Chapter 13: A Stone from the Riverbank

Gawain blinked in the bright light of the kitchen. There was a ringing in his ears. He felt his hands shaking. The tips of his fingers were numb with cold. He stared down at them, rubbing his fingertips together, trying to understand whether or not they were, in fact, his fingers.

Where was he again? What was happening?

Dimly he was aware there were voices around him arguing together. He blinked again and looked around. Ah yes. The Grimmauld Gang. They were all here. His gaze travelled around the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, wondering if any of them had noted his departure from his body just then. But no one seemed to be paying him any attention. They were too busy arguing. No one's eyes were on him. Save one pair.

As Gawain looked dully around the room, struggling to get his shuddering breathing under control, his eyes locked with a bright green gaze. Potter was staring at him. The boy was frowning, a look of concern on his face as he watched Gawain. For a moment, Gawain found he could not look away. But then he tore his gaze back and fixed it instead on Kingsley determinedly. He struggled to remind himself what was going on. Pull yourself together, man. Out of his peripheral vision, he noticed Potter look to Kingsley too, but he caught another troubled glance back his way a moment later.

"We need to take a breath and think this through," Kingsley was saying evenly.

"Think all you want, I'm going home right this instant and collecting my family," Edward Bones snapped. Gawain blinked again, giving his head a little shake to clear the lingering mist that threatened to fog his brain. Bones was right. What were they doing? He had to go. He had to go now. Mary and Ella were in danger.

"Slow down. We need a plan. Where do we move them?" asked Margaret, her one good eye wide with agitation. "We have no idea how long it will be to catch whoever is responsible. It could be days, weeks, months… And if they can track us…?"

"Well, that's obvious, isn't it? They should come here." There was a pause as all eyes turned to Potter. "What? It makes sense. The house is huge; there should be enough bedrooms for everybody. It's well warded—no way the Death Eaters are getting in here. And it's Unplottable, so I don't even think the Trace will work here."

"Are… are you sure?" asked Kingsley uncertainly.

"Sure." Potter shrugged unconcernedly. It was as though he did this sort of thing every day.

Kingsley had a funny look Gawain couldn't read as he gazed at Potter. "Alright," he said at last. "Yes. They can all come here for the time being. Just until we can sort this mess out."

"So what are we waiting for?" asked Ben. "Let's go get them."

"What if we make it worse? What if it's what they want?" said Roslyn. Her face was pale. "If they have a Trace on us… What if they're tracking us back home. We don't know for sure if they even know where our families are or how to get to them. What if that was the point of the Trace to begin with?"

"Perhaps we could Floo there? Grab them and then come straight back? Make it as quick as possible?" Bones suggested.

Gawain brain had been coming back to him. He was already three steps ahead at this point. He shook his head. "We can't be sure they would be able to get through the Fidelius Charm to return with us. If we lost hold of them… who knows where they would end up if they tried."

"Kingsley could write down the Secret for them to read—"

"Too risky," Kingsley interrupted. "We cannot afford those papers to fall into the hands of the Death Eaters. Quite apart from our current predicament, that would put Harry at far too much risk." Bones looked as though this thought did not bother him so very much, but Kingsley continued before he could say so. "Besides. We can't guarantee the Floo Network hasn't been compromised. I don't think we should use the Floo unless absolutely necessary. Unless it be between two Fidelius protected houses, maybe…" Kingsley trailed off, considering something. But no one waited to see where that thought might lead; they barrelled on.

"Well, if we can't go after them, we'll have to send someone else. How do we get a message back to the Ministry?"

"Who in the Ministry? Who can we trust right now?"

"The Aurors!" replied Ben indignantly.

"We don't know that. We don't know anything. Someone betrayed us. And most all of the Aurors would have had the means and opportunity."

"In any case, we don't have time for that," Gawain ground out impatiently. This was getting ridiculous. They were wasting time just sitting here arguing. His head was pounding in time with his fast heartbeat. They didn't have time for any of this. "They could be coordinating an attack at any moment. We have to move now."

"I'll go."

The words were not loud, but they rang around the kitchen and almost seemed to echo in the hush that fell over the arguing Ministry members. Very slowly, all eyes again turned to Potter. He met their gaze unfazed. "I'll go," he repeated. He said it quite matter-of-factly. As though he were merely offering to go out and pick them up some coffee and doughnuts.

"Absolutely not," replied Kingsley. Then he turned back to the others, looking particularly at Gawain. "What if we got a message back to Preston to organise a group of Aurors to split into groups and—"

"This is stupid," Potter cut him off. "Someone put that Trace on you all. That means someone got close enough to each of you to actually cast the spell without any of you noticing. You have no idea who betrayed you. No idea who you can trust. The more people you bring into this, the riskier it will be. And in any case. There isn't time for all that.

