Part Three: The Hardest Part

The Girl in the Tower 2:

Home By the Sea

Chapter 21: Under a Blood Red Sky

And the battle's just begun
There're many lost but tell me, who has won?
The trench is dug within our hearts
Mothers, children, brothers, sisters torn apart

…Sunday, bloody Sunday…

From: "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" By: U2

* * *

Hawthorn trembled as she ran into Madam Malkin's, shoving the doors open with outstretched hands. Her frantic eyes glanced around at the startled patrons. Her hair, which was usually clean and neatly combed, was matted, stringy and damp from running. It swished across the shoulders of a ratty old green dress as her head turned from side to side, catching every pair of eyes. A matching, careworn cape billowed out behind her.

"Get as far from here as you can!" she shouted, her voice already hoarse from calling out to those she'd passed on the street. "You're all going to die!"

The room erupted with laughter.

Two older women came from around the counter with sour, harried faces and approached her. Neither looked terribly accepting of the warning she'd given.

"Madam Malkin! Put all the fire repellant wards you can on your shop right away! Warn the other merchants! It's all going to burn to the ground!"

Madam Malkin attempted a pleasant smile and took Hawthorn's arm, turning her back toward the door. "I assure you… Sybil, isn't it?"

"Hawthorn!"

"Whatever your name is… This building has stood for centuries and I highly doubt it's going anywhere, so I'll thank you to kindly stop trying to frighten my customers. Please do not return unless you plan to quietly buy something. In fact, I'd prefer if you didn't come back at all."

Her free arm was seized by Madam Malkin's assistant and Hawthorn found herself being forced to the doors.

Someone snickered. "She's probably drunk."

Hawthorn panicked. "Wait! You must listen to me! We're under attack!"

Madam Malkin glanced outside and rolled her eyes with impatience. "By what? Invisible people? Go home and sleep it off."

"I'm not drunk! This store will burn if you don't listen to me! PEOPLE WILL DIE!"

"Now you listen to me. I don't take kindly to threats. I'd have summoned the Aurors already if I didn't feel sorry for you. Now bugger off!"

The two women shoved Hawthorn through the doors to the sounds of laughter and she fell hard to the ground, tripping over the cobbles and landing in a flowerbed. Tears of frustration burned her eyes as she climbed to her feet, ignoring the dark mud that clung to her, and her shouted words echoed through the narrow street. "I'm not lying! I SAW IT!"

A young man, tall and gangly but with a kind face and gentle eyes, stopped as he passed and offered his handkerchief.

Hawthorn was flooded with gratitude by such a simple act, for it was the first moment of kindness she'd been shown all evening. "Thank you." She clutched the square of linen, trying to dry tears that continued to fall.

"You a'right? Took a tumble it seems."

"I'm fine." She sniffled. "I just wish someone would listen to me! Why will no one listen?! I saw the red twilight. I saw the stores burning. People are going to die tonight and no one will listen!" She handed back the handkerchief.

The man smiled, trying his best to be polite but unable to hide his amusement. He stifled a laugh. "You go ahead and keep that. Sybil, isn't it? Let me know when the aliens land, eh?"

He hurried away, chuckling under his breath.

Hawthorn threw the linen to the ground with a scowl and a hurtful ache and wiped her eyes with her dirty hands.

Maybe Olivander's would heed her warning.

* * *

Hermione groaned with frustration as she went to the door with an angry pace, irritated and fed up with Diagon Alley's resident inebriated kook. "I told you to GO! AWAY!" she shouted and flung the door open.

The flash was instantaneous.

Hermione collapsed to the floor.

* * *

Mariah fell back to the shadows, watching in horror as Hermione was carried away under the guise of a cloak amidst many of the same. Her heart hammered in her chest, her breath came in quick, frightened gasps and her mind raced with the desperation of the situation. What could she possibly do? There were too many of them to confront all by herself. If she rushed out to save Hermione, it was likely she'd end up dead and Hermione would be left without recourse or hope of rescue. What she needed was reinforcements.

What she needed was Harry.

Thinking fast, Mariah summoned Hedwig, who flew from the upper storey of Harry's shop and straight to where Mariah hid in the darkness of a recessed doorway.

Mariah gave her instructions in an anxious whisper. "Hedwig, follow that group! They have Hermione and I need to go for Harry right away. Stay out of sight and don't return until you're sure there's someone coming after her. We'll need you as a guide." Mariah kissed the bird's head and stood. "This is the most important thing you'll ever do, more important than any letter you've ever carried. Make Harry proud!" She flung Hedwig into the air.

Hedwig flew off at once and, forgetting the sandwiches on the ground at her feet, Mariah raced back toward the office.

A shadow moved out of the darkness across the street, cloaked, hooded, and with wand in hand.

* * *

Ron grinned amidst the swarm of a capacity crowd. He swayed on his feet, no longer aware of the bumps, budges, brushes, and unintentional pushing of those around him, most of whom were unintentionally pushed by someone else. The few inches of ale in his giant mug rocked and sloshed. "Drink up, Harry! You deserve a night out after the day you've had."

"The day isn't over yet, Ron. Don't drink any more ale."

"Geez. I thought I left my personal anti-ale activist back at the office? What is it with the two of you?"

