Kiara Pride-Lander:

and the Order of the Centaur

By K.J. Amethyst

Carol Stingered

KIARA

Hello, my fellow readers! Here we are, once again, in another segment of my story, and boy, does this one get really messed up: the rule book is thrown out the window, we get a new crazy Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher, there are a lot more secrets being thrown around, a rebellion is beginning, I learn a lot about my past, and get some crazy dreams including Lady Zira, and there's a few meetings between the Boy Who Lived and myself in here too, but all that's still to come. For now, though, let me begin with my summer holidays: August twelfth, 2008, to be precise, where I'm sitting in my room, watching the news and worrying.

Now, I know some of you are wondering what I am doing watching the news, in the middle of a summer heatwave? To answer that, I must say to you, dear readers, that you must remember that it's been over a month since I broke up for the holidays at the time when this happened, and that it was not long after Georgia Diggs had died, and Lady Zira had come back, and Lady Zira coming back was exactly why I was watching the news, so that I could see if any odd or mysterious disappearances or deaths were occurring up and down the country. My aunt and uncle - my aunt in particular, for I'm sure my uncle was secretly fine with it - kept on making comments about me watching the news, saying that it wasn't normal for a girl like me to be watching the news a lot (well, a lot about me isn't exactly what anyone would call "normal" now, is it?). The reason I know about these remarks isn't because Grandmother Sarabi told me about them, oh no; it's because Aunt Mavuto and Uncle Frank spent quite a lot of time at my grandmothers' cottage, and that whenever my aunt heard me watching the news through my bedroom door, she would always come crashing through the door, scold me for watching such things at my age, tell me I should be outside like a normal kid, walk out and slam the door behind her; and because of that, I always kept the volume low whenever I watched the news, because I didn't know who would be outside my bedroom door. I didn't take much notice of her, though; the days when I would have been affected by my aunt's cold chidings had long since gone by the time I was fifteen. If Grandmother Sarabi had been there, though, things would have been quite different - but she wasn't. I'll tell you why she wasn't there in a little while, and where she was ... well, we'll get to that later.

I bent my head quickly as I saw Mr Figgs, a batty cat-loving old man from down the road, amble slowly past. He was frowning and muttering to himself. I was very pleased I was indoors, as Mr Figgs had taken to asking me round to tea whenever he met me in the street. He vanished from my sight, and as soon as he was gone, I breathed a sigh of relief, sat up straight on my bed and turned to face the television again.

Anyhoo, as I listened to the last story (what it was, I can't remember, but I know that it wasn't important) I let out a long, slow breath and stared out of my open window at the sky. Each day over that summer had been the same: the tension, the expectation, the temporary relief, and then mounting tension again ... and always, the question that grew more insistent all the time in my mind back then, was why had nothing happened yet?

There was nothing else worth hearing, so I turned off the television, and as I did so, several things happened at once.

A loud, echoing crack broke the sleepy silence like a gunshot; a cat streaked out from behind a bush in the garden and flew out of sight; I cracked my head against the window-sill in shock, before I sat upright again, clenching my forehead in pain, and turned to grab my wand, for I thought that was the signal I had been waiting for. Once I had grabbed my wand from my bedside table, I leant over the window-sill with my wand held out before me, checking to see if anyone had come, but the garden was empty. As I did this, Grandmother Sarafina came bursting into my room, panicking, I'm sure, at the noise she had just heard.

"Kiara! Are you all right, dear?" Grandmother Sarabi asked, severely shaken, from the loud crack she had heard as well as I had.

"I'm fine, Grandmother," I said absent-mindedly, as I kept my attention focused on the garden, looking for a sign of whoever made that crack happen.

I felt Grandmother Sarafina's concern as she walked over to my bed, pulled me back down slowly, and said as she did so, "Kiara, child, what on Earth are you doing with your wand out of the window - and holding your wand? Oh, Kiara, you know how dangerous that is! What if someone saw you? What would Sarabi say - ?"

"Yeah, well, Sarabi isn't here, is she, Grandmother Sarafina?" I asked her snarkily, which I instantly regretted by the look of incredulous astonishment on her face. I then sighed, and said, "I'm sorry, Grandmother. I didn't mean to say that to you. It's just - "

"It's all right, my darling," Grandmother Sarafina said. Breathing a sigh of relief, she sat next to me on my bed, put her arm around me, held me close and said, "You're frustrated with being here alone, and getting no information from your friends. It's natural for you to feel angry, Kiara. Now," she then said, leaning back a little and looking at me in the eyes, "are you going to tell me why you were leaning out of the window just now, hm?"

