The Choices We Make ∆ Harry Potter Sister

Chapter 4.14

Time is a rather intricate concept, woven by the ticks called as seconds which gathered in sixty, creating a minute that would pile up until three thousand six hundred seconds and it would morph into an hour. Each hour would then turn into a day if twenty four were present. Then the days would turn into months and months into years. The conversion of seconds into minutes, minutes into hours, hours into days, days into months, and months into years are simple math, really. Have enough of one, then you would find yourself another. Easy does it. What complicates matter is what is called as a moment. How does one define a moment? How long does a moment last? What creates a moment? What could a moment change?

Eleanor Potter knew the answer to none of those questions, except for the last one. What could a moment change? Everything. One moment could change everything. Within a moment, she could have been hit by a curse, her brother could have been thrown to the wall, her godfather could have been on the receiving end of a curse so unforgivable that the caster might as well pack a suitcase and jump on the next boat to Azkaban. However, neither of those things happen. The curse missed her, her brother disarmed his opponent, and her godfather was not at the receiving end of the unforgivable, but in that singular moment, Xenyk Morozov had stepped into crossfire, a green light hit him square in the back, thrusting him forward into the arms of Sirius Black. All it took was one solitary moment for Ellie to watch the life left the dark eyes she had seen one too many times at all the hours of the day, yet failed to memorise. She felt like screaming, shaking the grounds beneath her feet, ripping the heads off of the death eaters. She could do all of that, she would, but how would that be remotely possible when she was caught by those eyes, the eyes which looked but did not see.

A moment was all it took to break a person's heart into pieces, squeeze the broken parts tightly, until there was nothing left of it but dust and memories. A moment was all that Eleanor Potter needed to swore on her mother's grave that she would not let her friend turn into dust and memories at the hand that had been kissed by the serpent, marked for an unholy life. She dodged a curse sent her way, no shield to protect her, as she sent one that was whispered by Death itself in her ears.

"Venire viver!"

A jet of pale powder blue shot out of the cherry wood that was Ellie's wand, straight to the chest of the death eater she was duelling with, leaving the masked figure tumbling down, breathless, as his wand rolled out of his grip.

That was also the moment when the Headmaster of the wizarding school apparated into the scene, rounding up the remaining death eaters, tying them tightly with some kind of chain after disarming each and every one of them. Knowing what was coming, the murderer who was still at large, despite the lack of spotlight given the recent events, was quick to carry the lifeless body of the seventh year Slytherin, ran towards his goddaughter and apparated the hell out of there. Within a blink of an eye, they were at the front step of Number 12 Grimmauld Place.

The house was somber, more than usual, the only sound being his combat boots and his goddaughter's battered converse thumping against the wooden floor. He felt numb, and he could only imagine what his goddaughter was feeling. The boy in his arms had been her shadow, never leaving her side, always there to protect her from the monsters creeping in the dark, ready to shield her from the blinding lights of the day. Sirius Black was not stupid, despite his loud mouth, he knew more than he let on. All it took was one summer living under the same roof with the two Slytherins to know that they were each other's lifeline, anchoring each other to the present, living blindly off the terror that tomorrow provides. He might not interact much with the boy, but he had grown to enjoy his presence, and it pained him to lay the boy's limp body on his couch.

"I'll be in the kitchen if you need me," he whispered to his goddaughter. Kissing the top of her head, he made for the cabinet above the sink, popping a bottle of firewhiskey open and pour himself a tall glass. He leaned against the counter, worrying about his godson whom he had left at the department in mysteries in the midst of it all. He had not had the time to chase after the running boy, and could only hope that he would come back in one piece with a beating heart. Moony was there, he told himself, he wouldn't let anything happen to Harry.