06:00:00 AM GMT
"Well?" a chilling voice enquired, the sound reverberating in a frosted ice dance around the corners of the room. It skimmed and sashayed, teasing the pot-bellied shadows that lounged lazily around.
A man kneeled, shaking, on the floor. "T-t-here were s-some difficulties, m-my lord."
The petrified admission crawled its way to a seated man, if such a thing could ever be called man. He sat rigidly on a throne carved with snakes, the eyes of which seemed to follow the kneeling man like Judge, Jury and Executioner, proclaiming his imminent demise and laughing with mirth at it.
"What difficulties?" the sibilant hiss escaped, in a rasp of breath that promised a wealth of pain.
"He re-refused to sign. Said h-he'd rather die than betray his c-country." The man whimpered, his shaking becoming violent; the muscles doing a strange parody of the pain they knew they would soon experience. "W-we tortured him, of course, tried to break him, but he h-had a potion in one of the pockets of his robes. He, he swallowed it before we realised what it w-was… he, he's dead, My Lord. I'm sorry, so sorry. Forgive me, My Lord, have mercy; I tried, I, please, My Lord, please…"
"Silence!"
Utter stillness fell. Only the sound of his panted breaths, the wild thudding of his heart in his ears, and the menacing scrape-scrape sound of a giant snake slithering slowly closer to him prevailed. Somehow, the silence made it worse; it was the monster you knew was out in the darkness stalking you, but were utterly blind to see. Defenceless. Vulnerable. Only waiting for the pain.
The tone was quiet when he spoke, but somehow it held within it a tidal wave of incandescent rage. "You have failed me."
"P-p-please, My L-"
"CRUCIO!"
A ragged scream erupted within the room, charging at the walls in an attempt to escape. It failed; succeeding only in making the sound reverberate around the room, until an unholy choir of screams were united in one chilling orchestra.
And even then the screaming continued.
06:12:32 AM GMT
"Eat up, Arthur," a plump woman encouraged, plonking a plate piled high with sausages, toast and beans before a red-headed man. "You're wasting away lately; it's all this stress at the Ministry. I keep saying they're putting too much pressure on you."
"It can't be helped," the man sighed. "I swear every day there's a new attack, something else to be cleaned up. They need everyone they've got – and Merlin knows we have precious few Ministry workers to rely upon at the moment." He poked tiredly at a lonely looking hash brown.
"Yes, well," she huffed, "they should at least give you extra pay for it!"
He smiled at his wife. "Chance would be a fine thing, love. You know what Scrimgeour's like; hoarding away Ministry funds like nobody's business. I can understand where he's coming from – no point in wasting money when we should save it for an emergency, after all. Still, I bet when the emergency does come along, he'll save it all for an even bigger one."
Molly stroked a hand through her husband's greying hair. "Just you look after yourself, Arthur. I can't lose you, not after… after-"
She broke off, as her lower lip wobbled threateningly, and made to turn away. Before she could withdraw her hand, however, she found it clasped in her husband's two larger ones. "We haven't lost him, Molly. You have to believe in that."
She nodded jerkily, clasping his hands back. "I do, I do, I mean… I try. It's just so hard, Arthur," she exclaimed emotionally, "the not knowing, the constant wondering whether he's okay, whether he needs me – whether he's going to stumble through that door one day injured and in pain!"
Arthur stood up and quickly took her into his arms, rocking her gently as she fought to regain control of herself inside the strength of his arms. "We can't give up, Molly. He's alive somewhere out there fighting for all of us – you should be so proud of him!"
"I am, Arthur, I am. But at the same time I want to grab hold of him and shake him and just shake him for doing this to us! It should be me out there, Arthur, me protecting him," she exclaimed heatedly, grabbing his arms as if they were her only handhold in a tilting world. More quietly, she added, "that's the way it should be."
"I know, love, I know," he murmured into her hair, as he held her close.
They stayed like that for a while; each seeking comfort in the closeness of the other; each praying for their missing child.
"It's been nearly nine months now," Molly whispered into his chest.
"I know," he whispered back. "I know."
06:28:06 AM GMT
Deep within the confines of the Forbidden Forest, one lonely centaur raised his head skyward, and sighed at what he saw.
"The skies portend an evil great,
unless contested spreading hate.
Good must rear to fight again,
or bow down to He unnamed."
Hoof beats sounded behind him. "You understand the implications, brother?" asked a chestnut coated centaur, joining him.
"Indeed," returned the first. "Mars is bright tonight."