"I don't know," I sighed. "It's just that ... I thought that crack might have something to do with Zira, so I just ..." I sighed again and shook my head. After a few moment's silence, I turned to Grandmother Sarafina again and said, "So, where are Aunt Mavuto and Uncle Frank tonight? I thought they were coming over?"

"Oh, they are," Grandmother Sarafina said. "They're just at a restaurant, having a romantic meal together, seeing as Carol is "apparently" spending dinner at a friend's house - "

I snorted and said, "They're buying it? Seriously, Grandmother, I don't think Carol's said an honest word in her life." The reason I said this is because during that Summer, the Smiths had swallowed all of Carol's dim-witted lies about having tea with a different member of her gang every night of those summer holidays. Grandmother Sarafina and I knew perfectly well that Carol had not been to tea anywhere; she and her gang used to spend every evening vandalising the play park, drinking and smoking, on street corners and throwing stones at passing cars and children. I had seen them at it during my evening wanderings around the village; I had spent most of those holidays wandering the streets, and scavenging newspapers from bins along the way.

"I know, my darling, but we both know what they're like," Grandmother Sarafina said gently. She then patted my shoulder gently and said, "Why don't you go take a walk? It's a lovely evening, and I'm sure you'll like the fresh air. Besides, a walk might do you some good, you know? Clear your head a bit. Just make sure you're back here with Carol before ten when Frank and Mavuto get here, OK? Oh, and make sure you wear a jacket. I know it's warm out now, but you never know, it might get chilly later." (Boy, was she right.)

So I kissed her cheek, put on my boots, grabbed my jacket, got off my bed, headed downstairs and out the door, but instead of turning to where everything was beautiful, lush and green, I turned towards the village, and started to make my way towards the play park.

Ah, well, at least I'm not in trouble for listening to the news tonight, I thought, as I walked down the lane. I probably would have been the next day, too, if - well, we'll get to that in a bit.

Anyhoo, my mind then turned to the cracking noise that I had heard. I was sure it had been made by someone Apparating or Disapparating. It was exactly the sound Dokey the house-elf made when she vanished into thin air. I wondered if it were possible that Dokey was in my village once again, and whether or not it was she who was following me at that precise moment. As that thought hit me, I wheeled around and stared back towards my grandmothers' cottage, but it appeared to be completely deserted, and I was sure that Dokey did not know how to become invisible.

I walked on, hardly aware of the route I took, for I had ponded those streets so often that summer that my feet carried me to my favourite haunts automatically. Every few steps I glanced back over my shoulder. Someone magical had been near me as I looked out of my window, I was sure of it. I wondered why they hadn't spoken or made contact with me, and where were they hiding at that moment?

And then, as my feeling of frustration peaked, my certainty leaked away.

I thought that perhaps it hadn't been a magical sound after all; that perhaps I was so desperate for tiniest sign of contact from the world to which I belonged that I was simply overreacting to perfectly ordinary noises. I then thought that I must have mistaken the sound of someone Apparating or Disapparating, for the sound of a branch breaking.

I then felt a dull, sinking sensation in my stomach and before I knew it the feeling of hopelessness that had plagued me throughout that summer rolled over me once again.

I thought that the next morning I would be awoken by the alarm at five o'clock so I could pay the owl that delivered the Daily Squabbler - but then I wondered whether there was any point continuing to take it? I merely glanced at the front page before I threw it aside in those days; when the idiots who ran the paper finally realised that Zira had returned would be headline news, and that was the only kind I cared about in those days.

I hoped that if I was lucky I would have some owls - or calls - from my best friends Chris, Sian and Chrissie, though any expectation I'd had that their letters would bring me news had been dashed.

We can't say much about you-know-what, obviously ... We've been told not to say anything important in case our letters go astray ... We're quite busy, but I can't give you details here ... There's a fair amount going on, we'll tell you everything when we see you ... We know you're frustrated about being left in the dark, but it won't be for much longer ... I know it's tough for you not being with us, but just hold on ...

