Layla Wright had no inkling that magic existed, the name Voldemort went right over her head and she had no clue what a muggle was. So how is it that she got stuck right smack in the middle of a wizarding war? When Draco Malfoy walked into the antique shop that she happened to work in, she had no clue that it would be destroyed by Death Eaters. And she definitely never thought that she and this stranger would have to go on the run.

Now, hiding from Death Eaters, she learns that this mysterious Voldemort won the Battle of Hogwarts, the infamous Harry Potter is dead, and the wizarding world, along with the muggle world, has no hope. At least, that's what they were led to believe...

Completely out of her element, with just a long barrel pistol as protection, Layla is thrown into a world she never knew existed in the midst of a takeover. She is persuaded to not only protect the wizarding world, but her own as the two collide.

Alternate Universe FF (FF Royale competition)


1. expect the unexpected

Of all the things I expected out of my day at work, the events that ultimately unfolded were not among them. There I was, sitting at the old-fashioned cash register, ringing up an elderly man with a Hitler mustache who was buying a rusty contraption that was apparently supposed to weigh eggs, when he walked in.

He was tall and strikingly blonde. His eyes were framed with black shadows and his frame was thin--too thin. And though all these features were distinctive, none of them stood out like his demeanor. He looked over his shoulder frantically every few seconds as he pretended to browse the corroded antiques in the shop. He was standing so straight that I could have swore he had a rod through the middle of him. And weirdest of all, he had a long stick in his hand that he gripped as if it would disappear at any minute.

I told Hitler to have a good day as he walked out, and my eyes went straight to the blonde stranger. My first thought was that he was on drugs--the kind that made you paranoid. But upon further inspection, he didn't look inebriated. He just looked...nervous. And very, very stressed.

As his fingers--not the fingers with the stick, they still held tight--ran across an armoire, he kept his eyes on the window. They looked colorless from here, just like his complexion, though they were probably gray or a very light blue. I couldn't tell.

During my thorough inspection, I got so lost in cataloging his features and analyzing his movements that I didn't realize he was looking back at me until it was beyond the point of a stalker-stare. I met his eyes for a split second--they were gray after all--and immediately pointed my stare back down at the counter-top.

Shoot, I thought. He's going to think I'm a psycho. But when I looked back up, his gaze had returned to the glass. I became curious. What could he possibly be looking at for so long? I looked too. But the only thing that registered was the fact that I needed to clean the window. Tiny fingerprints covered the surface and distracted me from anything that was going on outside. Maybe that's what he was looking at too...

But then I saw them. A group of three men with long, billowing, black robes. They too had sticks. I scratched my head with the tip of my index fingernail. Maybe they were playing a game? I looked back to see if there was any recognition in the blonde stranger's face, but he was gone. Vanished.

"Hello?" I called out, making my way around the counter. I looked down the aisle he was in. Nothing. I went to the next aisle. Nothing. When I reached the final aisle, he was there, crouching down, clutching his stick close to his chest and breathing heavily.

"Um... Do you need help with something?" I asked awkwardly, not versed in these types of situations. 

"I would get out of here if I were you," he said in a sober tone, not even bothering to look at me.

That's when my mind started doing what it does best: overworking. Could there be robbery about to occur? Are those guys a part of a gang? Are they coming to kill him...or me? With sticks?

My thoughts came to an abrupt halt when the bell, signaling that the door was opened, rang overhead. There they were, with a distinct air of danger around them, hanging out in the doorway, surveying the shop for whatever they were looking for--which was probably the guy crouching next to me.

I knew I should be afraid, and I was, just not enough to cower down in fear. "Can I help you?" I asked, trying to hide the weakness that I felt.

They didn't answer but the beefy one in the middle called out, "We know you're in here, Malfoy. You might as well come out now and save us the trouble of killing this poor muggle... Of course, we might just do that anyway."

I wasn't exactly sure what a muggle was, but I had an inkling that he was talking about me. My heart raced as I sank down to a crouch. I felt like an idiot, a helpless, pathetic idiot. But what was new? This situation, certainly, but this feeling was definitely not.

A deafening roar flew through my ear canal and crashed into my eardrums, giving me an instant headache. The sound of glass breaking overwhelmed my senses and I knew that the first shelf of antiques had been knocked over. Boom. Another shelf. There was only one left, so before I could even think twice, I grabbed the arm of the nervous wreck--though now I could understand his nervousness--and pulled him along.

We reached the check-out counter just as the last shelf was being blown to bits. That's when I noticed that the cloaked men hadn't left their position at the front door. How could they have done all of that damage without moving?

My head spun as I searched my head for ideas. How would we get out of this tight spot? How could I defend myself against a group of people who didn't even have to move to cause destruction? The guy next to me seemed useless--all he had was a stick--so I was on my own.

My eyes scanned my surroundings for a weapon. The swords wouldn't do any good since they wouldn't reach where I needed them to.

