Chapter 11—Ryan

"Run us through the facts, Potter. Everything we've got, from beginning to end," Kingsley said as he lowered the frothy mug of steaming hot butterbeer from his mouth.

Ron coughed and choked into his own mug upon seeing the mustache of white foam that remained on Kingsley's upper lip. Harry kicked him under the table, perhaps a bit too hard, but luckily the lively Sunday afternoon atmosphere of The Three Broomsticks made the gesture hardly noticeable.

"Um…sir…you have something…there," said Harry, vaguely gesturing towards his own mouth.

Kingsley cleared his throat loudly and mumbled something about how he was going to get around to it eventually, and then resumed looking at Harry pointedly.

Harry cleared his throat as well and adjusted his glasses before holding out the stack of parchment before his eyes. It was Ryan Loxwood's entire case file, which they had found after about an hour of ripping apart the Reports desk at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. It had been beneath a mountain of various other bits of paperwork, and Kingsley, fiery with rage at the discovery that the grisly murder had been reported but not brought to the Auror Department's attention, had sacked three employees on the spot.

"Okay," said Harry, rifling through the papers. "Let's set up a bit of a timeline, a chain of events."

Ron froze with a forkful of golden fried fish halfway to his mouth, and disappointedly set it back down. He pulled out a quill and notepad from his bag, a sour look on his face.

"I'm not your bloody secretary," he hissed to Harry.

Harry kicked him under the table again while grinning at Kingsley, fake and exaggeratedly. "Okay, so. Ryan Loxwood, eighteen years old. Hogwarts graduate, Hufflepuff. Her cousin said he may have had a job opportunity for her at his company in Dublin…err…it looks like it's a private Hippogriff sanctuary…she was going to interview for the position of a groundskeeper, taking care of the garden and such, collecting the Hippogriff feces and converting it into fertilizer—"

"Important information only, please," said Kingsley, drumming his fingers on the tabletop.

Ron gaped at him for a moment before furiously scratching out 'Hippogriff feces' from his notes with his quill.

"Right," said Harry. He shuffled the papers. "She was in Holyhead with friends the day before and decided to take the Muggle ferry over to Dublin. Her Mum said she took Muggle transportation quite often, as she was awful at Apparition and deathly afraid of flying…anyway…she took the swift ferry, it was on schedule to sail for only two hours before docking in Dublin. Her body was found in the Dublin shipyard so obviously she made it on the ferry ride over. However, her body was soaking wet with water, as though she had just swam. No reports of rain that day."

"What time did the ferry arrive?" Kingsley asked, drumming his fingers again and looking into space thoughfully.

"Erm…seventeen past three, in the afternoon."

"And what time was her body found?"

Harry rapidly scanned another roll of parchment, the crime scene report. "Three twenty five."

Rob looked up from his scribbling, his mouth agape in horror. "Bloody hell. So she was on dry land for what—" he ticked on his fingers "eight minutes, before biting it?"

"Shorter, actually," said Harry. Kingsley and Ron stared at him questioningly, and he pointed with his finger to the paper. "It says here there was an extraordinarily generous pool of blood found at the scene…she was estimated to have already been dead for…here it is…four minutes."

Kingsley joined Ron in making a face as well. "Her ferry docked at three seventeen, and she was killed at approximately three twenty-one. Potter, Weasley, any thoughts?"

Ron's face lit up like a firework. "It means this wasn't completely random. She was already being watched, or followed."

Kingsley nodded deeply. "Very good."

Ron grinned, heavy with smarm, and took a victorious bite of fish.

"Sir," said Harry hesitantly. "For the record, I agree with that. Completely. But may I play Devil's Advocate for a moment?"

Kingsley folded his hands together. "Of course."

"Well," Harry began. "Does that make it an absolutely necessary fact that she was already being watched or followed? I mean, maybe this was just a complete madman, totally mental, who randomly chose her upon seeing her."

"And basically turned her into Nearly Headless Nick for no apparent reason?" Ron snorted.

Harry shrugged and looked to Kingsley for input, who was thoughtfully nodding.

"No, Potter's right," said Kingsley. Ron wilted slightly in his seat, a defeated look upon his face. "But you are correct as well, Weasley. We've seen psychotic killers in the past who murder just for the sake of murdering, but admittedly, this does not seem like that. This…it reeks of suspicion, and truly foul play."