But at that moment in time it was a matter of when they were going to see me that I was concerned about. Nobody seemed too bothered with a precise date. Sian had scribbled I expect we'll be seeing you quite soon inside my birthday card, but all I kept thinking was how soon was soon? As far as I could tell from the vague hints in their letters, Chris, Sian and Chrissie were in the same place, presumably Dawson Manor. I couldn't bear to think of the three of them having fun at Dawson Manor without me. In fact, I was so angry with them that I had thrown away, unopened, the three boxes of The Sugarshack's chocolates they'd sent me for my birthday. Grandmother Sarafina's birthday meal had been delightful that night, so I didn't regret my actions too much.

And then I started to think about what Chris, Sian and Chrissie had been busy with, and why I wasn't busy with them? I had proven myself capable of handling much more than them, hadn't I? I then wondered whether they had forgotten what I had done. After all, I had entered that graveyard and watched Georgia being murdered, and it was me who had been tied to that headstone and nearly killed.

Don't think about that, I told myself sternly for the hundredth time that summer. It was bad enough that I kept revisiting the graveyard in my nightmares during those dark days without having to dwell on it in my waking moments, too.

I turned a corner, and as I did so, a few people greeted me, and I them. I was quite a favourite in the neighbourhood. My clothes fit me all right, and my hair was tied back most days. My wizarding friends, on the other hand, were split into three groups: the ones who believed me, who would always give a kind word to me as I passed, and I them; the ones who were unsure if they believed me or not, who would nod civilly at me, and I them; and then there were those who believed the media and not me, who thought that I was crazy and avoided me, as I avoided them. The people who didn't believe me were fools and were not worth the trouble, so I just let them be.

As I walked on, my mind then slipped to thinking of my parents and Grandmother Sarabi. The reason why she wasn't with me and Grandmother Sarafina that summer was because late one night, sometime during my second week of those holidays, she came into my room and told me she had been called somewhere by Crighton. She couldn't tell me where she was going, and nor could she tell me much, but she did tell me that she would call me every night to see how things were going.

"Can't I go with you?" I said, hurt and upset that we were going to be separated for some time, and that Crighton didn't trust me.

"I know it's hard, sweetie," she told me gently, "but I promise you that you will come to us soon. But for now, you must be strong for me. Can you do that?" She looked at me steadily for a moment, as I thought about what she said. True, I didn't like that she was leaving me for whatever length of time it was, but I knew that it had to be important, otherwise she wouldn't have left in the middle of the night. So I nodded and she hugged me tight, telling me that she loved me, before she left my room, closing the door softly behind her. I then watched her get in her car and drive away, and even though I knew Grandmother Sarafina was still in the house, I felt more alone than ever.

Still, it wasn't all bad. She called me every night, just like she promised. My friends, though, I just ignored, for if they weren't going to tell me anything, then I wasn't going to bother speaking to them. True, Grandmother Sarabi didn't tell me anything, either, but she let me get my anger out when I had to, so that wasn't bad. She also told me that she was angry at Crighton for how she was treating me, which I was very happy to hear, and knowing that there were people out there who cared about me made me happy, too, which brings me back to my parents.

My father, Simba, and my mother, Nala, also seemed to understand what I was feeling. Admittedly, their letters were just as empty of proper news as Chris, Sian and Chrissie's were, but at least theirs contained words of caution and consolation instead of tantalising hints: We know this must be frustrating for you ... Keep your nose clean and everything will be OK ... Be careful and don't do anything rash ...

Well, I thought, as I crossed one street, turned into another and turned towards the darkening play park, I had (by and large) done as my parents had advised. I had at least resisted the temptation to tie my trunk to my broomstick and set off for Dawson Manor by myself. In fact, I thought my behaviour had been very good considering how frustrated and angry I felt at being stuck at my grandmothers' place so long, reduced to turning the volume on my television low whenever my aunt and uncle were around, just so I hoped to hear something that might have pointed to what Lady Zira could have been doing. Nevertheless, I found it quite galling to be told not to be rash by the people who had served twelve years in the wizard prison, Azkaban, escaped, attempted to commit the murders they had been convicted for in the first place, then gone on the run with a stolen Hippogriff, even if the people in question were my parents.