Harry stumbled as someone fell into him from behind. "I'm a little paranoid these days. Keeping my wits about me seems like the best idea."

"Relax, mate. Here come Fred and George!"

Fred grinned with a mug in one hand and two in the other. "Oh Captain, my Captain!"

George matched his brother's grin. "We'd salute you but we'd spill beer on our heads!"

Fred held out a mug of ale. "Here, Harry. You looked a little empty-handed."

Harry knew better than to try to decline. He took the mug and decided it would take him approximately twelve hours to drink it, drawing satisfied smiles from all three brothers. He thanked them and sipped it.

"Hey guys! Seamus joined their gathering with his own mug. "Good to see you made it, Harry! I figured one more bomb might land on you before the day was over."

"The day isn't over yet."

Ron turned to Seamus. "What's the bloody holdup? Wasn't it supposed to start already?"

Seamus rolled his eyes. "That incredible git, Nexus, showed up a few minutes ago, demanding his spot back and carrying on about me using his old drum set. He's backstage arguing with Lyman and things were getting ugly so I thought I'd wander out here and say hello."

All heads turned as the stage door shot open with a loud BANG! and what could only be Nexus, tall and blond haired, wearing a blue cloak to match his blue eyes, and furious as hell, came tearing through it, drawing his wand and blowing the drum set in every direction. Neville and another man tackled him, all three of them falling to the floor in a regular wrestling match.

Harry looked on, expressionless. "I take it that's Lyman."

Seamus hurried back to the stage, raised his mug over Nexus' head, only Lyman flipped him over just as Seamus' arm swung with the force of a mighty blow and Seamus smashed the heavy glass over Neville's head. Neville staggered for a moment before someone grabbed him from the sidelines and pulled him back through the doorway.

The crowd went crazy when they saw a full-blown fight in progress and a cacophony of shouts and cheers replaced the loud chatter of personal conversations. Without missing a beat, Harry saw Fred and George were already working the room, taking bets and setting odds from moment to moment. Nexus was much larger, much faster, and twice as angry as Lyman, who did little more than try to push his opponent and alternately hide from him behind columns and amplifiers. Seamus charged Nexus, who swung Neville's bass guitar, knocking Seamus to the floor of the stage. Seamus was quick to get back on his feet.

Some guy beside Harry started waving his hand in the air, shouting to Fred or George, or whomever answered first. "FIVE GALLEONS ON BLUE CLOAK!"

Harry glanced to the bar, wondering if anyone was going to do anything about this disruption, only to see Slyth glance at the stage, shrug, and go back to filling double pints. Craning his neck a little further, Harry saw the resident drunk, Warf, swaying in the doorway holding a bottle of beer, shouting instructions. "HEY SCOTLAND! THE VULCAN DEATH GRIP! LITTLE GUY! HIT 'IM WITH A KLINGON… um... DEATH… BLOW!"

Some woman turned and threw some popcorn at him. "You don't know shite about Star Trek!"

Harry turned back just in time to see a saxophone fly across the stage, hit Nexus in the head and crash to the floor. Harry sighed and pulled a few coins from his pocket. "FIVE GALLEONS ON SEAMUS!"

* * *

Hawthorn stood in the middle of Flourish & Blott's, looking at the same scene she'd experienced a dozen times over. Snide laughter. Disbelief. Someone coming to show her out. Her frustration had reached its limit and her hands curled into fists. "I don't care if you believe me!" she shouted. "What can it hurt to take some precautions? Ask yourselves, what if I'm right?"

More snickers.

Hawthorn looked to a woman who sat alone at a table, drinking chai from Mystic's. Her long blonde hair, parted on the side, hung down past her shoulders and was tucked behind one ear. She was tall and thin. Hawthorn thought she'd be snooty at a glance, but her eyes said she was kind-hearted, accepting, and she wasn't laughing.

"Please listen to me, miss. Something bad is about to happen. I'm a seer and I know this sounds crazy, but everything's going to burn. I saw the red twilight. People are going to die!"

Someone coughed a few tables away. "A seer? She's a drunk and a little touched in the head. Go home, Sybil. Nobody cares."

The girl at the table, who Hawthorn remembered was an ex-girlfriend of Warf's, gave her a kind smile. "I'm sorry, Hawthorn. I'm just a Muggle. I can't help you."

Another voice came from across the room. "Get the hell out of here! We're trying to read!"

Hawthorn bowed her head, defeated, and slammed the door behind her as she left.

A book dropped from a shelf and fell to the floor. The Muggle girl went to it, lifted it, and looked at the page to which it had opened. Her expression lit with surprise and shocked realization. Her eyes flew to the door through which Hawthorn had left, her voice a whisper of disbelief. "Oh my god."

"What is it?" the coughing man asked.

"The Greek myth of Cassandra. The seer whom no one believed."

* * *

An old lamppost stood silent sentry on the corner and Hawthorn stopped to catch her breath. Her heart beat fast and hard in her chest. She lingered there a long moment, flushed, gasping for air and wiping her brow with the edge of her cape. Darkness had just taken the last light from the sky and the street was alive: not crowded, but speckled with people. Witches and wizards of all ages milled about, hurried past, or strolled with friends, perhaps on their way to one of the area's many pubs. Some were doing last minute shopping. Some were on their way in and some were – hopefully – on their way out.

