Chapter One
Trall Dynasty
greenleaf-in-bloom
Minerva McGonagall
The Headmaster told me first, his voice as I hadn't heard it since James and Lily were killed. His face hadn't even been like that then. It was worse now. He hadn't killed Harry. He had taken him.
He didn't say it straight out. Something in me insisted that I shouldn't tell them that - the Weasleys and Hermione. I didn't lie. I told them we didn't know. It was true. We had no proof.
I saw in Ron Weasley's eyes when I told him there, in the library, that he hated me. He hated me for telling him. He hated me and knew I was lying. Perhaps he tried to convince himself that it was all a lie. I don't think so. He went into the Tower with me, fled up the stairs before I got a chance to tell his brothers and sister and Hermione. He came down, Hermione said, about half an hour later. She couldn't tell me for sure. They were all frantic, and time was both the most and the least important thing right then. A minute seemed a second and an hour and a year.
He came down, and would not speak to them. He ran then. There was a note, however, one of the most indifferent, indirectly cruel notes I have ever read. It was unintentional.
He said no one should be sent after him. I was shocked when Professor Dumbledore could not find him, either. He must have put a great deal of effort into his masking. That boy was never strong with spells.
The twins were the ones who told me that their younger brother was gone as well, and I must admit that I panicked myself then entirely. I was already frantic. Fred and George burst into my office, and instead of talking over each other they said as one, "Ron's gone after him," and then looked at each other in surprise. I sank into a chair and started to cry.
I could not take this. Not on top of everything else. So sitting there in my office, in front of none other than Fred and George Weasley, I burst into tears.
Had the situation not been what it was, it would have been possibly the most humiliating experience of my entire life, including the time when I put the wrong memories into the Pensieve that Professor Dumbledore was looking at.
And to my utter surprise, they cried with me.
Hermione Granger
I panicked.
That's the only thing I can say, and it's one of the truest, too. I panicked when Ron ran past me and away from Professor McGonagall, because he looked like he was crying and I knew something was very, very wrong. I panicked when she looked around and took a deep, awful breath and started to speak. I panicked when Fred and George froze and Ginny sank to the floor. And then I panicked when they said they were both gone.
And every God-damned minute between them and afterward.
Dobby, that house-elf, was about for a while. I watched him panic. I watched Ginny panic. I watched the twins panic. I wrote Sirius a letter. I told him what was going on. I wrote to Professor Lupin, too. I wrote to Ron, to tell him not to do this. The last letter I tore to pieces and threw into the fire, crying, when the owl couldn't figure out which way to go.
I hated Ron for that note. I hated him. He told me to be brave and Ginny strong and the twins to be good for his mother. He told us not to weep if Harry came back alone, but only if neither of them did.
I hated him.
Harry. I wanted to help Harry. How did they take him? That was simple. He had gone out-of-bounds, to Hogsmeade. They had been waiting for him. They had watched him. That had to have been it. How else could they have caught him?
I knew he was planning to go to Hogsmeade, and I didn't stop him. I didn't only hate Ron. I hated myself.
Sirius Black
Yes, I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I got the two owls. One was Hermione's, the other Dumbledore's. I read the latter first, and didn't actually read Hermione's for quite a while after that. I had been sitting by the fire in my hiding place. Remus had found it for me, and it was actually quite comfortable - a cabin in the woods, abandoned, but still fairly sturdy, if cold at night.
Minerva McGonagall
The Headmaster told me first, his voice as I hadn't heard it since James and Lily were killed. His face hadn't even been like that then. It was worse now. He hadn't killed Harry. He had taken him.
He didn't say it straight out. Something in me insisted that I shouldn't tell them that - the Weasleys and Hermione. I didn't lie. I told them we didn't know. It was true. We had no proof.
I saw in Ron Weasley's eyes when I told him there, in the library, that he hated me. He hated me for telling him. He hated me and knew I was lying. Perhaps he tried to convince himself that it was all a lie. I don't think so. He went into the Tower with me, fled up the stairs before I got a chance to tell his brothers and sister and Hermione. He came down, Hermione said, about half an hour later. She couldn't tell me for sure. They were all frantic, and time was both the most and the least important thing right then. A minute seemed a second and an hour and a year.
He came down, and would not speak to them. He ran then. There was a note, however, one of the most indifferent, indirectly cruel notes I have ever read. It was unintentional.
He said no one should be sent after him. I was shocked when Professor Dumbledore could not find him, either. He must have put a great deal of effort into his masking. That boy was never strong with spells.
The twins were the ones who told me that their younger brother was gone as well, and I must admit that I panicked myself then entirely. I was already frantic. Fred and George burst into my office, and instead of talking over each other they said as one, "Ron's gone after him," and then looked at each other in surprise. I sank into a chair and started to cry.
I could not take this. Not on top of everything else. So sitting there in my office, in front of none other than Fred and George Weasley, I burst into tears.
Had the situation not been what it was, it would have been possibly the most humiliating experience of my entire life, including the time when I put the wrong memories into the Pensieve that Professor Dumbledore was looking at.
And to my utter surprise, they cried with me.
Hermione Granger
I panicked.
That's the only thing I can say, and it's one of the truest, too. I panicked when Ron ran past me and away from Professor McGonagall, because he looked like he was crying and I knew something was very, very wrong. I panicked when she looked around and took a deep, awful breath and started to speak. I panicked when Fred and George froze and Ginny sank to the floor. And then I panicked when they said they were both gone.
And every God-damned minute between them and afterward.
Dobby, that house-elf, was about for a while. I watched him panic. I watched Ginny panic. I watched the twins panic. I wrote Sirius a letter. I told him what was going on. I wrote to Professor Lupin, too. I wrote to Ron, to tell him not to do this. The last letter I tore to pieces and threw into the fire, crying, when the owl couldn't figure out which way to go.
I hated Ron for that note. I hated him. He told me to be brave and Ginny strong and the twins to be good for his mother. He told us not to weep if Harry came back alone, but only if neither of them did.
I hated him.
Harry. I wanted to help Harry. How did they take him? That was simple. He had gone out-of-bounds, to Hogsmeade. They had been waiting for him. They had watched him. That had to have been it. How else could they have caught him?
I knew he was planning to go to Hogsmeade, and I didn't stop him. I didn't only hate Ron. I hated myself.
Sirius Black
Yes, I remember exactly where I was and what I was doing when I got the two owls. One was Hermione's, the other Dumbledore's. I read the latter first, and didn't actually read Hermione's for quite a while after that. I had been sitting by the fire in my hiding place. Remus had found it for me, and it was actually quite comfortable - a cabin in the woods, abandoned, but still fairly sturdy, if cold at night.