I vaulted over the locked park gate and set off across the parched grass. the park was as empty as the surrounding streets. When I reached the swings, I sank on to the one that Carol had not managed to break at the time, coiled one arm around the chain and stared moodily at the ground. I thought I would've had to keep the volume pretty low in order to listen to the television in my room the next night. Until then, I had nothing to look forward to but another restless, disturbing night, because even when I escaped the nightmares about Georgia I had unsettling dreams about long dark corridors, all finishing in dead-ends and locked doors, which I supposed had something to do with the trapped feelings I had when I was awake at the time. In those days, the old scar on my forehead would often prickle uncomfortably, but I did not fool myself that Chris or Sian or Chrissie or my parents or Grandmother Sarabi would find that interesting any more. In the past (before Zira came back, I mean), my scar hurting had warned that Zira was getting stronger again, but seeing was back they would probably have reminded me that its regular irritation was only to be expected ... nothing to worry about ... old news ...

The injustice of it all welled up inside me so that I wanted to yell with fury. If it hadn't been for me, nobody would even have known that Zira was back! And my reward was to be stuck in the South of Wales for four solid weeks, completely cut off from the magical world, reduced to listening to the news with the volume turned down low, just so I could hear nothing of any importance to me whatsoever! How could Crighton have forgotten me so easily? Why had Chris, Sian and Chrissie got together without inviting me, too? These questions, as well as how long was I supposed to endure my parents telling me to sit tight and be a good girl, or resist the temptation to write to the stupid Daily Squabbler and point out that Zira had returned, were going round my head at that moment, which made my insides writhe with anger as a sultry, velvety night fell around me, the air full of smell of warm, dry grass, and the only sound was that of the low grumble of the odd car on the road beyond the park railings.

I did not know how long I had sat on the swing before the sound of voices interrupted my dark musings and I looked up. The streetlamps from the surrounding roads were casting a misty glow strong enough to silhouette a group of people making their way across the park. One of them sang a loud, crude song. The others were laughing. A soft ticking noise came from several expensive racing bikes that they were wheeling along.

I knew who those people were. The figure in front was unmistakeably my cousin, Carol Smith, wending her way home, and accompanied by her faithful gang.

Since I had last wrote about her, Carol had put on a bit of weight - not a lot to make her look chubby, but enough to put some fat under her skin. She also worked out, so that all that fat turned to muscle. Aunt Mavuto used to delightfully tell anyone who would listen that Carol had become the Women's Junior Heavyweight Inter-School Champion of the Southwest. "I'm just glad to see that her exercise is going to good use," Aunt Mavuto said. Carol's boxing had made her even more formidable than she had seemed to me when we were younger, and Carol had tried to use me as her first punch bag. I was not remotely afraid of my cousin, but I still didn't think that Carol learning to punch harder and more accurately was cause for celebration. Neighbouring children all around were terrified of her - even those children whose parents were friends of Aunt Mavuto's were more terrified of Carol than they were of me, "that Pride-Lander girl" as they called me, for they had been warned that I was a very dangerous individual, and attended some school or other for criminal girls, or something like that.

I watched the dark figures crossing the grass, and as they did so, I wondered who they had been beating up that night. Look round, I found myself thinking as I watched them. Come on ... look round ... I'm sitting here all alone ... come and have a go ...

If Carol and her friends had seen me sitting there, they would've been sure to make a beeline for me, and I wondered what Carol would have done if that had happened. She wouldn't have wanted to lose face in front of her gang, but she would have been terrified of provoking me ... I thought it would have been really fun to watch Carol's dilemma, to taunt her, watch her, with her powerless to respond ... and if any of the others tried to hit me, I was ready - I had my wand. Let them try ... I'd have loved to have ventured some of my frustration on Carol and her gang, so that I could have had the satisfaction of treating her the way she had treated me when we were younger (I was in a very dark place in those days, so please don't judge me here).

But they didn't turn around; they didn't see me, they were almost at the railings. I mastered the impulse to call after them ... seeking a fight was not a smart move ... I could not use magic ... if I had done, I would have risked expulsion again ...

The voices of Carol's gang died away; they were out of sight, they were almost on the street that would take me in the direction back to my grandmothers' cottage.

There you go, Mother, I thought dully. Nothing rash. Kept my nose clean. Exactly the opposite of what you'd have done (and I say my mother here, because my father would ask first, shoot later).

