Disclaimer: I claim no ownership of Rowling's work or the Silent Hill universe.

Chapter Eleven Burning Times

I fell into a burning ring of fire

I went down, down, down and the flames went higher

And it burns, burns, burns, the ring of fire

The ring of fire [1]

Draco sat on the porch of the Gillespie house, Alessa's old diary clutched in his scratched hands. Cybil had taken off after Dahlia, although he knew the cop wouldn't find her. She hadn't Apparated, no, but she was gone, disappearing into thin air like her daughter.

How?

He shifted, feeling the wand he had scavenged from the school pressing against his thigh.

Magic.

The Dark Mark. The wand. The cauldron and the potion ingredients. There were wizards in this town, or had been for a time.

But where had they gone?

Was it like Cybil had said, did the fire force them out along with the Muggle residents? Did they shun the town for fear of the coal mines below and the crumbling roads?

Or had they been they been chased away by very different fires?

Draco touched the cover of the marble notebook.

Alessa Gillespie, he was certain, knew everything that had happened here.

And yet she was a wraith. She had to be.

Draco jumped as he heard heavy footsteps echo up the street. But it was only Cybil, rounding the corner with a customary look of disgust splashed across her face. She heaved herself up onto the porch steps and sat next to him with a thud.

"Dahlia's gone."

"I know." He turned the notebook over in his hands. "She won't help us."

Cybil turned and looked at him hard. "We have to talk."

Draco felt anxiety curdle in his gut like sour milk. So here it was. He squeezed his eyes shut against the fog for an instant, expecting incriminations, accusations. The handcuffs slid over his wrists.

"Draco," she began and he was surprised to find her voice kind, firm, but understanding. "I didn't forget what you did back there…back there at Midwich. You blasted the doors open when they were locked. You bent the bars of the grate. You…you healed my leg."

He opened his eyes. Cybil had pulled up her pants and now she ran her palm over the thin scar on her calf. Her eyes narrowed with curiosity. "How?"

He rubbed his neck with a frown. "It's difficult to explain. You woouldn't believe me."

She emitted a loud bark of laughter. "Try me."

A nervous smile made his lips tremble. Draco hesitated. He almost wanted to tell her what he was. It would make things…easier, safer and maybe, just maybe, he could save them both.

But why should he care about a stupid Muggle like her?

Because, like it or not, she's helped me.

Bloody hell, everything was so fucked up. He didn't know where to begin.

Cybil, however, seemed to know. She reached into her pocket and produced his broken wand.

"What is this, really?" she asked.

Draco dared to touch the damaged halves. Reluctantly, he plucked the other wand from his trousers and showed it to her.

Cybil's eyebrows darted upward. "That wasn't on you when I patted you down."

"It was in the school," he said. "I found it in a desk. It…it saved our lives."

"Is it a weapon?"

"Well, it can be. We call it a wand."

For a moment, a hint of skepticism made her face sharp. "What are you?" she said, echoing the question she had first asked him in Midwich's parking lot.

Draco shrugged. "I have abilities that Mug…er, most people don't. I can do…magic."

Her jaw tightened. "Christ."

"I knew you wouldn't believe me."

Cybil stirred fitfully. "My leg was almost severed. You fixed it. Draco," she said, pausing to sigh, "I'm not gonna judge you anymore. We're past that. I only want us…I mean, I want you to trust me. Do you think you can?"

Draco tried to meet her gaze, but couldn't. Stubborn pride made him look away at the moldy planks of wood that made up the porch floor. "How do I know you would trust me?" he asked.

Cybil exhaled sharply and she reached for his hands. "Come here." She fitted a key from a ring into his cuffs and snapped them off.

Draco reveled in the sudden freedom of his hands. He shook his wrists, then gently kneaded the sore spots with his fingers.

"There," Cybil said. "We're both free and apparently, we're both armed. I'm not going to try and take your…wand from you." And to prove her point, she handed him back the broken pieces of his old wand. "You can keep these too."

