The Paths We Tread
Chapter 2:
Mouth Be Silent
Zauber Centre
Bavaria, Germany
July 23, 1996
The steady ticking of the clock hands echoed through the room.
Harry shifted nervously on his couch, his eyes scanning over the dim room. The strange man – something-or-other Brand – had led them into the pitch black bookshop and through a wall, and somehow, they had ended up in a circular, concrete room filled with display cases and shelves. He glanced over at the nearest case, grimacing as his eyes took in a shriveled head resting on a pillow.
Harry quickly averted his eyes, turning to look straight ahead. He didn't like this place. Beside him, Charlie coughed quietly, and Harry's mouth twisted in a grin.
It was just past midnight, and they had been sitting now for over an hour as the spellcrafter ripped out book after book, trinket after trinket from his display cases. Muttering to himself, the man had put the vast majority of it back before moving on. Charlie had tried twice to ask the man what he was about, only to receive a blistering glare from Brand, and a warning look from Bill. The dragon keeper finally subsided, throwing himself back against the couch in a huff.
Harry wasn't going to lie, that did make him feel a bit better about his own bafflement. At least someone was as uncomfortable as he.
Across the room, Brand was rummaging through a cabinet, tossing things onto the floor as he muttered darkly to himself. Bill stood nearby, watching the pile of items grow. The cursebreaker looked entranced, his eyes widening as he stared at the items.
"A five-point field distruptor?" said Bill incredulously, leaning down to reach towards a small metal disc in the shape of a star, and Brand shot him a poisonous look. Bill straightened quickly, clearing his throat and stepping back, though his eyes kept darting towards the little metal disc.
"1981, 1981…" the spellcrafter was muttering, and he dug out a flat stone box, covered in dust and dirt. The man set the box down on a nearby table with a thud, and a musty cloud shot up from beneath the box. Harry choked back a cough.
"Nearly 15 years to grow," the man said angrily, looking at Bill earnestly. "15 years, leeching and feeding and – " Shaking his head, the man muttered, "Necromancy could have fixed it, maybe, but now?"
As Harry watched, Bill's fascinated air disappeared. The red haired man hardened instantly, his eyes going shadowed and his face blank. "What are you saying?" the cursebreaker demanded softly, and Harry sat up straighter.
He had learned over the course of the summer that the quieter Bill's voice became, the angrier the man was.
He'd never heard that tone directed at him, and he never wanted to.
Charlie was looking back and forth between the pair, his eyes narrowed. The dragon keeper had gone stiff as a board beside Harry, a strange, nearly frantic, energy coming off him in waves. Harry turned his head to stare at the other man – Bill, he was beginning to understand, but Charlie? Charlie was an unknown.
"You know," Brand growled, shooting Bill a meaningful look. "Why anyone let it go this long – the fuck was that old fool thinking? And why didn't your father call me years ago?"
Charlie was shooting Bill a confused look, but his elder brother was still staring at the spellcrafter, an unnatural stillness to his form. Harry looked back and forth between Bill, Charlie, and the new man, his brow furrowed. A horrible feeling began to settle in the pit of his stomach.
Hell, he'd had a good week, comparatively speaking. He supposed it was well past time for something to go pear-shaped.
After several moments of silence, when it became clear Bill wasn't going to speak, Charlie cleared his throat. "Harry only just recently came under our care," the dragon keeper replied, and Brand snorted, never looking away from Bill. The pair seemed to be locked in a strange staring contest. With a momentary panic, Harry wondered if they were communicating through Legilimency. Did Bill know Legilimency?
"Way I hear it, he's been best friends with your kid brother for five years now, and under your parents' roof for an extended period at least twice," the spellcrafter scoffed. "That aside, boy's been at Hogwarts for five years running now, and Dumbledore knew where he was every minute before that."
Bill still had not spoken, and Harry was starting to become genuinely afraid. The blank expression had lifted from Bill's face, his brow furrowed as a look of absolute grief stole across his features.
"Bill, what - ? " Harry asked shakily, but Brand snorted and reached forward, grabbing Bill by the shoulders and shaking the other man roughly. Charlie stood abruptly, so Harry did as well, but Bill held out a hand and shook his head. Charlie stepped back, his face twisted in anger, as Brand spoke quietly for the first time.
"You're a cursebreaker, son," the spellcrafter almost whispered. "How could you not see it?"
At this, Bill let out a shaky breath. He finally moved to defend himself, simply raising his left arm and brushing Brand's hold aside. The older man let go without hesitation, stepping back and watching the cursebreaker. Harry's sense of foreboding only grew as Bill moved across the room and all but collapsed into an arm chair, dropping his head down in his hands. The older man leaned back against the table, his arms folded across his chest and a pitying look on his scarred face, and just stood there watching Bill.
Harry shot a questioning look at Charlie, but the other Weasley looked as confused as he was. "Okay," Harry said finally "what is going on?"
But Bill didn't seem to hear him, and Brand's eyes flickered his way for a second, then back to Bill.
"Is it too late?" Bill asked hoarsely. The eldest Weasley son sounded like he had swallowed gravel, and a Harry stared at his de facto guardian.
Brand sighed heavily. "To reverse the damage? Probably. To stop it?" The man shook his head, scowled. "I don't know."
Harry's patience evaporated, and the teen glared at the others. "What the bloody hell is going on?" he asked again, more forcefully this time, and Bill sat up in his chair abruptly. The cursebreaker's eyes seemed to be staring straight ahead, flickering back and forth as if he were tracing some kind of pattern in his mind. He said nothing.
Brand shot a glance at Bill then sighed again, turning to face Harry. "Ever have any strange dreams, kid? Like you're not quite… yourself? Or feel emotions that just don't fit with what's going on around you?"
Harry stared at the man, eyes wide. "How did you know that?" he asked worriedly, and Bill shook his head. His guardian let out a strange sound, half-scoff, half-growl, and Harry glanced over at him in concern, but the man was still silent.
"That scar of yours isn't just a scar, kid," Brand replied, stomping over to his cabinet and pulling out another box. "It gives off dark magic in spades, anyone versed in the arts would feel it. And it's been sucking the life, the energy, the magic out of you for years."
The room spun, and Harry's knees almost buckled, but he managed to right himself, struggling to take a deep breath. He blinked once, twice against the spots that formed in front of his eyes, and when he looked again, Bill had finally jerked out of his trance. The cursebreaker had hold of Harry's right elbow, keeping him on his feet, and the older man carefully guided Harry to the chair he had abandoned. Once Harry was seated, he conjured another chair right next to the teen, sitting down with his elbows propped up on his legs, hands folded between his knees.
