two

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Wren knew that it was a common cliché amongst most students who attended Hogwarts, but there was just something about the century old, weather bitten brick and stained glass that just felt like home. She couldn't help the excitement that overcame her every time she boarded the Hogwarts Express, though this time it felt almost bittersweet.

She was in her final year, and she really wasn't sure what she was going to do with herself when she left. It was as though she were a flower of sorts - a lily, held up by the routine and familiarity of the school, otherwise wilting.

A huddle of red hair and freckled faces stumbled onto the platform, a small brunette boy in tow and looking completely out of place. Wren briefly made eye contact with the eldest of the Weasley siblings still at Hogwarts, shooting Percy a small but genuine smile. The boy couldn't help the blush that flushed across his cheeks.

Milo linked his arm through hers, pulling her in the direction of the train. "I wonder if Lockhart will be back." He mumbled aloud to himself.

The two friends settled themselves into an empty compartment, Milo retrieving a small, portable chess board from his beige tote bag. Wren made herself comfortable, sitting on the dusty, red train seat with her legs crossed beneath her.

By the time Milo had finally finished setting up the chess board, having to fish the small pieces from the awkward crevices of his bag, the train had started moving, clouds of white smoke billowing over the distinct curve of the carriage.

Wren had been brought up playing wizard's chess, her mother having been an avid player and even competing in occasional competitions, but her preference was shifted to muggle's chess when Milo introduced it to her a few years ago. Wizard's chess was full of nonsensical rules that came dangerously close to straight out cheating and, besides, Wren had found that she was strangely good at the muggle version.

Milo made the first move, picking a random pawn from the line up and moving it an aimless two squares forward. Wren countered by moving a pawn of her own, drumming the pads of her fingers on the board as she awaited her friend's retaliation.

The pair danced back and forth, moving their chess pieces on the board like a ballroom dance, until they were well into the game. Milo was useless under pressure and so took forever to decide his next move.

After what felt like an hour of him deliberating, Wren's mind started to wander. Her memory settled on the night of her birthday the month prior; Roaming hands along bare skin, animalistic grunts and necks covered in purple hickeys.

The train came to a sudden stop, jolting as wheels scraped obnoxiously against the metal rail. She noticed through her daydream how the chess board clattered to the floor, her body jutting rather violently.

Wren whimpered as he brought her to him harshly, slightly losing her footing for a brief moment before both of his rough hands gripped onto her waist.

She shivered, as the temperature in their carriage seemed to drop drastically. Milo stood to peer out the window, craning his neck in an attempt to get a better view around the blind spots. The smoke of his breath frosted against the glazed glass.

Rough fingers began to roam across the front of her body, shivers running along the length of her skin from where his fingers brushed against her.

Milo fell back onto the seat opposite Wren, a small gasp passing his lips. He looked terrified, his blue eyes wide as he tried to shrink himself into the corner of the carriage.

An initial gasp, followed by a quiet moan as Wren adjusted to the foreign yet welcomed feeling. The man let out a growl-like sound which seemed to get caught in his throat.

"What was that?" Milo asked, his voice coming out smaller and unusually high-pitched through his anxious state.

"Don't stop." Wren stuttered out between breaths, her hands gripping onto the man's shoulders. Her nails dug into his skin, a small pain he seemed to welcome.

Best birthday ever.

"What was what?" Wren snapped herself out of wherever her mind had travelled to, turning to face Milo with furrowed brows.

"That.. thing!" Milo's voice was panicked, and by the way he was staring at the iced over window, Wren could tell that there was something outside.

She craned her neck as her friend had done earlier, placing a tentative hand on the window in an attempt to get a better view. The train jolted again, this time to the side, causing Wren to fall back against her elbows on the train seat. The window iced over immediately to cover the mark left by the heat of her hand.

"Maybe something's wrong with the train?" Wren tried to rationalise, but immediately second guessed herself when she saw a dark figure brush past the outside of the train window. It looked ghost-like, large and dark, and sent a shiver up the length of Wren's spine.

Milo let out a quiet whimper, "Oh yeah, and those freaky ghost things just so happened to come and help?" He shot his friend a dubious glare. 

"Ok," Wren faltered, "Maybe not."

The dull overhead lights started flickering, before blacking out completely. They were left like this for a few moments, accompanied by nothing except the smoky air from their ragged breaths.

