Chapter VI: Zonko's
A tumultuous week had culminated in the unexpectedly light breezes making way for the bitter gusts of November. As Harry marched down the deserted cobble streets of Hogsmeade, his failure to retrieve the scrolls a week earlier weighed heavily on his mind. Dumbledore, always the optimist, assured him it was mission accomplished – they now knew where the scrolls were located, he claimed. But as far as Harry was concerned, it had been nothing short of a disaster; Lucius Malfoy had worked out what Harry had been after and would no doubt move it. Hell, Voldemort would probably keep it on his person as he did Nagini at the battle of Hogwarts. His only hope now was that there was a copy somewhere, and that Zonko knew someone who could locate it.
He turned the corner and found two Aurors in the distance, forcing him to come to a halt and consider his options. Some gravel scraped behind him. Harry drew his wand and whirled around. There was nothing there. Probably a rat, thought Harry.
He drew himself to full height and approached the Aurors confidently. It took four strides for them to notice him.
"Stop there!" called the Auror on the left. She was short and slim with the kind of face only a mother could love. Her partner, who towered over her, was undoubtedly a younger Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Harry obeyed them and waited for them to approach.
"For your safety the Ministry advises you do not leave your home after nine pm," barked the Auror. "It is now ten, please state your business here."
"I have an appointment with Mr Zonko," said Harry.
"A likely story! Are you aware that all 'dark creatures' have an obligatory six pm curfew which is punishable by a ten year sentence in Azkaban?"
"Yes, I'm quite aware," said Harry, having read Crouch's first popular decree in the Daily Prophet that morning. "Fortunately, I'm not a 'dark creature'."
"Prove it," hissed the Auror.
"It's impossible to prove a negative," said Harry, growing a little aggravated.
"Relax, Mandy," said Kingsley, "this is James Potter. Please, Mr Potter, continue with your journey."
"Thanks." Harry moved past the short, fuming Auror, who was whispering furiously at Kingsley. He could not help but roll his eyes; she was the type of Auror he had hated – the ones doing it for personal glory.
As he approached, Harry noticed that the lights on the most colourful shop in Hogsmeade were dimmed, and it appeared deserted. He rummaged around for the card he had been given at the party and raised it above his head as he passed through the glass door. He felt as though he had been forced through a cold shower.
"Mr Zonko?" Harry called.
"In the back!" Zonko's gravelly voice came from somewhere behind the counter.
The shelves were bursting with merchandise, most of which Harry did not recognise. He meandered towards a shelf decorated with bats and picked up a vial fashioned into the shape of a fang. Blood of the Undead – scare your friends for half an hour! Smiling, Harry put the vial back in its position. He found it strange that, after a day's business, there were still so many products. George's shelves would usually be practically empty after a good day. Not only that, but the shop seemed far smaller than Harry remembered, but perhaps that was because he was used to the palatial megastore George had converted Zonko's into.
Harry went through a door behind a counter and found Mr Zonko seated – no, slumped – in a moth-eaten wooden chair behind a round coffee table, most of him drenched in darkness. The strands of greasy brown hair at the back of his head was sticking up in all directions and he clutched a bottle of Firewhisky in his right hand.
"Would you like a drink, James?"
"No, thank you," said Harry, suppressing a cough. The pungent stench of alcohol and smoke lingered in the air like urban pollution on a hot, dry summer's day. The smouldering butt of a cigar lay on the table beside Zonko's round glasses.
"Your father always refused, too," he said, brandishing his bottle like a flag.
Zonko moved into the light from the dying, flickering embers of the fire in the corner of the claustrophobic back room. His blood-shot eyes were framed by dark, purple rings; his skin was pasty and yellowing.
"Are you alright?" asked Harry, sliding into the equally decrepit chair Zonko offered. It creaked worryingly as Harry put his weight on it, but did not collapse.
"Yes – well, no, I suppose." He drew a cigar from chest pocket and lit it. "Want a smoke?"
"No, thanks," said Harry, gazing at the revered entrepreneur worryingly. Harry had met him once, albeit briefly, in his own world, and he had seemed as imperious, charming and self-controlled as he did at Malfoy's party; the very antonym of the man opposite him.
"You're missing out." Zonko's eyes slid out of focus as he took a long drag before releasing a mushroom of smoke up towards the low ceiling. Between the smoke and the dying light, Harry could barely see the man he was addressing.
"What's wrong?"