"Christ," Charlie muttered.
Harry swallowed roughly, shoving his hair back from his forehead with one shaking hand. "So this is… this is like the diary? Ginny?"
Bill nodded, and that Brand didn't ask any questions seemed to confirm Harry's suspicion of Legilimency. He knew that what happened with Ginny and Tom Riddle's diary had not been widely reported.
"Probably," Brand replied. "There's a few tests we can do to be sure."
"And can you stop it? From killing me, I mean?"
Brand shook his head with a wry smile. "It won't kill you, lad," he said, his voice a bit more gentle now. "Just keep you weakened. But yeah, if it is what I think it is… it will be hard, it will be dangerous, but I think we can pull it off."
Harry sat silently for a few moments, absorbing the shock. "So I'll suddenly get more powerful?" he asked, and Brand barked out a laugh as Bill frowned.
"Nah, kid, you're not going to suddenly become super-wizard or Merlin. Gone is gone," the spellcrafter said simply. "You won't have a power increase, you just – might not struggle quite as much with your general affinity to magic."
"You're no slouch as it is, Harry," Charlie said with a slight – albeit somewhat forced – grin. "Do you think every 13 year old can drive off a hundred dementors by himself?"
Harry shrugged. "Dumbledore, and Voldemort," he said simply.
"Have studied for decades, both of them under brilliant minds," Bill said shortly. "Each of them has been honing their craft for ages. Hell, Dumbledore has been studying for as many decades as you've lived years."
Harry flinched. "But I – "
"Do not have to do anything alone." Bill turned his head and stared steadily at Harry, as though daring the teen to contradict him. Harry sighed, nodded, and swiped impatiently at his hair again.
"So what," he trailed off, swallowing again. He steered himself, looked up, and met Brand's eerie gaze. "What do I have to do?"
The spellcrafter scowled again, shooting a glare at Bill. "Your blasted father," the man muttered half-heartedly. "I haven't taken on a fucking student for years, not after what happened to Pan." He shook his head again, sighed heavily, then reached down and pulled out the metal disc Bill had been staring at before. He flipped the disc through the air to Bill, who caught it by reflex, staring at the item once more before sticking it carefully in his pocket.
"Follow me, boys," Brand said calmly, and with a wave of his wand, a set of stairs appeared in the corner, a trapdoor shimmering into sight on the ceiling.
Harry just stared at the new addition, then turned to stare at Brand.
This bloke was paranoid as all get out, and Harry seriously hoped that those stairs weren't leading them all straight into a trap.
Little Hangleton Cemetery
Little Hangleton, England
July 23, 1996
Thomas was frustrated.
With a log-suffering sigh, the self-styled Lord Voldemort stood by the edge of the cemetery, his long, spindly fingers steepled together as he looked out over the graves. The sun had yet to rise, and there was an appropriate air of melancholy throughout the graveyard. Thomas loved graveyards, felt at home among the silence.
How fitting it was, that he had been reborn in one.
"You are certain?" he asked again, and Lucius prostrated himself immediately.
"My Lord," the aristocrat replied, and Thomas winced as the man's nasally, whining tones hit his ears. "We've checked the calculations three times. Rookwood is confident that we have the correct ingredients. Plans proceed apace."
Thomas nodded regally, his gaze running absently along his worthless father's grave. "We shall have to do a test run," he stated. "Pick an appropriate location. Somewhere with a large Muggle population."
Malfoy gave him a bloodthirsty grin, and Thomas chuckled.
"And what of Dumbledore?" the blond man asked softly, and Pettigrew stiffened behind him.
Ah, dear Wormtail, Thomas thought with amusement, so very fearful you are. He breathed in the stench of the small, beady-eyed man's terror, and let out a deep, satisfied sigh.
"I will not adjust my plans for the dearly beloved Headmaster," Thomas said simply. "Killing him is not enough – it would simply make him a martyr. I must reveal his weakness to the world before he is removed from the board."
"And have you a way to do that?" Malfoy asked sternly, and Thomas trained his gaze on the man.
Malfoy immediately flushed, backing up a step as he murmured, "My Lord, I – "
"You forget yourself, Lucius," Thomas murmured, fingering his wand warningly. The Lord of Wiltshire's eyes shot to the wand, and the man swallowed. Thomas bit back a smile. "But an unintelligent servant is fit for nothing but cannon fodder, and you, my dear Lucius, are far more valuable than that. Mind you remember your place."
The man nodded quickly, stared at the Dark Lord questioningly, then swept away, his steps even and sure so as to disguise his sudden hurry.
Thomas stood silently, staring absently after the man, as Pettigrew passed him a vial filled with a dark, viscous fluid. The Dark Lord uncorked the vial and swallowed the potion in one gulp, sparks racing across his skin as his blood warmed, and his eyes flashed. He let out another sigh of contentment, closing his eyes as he felt the power spark through him.
Ah, Severus. He really did owe the Potions Master a marvelous treat. Perhaps he would find the boy a pet from the Hogwarts roster.
He stepped forward, tracing one long finger over his father's grave. Looking out over the headstones that surrounded him, he whispered, "You'll all wake soon. Won't that be fun?"
He spun on his heel, vanishing from the cemetery with a silent Pettigrew right behind him. And as they left, the moon cleared from behind the clouds.
In the dim light, the battered form of Elphias Doge hung from the monument of Tom Riddle Sr, his eyes wide and unseeing.
Raffles Chelsea Nightclub
London, England
July 23, 1996
The doorman shivered as he stood in the darkness, his back to the entrance as he peered out onto the street.
Crikey, he hated this job. Sure, as his mates said, he got to see some fine-looking birds pass through, and famous ones at that – but they walked by him like he was invisible, their chins raised and their eyes averted as if they would catch something just by glancing his way. It was boring, it was lonely, and it was hours just standing there.
Just quit, then, Erik! his girl's shrill voice echoed in his mind, and he huffed a laugh. He was.
Really, he was going to quit. He meant it this time. First thing tomorrow.
He shifted again, stamped his feet. The temperature seemed to be plummeting, and he glanced up at the sky. No sign of a storm incoming, no wind… why in the blazes was it suddenly so cold?
He looked up and down the street, his eyes peeled, but he saw nothing – no, wait.
Over near the curb, next to a silver sedan, a woman lay sprawled on the ground, her sparkly gold dress riding up her thighs. The woman's eyes were open, and but she wasn't moving.
