His hands were tied behind his back with a rough and dirt encrusted rope. The lacerations around his wrists stung as the prickly rope brushed against his skin. The blisters from his burns on his fingertips had become infected and now oozed with puss. Rather than watch his friends being shoved and bullied up the scaffold, Harry attempted to look at the pebbles on the ground. A masked Deatheater yanked his head upward with a rough tug on his hair that made Harry's scalp burn.
The time of his own execution was growing closer. He had begged Voldemort to let him be hanged with his friends. He should have known that the Dark Lord would not allow Harry to have one final, yet small, triumph over him.
Harry was now kneeling in a square near Diagon Alley awaiting the execution of his best friends, Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. Ron and Hermione would not be allowed the "hero's death" that they deserved. Voldemort did not want them to appear to be martyrs to a great cause. In order to portray Ron and Hermione as traitors to all of Wizarding Britain, Voldemort waited to kill them. He held a trial where boxes full of "evidence" were brought forward to condemn Ron and Hermione to their deaths. They were to be hanged in public.
Harry was given the same sort of trial. Evidence was given and Harry was even allowed to have an attorney. None of this mattered of course, he would be found guilty no matter what.
Voldemort wanted to have the honor of killing his archenemy. Therefore, Harry would be killed by the Killing Curse, Avada Kedavra. But of course, Harry would have to be tortured first, and Voldemort included watching his friends die part of Harry's torture.
Voldemort sat in a moth eaten brocade arm chair on a balcony over looking the square. The Dark Lord's pet Nagini was lounging around his shoulders and hissing into his ear. The pair had been in the same seat the previous morning when Ginny Weasley was executed. She had been charged with carrying the child of a traitor. Harry Potter's child. Harry, Ron, and Hermione were all forced to watch Ginny's murder.
Harry squinted his eyes as nooses were placed around Ron and Hermione's necks. He did anything he could to not look his friends in the eyes. The previous morning Harry had been numb as the stool was kicked out from beneath Ginny's feet. Hermione and Ron were still with him then and he had been separated from Ginny for over a month. This had all made it seem unreal.
Hermione's hair was pulled away from her face and Ron's hair had been trimmed so that everyone in the square could see their eyes. Voldemort had hand picked who would be forced to witness the executions. He wanted certain people to know that he would tolerate nothing.
Tears began to stream down Hermione's face. Her breathing was erratic and her sobs drowned out the murmurs in the crowd. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry we failed you. I'm sorry we were stupid enough to fall for his trap. Never let it happen again." She screamed between sharp intakes of air.
Ron's bindings prevented him from holding Hermione's hand. Instead he whispered, "I love you Hermione." He was holding back tears.
"Enough!" Lord Voldemort's voice rang throughout the cold air. And with a wave of his wrist, the stools that Ron and Hermione were standing on were kicked out from underneath them. Harry closed his eyes.
Ayn clutched her sweat stained silk night shift. She breathed in deeply as she sat up which resulted in a sputtering cough. Her arms were covered in goose bumps and her wiry legs were caught in the bed sheets. It had been a dream. It was a dream just like it always was, Ayn reminded herself.
She slipped out from under the covers and duvet and walked across the room to the balcony. Her feet made a light pat patting noise on the wide wooden plank floor. She pushed the sliding door open a foot, just enough to slip through, and closed it silently behind her. Ayn didn't want to wake him.
A light breeze whipped the ruffled hem of her night gown around her knees and twisted her mahogany hair around her ears. The sky had a smokey blue tinge to it.
Ayn leaned on the railing and peered out at the cityscape. The crumpling and ancient Tower of London caught her eye first. It appeared stark white against the dingy shacks surrounding it. The Muggle section of London was falling into greater disrepair every day. The Parliament Building and Big Ben had been burnt down recently, and when she walked across Tower Bridge on a windy day, Ayn could still just barely smell the ash from the blaze. Even the once mammoth London Eye was falling apart. Another of its huge compartments had fallen into the Thames the week before. The sound of the sliding door opening caused Ayn to look away from the Muggle quarter.
"I didn't mean to wake you." He wrapped his arms around Ayn's delicate shoulders and pulled her close to him.
"It's okay." She inhaled deeply. He smelled like the remnants of her sister's failed dinner and the shampoo he used. "Did you have the same dream again?" Ayn nodded into his shoulder.
"How did you know?" A strand of his jet black hair fell in-front of his face.
"You always come out to the balcony after you have that dream."
"After seeing her cry again I always need some fresh air."
"I always thought the balcony would be the last place you would want to be."
"I know. But it helps. It helps to know that London is still out there, even if it is not the way it used to be."
Ayn pulled away from his embrace and looked out at the city again. He followed her gaze. They both stared at the large black V-shaped building that loomed over Buckingham Palace. There were four other buildings like it scattered throughout London. The one near Buckingham Palace was the Ministry of Defense. Only Deatheaters were allowed in that building on a regular basis. Otherwise you needed a permit and an appointment. Ayn had been inside the vast corridors of the Defense building multiple times before. No matter how many times she had walked to the conference room, it was always nerve racking.
"Why don't we go back to bed. The alarm won't go off for another few hours. You need some more sleep." Ayn nodded and followed him back into the bedroom.
Before resting her head on her down pillow, Ayn checked the time. The clock on the wall read four ten. The alarm in the kitchen would not go off for another two and a half hours at least. Unless of course something happened and a news bulletin was circulated. A small screen on the refrigerator flashed the pictures of criminals and special announcements about food and clothing stamps twenty four seven. If something important happened an incessant beeping would wake Ayn up, no matter the hour. Every home in the Magical quarter of London had one of them.
Ayn closed her eyes and an image of the Ministry of Defense flashed across her mind. She could feel his arms wrapped around her waist. She felt better already.