Hawthorn clung to the post, calling out to those who passed, unable to let them leave her midst unwarned. Her conscious demanded it. "Get out of Diagon Alley!" she managed, terribly short of breath. "Red twilight… the buildings… will burn… people… will die!"

Most ignored her. Some glanced at her reddened face, damp, stringy hair and dirt-covered clothes and turned away at once, afraid to make eye contact. Others, of course, laughed.

Hawthorn pushed herself off the old wrought iron lamppost and hurried back into the street on heavy, tired legs. If only one person followed her advice and left, all her efforts would be worth it. A single life saved was better than waiting for ruin in silence.

The cobblestone street was far from ideal when it came to running. Her ankles were sore from stepping wrong on the rounded stones and she was exhausted. How much more ground could she really cover before she collapsed? Knowing she couldn't go on, Hawthorn gave up running from place to place, slowed to a walk and headed for home. It was time to prepare for what was to come.

"Save yourselves!" she shouted, falling in beside a man with a young girl of about six or seven who had eyes that reminded her of Tristan, holding his hand. A warm smile graced her expression as Hawthorn let a hand rest for a moment against the girl's wiry red hair. "Sir, take the little girl and get away from here! The Death Eaters are about to attack and we're all going to die!"

The tall, handsome man scowled and gave Hawthorn a one-handed shove. "What the bloody hell is wrong with you? You're scaring my daughter!" He pulled the ginger haired child to his other side, away from Hawthorn. "Bugger off, lady!"

Hawthorn fell back, dejected, upset and disheartened, only to hear two old women whispering about her a few steps behind.

"Someone should do something about that poor woman. Just look at her, Ingrid! She doesn't even know what she's doing anymore."

Ingrid, the elderly woman's elderly companion, took a righteous tone that reached Hawthorn's ears loud and clear.

"Bob says he sees her over at the pub buying vodka every few days. Just look at the state of her clothes and she's spending money on vodka of all things! The law needs to step in, that's my opinion. Bob's, too."

Hawthorn saw a group of students about to pass in the other direction and her heart leapt into her throat. Children shouldn't be here at such a dangerous time! She'd been spreading the news for nearly an hour, hadn't anyone told them something bad was about to happen? "Kids, listen to me! Get off the streets! Go home before it's too late!"

All of them gave her blank, bewildered stares as she passed and, as soon as she did, all five burst out laughing. She turned in surprise when one of the whisperers lay a hand on her arm.

The woman spoke with caring, with gentleness and with understanding. "Sybil, it might be best if you went home now, dear."

"My name is HAWTHORN!!"

Ingrid gasped and dragged her companion away by the arm. "Edith! Don't get so close to her! You never know what a… someone like that is going to do!"

Edith rejoined Ingrid, casting a distrustful glance at Hawthorn. The two women slowed their pace and let the distance between themselves and Hawthorn grow.

When Hawthorn faced front again, the little girl with the haunting eyes was looking back at her, curious. She smiled and the thought of anything happening to this child was more than she could bear. Hawthorn hurried back to the tall man's side once more, leaving a few feet between them and with the girl on the other side, a safe distance away. She lowered her voice. "Sir, I'm not crazy. I swear it to you. I'm a seer and no one will listen to me. Please take your daughter out of Diagon Alley."

The man drew his wand and used it to throw Hawthorn from his side into a park bench twenty paces away. She landed hard and heard the twitter of amusement echo through the passers-by.

The tall man turned to her with fury underlying his expression. "Before all of these witnesses, I warn you. Come near me or my daughter again and you will be cursed!"

Hawthorn stood. "I meant no harm, sir! Please, save the little girl!"

His answer was to shelter his daughter under a protective arm and hurry away, glancing back to make sure she wasn't running after him.

Hawthorn's eyes widened when she saw a familiar face coming toward her, hurrying somewhere and about to pass her by without so much as a glance. She shot to her feet. "Lisa! LisaRene!"

Lisa sighed with impatience. "Hello, Hawthorn. I'd love to chat but I have things to do. You understand."

"Lisa, you have to help me! I saw everything burning. I saw the red twilight! No one will listen - they all think I'm crazy - you have to spread the word!"

"Sorry, I really don't have time." Lisa averted her cold, disinterested eyes and tried to hurry away. "Good evening."

Hawthorn grabbed Lisa's arm. "You have to help me! People's lives are in danger! The Death Eaters-"

"The Death Eaters are all in Azkaban! Enough of this nonsense!"

"They've escaped! I saw it, the white sheets, the red twilight, it's all about to happen and we have to be ready for it!"

"Stupefy!" Lisa stowed her wand as she watched Hawthorn fall back onto the bench and slump over. "You talk too much, Sybil."

The street erupted with applause and shouts of approval.

Lisa bowed to her appreciators and continued on her way.

* * *

There was no way it could work. Sara told him once that being so far away made this manner of communication next to impossible unless the telepath was highly skilled and that he wasn't. Still, his need was great and he was willing to try his hardest. That had to count for something.