"I'm going to flatter myself and say I'm probably one of the only people you can be pretty damn sure isn't going to be betraying you to the Death Eaters. We know there isn't a Trace on me, because if there was, I'd be dead already. And unlike any Aurors you might get from the Ministry, I can Apparate them through the Fidelius Charm. Your families will go from their homes, directly into an Unplottable house. The Death Eaters will have no way to know where they ended up."

There was silence as they all took this in. Damn it, but that does make rather a lot of sense, Gawain thought.

"Absolutely not," said Kingsley again. "It's too risky."

"I'll go with him," said Gawain. A part of his brain knew this was entirely illogical. But the part of him that needed to be doing something was screaming out too loudly for logic to make itself known. "I can watch his back."

Potter rounded on him. "You will not go with me," he said bluntly. "You are closer to Kingsley than anyone. If there is a single person in this room we can be sure they would have targeted, it's you. We can almost guarantee you have a Trace on you. If you come with me, you will get me killed." Then he turned back to Kingsley, effectively shutting Gawain out of the conversation before he could say another word. Gawain was left spluttering in protest, but his brain couldn't seem to formulate a word of objection. Not that it mattered because already no one was paying him any mind. All attention was hanging on Potter as he addressed Kingsley again.

"You've seen me fight. You know I can take care of myself if I need to." Potter's jaw was set in a determined line as he stared down the Minister of Magic as though he were nothing more than a petulant child. "But I won't need to. I'll be in and out before they're any the wiser. I'll just Apparate to each house in turn and bring them back. Couldn't be easier."

"You don't think they will find it suspicious—the families? Harry Potter suddenly Apparating to their homes and suggesting that you were sent by their loved-ones to collect them? They won't believe you. They won't come.

"Oh, come off it, Kingsley. It won't be that weird. You actually expect me to believe there is a single person in this room who hasn't mentioned to their family that they met Harry Potter?" He paused to look around the room one person at a time with a raised eyebrow. Kingsley followed his gaze with a tired expression, clearly hoping for someone to refute this claim. No one did. Gawain met Potter's gaze unflinchingly. Ben gave a sheepish smile. Margaret and Amin shifted uncomfortably and avoided looking at Kingsley. Bones gave his usual frown he reserved for all things Potter-related, his lips in a thin line. And Roslyn was as quiet as ever. "Anyway," Potter continued when no one spoke up. "Everyone here can write down a question for me to ask them. Something that will help me know I'm picking up the right person and not an imposter. And something that will also tell their families that it is indeed their loved-one who sent me." Then a cocky grin split his face as he added, "Plus, I'm charming. They'll come."

The more Potter said, the more it made sense. The more Gawain saw it was the only way that made sense. Gawain watched as this sank into the other members of the Gang too. One by one, they all looked to Kingsley, waiting for his response as the logic set in.

But Kingsley's face seemed to be showing much the same disregard for logic that Gawain's had just a few moments before. He was looking at Potter heatedly, clearly trying to find another argument against Potter's plan.

"You can't. If anything were to happen to you…"

"Yes, yes," said Potter impatiently. "It would be extremely detrimental to your political career to have to explain that Harry Potter got murdered on Ministry business. I get it."

This comment did nothing to sooth Kingsley's anger. "I don't give a damn about my political career right now, Harry. I care about you."

There was silence for a moment. Potter took in a deep calming breath through the nose, but as he looked at Kingsley, his gaze took on a kinder expression. "Kingsley, this makes sense," said Potter, softening to him. "I know you don't like it. But it makes sense. It's the only way. You're just too close to see it."

Kingsley was shaking his head back and forth, his jaw clenched. "This is madness," said Kingsley. Gawain saw the quiet rage that Kingsley always kept supressed bubbling to the surface. It was a rare sighting. Something that usually only came up when facing a fight with Dark wizards. "You're seventeen. You're not going. We're wasting time even discussing it. It's too dangerous. I forbid it."

Potter's face hardened again in response, and he stared Kingsley down. "Well, quite conveniently, I'm of age, and I don't work for you. So I'm not asking for your permission. But they are." Potter nodded to the others in the room, all of whom were looking at Kingsley. Gawain saw the quiet pleading in each expression and knew it was reflected in his own face.

Kingsley looked around at each of them, his face shifting between guilt and anger. But it settled on a resolute refusal. And he shook his head again. "You're. Not. Going." His voice was soft, almost a whisper, but brooked no argument.

