CHAPTER ELEVEN
❛ the writing on the wall. ❜
Set some 100 yards around the mansion, the protective enchantments had not incinerated the intruders, nor had they set off warning bells. In hindsight, that should have alerted him of something being amiss. But in the moment, however, Moody thought little of it; surely this was a sign that the Death Eaters were not expecting to be found. They could be very ignorant, this Moody had learnt over the years. Besides, there was always the underlying knowledge that, should things go awry for the Death Eaters, they did not need elaborate curses and wards to protect themselves; they had the greatest weapon of all: a lack of hesitation to use the Avada Kedavra.
And yet, in spite of every fiber within him screaming to not admit it, Moody had to hand it to the Death Eaters: their defenses had been clever. Not complex, no, Moody admitted to himself bitterly as he raced across the unkempt grounds, but definitely effective. The enchantments around the place had removed the disillusionment charms that had been concealing the team of Aurors, leaving them exposed and vulnerable no matter which side they came from. If anyone within the safe house had been keeping an eye out for intruders — and Moody was under no delusions of this not being the case — then twenty Aurors materializing out of thin air could not have gone amiss by the Death Eaters.
A blur of blue tartan raced past Moody, Frank Longbottom's taller stature affording him a clear advantage. Not that it will help him much longer, thought Moody. He continued sprinting across the hedge-strewn grounds, keeping an eye on the Aurors around him as they too neared the mansion. The Death Eaters would surely have been alerted of their presence by now, and even as they drew closer and closer to their destination, the Death Eaters could have had enough time to strategize, hide, or worse, escape.
Praying against all odds that McKinnon's anti-apparition wards would hold, Moody watched as Scrimgeour reached the ornate front doors. Wands held aloft, Longbottom, Skye Dawlish, and the Weasley twins already stood on either side of it. Skye mouthed an all clear as she finished inspecting the door for jinxes and hexes, and Scrimgeour held up his palm. Behind him, all movement ceased; Moody stood a few paces from the grizzly-haired man, who silently gestured at some of the other Aurors to encircle the building.
Soon, everyone had assumed their positions, their wands trained at the red-bricked manor before them. Moody braced himself, and the familiar feeling of adrenaline rushing through his veins drove every other thought from his mind. Any moment now, Scrimgeour would give the signal and the doors would be flung open; any moment now, they would finally have the chance to lay hands on the ruddy Death Eaters that had evaded them for so long. Any moment now.
Then something odd happened.
Scrimgeour did not move, did not signal, but instead he glanced over his shoulder. His keen, yellowish eyes locked on Moody, who stared back blankly.
Raising a brow, Scrimgeour wordlessly motioned towards the door.
Moody frowned.
Then it hit him, what it was Scrimgeour wanted.
On your head be it, that's what Scrimgeour had said, wasn't it? Moody's fault, if anything went wrong; Moody's head, if the Ministry came hunting for the Aurors.
He'd be lying if he said Scrimgeour's sudden determination to rest the entire mission on his shoulders wasn't disconcerting, but Moody knew better than to admit it out loud.
Unwilling to give Scrimgeour the satisfaction of knowing he'd managed to unsettle him, Moody nodded stiffly and moved around the other man to come face to face with the giant door. Out of the corner of his eyes, he saw Longbottom and Skye giving him quizzical looks, but he ignored them.
Focusing all his attention at the task on hand, Moody drew in a breath and held up his palm, counting down to 5. There was no point delaying the inevitable any further; they'd already wasted enough time playing Scrimgeour petty games.
The moment his hand curled into a fist, Longbottom unlatched the door and Moody swept forward.
The ornate mansion lay covered in remnants of the time it had weathered; a quick look around the place told Moody that dust and cobwebs and darkness had seeped into every nook and crevice. And there was no sign of anyone having been here in ages.
Raising a hand, Moody motioned for the others to follow as he moved deeper into the safe house.
"Lumos," he whispered quietly, a dozen voices doing the same behind him.
They shuffled into the entrance hall as silently as they could.
The wind whistled in Moody's ear. All around him, the mansion stood deathly quiet.
"Homenum revelio," said Moody quietly, holding his wand higher. After a beat, a beam of dull, faint green light flashed from the wand seven times.