Getting the minister to part with the information hadn't been easy. It seemed Smidgeon thought Sara was on her way to see Harry but he hadn't understood what she'd seen in the orb. Draco did, and he knew Sara had acted casual and left because she knew what it meant, too. The white sheets could only be one thing. He wasn't sure what it signified exactly, but the knowledge filled him with a sense of dread he couldn't explain and the red twilight… Draco hadn't studied Divination but he'd heard the phrase before. Draco recalled his father, pacing their kitchen in anticipation of a large-scale attack, smiling his secret smile and saying the words. "There will be a red twilight tonight for certain."

Draco walked faster, clutching the vial and the folded cloak in his nervous hands.

That particular street corner was several blocks from the house. The night was chilled, but Draco walked with a quick pace and it kept him warm. He reached his destination in just a few minutes and he closed his eyes, deep in concentration.

Come get me! Hurry!

Draco opened his eyes again and held his breath. He'd put so much effort behind the push there was no way it could fail to reach its target. He waited approximately five seconds, decided it hadn't worked, and decided to try again. This time, Draco cleared his mind of all thought and distraction, as he'd learned to do in Occlumency training, and concentrated on a single face. This face was far away and, using dreamlike imagery, he pictured himself throwing a rope around Severus Snape and pulled him closer until he was within earshot. With all the force he could muster, Draco shouted his words across the distance.

He could do no better than that. Now, all he could do was wait.

Draco paced the concrete, oblivious to the frantic start and stop of traffic, the taxis blaring their horns in a never-ending urban concerto and the people traversing the crosswalks in every direction. He watched as all four corners filled with pedestrians, half of whom hurried across when the signal turned from orange to white. However, on his little stretch of pavement, Draco noticed there was a small area, just big enough for a person or two to stand, in which nobody walked. The Muggles weren't consciously avoiding it, they just sidestepped it as if that area was occupied. Draco wondered what it was they saw there. He, as a wizard, saw nothing.

"Draco!"

Draco breathed relief when Snape appeared in the empty space. He tucked the vial into his pocket, pulled the cloak around his shoulders and took Snape's arm. "Let's go," he said. "I'll explain on the way."

* * *

Since it was the place she'd last touched the key, Sara found herself standing on the street before Harry's office. The smile she'd worn just for him drifted away as she noticed the door, which stood wide open. Nobody appeared to be inside. A coil of fear unfurled a little in her stomach. This wasn't normal.

No, not normal at all.

Sara drew Voldemort's wand and pressed flat against the façade just outside. Her intuition told her all threat had passed but Sara decided it was better to err on the side of caution and allowed her Auror instincts to take over.

Swinging into the doorway, Sara surveyed the empty room and was across it in a moment's time, finding exactly what she'd expected. Nothing.

A flick of the wand closed and locked the door so no one would have the opportunity to sneak up behind her. She poked her head in the X closet, finding only two wheeled chairs and eight spying devices. A check into the two small rooms in back yielded only the remnants of Colin's photo developing. Sara went upstairs, found nothing of interest, folded a blanket that lay on the couch and then went back down to the office.

This time, Sara took a closer look in the hopes of finding some indication of what happened here. Nothing was out of place. Had the wind blown the door open? Had someone run out without checking to make sure it was latched? Something told her the answer to both of these questions was no. Harry and Ron's desks were dark and in order, as if they'd closed up for the night and gone to Slytherin Spirits as planned. Sara's sixth sense told her this was right.

A candle still burned in a lamp on Hermione's desk. Books and scrolls were scattered about. The tea in her cup was still warm. Harry's dragon hide cloak was tossed over the corner of Ron's desk and the angle at which it was draped told her Hermione probably put it there on the way to her desk. One thing was for certain. Something was wrong. The knowledge gnawed at the delicate band which held that coil of fear in place.

Sara's eyes landed on the scrying mirror, which she'd missed upon her explosive entrance, and went to it.

An image, a dim bit of movie film, formed and moved before her eyes as Sara watched, transfixed as the now familiar white sheets flapped under strong gusts of wind. Sara didn't understand until the scene panned out. Fear trampled whatever calm she'd been able to hold onto as the ocean crashed against the unforgiving rocks of a bluff below, splashing the canvas walls of a great white tent with sprays of salt water. Sara gasped as realization finally took hold.

Azkaban Prison.

It was empty.

Sara was unable to move as she watched Diagon Alley burn. White masks drifted through the flames, agonizing screams pierced her brain and, through the horror of it all, the Dark Mark came to the forefront, searing its image into the glass until Sara's eyes grew wide with panic. A song wafted through her mind as she watched the terrifying images unfold. Sunday, Bloody Sunday. Only U2 wasn't singing it.

The coil sprung.

Sara turned and made to run out of the office but here eyes fell on the dragon hide cloak, tossed across Ron's desk. A sense of dread settled over her as she considered it and it was Hermione who came to mind. Sara threw the cloak around her shoulders and ran full out toward Slytherin Spirits.

* * *

The candles flickered in the darkness as Christina sat alone at a desk in the room she'd assumed was her own. Maybe it was Draco's, she didn't recall. She'd opened the doors to the balcony, even though the man in the lobby had specifically told her not to. The air was stale as the house had been shut for months and the balcony faced the backyard anyway. She didn't think it was much of a risk and so she'd opened it.

