.
How could have she know that it would end so badly?
How could she have known that what had seemed like such a fantastic friendship between two such amazing young wizards would end in disaster and death?
Now that she knew what had happened she wished nothing more than to go back and change it.
But that was not an option.
Suddenly there was a knock on the door. Bathilda quickly scurried all her papers into the old box and locked it away into her dark writing desk before she went to get the door. Outside stood a vulture looking woman who introduced herself as “Rita Skeeter” she was a reporter from the daily prophet and she wished to discuss the various war themes throughout history. Bathilda let her in and went to the kitchen to make her some tea.
Rita looked even greedier when Bathilda brought in the tea, and when Bathilda wasn’t watching. The green-clad woman slipped some veritaserum into her cup.
After the first sip of her tea Bathilda couldn’t really remember anything of what had happened during the interview. But to judge of the big smile on the Skeeter woman’s face she had gotten to know all that she had come there for.
After Ms. Skeeter had left Bathilda took out a photo and continued thinking about the old times…
The photo pictured Albus Dumbledore and her dear Gellert in front of the house.
She knew that there had been something weird about the Dumbledores’ youngest, their daughter.
...Ariana was the name.
Bathilda had seen the daughter on very few occasions, she had known that she was there but she hadn’t seemed to be allowed outside, kind of as if she was locked up.
Bathilda could remember one time she had seen her especially well.
She had woken up in the middle of the night and gone down into her kitchen to get a glass of water. She had looked up and out of the window. There, she had seen something so beautiful yet terrifying.
The young girl was wearing a white nightgown, it reached down to her feet and touched the green grass.
She was stretching her arms out staring up at the dark night sky and her big blue eyes was mirroring the full moon above her
Suddenly the backdoor opened and Mrs. Dumbledore came out to get her daughter. Kendra moved quickly, looking around her as if to make sure that no one would see her. She tried to take Arianas hand and lead her inside... but was not able to move her and Arianas lonely tone full of sorrow had grew louder and even lonelier.
It had been like the loneliness was captured by each tone the young girl had sung and…
Bathilda had always feared loneliness…
There was yet another knock on the door which disturbed her thoughts and feelings of solitude.
She looked up and saw in the mirror an old woman with tears running down from her tired eyes. She quickly wiped away the tears and went to open the door.
Bathilda opened the door unaware that it would be the last thing she did before her death.
Outside stood her murderer.
If you read this and liked it (or didn't!) please leave a review to tell me whats good and not :D free hugs for those who do! ;P
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