Seven Death Eaters.
Moody glanced back to ensure everyone knew what they were dealing with, and the determined faces that met his gaze told him they'd all seen the light flashing. They knew there were seven other people somewhere within the manor; seven Death Eaters lurking in the shadows, silent and lethal.
They crept forward as one, but when they reached the end of the hall, they found themselves facing a magnificent, dust-covered staircase. A hallway was visible on one side of it. Moody met Scrimgeour's eyes, and they silently agreed it was time to split up.
Scrimgeour, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Alice Faucet, Dirk Creswell, and one of the Prewett twins - Moody couldn't tell which - went up the stairs, while Moody gestured for Ismene McKinnon to follow him into the hallway leading away from the entrance hall. Frank Longbottom, Skye Dawlish, and Emmeline Vance trailed after them.
He turned once to make sure some Aurors remained behind. There were three of them: a Prewett twin, and Aurors Samuel Macmillan and Cliodhna Tobin. They stood in the darkened, deserted hall, eyes alert, wands at the ready. Catching Cliodhna's eye, Moody nodded quickly before following the others into the left wing of the mansion.
They walked in a single file down the first hallway, which was lined with giant windows on one side and dark wooden doors on the other. The air was soon filled with the soft sounds of their cloaks as it rustled around their ankles, their shallow breathing seeming magnified in the otherwise silent manor. The light emanating from the tips of their wands threw its grimy but still tasteful interior into focus. There were paintings hanging along the walls, or rather, there were painting frames hanging around, but they all remained empty.
The Aurors had no certain proof as to whom this mansion belonged to, though it was believed to have belonged to one of the Lestrange ancestors. Regardless, the manor was so opulent and filled with magnificent paintings and rare ornaments that it must have belonged to an old, wealthy Wizarding family. Indeed, the place must surely have once been a sight to behold. Now, however, it lay buried in dust and lost memories from ages past.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up. This, Moody thought grimly, was not a place that had been inhabited in recent memory.
But hadn't the Death Eaters been sighted here nearly two weeks ago? Wasn't the Bulgarian Ministry of Magic certain the Death Eaters had taken over the forest? Surely, Moody wasn't looking closely enough; surely, there had to be some sign of–
CRASH!
Moody whirled around to see one of the arched windows shattering, spraying glass and iron everywhere.
"Down!" he yelled as he dropped to his knees, hands braced around his head, and crawled to the edge of the wall. From the corner of his eye, he saw the other Aurors assuming a similar position.
Another window burst overhead, spraying more glass and debris over the corridor, and then another spell hit one of the windows, and another, and another. For a few seconds, all they could do was remain crouched under the minimal protection that the window ledges provided as the windows lining the corridors shattered one after the other. Shouts arose from beyond the manor, the pop and boom of spells colliding mixed in with whatever chaos was raging outside. The window directly over where Moody was crouched shattered, and he scrunched his eyes shut, but not before he saw a jet of red flying down the corridor. Intuitively, Moody pointed his wand towards the end of the corridor and sent a stunning spell in the direction.
Eventually, the fragments of broken glass settled, the noise receded, and the Aurors were left to the mercy of darkness and silence once more.
"Everyone alright?" asked Moody in a low voice.
In unison, four voices replied, "Yes."
"Right," whispered Moody, getting to his feet again, "let's keep moving."
"But aren't they all attacking us from the outside?" asked Emmeline Vance, tucking a lock of hair back into its high bun.
Moody shook his head, but it was Longbottom who answered, "Someone's close by as well. They shot a couple stunners at us while we were down."
"They did," confirmed Ismene, "it's probably a ploy to get us to separate. Let's just stick together for now, shall we?"
Moody continued leading them down the hall, at whose end they found a stunned Death Eater. With a triumphant 'ha!', Moody swooped down and ripped the Death Eater's mask away.
"Oh, blazes," muttered Longbottom as he came up behind Moody. "Is that. . ."
"Pyrites," Moody growled, recognizing his battered face from the few photos they had of him at the Auror Office. He looked over his shoulder and pointed at Skye, "Dawlish, tie this one up and put some wards in place so he can't be set free. Take him back to the entrance hall if you can and leave him with Tobin and Prewett. Bring MacMillan with you and come find us again, understood?"
