Bailey watched Aidan zoom off, and once he was sure that he wouldn't turn back around, he took his chance. He shifted into a slow descent, his eyes cast downward. When he touched ground, he tucked his broomstick under his arm and dashed toward the pile of firewood at the side of the house.

His heart was hammering against his ribs as he hauled a particularly large log out of the pile. He mounted his broomstick and glanced back anxiously. Aidan still wasn't anywhere to be seen. Breathing a sigh of relief, Bailey lifted the log onto his lap. The extra weight made his broomstick tip forward, and he was barely able to steady it. He had no time to dawdle if he was going to do this right.

By the time he had reached the window of Aidan's bedroom, he was trembling and drenched in sweat. He tested the window—Aidan hardly ever locked it. Sure enough, it opened easily. Looking grim, he pushed the log through it so that most of it lay atop Aidan's bed.

Glancing back to make sure there was no one watching, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a matchbook. He stood beside the bed, staring down at his trembling hands. He couldn't do this. He couldn't do this, he just couldn't. His father's words echoed in his mind: You can never do anything right... If you want our respect, do this simple task...

Anger flooded him as he gazed around the room. Why did Aidan have to be so lucky? Why did Aidan have to have such amazing parents, and he got stuck with rotten ones? Why did Aidan always get cool stuff, and why did everyone like him more? Thinking of Aidan on his new broomstick made his anger and resentment reach a boiling point, and he found his hands trembling as he struck one of the matches and tossed it onto the log on Aidaan's bed.

He clambered out of the window and wrenched it shut with one hand, balancing precariously on his broomstick. He flung the book of matches, which caught in the top branches of an oak tree. Tears stung his eyes as he dove to the ground, picking up the Beater's bat he had used to keep away the Bludger.

He looked up just in time to see Aidan speeding toward him, holding up the Quaffle and grinning. "I've got it, Bailey! It was kind of hard, because it got caught in all these branches, but I managed to— what're you doing?"

Bailey was now about two feet from Aidan now, his bat raised. He stared at Aidan, his eyes burning with tears. "I'm sorry," he whispered, and with one swing of his bat, he cracked Aidan on the side of his head. Aidan's eyes went wide, before he lost consciousness and dropped limply to the ground.

The bat slipped from Bailey's grasp as he stared down at his friend. What had he done? Had he killed him? No, no, he couldn't have, he just couldn't have. His father had said it wouldn't kill Aidan, it would only knock him out. It had to be true, he couldn't have killed him.

He heard the unmistakable sound of glass shattering, and he realized with a start that he had spent too much time there already. He slid to the ground and shoved his broomstick under his arm again. His eyes stung with tears as he half-stumbled, half-ran toward the trees.

As he kept running, he caught the scent of something burning, and he suddenly felt like he wanted to be sick. He forced himself to block out his emotions as he sprinted through the bushes by the road. The bitter fragrance of smoke reached him even as he approached his house. He had barely reached the front door before it was flung open and his father appeared.

"Have you done it?" he demanded in a gruff voice.

"Y-yes," Bailey stammered breathlessly as he tried to catch his breath.

"Don't stutter, boy!" his father barked. "If you have done it exactly as I instructed you to, there should be no reason for you to be so afraid."

"But, but Dad?" Bailey asked softly.

"What is it?"

Bailey stared off into the distance, his expression vacant. "N-nothing."

"What did I tell you about stuttering?" his father demanded harshly. "Never you mind, just move out of my way!" Carter Stewart shoved violently past his son, his eyes twinkling with a sort of excitement that nauseated Bailey.

"What's going on?" his mother, Dana, said as she appeared. Her eyes were a hard, coal black, and she always looked as if she had stepped on something foul.

"It is done, my darling," Carter spoke to his wife, taking both of her hands in his. "Bailey has finally done something correctly."

They both looked like they wanted to celebrate.

"We have finally done it," Dana was saying as she wriggled with elation. "The Auror and Obliviator will soon be no more! You!"—she looked to Bailey—"make sure you go and watch! Tell us what has happened!"

As they went inside, laughing and hugging each other, Bailey forced himself to move. He ran across the lawn and back into the bushes. As he retraced his steps back to Aidan's house, the bitter smell of smoke came to him, stronger than ever. The night felt much warmer now, and as he neared the house, he could see figures on the lawn.

As he advanced further, he got a true understanding of what his actions had caused. Aurors had gathered around the house and were trying desperately to contain the fire, while others were cautiously entering and exiting the house. Bailey sat down in the foliage and watched, his eyes burning again.

