Halloween 1981 and the days after

"Nooo .... !"

The piercing scream jolted them awake.

"Good Lord!" Prudence gasped, as she leapt out of bed, flung open the door and tore into Hermione's room without bothering to switch on a light. George followed.

Hermione was sitting upright in her bed, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Darling, what is it?", her mother lifted her into her arms, stroking her trying to comfort her. "It's me, dear, it's all right, mummy and daddy are here ... "

"Dark man, mummy" Hermione managed to stammer, "laughing, - green fire - house burning..."

"Hush baby, you've been dreaming, it's all right ... " Slowly, Hermione's sobs subsided. "Will you carry her into our room, dear?" Prudence said to George. "She'd better spend the night in our bed."

*

Nov. 1st, 1981

They were sitting at the breakfast table, slightly exhausted from last night, and only half listening to the newsreader.

"… report a strange natural phenomenon from Godric's Hollow, a small village in southern Wales. Residents were woken around midnight by a single clash of thunder and a flash of green lightning. Only this morning it was discovered that a cottage was completely destroyed and the inhabitants, a young couple, killed. According to meteorologists, it seems likely that a very rare variant of ball lightning caused the accident. More details are expected during the day. Now for the weather forecast … "

"Strange, the things that can happen," George mused. "Just imagine, there you are, happily sleeping in your bed, and along comes this whatsit and next thing you know …"

"Yes, let's be grateful for each new day," his wife agreed. "Hermy, darling, are you all right again?"

"Yes, mum," Hermione, who was still rather pale, reassured her.

"That's marvellous, then let's all go to work."

*

As the surgery was only a couple of blocks from their house, they decided to walk although it was a rather dull, grey morning.

"There's nothing like some walk in the open air after a restless night," George said cheerfully, as he opened the front door. "Hey!", he shouted suddenly, and ducked, as a large tawny owl swept closely over his head. "These birds ought to be asleep! It's not that dark today!"

"Look!", Hermione shouted, pointing to the sky. Indeed, the air was positively thick with birds of various kinds, many of them unmistakably owls.

"Weird," Prudence murmured. "I've never seen so many birds in one place, owls or no owls. Gives me the creeps, somehow. You are sure  'The Birds' was only a film, aren't you?" she added, moving closer to her husband.

"No, mum," Hermione said, "they are dancing!"

"I dare say you're right," George replied, "It's a very cheerful picture, as if they were celebrating something. I know it's stupid," he continued at a strange look from his wife, "birds can't do this, I know. But anyway, they definitely don't look dangerous, so relax, dear. Wonder what's the matter with them, though."

"Probably a result of some environmental disaster," Prudence speculated. "But you can always write a letter to 'Science' about it."

"Great that you are your old witty self again, I was beginning to get worried ... Oh, good morning, Miss Marple!" he said to an elderly lady, who was just coming up their way. "Nice day today," he added by way of conversation, although, all things considered, there was nothing particularly nice about it at all.

"Yes indeed, isn't it absolutely wonderful?" she replied exuberantly, grasping their hands and shaking them vehemently. "After all these years, who'd have expected it? You-know-who gone, gone for good! Oh this is a marvellous day indeed! Excuse me, I'm in a hurry to ... " and she scuttled away. With her wide silver-grey cloak billowing out behind her, she looked like a huge clumsy bird taking wing with an effort.

"Well, I must say," George said staring after her. "I always knew she was strange... "

"Extravagant, dear," Prudence corrected.

"All right, extravagant –  I hardly notice her weird dresses any more, and I never mention the fifteen cats she keeps in her cottage, but today ... What can she have been talking about?"

"I have no idea, something about someone gone for good ... I say, Thatcher hasn't resigned, by any chance?"

"No such luck; the news didn't have anything about it. Well, whatever ... " he shrugged, "I suppose this will remain one of the unsolved mysteries of humanity."

*

While her parents were busy restoring rotten teeth and filling cavities (it was a perfectly normal work day for them, with just enough patients to keep them busy), Hermione was in her own small room that had been especially established for her so that she didn't have to stay at home (and her parents didn't need a babysitter for her).

Now she was looking out of the  window, watching the owls still busily flying about.

Suddenly there was a dull thud on the windowpane, and a small feathery ball was lying motionless on the sill.

At once she opened the window. The tiny bird, which nevertheless was definitely an owl, was moving feebly, and she could just grab it in time before it dropped from the windowsill.

"Poor thing," she muttered and gently  took the warm ball of feathers in her hands. Then she stopped and looked more closely: Yes, there was a small roll of parchment tied to the bird's leg!

"Oh," she breathed, and tried to untie the string. But suddenly the tiny owl, which had obviously recovered from its shock, bit her finger with its tiny but surprisingly sharp beak, shook itself and opened its wings. With incredible speed it soared practically vertically up from Hermione's hands, fluttered round the room once screeching madly  all the time, and finally disappeared through the open window.

Petrified, Hermione stared after it. A tiny brown feather was softly sailing to the floor.

*

"You must have imagined this, dear," George said for the third or fourth time. "There is no such thing as rolls of paper tied to owls' legs. Pigeons, perhaps, …"

"But the feather …" Hermione insisted.

"All right, there seems to have been some bird, I don't doubt it, birds sometimes do bang into windows and are a bit drowsy afterwards. But an owl with a letter…"

"You  don't want to believe me!" his daughter pouted. "Just because you've never heard of it …"

"Hush," Prudence stopped the argument. "Here's something about those owls on the news."