The breeze was wonderful and so was the firelight. The candles were too dim, the night was chilled, and the man hadn't said anything about a fire, so she'd lit one. After all, the electricity wasn't working and she wanted to be comfortable as she composed her letter.

The paper was luxurious, for lack of a better word, and there were actual quills with which to write. Christina considered both with curiosity, but her eyes were drawn to the letterhead. She pulled the candle closer and studied the monogram of an M.

"Malfoy Family Stationary," she said aloud. "Someone always called it that." She thought it might have been Harry but that part of her mind was being stubborn. Another part, however, opened a door. "Draco Malfoy. That was his name." Everything about it felt right and Christina sighed. She couldn't wait until morning when she could search the house for clues to her past and to her identity. Surely, this house was full of them.

For now, she dipped the quill in the ink and turned her attention back to her letter. The raven lit on the edge of the desk and Christina smiled at the sight of it. "I was hoping you'd find me."

The raven cawed and looked to her, waiting.

"Are you really mine?" she asked it. "Or were you Draco's? You know, I remember reading about ravens back in school. They're supposed to be the escorts of evil spirits. How could you ever be that?"

The raven's beak tapped the parchment.

"Yes, I was just getting to that." Christina sighed. "This won't be the easiest letter I've ever had to write, but here goes."

Harry,

I know I'm probably the last person you want to hear from, but I need to apologize. I deeply regret what I said to you. You told me about Sara in good faith. I used the knowledge against you, and out of spite of all things. I didn't mean it. Really, I didn't, but I have a feeling that doesn't matter much to you anymore. I understand if you hate me for it, but that's the thing. I don't want you to. I can't take back what I said or the way I acted, but I'll do my best to make it up to you if you'll let me. I didn't understand until your friends spoke their parting words, but I understand now. I have insulted the only friend I have. Lies or no lies, I want that friend back in the worst way. Harry, I don't want to be alone.

I know you asked me not to return to the house on the hill, but I had no other choice. I have lost my purse, which contained the only means I had of getting a hotel room, the train home, or any other sort of shelter. I tried to sleep on the roof of the pizza shop but, even though it seems like yesterday in my mind, it is clear that I left that life behind a long time ago. I cried the whole time I was there, lying on cardboard under the ducts, feeling such pity for myself that I couldn't remain. Spending a night in jail would be preferable to that, and less humiliating.

I appealed to the man in the lobby, who'd made it clear last time I was here that he had the password to get in. I had to promise to do something for him, but he gave it to me and here I am. I'm safe, I have a roof over my head, and everything's ok again. Except you. Please, allow me to apologize in person? Harry, please don't hate me for such a horrible mistake. I didn't understand.

Your friend,

Christina

Christina folded the letter, never realizing she should seal it, and left it on the desk for later. She'd written it, yes, but could not yet bring herself to send it. That would take far more courage than stringing the words together. Instead, she lay down on the bed and watched the flames until she drifted off.

* * *

"Professor, I think we should take a shortcut. We've wasted too much time going to Potter's office. I told you she wouldn't be there."

"Better to be certain before we brave the crowd at Slytherin Spirits. We could cut through Knockturn Alley. It's risky, but it'll save several minutes."

"Exactly what I was thinking." Draco fell silent as they left the office behind, listening to their damp footsteps echo between the buildings on the deserted street. A strange sight drew his attention. "Sir, look at that inebriated sot lying there in the bushes. Think it's Potter?"

"Probably just some drunk who wandered out of that alley over there. Too short to be Potter."

Draco shrugged and glanced around, uneasy with the surroundings. "It's rather quiet over this way. Where is everyone? I know there's a band playing on the other side, but there's usually someone about."

"Please wait while I consult my crystal ball."

"Very funny, Professor."

"Everything's closed over this way. We should meet more traffic the closer we get to The Leaky Cauldron. I suggest you take another drop or two of that hair altering potion and keep your voice down before you're recognized."

Draco slowed as they approached the alley Snape had spoken of and stopped just as they meant to pass it. "Let's turn in here. We can cut over to the main section of Knockturn Alley through this alleyway. I'm not thrilled about going through the dark parts of Knockturn Alley, but it seems safer than walking the main street of Diagon Alley right now, and faster." Draco led Snape through the dim expanse and into a narrow, badly kempt street at the other end. "Funny, this place is deserted as well."

"It's interesting. That pub over there is popular among Dark wizards, it appears to be open, though I hear no noise coming from inside. No one seems to be about. It's one of the prime Saturday night hangouts, if I remember correctly. It should be swarming with drunken morons right now. Something seems off, Draco. Keep to the shadows."

They walked in silence through the unlit street, neither speaking, until a tiny sound fluttered under the blanket of quiet. Draco looked up. "What's that? You hear it?"

"It sounds like a bird."

"Oh. It's just an owl."

"Even worse. Potter's owl."

Hedwig flew into view and hovered before them. "Why's it acting so crazy?"

"It is Potter's owl. She's probably a bit off in the head after so many years of his ownership."

