A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long to get out. You might want to count on the next one taking about as long, as it'll be the next-to-last one, probably. ^^ Anyway, things are REALLY starting to speed up -- this is an action packed chapter, but also a sad one. A million thanks to my faithful beta-reader, athena_arena, who puts up with me e-mailing her for plot help! :) Enjoy!
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From the soft chair next to the window, Mr. Douglass stared out into the mountains. If he squinted a bit, he could just make out white dots against the otherwise brilliant green of the mountainside. The same green Mrs. Douglass's eyes had been, he thought sadly. So green you half wondered if perhaps, when the world was being created, God hadn't become a little bit bored and flung down a bright spot of color, just to mystify the humans who would later see it. He sighed, remembering those amazing eyes.

The sheep ran off beyond the wizened man's vision, and his thoughts turned to the pure lamb he had witnessed being slaughtered. It had been long ago, so very long ago, but Mr. Douglass hadn't forgotten. A fact which would later haunt another...

The day was a wet one; the heavens had opened up, coating the city with chilling rain. The same rain slicked the asphalt on the roads so that cars flew by like wet soap, and were just as hard to control. Johnston was on his way to a meeting. In fact, he was quite late, and sped along the road like a cheetah closing in on its prey. Mr. Douglass, forty years younger and cutting an elegant figure, sat beside him and glanced at his wristwatch every few seconds.

"Damnit!" muttered Johnston, "we're going to be late, late, late!" He punctuated every repetition with a rev of the engine. Mr. Douglass nodded, agreeing.

"Hurry up, then, why don't you?" he said irritably. Looking at the clock once more, Johnston really stepped on the gas. The rain almost completely obstructed his view, and the cars coming in the other directions reminded him of an impressionist's painting viewed closely. He quickly checked the speedometer -- they were easily going seventy miles per hour, far above the speed limit of forty-five.

A split second before impact, Mr. Douglass saw her. She was a girl of about ten or so, crossing the street without looking quite carefully enough. Without realizing she was about to be hit by a car going much too fast to stop. Mr. Douglass tried to warn her; to tell her to move! Quickly! But even as he filled his lungs with air, they were upon her. There was a deafening smack, and then ... silence. The little figure crumpled as if hit by a giant wrecking ball. Which she had been. For they were two giant wrecking balls, destroying lives like a knife through butter.

"Oh my God ... oh my God..." Johnston, eyes wide, seemed able to say only those three words, repeating like a broken record player. But Mr. Douglass could say nothing at all, only stare with his mouth hanging open. He trembled as if he'd been hit by the car himself.

"Oh my God ... we've got to leave, get out of here, no one saw it, got to go, go, go ... oh my God..." Johnston started the engine, his eyes flashing wildly.

"What are you doing? We can't leave her! Are you just going to forget the girl you just killed?" Mr. Douglass was shocked at the idea of leaving. How could he leave this little girl, when his own was safely tucked into bed? When his own daughter was warm underneath covers, and this girl was so very, very cold?

"Come on. You know we can't let this get out! It'd be bedlam ... bedlam, I tell you. The reporters would ruin us. We'd be wiped off the map. I drove the car, so it's my decision. We leave." Johnston's words flew jumbled out of his mouth.

"You're making a huge mistake!" Mr. Douglass couldn't believe this was really the kind, rational Johnston he knew.

"Then I am. Let's go." Johnston's voice was hard, harder than the asphalt on which the girl lay, motionless.

Wordless, the two drove away. Wordless on Johnston's part because of fear and horror, on Douglass's because of outrage. Over a cup of coffee they both needed to calm their nerves, the two men promised never to reveal what had happened that day. And they never had. Yet, when they least suspected it, a vision would often creep into the two friend's minds. Even years later, both Johnston and Mr. Douglass sometimes closed their eyes and saw a trickle of crimson blood mixing with the cold rain, and heard the deafening smack, like the clash of the heavens.

