They Say...

They say your life flashes before your eyes when you’re about to die.

There are many of us, all sat round an antique wooden table. Everyone is laughing, joking. I can hear the happy chinking of glasses as people toast them together, drink, and place them, none too gently, back onto the table. Every so often, there is a loud bang, and a shower of sparks, all different sparkling colours, rain over us onto the table and over the food.

I loosen my grip on the fork, and let it fall onto my plate, clattering. I lean my elbow on the table, making no eye contact with anyone around me, staring intently at the knotted wood, which ran throughout the whole house – even the framework and the structure of the building. A strand of hair falls limply in front of my face, and I take hold of it, twisting it around my finger half-heartedly, idly, not really taking any more notice of what happens around me.

The fire flickers behind me brightly, but I don’t pay any attention to the warmth that radiates off it onto my back. I shuffle my feet under the table, and feel them scrape against the littered wrapping paper underneath.

“Aren’t you hungry, Dora?” Molly asks me, tapping me on the shoulder. I look up at her and mumble.
“I’m fine. Don’t worry.”
But I think she can tell what’s wrong, as the next thing I see her do is stare at the man opposite her, with an “it’s your fault she’s acting like this” expression. His eyes move and meet mine briefly, then I look down again. But the hair on the back of my neck stands on end. I know he’s still watching, waiting.

Then, the conversation stops abruptly. Everyone is still, frozen in the moment.
“Did the house just shake?”
Then the youngest girl there points out of the window she sits opposite, her face scared, her eyes transfixed.
“Mum,” she says, her voice trembling, not looking at anyone, “Something’s outside.”

Automatically, we all turn around to look out of the window she points at, but through the darkness, we can see very little. Then we all jump. Something flares outside the window, bright orange, illuminating the darkness.

On instinct, a group of us stand up. Then two start running. They run through the house and out of the front door. Then I start to run after them. I guess the others are following behind, I can hear footsteps reverberating in every direction, but I don’t turn to look.

Through the house, through the narrow entrance hallway we run, through the open front door, and out into the open night.

When we get outside, I freeze. Silhouetted against the burning backdrop, stands Bellatrix. Her face gleams with triumph and she appears to be in total control of the situation.

To the right of her, there is a small parting in the dancing flames. And people are running through it, into the field, then disappearing out of sight; two of them. In the dark, I can’t make out who they are at first, but as they dodge the fire they are illuminated.

The boy runs first, his dark hair reflecting the moonlight, and the girl ran after. Her flame-red hair flies out behind her as she leapt gracefully, her legs straight, between the blaze. Then one of the men behind me started running after her, shouting at her desperately, calling her name.

I start to run too, my feet and heart pounding with every step I take. The soles of my feet sear as they brush the flames as I hurdle over them. My knees nearly buckle from the impact when I hit to ground again, but I keep running, determined to follow the others.

I get into the field, the high crop brushing against me softly as I run, not knowing which direction to go in or where anyone else is.

Deeper and deeper into the unknown I run, stopping every time I hear the faintest rustle, freezing to see who or what is there. Then I keep going, keep running, keep trying to get away.

I hear something to my right – hard, heavy footsteps.
“Who’s there?” I hear them shout. I recognise the voice.
“I am!” I shout back, hoping he’d know my voice.
“Identify yourself!” he shouts back. Typical.
“Named Nymphadora by a fool of a mother, preferred to be known as Tonks, and I told you what I really felt about you even though you told me not love you because of what you were. Good enough?”

Looking through the tall stems, I see him. Our eyes meet again, like they did earlier. He swallows, and rubs his eye, as though tired. Then we exchange a nod of understanding and run off in the same direction, towards where we could now hear shouts, and what sounded oddly like splashes of water.

But what haunts me most at that moment is Bellatrix’s manic chant - “I killed Sirius Black,” that she repeats over and over again in a kind of hypnotic frenzy.

Following this voice, we make our way together through the field, both alert and ready. We keep walking carefully – “safety in numbers” – making sure we stayed together. But we didn’t speak at all, no sound, no reassurance.

When we get there, we turn quickly, sharply. There are people coming at us from all directions, laughing, pointing at us. We back into a circle, the five of us, closer and closer until our backs touch, and we face every direction. Bellatrix is there, right in front of me and smiling, knowing she had complete control of everything that happened. There are others too that I don’t recognise. I can’t even see their faces – hidden in shadow or by sliver masks, reflecting the moonlight and the burning house behind.

Then, without any warning, they streak off, leaving a trail of seamless, dense darkness behind them.

“Molly”
I hear a whisper, and the man beside me turns, and runs back towards the inferno on the distance. It had now caught the house, and it looks like a grotesque bonfire, set off against the dark background. The rest of us follow.

Arriving back at the scene, we find everyone else outside watching as all they had fell before their eyes.