So when will it end?
So when, when will we meet my friend?

For what appeared as eons unbounded, those beyond the walls of the condemned keep sat helpless amidst the relentless elements who had not ceased since the Order and the Squadron's march some hours before. Most were happy, for their miserable plight now seemed quite favorable compared to those who were buried in the rubble of MacMurphy's stronghold.

Even amidst the rain and wind, clouds of smoke and dust reached toward the sky like ethereal hands presenting a dire sense of irony; foreshadowing the fates of all those who had been well and alive inside only minutes before.

Among the confused and helpless multitude was Arthur Weasley. Despite the frigidity of the ocean air, tears of sweat easily found paths down his temples, upper lip, and brow. Tense nerves caused his stiffened jaw to chatter, creating a short but brutal tempo that was almost in perfect unison with his heartbeat. Arthur knew the grave importance of this mission as well as all of the others there that night. He, however, had a much deeper connection with some of the prisoners being held inside. Coworkers were among those they could now only assume to be lost. Distant relations, and at least one dear family friend for sure.

Others newly included among the huddled collection of onlookers were the rescued Remus Lupin and Nymphandora Tonks, who had made their way out just as the structure began to tremor for the last time. They too watched in horror as the walls of the keep collapsed, burying their hopes and their friends all within a few moments time.

The image itself was nothing short of paradoxical. What was once a strong edifice now lay before them as nothing more than a pile of rubble. Only the roar of the ocean could be heard as it lapped against the cliff walls, for the rest of those waiting below, if not the world, was idly holding its breath in hopes that somehow those who were trapped within the tons of rubble would miraculously dig through the shattered remains and greet them with a soot covered grin and an uncomfortable laugh for all of the worry they had caused those below.

But, as always, the comfort of hope was burned away with the sting of tears. Reality dawned like a bloody sunrise, blinding the eyes and the hearts with a lethal injection of apprehension and helplessness. All they could do was stare and wait for help to come.

The cleanup was horrible. It took hours just to clear the first layer of rubble, and every rock that was dropped into the ocean carried with it an ounce of faith from every single rescue worker. Blood stained stones eventually paved the way to unrecognizable faces and all but flattened bodies where the scavenging parasites were already feasting; upon innocent victim and criminal alike. There was no prejudice between the two. The blessed received the same fate as the damned, and in the end all that could be done was to sweep it away and continue on. There was no justification, for none could be given.

Dawn had broken only an hour after the horrible incident at the keep, but the small number of those who had been rescued refused to leave until all of their comrades had been found. Regardless of their condition. Among them was undoubtedly Remus Lupin. His back was bruised and his limbs almost unusable. At least three vertebras in his spine were in need of realignment. No one wanted to do it though in fear of making the problem irreversible. So, in a stubborn state that might have rivaled that of Sirius Black, he lay on a stretcher and waited the news of someone, anyone. Tonks checked back with him every few minutes. She was helping with the rescue process as best she could, but since she was only a metamorphimagus, and not an animagus, there was only so much she could do.

Location charms were being placed all over the keep in hopes of the spells locking onto the life signs of an individual trapped below the rocks. But they were always weak, and by the time rescue efforts finally reached them there was nothing that could be done save to throw a sheet over the corpse and continue on.

"This is going to take longer than we anticipated," said RO leader Roy Ochoa. He wiped his brow with a white sleeved jacket and sighed. His body was tired, but his mind was exhausted. The past few hours had been emotionally draining and scarring for all of them. No one knew when they would suddenly lift a bit of rubble and unmask a familiar face. They were emotionally unprepared for this, and the situation wasn't getting any better.

"What's going on, exactly?" asked a very formal looking young wizard. Roy, who did not have the patience to deal with a snot nosed brat from some office based pecking order, spat at the ground by the boy's feet and met his challenging glare with one of equal stamina.

"There's been a cave in," Roy stated earnestly, never losing his eye contact.

The kid immediately rolled his eyes in a very elementary fashion, telling Roy that he was not only snooty, but new and inexperienced. More trouble under Roy's already burdened belt.

"I can see that. What's the report?"

Roy spat again. "There is no report."

The boy chuckled in an odd manner that was very much forced. He shook his head and groaned as though he were talking to someone who didn't know how to do a job that he himself so obviously understood.

"Sir, there's always a report."

Again, Roy spat. This time, however, he hit the young man's shoes instead of the ground. He didn't bother to apologize either.