The next day, Mr. Douglass clipped the girl's photograph out of the newspaper. He wasn't quite sure why, but he filed it away. It was Johnston's dirty little secret, and Mr. Douglass sometimes wondered, back in the days before the "falling out," why he had kept it. But now he knew. As soon as his letter reached Johnston, crimson blood would flow once more. The time for vengeance had finally come. Mr. Douglass laughed softly to himself as he closed the window.

***

After the facade of the trial had crumbled all around them, the Douglass's were led single-file to a small cell in the nearly inescapable London jail. Their shackles clinked loudly against the cool concrete floor, and Molly's ugly jumpsuit dragged in a puddle of questionable contents. A guard, his boots clicking on the floor, selected a key from his ring of several and opened a cell. He pushed the three in, and locked it back up again. The turn of the key seemed deafening to Molly. She huddled next to her mother, appearing as though she were fastened to Mrs. Douglass's side. Before, Molly had been able to suspend belief. "It couldn't really be true..." she thought, "they couldn't really be sending me to jail!" But now, she knew it was true. So agonizingly, terrifyingly true. She shivered.

The guard, swinging his keys with a clink, shuffled back to his place. As a cold key brushed his leg, he realized that the turn of his key was the end of freedom for this family. At least, until he turned that key again. He whistled to himself. In his very hands were the lives of hundreds of inmates. In his hands were the difference between walking free, and living chained. In his hands were --

But he jumped, shocked. In his hands were nothing. He panicked, but not so much so as to overlook the fact that these keys symbolized his job. Lose the keys, lose the job. And losing his job was not something he could afford in his financial situation. He had probably dropped them, he thought, feeling his stomach twist nervously. Yes ... they'd be lying there just waiting for him!

He was wrong. As the guard had begun to walk away, Mr. Douglass pulled out the wand he'd transfigured, and which the men who strip-searched him had missed. A whispered 'Accio!' was enough to send the keys to his freedom hurtling through the air to his outstretched hand. Another barely audible spell -- 'alohomora!' -- released their arms and legs from the restrictive shackles. Molly shrugged them off, amazed at what had just come out of a simple piece of wood. Sure, she knew her father was a wizard ... but she so rarely saw that part of him that it still held wonder. Inside, she felt a deep longing to be able to make things move around with a simple word.

They threw open the heavy cell door and Mr. Douglass held it with his hands for Molly to run out. As Molly and her mother waited in the dark hall, breathing rapidly, Mr. Douglass placed the keys on the floor a few cells away. Perhaps if the guard believed he had dropped the keys, he wouldn't come searching as soon.

Then, working quickly, Mr. Douglass ran down the hall to where the Douglass's clothes had been left by guards to be donated to the poor. The trio ducked into an available storeroom and changed among the mops and brooms. Soon, they were free of the recognizable jail uniforms and clothed in ordinary street clothes. Mr. Douglass grinned widely all the while. His white teeth shone luminously in the dark jail, like a skeleton's perpetually grinning jaws. Mr. Douglass couldn't be prouder that they had made it this far, and felt a ruthless determination to see it through. He hugged Molly to his chest. "We're almost out," he whispered encouragingly.

Removing their shoes, the Douglass's tiptoed along the dark corridors towards the front of the building. "If we could only get out the door," thought Mr. Douglass, "they'd never catch us!" The only sound was the padding of soft footsteps and the drip, drip, drip of the leaky roof. Even all breathing seemed to have stopped. Molly couldn't remember inhaling during the last ten minutes -- yet she must have, because she was still very much alive, and very much frightened.

Suddenly, behind them, came a shouted, "They're gone!" Molly forgot all caution and bolted, little caring that she'd stubbed her toe. Flanked by her parents, she sprinted so fast she felt like she had wings. But still, behind them, came the slapping of soles against the ground. Try as she might, Molly couldn't escape those boots, those boots that chilled her to the depths of her very soul.

A bright patch in the endless monotony of human cages appeared before them, beckoning to them like safe harbor to bleary-eyed sailors. They were nearly there! Molly glanced nervously behind herself as she ran, hoping no one pursued them. Yet one guard still did -- wiry and fast, he was the embodiment of their greatest fears.