Draco was surprised by the gratitude that welled up within him. "Thanks," he mumbled. There was an awkward moment of silence. In the chaos of being attacked and chasing Alessa through the streets, he had quite forgotten his handcuffs. To think he could have blasted them off the minute he'd found the wand.

But then Cybil would have suspected something. Well, in truth, she already did.

After a minute, she stood up, her hands perched on the heavy belt around her waist. "I know I'm stating the obvious, but we need to find a way out of here, before that thing happens again."

Her words sent a chill rushing up Draco's spine. Yes, time was against them, but just how long did they have before the world shifted once more?

Dahlia had mentioned a flock. Could anyone else possibly be trapped in Silent Hill with them? She had also mentioned a hotel.

He pushed himself to his feet, putting the found wand and his old broken one into his back pocket "Look, you're going to think I'm mental-"

"I said I wouldn't judge you-"

"But I think this kid has something to do with," he trailed off, waving his hand at the empty street about them, "this."

"Alessa Gillespie?"

"Yes," Draco said, "I think she died in the fire."

"You think she's a ghost?"

He shrugged. "At this point, I'm not sure of anything. But isn't it strange that we've been following her all this time? She's been leading us places. The doorknob took us to the school where I found the wand. Then she let us chase her outside of Midwich to her mother's house. And look, I took this from her room." He showed her the diary. "We have to be logical about this. The next stop on the treasure map is the hotel."

Cybil laughed. "Treasure map? Wands? God." She pressed one hand against the bridge of her nose. "All right, you're probably on the money. For what it's worth, I think Dahlia told us all she could. And to be honest, I don't know where to start otherwise."

"Right," Draco replied. He had to admit, it felt good to have a plan, even if the plan wasn't exactly solid. He liked it when things were orderly, and as far as he could tell, so did Cybil.

"We need to get off the streets anyway," she said, glancing overhead at the grey sky that still rained soot. "I get the feeling it's not safe out here--even in the light."

The Grand Hotel was an imposing building for such a small town as Silent Hill. Draco couldn't believe he hadn't noticed it before, standing directly in the center of town where the Main Street crossed another wide thoroughfare. It was a storey smaller than Midwich Elementary, but big and bulky nonetheless. He thought it was awkward-looking, truth be told, and out of place.

"Was Silent Hill a busy town before the fires?" he asked Cybil, who was walking by his side.

She waved her hand to indicate her uncertainty. "Kind of. There were some tourists, you know, families who came to Toluca Lake, but they mostly rented bungalows. And of course, the drug trafficking was at its height in the seventies, just before the town was abandoned. I don't really see the need for a hotel as big as this one, if that's what you mean." She glanced at him out of the corner of her eye. "But it's an important part of Silent Hill's history."

"Why's that?"

"It's where the fire started."

Draco's mouth went dry and for some reason, his hands began to tremble. The coincidences were beginning to pile up at an alarming rate. He didn't like the way things were going one bit.

"We're gonna have to be real careful in here," Cybil said, as they forced their way through the revolving doors. "I'm surprised the building wasn't gutted entirely. The fire company must have put out the blaze on the bottom floors pretty quickly, although they weren't able to contain the spread."

The lobby was a mess, as Cybil had predicted. Draco experienced a surge of hopelessness as he surveyed the filthy front desk, shadowed by shredded upholstery and cobwebs. An old service bell had been left there to rust, along with four dozen room keys that hung on faded brass pegs.

Cybil turned on her flashlight and let the beam travel along the floor and up the main staircase.

"Now what?" she asked.

Unsure, Draco pulled out Alessa's diary and flipped aimlessly through the pages, the very last of which was dated April 1974. The paper was brittle with age and water had smeared the writing, leaving only a few words legible.

"Can you make out any of this?" he asked, showing Cybil the book.