"Noticed the healthy stock out there, eh?" Zonko laughed gruffly. "Business, dear James, is bad...very bad, actually. This bloody war...it's been squeezing me...bleeding me dry, to tell you the absolute truth." The flash of glass told Harry Zonko had taken another swig of drink.
"Explain the problem," said Harry, leaning forward. He could just about make out the bald patch at the top of Zonko's head gleaming in the firelight.
"I believe in peace...peace has made my fortune. In the aftermath of Grindelwald's demise, your father invested heavily in me, and business was good. As the economy recovered, employment shot up, which meant folks had the cash to spend on the superfluous, on Zonko's Limited." Another cloud of smoke. "Student numbers were on the up again and the headmaster kindly introduced term-time visits to Hogsmeade. Those were the days, James..."
"But now people aren't willing to spend," said Harry, breaking the wistful silence.
"If only that were it. I mean, I can – could – afford to advertise; the public could have been convinced to spend. No, it's a far bigger problem I'm facing. War hits the economy like a Bludger to the head; the old, rich families curb their spending and move money into off-shore accounts; students' parents are disappearing left, right and centre; the Minister has forced the headmaster to cancel Hogsmeade trips and the piece of shit Ministry is killing our subsidies.
"I've been taking out loans I can't repay, I've made so many staff cuts I'm basically running on empty and I'm slashing prices right down. But what difference does it make when folks are too damn terrified to come into Hogsmeade? After what happened to McKinnon –" Zonko shuddered "– it's a bloody ghost town!
"And the Death Eaters! Those...those fucking Death Eaters! You know what they're doing? You know what those no-good cowards are doing? Buying everything up! They cripple us, then pick us off when we can't fight back! They already own Borgin and Burke's, Fortescue's, Malkin's, Scrivenshaft's and the list goes on and on –"
"How are they doing this?"
"Oh, it's all very clever, no less than you can expect from Saint Lucius –"
"Do you have any evidence of Malfoy's involvement?" said Harry sharply.
Zonko took a long drag and laughed dryly. "Evidence? This isn't a time to make jokes, James, I'm baring out my soul here. So, where was I? Oh, yeah, they barge in unannounced and claim they'll save you from sinking. Of course, the poor, defenceless shopkeeper has no choice but to accept the take-over bid or face bankruptcy...or worse."
"You've resisted them?"
"Of course! I refuse to be a jewel in their crown – I'd rather die. A few weeks ago, on a night like this, three of them barged in and made their bid. A thousand Galleons they offered – a thousand Galleons! That's Knuts, James, an absolute pittance. So I told them where to shove it. They weren't happy with that, I tell you!
"So they came back a week later with an offer of two thousand Galleons and, again, I rejected it. These animals have no idea of the long-standing formalities. It is tradition for potential investors to invite the business executives to lavish dinners, but these Death Eaters, they have no respect! They...they pushed me around, trying to intimidate me, but I rose above them.
"A few days ago, only one of them came. He must have been pretty high up to walk around without protection and his mask...it was gold. The way he spoke, James, I was...terrified. He made an offer of five thousand Galleons. Even when I'm pissing myself, I'm not stupid. We're talking about a business worth five hundred thousand Galleons! I thought I was going to die when I told him I wasn't going to do business, but he...he just left. Or so I thought. The next morning, I opened the shop at six in the morning as I usually do, and found my thirty-thousand-Galleon racing broom snapped in half." His voice quivered with barely constrained anguish as he said this. "Do you know how special that broom was? It was hand crafted by Nimbus Schroeder himself! It was so precious I kept it in a safe in my house! Those...those thieves..."
Harry's eyebrows shot up. He knew for a fact that Zonko's near-mythical broom had sold for over six hundred thousand Galleons in a charity auction a couple of months before he went through the veil.
"Have they visited since?"
"No," choked Zonko.
"Is there any way you can show me the memory? I may be able to identify the Death Eater."
"No, but I think...I think it may have been Him."
"Voldemort –" Zonko flinched "– has been out of the country for some –"
Zonko dropped his empty bottle of Firewhisky. It tumbled over the edge of the table and rolled towards the fire, where a small pile of bottles had built up. He reached out and grabbed Harry's hand with both of his, uncontrollable fear marring his features.
"Please...please, James. You have to help me... I wouldn't normally, but the circumstances..." He let out a strangled sob as tears trickled down his face. "I'm a dead man...dead... I'll lose my business, my house, my wife, my daughter..."
Harry could not take any more. He jumped to his feet and whacked the new bottle of Firewhisky out of Zonko's hand. It flew briefly, then smashed, covering the dark floor with oozing, spitting liquid.
