"Will you---stop saying that!"
Belle didn't know what to do, she didn't know what to think! She must be dreaming, because she didn't have a daughter, she wasn't missing, and pictures did-not-move! This woman was casting strange bloody---spell-----
She shut her eyes. Magic. Belle couldn't explain it, but she'd been having nightmares about red and purple bolts of---magic. That's all she could describe them as, that's all anyone she'd told about the dreams could even relate them to. Just hours upon hours of men in masks screaming at her, Belle! You tell me, Belle! Potter----we need to know where he is! You tell me right now
"Where should I be?" Belle spat, scathingly. She threw the paper on the ground and felt a twinge of guilt for letting the picture of the little girl hit the pavement.
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