"Maybe he told it to drive us away?" Draco waved Hedwig from his immediate vicinity. "Shoo, you flake! I swear it's barking mad! Come on, Professor. We're wasting time again. We have to find Sara."

Snape led Draco through the dark street, hiding inside their cloaks. Hedwig grabbed the edge of Snape's hood in her talons and tried to pull him toward the other side of the street. Snape shoved the persistent owl away in annoyance and she lit on a lamppost. Hedwig hooted, quiet at first, but she grew steadily louder as they made to pass a narrow alley on the other side. Hedwig became frantic. She flew to Snape, flew back to the entrance to the alley, hooted and flew back to Snape, only to repeat the process.

"If I didn't know any better, Draco, I'd think that owl wants me to follow it."

Hedwig gave an excited hoot as if to agree.

"Do you think it's wise? Potter could be leading us into a trap. After all, I'm sure he'd be in his glory if I weren't around to steal Sara from him." Draco's face turned ashen, hesitant. "Sir? What if it's trying to tell us Sara's in trouble?"

Snape came to a halt, indecisive and apprehensive. "I have to assume Potter's owl would be every bit as ridiculously heroic as her owner. Don't make any morbid assumptions, but your idea is possible. We will follow the bird but, if it seems she's leading us in circles, to Slytherin Spirits we go."

Draco breathed relief. Potter's owl seemed so upset and adamant that not following it would be the wrong thing to do in his opinion. He was glad Snape had agreed. "Let's hurry, then. If this is just a bit of nonsense to keep us occupied and away from Sara then I prefer to be quick about it." He pulled his hood farther over his eyes, nervous about venturing into the darkest places in the heart of Knockturn Alley.

They encountered no one as they turned left down two forbidding and claustrophobic passages before traveling a long way down a winding right. Hedwig would fly ahead, rest on an eave, wait for them to catch up, and then fly away again. Snape's alert and piercing eyes darted around, expecting something unexpected. Draco followed close behind him, glancing over his shoulder every few feet, nervous and trembling with fear. Water dripping from the roofs echoed, loud and frightening, seeming to come from ahead and behind, to the left and right, and Draco swallowed the paranoia that threatened to seize him. One hand gripped Snape's cloak and held it fast. His other hand gripped his wand, the knuckles white. The trip felt like forever, but they had only traveled a few minutes out of their way.

A lock of his magically darkened hair tumbled from the confines of his cloak and Draco swallowed hard. His voice fell to a whisper. "Sir, I hear voices down that alley."

Hedwig had come to rest on the eave of the dilapidated shop on the corner of an alleyway. Knowing better than to hoot, she ruffled her feathers to gain their attention and then extended one wing, pointing the way.

Snape pushed himself and Draco against the wall at the corner. "Smart bird," he mumbled.

Draco strained against the arm that held him to the crumbling brick. "What's down there? Can you see?"

"Light spills from an open door on the left, just before a dead end. The voices come from within."

"Let's have a look, shall we?"

"Wait here. If you're seen you'll endanger us both."

"Sir! Don't leave me here by myself!"

A piercing female scream carried down the alley and Draco gasped, fearing for Sara, not knowing if it was her. The idea paralyzed him with terror and his heart set to racing.

Male voices drifted through the dimness. There was an eruption of laughter and noise from inside the room, but the two men were closer and rose above the din.

"Shut that blasted door, Sean!"

"But it's hotter'n hell in 'ere!"

"Wi' her screamin like that it could get us some unwanted attention!"

"Can't we jus' knock'er out? We got what we need, so why'r we sufferin that rackit anyways?"

The first man's voice dropped to a serious tone. "Orders weren't t' knock'er out, Sean. Soon as Bella's done wi' her, well, she won't be goin back t' Potter still breathin."

"Why'er we torturin'er for if we're s'posed t' be killin'er?"

"Why don't y'go ask?"

Sean didn't answer.

Another scream curled Draco's blood and he winced at the sound of it. Snape bolted down the alley and stopped dead at the open door, falling again flat against the wall. Draco was quick to follow.

A woman's voice they both knew well, that of Bellatrix Lestrange, called out to her companions. "Get rid of this. I'm expected and I've lingered too long already." Bellatrix's voice changed as she spoke to someone else. "Goodbye, dearie. I wish I could stay and play, but I have bigger things to do tonight than torture Potter's repulsive little playmates." Her voice rose again. "Dump her on Potter's doorstep. That should be a nice surprise." She laughed, high and insane. "Meet us when you're done. Make it quick."

Snape held his breath, expecting to be discovered – and by one of the fiercest witches he'd ever known – but a door slammed far away. She'd exited out the front of the shop and Snape breathed relief.

"Sir, how many are inside?"

"A handful, I'd guess. Five or six, judging from the voices we heard. There may be more. Draco, are you up to this? We have to be fast and we can't afford a mistake, nor any hesitation."

Draco took a deep breath. "That could have been Sara screaming, sir. You can count on me."

"When I say now, bolt through that door, swing left, and send your best immobilizer at anything that moves. Do not use the killing curse. You may accidentally hit the victim."

"I understand."

Snape took a slow, steadying breath. "Now!"