This was ridiculous. They were wasting time. Any minute, the Death Eaters could be breaking into his home. Again the familiar image of the Dark Mark floating above his house broke through Gawain's consciousness, and the fist that was gripping his heart tightened further still. It was Mary's day off. She would be home with Ella at this very moment. They would probably be getting ready to prepare dinner, completely unsuspecting. He would not allow for history to repeat itself. He didn't care about the repercussions. He just needed Mary and Ella to be safe.

Without a word, Gawain reached down, riffling through his papers looking for a blank sheet of parchment. When none was immediately apparently, he impatiently tore the bottom half off the one he had been previously been taking notes on. He scribbled on the empty half, then thrust it to Potter. Everyone in the room watched him. Gawain ignored the look of betrayal Kingsley was casting him. Gawain's eyes were only on Potter. "You've met Ella. My wife's name is Mary. This is our address. Ask Mary that question. She'll understand. She'll come."

Potter looked down at the paper being held out to him, a look of surprise on his face. As though he really hadn't expected anyone to agree with him. Then his gaze shifted up to meet Gawain's eye. Gawain read in the gaze a question. He nodded once in response. He was sure. He was trusting Potter with the life of his wife and child. And he was sure.

Potter nodded to Gawain in return, took the parchment, and turned to the other members of the Gang. Margaret had already reached for a quill and parchment and was scribbling a note herself. She held it out to Potter too. "My wife's name is Amitra," she said. She did not look at Kingsley.

Bones then reached for a parchment with a sigh. Amin gave one apologetic look toward Kingsley before doing the same. Kingsley slumped into a chair, defeated. He leaned an elbow on the table top and looked away from all of them, staring into the fire, a fist pressed to his mouth. Potter took the parchment from Bones who passed it over wordlessly when he was done scribbling.

Amin hesitated briefly before passing his to Potter too, staring at the note in his hand. "Nayana… my wife… she's pregnant." He looked at Potter and Gawain could see the anxiety in his eyes. "She's worried about Apparating with the baby. You have to make her see that it's important. That there's no other way. She'll be hesitant, but she'll see reason."

"You can let her know that Mary will be here," Gawain offered Potter. "Just in case. She's a Healer, and Nayana knows her. It might give her comfort." Amin offered a small grateful smile, though his eyes were still worried.

Potter nodded. "Don't worry. I'll take care of her," he said, confidently to Amin. Then he glanced to Ben and Roslyn, neither of whom had moved to write down an address and question.

Ben shrugged unconcernedly. "Bachelor life," he said. "And my parents are dead. It's just me. And my closest friends are already here. They don't have anyone to hold over me."

Eyes travelled to Roslyn. "My husband is in New York," she said to Potter. "I'll send a message to him with our enchanted mirror set to warn him to be on his guard. But security is tight in the Embassy. He should be fine." But for all that, she looked worried.

Potter nodded, then turned to look at the four pieces of parchment in his hands. His eyes whizzed across the pages as he read the four questions he had been handed. Gawain saw a small blink of surprise as he read the question and answer Gawain had written. Potter glanced up at Gawain with an expression Gawain couldn't quite read. Was that pity? Before Gawain could work it out, the boy turned back to the next parchment.

"Right," he said. "I'll go north to south," he mused. "Two people from Yorkshire for Mr. Robards; I should be able to collect Mrs. Jenkyns from Oxford and Mrs. Amin from Birmingham in the same go. Then down to Hampshire for the three from the Bones Family." He cast a furtive glance back up to Gawain, and abruptly Gawain found himself wondering if Potter was intentionally getting his family first, knowing as he did that his first wife and child had been murdered by Death Eaters and seeing what a wreck he was. Gawain did not ask. He did not point it out. But he suspected Potter could see the gratitude on his face. "Susan will have to be last. She should be safest of anyone at Hogwarts, and I can't Apparate directly to her there like I can the others," Potter finished. Gawain found he really couldn't bring himself to feel guilty at all at the disgruntled look from Bones at the proposed order.

Bones looked like he wanted to argue, but to his credit, he did not. Someone had to be last, after all, and it would have looked petty. Still, he had to get a word in somehow. "You're sure you can Apparate three at once," said Bones sternly. "I don't want my sons getting splinched."

Potter waved off his concern. "Shouldn't be a problem. I'm used to Apparating with Ron and Hermione. And the boys are smaller. It'll be easy enough." Then he folded the four parchments together and tucked them in his pocket. "Right. I'm off," he said, and moved to the door. He did not look at Kingsley.

Potter was just pulling the cloak off its hook with one hand and opening the kitchen door with the other when Kingsley at last spoke.