Harry nodded and began shuffling through the stack of parchment again.

"Hang on—what's that? A few papers back…yeah, there…inbetween those sheets…what is that?" Ron asked, pointing to the pile.

Kingsley leaned forward in interest as Harry extracted a completely flattened brown paper bag, folded into a neat square. Stamped to the front in sloppy black ink was the word 'EVIDENCE'.

Harry began to unfold the bag, but jumped in surprise as he felt the tip of Kingsley's wand land on his hand rather aggressively, stopping him.

"Gloves, Potter."

Harry hurriedly conjured a thin pair of white gloves with a swish of his wand while Kingsley peeked out from the side of the booth, scanning the pub in a slightly paranoid manner. The Three Broomsticks was crowded, a sea of bodies pushed up against one another, all laughing, talking, and drinking. Most of the guests wore garb supporting their favorite Quidditch team and swarmed around the various magical radios placed throughout, listening intently to the broadcasts of today's games. No one paid them any mind.

Harry slowly opened the mouth of the paper bag and delicately withdrew a small square of paper. His nose wrinkled.

"It's just a Muggle receipt, for the ferry," said Harry.

"Turn it over, mate," Ron urged excitedly.

He turned the receipt over to reveal a short message, scrawled crookedly, the font enormously sloppy. By all means, it appeared as though it were scribbled in a hurry.

'Dark wizard chasing girl on Dublin ferry and shipyard. Please help'

Harry read it aloud before turning it upside down to face Kingsley. He mouthed the words to himself as he read it, and kept staring at it after he was done.

Ron grabbed the paper bag it had been in and turned it over, reading a label. "It says here this was delivered to the Law Enforcement's Reports desk by emergency Apparating owl at 3:20. She must have summoned one and sent it—"

"Right before she died," finished Harry. "A minute before she was killed."

Kingsley sighed heavily, his eyes shadowed with sadness. "And then Enforcers arrived very shortly after, and took about three minutes to find her. Only by then it was too late, and all they found was her body." Ron scratched along his parchment furiously, trying to keep up with Kingsley's words.

"I can't believe the Auror Department wasn't notified about all of this," said Harry in disbelief.

Kingsley shook his head bitterly. "The Law Enforcement department better brace themselves. When I come into work tomorrow I'm looking into this further, and I can promise, more heads will roll."

Ron choked and sputtered on his mug of butterbeer once more, and Kingsley's eyes suddenly bulged in horror at the realization of his unintentional pun relating to Ryan's death.

Harry cleared his throat hurriedly in an attempt to break the tension. "I do find something about this note odd," he said.

Kingsley composed himself. "What's that, Potter?"

Harry brandished the receipt. "Why would she write, 'dark wizard chasing girl', on the cry for help? In third person like that? Why not, 'I need help', or, 'I'm being chased'?"

Kingsley shrugged. "Perhaps she wrote it that way in hopes that when Enforcers arrived, they would search for a girl in peril. Simply writing 'I need help' could have pointed to anyone."

Harry looked at Ron, who shrugged in reply.

"So," Kingsley continued. "Ryan was murdered by this man—how was it that Fred and George described him again?"

"Ugly. Looked like a rat," replied Harry.

"Yes. A rat looking fellow, I remember now. He murdered Ryan, stole her wand…and resurfaces one week later in an alleyway around two in the morning, using Ryan's stolen wand against another girl, his new victim."

"Fred said her name was Ava," Ron chimed in, pointing at Kingsley with a fried potato speared on the end of his fork.

"Ava," repeated Kingsley. "Only Fred and George interrupt him, and Ava survives the ordeal."

"Barely though, apparently," said Harry. "Rat-man threw the Snitch-looking object on Ava's back, which more or less melted the skin right off and emitted a smoke that stung Fred and George as well."

"And this Rat-man, he then disappears, leaving Ryan's stolen wand behind. George finds it and takes it along with him to present to us at the meeting," said Kingsley.

"Which brings us here," finished Ron, finishing his last scribble and setting down his quill.

The three of them sat in silence for a couple minutes—Ron, reviewing his notes, Kingsley, staring off into the distance, and Harry, still studying Ryan's note.