I got to my feet and stretched. I knew that Aunt Mavuto and Uncle Frank would not be home from their romantic evening out for a few hours yet, but I didn't want to stay out too late, for seeing as Carol is their "special little girl" who can do no wrong in their eyes, whatever time she came home was fine. I, on the other hand ... if I turned up one second later than Carol, then I was certain to get a yelling from my aunt. So I stifled a yawn, and with a scowl still etched on my face, I set off towards the park gate.

Whatever the street was that I was in had large square houses, with gardens that were small, and split down the middle because of the paved walk to each house, but the lawns on either side of these paved walkways were well manicured, and they were all owned by families, the father of which would often turn out to be a large square owner, and every now and then a people-carrier would show up. I preferred the village like this at night, when the curtained windows made patches of jewel-bright colour in the darkness, and I ran no danger of the glares and stares that I would get from some people. Anyhoo, I walked quickly, so that when I was halfway up this street to home, I saw Carol and her gang come into view again; they were saying their farewells at the entrance to the street which led to my grandmothers' place. I stepped into the shadows of a large cedar tree and waited.

" ... squealed like a pig, didn't she?" Mal was saying, to stupid guffaws from the others.

"Nice right hook, C-Girl," said Petra.

"Same time tomorrow?" said Carol.

"Round at my place, my parents will be out," said Geraldine.

"See you then," said Carol.

"Bye, Carol!"

"See ya, C-Girl!"

I waited for the rest of the gang to move on before I set off again. When their voices had faded once more I headed around the corner into the street that led to home, and by walking very quickly I soon came within hailing distance of Carol, who was strolling along at ease, humming tunelessly.

"Hey, C-Girl!"

Carol turned.

"Oh," she grunted. "It's you!"

"How long have you been called "C-Girl", then?" I said.

"Shut it," snarled Carol, turning away.

"Cool name," I said, grinning, as I fell into step beside my cousin. "But you'll always be called "Carol Bear" to me."

"I said, SHUT IT!" said Carol, whose thin hands had curled into fists.

"Don't the girls know what your mum calls you? Sorry, it's just that Grandmother Sarafina talks, you know."

"Shut your face."

"You don't tell your mum to shut your face. "What about "Petal" and "Cream Cake", can I use them then?"

Carol said nothing. The effort of keeping herself from hitting me seemed to demand all her self-control.

"So, who've you been beating up tonight?" I said, my grin fading. "Another ten-year-old? I know you did Maxine Eveson two nights ago - "

"She was asking for it," snarled Carol.

"Oh yeah?"

"She cheeked me."

"Yeah? Did she say you look like a thin sausage that's grown arms, legs and a head? Cause that's not cheek, C-Girl, that's true."

A muscle was twitching in Carol's temple. It gave me enormous satisfaction to know how furious I made Carol feel; I felt as though I had siphoned off my own frustration into my cousin, the only outlet I had (well, apart from speaking to Grandmother Sarabi on the phone, that is).

We then turned right down a narrow alleyway that led to the street that led to home. It was empty and much darker than the streets it linked because there were no streetlamps. Our footsteps were muffled between garage walls on one side and a high fence on the other.

Think you're a big woman carrying that thing around, don't you?" Carol said after a few seconds.

"What thing?"

"That - that thing you are hiding.

I grinned again.

"Not as stupid as you look, are you, C-Girl? But I s'pose, if you were, you wouldn't be able to walk and talk at the same time."

I pulled out my wand. I saw Carol look sideways at it.

"You're not allowed," Carol said at once. "I know you're not. "You'd get expelled from that freak school you go to."

"How d'you know they haven't changed the rules, C-Girl?"

"They haven't," said Carol, though she didn't sound completely convinced.

I laughed softly.

"You haven't got the guts to take me on without that thing, have you?" Carol snarled.

"Whereas you just need four mates behind you before you can beat up a ten-year-old. You know that boxing title you keep banging on about? How old was your opponent? Seven? Eight?"

"She was sixteen, for your information," snarled Carol, "and she was out cold for thirty minutes after I'd finished with her and she was twice as heavy as you. You just wait till I tell Mum that you had your thing out - "

"Running to Mummy now, are you? Is her ickle boxing champion afraid of nasty Kiara's wand?"

"Not this brave at night, are you?" sneered Carol.

"This is night, Carol Bear. That's what we call it when it goes all dark like this."

"I mean when you're in bed!" Carol snarled.

She had stopped walking. I stopped too, staring at my cousin. From the little I saw of Carol's face, she wore a strangely triumphant look.