06:31:57 AM GMT
"My Lord?" a hooded figure questioned, as he scurried as quickly as he could to kneel before the feet of the one he served.
"Remove this filth from my rooms," Lord Voldemort growled, gesturing dismissively at a shaking mound of robes in the corner of the room.
"Yes, My Lord," grunted the servant. Hauling the tortured follower to his feet, he dragged him from the room.
Alone, Lord Voldemort snarled in frustration at the thought of his worthless servants. Failure was not something he allowed within his ranks, and now the whole plan would have to be set back while they waited for the next-
Unless…
Something that may once have been called a smile prodded the corners of his contorted mouth. This may just work out in his favour…
After all, what better time to strike a killing blow to his enemies than when they were disorganised and panicked, made stupid through fear, with their defences thrown into chaos without their precious leader to unite them?
He would wait upon their reaction then, but all might not be lost after all…
06:40:53 AM GMT
Deep within the protective arms of Hogwarts castle, Minerva McGonagall was dreaming. It was, however, a dream unlike any she had ever had before. She dreamed she was a phoenix, singing with all her heart to the inhabitants of her castle.
Uniquely beautiful, it was a song of warning and of forbearance. It was a song inspiring mercy, yet ordering ruthlessness when needed. It was a song suffused with protectiveness and love. A song to spread peace and promote triumph. It was a song to inspire hope, and yet caution that they must fight for such a precious commodity.
Dancing through the empty halls, her song spread, twirling around children asleep in their beds, waltzing past ghosts and pirouetting with finesse around a grouchy Mrs Norris. Yet while it left in its path a fluttering trail of hope, there was laced within the very fibres of that hope a dark well of sadness, fear and dread. Fear for the hearts of those it may never touch again. Dread for the health of the castle which housed them, and which was about to enter a fight for the lives of all it held dear, encased and enclosed within its protective walls. Most poignant of all, sadness for every life currently dwelling within this stronghold – for after the events of the day had run their bitter course, be it for good or for bad, these tiny, fragile lives would be irrevocably and inevitably changed.
Yet even as she knew all this, Minerva kept singing. Singing because, above all, her children needed to be prepared; they needed to know what they must face today, the pain they must endure. So her song went on and on, spiralling a crescendo inside the hearts of all she held dear. Gradually, Minerva found she had flown her way to her own rooms and now paused, hovering above her own sleeping form.
With a jolt, she came suddenly awake.
With a choked gasp, Minerva pushed back the heavy bedspread and snatched up her tartan dressing robe from the chair beside her bed. Hurrying down the curving staircase as fast as her aged feet would carry her, she gasped, "Albus?" breathlessly upon reaching the bottom.
A vacant office greeted her, mocking her with its emptiness and the feeble hope that she could now feel spluttering and dying within her.
Sighing, she wrapped her dressing robe tighter around herself and slowly sank into the chair behind her desk. She had been so sure that, for one glorious moment, he had done the impossible and returned to her. It hadn't seemed so foolish before – for a man she was so used to being surprised by, returning from the dead would not have been beyond the realms of possibility. Now, however, as she sat all alone in the office he had once presided over, the loss hit her harder than she could remember for quite a while.
Gazing out over the rolling expanse of land before her, Minerva wished, for perhaps the thousandth time since that fateful evening nearly a year ago, that things had happened differently. She wasn't supposed to be a leader. She was supposed to help bear the burden that Albus carried, offering advice and strength when his own failed him, but not carry it all alone.
Yet, the message in that dream had been clear – it was a warning. As much as she didn't want to assume the role of leader, she must, if she was going to save those entrusted to her.
Then again, it was only a dream; probably brought on by the stress of worrying over what You-Know-Who's plans were and when he would attack next. For Merlin's sake, to go charging about making plans over a silly little dream would make her as bad as Sybil! Perhaps it would be more prudent to wait – if something horrendous occurred, she would put more faith in the dream – but until then it was foolish to get working up over it.
Yes, Minerva McGonagall had always been a practical woman, and she wasn't about to lose that now.
06:56:24 AM GMT
"Shaklebolt? Shaklebolt, where are you, man!"
Kingsley Shaklebolt hurried into his living room, pulling his robes over his head simultaneously. Kneeling down by his fireplace, he addressed the head of the man sitting there.
"What is it, Harold? What's happened?!"
The messenger gasped for breath, and then urgently addressed the Auror in front of him.
"It's the Minister, Sir. He's been murdered!"
06:59:58 AM GMT
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07:00:00 AM GMT