NOTHING BUT STATIC

( JULY, '93 )

♡

has been broken, hot sunshine exchanged for thunder and rainclouds, the sky a dark blue the whole afternoon. It isn't warm anymore, but instead, window panes rattle with the force of the rain, radio stations turning into nothing but static. Countryside lanes, the sort barely graced by cars but rather, muggles walking their dogs, reek of rain, the thick scent lingering in the air. It's the sort of weather that keeps you locked inside, not knowing what to do, instead wasting the time watching the thunder, the lightning... Blink, and you would've missed the girl with dirty blonde hair run out of the village, her face down.

She finds herself sitting in a field underneath a tree, a bench placed for dog-walkers wanting to sit for a minute. Her eyes are glassed over, tears on her face mixed with rain that hit her whilst she was getting away from her family.

The same words rattle around in her brain: "You're going to Beauxbatons next year, whether you like it or not." Part of her is still hopeful, that she'll manage to talk her way back into Hogwarts, that she'll convince Dumbledore that she desperately wants to stay at that school, that she'll even try and get the twins to stop their mischief if it means she can stay. But another part of her knows that there's no use trying. Her grandfather's word is final.

She goes through the past few weeks, trying to think if she did anything out of line, but then she thinks, if she had done something so awful that her grandparents are punishing her by making her move schools, surely, she'd remember? All she can think of is her argument with her brother, over the letter they got from their dad, a man they haven't seen since their mum died, but her grandparents don't know about that. They kept it quiet, her and her brother, knowing that their grandparents would be fuming if they found out they were even speaking about him... And, besides. The day they had that argument, their grandfather was too invested in his own argument with Fenrir Greyback — who the Ministry managed to catch for a whole hour, and within those sixty minutes, Barty Crouch Sr. managed to severely piss him off — to overhear Briar and Livvy whispering furiously at each other.

Briar tries to come to terms with the fact that she's leaving her friends behind. She can already imagine telling them that she won't be going to school with them anymore; she'll have to emphasise what her grandpa said, about Beauxbatons being better for divination, therefore better for her and her visions, because if not, she knows they'll be just as angry as she is. She knows that Fred and George and Lee will want a proper explanation, not the bullshit she was given, so she'll have to make things up... She wishes she could get her way out of this, but she knows her grandfather enough to know that he won't allow anything other than his plan to happen. If he wants her and Livvy to attend Beauxbatons come September, then they will, even if it's over his — or their house-elf Winky's — dead body.

It upsets her, because she knows that even if she tries, if she puts herself out there more than she already does, she'll never be able to find new friends that'll truly replace her old ones. Fred and George and Lee were supposed to be the sort of friends that she would grow old with, that they'd still see each other long after their own kids have grown up. How on earth will anyone else rival them? Their humour, their closeness, their loyalty... She seriously doubts she'll find anyone else that'll write to her asking if she wants to help them fly a car to rescue their younger brother's best friend. Because who even does that? Her friends, only her friends have that sort of nerve within them to think that anything's possible with the right mindset.

She already misses them.

Briar looks up, the sky growing darker. She wipes her tears from her face and stands up, not wanting to go home but aware that it's unsafe for her to hang around in the middle of nowhere at night. She trudges the way she came, her Converse eventually lifting off of muddy grass and onto wet tarmac.

She doesn't know how she's going to deal with school if she doesn't have her friends. The twins were always planning new ways to create mischief, pulling harmless pranks around the school to make others laugh. Not to mention, earlier on in their first year, they got how to help her with her visions. They just understand what to do... That there was no use talking to her, her brain was five months in their future, it was better to make sure she didn't vomit or faint and crack her head open. There's been a good few times, especially in the past couple of years, what with Harry's arrival at school (her old school, she means) where her visions have been about Voldemort or whatever and she's found herself having a vision in the girls' toilets, and she's gotten back from it with Fred sitting next to her. (There's normally also a first year washing their hands, looking a little horrified that there's a boy in the bathroom, but to be fair, Briar doesn't see the issue in a boy being in the girls' toilets if their friend is in there, in need, so, whatever.) But she won't have that anymore.

She won't have best friends willing to get detention because someone told McGonagall he went into the girls' toilets, just because she needed help. She won't have best friends that'll sleep on the uncomfortable chairs in the hospital wing, because she had a vision and Madam Pomfrey wants her stay overnight. She won't have best friends with enough imagination and nerve to make her want to jump straight in... She won't have a best friend that'll call her an angel every time she tells them where Filch will be at exact times. (Being called 'angel' is a lot nicer to her, than the way her grandfather describes her as some 'golden girl.')