"What d'you mean, I'm not brave when I'm in bed?" I said, completely nonplussed. "What am I supposed to be frightened of, pillows or something?"

"Grandmother Sarafina talks to us too, you know," said Carol breathlessly, "and I heard her tell Mum that she heard you in bed, moaning last night."

"What d'you mean?" I said again, but there was a cold, plunging sensation in my stomach. I had revisited the graveyard in my dreams the night before.

Carol gave a harsh bark of laughter, then adopted a high-pitched whimpering voice.

" "Don't kill Georgia! Don't kill Georgia! Who's Georgia - your girlfriend?"

"I - you're lying," I said automatically. But my mouth had gone dry. I knew Carol wasn't lying - how else would she have known about Georgia?

" "Mum! Help me, Mum! She's going to kill me, Mum! Boo hoo!" "

"Shut up," I said quietly. "Shut up, Carol, I'm warning you!"

" "Come and help me, Mum! Daddy, come and help me! She's killed Georgia! Mum, help me! She's going to - " Don't you point that thing at me!"

Carol backed into the wall. I had my wand pointed directly at Carol's heart. I could feel the hatred of fourteen years of Carol pounding in my veins at that moment - I would've given anything to strike Carol at that point; to jinx her so thoroughly that she'd have to crawl home like an insect, struck dumb, sprouting feelers ...

"Don't you ever talk about that again," I snarled. "Do you understand me?"

"Point that thing somewhere else!"

"I said, do you understand me?"

"Point it somewhere else!"

"DO YOU UNDERSTAND ME?"

"GET THAT THING AWAY FROM - "

Carol then gave an odd, shuddering gasp, as though she had been doused in icy water.

Something had happened to the night. The star-strewn indigo sky was suddenly pitch black and lightless - the stars, the moon, the musty streetlamps at either end of the valley had vanished. the distant rumble of an odd car and the whisper of the trees had gone. The balmy evening air was suddenly piercingly, bitingly cold. We were surrounded by total, impenetrable, silent darkness, as though some giant hand had dropped a thick, icy mantle over the entire alleyway, blinding us.

For a split second, I thought I had done magic without meaning to, despite the fact that I had been resisting as hard as I could - then my reason caught up with my senses - I didn't have the power to turn off the stars. I turned my head this way and that, trying to see something, but the darkness pressed on my eyes like a weightless veil.

Carol's terrified voice broke in my ear.

"W-what are you d-doing? St-stop it!"

"I'm not doing anything! Shut up and don't move!"

"I c-can't see" I've gone b-blind! I - "

"I said, shut up!"

I stood stock still, turning my sightless eyes left and right. The cold was so intense I was shivering all over; goose bumps had erupted up my arms and the hairs on the back of my neck were standing up - I opened my eyes to their fullest extent, staring blankly around, unseeing.

It was impossible ... they couldn't have been there ... not in that part of the country ... I strained my ears ... I knew that I would hear them before I saw them ...

"I'll t-tell Mum!" Carol whimpered. "W-where are you? What are you d-do - ?"

"Will you shut up?" I hissed. "I'm trying to lis - "

But I fell silent, for I had just heard the thing I had been dreading.

There was something in the alleyway apart from ourselves, something that was drawing long, hoarse, rattling breaths that clashed well with their deadly, droning, buzzing wings. I felt a horrible jolt of dread as I stood trembling in the freezing air.

"C-cut it out! Stop doing it! I'll h-hit you, I swear I will!"

"Carol, shut - "

WHAM!

A fist made contact with the side of my head, which lifted me off my feet. Small white lights popped in front of my eyes. For the second time that night, I felt as though my head had been cleaved in two; next moment, I landed hard on the ground and my wand had flown out of my hand.

"You moron, Carol!" I yelled; my eyes were watering with pain as I scrambled to my hands and knees, feeling around frantically in the darkness. I heard Carol blundering away, before she hit the alley fence, stumbling.

"CAROL, YOU'RE RUNNING RIGHT AT IT!"

There was a horrible shriek and Carol's footsteps stopped. At the same moment, I felt a creeping chill come from behind me, that could mean only one thing: there was more than one.

"CAROL, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! WHATEVER YOU DO, KEEP YOUR MOUTH SHUT! Wand!" I muttered frantically, as my hands flew over the ground like spiders. "Where's - wand - come on - lumos!"