Erik ran forward, dropping to his knees beside the woman – Amber something or other, he recognized absently, from that new alien film – and reached for her shoulder, shaking her urgently. "Miss," he whispered. "Miss?"
The woman's upper body jostled as he shook her, but she didn't blink. Didn't react. Erik went cold.
A seizure? No, didn't they usually jerk around during one of those? Maybe a stroke?
He let out a shaky breath, his brow furrowing in confusion as the air crystallized before his eyes. Standing carefully, he pulled out his walkie to radio for help, when suddenly he heard it.
A sick, rattling breath, coming from just behind him. A scaly, gnarled hand rested on his shoulder, and Erik spun around, tripping over the woman in his haste and landing roughly on her side. Through the sudden fog in his mind, he heard the snapping sound of a breaking bone. Moving as if in slow motion, he looked down at the woman on whom he had fallen. Blood was bubbling up between her lips, and still she didn't move.
He looked up, startled, eyes scanning the street for whatever had touched him, whatever he'd heard.
Nothing.
Nothing but his wild imagination, and now he was pretty sure he had killed a girl.
Despair started to creep into his mind, and Erik carefully raised himself from the ground, easing around the woman – as if that would help her now – and stood. He leaned against the car a moment, trying to calm his racing heart.
Scaly hands grasped the sides of his face, that rattling breath sounded again, and Erik knew no more.
Banks of the River Ness
Inverness, Scotland
July 23, 1996
Doug shoved his hair back from his face with a tired sigh, his hands trembling in the early-morning chill. With a muttered oath, he fumbled with the ropes anchoring his fishing boat to the docks, grinning as they finally slipped loose.
No more drinking the night before going out on the river, he declared to himself.
With careful movements, he stepped aboard The Cecilia and revved the motor, muttering darkly again as it clicked before starting. If he didn't get a good haul this run, he wouldn't be able to replace his motor, and then what would he do?
But she started, and she powered through the water as he patted her side, coming to a slow stop about 50 feet out from the bank.
He dropped his nets over the sides, cast his reels, and leaned back, his eyes steady on the water. Flexing his fingers, he pulled a ginger out of the cooler and popped the top, taking a long swig.
Then he carefully set down the ginger, flipped a switch on his boombox, and smiled as the haunting sounds of Beethoven drifted over the water.
As he watched, a low, thick fog rolled in, and he cursed as the temperature seemed to drop 5 degrees in as many minutes. He scowled as he tried to focus in on his nets, watching them carefully for any movement.
A ringing began to sound in his ears, quiet at first, then slowly getting louder. The face of his beautiful Cecilia floated in his mind and he cringed.
"Play with me, Daddy!" her voice echoed, and he scowled in the rearview mirror.
"Not now, sweetie, I'm trying to concentrate!" he snapped back. Cecilia pouted back at him, her little hands working at her seat belt straps.
"But Daddy!"
Doug shook his head harshly, pressing his palms over his eyes as he drew a sharp breath. Don't, he told himself. Don't think about –
The air grew even more chilly, and Cecilia's voice more insistent. "Daddy, I want to drive!" Cecilia shouted in his mind, and she pulled loose from her restraints, shoving up into his seat.
"Cici, no!" he yelled, and she banged the wheel with her elbow as he pushed her back. A loud horn sounded –
Doug let out a quiet sob as the air around him turned to ice. He fell limply to the floor of his boat, his eyes glassy and staring.
The black-clad figure glided away over the water, the river turning to ice beneath it, and the Cecilia continued to bob in the river.
Abershire Home
Devon, England
July 23, 1996
Ruth sat up in bed, her eyes wide and startled, as the sound of her baby wailing rang through the house. She shot to her feet, ignoring her husband's whine, and grabbed her dressing gown as she raced from the room.
She had been a new mother only a month, and though the doctors told her she needed to let her baby learn to calm himself, she didn't care. If Evan needed her, Evan got her.
She moved quickly through the dark hallway, pushing open the nursery door as her baby's cries cut off. It was freezing in that room, she thought idly, stepping over to fiddle with the thermostat.
"It's okay, baby," she cooed, moving over to the side of the crib.
She looked down – and screamed.
As she pressed her hands to her heart, staring down at her baby's wide, unseeing eyes, a shadow swept over her.
Central Manchester University Hospital
Manchester, England
July 23, 1996
Audrey Munroe just wanted to go home.
The nurse sighed as she hung her clipboard back on the wall, pulling at her ponytail with a grumble.
She had been on-duty for twenty-six hours and counting.
Her feet hurt, her back hurt, her eyes hurt.
With another sigh, she squeezed her eyes shut, then opened them and spun on her heel. Time for another pass of her rounds.
She moved through the halls with robotic precision, peeking in every door, checking on every sleeping patient, checking saline and medication levels and vitals at each bed. With a smile, she got to Ms Cassandra's room and stepped in to see the elderly lady peering at her suspiciously. One hand was wrapped around the pendant at her neck, as usual, and a deep frown marred her face. Audrey slid the door shut behind her and met the old woman's gaze with a smile.
Batty though the old crone may be, she never failed to entertain. A grin teased at Audrey's lips as she thought about the many fortunes the old woman had told her. Her personal favorite? That Audrey would meet a soldier in a battle against good and evil, and would narrowly escape death only to find true love.
Audrey chuckled to herself. She'd had enough bad luck with cupid to realize that her "true love" was her dog, Midas.
"Missus Cassandra," she asked chipperly, "how are you feeling?"
The old woman stared at her beedily. "It's cold," she croaked, and Audrey smiled sympathetically. Crossing the room, she gathered up one of the long, colorful throws over the guest chair – which is never used, she thought sadly – and spread the blanket over Miss Cassandra's legs.
"There," she said softly, patting the woman's wrinkled hand. "That better?"
The old woman sighed, her piercing blue eyes fixed on Audrey's face. "You foolish, foolish child," the woman whispered. "I am sorry."
"What?" Audrey asked, pulling back slightly, and the woman jerked forward, grabbing her wrist with surprising strength. Around them, the lights flickered, and Audrey whipped around as she heard a scream echo down the hall. "Missus Cassandra, what – "
The old woman ignored her, pulling insistently on Audrey's arm until the young woman bent down, faces level. "Go now," the woman wheezed. "Go north. Find a town called Hogsmeade, you will be safe there!"
With a grunt, Missus Cassandra pulled the pendant from around her neck, pressing it into Audrey's hand. Audrey stared down at the necklace, a tiny, stone book, shivering as the temperature dropped to nothing. A voice in the back of her mind was shrilly asking what was happening, and Audrey swallowed nervously as she met the crazy old woman's gaze.