"Harry," he called. Potter paused for a moment before he looked over his shoulder, his face wary. He waited for Kingsley's next objection. And Kingsley looked like he wanted to give it. But then Kingsley sighed. "Just… just be careful. First sign of trouble, just get out of there. Don't be a hero. Don't be… you."

"I'll be fine," said Potter. And with that answer that wasn't an answer, Potter was gone.

Gawain's feet felt rooted to their spot on the kitchen tile. His stance was wide. His eyes were fixed on a point on the floor some two metres away. His hands were deep in his pockets, one curled around his wand so tightly his nails were biting into his palm.

What was he doing here? This wasn't him. Standing around and waiting while someone else did his job. When did he become this person? And yet…

Fear was gripping his heart and keeping his feet rooted in place. Fear of failure. Of making it all worse. Of losing her all over again. And so he stood there. Petrified to the spot.

It was so quiet, the ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to echo around the kitchen. Strange. He had never noticed that clock before. Pulling himself out of his reverie, Gawain looked around for something with which to distract himself. He took in each of his companions in turn.

Kingsley was still seated at the table, twisted sideways in the chair so he could gaze into the fire. His face was turned, and Gawain could not read his expression. Roslyn was next to him. She sat quietly, hands folded on the table, her head bowed. Gawain had been vaguely aware that she had excused herself for a few minutes to go and reach out to her husband through her mirror, but he had not noticed her return. How much time had passed anyway? Margaret was seated at the table too, but unlike the other two, she was definitely not still. She was wringing her hands in her lap and her knee was bouncing up and down so fast it was a blur. Amin was standing in the corner of the room, leaning against the kitchen counter. His arms were crossed over his chest, and he was ashen faced with an expression like he was going to be sick at any moment. Bones was pacing the length of the kitchen table back and forth, back and forth. And Ben was staring between all of his friends, looking lost as though he wanted to say or do something comforting but didn't know what.

"Maybe this was a bad idea," said Roslyn suddenly into the silence. Her voice was quiet. Barely more than a whisper. But no one had any trouble hearing her. "Potter… What if he gets hurt? Maybe it's not too late to call him back." No one answered. Was it selfish? Probably. But Gawain had no intention of calling Potter back. The silence stretched out longer. The clock continued to tok annoyingly.

Gawain couldn't take this anymore. He couldn't just stand here doing nothing as his friends' anxieties compounded his own. Without a clear idea in his brain of what he was going to do, he turned on his heal and marched out of the room. He felt the eyes of several people follow him, but no one said a word.

The corridor was dark as usual. He walked the length, passing the stairs to the upper levels of the house, reached the front door, and wrenched it open. Perhaps it was better not to go back home, but he could at least make sure the coast was clear here where they would be coming in. He didn't bother to close the door behind him. He moved to step off the front stoop to go out to explore the street and paused, his right foot suspended in the air just at the edge of the step. Then slowly, very slowly, he pulled it back and placed it carefully and intentionally back on the stoop next to his left foot.

He stood there for a moment, staring down at his boots, frozen in indecision. Since that first night, before the Gang had officially been formed, they had always Apparated directly onto the top step. This house was Unplottable, according to Potter. That, with the Fidelius Charm... There was a good chance the Death Eaters had no idea where they actually were at that moment, Trace or no Trace. The minute he stepped down from that step, however…

Gawain raised his eyes and looked around. The street looked quiet. The sun was getting low in the sky, the shadows elongating. He heard the wind chime from the neighbour's house lightly jingle in the warm breeze. A couple of Muggle boys were kicking a football back and forth a little ways down the street, laughing. How could it all seem so normal? Didn't the rest of the world know that everything was falling into chaos?

A sound of aggravation escaped his throat. This was not him. He did not stand around in indecision. Afraid that anything he did would make things worse. When did he lose the ability to act? To make a decision and carry it out? When did he begin to doubt himself so completely?

He turned on his heal and marched back into the house, slamming the door behind him. He leaned back against it in frustration. At least the dingy hallway suited his mood more than the warm July evening sun did. Abruptly, he felt eyes on him and raised his head to look down the hall. Amin was standing in the doorway down to the kitchen, watching him quietly, a sad look on his face.

Gawain licked his lips and looked down again, trying to think if there was something he should say to him. But nothing came out. He didn't know what to say or think or do in that moment. Luckily, no response was needed as in that instant, he heard a crack sound from outside the front door.

Gawain pushed himself off his post leaning against the door and swung it open in one fluid motion. And they were there. Gawain's eyes drank them in, ensuring they were safe and sound.

Mary was gripping Potter's right arm and Ella was hugging Potter around his waist, her eyes wide. Potter's left arm was wrapped protectively around Ella holding her close.