"Sir," Skye nodded, and she'd already wound thick ropes around Pyrite's hands and feet by the time the other Aurors had moved away from the pair.
They walked for nearly ten minutes without meeting any resistance. Every now and then, one of them would catch sight of a cloaked figure around a corner. Each time this happened, they would instinctively chase after it, fire curses and hexes at the figure, but each time it managed to evade them, never attacking in return.
This continued for a while.
"They really did not expect us then?" Longbottom finally asked in a quiet voice.
Moody frowned at him.
"I mean, there's no jinxes or wards in place, are there? Nothing to actually harm us?" Longbottom explained, "It's like we really did catch them off guard."
They all exchanged a look at those words.
"Fat lot of good it's doing us," whispered Moody, breaking the long silence, "We've barely seen any of them. Most of the bastards probably escaped long before we got in."
"We can still round up the ones who are inside," insisted Ismene, "we should keep moving."
They rounded another corner, barely lit even with the help of their wands. Moody spotted an open door. Gesturing wordlessly towards it, he crept forward and peered inside.
It was a large and spacious drawing room. The light from his wand illuminated the cobwebs that hung in thick bunches around the glimmering chandeliers. White sheets covered the sofas and many of the small tables that littered the floor. Specks of dust swirled in the light no matter where the wands pointed.
"Anything?" asked Longbottom as he moved away to inspect one of the cupboards lining the side wall.
Moody, eyeing the curtains now, was about to answer when light glinted off something metallic.
Without thinking twice, Moody cast a stunning spell in the direction, but it hit the low pelmet instead, which was soon engulfed in flames. The Death Eater did not reappear.
Suddenly, Vance pushed Moody, and he crashed to the floor.
"What the–" he exclaimed but saw an orange light streaking above him and crashing into a cabinet.
A second jet of red light hurled towards him, and he managed to roll out of its path just in time, narrowly avoiding the curse which instead caught Longbottom's leg, who had been too busy rifling through the curtains to notice the curse headed his way from the opposite end of the room.
"Frank!" shouted Vance and Ismene together.
Moody tried to catch sight of their attacker, but saw that the Death Eaters had abandoned them.
He turned his attention to Longbottom, who lay on the floor, clutching his thigh, groaning in pain. Blood gushed from the wound so generously, his entire thigh was soon stained a deep, dark red.
Overhead, something shattered.
Outside, the wind carried a shrill scream.
Footsteps thundered around the mansion.
"Stay down," Ismene instructed Longbottom, slipping her scarf from around her neck and tying it tightly around his wounded leg. "Reckon I'll have to disillusion you. They'll probably be able to spot you if they were to look close enough, but it should give you a head start nevertheless. Here."
Ismene touched the tip of her wand to Frank Longbottom's head, and a glimmering, translucent veil fell over him from where her wand met his skin.
He looked increasingly pale under their wandlight, but he nodded stiffly.
"Go one then," he choked out, "I'll be fine. Go."
"Hey," Moody snapped his fingers before Longbottom's drooping eyes, "eyes open, boy. Stay vigilant, alright?"
Longbottom nodded, but Moody wondered if the boy had heard what he'd said.
The rest of the Aurors moved past him.
"We should head back to the entrance hall," muttered Ismene once they were out of the room.
"What?"
"They're playing us, Alastor," she said, "Teasing, taunting us..."
"Something's not right," remarked Vance, her gaze sweeping over the abandoned dining room. "They could've had a clear shot at us a dozen times but not once did anyone use a Killing Curse."
Moody too had found this odd — Death Eaters were not known for their restraint when it came to using the Killing Curse.
"You're right," he acquiesced. "We can't just keep waltzing through this damned place and catching Death Eaters one at a time."
"No," agreed Ismene, "Let's head back and round up the others? We need a new plan."
Moody grunted. "Let's get Longbottom. No point leaving the boy there."
They had barely walked to paces when the house began to shake violently. Before he could form another coherent thought, the doors on either side of the corridor slammed shut.
"No!" growled Moody, reaching for the nearest doorknob. "Argh!"
Moody let go of the doorknob, his hand coming away blistered and red. The doorknob was burning hot.
