Seeing the Past, Present, and Future

The First Attack

When she woke up the next morning, a Saturday thankfully, she saw that her brown eyes were slightly red-rimmed and that she was still dressed in her school robes. She guessed that she had fallen asleep crying, a correct guess. All of the first years she shared her dorm with had already left and she wondered what time it was. Not too late, actually, she thought. Only about 8:30. Guess it's because I fell asleep early that I woke up so early. She slowly changed into new robes and glanced out the frost covered window. It was still cold but she had been too disoriented this morning to notice. When she down to the Great Hall she found it was oddly quiet and instead there were hushed, intense whispers going across the various house tables. She found a seat next to Hermione and Ron (Harry wasn't up yet, she guessed) and asked what had happened in a hushed whisper. Hermione looked far more pale than usual and Ron's freckles stood out shockingly on his face. In response, Hermione handed her The Daily Prophet. She felt her breathing become harder. No. No It wasn't possible. Not here, not now. She had thought she would be safe. Safe… the word blew away from her. She would never be safe. She would never be safe. The thought hit her like a hard, iron bludger. She could never be safe.

Hermione let out a scream when the small first year next to her fainted.

Harry was slightly surprised when he opened his eyes to see Hermione hovering over his bed.

"Boys dorm," he murmured to himself before turning over.

"Harry! Get up!"

"I thought it was a Saturday," he said, still half-asleep.

"Our friend fainted and she's in the hospital wing."

"Ron?" Harry asked, his mind still too asleep to understand much of anything.

(From the other side of the room Ron let out an unheard "Hey!")

"No, the first year that showed up at Grimmauld Place, remember her?" Hermione added the last part sarcastically.

"Yeah, yeah," Harry said, waking up a bit more. "Let me get dressed at least," he said, face in his pillow.

"Well, hurry up," she said, hands on her hips.

"That requires you getting OUT," Harry replied rather irritably, throwing his pillow at her as she half-walked half-ran out.

Harry and his two friends walked down the stairs to the infirmary. When the trio entered the door they found Madam Pomfrey giving the first year Gryffindor a potion.

"Is she alright?" Hermione asked the nurse.

"She'll be fine, don't worry, but I'd like to keep her here for about half a day, to make sure she's alright."

Hermione nodded. "Do you want me to bring you some school work or something?" she asked the brown-haired girl who was currently sitting up in bed.

The young girl nodded excitedly.

After they had returned to the Gryffindor tower and given the student her homework they proceeded in walking to the Great Hall.

"So why'd she faint?" asked Harry, now that they had a relatively free moment.

"Oh. I think it was because of the article in today's Daily Prophet."

Harry frowned and noticed Hermione became paler just mentioning it. "What—what did the article say?"

Hermione pulled the newspaper and handed it to Harry, who noticed that Hermione's eyes were wet.

5 October 1996—

Yesterday night, at approximately 10:30 PM, two much respected members of the magical community were murdered in their own home, which currently lies in ruins. They were Mr. and Mrs. Clovis, an elderly couple who lived quietly in their house on Painsthorpe Road. Carmine Clovis, an expert on defending oneself against dark creatures, has written several books on that subject and also taught at Hogwarts as a substitute professor. …

Harry skimmed forward a bit in the article and saw the one thing that he had been expecting to see in that article ever since he had seen the photograph on the front page, the photograph which showed a giant, glittering skull with a snake protruding from the mouth.

…Both Mr. and Mrs. Clovis were Muggle-born…

Harry swallowed and gave the newspaper back to Hermione. For the first time it really struck Harry that the second war had begun. "So," Harry stated, his voice surprisingly cracked.

"Yeah," Hermione said, now just pale.

"But why'd she faint?" Ron started.

"Maybe she lost family to them before or something," Hermione quietly said.

"It still seems…odd," Ron stated, but passively, obviously not feeling like aggravating Hermione.

"Let's go to the common room and…play a game of chess…or something…" Harry uncertainly stated. He just wanted to move. He couldn't bear just standing there in that cold, stony hallway.

Hermione wordlessly nodded and Ron put her arm around her in a comforting way. Harry was slightly surprised she didn't push him away, but he supposed she wanted comfort. After all, her family's in the most danger, Harry reminded himself.

They soon found the Fat Lady's portrait and entered the falsely warm common room. It was quiet except for a few whispered conversations. Harry doubt any of them had known the Clovises personally but it certainly didn't feel like a day where they should be allowed to be happy. Sighing, Harry decided to go up to his room; he didn't feel like being with other people right now. Harry climbed up the red carpeted stairs to the 6th years' dorm and sat down on his made bed. It had happened. Voldemort had made his first attack. And so many more would die, Harry thought, unbidden. A black and white shape seemed to be twinkling at him from across the room. Harry sighed and stood up, grabbing one of his roommate's newspapers. The symbol of so much death and destruction looked up at him, currently deceptively peaceful as only ink on a thin piece of graying paper. He glanced down at the article again, reading the first few sentences….Yesterday night, at approximately 10:30 PM, two much respected members of the magical community were murdered in their own home, which currently lies in ruins. They were Mr. and Mrs. Clovis, an elderly couple who lived quietly in their house on Painsthorpe Road.… They hadn't deserved to die. No one who was dying did, it was the people who were killing them that deserved to die. Painfully, his thoughts leapt back to Sirius and in his mind's eye he saw Bellatrix Lestrange laughing as her cousin forever disappeared through that forever restless curtain. But as he was looking at the article, suddenly a word stood out to him, painfully familiar but just out of reach of his memory. Painsthorpe Road…did he know someone who lived there? Something told him no, instead he seemed to remember it written on a clean white sheet of paper in a neat cursive. But what sheet? Harry started digging through his trunk, his curiosity burning at him.

Half an hour later, Harry had managed to make quite a mess of all of his school papers without any success in finding the mysterious Painsthorpe. Sighing, he pulled his invisibility cloak out to continue his search and was slightly surprised when a sheet fluttered to the ground. Frowning, Harry tried to remember what it could be. He turned it over and was greeted by quite a few numbers, in columns. Oh, this is the sheet we stole from Sullivan's office, he thought. Truthfully, he had totally forgotten about it when he knew he should have been trying to decode it. But there, in that neat cursive handwriting which suddenly seemed so familiar, under the column labeled "A," was the word Painsthorpe.

A/N: Hmm, medium length chapter. And just so you know Painsthorpe Road is the name of a real street somewhere, I got it off some website a while ago. Well, anyway, reviews are always appreciated.

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter or his world.

Review Responses:

Knight of the Sun: I'm glad you thought the chapter with her thoughts didn't turn out too weird. Here's another chapter (the one you beta-read!) :-)

Harry-Potter-fan01: Thanks for reviewing my story! Sorry this update took a while, hopefully the next one will come sooner.