"Like Potter said in Cork," said Kingsley finally, sighing, "we will need to talk to the girl. Find out what was happening leading up to her attack. Find out if she knows who the Rat-man is. And then…we will get to work on catching him. Immediately."

Kingsley collected all of the papers from the table and rose from his seat, Harry and Ron taking that as their cues to do the same.

"To the Burrow," ordered Kingsley, and Disapparated loudly.

Harry and Ron exchanged looks.

"All of this had to happen on our weekend," grumbled Ron, buttoning his brown trench coat. "This couldn't have happened on a bloody boring Tuesday, eh?"

Harry laughed and shook his head. "I don't think killers have any sort of set schedule, Ron." He Disapparated, leaving Ron alone.

"Well maybe they should," Ron whispered to himself, drained the rest of Kingsley's butterbeer, and followed after Harry.

000000

Harry, Ron, and Kingsley leaned their broomsticks against the railing of the wooden platform outside the Treehouse, and headed inside. It was quiet and still, but they immediately spotted Fred sitting at the middle table alone, eating leftover stew. He seemed surprised to see them and jumped at the sound of the door slamming shut, looking up from his bowl with a rather frightened look on his face.

"Hi," he said breathlessly, setting his spoon down and standing.

"Hey Fred," said Harry, nodding once in his direction.

Fred smiled at him but it didn't seem genuine, and he shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans.

"George said you'd be up here," said Ron, crossing his arms and his face suspicious. "Why aren't the two of you together?"

Fred raised a single eyebrow at his brother. "Excuse you? I wasn't aware we had to be together at all times."

"You usually are," Ron shot back.

"And you're usually a great big prat, I see that hasn't changed."

"Fred," Kingsley smoothly interjected. "We were actually hoping to speak to the girl. Ava, was it? George said you and he fetched her from the hospital and the tree read her as clean."

Fred's hands withdrew from his pockets and he crossed his arms across his chest. "Yeah, that's right."

"We were hoping to speak to her," Kingsley repeated.

Harry noticed Fred's face pulling together, his jaw rigid and eyebrows furrowed in a seemingly arrogant expression. He recognized it instantly, it was the face both him and George made when they were told what to do.

"She's sleeping," Fred said shortly.

"Sleeping?" asked Ron. "Where? And it's only noon."

"People are allowed to sleep whenever they see fit, Ronniekins," said Fred. "And I set her up in the third floor porch. Just transfigured the lounge chair into a bed, is all."

"Yes, we figure she must be very tired after her ordeal," Kingsley said gently, but he took a few steps forward, towards the spiral staircase. "But this really is urgent."

Harry nearly choked on his breath in surprise as he witnessed Fred striding rather quickly to block Kingsley from the staircase entrance. He stood between the two railings, his body blocking the steps, and crossed his arms again.

"She's sleeping," Fred repeated.

"Oi, Fred," Ron sputtered. "That's the Minister of Magic you're talking to!"

"It's quite alright Ron," said Kingsley, but kept his gaze on Fred.

"Fred," Harry said in his best tone of voice that carried both grace and firmness. "We really just need to talk to her. There's been a murder. The wand that George got from the wizard—"

"No need to explain, Potter," said Kingsley, still facing Fred in an unblinking challenge. "We'll explain it all at the next Order meeting. But for now, the girl is a key witness in our murder investigation and we need to speak with her."

Harry noticed a slight edge to Kingsley's voice; it was the beginning of him losing his patience.

"Right," said Fred, unmoving. "But see, she's officially my charge, therefore she's my responsibility, and right now I feel that it's best we let her rest as she pleases...and then yes, we shall most definitely speak to her to find out what's going on."

Ron released a sarcastic laugh of disbelief. "Your charge? So you're Heading this mission for the Order, then? When was that decided, hmm? It's usually by vote."

"Ron," Harry warned. He had gotten to know each member of the Weasley family well enough by now to know that Fred differed from George with an occasional nasty temper. Harry had witnessed it for himself several times and wasn't sure if he wanted to see it again anytime soon.

"Fred Weasley, while I appreciate and respect your efforts to fully protect your charge, you will need to understand that there are more important things at play right now and her input is absolutely imperative. I'm going to have to insist that you step aside," said Kingsley firmly, the volume of his voice rising.

Fred made a slightly disgusted face. "Well I'm going to have to insist that—"

"What's going on?"

