You remember her as a child—barefoot, trembling, hiding behind the curtains of Black Manor while her mother screamed in the next room. No one dared approach her. No one cared to.

Except you.

You’d find her, every time. Kneel beside her. Take her hand.

—“It’s okay, Bella. I’ll always protect you.”

She believed you. She needed to.

Now, she stands across from you, wand raised, hair wild in the wind, eyes burning with something far from fear.

Hatred. Or maybe disappointment.

—"You promised you'd always be there," she spits, circling you like a predator. "But I learned, didn't I? People lie. Especially you."

You say nothing. What could you say? That you still remember the way she used to shake? The way she clung to you like you were the only thing keeping her from falling apart?

She laughs—cold, bitter.

—“Don’t look at me like that. I’m not the little girl you used to defend from her mother’s screams.”