* * *

The tall blonde girl, who'd once dated Warf and still came to the wizarding market to get chai tea and read books, turned as she stepped out of The Leaky Cauldron with a large piece of white signage in her hands. Setting her cup on the step, she held the handwritten sign against the door and tacked it into place with a few pushpins she'd found in a map at Flourish & Blott's. When it was secure, she stepped back and read it, remembering the frantic, honest eyes of Hawthorn and the book, which had fallen in her wake. The tale of Cassandra, the seer whom no one believed.

The girl tucked her hair behind her right ear, lit a cigarette, and gave her sign a nervous smile, knowing Hawthorn had been telling the truth. Besides, how idiotic was it to ignore a prediction of doom? Where was the harm in going home a little early, even if it turned out to be nothing?

NOTICE

Medical Quarantine

Leaky Cauldron & Diagon Alley

-Temporarily Closed-

By Order of theMinistry of Magic

Exhaling a great cloud of smoke, she lifted the near-empty cup of chai with a nervous hand and crossed the street to where she'd parked a compact black car. Glancing once over her shoulder, she gave the sign one last look before she fell onto the seat and drove away, hoping she'd done the right thing.

* * *

"Merlins, Harry, look at the bloody crowd! They're all the way out to the road!"

Harry strained to hear over the blasting rock music spilling out of the pub. "Huh? Oh, yeah! I think half the wizarding world is here!"

"What?!"

"If we get up, we'll lose our table," Harry yelled.

"Stay here, then! I'm going to find Fred and George and get another ale!"

Just as Ron stood, something lit up the sky and all heads turned upward to see it. Harry stood bolt upright, sending his heavy iron chair skidding backward. His breath caught in his throat as he beheld the Dark Mark, floating green in the sky above Diagon Alley. Something exploded down the street and a ball of fire rose high enough for everyone present to see. The crowd fell to chaos and panic. People were screaming, running, trying to hide and seeking cover.

The band played on.

Two ginger heads appeared nearby and Harry grabbed their arms.

"Fred! George! Get all the help you can and guard the entrance to the cul-de-sac! Cast some wards!"

Harry was about to issue instructions to Ron when he heard someone screaming his name loud enough to be heard over the band. His heart fell into his stomach the moment he heard her voice.

Sara broke through the crowd, glanced around, and then ran toward Harry and Ron, out of breath, her cloak billowing out behind her, unsteady on high heels, and terror-stricken. "HARRY!"

Harry caught her and gave her a quick hug. "Sara! I told you not to come here! You could be killed!"

"Hermione! I went to your office and the door was wide open, her candle was lit, but she's GONE!"

Harry's expression turned from concern to pure dread. "Where did you get that cloak!"

"On Ron's desk! Harry, there was a red twilight! I saw it in your scrying mirror! Azkaban has been breached and it's EMPTY!"

"Sara, get out of here! As fast as you can!"

Another explosion rocked the night, closer, brighter, louder, and the screams around them amplified.

"Harry!"

"Go home and STAY THERE!" Harry kissed her as he ran toward Mystic's Cafe with the sounds of U2's Sunday, Bloody Sunday at his back.

Mystic was badly startled when he threw open the door and started bellowing. "We're under attack! Mystic, get ready, but WAIT FOR MY SIGNAL!"

Sara hurried to the narrow entrance of the cul-de-sac, knowing the Death Eaters would have an easy time cornering the hundreds of people crammed into the courtyard and inside Slytherin Spirits, where the band was so loud no one even knew they were in danger. She could hear them singing along. I can't close my eyes and make it go away. How long, how long must we sing this song? How long, how long?

Harry ran past her and out of the cul-de-sac, on his way back to the office to alert the agents and find Hermione. As he ran, Diagon Alley, he noticed, was overrun by Death Eaters. Patrons battled them, stores burned, screams and curses flew and Harry ran faster. Spells missed him by inches. A few may have hit, he wasn't sure, but his need was so great they had no effect if they did.

The action was lesser near his office and Harry thought to take his sign down in one clumsy movement as he ran through the door, where he tossed the sign to the floor.

"HERMIONE!"

He was met with silence.

Searching was a waste of time. No one was there, so Harry ran back out and continued on, hoping to find her on her way back from The Leaky Cauldron or maybe battling a Death Eater.

People lay dead in the street. Smoke from the other end drifted and burned his throat as his fear escalated. Turning right at the end of his street, Harry noticed a crumpled figure on the side of the road and hurried toward it. The figure was familiar, unmoving, and panic ate away at the edges of his sanity. He dropped to his knees and rolled her over.

"No," he whispered. "No, not her! NOT HER!"

Tears rolled down his face as he pulled her into his lap and held her close. She was limp. She wasn't breathing.

Harry lowered his head, let his grief drip into her hair as he cradled her, sobbing and devastated. He'd forgotten about the battle, about the Death Eaters and the Dark Mark. He forgot about the concert and the cul-de-sac and Mystic's secret defense. He didn't hear the screams or feel the heat of the burning stores. He knew only her lifeless body as he held it and could feel only her loss. Nothing else existed. Harry stroked her hair as he kissed her and rocked her back and forth, trying to comfort her. Trying to comfort himself.

* * *

"George!" Sara shouted. "There are hundreds! We need help!"