An American female voice came drifting down the spiral staircase and Harry could hear the soft creak of the steps as someone descended. When she began to appear, the first thing he noticed were her bare feet, and then, a skirt and blouse that hung off of her thin frame…too thin, nearly frail. Her arms swung at her sides and ended in both hands wrapped in white bandage. Blonde hair fell down to her ribs in waves and her face was marred by both eyes ringed in dark bruising and a bright red scratch that ran across one of her cheeks.

Fred looked at her over his shoulder but didn't budge his protective stance. "You don't have to do this right now," he said to her softly, his voice suddenly gentle and void of all venom.

Harry and Ron turned to one another simultaneously, Harry's eyebrows raised and Ron's face twisted in disbelief and outrage, his jaw dropped open.

"What the hell is he doing?" Ron hissed.

"I dunno," Harry whispered back hurriedly.

"No," the girl, presumably Ava, said. "It's okay. I want to help…however I can." Her eyes drifted over to Kingsley, Harry, and then Ron. Her gaze lingered on Ron for a couple additional seconds, a look of recognition spreading across her face as though she had seen him somewhere before, and then back to Fred. She smiled weakly and nodded.

"Alright," Fred muttered, and stepped aside, but remained leaning on the banister with one of his elbows. Ava didn't descend the rest of the stairs; just stayed frozen where she was on the third one from the bottom.

"Ava, I presume? I am Kingsley Shacklebolt, a fellow member of the Order of the Phoenix, an Auror, and the Minster of Magic." He smiled widely at her and sunk into a deep bow. When he rose to full posture Ava took one more step down, and extended her bandaged hand.

"It's nice to meet you," she said softly.

Kingsley seemed mildly surprised at her offer of a handshake but took it. Harry saw her grip Kingsley's hand rather firmly as she shook it, slowly and formally. Kingsley suddenly jumped a bit and drew his hand back.

"Pleasure," he murmured, stepping backward. "My apologies, it seems as though we exchanged a shock…these are new robes…"

Out of the corner of Harry's eye he noticed Fred smirking just slightly, as though he were gloating with knowledge of something he knew that no one else did.

Ava's hand remained outstretched, empty in the air as she trained her bruised eyes on Harry and Ron. The two of them stumbled forward, shaking her hand and introducing themselves. After she released her grip on them Harry was vaguely aware of an aching sensation in the center of his palm.

"So," Kingsley said, bouncing on the balls of his feet. "I won't keep you from your rest, it…erm…looks like you…deserve some." His eyes lingered on her injured face. "We'll need to sit down at some point and take this at length, with a formal report and all, but for now we really just have to ask if you know anything about your attacker from the alleyway. You see, we traced his wand—"

"It wasn't his wand," Ava suddenly interrupted him. Harry narrowed his eyes, confused at her tone of voice—she hadn't interjected matter-of-factly, or hurriedly. She had done so in a tone that almost sounded like she was…exasperated. Frustrated.

"No, it wasn't," Kingsley said, nodding. "The wand brought us back to a grieving family, actually. The true owner of the wand was brutally murdered, just last week."

Ava's face drained of what little color was in her cheeks and her lips parted in surprise. "L-last week?" she stuttered.

"Yes, that's right."

Her eyes widened and she suddenly sunk down to sit, or collapse, rather, on the stair behind her feet.

"Ava, what is it?" Fred asked, looking at her with confusion.

She ignored Fred and stared blankly at Kingsley, her body appearing limp and weak as she sat. "That girl's dead, isn't she?" she whispered.

Harry jumped in surprise and saw both Ron and Kingsley do exactly the same. The three of them quickly exchanged glances before Kingsley spoke again.

"So you knew the other victim, Ryan Loxwood?"

Ava stared past Kingsley into the open space, her mouth agape, her eyes fixating on nothing specific at all. "So that was her name?"

Kingsley looked at Harry and Ron once more before taking a seat on the end of the table bench closest to the stairs, attempting to be at eye level with her. "Ava," he said gently. She didn't look at him. "Ava, you need to try your best to focus and tell us everything you know."

She seemingly snapped out of her temporary shock and struggled to take a deep breath, her fingers traveling to the collar of the too-large shirt and desperately tugging at it as though it were choking her. Harry immediately took notice of a thick pink scar that wrapped around her neck, and his mind flashed back to Ryan's aunt.