Cassandra looked back at her with more clarity than she had ever seen on the old woman's face. As the two stared at each other, a thud sounded in the background, and Audrey jumped as the door slammed open. Marcus, the night guard, fell through the door and landed crumpled on the ground, his brown eyes wide and unseeing. Audrey cried out in shock and Cassandra grabbed her shoulder with one hand, tugging the girl to face her again.
"Go!" she hissed. "Go now. Find the village."
A sudden chill shot through Audrey's body as the air around her turned to ice, and a rattling sound echoed through the air. "Go, child! Out the window!" the old lady screeched, and Audrey closed her eyes in panic.
She gripped tightly to the pendant in her hand, opening her eyes as the sharp edges cut into her palm and drew blood. The small book charm glowed, a misty golden light surrounding it Looking up, she turned to stare at Missus Cassandra – and gasped. A dark, cloaked figure was gliding through the hall outside – and one was in the room, standing over Missus Cassandra's bed.
The thing turned, its eyeless face staring in her direction, and Audrey froze.
"GO!" Cassandra screamed, and Audrey spun, racing out the connecting door and through the next room. As she broke into the far-right hallway, another cloaked figure glided out of a room three doors back, and she gasped as she raced through the hall, dodging supply carts and abandoned walkers. She jumped over sprawled bodies as the voice in her head screamed in protest, her eyes swimming with tears. She just had to make it to the end of the hall –
She skidded to a halt as one of the cloaks appeared before her, her eyes wide and tears staining her cheeks. The thing drew a rattling breath, its horrible grey mouth gaping open. With a cry, Audrey pitched herself to the right, slamming through another door. She stumbled to a halt as she found herself in the infants ward, her mind screaming with horror as she stared around the room.
A sudden thud sounded behind her, and Audrey jumped, spinning around. Nothing. With a shaky breath, she looked down at the book charm. It had stopped glowing, she noticed, and with a shaking hand, she secured the pendant around her neck, her breath coming in choking sobs.
The room was dark, and missing the bone-deep chill she had felt around those things. With an uncertain step, she moved forward towards the grouping of bassinets. None of the babies were making a sound, so she was terrified to even look, and yet –
As Audrey gazed at the still babies, a dozen tiny boys and girls staring unseeing at the ceiling, she felt true hate spring to life.
A light flickered in the corner, and Audrey spun on her heel, watching the double doors. After a moment of stillness, she moved through the room, her mind still screaming in horror, and went out the other side.
She made it through devastated corridors with no resistance, moving quietly down the stairs to the main floor. Pushing open the emergency door carefully, she peered out into the lobby. One more level to the exit, she thought with a sob, you can do this!
The lights were still on, and she saw no cloaks. Moving forward carefully, she crept towards the nurses station, her eyes sweeping her surroundings constantly. Another cry bubbled through her lips as she stared at Debbie. The night receptionist was still in her chair, pen still in her hand, staring blankly ahead.
"Deb?" she whispered shakily, and the woman didn't move, didn't turn, just sat there staring blankly ahead. As she watched, the fan behind the woman turned and pointed directly at her chair, and a wheel slipped. Debbie fell, landing with her head on the counter, and stayed there, eyes still staring glassily ahead.
Audrey closed her eyes helplessly. She skirted the counter and reached for her friend, carefully lowering the dead weight to lie on the floor. The woman's curly red hair bunched under her head, and Audrey reached up to rearrange it.
You've cracked, she told herself, and pushing to her feet, she looked down at Debbie.
"I"m sorry," she whispered. She looked around the lobby as the lights began to flicker. A janitor, Mitch, lay slumped against the cafeteria doors, his cart abandoned a few feet away. One of the doctors, Ryan, was crumpled on the ground not far from the elevator. The voice in the back of her mind started screaming again, and she dove for the intercom.
"Is anybody alive in here?" she shouted into the microphone. "Anyone? Answer me!"
She fell back against the counter, breathing heavy, and stared towards the stairs. Wrapping her right hand around the pendant, she stood perfectly still, the only sound her labored breaths.
Nothing. A dead silence fell over the hospital, and as she watched, her breath turned to cold fog. With a cold dread in her stomach, she spun to stare out the bank of windows to her right, outside which lay the parking lot – and her car.
Three cloaks appeared on the stairs, and Audrey ran. She dove for the janitor's cart, landing on her feet on the top, and the cart skidded across the floor towards the windows. They hit with a crash and the glass shattered, Audrey crying out as she was flung through the window.
Heart in her throat, she landed on her right arm in the bushes, gasping as a sharp pain bloomed instantly in her shoulder. She shoved to her feet and kicked free from the bushes, her eyes wide as she stared up at the broken windows above her.
The cloaks began to glide down through the air – flying – and Audrey broke into a run. Stumbling as she stepped in a pothole, she wrenched her ankle and gasped again, hobbling as fast as she could towards her Volvo savior. Another misstep and she fell to the ground, crying out as her leg bent at an angle.
The things were moving closer, the ground freezing beneath her –
"Hey!" a voice screamed, and Audrey whipped her head around to see a thin, red-haired man standing a few feet away. The man was breathing heavily, his face flushed, and stood with nothing but a thin stick in his hand.
The cloaks turned.
No, Audrey wanted to say, run.
Her voice came out in a croak.
The man looked pale, but he set his mouth in a grim line and raised the stick as the cloaks glided towards him. His hand shook as he thrust the stick forward –
"Expecto Patronum!" the man shouted, and a silvery light shot from his wand, racing towards the cloaks. Audrey's hand turned white around the charm as she grasped it as hard as she could, and as she watched, the light collided with the cloaks, and the creatures screamed in rage. The red-headed man pitched to the side, racing towards her, and threw himself to the ground beside her.
"I'm Percy," the man gasped, breathing heavily. "This will come as a shock. Hold on."
Audrey screamed as the world vanished around her.
Lord Voldemort stepped through the doorway, his lips pinched in distaste as he looked around the room. Cassandra Vablatsky peered back at him, her Dementor sentry still hovering by her bedside.
The Dark Lord crossed to her side, settling easily in the arm chair by her bed. Behind him, Fenrir Greyback slinked into the room. "Cassie," he said lightly, a small smile on his face. "It's been a long time."
The woman harrumphed, staring at him with narrowed eyes. "Beware, Tom," she croaked. "You have gone too far."
His smile faded, and he leaned forward, his red eyes flashing. "You have something of mine. I want it back," he hissed.