"Da'!" cried Ella. She broke apart from Potter and ran to him. He scooped her up into his arms and held her, breathing in the scent of her hair. She wrapped her legs around his hip, and he supported her there, hugging her to his chest tightly. "I Apparated! Did you see?" She seemed more excited and thrilled than scared, blissfully ignorant of her father's tattered nerves.

"I saw, Ells Bells." Gawain said, pulling back to look her over and satisfy himself that she was really there and unharmed. Then he turned to lock eyes with Mary who had just approached at a more cautious pace. He reached out to stroke a hand along Mary's jawline. She was looking up at him with so many questions and so much worry in her eyes. There would be time for that in a moment. But for now…

He pulled Mary into a hug with his free arm and kissed her temple. She returned the hug, one arm going around Ella and one around Gawain's back. He held them both there for what felt like an hour, but was probably mere seconds, relishing in the feel of his family in his arms. But then Mary pulled back just enough to look up into his face again, her eyes searching his for answers.

But Gawain's eyes had already slid over to Potter, still standing on the top step. He gave him a nod of gratitude. Potter returned the nod, then Apparated away again without a word. Out of his peripheral vision, Gawain saw Mary craning her neck to take in this exchange between the two men from where she still stood crushed to Gawain's side. She looked worried and confused.

"Gawain, what in Merlin's name is going on?"

"Not here," Gawain muttered. "Inside. I'll explain everything in a minute." He noticed that Mary had a single small duffle bag slung over her shoulder and her Healer's bag in one hand. Gawain set Ella down on her feet, took the bags from Mary, and he ushered them both inside, closing the door behind them. Ella opened her mouth to say something, but Gawain shushed her. "Shhh. Let's get into the kitchen, then we can talk."

Amin was still by the door to the kitchen, and he raised his head to look at them as they approached. Gawain saw some of the tension leaving his shoulders, and he gave them a weak smile as he stepped aside to let them into the kitchen. Then he disappeared down the hall. It was his turn to wait impatiently for Potter's return by the front door.

When they entered the kitchen, Kingsley's head snapped up. He took in Mary and Ella, then looked directly at Gawain, an unspoken question in his eyes.

"So far so good," said Gawain, plopping the bags down on the floor against the wall just inside the door. Then his arm went back around Mary's shoulder, comforting himself that she was really here. "He's off to fetch Amitra and Nayana next."

Kingsley allowed himself the smallest sigh of relief, but he still looked far from reassured as he turned to Mary with small smile. But even Mary knew Kingsley well enough to see that that this smile did not reach his eyes. She looked between Kingsley and Gawain appearing more and more worried by the second.

"Mary," Kingsley greeted, reaching out a hand to take hers. He looked tired. Beyond tired. He looked emotionally and physically exhausted. He gave her hand a gentle squeeze. "I'm so glad you made it here safe."

"Safe from what?" Mary asked, exasperated, looking between Gawain and Kingsley. "What is going on? What's happened?"

"Harry said we get to have a slumber party with him!" Ella supplied to her mother, as though this would answer all of her questions.

"Yes, sweetheart. Wasn't that nice of him to invite us?" Gawain replied distractedly, but his eyes were still locked with Mary's. "Perhaps we should wait. The others will be here soon…"

"Gawain!" replied Mary, disbelievingly. "Please!" Patience was never Mary's virtue, and the imminent threat was wearing it even thinner than usual.

"Hi, Ella," Margaret cut in then. She shot a nervous glance between Gawain and Mary, before bending down to be on Ella's eye level.

"Hi, Ms. Jenkyns!" replied Ella, cheerily. Gawain was abruptly grateful that Ella had met most of the people in this room at various functions and dinners growing up. The only strangers in the room she didn't know were Roslyn and Bones. "Are you staying for the slumber party too?"

"I am!" replied Margaret, forcing a smile. "And Mr. Bones here has two boys who will be coming too. Brandon is about your age. Won't that be fun? Now, your mum and dad have to talk for a minute. I have some parchment here. Why don't we go draw Harry Potter a thank you card for inviting us while we wait for the others." Then she led Ella just a little ways down the table, accepting the grateful nod from Gawain. Margaret was a bit of a gruff personality and not one for playing games. Knowing this made him all the more grateful that she would step out of her comfort zone in order to keep Ella distracted while he and Mary talked.

Mary watched them go, then rounded on Gawain. She said nothing, but everything about her stance demanded an answer. Gawain took her hand and pulled her aside from the others.

"How bad?" she asked, her voice low. He hesitated, trying to formulate his thoughts on how to explain this. Mary was not patient. "Gawain! Harry Potter just Apparated to my home, asked me a very shocking question, then told me that I should take five minutes to pack a few changes of clothes and toothbrushes for everyone. So tell me. How bad is it?"