"Ryans throat was sliced so deeply, the vertebrate of her neck was scratched by the knife!"

"Ava," Kingsley pressed. "Tell us what you know."

A single tear ran down her cheek. "I…I can't," she squeaked in a small voice.

"Ava," said Fred in his gentle voice again. "I know you're…scared, but you can trust these men. We're all here to help you…we can't do that if you keep staying quiet. Start to trust each other a little more, remember?"

She looked up at him, her face begging for understanding. "You don't understand," she said through gritted teeth, more tears escaping her eyes. "I…can't." She emphasized the word "can't" in a way, her eyes pleading to Fred, which made Harry suddenly jump with realization.

"You…you want to, don't you?" Harry asked. Ava's face, shining with tears, turned to him rapidly. "You want to tell us…you want to…but you can't."

She nodded feverishly. "Yes. Yes!"

"Is it because you're afraid?" Fred asked.

Ava shook her head. "That's not…no."

"You just quite literally can't," said Harry. Her eyes were alight and she was nodding again, brilliantly excited that someone was understanding and saying it for her, instead of her having to do it herself.

"Something magical? A spell, a curse?" Ron asked.

She kept nodding but shrugged. "I don't know the term for it."

"Can you explain what the spell looked like? Or sounded like?" asked Harry.

"I don't know, I don't know if I can do that!" she exclaimed, gnawing on her lip in frustration.

They all stared at her in silence for a moment before she suddenly sprang to her feet and descended the remaining steps. She wordlessly grabbed Fred's hand and pulled him over to the open floor area in front of the fireplace.

"This," was all she said, looking at Harry, Ron, Kingsley, and lastly Fred.

She slowly sunk to her knees, pulling down Fred to an identical kneeling position directly across from her. She raised her arm, still holding on to Fred's hand, between them and froze it there. With her other hand, she extended her index finger and traced a path down her forearm, to her hand, on to his, and up his arm.

"An Unbreakable Vow," said Ron suddenly. Everyone else murmured "aahhh's" and nodded upon the realization. "You…you made an Unbreakable Vow."

Her eyes were pleading again as she and Fred got to their feet. "I didn't want to!"

"You were forced," said Harry. She nodded feverishly.

"Ava," said Fred, bowing his head down slightly towards her. "This is important. We may be able to figure out a way for you to tell us what you need to…just try and tell us…what were the conditions of the Vow?"

She closed her eyes before she spoke, squeezing them shut in concentrated efforts to choose the right words. "If I…say anything…about my…um…past," she struggled, speaking torturously slowly. Her eyes opened and she looked at Fred. "My parents," she whispered.

Fred stared back at her with complete eye contact between them, his eyebrows knitted together in determined understanding. "If you tell us where you came from and what's happened to you," he started slowly. "Your parents will die. That's the Vow?"

Harry saw her chest collapse slightly as though she finally let out a breath she'd been holding.

"Yes," she replied.

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Six Days Ago

Swift-Ride ferry from Holyhead to Dublin

It had been a torturously long two hours. Even on the Swift-Ride ferry, Ryan felt like they'd been on the water for ages. She was itchy with impatience, and it was times like these she wished she could Apparate better. She filed the wish away in the back of her mind, determining to make it a goal for herself to fulfill in the near future.

"Thank you again for choosing the Swift-Ride ferry service, from Holyhead to Dublin," said an overly pleasant, female voice recording over the boat's mounted speakers. "Docking time is approximately five minutes. Don't forget to thank your Captain!"

"Finally," Ryan muttered to herself. She tucked her book away in her purse and fidgeted in her seat for a moment before deciding to head to the restroom to freshen up, re-apply her lipstick and all of that. She wanted to show her cousin Michael how grown up and put-together she was now. They hadn't seen each other in a few years and Ryan was determined to make a big impression and score the job at the Hippogriff sanctuary.

Ryan descended the frighteningly steep stairs leading down to the bottom floor of the boat, following the signs directing to the washrooms. She was just about to make the right down the thin corridor when she heard hushed voices, and froze in her tracks.

"You're really, really stupid, you know that?" came a man's voice. "You are one extraordinarily dumb little fuck, to get on a boat like this. You should have known better I'd find you here. But don't you worry. You've made me a very, very happy man."