"Stop! Stop!" he shouted, and the Douglass's sped up. "Stop or I'll shoot!" There was a realization that he truly would, and it unnerved Molly.

Before he could, Mr. Douglass whipped out his wand and pointed it behind him. He opened his still-grinning mouth to shout a spell -- 'expelliarmus!' -- and a loud bang came out of his wand. It ricocheted off of the walls and bounced harmlessly away from the assailant. But it was enough -- they reached the bright entrance to the jail. Mr. Douglass unlocked the gate effortlessly with his magic wand, and they were free.

Molly flung her hand over her eyes to shield them from the bright, searing sun as she ran, and still couldn't be gladder to have to do it. She wished she could take a minute just to be thankful for escaping to see the brilliant sun, but they were still on the run, and Molly couldn't even take a minute to catch her breath.

Mr. Douglass found a parked car close by and proceeded to break into it using the alohomora charm again. Any sign of dismay hidden upon her face, Molly and her mother climbed in the vehicle and the Douglass's were soon on their way. Like a caged bird just testing her wings, Molly tried to imagine how much trouble they would get in for what they had just done. She really preferred not to think about it. But as the car sped on, unfollowed, to a strange place called Llanberris which she'd never heard of, her mind roamed.

She felt so guilty. So gut-wrenchingly, icily guilty. And dirty, like she could never be clean again. While some parents worry because they don't know if they've instilled morals in their children, Molly's parents never worried about those things. They knew she was a "good kid." But now, it seemed Molly was too good for her parents. Was she wrong, or were they? Her parents had always taught her lying was wrong ... why, then, had they changed their minds just for the trial?

Swimming with twisted ideas and shattered foundations, Molly rested her head on her arms, and dozed. When she opened her eyes, they were there. They were looking at their new home. Molly little knew as she walked through the door into a tidy, comfortable cottage that she would learn to hate it with all her heart.

***

There was wonder and a spark in Ron's eyes as he snapped awake. "What did you say?" he whispered, flushed with excitement.

"I said, I know where your Mum is." Harry said softly, smiling at his friend. He explained his thoughts, trials, and realizations of the poem's importance, as Ron nodded every while in a way, his eyes never straying from Harry's face.

"Harry, you're a genius!" he burst out, trembling with exhilaration and happiness. His face was flushed, and he couldn't stop his mouth from breaking out into a massive grin.

"Excuse me, but who got the 112% on her Charms exam? Does that count for nothing?" asked Hermione good-naturedly from the doorway. She rubbed her eyes and yawned, but it was evident she too was beside herself.

"Still milking that, Hermione? It was first year, for goodness sake!" Ron argued, but he laughed as he said it. With this spine-tingling, warming, amazing news, he couldn't fight.

"Why're you awake?" wondered Harry. After all, three o'clock in the morning is a time for sleeping, not roaming the halls, for most people. But then again, Hermione wasn't most people.

"The noise you guys are making could wake the dead! Now, really," she pretended to scold them, "if you can wake Ginny, you know you're loud!" Ginny was a very heavy sleeper. Ron often told the story of the time Fred and George had set the house on fire with an experiment gone wrong. Even after Mr. Weasley had doused the flames, Ginny remained asleep in her bed, the fire alarm yelling, "Get out of bed, you stupid girl!" Ron rather liked to tell that story, although Ginny didn't find it quite as amusing.

Ginny stuck her head over Hermione's shoulder in the doorway, and Ron noticed that for the first time in days she looked truly happy. Her eyes were no longer brimmed by tears, and color seemed to have seeped back into her face. His heart leapt even further, and Ron felt like bursting into laughter.

So he did. For a few minutes, the four laughed, sang, and hugged. They all felt a warmth that was quite unrelated to weather filling up inside of them. Abruptly, Hermione spoke. "Even though we're all really happy to know where Ron and Ginny's mum is, we still need a plan on how to get her home. Now, I may not be the genius here," Harry rolled his eyes, "but I do know that we have to figure out a plan of attack."