Gawain sighed. "We've received a tip that the Death Eaters are targeting the Minister's inner circle. Word is there is a Trace Charm on each us, and they're able to track us. And… and the information is that they're targeting our families. They're marshalling an attack. We think possibly at our homes."

Mary stared at him with a look of horror. Then her eyes drifted over to Ella who was sitting happily drawing a picture at the table with Margaret. Over Ella's head, Margaret met her eye with a sad look, before adjusting her eyepatch awkwardly and returning her attention to Ella and the drawing. Gawain also noticed Margaret's gaze dart repeatedly toward the door, and he knew she was anxiously awaiting Amitra. Still her knee was bouncing restlessly.

When Mary turned back to Gawain, her eyes were wide and tears clung unshed to her long lashes. She drew in a calming breath. "So…" she faltered, glanced back to Ella, then took another deep breath. Her face morphed into a look of determination, ready to fight anyone who dared to lay a finger on her daughter. "So what's the plan?" she asked.

"We don't have one," replied Gawain. "Yet," he added in response to a flash of fury in her eyes. "First step is to get everyone's family here safe."

"And where is 'here'? Is it safe?"

"We're in Harry Potter's house." Mary merely shook her head in disbelieving confusion. "It's well warded with just about every protective enchantment known to wizard kind—the benefits of knowing someone who is no stranger to attempted murder." Abruptly Gawain realised he should not have used the word 'murder'. Mary blanched. "It's safe," he added hastily. "It's why we're here."

Mary let out an incredulous huff of air and ran her fingers through her hair. She adjusted a pin in her messy bun, even as she shook her head in incredulity; she often did this when just giving herself time to think. Still, Gawain noticed she continually shot glances over to Ella as though expecting someone to attack at any moment. "And… and how long are we expected to stay here?"

"I don't know. Until we figure out who's behind all this and lock them up, I suppose. Could be a couple weeks maybe?" Gawain was not optimistic for a speedy investigation when half the Auror team was locked away in a house they were unable to leave.

"A couple weeks?" cried Mary. "Are you sure?"

"No," replied Gawain honestly. "Could be less. Could be more. I don't know." They needed to find a way to reach someone they trusted. Someone on the outside. Someone who would be able to investigate. Get them answers. Gawain's brain went immediately to Preston Proudfoot.

"How are we going to get supplies? Food?"

"I don't know yet." Preston was the one who had warned them of the attack. So he must be trustworthy… mustn't he?

"And how are you going to catch whoever is responsible if you're all stuck in here?"

"I don't know." Was it safe to send an owl? Owls could be intercepted. Could they even access an owl? Did Potter have one?

"Why are they doing this? What's their end goal?

"I don't know." Merlin, but could she stop asking all these questions as though he was not already considering them? He needed time to think.

"But who could do something like this? Targeting children!"

"I don't know, Katherine!" he shot out, angrily. He was trying to concentrate, damn it!

He didn't immediately catch his mistake. It was only when Mary's eyes went wide and her mouth dropped open that he realised it. He drew in a shaky breath and ran a hand across his beard, avoiding her eye. "Mary," he corrected himself. His voice suddenly soft and gentle. "I don't know, Mary."

"Oh, Gawain," Mary breathed. She reached out and took hold of his forearm, squeezing it gently. She was gazing up at him. Her attention was entirely on him now, no longer glancing over to check on Ella every few seconds. A brief look into her hazel eyes had him cringing internally. He saw that moment that she realised what this all meant to him. That he was reliving the worst night of his life. And he saw in that gaze the pity, the sorrow she felt for him. He didn't want to see it. Couldn't see it. He pulled his gaze away and fixed it at a spot across the room.

Fortunately, he was spared further comment by the kitchen door being pushed open again. Every head whipped in the direction of the three people entering. Amin and Amitra were supporting Nayana between them. They led her to the closest chair and lowered her into it. Amitra and Amin each had a small overnight bag slung over a shoulder as well. These were added to the pile where Gawain had dropped Mary's.

"Oh, Nayana," Mary said, rushing over to her. Nayana's hands were cradling her pregnant belly as she lowered herself into the chair.

"Mary," Nayana gasped. Mary bent and they kissed cheeks, Mary squeezing her shoulder comfortingly. "It's so good to see you." Nayana had always been tiny. She was scarcely five foot tall and so slight of build, a good gust of wind might have blown her away; she still looked diminutive despite the beachball-sized belly she was rubbing, a new addition since Gawain had last seen her. "The baby is kicking like mad since we Apparated," she said to Mary in her melodic Indian accent.

