Author's Note: This fanfiction is basically fragmented images that have embedded themselves rather stubbornly in my mind woven together with an incredibly weak storyline. X3 Still, I'm sure that as the story goes on, it will get stronger; that's usually the way of my writing. Let's hope, eh? D Please review at the end – it doesn't take long but it makes my day, and I'd like to know whether this is worth continuing or not. Thankyou!

FRAGILITY

The evening was quiet as death, with only the sound of the grass that groaned under the early winter's burden of frost crunching underfoot. The ethereal light spilling from the church windows illuminated patches of the wandering mist, warm candlelight colliding with the cold artificiality of the streetlamps. Dusk had only just fallen, yet the church glowed with what some would call hope, and what Harry would call a seeming smugness. Harry had never been a religious man.

"You clear?"

The bodiless voice in his ear was hushed yet comprehensible, and he cast his eyes, now adjusted to the uncanny half-light, across the churchyard. A tiny glowing amongst the mists of the headstones, standing to attention like forgotten soldiers from some war long past, betrayed the position of Ron Weasley. He replied, speaking into no mouthpiece. Magic made this particular instrument obsolete.

"As crystal. I'm going in. Send Seamus and Zacharius after the signal."

Without waiting for a reply, Harry moved swiftly out from his crouched position beneath an solitary oak into the huddled trees of the modest orchard clustered at the church's side. He paused, hidden by the many bowing and skeletal forms.

"Oh, and Ron?"

"Yeah?"

"Put out the fucking cigarette."

The glowing light vanished obediently. Harry smirked slightly, and straightened, stuffing his frozen hands deep into the pockets of his heavy coat and breaking his cover in a brisk walk towards the aged wooden door. A rotting apple, nestling quietly amongst the stiff grass caught his eye, and without thinking, he kicked it, his pace lending violence to the action. The apple span away, exploded like a corpse's head.

The silence within the church's stone confines, warm and cold simultaneously, fell like a shroud over him. Nobody looked up at his intrusion. Harry, feeling suddenly incredibly present, paused for a moment to study those few worshippers that braved the cold for their faith.

A man in a waterproof coat that surely offered him no comfort, bent in prayer amidst the pews that were worn yet rich in colour. An elderly couple dressed in matching scarves and gloves, seated beside a large vase of fake flowers that even in their artificial state remained beautiful, a bible upon both laps. A young blonde woman knelt humbly before the rows of flickering candles and dressed in a funeral black veil and coat. A figure in the back, standing statue-still beneath an archway that revealed the twisted beginnings of a stone stairwell. None acknowledged Harry's rather unannounced entrance but the figure, who made a slight movement towards the stairs, then fell still once more.

Harry bent his head slightly and, eyes always on the figure, made his way calmly towards the candles, the faded carpet dulling his footsteps. As he approached, the woman dipped her head to hide her tears from him, and as always a pang of empathy twisted roughly at Harry's insides. He knew what it felt like to grieve - hell, if he had the time, energy and room inside a brain crammed with emotion, he'd never be out of black clothing. Choosing a spot far from her, Harry knelt, conscious of the lack of comfort the worn carpet offered his knees against the cold stone. Apparently staring into the candle flames that danced almost dizzily, burning blotchy replicas into Harry's vision, he could see the figure. It remained still. Harry clasped his hands, bent his head, and began to pray.

"Our Father, which art in Heaven..."

Immediately, Ron's voice started up again in his ear, loud enough for him alone to hear over his own hushed prayer.

"Checking the map now."

"...kingdom come, thy will be done, on earth..."

"Okay, confirm position and number of visible life-forms."

"...Give us this day our daily first floor, six, and forgive us our trespasses..."

"...si- ...wait a second..."

Harry dismissed the touch of concern in Ron's voice, heart thrumming with impatient adrenaline. The figure had shifted again, only subtly.

"...who trespass against us. Ron, check the first floor, now. Lead us not into temptation..."

"Okay, but- ...life forms on the first floor, one. Har-"

"But deliver us from evil. I'm going to investigate. Send them in now. For thine is the kingdom, the power and the glory..."

"Harry!" Ron's hiss was urgent in his ear, but the figure, as though it had heard Harry's own whispered orders, suddenly disappeared into the stairwell. The muffled thud of hurried footsteps on stone momentarily stirred the silence of the church, and was enough to spur him into action.

"Forever and ever, Amen." He breathed into his linked fingers, standing up with an abruptness that startled the cowering girl.

"HARRY!" Hoarseness had developed in Ron's strained whisper, as though he was on the brink of roaring. "Something's wrong with this, st-"

Without warning, several things happened in quick succession, the sounds hitting Harry first like bullets, faster than sight or realisation.

A muffled thud. Shouts of pain or anger. Ron's sharp "SHIT!" in his ear. A gunshot. Screams and a crash of china.

Harry whirled around, only to have his vision clouded by black cloth. Something seemingly colossal collided with him, and there was a crazy second of harsh breathing somewhere nearby before his head smashed against the stone floor, and his own strangled yell of pain joined the fray of frightened screams ricocheting off the freezing walls of the church.

One of his hands flew wildly into the air, searching blindly for his assailant as the other instinctively went for his aching head. "RON!" He yelled, hoping against hope that somehow his friend could hear, could help. He couldn't breathe, his face smothered by suffocating folds.

Suddenly there was a tightness around his throat, making him choke and yanking him upright with almost impossible force. Harry lashed out, feeling his fist connect with something solid, and all the wind was knocked out of him as his captor caught him mercilessly in the stomach in silent retaliation. His aching lungs seared as his throat was crushed tighter in the headlock of his bodiless enemy, and he scrabbled angrily against the weight with fingers that were helpless in comparison to this inhuman strength. Abruptly, the cloth was ripped from his face, and he had an accelerated impression of the empty church, fake flowers and shards of pottery scattered across the stone floor, before the old oak doors were flung open and Ron flew through them, all wide eyes and pale face.

"HARRY!"

Then there was a gun, inches from his cheek, and the sound of its shot blasted through his eardrums and buried itself in his memory. "NO!"

Ron crumpled at the doorway, blood pooling around his legs.

"NO!" Harry screamed again, and as the creature holding him slammed the weapon against his skull there was a moment of deep silence, before the pain rushed up to meet him, and he passed out.