"Everyone stay where you are," called Ismene over the rumbling roar of the corridor as they got to their knees and struggled to not get dragged away along the carpeted floor.
The walls kept shaking and groaning for a few seconds, then abruptly the noise dissolved.
Hesitantly, Ismene got to her feet and walked over to push open the door to a room. Moody recognized it as having been the same one in which they'd left Longbottom.
The door swung open, and Ismene swore loudly.
Moody and Vance rushed to her side, and their faces fell. The sitting room had disappeared; a spacious and vacant bedroom now met their gaze.
"The rooms shuffle in here," said Vance rather unnecessarily.
"Of course they do," spat Moody disbelievingly.
"How?"
"Who cares? Let's keep moving."
"We don't know where we are." Vance looked horrified. A fine sheen coated her face, which was pulled into a tight frown. "Maybe we should. . . stay, and. . ."
"What? You want to wait here forever, missy?" asked Moody evenly, trying to keep his anger under control. "Think someone's going to come and get you out, eh?"
"Alastor," said Ismene warningly, "don't."
Moody swept past the two women and moved down the hall. After a pause, two sets of footsteps followed.
He did not pause to peer inside any of the rooms. Vance checked them every now and then, though what she hoped to gain by this, Moody knew not.
They continued tracing their path back to the entrance hall, which miraculously stood exactly where they had left it. It seemed that while the rooms themselves shuffled, the corridors did not. The straight journey back left Moody feeling unsettled, but he pushed the feeling aside. There were bigger, more pressing problems to deal with just right now.
"Where's Skye?" Vance asked as the entrance hall came into their view. "Where's everyone?"
There was no sign of Skye, or the Death Eater they'd caught, or the three Aurors they'd left as the rear guard.
The hall was utterly deserted.
"Careful," whispered Ismene as they began moving again.
The back of Moody's neck prickled; he had the distinct impression he was being watched. He cast a long and searching look around the place, but he could only see darkness and shadows and signs of time past.
He was just considering the best methods of sending out signals for the other Aurors, when a swirl of bright orange and red light whooshed past Moody, flying so close by that he felt its heat graze the tips of his ears.
Someone yelped beside him.
He turned and saw Ismene collapse, unconscious.
"Mrs. McKinnon!" gasped Vance, moving towards the fallen woman. Moody spotted a dark shadow moving beyond her shoulder and quickly sent a stunning spell at the mass. It dodged the curse and a beam of green light flew in Moody's direction. He jumped aside, casting a body bind curse at the shadow as he dropped to his knees. The person in the shadows fell to the ground unceremoniously, knocking over a dusty old pedestal as it did so.
"Ismene?" Moody gasped, watching Vance apprehensively. Ismene McKinnon lay twitching on the floor, her body contorting and quivering.
"She's alive," the younger woman replied in a shaky voice, "but just barely. Her pulse is very slow." Turning her attention back to Ismene, Vance muttered, "Renervate."
Ismene did not regain consciousness.
Vance tried again. Again, Ismene did not come to.
"Vance," Moody snapped, "Cover me."
She shot him an aggravated look but complied nevertheless. With Vance on the guard for any lingering Death Eaters, Moody crouched down beside the unconscious Auror and drew his own wand. Touching it to Ismene's temple, he muttered, "Levamen."
Ismene remained lost as ever. Taking in a deep breath, he continued muttering any spell he could think of that might revive her. It was only when he whispered, "Reviresco," did something finally work.
Ismene's body shuddered violently, her mouth opening in a long gasp. Then she stilled.
Moody held his breath.
Eventually, slowly, Ismene opened her eyes, and they were as alight as ever.
Moody sighed in relief. "Choose some other day to die, McKinnon. I don't have enough Aurors on me today to spare you."
Ismene choked out a laugh, then accepted Moody's hand and scrambled to her feet.
"What happened?" she inquired weakly, massaging her forehead.
"You got hit. Knocked you out cold, it did. Not sure what spell it was though."
"I didn't recognize it either," added Vance.
Ismene shook her head, straightening her clothes hurriedly. The three Aurors stood huddled together, with Moody and Vance casting cautious glances around whilst Ismene composed herself once more.
