When the Clock Shattered

The Room of Requirement was cloaked in heavy silence, as if the very walls sensed the gravity of what was about to unfold. The soft golden glow of the Pensieve bathed the room in shimmering light, casting fluid shadows on the tense faces gathered around it.

Harry, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Pansy, and Blaise stood in a tight circle, their expressions a mix of hesitation and determination. The silvery mist within the basin danced, reflecting memories long buried beneath pain and silence.

With a breath that seemed to echo in the hush, Harry leaned forward. His fingers brushed the surface of the liquid memory.

The world tilted-and they were pulled in.

Darkness enveloped them at first. Then light emerged-a flickering bulb in a damp, decrepit room. Shadows painted the cracked walls, echoing with distant screams and shouts. The air was thick, humid with fear and fury.

They were inside a memory. But this was no ordinary recollection-it pulsed with something raw and unforgiving.

A woman's scream cut through the air, sharp and blood-chilling. It came from the figure sprawled on the floor-young, broken, gasping. Her face was bruised, lips bleeding, hair tangled with dirt and sweat. Her eyes, swollen with tears, flickered toward the corner where a small child sat, unmoving.

Terror gripped his little frame. His knees were drawn to his chest, arms wrapped tightly around them. His eyes-black as night-locked onto the woman.

"Run, Sev..." the woman gasped, her voice strained and desperate.

Tobias Snape, a hulking, red-faced man with madness in his eyes, towered over her. In one hand, he held a thick leather belt stained with fresh blood. In the other, a snapped wand-her wand.

"You filthy witch!" he spat, his breath reeking of alcohol. "You dare protect him?"

He turned to the child, his voice growing guttural. "You little freak!"

Something shifted.

The boy didn't run.

His tiny, bare feet padded silently over the cracked floor. He didn't cry. He didn't beg.

He moved toward the wand.

The broken shaft glimmered faintly, pulsing as though answering an ancient call. Tobias had cast it aside moments ago, thinking it dead wood.

But magic is never truly broken.

The moment the boy's fingers curled around it, the room changed.

A deep, almost unnatural red glowed from the wand's tip. The child didn't chant. He didn't think. What came from his lips was not a spell-but a scream formed of hatred and pain, old as magic itself.

"Mortiferum Cordis."

(God knows how i came up with this spell,just popped up in my head when i was taking a nap half way through the chapter.........TwT)

The very foundation of the room cracked as a surge of raw magic exploded outward.

Tobias screamed-a sound torn from his soul. His body contorted midair, bones twisting unnaturally, and then-black smoke. He was gone.

Vaporized. Annihilated. Not killed-unmade.

Silence fell like a thunderclap.

The six watchers were frozen, breath caught in their throats.

"Bloody hell..." Ron whispered, his voice breaking the silence like a stone dropped in still water.

Draco, for once, wasn't smirking. His skin had gone pale. "That... wasn't Dark Magic. That was something else."