"Pull yourself together," snapped Harry. "Stop drinking, stop smoking and listen to me."
"They'll be back, James," mumbled Zonko, rocking in his chair. "You don't know...they won't rest until I'm attached to their strings. What will they destroy next? M-my daughter's neck? I-I can't l-lose her! She's all I...all..."
Harry grabbed Zonko's thin arm and pulled him up. He cast a mild Sobering Charm at the entrepreneur, who began vomiting. Disgusted, Harry vanished it as it emerged from Zonko's mouth until he stopped retching and looked as though he was going to pass out.
The loud crack of inexperienced Apparition came from beyond the door. Harry tensed, and arranged the smoke so that it covered him.
"Daddy?"
It sounded like a girl, possibly a young woman.
"In here!" called Zonko, almost incoherently.
There was some coughing as the door opened. A pretty young girl emerged; she shared Zonko's piercing blue eyes but little else.
"Potter?" she said, confused. She caught sight of her father and sighed, the sigh of a girl who had seen her father drunk many times before.
"This isn't the first time?" said Harry, as she rushed forward to help her father, who was slipping in and out of consciousness.
"What are you doing here?" she snapped.
"I'm trying to help –"
"We don't need your help," she said shrilly.
"With all due respect, you do. Now, I must ask about the wards around your –"
"I said we don't need your help! We don't need you to poke your nose where it isn't wanted, pretending to be chivalrous when really you're nothing more than a bully who –"
"Your father's business is failing," snapped Harry, "and he has Death Eaters after him. Now, I don't know you well enough to make judg –"
"Don't know me? Don't know me? What am I, then, just another conquest? Are we just nameless, faceless statues to you –"
"I apologise, but you have to think about what's best for you and your family. You are in immediate danger. I'm sure you don't know the full extent of the war or you wouldn't be –"
"I don't know the full extent of the war? Me? My best friend was killed by Death Eaters, they're after my family now and Regulus –" She covered her mouth with her hand, and her eyes bulged.
"What did you say?" said Harry.
"Nothing. Just butt out, Potter."
"What did you say about Regulus?"
"I won't let you drag him into this, especially not after what your boyfriend disowned him."
Harry took a breath to calm down and grabbed her arm. She gasped and jerked it away as if she had been burnt. "Look, I'm genuinely trying to help you here," said Harry. "My father was friends with yours, and I want to honour that. I'm sorry about the past, but you've got to think about your own safety. You need to seriously consider the Fidelius."
"We can't," she whispered. It was as though all her energy had evaporated and left a destitute, vulnerable young girl.
"You must. It's the only way to hide from them."
"I – We c-can't hide from them."
"They'll kill you."
"We're dead anyway."
Harry stared at the girl in front of him, no older than eighteen and saw a piece of himself in her. There was anger, and regret, and resolve.
"They won't get you," said Harry quietly, "I'll make sure of that. I know people that can hide you more completely than you will ever know..."
"Professor Dumbledore?" said the girl, panicked. "No, we can't accept his help. We...we'll manage –"
"No, you won't. I'll talk to your dad in the morning about warding your house and I'll personally guard the shop. All I ask is for you to answer a question of mine: has your dad ever mentioned Nebuchadnezzar's Archway?"
"Err...a few times. He's really into the ancient wonders; you should see the junk we have in the house."
"Thank you," said Harry. "Don't linger here, go straight home."
She looked at Harry as if seeing him for the first time and opened her mouth to say something. But Harry broke the gaze and left the room, his mind buzzing. Zonko was in a bad way; that much was obvious, and he needed help. Fortunately, he also had some knowledge of the Archway. Harry would go undercover as an employee and wean some information from him. At the same time, he'll wait for the Death Eater to show his face, tail him, corner him and take the information about the scrolls' new location from him. If worse came to worse, he would make the Death Eater retrieve the scrolls for him.
Harry emerged into Hogsmeade's main road, deserted and dark and still. Quickly as he could, he spun around and cast the Summoning Charm. There was a whoosh as Lily appeared and the silvery invisibility cloak flew into Harry's outstretched hand.
"I know this cloak too well for you to trick me, Lily. Well, that, and you're not very good at going undercover."
She recovered from her surprise quickly and grinned, unabashed. Harry glanced up and down the road for any signs of life. Nothing. As a precaution, he motioned for Lily to follow him. He led them down a derelict side-alley and cast three layers of secrecy charms. Better safe than sorry.