She directed the light over the page and squinted. "April 10, 1974," she read."Today at school we had a spelling bee. Cathy said I was too stupid to win and a big baby. And then the Bad Thing happened and I turned her braids into snakes. Ms. Christabella locked me in the coat closet until Mommy came and picked me up. I heard them talking in the office. Ms. Christabella said my Bad Thing was becoming a problem and that I was a danger to the other children. Mommy said that I was a good girl and couldn't help the Bad Thing. Ms. Christabella said it was all my Daddy's fault, even though he left town a long time ago. Mommy said…" Cybil trailed off. "It's smudged after there," she said with a shrug.

Draco felt a prickling along his neck as all the tiny hairs stood on end. The innocence of the child's voice was somehow foreboding, as was her mention of the Bad Thing.

He took the book back from Cybil and struggled to read the last few lines in the entry.

"…to the playground. Cathy says…Room 217. Mommy…hide…Bad Thing. Scary dream….fire."

Without warning, Draco's hands began to shake.

Cybil grasped his shoulder. "What's wrong?"

It was a moment before he could say anything. A wild guess had formed in his mind and it was a terrible, horrific thing. Bile coated the back of his throat and he coughed.

Fire

No, oh please no.

The book slammed shut in his hands. Draco wanted to toss it away, ugly as it was, but he fought the urge.

"Draco?" Cybil shook him once. "God, you're pale."

He flicked his dry tongue over his lips. "It's all right…I'm okay, but I think I know where we're supposed to go. Does this place have a Room 217?"

All the rooms on the second floor of the Grand Hotel had even numbers. It was like some sick joke, Draco thought, as he passed by doors marked 208 and 210. The ratty carpet caught at his feet like a Devil's Snare as he trudged along, while stale, old smoke made burning tears stream from his eyes.

Flame-scarred walls rose up around him like phantoms and out of the corner of his eye, he imagined creatures moving indistinctly in the dark.

Cybil reached the end of the hall before he did and she turned around, swinging the beam of her flashlight into his eyes. "That's it," she called, "we have 216 and 218. No 217."

Draco tugged at the sweaty collar of his jumper. "Dammit!" He'd been so sure, the feeling of certainty throbbing in his heart like poison.

He joined Cybil at the end of the hall. She ran a hand through her close-cropped hair. "What were you looking for anyway?"

Draco shook his head in disgust. "I don't know, something, I just…I was just so sure."

Cybil's lips twisted in sympathy and she folded her arms, her flashlight briefly illuminating a section of wall between rooms 216 and 218. A hint of crimson flared up.

"Wait!" Draco grabbed her wrist to steady the beam. "What was that?"

"Where?"

"There." He took the flashlight from her and shone it directly at the wall.

Cybil gasped. "My God."

It was a painting, a ghoulish, ghastly depiction of a frantic man tied to a stake. Fire engulfed his lower limbs.

Draco now felt real tears gather in his eyes.

I was right, he thought woefully, but oh, I'd give almost anything to be wrong.

"It's here," he said, laying a palm against the canvas which gave way under his touch.

Cybil dug in her pocket and produced a Swiss army knife. She gouged a hole in the canvas and tore off a great strip, large enough for them to see behind. A faded door marker glinted as Draco directed the light at it.

Room 217.

He climbed through the portrait hole first and pounded on the door until the old lock gave way. Together, he and Cybil stepped inside the room.

But oh, it wasn't a room at all, it was an arena, an amphitheater with wooden benches surrounding a blackened pit. And in the middle of it rose an iron stake, stained with ashes and the last of human life.

Draco coughed and inhaled the acrid stench of the place.

"What is this?" Cybil asked, her voice guttural and strained.

Draco knew and he hated the very knowledge of it.

"These people," he said, "were witch hunters."

[1] From "Ring of Fire" written by Johnny Cash, June Carter and Merle Kilgore. Found on Ring of Fire: The Best of Johnny Cash (1963).