"Find them?" he heard one Auror call as two more emerged, their faces covered in dust and ash. They looked solemn.

"They're dead, William," one of them said. "They're being brought out now."

William frowned deeply as he clasped his hands together. "Merlin... Has, has the boy been found yet?"

The Aurors shook their heads. "We've looked everywhere, but there's no sign of him. We found Katrina and Caleb on the staircase, I think they were heading up there to find him, too."

"We do think we know where it started, though," the second Auror spoke up. "When we searched the boy's room, we found the striker of a matchbook on the dresser and the remnants of a log on the bed."

Bailey gasped, reflexively clapping a hand over his mouth.

"What're you saying?" William asked. "You think he started it?"

"We can't say for sure, but the striker _was in his room."

"Aidan wouldn't do anything like that, though," he protested. "I've known both boys since they were born."

The second Auror was glowering. "Aidan wouldn't. You don't know him the way we do."

"Cameron, I didn't say it was his fault!" the Auror protested. "I just said that that's what it looked like!"

"All right, you two. We're not going to get Aidan found just by quarreling like young boys."

The two men nodded, and without another word they were off, sprinting toward the back of the house.

From his hideout in the bushes, Bailey saw someone running up the road toward the house. It was Christian. His eyes were wide with horror as he stared at his parents' home. As a group of Aurors marched out of the burning building, his worst fears were confirmed. Two pairs of Aurors were supporting stretchers, which bore the lifeless bodies of his parents.

Christian collapsed to the ground, his agonized screams cutting through Bailey like daggers. As the stretchers were carried away, two young Aurors approached Christian.

"Chris, we're, we're so sorry..."

"Where's Aidan?" Christian choked out, forcing himself to his knees.

"Chris, please, just relax! This isn't—"

"You can't tell me to fucking relax when my parents are dead because of a fucking fire, and now they can't find my brother!" Christian shouted, causing his friends to take a few steps back. "He's only a kid! If our parents were killed, there's no telling what happened to him!"

He didn't have to explain himself further, they all knew what he meant. You-Know-Who was at large, and because their parents were such influential people at the Ministry—his mother, Katrina had been an Obliviator for the Accidental Magic Reversal Squad, and their father, Caleb had been an Auror—he could have killed them simply for his own amusement.

"I'm going to help find him," Christian announced, and before his friends could say a word, he darted away.

Aidan had been found about five minutes later, lying unconscious beside the pile of firewood. Christian had been the one to find him, and he refused to let the Aurors take him from his arms, eventually forcing them to transport them both to St. Mungo's. When Aidan had awakened, he was extremely disoriented and confused.

"What, what happened?" Seeing the look on Christian's face, Aidan frowned. "Chris? What, what happened?"

Christian couldn't bring himself to say anything. The Healer glanced at them, before she tactfully left to give them a moment alone. Christian reached over and took Aidan's hands in his.

"Little bro... Mum and Dad, they're, they're..." Tears spilled from his eyes, and Aidan didn't need to have the sentence finished.

"What?! No! H-how?"

"A, a fire," Christian said weakly.

Aidan burst into tears then, clinging tightly to his older brother. He couldn't believe that his parents had been killed, that he would never see them anymore, that he would never get to hug his mother, to smell her sweet perfume, to hear her musical laugh, to hear her sing when she was in a good mood, to feel her warmth when she hugged him. He wouldn't be able to play Quidditch with his father, or admire the newest broomstick with him, or sneak off to Honeydukes whenever his mother said he couldn't have anymore candy, or play practical jokes on each other...

Aidan clung tightly to Christian as his body was racked with hysterical sobs, and the two brothers remained there, holding each other and mourning their loss.

Aidan couldn't escape the horrible feelings within him. Grief and pain and anger and guilt, they all crashed onto him like a boulder. He had no idea what to do, how to feel. He eventually slipped out of unconsciousness, but his dreams were horribly vivid. His new broomstick, the sound of his mother's laughter, the sight of his father's face, and a burning. A terrible burning that ran through his veins as if his blood was on fire.

"No! No, please!" he screamed, trying to get to his feet. "No, no, no!"

He cried out in agony as the fire inside him continued, and he saw the image of his own house collapsing before him.

"Now, you die," a voice whispered in his ear.

"No, no, NO! I'm sorry, Mum and Dad! I'm sorry, I'm sorry!"

Aidan could barely breathe now. It was as if someone had poured soot down his throat and had lit him on fire. A horrible shadow loomed above him, but he couldn't see the person's face.

"Now you understand," the voice was saying. "Now you know!"