She cleared her throat loudly. "Right, where to?"
Moody and Vance stared at her.
"I'm fine," she said through gritted teeth, "just took a tumble. Don't fret, alright?"
Vance looked like she wanted to argue this, but Moody asked, "Sure you can go on?"
"Positive."
"If you're sure," shrugged Moody. Turning to Vance, he added, "I got someone back there," he pointed behind him, "make sure they're tied up, can't escape. And-"
Moody broke off at the sound of faint footsteps. They all turned towards the noise and held their wands aloft, ready to strike.
The sound grew louder and louder, until —
"Rufus!" gasped Ismene, "Oh, thank heavens you're alright."
'Alright' was a relative term in this case. Scrimgeour was alive, yes, but he did not look like he was enjoying it. The side of Scrimgeour's face was drenched in blood, painful boils marking most of his face and neck. He was also limping as he stalked towards them, panting and sweating profusely. A putrid stench rolled off of him, making them all gag slightly.
"'Alright' is a stretch," Scrimgeour grumbled distractedly. He turned to Moody and, after some difficulty in focusing upon him, said, "There's an unconscious Death Eater in the archway–"
"We know," interjected Moody, "I'm the one who got him."
"Ah." Scrimgeour was eyeing Moody warily, then, as if he could not contain it any longer, he began, "Listen, Alastor, this isn't going to work. We need to go–"
Moody shook his head, still eyeing Scrimgeour's beaten appearance. "What's happening out–"
Suddenly, Ismene yelled, "DOWN!"
As one, they all dropped to the floor obediently, and just in time too. A shower of blue and yellow sparks rained over their crouched forms as two spells collided midair.
"Stupefy!" cried Vance and Ismene together, though their wands pointed in opposite directions.
Moody looked up to find both witches racing forward to engage in a duel with cloaked figures, sparks and spells lighting up the large entrance hall. Since he was closest to Vance, Moody moved to help her, catching sight of Scrimgeour joining Ismene in fighting off a Death Eater whose wand moved so swiftly it was dizzying to the eye.
The Death Eater Vance was engaged in a duel with was stood atop the stairs, hurling curse after curse over the thick wood-paneled banister that provided considerable protection to whoever stood behind it. It was futile, Moody recognized just moments into the duel himself, to attack this Death Eater; their spells kept colliding with the banister wall, bringing down shards of wood upon the Aurors themselves and making it doubly harder to see anything clearly. Curiously, however, the Death Eaters did not seem interested in seizing this opportunity to hurl a couple of Killing Curses at them.
Behind the pair, Scrimgeour and Ismene were panting with the effort of deflecting the Death Eater's curses.
As though he'd heard Moody's thoughts, "There's two of them," came Scrimgeour's voice over the din of their duels.
"What's that?" shouted back Moody, dodging a purple-hued hex.
"Petrificus Tota- ah, damn," exclaimed Scrimgeour, then called over his shoulder, "Protego! I said there's two Death Eaters in front of me."
"Thought there was just one before you..."
A beam of yellow grazed the side of Moody's arm, and pain shot through him in its wake.
"Well, now there's two."
"Take them out then."
"Is that what we're supposed to do?" Moody grinned; he could just imagine Scrimgeour rolling his eyes as he said that. "You should have told me sooner, Alastor."
"I'd've thought it was obvious." Moody cast a disarming charm but missed. "Don't need to mind the infrastructure, if you ask me."
Scrimgeour did not reply, but it seemed he had taken Moody's words to heart.
Without warning, a deafening bang ripped through the air, and Moody felt the ground under his feet give way as he was thrown off balance due to the sheer force of the blast.
Pain. Throbbing, hot pain — that was all he could feel for the next few moments. He tried to listen to his surroundings, but his ears were ringing too loudly. He clasped both hands to his ears.
When he opened his eyes again, a few seconds later, he could see nothing. He opened his mouth and drew in a shuddering breath.
The next thing he knew, dust and smoke had flooded his lungs. Coughing, his eyes burning, Moody turned over and got to his knees unsteadily.
Through the haze of destruction, he saw a huge, gaping hole where once had stood the frontmost wall of the manor. Ismene lay unconscious near the debris, her cloak as grey as her hair, while Scrimgeour stood a few feet away, looking as ragged as Moody felt. He watched as Scrimgeour fell to his knees again, retching horribly.