"What are you doing here?" snapped Harry.
"I could ask you the same question," said Lily, her arms folded.
"I'm not the one trying to edge out Dumbledore in Voldemort's to-kill list," hissed Harry.
"Actually, you are. Or have you forgotten..."
"I'm a trained Auror, Lily, and I know these Death Eaters like the back of my hand. If I detected you, so could they. They probably have the shop under surveillance!"
"I don't need to be mothered."
"I don't care. I'm not going to let you just...just throw your life away over nothing!"
"What, so you can prowl around then tell me I need to be locked up in a castle like some damsel in distress?"
"I'm just trying to protect you!"
"What gives you the right –"
"I'm your –"
"My what, Harry, my what?"
Harry sighed and ran a hand through his hair. What was he? Not her son, she's at least three years younger than me. He looked into her brilliant green eyes that shone with pain and regret.
"I'm sorry, Harry..."
"No, I'm sorry, I shouldn't be –"
"I was out of line; of course you care about me..."
"My best friend once said I have a 'saving people thing' and here I am doing it again. Look, I'm just worried; Voldemort's almost definitely sending his people after you – you know that. They'll want to lure you from the castle and I'd never forgive myself if something –"
Lily silenced him with a hug that encased him with warmth, rebuffing the icy winds.
"They don't scare me," she whispered, her hot breath against his ear, "not anymore."
"Ah, the naivety of youth," said Harry in his best Dumbledore voice.
"Old man," retorted Lily, pulling away.
"Kids today," said Harry, shaking his head, "they have no respect."
"It's getting a bit late for you, isn't it, granddad?"
"It is, actually," said Harry in his normal voice, "let's head back."
They trudged slowly and silently to the Shrieking Shack and Harry's thoughts turned to Wormtail. He considered using Wormtail as bait, or, even better, forcing him to take the scrolls. The only problem was Dumbledore. There would be serious problems if the headmaster found out Harry had taken the rat and used him for his own ends. And he would find out.
"Harry?" said Lily as they walked in to the Shack.
"Yeah?"
"Why are you helping Zonko?"
"What?"
"I didn't mean it to come out like that, but it's weird...there are so many families being t-torn apart by Voldemort – why Zonko?"
"Well, because he asked, I suppose –"
Lily sighed wearily. "Please don't lie to me, Harry. Why would you ask Adèle about that archway?"
"You know her?"
"Don't change the subject."
"He's a keen enthusiast in the ancient wonders. He's got contacts that might help to, you know, locate it..."
"Oh."
Harry crouched slightly to fit into the tunnel and wondered what to say next. Would she think he was trying to get away from her as soon as possible? Had he offended her? He opened his mouth, only to close it again.
"I want to go with you."
Harry stopped suddenly, and Lily walked into him. He stumbled, tripped and fell on to the gravelly ground. Lily tumbled and landed on his back. He cursed as pain shot through both his hands and back.
"I'm so sorry!" gasped Lily, straightening up.
"No, it's my fault," grunted Harry, gingerly pulling himself to his feet. He stared at Lily searchingly and said, "Your place is here."
"Sorry?"
"You can't come with me," said Harry sadly.
"Why? What do I have left for me here?"
"What would you have over there?"
"You, Harry. I know I'm not your mother or anything, but I-I want to go with you. Please let me help you."
They emerged out of the frozen Whomping Willow and Harry sighed. "Fine."
"So...what have you got planned?"
"Next, please."
It had been three days since his first day working behind Zonko's counter and already, Harry felt as though all life was being sapped out of him. His days mostly consisted of waiting to serve customers and practically praying for the Death Eaters to show their faces. And he was sick of drinking Polyjuice. So far, the only time he was not alone on the shop floor was in the first and last hours of the day. But he did not complain, because he knew it was worse for Lily, who spent the same hours braving the arctic conditions just outside the shop under the invisibility cloak.
Harry placed the items he had been handed on the single scale on the counter. It whirred for the briefest moment, then a ghostly, golden figure 'four' appeared, followed by a bronze 'nine'.
"That's four Galleons and nine Knuts, please," said Harry, looking up for the first time. He almost dropped the Fanged Frisbee in surprise. Narcissa Malfoy was impatiently rifling through an expensive silver purse, her arched eyebrows narrowed. Even without her finest clothes on, she emitted a striking radiance, almost as though she was more than human. It was not quite Veela-like – there was nothing false about it – but it had a far stronger pull on Harry's heart.
