J. K. Rowling owns Harry Potter

Chapter Thirteen

The pub was empty of customers, its wooden tables cluttered with the forlorn remnants of lunch. The barman puttered about in the stillness, washing glasses, straightening chairs and tables, and sweeping the floor. The only sound was the barman's toothless humming; even the clock was silent, stars gliding around its edges in place of hands.

The door crashed open; the barman dropped his broom with a clatter. A redheaded boy ran into the room, panic on his face, and began to yell. "Help! Death Eaters!"

He stopped, looked around at the near-empty room, and addressed the barman, in an only slightly quieter voice: "They took my friend! And his grandmother! We need your help!"

The barman watched the boy alarmedly. "You are alone?"

"My grandmother is with me, she's a Muggle, we can't do anything, we have to go, we'll lose them, I don't know what they're going to do, please we need help..." The boy looked back at the barman, his eyes pleading.

The barman nodded and followed the boy out the door, pointing his wand at the bar, which shuttered of its own accord, as he left.

Alec walked, fear surrounding his every step. They were trapped, captive, held at wandpoint by a pair of Death Eaters who could do whatever they wanted to them, and doubtless would. He wanted desperately to turn around, to see if Mark was following, if he had gotten Alec's message, but he recognized the foolishness of such a move, and fought the impulse.

His grandmother walked beside him, Disarmed, as powerless as he, but nonetheless projecting perfect serenity. He wished he had her courage; this utter lack of control over the situation was unbearable to him. There was nothing, nothing he could do to fight or flee, and he felt his helplessness down to the core of his being.

If he had not been there, he was sure, his grandmother could have fought off the two Death Eaters. She was a powerful and canny witch, not someone who would be easily taken by surprise or overpowered. It was his presence that had been her weakness, the need to protect him that had made her vulnerable.

It was his fault that they were walking toward their doom, and if anything happened to his grandmother, he knew, he would never forgive himself.

Anne hurried along the street, attempting to keep the other group in sight, Mark and the old barman beside her. She was reeling from the shock of it all, from the impact of being suddenly plunged into the darkest corners of a world which was not her own, a world which she had heard about years ago, but which she thought she would only dip into as a visitor.

From Mark's hurried explanations, she had gathered that the men forcibly marching Emmy and her grandson to who-knew-where were followers of the darkest wizard ever known, and she did not like to think what that meant for their safety.

The men steered their prisoners into a narrow alley, and Anne knew this was it, that whatever happened today would happen here. If Emmy was - hurt - now, so soon after they had been reunited…

Henry Attenborough sat at his window, sipping his tea and feeling every one of his seventy-three years. A lifetime in government had left him comfortably retired, and he was content in his current lazy life: sitting in his flat, so near to his old haunts on Downing Street; reading his newspapers, feeling very free of having to solve the problems of today; watching the people on the street, with their shopping and their rushing about, of whom he was not at all envious.

A group across the street caught his attention; something about it seemed odd. He focused on them, glad as ever that his eyes were sharp as they had always been. An older woman and a boy were turning into an alley, apparently directed to do so by two men behind them, who seemed to be holding weapons.

He sighed, reaching for the telephone. It seemed, he thought wryly, that if he avoided the action, it would just follow him home. At least he didn't have to leave his chair. A call to the police would do just fine.

As they approached the alley where the Death Eaters had taken Alec, Mark shivered. He had been panicked before, but now, when they were heading into the action, he became almost unnaturally calm. He knew there was a good chance that none of them would make it out of here alive, but in an odd, perverse way, that knowledge steadied him.

David, it randomly occurred to him, would be a complete wreck by now, while Noah would just be mostly oblivious to the danger.
They reached the alley, and the barman stopped them. "I'll go in myself. There's nothing either of you can do. If I manage to surprise them and take them out, I'll be back in a minute. If not…" He trailed off.

"Then what?" Gran whispered.

"I don't know."

Yaxley pointed his wand at the woman. "Incarcerous," he said impassively, still inwardly seething at Carrow's ineptitude. Ropes flew out of the wand, binding the Mudblood to her chair.

The operation was an hour late already, and something was bound to go wrong even without Carrow nearly losing their quarry before they had even begun. He would certainly be reporting him to the Dark Lord. He kept a cool face, though, as he jabbed his wand in the direction of the boy. "Silencio."

He turned back to the woman. "Now, madam," he said with a sneer, "the procedure is simple. You will give us all the information we require on the Order."

The woman sat stoically, not moving or speaking.

"You have nothing to lose by talking, as you will die whether or not you cooperate. If you refuse, however…" He smiled. "It is always so unpleasant to use the Cruciatus Curse. It will undoubtedly be even more so to use it on a child. At least he cannot scream…"
A satisfying spasm of fear crossed the Mudblood's face.