Ryan heard the vague sounds of a struggle; panting, the friction of clothes, something that sounded like feet kicking the wall. Something, a little voice in the back of her head, told her to leave. Turn away, go back the way she came, forget she ever heard what she had and go about her business.

No, she thought to herself, be brave. Do the right thing. Be brave. Her fingers grabbed on to the charm she wore around her neck. It was a silver Celtic cross flanked by wings, and her Grandmother had given it to her for her tenth birthday.

"Whenever you feel frightened, or feel like you can't be brave, you remember this cross and a Guardian Angel will be sent your way," her Grandmother had said.

Her fingers toyed with the charm as she took a deep breath and tip toed forward, and flattened her back against the wall. Very, very slowly, she peeked around the corner.

A man, short in stature with a pointy face covered in black stubble, was holding a girl up against the wall forcefully. He had one hand wrapped around her throat and the other pinching both sides of her mouth, making her lips pucker. She was dressed in all black clothing and had buttery blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun at the top of her head. Her eyes were wild with fear but she stared at the man deeply, right into his eyes.

"Don't try your stupid fucking mind tricks on me," he snarled, and used the hand grasping her chin to slam the back of her head up against the wall. It made a metallic clanging sound and the girl squeezed her eyes shut in pain.

"I don't know how you're able to do what you are, but whatever it is, it doesn't work on me," he continued, his face not even an inch away from hers. "God, I hate you so fucking much. You have no idea—no…idea—" he banged her head against the wall again "—what you have put me through these past three months. Everything has been compromised because of you—everything! You stupid bitch."

Ryan's eyes widened as he leaned in even closer to the girl, their noses nearly touching.

"I wish…more than anything…anything, right now…that I could just kill you, right here on the spot. Squeeze your pretty little head until it pops like a bloody zit." He slammed her head against the wall once more, and her feet slipped out from under her for a moment before she caught herself. "Unfortunately I don't get the privilege of making that decision. That's up to Merryweather. But God, what I would give to just end your sorry little life, right here and now. You are so lucky I can't Apparate right now, or else I would drag you back to the compound and—"

Upon hearing the word 'Apparate', Ryan gasped and suddenly took a step forward, revealing herself in the passageway. She drew her wand out from her purse and raised it with a shaking hand.

"Let her go," she said to the man, her voice quivering.

The girl against the wall opened her mouth as much as she possibly could with the man's hand still clasped around it. "No!" she screamed, struggling against the man's grasp harder than ever. "No! No! Just go! Run!"

The man looked back and forth between Ryan and the blonde girl rapidly, and the ferry suddenly gave an almighty lurch.

"Thank you for traveling Swift Ride, from Holyhead to Dublin," the woman's recording played over the speakers. "You have arrived."

The three of them all lost their balance and comically lurched, their arms waving like windmills. Ryan nearly fell over backwards but was caught by surprise as her hand was grasped firmly by the girl, who had broken free from the man's grip with the sudden stop of the boat.

She said nothing as she dragged Ryan back the way she came, making rapid, wide strides in a sprint, her face wild with fear. Ryan looked over her shoulder to see the man making chase.

"He's coming, he's coming!" Ryan cried out.

The girl turned a sharp corner and took the steep stairs two at a time. Her grip and arm strength was shockingly strong; she practically pulled Ryan up behind her in the air.

They burst on to the main floor of the ship, in the common area lined with benches and swarming with people all making their way to the exit ramps.

"We'll never make it through the crowd, he's close!" Ryan screamed.

The girl tightened her grip on Ryan's hand and ran through the common area with her, out to the open air walking path of the ship. She suddenly turned and grasped Ryan with both hands around her waist.

"What—" Ryan started, but was suddenly hoisted in the air and flung overboard. She hit the icy water hard and plunged deeply, and opened her eyes while submerged. An explosion of bubbles and a darkly clothed figure joined her the second after, and she saw the girl, her hair floating gracefully up and around her head like a cloud. She jabbed her head to the side, bubbles streaming through her nose, signaling Ryan to follow her. As she turned and began swimming away through the murkiness, Ryan took notice of thick black lettering tattooed on the back of her neck: an M and a W, stacked on top of one another. The man's death threat to the girl echoed in her head.