"What are you staring at?" she said. Harry snapped out of his reverie and his cheeks suddenly became very hot.
"N-nothing," he spluttered and placed the Fanged Frisbee into the bottomless bag that went with every sale. Narcissa tutted impatiently but said no more as Harry handed her the bag and took the money in exchange.
As she left the shop, he realised he was staring at her curved hips as they swayed ever-so-slightly from left to right. What's wrong with me? That's Lucius Malfoy's wife! Draco's mother! He shook his head slightly, as though that would cure him.
The last hour dragged on, not helped by the fact that there were no customers at all. Finally, his clock read 'closing time' and Harry began to lock up. The sales had been low again and he was sure Zonko would start downing some Firewhisky once he found out the record low sales revenue. He had begun counting the money when the front door creaked open.
"We're closed," called Harry without looking up.
"I have an appointment with Mr Zonko," came the reply.
Harry glanced up and barely concealed his relief. A Death Eater in a golden mask was approaching the counter. His jutted chin and dignified strut gave him away as Lucius Malfoy.
"Oh, it's you," said Harry. He was glad to see his nonchalance had startled Malfoy. "He's in the back." Harry returned to the counting but, from the corner of his eye, tracked Malfoy's lazy progress into the back room. Quickly Disillusioning himself, Harry followed him in as the door swung shut.
Zonko, who had been writing a letter, blanched and made to stand up as Malfoy carelessly lowered himself on to the creaking chair Harry himself had taken days earlier.
"Please, do not stand on my account." Zonko stole a glance over Malfoy's shoulder, evidently seeking Harry out. Idiot, thought Harry. Malfoy followed Zonko's gaze and stared straight at Harry, who made sure to stay completely still and utterly silent.
"W-What can I help you with?"
"As you know, I am here on behalf of the Dark Lord. He has professed a keen interest in purchasing your rather splendid business and is willing to pay a fair price for it."
"I'm afraid to say it's not for sale."
"Now, now, let's not be rash; you have yet to hear the offer."
"My business is worth eight hundred thousand Galleons, I hope the price –"
"The Dark Lord is prepared to make a bid of one hundred Galleons."
Silence. Zonko stared at Malfoy with disbelief and Harry could feel himself frown. Malfoy's last offer had been five thousand Galleons – what had possessed him to make a bid that barely covered a week's rent?
"That's – That's completely..."
"I think you should consider the finer points of the offer," said Malfoy, his voice quivering with sickening glee. He slipped some sort of photo in Zonko's direction. Harry crept towards the table, careful not to make a noise and stole a glance at what turned out to be a photo of Adèle.
She was flanked by two masked Death Eaters but otherwise appeared in good health. Harry squinted at her rolled-up sleeves and almost recoiled. The Adèle in the photo tried and failed to hide the Dark Mark on her left forearm. He flicked his gaze towards Zonko, who was staring at the photo with horror.
"The Dark Lord," said Malfoy, barely above a whisper, "has been disappointed in your unwillingness to co-operate, Mr Zonko, very disappointed indeed. He is a generous man; he gave you a fair offer, but you spat it in his face. And the Dark Lord does not take kindly to such grossly offensive gestures. He finds them quite coarse.
"We are not cruel men; we seek to help out our fellow wizard. But when our fellow wizard eschews our kindness and scuttles to blood traitors such as James Potter, it fills the Dark Lord with disappointment."
"W-What have you done with my daughter?"
"We are not kidnappers, Mr Zonko. Young Adèle came to us of her own accord. How she longed to rebel against the authorities you waste thousands of Galleons trying to bribe. Her family did not pay her enough attention and so we became her family. Oh, how she lusts for power.
"The Dark Lord, in his benevolence, can fulfil her dreams; he is, after all, the sole of heir of the great Salazar Slytherin, founder of her former house."
"This is blackmail," hissed Zonko.
"Come now, let's not resort to petty name calling or I shall become angry. When I become angry, I say things I shouldn't to people who have no business knowing it, and Rita is so easy to get a hold of these days. Imagine it: 'Heiress of Zonko's Enterprise A Death Eater'. Better still: 'Daughter Turns Wand On Her Own Family'. Poor form for a businessman, wouldn't you say?
"But accidents do happen, Mr Zonko, and that is the sad truth. I have been unfortunate enough to witness suggestible young Death Eaters being sent to their deaths in duels they could not possibly win. Many more have disappointed the Dark Lord and must endure his...displeasure..."
"Ok! Ok! Enough! I get it! Merlin..."