"No one knows you are here," he pressed on. "We can be here for hours if you'd like, as you watch your grandson suffer… And it will be even more fun, won't it, as he isn't tied - "

"Stupefy!"

Yaxley reacted instantly. Wheeling around as Carrow collapsed nearby, he shot a return Stunning Spell at the man in the door, who dropped to the floor as well.

Yaxley approached the intruder with a certain amount of contempt. It was pathetic that the man, whom he now recognized as the Leaky Cauldron barman, could not perform a silent Stunning Spell. If he had, he might have been able to take Yaxley out as well, thanks to the complete and utter idiocy of Carrow, who had not only failed remarkably to guard the door, but apparently not even bothered to lock it.

Yaxley listened carefully for any sign of the barman having had backup, but the old man appeared to have been alone. There was no reason the mission should not continue.

Ignoring Carrow's prone body, and quite forgetting to lock the door, he turned back to his prisoners.

Mark stood outside the alley, waiting with ever greater degrees of anxiety. Are they still alive?

After his watch had ticked five minutes, he turned to his grandmother. "What now?" he whispered, knowing there was nothing he could do, but hoping against hope that she would have some plan. "We have to do something."

"We may as well - go in and check?" she said, twisting her hands nervously. Though Mark knew this was a terrible idea, that it would only put them in greater danger, he nodded.

They stepped between the buildings, stopping first to set down the packages that Mark only now realized he had been carrying all this time. About twenty feet in, a door seemed to lead to a small studio apartment. They looked at each other.

"This is it?" Mark mouthed. Gran shrugged.

There was a small window several feet above his head. He pointed to it, motioning to Gran to pick him up. Her eyes widened in fear, and she shook her head vigorously. How can I see without being - oh!

Running back to the street, he rummaged in the packages still lying abandoned where they had left them. He pulled out the Headless Hat he had purchased a lifetime ago, and, clutching it tightly, ran back to where Gran stood, confused, under the window.

He put on the hat, paid no attention to Gran's hastily muffled gasp at his head's sudden disappearance, and motioned again to be lifted to the window. Gran smiled wanly and obliged, and he returned the smile before remembering that she couldn't see his face.

A small room was visible through the window, lit by a strange, flickering candlelight. The room was entirely bare of furniture aside from a single wooden chair, in which Alec's grandmother sat, bound with thin cords. The keeper of the Leaky Cauldron, and the Death Eater who had watched them there, were unmoving on the floor, either dead or unconscious, but it was the third figure on the floor that drew his attention, filling him with a horror so powerful he nearly lost his balance in his grandmother's grip.

Alec was lying on the ground as well, but he was not motionless at all. He was twitching, jerking, flailing from side to side, evidently in terrible pain. The second Death Eater stood over him, directing his wand at Alec with a completely emotionless expression which flickered briefly to a smile: Alec had tried to assume a fetal position and the man had stopped him with a wave of his wand. Oh God no no no that's evil how can he do that -

Mark tore his face from the window, unable to watch any longer. He motioned hastily for Gran to let him down. They had to do something, Alec was being tortured, but what, what could they do, when he knew as much magic as he did Flemish?

A sudden, bold idea came to him. If there would be no additional rescuers - well, the Death Eaters didn't have to know that.

Yaxley was just considering if it was worth the risk of being overheard to let the boy scream after all when he heard a shout from outside, a child's voice.

"Quickly! The Death Eaters are in here!"

He swore quietly. He had no idea how they had been discovered, but it was clear that the stupid innkeeper had not been alone after all. There was no time now, and the Dark Lord's instructions had been clear: the information was not as important as taking out the Vance woman. He raised his wand.

Alec watched from the floor as the Death Eater raised his wand, the pain fading as the Cruciatus Curse was removed. He had heard Mark's shout from outside, he knew what must be coming next, and he could not let it happen. Thinking fast, he scrambled to a crouching position.

"Avada Kedavra!" Yaxley yelled, bringing the wand down to point at the woman. The jet of green light shot from his wand, but it did not strike the woman.

The boy had jumped, jumped from the floor where Yaxley had left him, with his hand outstretched to block the curse. He collapsed to the floor again and did not move.

"No!"

The woman had finally reacted, her cry one of purest agony, and he smiled into her anguished face, amused by the boy's pointless sacrifice, all the more silly as he would regardless have been next to die. He aimed at the woman again and repeated, "Avada Kedavra!" He watched, satisfied, as the woman slumped forward in her chair.

Then he stepped over to the door, grabbed hold of Carrow, and Disapparated.