Milo whimpered again, pointing at something outside of their compartment door. Wren gasped, her breath getting caught in her throat, as she was met with one of those ghost-like creatures watching her through the window. The glass was slowly icing over from where the creature was breathing, crystals forming in an almost magical shape.

Wren was staring into what she thought were its eyes, the occasional faint sound of Milo whispering her name persuading her to turn her head, but she was frozen in place, too afraid to move or process any sound besides the rapid thumping of her heart in her chest, the sound resonating loudly in her ears.

The creature's cloaked arm moved towards the door handle, the metal knob slowly turning with the twist of its invisible will. Wren tried to move away, but her back was already pressed up against the wall of the train, only able to pull her legs closer to her chest in an attempt to widen the gap between her and the door.

Just as the lock on the door clicked open, the creature's head turned as if distracted by something. Without even giving a second glance at Wren, it hovered away, their iced carriage immediately warming.

"What the actual fuck?" Milo cried, exasperation evident in his tone.

Wren let out a shaky laugh, as she continued to stare out the window where the creature had only moments ago been standing.

*

Wren could tell immediately that there was something different about Hogwarts this year - something dark, sinister almost. The historic castle was surrounded by those ghost-like creatures, hovering not too far from the weathered, grey brick. Snowdrops and Dahlias that usually thrived in the early September chill, instead now wilting and icing over.

She felt a constant and nagging need to keep looking over her shoulder, not quite being able to shake the incessant feeling of being watched. The place she had always felt the safest - her home - now felt tainted, the trepidation of every student etched into the cracks of the stone walls.

Wren busied herself by picking at the skin around her bitten nails, trying to distract herself from the anxiety bubbling in the pit of her stomach.

"No way I was ever that small!" Milo countered, gesturing to a first year sitting at the end of the Gryffindor table. The boy stood at about 5 feet, and sat at an even smaller 4 foot 5.

"You so were!" Wren laughed, "Tiny little Milo with the shoes that were way too big for him!"

Milo turned away with a sarcastic huff, "I don't remember that." Wren laughed again, jutting her elbow gently into Milo's arm who turned to her with a big grin.

Wren rested her head on her friend's shoulder, her own small shoulders upheaving as she sighed.

"What's wrong?" Milo asked, resting his head atop hers. Wren could feel the platinum blonde strands of his hair tickling her forehead.

Wren took a moment to mull over her answer, being cut off by the loud and resonating voice of the school's headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, before she could speak.

Milo looked at Wren with a roll of his eyes. The two always joked about how dramatic the bearded man was, always playing with fate as if it were a game of wizard's chess.

"This speech better be quick," Wren mumbled, "I'm starving."

"I know many of you are seeking an explanation for what happened on the train," He started, his voice low but clear,  "This year, Hogwarts will be playing home for the Dementors of Azkaban."

Wren's body tensed at the mention of the infamous wizarding prison, a strange shivering sensation running down the length of her spine.

"They're not here to harm you," The old man continued, "But be aware, they are unable to distinguish between the one they hunt, and those who get in their way."

Wren heard Milo scoff beside her, "Not here to hurt you, my ass."

"Now, on a more positive note," The headmaster smiled, completely brushing off his previous statement as if it hadn't left the students with even more confusion than they had before, "I would like to introduce you to our new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor."

A few mutters of excitement erupted from their fellow Gryffindors - students smiling at the prospect of no longer having to endure the self-righteous nonsense of Professor Lockhart.

Wren's eyes scanned along the length of the Professor's table but, being in her last year and so sitting at the end of the long table, she was struggling to strain her eyes and crane her neck over all of the other Gryffindor students.

Milo saw him before Wren, his voice dropping to a low whisper so that only she could hear, "New professor is hot."

"Professor Remus Lupin." Albus announced proudly, gesturing a withered hand to a man sitting beside him.

The man gave a slight nod of greeting to the student's in the hall, a small smile on his face. Wren felt as if she was going to throw up the second her gaze fell upon him.

She would recognise that mousy brown hair anywhere, the way it was swept across his forehead. Even in the low candle light of the Great Hall, she could see the scars etched into his skin.

There was a slight furrow to the girl's brow as her mind raced with questions. How had this happened? What the fuck was she going to do?

She felt the sharp jab of Milo's bony elbow against her ribs, who was watching her with suspicion. She turned to her friend, superficial focus glistening in her eye as her mind continued to run rampant.

"Wren?" Milo said, waving his hand in front of her face. She realised she'd been blanking him, turning back to face the table where she was met with plates full of food.