A sharp pain shot down the right side of his face. Raising a hand to his brow, he felt something sticky and warm coat his fingers. Swearing under his breath, he wiped his hand on his cloak and looked up towards the banister.
It was empty — the Death Eater had vanished.
But Vance was sprinting up the stairs.
Moody wheezed as he held out his hand and haphazardly got to his feet, his legs unsteady and shaky. He had taken two steps towards Vance's retreating form when a movement near the rubble caught Moody's attention.
A figure was crawling from underneath all the debris. Moody shot a spell at him but missed by several inches. He tried again and missed yet again.
He figured he must have hit his head badly if he was having this much trouble aiming spells.
The man stumbled out into the night and looked around. His mask must have slipped off when he got caught in the blast, for the cool moonlight illuminated his hollow face clearly. Although he only caught a glimpse of it, Moody recognized the man instantly.
Dolohov.
Seized by frantic excitement, Moody stood rooted to his spot, unable to decide whether to chase after Dolohov or follow Vance up the stairs. Something crashed overhead, and Moody made up his mind.
Scrimgeour was nearest to the destruction and thus was closer to the grounds, which Dolohov was now shuffling across.
"Get Dolohov!" Moody called in Scrimgeour's direction as he spotted Vance running along a corridor on the upper floor. He tore after her, running as fast as his legs would carry him; a sharp pain at each step informed him he had broken or at least sprained an ankle.
As he climbed the stairs two at a time, he glanced over his shoulder and saw Scrimgeour standing stock still, the left side of his face still stained with blood and boils, a lump of black cloak and grey hair lying at his feet.
Scrimgeour blinked up at him. "Alastor-"
"DOLOHOV!" roared Moody, "NOW!"
He turned on his heel and ran after Vance, not looking back to see if Scrimgeour had listened.
There was a shriek from somewhere behind him, a yell, the sound of glass shattering. More yells; more spells colliding with walls.
A loud thud echoed around the mansion.
Moody did not stop running.
Where once had been lingering columns of cold sunlight, now the whole manor stood steeped in shadows, the eerie atmosphere all the more magnified on the upper floors. From the glimpses he caught of the sky through grimy windows as he passed them, he saw a thin band of orange just barely visible on the distant horizon. It was also getting increasingly foggy outside.
The wood-paneled walls appeared blurred as Moody sped along hallway after hallway, following the sound of Vance's footsteps. In the distance, beyond the confines of the manor, he could hear the crash and bang of spells, shouts, and screams ringing the night air.
He could feel blood dripping down his forehead, a sharp pain shooting down his left arm every time it was jostled. Wind and screams and his own blood roared in Moody's ear, but he tried to drown it all out to listen for any sound of Vance.
There were none.
Panting, heart thundering, he continued in his search for the younger Auror, steadily avoiding the mounting pain of his body.
Eventually, he found Vance in one of the stately rooms that, judging by the rows of empty shelves, might once have been an impressive library.
A gust of chilly wind, the air laced with smoke and something more pungent, caught him off guard. Glancing around, Moody saw a human-sized gap in one of the large windows; no doubt the Death Eater had flung himself out the window. Knowing he was likely to find nothing, Moody still crossed the room and peered out the window. As he had expected, there was no sign of any cloaked, masked figure. Nor were there signs of the other Death Eaters or Aurors. The mist outside had also grown so thick by now that Moody could barely see ten yards ahead, and every last trace of the forest he'd trekked through all morning had disappeared into the fog as well.
Fully aware that it was now futile to think they'd capture any more than the two Death Eaters they'd already caught — and sincerely hoping the other Aurors had been far more successful out in the open — Moody returned his attention to Vance. She stood still, unharmed, gazing at the wall blankly. For a second, shrouded in blackness as the room was, Moody could not make out what it was about the wall that had entranced the woman so.
In three long, quick strides, Moody crossed the length of the room and came to stand beside Vance, his jaw-dropping as he took in the sight of the red markings that had transfixed her.
"This – this isn't. . ." stammered Vance, her eyes still transfixed upon the writing on the wall. "What does it even mean? What. . ."