Ron agreed. "We can't barge in there with a bunch of ministry men! It'd be mayhem ... if it's just us four, though, she won't be able to refuse. I know Mum, and she'd do anything for her 'babies.'" Ginny nodded, a smile still plastered to her face.

"Okay, so we're agreed on that. But how can we get to Llanberris? It's fairly far off, and we haven't learned to Apparate." Hermione was deeply looking forward to the day when she too would learn this extremely useful art. Until then, however, she and the others tried to come up with a plan. The room that had just been so loud stilled to a hush.

"I know!" said Harry presently, "we'll take the Knight Bus. I used it third year -- it's a bit bumpy, but we'll get there all right."

"YES!" shouted Ron, and he and Ginny rushed off to write a note to their still absent father. For a moment Harry and Hermione were left alone to pack.

"I'm worried about Ron," said Hermione. "I know this sounds awful ... but what if his Mum doesn't want to come home?" She screwed up her brow, distraught. Harry had to admit, it was a possibility.

"We'll cross that bridge when we come to it, I guess," he answered. "But I doubt we'll have to -- Mrs. Weasley's a wonderful mother." Hermione nodded fervently, trying to forget the infamous egg incident, and Ginny and Ron returned.

The four traipsed out the front door, taping the note to it, and made for the street. They reached it, and Harry pulled out his wand.

"You flag one down like this," he said, sticking out his wand. The large bus appeared out of midair, as Hermione, Ron, and Ginny were shocked to see. A short man jumped out of the door while the bus was still slowing down.

"Hullo! Why if it isn't Neville -- er, I mean Harry Potter!" he shouted with genuine happiness. "You remember me, don't you? Ernie, it 'tis. And you've brought friends! Wonderful, come aboard!"

Ron stood, glued to the pavement. "Neville?" he said incredulously. After a few seconds, he shook his head and climbed aboard, muttering "Neville?!" all the while.

*

Meanwhile, Arthur was speaking to Ministry officials. He tried to explain the situation, but as he knew so little, it was a challenge. He often found himself saying, "I just don't know!" in aggravation. The Ministry seemed in no great hurry to go after Molly, but he felt like a terrible person for delaying even a minute.

"You mean she just disappeared?" asked one, astonished.

"I don't know," he replied. "Her apron was found near the end of the road, but otherwise..." Arthur ran a head through his hair uncomfortably. "That's why we need to go now, while the tracks are still fresh! Please, believe me. I've told you all I know ... can you help me?"

The head of the group took pity on Arthur's frantic state. "Of course, Mr. Weasley. We'll just stop off at your house to leave someone with the children, and then we'll be off." The group disappeared with a pop, leaving the brick ministry building. They reappeared in front of the Burrow, the bright morning sun warming their shoulders. The house was still as the men approached the door.

"What's this?" asked one, motioning to the scrap of paper tied to the door. Arthur ran up and grabbed it, feeling a sneaking suspicion flood into his stomach. He read: 'Dear Dad -- we're all right, but gone to Llanberris with Harry and Hermione to get Mum. Love you -- Ron and Ginny.'

"Oh, no," he murmured, leaning heavily against the door. "Can't keep their heads out of trouble for a minute, can they?" He sighed with a shudder, and passed the note around.

A short, squat man who happened to have been the chief investigator of the Douglass case read the message, and took a double-take to realize the importance of the location. "Llanberris, eh? Interesting... I can test my little theory on the position of a Mr. Douglass," he whispered to himself. Although she didn't know it yet, Molly would soon be receiving two very different types of guests.
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A/N: Exciting chapter, no? Thanks so much to all the dedicated readers who've given me feedback on the previous chapters... I really appreciate it! You guys inspire me! Please include any theories, wild suspicions, or death-threats in the review. Not like I'd tell you if you got it right, but whatever. ^___^ You can dream. Anyway, BtCA is nearly wrapping up, and I'm sorry to say there shouldn't be more than two chapters left. :( Bye for now, home fries! Viva la METMA!