"What?" She mumbled, her hands sat in her lap as she picked at the skin around her nails. She suddenly didn't feel very hungry.

"What is wrong with you?" Milo questioned, his voice accusatory, "You're looking at him like you've seen him naked."

*

That evening, Wren found herself unable to sleep - her dreams full of memories she wished so desperately to forget. Traumatic memories, accompanied by the high-pitched shrill of her own anguished screams. And then there was a more recent memory that she wished would stop popping up, constantly reminding her of the very awkward situation she now found herself in.

Mousy brown hair, pink scars, roaming hands.

The brisk night air was cold against her skin, tangling itself within the brown locks of her hair - already dishevelled from where she had been tossing and turning against linen bed sheets for the majority of the past four hours.

Her eyes were bloodshot, dry and sore from being awake too long, and she was feeling particularly light headed. Though, she wasn't sure if the faint feeling was from her lack of sleep, or from the persistent burning sensation present on her forearm.

She had even succumbed to the Muggle method of counting sheep, but the pain on her arm was so unbearable that she could hardly manage to get past sheep number six.

Wren made her way across the empty grounds of Hogwarts, passing by the frost covered Quidditch Pitch until she came across the Whomping Willow. The large tree shook as it gave a tired sigh, Wren reverting to her tiptoes across the dew covered grass as she tried not to wake it. She sat down beside it, so that her back was pressed against the bark of the large stump.

She pulled her wand from where it was tucked into the waistband of her joggers, hidden by the black cotton of her top, pointing it at where her arm was hurting. With a muttered 'revelio' incantation, any pain or stinging on her arm immediately went away. The only thing reminding Wren of the burning was the rather gruesome scar spanning the length of her forearm.

The still-raw scar started roughly three inches below her wrist, tracking along to just under the crease of her elbow. It played as a constant reminder of her past; Even if Wren could erase all the traumatic memories, the scar would still be there to haunt her.

She threw her wand to the ground beside her as she traced a finger gently along the scar. It wasn't in a perfectly straight line, the edges of the torn skin bending left and right. Wren hated it.

But at least it was better than the Dark Mark.

It was common knowledge among the members of the wizarding world that the Winslow bloodline were one of the sacred twenty eight, and from that it was easily deduced that they had blood purity. Pair that with the knowledge of Wren's father being a Slytherin, and you have the perfect combination for a Death Eater.

When Wren was sixteen - a mere two years ago - her father had told her that she would be following in his footsteps, blindly following the instructions of a man so dark and twisted that, before he died, he no longer even resembled a human.

When she refused, her Gryffindor courage coming back to bite her in the ass, he instructed her mother to grab Wren by the back of the neck as he attempted to form the inky outlines of the Dark Mark on her arm.

Obviously it didn't work - Thomas Winslow may have been one of The Dark Lord's closest and most loyal followers, but he was nowhere near as powerful. So, as Wren writhed under the unbearable pain and her mother screamed at her husband to stop, a huge gash formed where the mark should have been.

Her father had cut through the nerves in her arm, torn at the edges of her skin with his Dark Magic, and lost his daughter forever. It took weeks for Wren's arm to heal, even with the help of magic; Thomas' magic was so dark and corrupt that the spell kept eating away at any healing potion or incantation that spread through Wren's body.

The pain of her skin repairing and then destroying itself over and over again had nearly driven Wren insane, the gory scar accompanied by healed, but deep scratch marks beside it from where she had violently clawed at her skin through the pain.

When Wren had finally physically recovered, her father tried to make it seem as though nothing had ever happened. But there was a rich crimson stain on the wooden floorboards of Wren's bedroom in the Winslow manor, and a pink scar ever present on her forearm.

The first problem she dealt with easily - she went to school and stayed with Milo during Christmas and Summer break, cutting all contact with her parents as if they never existed. The second issue, however, followed her everywhere.

Milo had questioned her all Summer, asking why she was wearing long sleeve tops and hoodies in record heat, but Wren couldn't afford her friendship explaining all the gruesome and gory details.

After a lot of researching and asking Snape suspicious but obscure questions so that he couldn't quite figure out her motives, Wren found a way to cover the scar with magic. A complicated and powerful spell that Wren could now do wandless and with her eyes closed. The only problem with it was that if left too long, it caused her arm to burn so painfully that she couldn't sleep.

And so she would instead sit by the Whomping Willow, drowning in self pity, making secret promises that if her father ever got out of Azkaban, she would kill him herself.

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