Vance trailed off, and with a horrible, sinking feeling, the truth dawned upon Moody.
Slowly, almost sluggishly and feeling as though coordination and movement were far beyond him now, Moody turned to Vance, who seemed to have reached the same conclusion as him and was now staring back, looking as horrified as Moody felt.
"No. . ."
His whisper was lost to the wind.
The chaos raging outside stopped abruptly, all noise evaporating so rapidly that the sound of their harsh breathing could be heard echoing around the deserted library. Someone shouted — friend or foe, they did not know nor care. They heard the sound of footsteps as they bounded up the stairs, but the two Aurors in the library did not move. They could not move. They were caught, ensnared by the message that had been left for them:
The price of defiance is high,
so you shall soon learn.
Now, finally – after it was too late – Moody saw the mission for what it was. This wasn't any raid, nor was it some ambush. It was something much worse, and much simpler.
Platform 9 ¾
London, England.
Despite knowing it was best not to, and deeply resenting himself for giving in to the impulse nevertheless, Sirius scowled over his shoulder at the sight of his family, taking in their familiar, formidable presence and knowing it would be the last time for a long while. They stood huddled together several feet from him, regal as ever in their dark robes and dark hair, wearing expressions of utmost indifference. His parents were deep in conversation with his uncle, Cygnus Black, whom Sirius had not expected to see at the station; he could almost hear the silvery voice of his uncle, so like his father's — so like his own, in fact — and the way he spoke of politics and war with the characteristic lilt in his voice, halting every three words and drawing out the ends of his sentences. Even now, as he stood feet away from them, Sirius found himself falling into his old habit of following along with their speech, observing the way their hands gestured gracefully every now and then.
A movement near his parents caught Sirius' eye, and he turned his attention to Regulus. Regulus, whose last words to Sirius had been bitingly bitter and cold; Regulus who now stood stone-faced and rigid, his eyes fixed upon a spot in the distance.
Sirius followed his brother's gaze to the giant clock hanging by the magical barrier which separated the Muggle world from the Wizarding one. It was nearing 6 in the evening.
"Sirius, shall we make a move?" came Mr. Potter's gravelly tone from beside him.
Sirius nodded distractedly, his gaze still lingering upon the clock's golden hands as they glided along their path.
"Excellent," exclaimed Mr. Potter, grabbing Sirius' shoulder and turning to his son, "James, where's Lily? Euphimia and I were thinking of inviting the Evans' over for dinner tonight, just to celebrate you children finishing Hogwarts, you know. Might even convince that McKinnon boy to let Marlene and Miriam join."
Sirius glanced away and grinned at the flurry of emotions flying across James' face, excitement and terror both evident in the wide-eyed shrug he offered his father. He seemed to have lost his ability to speak, which wasn't a James that Sirius was all too familiar with. The ensuing chuckles from Mr. and Mrs. Potter, however, seemed to jolt some sense back into James who, with a shake of his head, began rambling, "Right, right, brilliant. You know, dad, I was thinking –"
But what exactly it was that James was thinking, his parents and Sirius never got the chance to find out. For at that very moment, just as the clock struck 6, a deafening bang echoed around Platform 9 ¾, and everything went dark.
A/N.
Thank you to everyone who has left reviews so far! It's so motivating to read and I love hearing from you guys. So do leave a review if you can :)
And now, to respond to some reviews:
Natto'n'aliens || thanks for the reviews, lovely! I'm so happy you're liking the story and Frank and Alice's story. I've read so many Marauders-era fanfics where Frank and Alice are school sweethearts and end up married, so I decided I wanted to do something a little different for these two this time around. Hence them meeting after Hogwarts. I'm kind of really excited for their story which has its own cute subplot. You'll see!
Allytb420 || I knowwwww it's taking forever for Juliette to meet up with everyone, but I really wanted to set up the War before we get to introducing her into it. The War has been going on for years by the time this story starts (and the Marauders graduate Hogwarts), and I felt it necessary to set up the Wizarding World as I imagine it to have been at the time. Looking at my notes, I think starting chapter 14 or 15, we begin to see much more of Juliette and all these individual plotlines start to align. So just hang in there with me for a while longer :)