"That's up to Merryweather."

Ryan followed her through the water until she couldn't hold her breath any longer. Her head broke through the surface, the girl's right beside hers, both of them gasping and sputtering for breath. Ryan had barely even begun blinking the water out of her eyes before she felt a strong grip on her arm, hoisting her out of the water. She coughed and stumbled on dry land, the girl fumbling for her hand again.

"We have to go!" she yelled, and they took off running again, across the gravel blacktop of the cargo shipyard. They were slightly slower than before, their soaked clothes sticking to their skin and weighing them down. Ryan looked frightfully over her shoulder again as she ran, but didn't see the man behind them this time.

"I think…I think we lost him!" she gasped.

The girl didn't slow down and continued pulling her, her black combat boots splashing through puddles ahead of Ryan as they ran, weaving through enormous cargo containers pushed together like a maze.

"I'm going to double back and see if I can catch him!" the girl called over her shoulder. "I want you to run! Run far, run hard, and run fast. Even if it looks like he's gone. Don't stop running until you've gotten somewhere safe!"

"What? Go back and find him? You heard him, he's going to kill you!"

The girl very suddenly stopped in her tracks and released Ryan's hand. She spun rather gracefully around to face Ryan, her face frantic and still dripping with water.

"Better me than you, sweet girl," she whispered, mashed her lips to Ryan's forehead in a swift kiss and immediately set off in a sprint, disappearing back the way they came.

Ryan obeyed her and ran, darting through the tight squeezes of spaces between cargo containers. She came to a T shape in her path, and randomly decided to run to the right. It was a dead end. Ryan took the opportunity to pause for a moment, raising her wand and crying out the incantation for an emergency Apparating owl.

In a swift poof, a brown and beige colored Barn owl appeared in midair, flapping its' wings for balance and holding out it's leg. Ryan tore away the leather pouch that dangled from its claws and pulled out the quill, her hand frantically rummaging through her purse for paper.

In a moment of genius she remembered the ferry receipt that she had crumpled and pushed into the zippered compartment of her wallet, and furiously pulled the zipper undone, silently praying it had kept the receipt dry enough for her to write on it.

Her prayer was answered, the receipt was only damp. She held it against the side of a cargo container, scribbling furiously. The blonde girl had doubled back to try and find and fight the man once more, in a reckless yet amazingly brave attempt to save Ryan's life. The least she could do was try to return the favor and save her by getting her some help against him. Hopefully they would arrive in time to offer her backup.

'Dark wizard chasing girl on Dublin ferry and shipyard. Please help'

"Here!" she cried out, brandishing the note at the owl, who took it from her neatly in his beak and promptly Disapparated.

Her heart threatened to pound out of her chest from fear, and she grabbed the necklace charm once more, willing herself to be brave. She took off in a run again, deciding to turn back in the other direction and try to make her way out of the shipyard and on to the crowded streets of Dublin. Hopefully the man wasn't brash enough to attempt an attack in public.

As she turned the corner, she suddenly slammed into something solid and fell backwards, hitting hard against the gravel. She looked up and saw the man standing over her, his mouth curled into a sneer. A long, curved blade glinted in his hand.

"Please don't hurt me…please don't hurt me…" she gasped, scrambling backwards.

He pounced down on her, the way an animal attacks its' prey. That's what this was after all, wasn't it? She had been the mouse scurrying through the maze, him, the cat, stalking her and finally crouching over her, the knife raised.

"Whenever you feel frightened, or feel like you can't be brave, you remember this cross and a Guardian Angel will be sent your way."

"Please!" she screamed, her eyes wide. "Please!"

"Whenever you feel frightened, or feel like you can't be brave, you remember this cross and a Guardian Angel will be sent your way."

"Sorry love," said the man. But he didn't look sorry. He looked excited. "You saw too much."

"No—"

The blade glinted in the sunlight with quick movement. The man stood and casually walked away.

Ryan choked, wetness quickly spreading across her chest. A tear streamed down her face, and everything in her vision went blindingly white.

Goodbye.

Author's notes: I worked so, so hard on this chapter guys. I agonized over it. I wanted to give Ryan, a completely fictional character, as much dignity as I possibly could. I even made myself cry while writing it. I know, I'm nuts...please leave a review.