The old woman cackled, her laugh turning into a rasping cough. "Not yours," she gasped out. "Never was, and never will be!"
Lord Voldemort sighed, looking down at the old woman. "You did me a kindness once," he said quietly, "so I return the favor. If you give me what I seek, your death shall be quick."
The old crone spat in his face.
Looking up, eyes flashing, Voldemort turned to the Dementor. "Go. Keep the Order busy. Take a group."
The Dementor glided from the room, and Voldemort turned back to the Seer.
"Whatever fate brought you here," he whispered as he drew his wand, "to this wide-open Muggle hospital... I am glad for it." With a smile, he slammed the doors behind himself, closing them in, and the old woman began to scream.
The Burrow
Ottery St Catchpole
Devon, England
July 23, 1996
They landed with a thud, and the woman cried out as her leg bent again. Percy shot to his feet, his hands shaking, and turned to help her up, sliding her arm over his shoulder and propping her against his side. When he looked up, his mum was racing across the yard towards them, her skirts held up in one hand as she vaulted through the grass.
"Percy, oh Percy!" Molly Weasley shouted, tears streaming down her face, and she skidded to a halt, just barely stopping herself from throwing her arms around her son as she noticed the woman he was holding up. "Percy, I saw the clock and – oh my boy, my poor boy, what happened? And this dear - ?"
As if on cue, the young woman roused slightly, her head jerking up as she looked around in fright. "What – what happened?" the girl demanded shrilly. "What were those things? How did we get here? What did you do?"
Percy's mum was staring at him. "Percy," she said quietly, "you didn't."
The girl didn't seem to hear her. Shaking, she pointed at the house behind them. "We were in Manchester, two seconds ago!" she gasped, and Percy grimaced.
"You didn't seriously Apparate a Muggle here," his mum continued, her tone going dark.
"What would you have me do? Leave her to the Dementors?" Percy demanded. In a rare show of rebellion, he shouldered by his mother, ushering the panicking girl along with him. Behind him, he heard his mother sigh, then hasten after them.
"Get her in a chair," his mum said tightly. "I'll get some chocolate going. Are you - ?"
"I'm fine," Percy said quickly. "But I think she – what's your name?" He stopped suddenly, looking down at the slender, brown haired young woman hyperventilating in front of him. His wire-rimmed glasses slipped down his nose slightly, and he shoved them back up impatiently.
The girl stopped staring around herself in utter confusion long enough to give him a sharp look, as if to say Are you kidding me? She stared at Percy and he looked back at her calmly. Finally, she murmured, "Audrey."
"I think Audrey's hurt her leg," he called to his mother, and he heard clattering on the stairs as his youngest brother and his sister came down.
Audrey flinched as the pair came into the room, and Ginny immediately moved across and sat down beside her, speaking quietly and gently. Percy looked away as the girl began to sob.
Moments later, his mother came into the room with a tray of steaming hot chocolates, and Ginny lifted a mug to hand to the girl – to Audrey. The young Muggle stared at her in confusion, and Ginny quirked a grin. With a reassuring smile, his sister lifted the mug to her lips and took a sip, then held it out to Audrey. The girl took the mug hesitantly, drinking slowly for a moment before holding it in a white-knuckled grip. As she did so, Percy's mum absently waved her wand, and bandages wrapped around Audrey's leg. The girl gasped, staring back and forth between her ankle and his mum in confusion.
"Well of course, I didn't mean you should leave the girl to die," Molly Weasley sniffed. "But the Statute – oh, this is a mess."
Ron cleared his throat, and Percy turned to look at his brother. "What even happened?" The youngest son asked directly, and Percy shook his head.
"I'm not sure," he said ruefully. "I'd gotten together with a few of the boys for a pint, a toast to Oliver, you know. When we headed out, I fancied a walk to clear my head. Next thing I know, I see three Dementors, and they're chasing her. She twisted her ankle, I think, and fell, and they were almost on her."
"But how did she even see them, to know to run?" Ron questioned, and Audrey cleared her throat. Reaching down, she wrapped one hand around a book charm at her neck. Ron and Percy leaned forward to peer at the charm – it glowed with magic.
"They attacked the hospital," she said quietly. "I was with Miss Cassandra – one of my patients. Rounds," she added, "I'm a nurse. The guard collapsed and she gave me this, told me to run, to go to some town called Hogsheed? Anyway, I could feel them by the cold, but when I held onto this necklace, I could see them."
"So you ran," Ginny said gently, rubbing the girl's back.
Audrey nodded. She gasped suddenly, tears building up in her eyes, and bent over double. "Dead, they're all dead!" the Muggle girl sobbed, and Percy felt a stab of sadness. Ginny leaned forward quickly and gathered the weeping girl into her arms, meeting Percy's eyes over the girl's head.
"Ah," Ron asked hesitantly. "This patient of yours, Miss Cassandra… do you know her last name?"
Audrey sniffled, rubbing the back of her hand across her eyes. "Vablatsky, I think."
Ron and Ginny looked at each other significantly, and his mum cursed. His sister stood abruptly, and Percy moved to catch the girl as she would have toppled over. Audrey leaned into him, shock taking over, and started crying anew.
"Arthur!" his mother yelled as Ron and Ginny headed for the door without a word. "Arthur! Where is that man? I swear, he was in bed when I – "
Molly Weasley spun around and glanced at the clock in the corner, then glared when she caught sight of his father's clock hand. Muttering darkly – "working again, I swear that Cornelius Fudge," – she walked over to the Floo and threw in some powder. "Dumbledore's office!"
The headmaster's face appeared in the green flames, and Audrey fainted.
Granger Household
London, England
July 23, 1996
The steady, quiet droning of the telly sounded through the floor as Hermione sat back against her headboard, tapping a quill absently against her lips. A large tome hovered in the air before her, and she gestured absently, flicking the pages until something caught her attention. With narrowed eyes, she traced the text on the page before her and set the quill down to parchment, still reading as the instrument summarized everything on the page.
This, she thought, could be useful.
A soft chime sounded from her bedside table, and Hermione glanced over to see the small stone glowing with a steady blue light. She rolled her eyes and smiled, then said matter-of-factly to the empty room, "You know, you could come in. You don't need to hover invisible outside the window."
A sudden woosh sounded, and Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared in her window, grinning sheepishly at her as he stepped through. He set his broomstick gently against the wall and leaned back, raising an eyebrow as he looked at her.
"Who decided on the guard?" she asked with a sigh.
"Ron and Ginny," he replied, and she looked up at him in surprise. "Massive Dementor attack across England, at least four Muggle cities so far. They just want to be sure."