"… Although owls normally hunt at night and are hardly ever seen in daylight, there have been hundreds of sightings of these birds flying in every direction since sunrise. Experts are unable to explain why the owls have suddenly changed their sleeping patterns."

"Very mysterious," George mused, "and not even experts have any idea …"

"So you may just as well believe me, too, daddy," Hermione said, giving him her most charming smile. "There are lots of things experts don't know, you see."

"Oh, very well," her father gave in; he could never resist when she smiled at him like that. "Listen, there's something more."

"… viewers as far apart as Kent, Yorkshire and Dundee have been phoning in to tell me that they've had a downpour of shooting stars! Perhaps people have been celebrating Bonfire Night early …"

"Fireworks? In the middle of the week, and on a foggy day like this, and by daylight? Now I'll believe anything!"

*

"And I swear I believe your story about the owl and the letter!" George declared in a rather exaggerated solemn voice, while Prudence was tucking her daughter in.

"Good night, sweetheart," she whispered, kissing her.

"Sweet dreams," George added.

After they had left, Hermione felt restless. What if she dreamed about the green fire again? She got out of her bed, and started rummaging in the box on the shelf without any clear idea what she was looking for.

Among various stuffed animals and wooden toys, she suddenly came across a red and golden stone on a thin gold chain that she did not remember seeing before.

Surprised, she held it towards her bedside light, and was at once enraptured by its iridescent hues.

On a sudden impulse, she put the ornament round her neck; soon she felt a wonderful calmness inside. Smiling to herself, she got back into bed, switched off her light, and was soon peacefully asleep.

*

When Albus Dumbledore Apparated, the party at the Ministry was still in full swing, although it was at least half one in the morning.

"Ah, Dumbledore, old chap," Fudge's voice sounded a bit heavy.

"No need to remind me," Dumbledore replied trying to show his usual cheerful manner, but noticing himself that he didn't sound convincing.

"Here, have a drink," the Minister offered a glass of champagne. "I say, we've not had a celebration like this for years and years.!"

"But think of the price! The Potters dead, and their son – hm – disappeared!"

"Of course, it's very sad and all that, and we'll all miss them very much, I'm sure, but it's You-know-who gone, and this is abso-hic-lutely marvellous, don't you agree?"

"Yes, of course," Dumbledore murmured wearily, but Fudge had already – with a distinct stagger - moved away to a group of young witches who were clearly flattered that the Minister of Magic himself was talking to them.

"Oh, Albus, don't take it so hard," Minerva, who had also Apparated, was patting his shoulder. "I know how fond you were of James and Lily, and believe me, I'm not missing them any less than you do. But remember these last eleven years. I believe most of these people here," she indicated the crowd, "have lost someone during this time, so we shouldn't grudge them their little celebration."

"You're right as always, Minerva, but still, it seems so bloody unfair ... "

"Will you mind your language young man!" she interrupted in her most governess-like voice.

"Yes, Miss Prism," and for the first time that evening a smile crossed Albus Dumbledore's face.

"Emergency! Emergency!" A magically enhanced voice suddenly rang through air. A dead silence settled. "Magical Catastrophe Squad Apparate at once to London Piccadilly Circus! Memory Modifying equipment required!"

"So much for celebrations," Dumbledore said dryly.

*

With an air of cheerfulness Hermione sat down at the breakfast table.

"Good morning, sweetheart," her mother, who was busy at the cooker, said. "No nasty dreams this night?"

"No, mum; I feel wonderful this morning, and I had a very nice dream, but I can't remember much of it. I was flying after that owl ..."

"Only natural to dream that, after your experience," George nodded wisely.

"I know you know everything about psychology, dear," his wife grinned, "but let her continue."

"Yes, and I came to an old castle with many towers, and then there was this great hall with many candles, ...

"A castle? With many towers? Was it near lake? And did it have large oaken doors?"

"I'm not sure, daddy, I think there was some water ... Why are you asking?"

"Because I seem to have dreamed about the same castle ... No that's impossible!"

"Well, and there was this huge red lion, and a woman in a green cape ... but I can't remember anything else. But look, what I found in my box," she had suddenly remembered that she was still wearing the stone on its gold chain, and showed it to her parents. "Who is it from?"

Prudence, who had long forgotten the ornament, was surprised at seeing it round her daughter's neck.

"Oh yes, at your christening, a woman gave it to me in the church."

"What woman?"

"I have no idea, let me think, yes, I thought it was very strange, a person I had never seen before ... and never afterwards, now I come to think of it."

"How mysterious, mum. Do you remember what she looked like?"

"Hmm, I'm afraid not. I remember thinking she looked vaguely familiar, but obviously I must have been wrong. The only thing that ... yes, I thought she was dressed in an unusual way – a long green cloak ... "

"Green? Oh mummy, the woman in my dream was also wearing green, and a kind of long cloak, too -–this must have been the same woman!"

"I admit it's a strange coincidence," George sounded not so sure of himself, however. "But – stop, there's some piece of news ..."

"... twelve people killed in a gas explosion shortly after midnight in Piccadilly Circus. The authorities have taken up inquiries. The cause of the explosion is yet unclear but there have been rumours of a terrorist attack ..."

"Well," said George grimly, "so much for mysterious women in green cloaks. THIS is reality, take it or leave it."