"Let me take a look at you," said Mary. She was in Healer mode. Gawain was grateful that pitying wife mode was forgotten for the time being.

Nayana safely situated with both Mary and Amin hovering over her, Amitra extracted herself and looked around until her worried eyes found Margaret. The pair crossed to each other in two long strides each. They embraced and kissed unabashedly.

"Maggie," Amitra gasped, cupping Margaret's face between her palms and searching her face to be sure she was alright. Then a small smile twitched Amitra's cheek as she wiped a smear of dark lipstick from Margaret's lips. If anyone else tried to call Margaret 'Maggie' they would soon find themselves on the wrong end of a Bat Bogies Hex. That was only for Amitra.

Not for the first time, Gawain found himself marvelling at how different the pair were. Margaret was tetchy and uncouth. She wore baggy clothes that hid her shapeless frame and her frizzy unkempt hair was always pulled unceremoniously back into a practical ponytail. Amitra, on the other hand, was everything feminine. Her chestnut skin was always flawlessly painted with makeup; her nails long and perfectly manicured in bright colours; her midnight hair neatly pulled into dozens of tight braids and coiled artfully atop her head; her figure curvy and always sporting clothes that showed it off to full effect. The two were polar opposites. And theirs was one of the most beautiful relationships Gawain had ever known.

Margaret's attention diverted, Ella sidled back over to hover next to Mary as she worked.

"Why do they never tell you how horrible pregnancy is?" Nayana joked to Mary, drawing Gawain's attention back.

"It's a well-kept secret by our mothers," Mary replied with a smile as she felt across Nayana's belly. "To ensure we keep giving them grandchildren."

"But worth it in the end, I hope" Nayana laughed, gently pinching Ella's cheek fondly and smiling at her in greeting.

"Do try to tell yourself that while you're in labour," Mary replied wryly.

The energy in the kitchen had shifted. The previous deafening silence had dissipated, and the room was now filled with conversation. The tension seemed to be lessening now that over half of the family members had been safely deposited to Grimmauld Place. The only exception, of course, was Edward Bones.

Bones had relented his pacing. Gawain suspected this was not because he didn't wish to continue pacing but because there was now a pregnant woman, a Healer, a seven-year-old girl, and a doting father-to-be situated firmly in his path. Instead, he stood against the wall near the door chewing on his thumb nail and tapping his foot restlessly.

Suddenly, a screeching wail filled the kitchen. Everybody jumped and looked around wildly to find the source of the noise. Gawain did too and was quite surprised to discover it was, in fact, emanating from his own pocket. Then realisation hit. With some trepidation, he reached into his pocket and pulled out his keys. All eyes in the room followed this movement.

To the casual observer on your average day, the small black tourmaline crystal hanging from his keys may look like a simple keychain. It had so long been attached there, Gawain had quite forgotten that it served any other purpose than keeping his keys together. But now the stone was letting loose with its ear-piercing shriek and pulsating with glowing red veins of light.

"What is that?" asked Amin uneasily.

Gawain paused for a moment, then glanced to Mary. She was looking up at him with a knowing look. Then he spoke to the room at large. "It's linked to a security charm I put up around our home, ages ago. It's signalling that someone has broken into the house without invitation."

Gawain ran his hand over his face. It made him feel sick. Standing here. Knowing those bastards were in his home at that very moment, seeking to destroy his family. His fist clenched around the crystal so hard the sound was stifled.

Mary straightened from where she had been bent over Nayana and moved over to Gawain. She ran a hand up and down his arm. "It doesn't matter," she said comfortingly. "We're here. We're safe. We're together. Whatever they do, it's only a house."

Gawain nodded reluctantly, knowing she was right. He swallowed hard and pulled out his wand, tapping the crystal to silence it. Yes, Mary was right. His family was safe. That's what mattered. But he felt a rage building in his heart at the thought of Death Eaters in his home. Again.

This thought was barely formed, however, when a new wail sounded. Everyone jumped again, and all eyes turned to Margaret as she too pulled out a crystal from her own pocket. Then her eyes moved up to meet Gawain's. Understanding had hit them simultaneously.

"What does this mean?" asked Roslyn into the silence which had fallen among all the inhabitants of the kitchen.

Neither Margaret or Gawain spoke for a moment. They continued to stare at each other. Then Margaret replied to Roslyn's question, though her eyes were still locked on Gawain's. "A coordinated attack. They're hitting multiple places at once, so we can't respond with a team to any one site."

There was silence in the room. Then the implications of this sank in. And Kingsley said aloud a thought that had only just then entered Gawain's head. "Where the bloody hell is Harry?"

