Work Text:
Fiendfyre hung frozen in place, a monstrous ballet of molten claws caught mid-lunge, reaching for heaven that would never open its gates to someone like Vincent—not even if he pounded on them with bloodied fists and begged until his voice turned to gravel.
And he had begged.
The watch on his wrist clicked on a stubborn metronome that refused to stop. Its hands moved like swaying limbs in a riotous crowd, out of reason and out of rhythm. He couldn’t stop staring at the golden face, scratched and smudged but still ticking, always ticking. It glinted like a cursed coin, whispering secrets in circles.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
Like teeth clacking together. Like the heartbeat of regret. Like the seconds sprinting away from him forever.
But, for some reason, time didn’t. Nothing was running. Everything was stuck in place, statues of fear and fire that seemed to reflect every emotion on Vincent's face.
He breathed in. The air was a thick blanket soaked in soot and smoke. The scent of scorched sun simmered around his soul, a symphony of sirens calling for his demise. The shattered sections of burnt books and blackened bones seeped into his lungs and stayed there, grounding him to a moment that didn’t move. Still, the watch ticked on, tick, tick, tick , louder now, a maddening march through the hollow hallway of his head.
It ticked like it knew something he didn’t, and maybe it did. Maybe the broken watch he always wore was trying to tell him something? Frozen limbs now spun in sectioned lines, over and over again, bouncing around his watch in a manner he couldn’t quite understand.
It was a tiny tormentor clinging to his wrist, reminding him again and again of what he had unleashed.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
“What have you done?” came a voice—small, sweet, wrong. Like a nursery rhyme hummed over a grave. It slithered into his ear with childlike innocence that scraped at his bones.
Vincent turned, heart hammering, but the watch was louder than that, too.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
“Who are you?” Vincent asked, breathing through his broken nose. Somehow, he already knew.
The boy was small, maybe eight or nine, with wide, watchful eyes that looked too old for his face. His hair was dark and messy, sticking up in places like he’d just rolled out of bed or run through the wind. He wore a jumper two sizes too big, sleeves swallowed past his hands, and his shoes were scuffed, nearly coming apart at the seams.
But it was his expression that made Vincent freeze, a mixture of quiet, calm, and curious. Like he knew something he shouldn’t. Like he was waiting for an answer.
His own face was younger, softer, and something almost kind. A mirror from a memory.
“The darkness of the afterlife is all that awaits you now.” The child turned. Vincent tumbled after him.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t you remember?” A giggle. “Foolish flames, flickering falsely, fed on fear from fickle friends.”
Somewhere across the room, Goyle screamed.
“I didn’t mean to do this. I just—I wanted to prove…” he trailed off. What had he wanted to prove? He wasn’t smart, he wasn’t strong, he couldn’t even control a simple spell—a spell that had been engraved in his family for years! They had helped refine it! And yet it escaped him, a mere whisper of a history that didn’t last.
“You’re a monster!” The boy giggled. Vincent felt his chest pull.
“I’m not. I’m…” he looked around. “Why is nothing moving?”
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
“Your fear froze time. Shocking, huh?” the boy giggled, the sound light, strange, and not at all right in this place of flame and failure.
Then he ran, barefoot and quick, off into the smoke like it was all some game.
Vincent tried to follow, but his limbs felt stuck in syrup, his mind a broken reel of film, flickering and skipping. The world around him didn’t move. The fire stayed frozen in its grotesque stretch toward the heavens. Ash hung mid-air like specks of snow held by invisible strings.
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
The sound clawed at his skull.
His gaze dropped to the watch on his wrist, its gold face still glinting even as everything else dulled. The second hand pulsed like a heartbeat. Like breath. Like blame.
Time had stopped.
And somehow, his fear had stopped it.
Vincent staggered, his thoughts coming undone, each one snagging on the last: How could fear freeze time? What did it mean? Why here? Why now?
The truth slid into his mind like cold water through a crack.
Because he hadn’t moved. Because he’d stood there. Watched it burn. Watched them burn. And somewhere inside, something ancient and magical had listened to the panic in his pulse and whispered ‘ Fine. Let’s pause it here. Let’s see what you do next.’
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.
He reached out, but the air pushed back. Time wouldn’t let him go forward. Not until he understood. Not until he faced it.
Maybe the boy would explain?
Tick.
Tick.
Tick.