"No. There isn't." Roy walked away, leaving the kid to stare angrily at his now not so new suede shoes. When the rookie agent was far enough away that Roy no longer believed him to be a problem, he addressed their unit's construction team and asked them if there was any sense in continuing to dig through this collapsed mausoleum.

"The collapse isn't complete," reported one elderly chap who appeared as though he should have retired around the nineteenth century. His form was hunched with every square inch of skin wrinkled. If there was any hair on his head, it was microscopic, save for that which popped out now again from his ears. Roy was often amazed the man could hear at all. Yanni Fletcher was his name, and many bets were often made about his age. Regardless, he was good at his job, and despite the man's shortcomings Roy was almost always appreciative of the man's work.

Tonight was one of those nights.

"What do you mean?" Roy frowned and began digging for a cigar in his coat pocket. Or a flask of whiskey. Whichever came first.

"There's a basement structure underground. The collapse only covered part of it. The upper floors all fell in but the basement is pretty secure. We could have survivors down there."

"We could?"

Yanni pushed his old geezer glasses up the bridge of his nose a bit and nodded. "Yes. If they were anywhere between the first and third floor, there's a very good chance that those who fell survived their fall, and weren't crushed to death afterward."

Roy nodded. This was some good news. The team needed that.

"How much time do we have to get to them?"

This question was not for Yanni, but Zayara, the MT Chief on the sight. She was only in her twenties, but knew more about magic and medicine than almost all of the shamans and doctors at Mungo's. If there was anyone in the Magical Medical Tech career that Roy ever trusted more than Zayara, he or she wasn't employed with them yet.

"Well there are a few factors that may have taken any survivors out if the collapse or the fall itself did not."

"And those factors are?"

"Smoke inhalation. Suffocation. Drowning. Panic or nervous attacks. It's a long list, sir."

Roy sighed. "What are our odds, Chief?"

Zayara shrugged and cast a reflexive glance over her shoulder toward the keep, as if looking for some divine sign of hope or approval.

"Not good, Roy."

He sighed and peered out over at the keep once more. Thunder rolled over the ocean, and a cool wind was picking up once more. They'd be digging in the rain soon, most likely to have their second wave of hope turn into a flood of devastation.

"Damn."

The dust was far from settled, and since there was most likely no ventilation in the chamber he now found himself in, Harry believed that he was now at last going to meet his match. Not from Voldemort, not from a Death Eater, but from a lack of oxygen. It was slightly disappointing. He had almost gotten used to the idea of going out in a blaze of glory. Suddenly, a quiet death like this didn't please him. He wanted to survive this. He had to. Besides, he hadn't been able to see Sirius yet.

Sirius?

Harry's eyes shot open, and with mounting effort he convinced his head to rotate around the room just enough to give him a good idea of what was going on. He saw a splinter of wood extending from the ceiling to the floor, and jammed underneath it was his left shin. Blood was seeping from the dense wound in his leg, but strangely enough he couldn't feel it!

Slightly ill at ease, Harry began to realize that he couldn't feel much of anything. His injured leg, his back, his arms. The only thing that seemed connected to him anymore was his neck and head, and even then he wasn't so sure. He was able to move his upper extremities with some difficulty, but the fact that he could not feel them was mortifying.

Coughing, Harry peered around once more. He couldn't reach his wand, and therefore could not provide himself with an adequate light source. His only other option was to call out with his already choked voice.

"Sirius?"

Harry waited a few moments, not completely surprised that there was no immediate response.

"Sirius, are you okay?"

Still nothing. 'He might still be unconscious', Harry thought. But then again, it could have been something else.

Knowing it wasn't wise but not really caring, Harry propped his paralyzed carcass up on his elbows and forced his head to hold itself while looking around the room. On the far side he made out the dense figure of what looked like a large dog.

Sirius had probably transformed in the fall to make himself smaller and less susceptible to injury. Unfortunately, that hadn't stopped gravity pulling him to the ground, or from the sudden contact with the ground knocking him senseless for the past few hours.

Sighing, Harry collapsed back to the floor. At least his godfather was all right for now. But the smoke and airborne debris wasn't lessening. If something wasn't opened up soon, they would suffocate before they were ever found.

That was, if anyone was even looking for them.

Lyrics: "Strangers" by Raj Ramayya

CD: Wolf's Rain OST 1