Hermione bit her lip, looking at the wall before she cleared her throat. Never mind that she and Harry had faced down over a hundred Dementors at only thirteen and fourteen, and come out the other side just fine. No, she needed a babysitter on the off-chance one might come by.
Hermione sighed, rubbing a hand across her eyes. That wasn't the only reason she had a guard, and she knew it. Capable witch though she was, if Voldemort was able to capture her —she knew what Harry and Ron hadn't been able to admit to themselves yet. Just like the others… if she were captured, she simply knew too much.
She quirked a look at Kingsley, then sighed again, heavily this time for effect. "You looming over there still makes me uncomfortable. Honestly, Kings, I thought we were friends."
The man stared at her blankly for several seconds before moving across the room, sitting down at her desk chair. He gazed for a moment at the small, pewter lion that sat upon her desk, and Hermione followed his eyes. Kingsley had spelled the trinket weeks ago to alert when she was about to have a flare-up. It had only gone off once so far, and she was sure they all hoped to never see it again.
But she knew better.
"What are you reading?" the Auror asked quietly, and Hermione glanced up from the text before turning another page.
"Magic-sharing rituals. Power enhancements, et cetera," she said calmly, and the burly man started.
"Hermione, that's – "
"Woefully inefficient," she murmured, and the Auror glared at her.
"Dark magic."
She stilled. With a wave of her hand, she sent the book to rest on the table by his elbow, the parchment and quill laying atop the large tome. Turning gingerly, she gazed at the Auror.
"Tell me, Kingsley," the Gryffindor girl said softly, "Do you think we will be able to end this war without killing anyone? Without ever doing anything that crosses a line?"
"I think," the man replied tersely, "that some magic comes with a price you shouldn't pay."
Hermione quirked a smile as her parents laughter floated up through the floor. "Well, luckily for you, nothing I've found so far seems at all useful. Unless I want to bolster us for a day. Although…" She trailed off, shaking her head, and Kingsley glared at her balefully.
But a terrible look crossed Hermione's face, and a sudden, insistent beeping echoed through the room. Kingsley swore as the pewter lion began to glow a sickly green, and he vaulted from the chair to catch Hermione as she slumped. He shot off his Patronus as he cupped the girl's chin, and Hermione drew in a gasping breath. Within moments, Poppy Pomfrey slammed into the room, Hermione's parents on her heels, and Kingsley looked up with a glare.
The last thing Hermione heard was his thundering voice.
"Where is Snape?"
Zauber Centre
Bavaria, Germany
July 23, 1996
Nothing, Harry decided, nothing about this night makes any sense.
He sat on a comfortable chaise, a bowl of stew and a glass of seltzer on a table beside him. The room was well-lit, and except for the chaise, it was outfitted almost like a hospital ward. Charlie was stretched out in a chair by the door, his feet crossed at the ankles and his hands folded behind his head. The stocky dragon keeper was staring absently towards the magicked window across the room, his eyes following the fluffy clouds as they shot by.
Never mind that it was barely 2 am, Harry thought idly.
Brand – who, he thought darkly, seemed to be Bill's new best friend – had all but dragged Harry into this room and pressured him into the chair, tossing him random items to catch. A small globe had made his skin crawl. A crystal ball had burned his hand badly enough it had needed healing.
A small statue of some ancient naked woman had made him want to jump off a cliff.
Bill and Brand had traded dark looks at that, then the two shot a few different spells his way – neither explaining what they were doing, which Harry did not appreciate, mind.
And then both had asked Charlie to stay with him, Bill had rummaged up some food and demanded Harry eat – as if he were hungry after all that – and the pair had disappeared from the room, arguing in hushed tones all the while.
Harry didn't know what to expect when they returned, but he was pretty sure he wouldn't like it.
And then Bill strode through the doors, his face twisted like he had just swallowed s lemon. Brand followed, arguing with Arthur Weasley.
"Honestly, Arthur," Brand was saying, "you didn't have to toss me out in the cold."
The kindly Weasley patriarch's face was twisted in a hard expression Harry had never seen on the man. And in a flat voice – also unfamiliar to Harry – the man replied, "You cut off a little girl's hand."
Harry's blood ran cold.
Brand spluttered, waving his hands wildly. "She was holding the detonator!"
Arthur's kindly blue eyes were like steel as they cut over towards the other man. "She died. It wasn't necessary."
Brand huffed. "That's right. I forgot. You've never had to kill an innocent to get the job done. Lucky you."
"I've never chosen to," Arthur said softly, and with that, he turned his back on Brand. Looking down at Harry, he smiled. "Hello, son," the kindly man – that Harry had thought he knew – greeted him, and Harry stared.
Bill hissed an angry breath through his teeth, and Harry's eyes shot to the eldest Weasley son. The man's father smiled calmly, and Harry turned his gaze back to the quiet, unassuming man who had welcomed Harry to his home four summers before.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Arthur murmured as Brand shook his head and moved off towards a tray table. "This is going to be a long and painful night."
"What – " Harry started, then he paused, clearing his throat. He waited just a moment, watching Arthur closely as the man took off his slightly rumpled robes and folded them carefully over a nearby chair. Underneath, the man wore simple slacks and a plain white button down, and his sleeves were rolled up slightly at the cuffs.
Altogether, aside from the slightly more pressed look of his clothes, the man didn't look so different than the one he had known for years. Then Harry realized – the man was holding himself differently. Gone was the tired slouch of the overworked, hen-pecked, long-suffering and mild-mannered husband and father of seven. In his place stood a calm and quietly confident man, who gave off an air that wouldn't feel out of place on Moody or Kingsley.
And Bill, he noticed, looked extremely unsettled, and was watching his father like a hawk.
"Mr. Weasley," he tried again, "What is going on?"
Arthur smiled genially, the same expression Harry had seen from the man a hundred times, but something about it felt different. Sitting on a nearby chair, he clasped his hands together and leaned forward. "It seems we've all let you down again, lad," the balding man replied. "You've tested for the taint, and we should have caught it quite some time ago. Indeed, I'm going to have to have words with Albus, see if I can find out how even he missed it. Merlin knows, the man has a lot on his plate, and he's not getting any younger. Even the most brilliant of us have limits," Arthur mused. "But still, best to get it all out in the open."
Bill snorted, and Charlie stared at his brother, his jaw dropping slightly, as Harry peered curiously at the cursebreaker and Arthur raised an eyebrow without turning. "Bill," the man said evenly, a hardness in his tone, and his eldest son went silent.