"You see now how generous this offer is? One hundred whole Galleons! Why, in the current economic environment, that can buy a modest cottage in the countryside."
"I need some time to make arrangements," rasped Zonko.
"Quite understandable." Malfoy stood and Harry side-stepped out of his way. "I shall be along tomorrow evening with the money." He strode to the door and as an afterthought said, "Don't expect Adèle home for supper, she has some frightfully important business to attend to." With that, he swept from the room, leaving Zonko sobbing uncontrollably in his wake.
Harry resisted the urge to comfort the poor man and followed Malfoy through the back door and out of the shop. But he was nowhere to be found.
"Lily," whispered Harry.
"He turned left into that side-alley," came her reply, somewhere over his shoulder.
"Did you manage it?"
"Yeah."
Harry broke into a smile. "Well done."
He Disillusioned himself and darted off into the side-alley Lily had pointed out. It was approaching curfew and without the sun, the temperatures had dropped below freezing. The result: the streets were deserted. Harry spotted Malfoy's blonde hair in the distance; the rest of him was shrouded in fog.
Harry followed urgently, he could feel Lily millimetres behind him. The shops thinned on either side and the road narrowed. Where is he going? They had expected him to Apparate to the Manor; they were poorly prepared for a journey by foot. He glanced at some of the buildings as he passed them – half a house, a shop that sold nothing but snail shells, a dingy pub whose sole customer was a hunch-backed hag. It was becoming increasingly sordid, but Malfoy persevered, occasionally stopping abruptly and taking a corner with the confidence of a man who knew the area well.
"Where's he going?" whispered Harry.
"I specified the scrolls; there was no loop-hole in the wording."
Very soon, the road widened again and Harry was sure they had left Hogsmeade altogether. They were in a squalid, grid-iron Scottish suburb. Tall, thin, brown terraced houses loomed at them, punctuated by the odd greengrocer or newsagent. Old, rusting cars parked so close together their bonnets touched gave the area an early twentieth century feel. The streets were completely empty.
The fog carpeted the entire area. The only sign that the sky existed beyond it was a hazy, crescent-shaped glow in the distance, beyond the outline of a great tower that dominated the skyline. Malfoy was becoming more and more difficult to make out as he slipped in and out of the dim light of the streetlamps that lined the streets. Harry closed the gap between them to three paces.
"Are you sure the spell hasn't driven him mad?" whispered Harry as Malfoy turned left. His voice felt strange, as though it was somehow sacrilege to break the deafening silence.
"Yes, I cast it perfectly and he reacted exactly as the book said..."
The tower seemed to grow out of the fog. Was Malfoy making for it?
"My God..."
"What?" whispered Harry, as Malfoy vaulted over a fence beyond which was utter darkness.
"That's the Tower of the Damned."
"What?"
Harry scrambled over the fence. They were in a small park with a single path running through it. Trees surrounded them on either side and Harry got the distinct feeling that they were being watched. Without the presence of street lamps, Malfoy had been swallowed by the darkness.
"It was originally built by Salazar Slytherin when he was thrown out of Hogwarts. Throughout history, it's been used as a stronghold of Dark wizards who wanted to take Hogwarts. Grindelwald started using it in 1944 once he realised that the only way to win the war was to kill Albus."
"I'm guessing Muggles can't see it?"
"No. If Malfoy's hidden his scrolls there, then it means Voldemort's taking the tower for himself."
"But why has it taken so long for him to take it? He's Slytherin's heir, after all..."
"Maybe...ah!"
Harry turned around, his wand drawn. "What's wrong, Lily?" he said to the darkness.
"He's...fighting..."
Lumos! The narrow sliver of light illuminated Lily, who had taken off the invisibility cloak. She sunk to her knees, eyes screwed shut, and began muttering under her breath. Then she stopped.
"I'm so sorry, Harry..."
"Did he break free?" said Harry, subduing the urge to curse at the top of his voice.
"Yes..."
"The Tracking Charm?"
"He broke that, too."
"Don't beat yourself up about it," said Harry, helping her to her feet. "You did amazingly well; we couldn't have come this far without you. And anyway, we know where he was going."
"But what if he wasn't?"
"I'm sure he was. Have you been there before?"
Lily nodded. "Sirius and James..."
"We can Apparate this last bit, then."
He reached out his hand, she took it and they Apparated.
His vision cleared. A strangled cry left Lily's lips.
Two men with identical flaming red hair lay dead in a dark pool of their own blood.
