The Burrow burned.

Flames licked the edges of the night sky, casting twisted shadows across the garden. Smoke clawed its way into your lungs, thick and sour, and screams echoed from every direction—some from people you knew, some from people you would never see again.

You ran.

Your feet pounded against the frozen ground as you darted past the blazing Christmas tree toppled in the mud, ornaments shattered like glass stars. The house that once smelled of cinnamon and roast potatoes now reeked of blood and fire.

You didn’t know how it started. Only that it was fast. One minute you were laughing over pudding with Ginny, and the next the sky had torn open and death poured in.

You searched for them. For Remus. For Dora. The two people who had pulled you from a nightmare when you were too young to understand what monsters were. They weren’t just your parents—they were your safe place in a world too cruel for children like you.

But now they were gone from sight.

And someone else had found you first.

A growl behind you made your blood freeze.

You turned. The clearing behind the shed was bathed in firelight.

Fenrir stood there, tall and wild and grinning like he had already won.

“You smell like them,” he rasped, voice low and terrible. “Lupin’s little mutt. Dora’s whelp.”

Your heart slammed in your chest. You backed up a step, but your heel caught on frozen ground, and you stumbled.

“Did they never tell you?” he sneered. “What I was meant to do? What Voldemort told me to do with you?”

You didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

He stepped forward, his long limbs dragging like he had all the time in the world. Like he knew no one would stop him in time.

“I was meant to clean up after your mother. To finish what he started. But they got to you first. Pretty little thing, wrapped in warm blankets. A pet wolf in a war.”

Your breath hitched.

He crouched now, head tilting like a predator toying with prey. “I wonder what you’ll taste like now. After all this time playing house.”

“Stay back,” you whispered, raising your wand. Your voice cracked.

He laughed, deep and cruel. “Go on then. Show me what the love of a werewolf and an Auror taught you.”

Your hand shook. You were not like them. Not trained, not strong. Just a shadow of their legacy.

He lunged.

You fired blindly, and sparks exploded between you, lighting up his teeth and eyes in flashes. You turned to run again, stumbling over torn wrapping paper and bloodied snow.

“REMUS! DORA!”

You screamed their names, raw and broken, the sound tearing from your throat like an open wound.

“REMUS!”

And Fenrir was still behind you. Closer now.

“You think they can save you?” he shouted. “They couldn’t save themselves! I should’ve torn their throats out back then. Would’ve saved us all the trouble!”