"Everyone's too busy running! Just do your best!"

Fred shouted his encouragement around curses and counter-spells. "Didn't you defeat hundreds of Death Eaters in Romania? You can handle this!"

"I can't do that here! I can't use lightning or the wind! There are innocent people in the middle of everything! I can't even keep these wards up!"

George shouted back, the quaver in his voice betraying the fact that he was frightened and losing hope. "We have to keep the wards up! We have no choice!"

Sara's voice took on a note of terror. "There are so many of us! Why is no one helping?"

Fred gasped as something strong hit and dissolved the ward before him. He blocked a few curses and was quick to replace it. "They're scared!"

George agreed. "They're panicking!"

Sara turned furious. "Well so am I! But I'm still trying!"

A curse hit Sara's cloak, nearly pushing her through the ward and into the melee on the other side. George sidestepped and grabbed her as she stumbled.

"That came from behind!" Sara turned to see a slew of Death Eaters had breached the line of defense. "They're getting in! George!"

George grabbed two random wizards who'd made the mistake of running by. "You! Hold this line! Let this ward drop and I'll kill you myself! You! Help him!" He shoved the bewildered young men into place, but their perplexed expressions soon turned determined and set to task. George was satisfied.

Giving direct orders to specific people seemed to help bring a small sense of order – and reinforcement – to the line. Seeing the positive reaction from the "volunteers," Ron, Fred, and Sara, who were staggered a little too far apart to be effective, did the same. Soon, the line of defense stood shoulder to shoulder across the entrance to the cul-de-sac. Sara's panic subsided, but not much.

Ron was able to step back and began recruiting people to stand behind the line and put up ward after ward. Fred and George supervised the line, making sure no one ran away, and so Sara went to find out how at least a dozen Death Eaters had gotten into the cul-de-sac.

She grabbed a girl who ran without purpose or direction from one place to another, looking for a way out with wide, alarmed eyes. "I need you to do something so listen!" she shouted as she took hold of the girl's thin arms. "Get to that stage and tell the band we're under attack! They're still playing!"

The door was open, but so many people were packed inside with their backs to the opening - and the music was so loud - that even those two steps inside had no idea what was happening right behind them.

The moment Sara let go of the girl, she bolted. Sara watched her run toward the front, shove past the line, and through the wards. She was quick to fall. Sara's eyes closed as she watched, knowing the girl was dead, along with many others who'd been caught outside the cul-de-sac and now lay on the cobbles in lifeless heaps, crumpled, like rag dolls. A great many others battled the Death Eaters but they were outnumbered and doomed. Just like everyone inside the cul-de-sac. It was only a matter of time.

Something smashed, a man screamed and something heavy hit the ground behind her. Sara turned on her heel and came face to face with Warf, who held a broken beer bottle in his hand. A Death Eater lay bleeding at his feet.

"That was a close one, eh? I wouldn't stand around with your back to the bad guys, Sara. I only have so many beers left. That German guy drinks a lot."

Sara nearly collapsed with relief and gratitude. "Warf, get to the band. They need to know!"

The song drifting out of Slytherin Spirits bridged from "Sunday, Bloody Sunday" into "New Years Day" and Sara decided she had bigger problems than alerting the band. The number of Death Eaters had doubled in the few moments she'd been diverted. The cul-de-sac was absolute chaos. People were climbing onto the roofs, trying to escape. "GET DOWN!" she bellowed. "You'll fall to your deaths!"

No one listened. No one even heard. All anyone could hear was the sounds of the band as Lyman belted out the lyrics and the instruments threatened to drown him out.

All is quiet on New Year's Day… A world in white gets underway… I want to be with you… Be with you night and day… Nothing changes on New Year's Day…

There was a screaming mob outside Mystic's Café. The diner itself was packed full and more tried to press through the door. Mystic, Sara saw through the windows, stood with her employees on the lunch counter, using their wands in a desperate attempt to force the frantic crowd back out the door.

Another store blew up across from the cul-de-sac and Sara turned around again to see the great billowing flames leap toward the sky and spread to the neighboring shops. The orange glow cast an eerie light on the macabre scene before her and that's when she saw it.

Under a blood red sky… A crowd has gathered in black and white… Arms entwined, the chosen few… The newspapers says, says… Say it's true it's true... And we can break through…

Death Eaters streamed through the door of the shop on the corner, entering outside the ward, passing through, and exiting into the courtyard via a side door. Sara remembered LisaRene, the woman who had so graciously helped her with the lock on her shop and had shown such concern over Voldemort's ability to return. "They must have overpowered her to get through her shop! She could be hurt!" Sara realized. With that thought, Sara ran across the courtyard, skirting fallen witches and wizards, Dark and Light, and came to a halt only yards from the breach.

With a clear shot, Sara threw rapid-fire bolts of lightning, dropping every Death Eater who dared step through until they dared no more. "LISA!" she shouted. "Are you in there? Are you hurt?"

To Sara's surprise, Lisa stepped into the doorway, calm, whole, and dressed all in black. She met Sara's frightened eyes and gave her a cold smile.

Sara's panic edged toward terror as Lisa gave her a wink, tied a white mask over her eyes and stepped back into the darkness.

* * *

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