Silent, Harry noticed, but still watching his father's every move.
"Long ago, Harry," Brand cut in suddenly, as he bustled around over by the counter, "there was a spellcrafter who wanted to change the world, and he didn't quite have my sunny disposition."
Harry and Charlie exchanged an incredulous look as Bill and Arthur both snorted, then Bill resumed glaring at the back of his father's head. Ignoring all the byplay, Brand picked up a beaker and swirled the contents, dropping something in after a few seconds. The liquid let out a loud 'pop' and a cloud of purple smoke wafted from the top, smelling strangely like lilacs. Brand nodded to himself then withdrew another small container from a cabinet.
Looking over his shoulder at Harry, he continued. "This man fought an uprising and won, but he had come close to dying in battle, and it scared him. He decided he wanted to find a way to live forever. So he found a way to split off sections of his soul, stick them in something else."
Harry felt bile rising in his throat and a sudden panic in the back of his mind. Arthur's eyes were gazing at him steadily, and Bill brushed by his father to sit on the side of the chaise with Harry, squeezing the younger boy's shoulder.
"As long as a piece of the soul survived," Arthur continued, "the person would be tethered to life, giving him the chance to perform certain necromancy rituals to return to his body."
"So…" Harry said shakily. "So I have a piece of Voldemort inside my head?"
"It seems that way," Arthur said softly.
"And I am the one keeping him alive, giving him the chance to keep hurting people," the Potter scion concluded.
"Harry, don't look at it like – " Charlie began as Bill stiffened.
"But if I died – "
Bill exploded. "Fucking hell, kid, don't ever let me hear you say that again! Do you think your parents died to protect you so you could off yourself? Do you think Sirius did?"
Harry shrank back in his seat as Bill yelled, and Charlie watched them sadly as Brand continued to bustle around and Arthur looked nonchalantly around the room.
"Admirable though your selflessness is, Harry," the Weasley patriarch said calmly, as Bill struggled to calm himself down, "it is misplaced in this case. Your death is not necessary to resolve this issue. And indeed, while it may have been some people's plan…"
Here, he glared at Brand, "It isn't mine." He smiled at Harry gently, then shot his eldest son an amused and endeared look. "Nor, apparently, would my eldest stand for it. The two of you have grown quite close rather quickly, haven't you?"
Bill scoffed, glaring balefully at his father.
Harry looked up, meeting Arthur's eyes, as the voice in the back of his mind continued to revolt. "I put your family in danger just by being near them, didn't I?" he asked defeatedly, and Arthur gazed at him sadly.
"Don't worry about that now, Harry," Arthur urged. "We'll never know how much of what's happened was caused by this, and there's no sense rehashing the past."
He clapped the boy lightly on the shoulder, smiled, and then stood and walked over to Brand. The other man immediately scowled, gesturing wildly, and Arthur shook his head vehemently, casting a privacy spell as the other man as he began to raise his voice. Mr. Weasley moved past the other man and began gathering items from the cabinets himself, clearly at home in this strange hospital slash lab space. The spell blocked Harry and the Weasley sons from hearing any of their words, but they could see them speaking, and Charlie watched carefully, trying to read their lips.
"What the fuck, Bill?" Charlie asked, pure bafflement in his voice, and Bill shook his head.
"The spell only goes one way," the cursebreaker warned, eyes narrowed, and Charlie stared at him.
"What – why…. It's Dad!" the dragon keeper spluttered, and Bill didn't reply. Turning instead to Harry, Bill shot the boy a hesitant, regretful smile.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Bill said quietly, and Harry sighed, looking over at the older man. Between all the shocks and confusions of the evening, the extremely late hour, and his general discomfort with shows of emotion or affection, Harry really wasn't sure what to say.
"Your dad is right," he settled on finally, "You really are taking this whole guardianship thing very seriously."
Bill shot him a glare, and Harry grinned. "Incorrigible," Bill muttered, shaking his head. After a moment, the cursebreaker frowned. "Too many people, Harry," he said. "Too many people have just expected you to fall on the chopping block, or dive in front of the curse, or solve all their problems. They shut you out or they shut you in. The more time I spent around you, the more I saw it." He looked away, eyed trained on the magicked windows. "I wanted to help you long before this summer, I just didn't know how to even begin."
Harry swallowed convulsively, squeezing his eyes shut. As the boy struggled to find his balance, Bill looked up, only to lock eyes with his father, standing beside them with a strange, sad look on his face. Arthur Weasley cleared his throat, reached out a hand towards Bill's shoulder – thought better of it, and pulled his hand back.
"You're a good man, Bill," he said softly to his eldest son. "Never doubt that."
Bill looked at his father silently, then sighed. "So what now?" he asked, and Arthur let his son change the subject as Harry snapped back to attention.
"Now, I hold him down while Brand removes the taint."
"No," Bill said immediately, blue eyes flashing, and Harry felt a chill come over the air. "I'll do it."
"Son, you can't," Brand said calmly, and Harry glared at the man heatedly. He wasn't sure he wanted a man who would chop a little girl's hand off to get near him and do anything.
"Like hell," Bill snarled, but his father cut him off.
"Son, I know you're angry at me right now for keeping things from you, and I understand. And we will talk later," the Weasley patriarch said, a hint of impatience in his tone. "But this is going to get dicey, and Harry needs you in his corner. I won't let you take yourself away from him. You've clearly started to build a foundation here." Shooting his son a sad look, Mr. Weasley said quietly, "No matter what you may think right now… surely you realize I would never hurt Harry."
Bill subsided, something terrible flashing across his face, but it was gone in an instant. Harry looked at Bill, at Mr. Weasley who stood there, utterly expressionless, at Charlie, who was swinging between confusion and anger. As he watched, Bill nodded roughly.
Arthur let out a sigh, then turned to Brand. "Take a Pepper Up if you must," he muttered. "This is probably going to take a while."
"I'll be in the room with you, Harry," Bill said earnestly, squeezing the teen's shoulder, and Harry shot him a grateful look.
"Actually," Arthur said quietly, "you can't."
And before Harry could react, Mr. Weasley had jabbed his wand forward, and Bill and Charlie both vanished from the room with a shout.
"Fuck, Arthur, I think that boy just might commit patricide if you keep it up," Brand chuckled, drawing a slender knife from a drawer.
"You're obscene," Arthur said flatly, then let out a weary sigh as Harry eyed Brand's knife nervously. "He'll be alright."
He sounded like he was trying to convince himself.
"Will you?" Brand snorted. "I had a chance to do a quick eval before you got here. Your boy? He's good, Arthur. Better than you or I at his age."