Briar walks down the road, passing a bin filled with mostly crisps and cider cans, remains of teenage parties in fields far enough away from the village for the music not to carry. The rain begins to lighten ever so slightly, and the clouds spread themselves. The sun's already beginning to set, but the moon shines down on the road, lightening up the hedges and trees surrounding Briar.

And then her inner eye speaks.

There are a few variations of Briar's visions, but the main two are these: the ones where she's completely immersed in the future, and the ones where her thoughts are telling her what's about to happen in the next couple minutes. Right now, it's the latter, her inner eye counting down to something. Seven... Six... Five...

A bad feeling grows in her stomach, and she tries to pick up her pace, trying her hardest to focus on the fact that she's almost back in the village, and, besides, what's going to happen to her? She won't be attacked, will she, it's not like anyone significant has been angered by her grandfather or something...

"Oh, no," she thinks aloud, her eyes widening.

Four... Three...

She remembers what her grandpa had been saying a couple of weeks ago, when she and her brother were quietly arguing. "Well, I don't think that Greyback was too pleased with what I had to say, but quite frankly, it's that lot that got our Laurel killed..."

Two...

There's a rustle in the trees, and a growl afterwards. Briar's stuck, frozen, watching the area the growling came from. She knows it's going to happen, how is she going to change anything? That's the thing with being a Seer — just because you know the future doesn't mean you can change it. She can't run for this. There's no point trying.

One.

It happens all at once: she's knocked over, the gravel on the road scraping her arms. The beast appears in the darkness, standing next to her, the moonlight above revealing the werewolf above her — but, before she can even scream in fear, she feels teeth cutting straight into her stomach's skin, just as she thinks werewolf.

♡

THE NIGHT SHE RETURNED HOME WAS, undoubtedly, the worst night of her entire life... And she predicted her own mum's murder. But, here's the thing — either she was going to let the curse kill her, its own mixture of disgust and shame suffocating her, or she was going to fucking deal with it.

Because, you know what? Briar had spent that entire night not knowing what to do. She had spent a solid hour in the shower, her fingers tracing the mark of the cursed bite. She knew that there was no point telling her grandparents, because there isn't any cure. St. Mungo's would look at her with a sympathetic gaze and send her home, and then what? Everyone would know. Barty Crouch's granddaughter is a werewolf... Briar Crouch is a werewolf. Her name would forever be attached to "werewolf."

The rest of the night was spent with Briar balling her eyes out, having no idea what to do. Her entire being was still in shock, the bite mark throbbing underneath her makeshift bandage. Part of her wondered if she could maybe tell their house-elf, Winky, but another part of her was scared to risk it. What if her grandpa thought something was up, and Briar wasn't clear enough with her instructions, and Winky would be forced to tell Barty the truth? What if she told her brother instead... but then, what if the burden of this was too much for him, and he had to talk to someone about it? What was she going to do?

What was she going to do?

The answer appeared in her mind that morning, as the tears stopped and the sun rose, her mind dazed from the lack of sleep. She lied on her bed, her gaze fixed on the window, dried tears covering her face, and it hit her. Either this kills her, or she sucks it up and deals with it.

And that's how it began: a fresh set of words lived in Briar's brain that summer. When the going gets tough, you get tougher. She was going to learn to make the Wolfsbane Potion, she was going to keep this a secret, but most importantly, she wasn't letting this become her.

No, she would walk into Beauxbatons with her head held high, like she would've done if she didn't have this curse. She would make new friends, and if they're not the same as her old ones, who gives a shit? Not everyone's the same. Just because her friends will be different to her old ones doesn't mean she can't have a heartfelt friendship with them. She'll deal with this like she deals with visions.

And so she does.

She spends nights in the summer making the Wolfsbane Potion under candlelight, so when the full moon arrives, she can lock herself in her room, or stay hidden in the woods nearby, and no one will get injured, nor find out. Everything's a struggle, but it's manageable — she even makes a friend on her first day at Beauxbatons, a pretty girl called Fleur Delacour, who doesn't exactly play pranks, but, she's just as nice as her old friends, and, she helped Briar improve her French, which is a bonus. Briar can deal with this, and it won't become her.

But, there's something else that arises, something that does become her. The notion of Briar Crouch is a result of a letter from one of her best friends from Hogwarts.

Do you know your dad's the new Defence teacher here?

When the going gets tough, you get tougher — and if Briar's grandparents thought she'd go quietly to a new school, so she wouldn't meet her dad? Fucking try her.