Dilemma
It was a wonder they had made it alive. It was in the middle of the night, so they got lost at least five times; it was pouring rain, and to add to that, the death eaters were crawling everywhere.
"Harry, are you listening to me?"
Harry nodded, though his eyes were still glued onto the scene below. Outside of the little rundown apartment, death eaters were gathering, forget the rain, and they were getting drunker and drunker by the second. Filthy little.
"Don't open this door for anything or anyone."
Harry glanced at Dumbledore. The old man had never looked so - well - old before. It had to be the stress. Voldemort had won the war only yesterday. Dumbledore immediately got Harry out of there - Privet four - and into here - this apartment. He brought a few people, though.
No doubt Voldemort would be looking for Snape and Sirius, after what they did to him. So there they were, standing side-by-side, differences totally forgotten. If anything, they seemed similar just then. Both of them looked pale, worried. Harry was sure he looked the same.
But Harry was surprised when Dumbledore decided to bring Malfoy along. It turns out that Malfoy had been a top, top, topper than tops secret spy. Only Dumbledore knew that Malfoy was spying on his father for information against Voldemort.
But now the whole world knew. Well, Voldemort knew, anyways.
Dumbledore gave them a miniature tour of the apartment, who's white paint was peeling. The bathroom was only big enough for one person. The living room/kitchen/dining room had one couch (the upholstery was flowing out of it), a stove and a small collection of pots and pans, and one table with four chairs at it. He stopped at the two tiny bedrooms, both connected by a door.
"You'll be fine," he sighed.
Malfoy sure didn't look fine. Besides the fact that The Dark Lord wanted his head on a silver platter, the apartment seemed much to small for his liking.
"How long will we have to stay here?"
Dumbledore was silent. Harry, who had silently been asking himself that question, stared intently at him.
"For all I know, Draco," Dumbledore finally replied, "you can be here for the rest of your lives. As long as Voldemort has reign, you will be hiding."
The uneasy silence seemed to go on forever. Finally, Dumbledore sighed.
"I will be taking my leave. As long as you don't open this door, you will live. Good night."
And with that, he disappeared.
So there they all were. Four of them. Living in a tiny apartment. Hiding for their lives.
It was a wonder they had made it alive. It was in the middle of the night, so they got lost at least five times; it was pouring rain, and to add to that, the death eaters were crawling everywhere.
"Harry, are you listening to me?"
Harry nodded, though his eyes were still glued onto the scene below. Outside of the little rundown apartment, death eaters were gathering, forget the rain, and they were getting drunker and drunker by the second. Filthy little.
"Don't open this door for anything or anyone."
Harry glanced at Dumbledore. The old man had never looked so - well - old before. It had to be the stress. Voldemort had won the war only yesterday. Dumbledore immediately got Harry out of there - Privet four - and into here - this apartment. He brought a few people, though.
No doubt Voldemort would be looking for Snape and Sirius, after what they did to him. So there they were, standing side-by-side, differences totally forgotten. If anything, they seemed similar just then. Both of them looked pale, worried. Harry was sure he looked the same.
But Harry was surprised when Dumbledore decided to bring Malfoy along. It turns out that Malfoy had been a top, top, topper than tops secret spy. Only Dumbledore knew that Malfoy was spying on his father for information against Voldemort.
But now the whole world knew. Well, Voldemort knew, anyways.
Dumbledore gave them a miniature tour of the apartment, who's white paint was peeling. The bathroom was only big enough for one person. The living room/kitchen/dining room had one couch (the upholstery was flowing out of it), a stove and a small collection of pots and pans, and one table with four chairs at it. He stopped at the two tiny bedrooms, both connected by a door.
"You'll be fine," he sighed.
Malfoy sure didn't look fine. Besides the fact that The Dark Lord wanted his head on a silver platter, the apartment seemed much to small for his liking.
"How long will we have to stay here?"
Dumbledore was silent. Harry, who had silently been asking himself that question, stared intently at him.
"For all I know, Draco," Dumbledore finally replied, "you can be here for the rest of your lives. As long as Voldemort has reign, you will be hiding."
The uneasy silence seemed to go on forever. Finally, Dumbledore sighed.
"I will be taking my leave. As long as you don't open this door, you will live. Good night."
And with that, he disappeared.
So there they all were. Four of them. Living in a tiny apartment. Hiding for their lives.