"Bill is nothing like you," Arthur said with a sudden weariness, and Harry vehemently agreed.
The other man just grinned like a shark.
"Best buckle up, kid," Brand said gruffly as Arthur rolled up his sleeves. "We're in for a rough night."
Somewhere in Scotland
July 23, 1996
"Of course, my Lord," Snape murmured, kneeling impassively to kiss the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. He stood in a smooth motion and swept from the chamber, robes billowing around him as he walked. It was a five minute walk to the point outside the wards, and he could not spare a second.
Shacklebolt's bloody Patronus had come at a wonderfully opportune time. The Dark Lord had been in the middle of demanding his report when the Auror's summons came, frantically reporting that Granger had had another relapse. Snape stood silently before his lord as Malfoy and Greyback congratulated a smirking Dolohov, as the Dark Lord praised Snape for walking the line between curing and tormenting the girl.
There were plans for Hermione Granger, after all, but the Dark Lord wanted her to suffer all the same.
He hit the edge of the wards and spun on his heel, dropping just outside the Hogwarts gates –
And Severus Snape broke into a run. He hit the front steps and slammed the double doors open, just narrowly missing Shacklebolt. A sneer twisted Snape's thin lips. Of course, the Auror wouldn't miss a chance to castigate him.
"Where have you been?" the Auror demanded, falling into step beside Snape as they made their way to the hospital wing.
"Terribly sorry," Snape replied. "Next time, I'll simply tell Voldemort he has to wait, I have to go save his mortal enemy's best friend."
The Auror simply glared at him. "She's – "
"Calm yourself," Snape said drolly, "Granger is not dying tonight."
Then Poppy's summons hit him, and with no thought to Shacklebolt, he made the next two flights of stairs and three corridors in under five minutes. He stalked into the hospital ward, ignoring Dumbledore and Minerva, and made his way straight to the girl's bed, glancing for a moment at Poppy hovering over the girl.
"Her ratings are over 80%," the mediwitch said frantically, and Snape shot her a quelling look as he raised his wand, skimming it up the length of the girl's prone form.
Poppy fell silent. Talented mediwitch though she might be, here, he was the expert.
Snape nodded sharply to himself as the readings came back, and he looked up at Poppy dismissively. "Stand back," he demanded, and the woman shot him an uneasy look, but took four steps backwards.
The Potions Master immediately drew a circle around the bed with his wand, a shimmering dark curtain springing to life and blocking himself and the girl from sight. He heard Shacklebolt shout in protest and smirked, flicking his wand once more to put up a silencing spell.
Reaching into his robes, he withdrew two vials, one with a thick, viscous red liquid, and one with a golden sheen. He reached down and gently forced the girl's mouth open, pouring the potions down the girl's throat, then tapped his own wrist with his wand.
Remember to thank the Dark Lord for being a test subject, he thought idly as his wrist split open, blood flowing freely. He set his wand down on the table carefully – he didn't need it for this part – and leaned over the still girl, pressing his bloodied wrist to her lips. A sense of irony washed over him and he struggled not to laugh. The vampire rumors would start all over again if anyone could have seen through the privacy field.
A long stream of Latin and Romanian spilled from his lips as the man held his wrist against the girl's mouth. His eyes fluttered shut as the magic reached a high point, and the air around them turned dark and heavy.
He could smell rot, and sulfur, and Severus Snape felt perdition reaching through the veil.
With a final whispered spell, Snape reached down and pressed his hand to Granger's neck, fingers over her pulse as he commanded her very blood. The book he had borrowed from the Dark Lord's own collection had been clear – this would be enough to slow the poison. It would still build, and it might still kill her, but if her treatments were followed correctly, she would likely be okay.
Likely.
And if the spell had a few – side effects – well, who would know how they came to pass?
A whimper suddenly sprung from the girl's lips, and Snape looked down at her, his dark eyes glittering, and he almost –
No.
He stepped back, rearranging the folds of his robes, and picked his wand up from the bedside table. He quickly removed the traces of blood from the girl's lips, and healed his wrist, before stepping back and setting a couple empty vials by the bed, quickly conjuring the IV contraption.
As far as anyone else was concerned, he had improved the formulation for her treatments. And with none of them, even Granger, knowing what he had done –
He glanced around the scene quickly, shot another look down at Granger's face – her color was already coming back, he noted with no small amount of smugness. That book was good for something after all.
His eyes lingered on her still form, but Snape wrenched himself away, banished the curtains and the silencing spell, and stepped back, wrapping the IV lines back around the cart. With a quick wave of his wand, he banished the contraption back to his rooms, and stalked from the room as the others rushed forward.
He shouldered by Shacklebolt as he left the infirmary, aware of the man's eyes following him from the room. Without looking back, he ducked through a tapestry just down the corridor, and emerged two floors down. He made his way quickly to the dungeons and passed his own quarters, continuing down into the lower levels.
Fifteen minutes of traversing the dark cell block found him in his own little hideaway. With a glance behind himself, and a quick spell to be sure he was alone, Snape tapped the stones of the wall in the fourth cell back, and stepped through the opening, sealing the room shut behind himself.
He definitely needed to cool off after that.
The Rookery
Ottery St. Catchpole
Devon, England
July 23, 1996
Luna sat quietly on the roof, her eyes trained on the stars. She'd never been a sound sleeper, but especially not tonight, not when two of her friends struggled to cling to life. Not when she was afraid.
The blonde girl flinched as she felt another flash of searing heat build in her veins, and she cried as the feeling vanished as quickly as it came. Hermione was a very private person, she knew, and she wouldn't like it if she knew Luna could feel every pain she could.
So Luna, of course, would never tell. She just hoped Hermione told everyone soon, that she was sick. Pretending not to know was so very hard.
She frowned as a shadow loomed over her friend in her mind. Luna knew that shadow was familiar, she just couldn't quite –
Then Harry's ragged scream echoed in her mind. All other thoughts vanished as she focused on the Gryffindor boy, and she sensed a friendly hand, the hand rubbing reassuringly on his shoulder even as the hand held Harry down. A searing pain in her forehead and Luna felt as though she were going to be sick, and she gasped for breath as the wind was knocked out of her. She balled her shaking hands into fists, chest heaving, eyes screwed shut as she struggled not to scream –
"Luna!" Neville's frantic voice broke through the fog in her mind, and as she pitched to the side and started to fall, her friend dragged her back from the edge.
Luna felt another searing flash in her forehead, heard Neville asking her what was happening – then everything went black.
~*~ALIBI