A gun. Immediately after remembering the collection of antique guns, I turned in the tight space and broke the glass casing that held the weapons with my foot.

I felt a large shard slice it's way into my skin and I cried out, gritting my teeth and ripping it back out. Blood soaked the leg of my jeans and my stomach churned. I didn't dare look at the damage but instead, my hand went to a long barrel pistol and the corresponding bullets. Thanking the heavens that my granddad taught me to load and shoot a gun, I did just that. I slid the bullets in and took a few deep breaths before turning back around.

During these few seconds that I was preoccupied, 'Malfoy' had come back to life. He was leaning over the counter, pointing his stick over the top, and then crouching back down. I noticed things flying off the shelves over the top of us as streams of light collided with them. I dodged an incredibly heavy iron and noticed that the beams of light were coming out of the sticks.

I would have given it much more thought under normal circumstances, but right now, my body was acting faster than my head. I leaned over the counter and aimed straight at one of the men. He was preoccupied with my unknown companion, so I could shoot straight. I lined up the barrel with his body and pulled the trigger. And as soon as I heard the explosion that accompanied my shot, that was it. I looked away. I didn't want to see the damage, but when he disappeared from my peripheral vision, I knew he was down.

The other men looked at me in shock. I took this opportunity to fire another round, and another, and soon, before they even realized what was happening, it was over. They lay on the ground, either in silence or moaning in pain. The gun felt heavy and hot in my hand. I dropped it and it landed on the counter with a sound that was so loud in the moment, I jumped.

The entire shop was in ruins. Every piece that I had considered rubbish before now felt like a precious gemstone as it lay, either melted or warped, on the floor. I was going to be in so much trouble with my boss.

"What the hell just happened?" I finally let out in a whooshing breath.

I looked at my neighbor for an answer, but instead, he leaned over counter and vomited everywhere. I turned my head swiftly and pinched my nose. I didn't want to be next. I already felt nauseous.

I could hear him trying to catch his breath, forcing each inhale to circulate to his lungs and each exhale to his mouth. Finally, after what seemed like an eternity, he spoke. "Death Eaters."

I felt a strong wave of disappointment. That's all he has to say? Death Eaters? What does that even mean? "I'm sorry, what did you just say? What the hell is a Death Eater? And what's a muggle for that matter? And what is that?" I inquired, gesturing to his stick.

He put his head in his hands, rubbing his temples and sighing. I waited for an explanation--one that wouldn't make me feel crazy or in need of medical attention--but it never came.

"I need to go. And so do you. You need to get far, far away from here." He stood up then, and walked out of the door, prominently slumped, in stark contrast from when he walked in.

I looked after him, dumbfounded. Somebody had just tried to kill me and he was going to walk away without any explanation? I grabbed my bag, the gun, and the pack of bullets, just in case, and decided to follow him out the door.

I knew I should have called the police, but something held me back. And I wasn't sure what that something was, but as I stepped over one of the bodies--lifeless or not, I didn't want to know--I had a strong sensation that something was off, really off.

"Wait!" I yelled after him. The streets were eerily silent and empty. It was strange to see the rest of the world was unaffected, but as I peered into the windows of the buildings around me, I realized that wasn't the case. Every single one of them looked destroyed. How did I not hear any of this?

I ran up to him when he didn't stop, my leg screaming in pain. "What happened back there? What happened to all the shops? Who are you?"

He sighed again. The shadows under his eyes seemed to deepen. "Look, I'm sorry, but I can't really explain right now. I have to get out of here. You know those guys back there? Yeah, only a fraction of what's coming. You'd be smart to stay out of the way."

"You mean, like that guy?" I asked in a clipped and hushed voice, pointing to the cloaked man just a few feet away from us. He hadn't noticed us yet, but it was only a matter of time.

"No," he said through gritted teeth. And before I could even think, he grabbed my arm and turned on the spot, taking me with him.

I felt like I was being sucked down a too-tight tube, and taking a ride on a roller coaster at the same time. I saw flashes of landscapes and scenery, passing by too quickly for me to fully retain anything, and then it was over.

My body collided with moist ground and I inhaled a cloud of dirt. Coughing, I sat up, but the motion was too much for my recovering body, and this time it was my turn to spill out the contents of my stomach, which wasn't much since those 'Death Eaters' had made me miss lunch.

After wiping my mouth and smoothing back the dyed red hair--which looked too much like a curtain of blood right now for my liking--out of my face, I narrowed my eyes at the blonde. "Am I ever going to get an explanation for this...this...whatever just happened?" I asked, my voice cracking and showing my fear and confusion.

He shrugged, his face a mixture of pity and nerves. "I'm Draco," he finally said, as if it should answer my question.

I could press it, but I figured that we should know each other's names, if nothing else. "I'm Layla."

And in that seemingly insignificant moment--just a simple exchange of names--my life changed forever.

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