I said the spell automatically, desperate for light to help me in my search - and to my disbelieving relief, light flared inches from my right hand - the wand tip had ignited. I snatched it up, scrambled to my feet and turned around.

When I saw what was coming for me, I felt my stomach left me.

A towering, hooded figure glided slowly towards me, hovering over the grounds, no feet or face visible beneath its robes, sucking on the night as it came. In fact, the only thing that was visible in the centre of its face was a giant, terrifying blood-red eye, with a black slit down the middle for a pupil; and this eyes was focused on only one thing - me.

I stumbled backwards, and raised my wand.

"Expecto Patronum!"

A silvery wisp of vapour shot from the tip of my wand and the Stinger slowed, but the spell hadn't worked properly; I tripped over my own feet as I retreated further down the alley as the Stinger bore down upon me, and panic fogged my brain - concentrate -

A pair of grey, slimy, scabbed hands slid from inside the Stinger's robes as it reached for me. A rushing noise filled my ears.

"Expecto Patronum!"

My voice sounded dim and distant in my ears. Another wisp of silvery smoke, feebler than the last, drifted from my wand - I felt that I couldn't do it, that I couldn't do the spell.

I heard laughter inside my head, shrill, high-pitched laughter ... I smelt the Stinger's putrid, death-cold breath filling my lungs, drowning me - think ... something happy ...

But there was no happiness in me at that moment ... the Stinger's icy fingers closed on my throat - the high-pitched laughter grew louder and louder, and a voice spoke in my head: "Bow to death, Kiara ... it might even be painless ... I would not know ... I have never died ..."

I feared then that I would never see Chris, Sian, Chrissie, my parents or Grandmother Sarabi again -

And then their faces burst clearly into my mind as I fought for breath.

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

An enormous silver lioness burst from the tip of my wand, and its paws caught the Stinger in the place where the heart should have been; it was thrown backwards, weightless as darkness, and as the lioness ran, the Stinger swooped away, bat-like and defeated.

"THIS WAY!" I shouted at the lioness. I wheeled around, and sprinted down the alleyway, holding my lit wand aloft. "CAROL! CAROL!"

I had run barely a dozen steps when I reached them; Carol was curled up on the ground, her arms clamped over her face. A second Stinger crouched low over her, gripping her wrists in its slimy hands, prising them slowly, almost lovingly apart, lowering its head upon Carol's face as though about to suck her.

"GET IT!" I bellowed, and with a rushing, roaring sound, the silver lioness I had conjured went running past me. The Stinger's face was barely an inch from Carol's when the silver paws caught it; the thing was thrown up into the air and, like its fellow, it soared away and was absorbed into the darkness; the lioness ran to the end of the alleyway and dissolved into silver mist.

Moon, stars and streetlamps burst back into life, as a warm breeze swept the alleyway, trees rustled in the neighbouring gardens, and the mundane rumble of an odd car rumbled again, as if nothing had ever happened. I stood quite still whilst my senses, which were vibrating, were trying to adjust themselves after the abrupt turn back to normality. After a moment, I became aware that my T-shirt was sticking to me, as was my jacked; I was drenched in sweat.

i couldn't believe what had just happened. Stingers, there, in that part of the country? You can imagine my shock, I'm sure.

Anyhoo, Carol was curled up on the ground, whimpering and shaking. I took my jacket off, hurried over to her and bent down to see whether she was in a fit enough state to stand up, but then I heard loud, running footsteps behind me. I instinctively raised my wand again, as I spun on my heel to face the newcomer.

Mr Figgs, our batty old neighbour, came panting into sight. His grizzled grey hair was on end, a clanking plastic shopping bag was swinging from his left hand and his feet were halfway out of his tartan carpet slippers. I made to stow my wand hurriedly out of sight, but -

"Don't put it away, idiot girl!" he shrieked. "What if there are more of them around? Oh, I'm going to kill Mona Fetch!"

AN: So, here is the first chapter for book 5. I'm sorry this has taken a little longer than I had hoped to publish, but I had some problems with my internet connection again - so if I don't update when I say I'm meant to, you all know why. I will be updating Wednesdays or Thursdays (or both, if it's a split chapter) and Sundays, so I'll see you in a few days. Oh, and if you don't like, then don't read. Simple as. Negative criticism WILL BE AVOIDED!