Slowly, Gawain turned his gaze on Kingsley. He was ashen-faced and Gawain thought he looked far older than he ever had before. There was silence in the room, everyone looking around at each other. Then, abruptly, Kingsley was moving toward the door.

"Where are you going," Gawain asked, already knowing the answer.

"I'm going after Harry," he said, in a tone that brooked no argument.

"We can't!" cried Margaret.

"I didn't say 'we'. I said 'I'."

"I'm coming too," said Bones, moving to follow.

"Now wait just a minute," said Margaret, blocking the door as both Kingsley and Bones made to push through. "You're not an Auror anymore. You're the Minister of Magic! It's too dangerous. The Trace! And besides… We don't even know that they're hitting Bones's house."

"Who gives a damn about this supposed Trace? They're already out to kill us and going for our homes, Trace or no Trace," shouted Bones.

"And this is about Harry," Kingsley picked up the argument. "He's seventeen years old. I'm responsible for him. I dragged him into this mess."

"And I'm responsible for keeping the Minister of Magic alive!" Margaret responded heatedly.

"You might be playing directly into their hands. It's you they're aiming to hurt, Minister. Potter isn't the target, here," chimed in Roslyn reasonably.

"All the more reason I have to go after him! He has no place in this. If anything were to happen to him…"

"Enough arguing! Move aside! This is also my wife and children, we're talking about!" roared Bones.

"Then we all go," said Gawain. He ignored the panicked look that Mary shot him. "We all Apparate in at once, wands ready."

"Hell, yeah!" cried Ben, enthusiastically. "They'll have to take down all of us at once."

"This is madness!" shouted Margaret at the same time Roslyn cried, "It's far too risky!"

"We have no idea what we'd be Apparating into! No idea what numbers we might be up against. What enchantments—"

All argument was abruptly rendered moot, however, when all heads whipped over to the fire which had suddenly roared into a burst of green flames. And Potter was tumbling down out of the fireplace, skidding across the kitchen floor on his back.

Potter came to a rest, lying flat on his back some two metres away from the hearth. His neck was craning up, wand in his right hand, pointing toward the fire, eyes wide as though expecting someone to follow him through, and he was panting with exertion and horror.

Smashed against Potter's right side, a small blond boy, perhaps about Ella's age or a little younger, had his arms around Potter's waist and his face buried in his chest. On Potter's left, a boy a few years older was wrapped in Potter's left arm. This boy had Edward Bones's auburn hair. And clinging to Potter's right leg with both arms and legs wrapped securely around his calf, was a small, wide-eyed House-elf.

For a moment, everyone in the room was frozen in shock. The House-elf seemed to come to herself faster than the rest. For after a moment, she extracted herself from Potter's leg and looked around the kitchen. When her wide blue eyes finally found Edward Bones, she let out a pitiable wail and burst into loud and messy tears, wiping her small button nose on the tea towel she wore like a toga.

It seemed to be the cue that moved everyone into action. And suddenly there was a cacophony of voices as several people spoke at once, demanding explanation of what had happened, whether anyone was hurt.

Gawain made way as Bones barrelled over to his sons, pulling them both off the floor and into a hug. The boys looked around the room shell-shocked, not seeming entirely sure of how they had ended up there.

"Maxim! Brandon!" Bones gasped. "Are you hurt?" He pulled back, holding each by their shoulders. Both boys shook their heads. "What happened? Where is your mother?"

The younger boy seemed to not fully understand what was happening. But the older boy abruptly let out a choked sob and said, "Dad! Dad, I think they killed Mum!"

Silence fell into the room. Bones merely stared at his son, uncomprehendingly for a moment. Then he pushed the boys aside and moved to Potter in one long stride. Potter was still seated on the floor, his chest heaving and his head bowed as he struggled to catch his breath. He was just managing to sit up, though he looked pained doing it. Gawain thought he must have hit the kitchen floor quite hard to knock the wind out of him so.

Before any of them registered what was happening, Bones had his hands dug into the front of Potter's robes, and he was wrenching the boy to his feet. Potter's wand skittered across the kitchen floor to come to rest under the table. Bones slammed Potter's back into the wall nearby and was centimetres from his face as he shouted at him.

"WHERE IS IRIS?"

"Hey!" Kingsley cried indignantly, but Bones was not listening. Margaret rushed over and gathered the two Bones boys into her arms, pulling them away from their father who was in a violent rage.

"WHERE IS MY WIFE? HOW COULD YOU LEAVE HER BEHIND?"

"GET YOUR HANDS OFF OF HIM!" bellowed Kingsley. Gawain rushed over to help Kingsley pull Bones off Potter. Bones struggled against them as they separated them, and Kingsley pulled Bones forcefully across the room as far from Potter as he could manage. Gawain situated himself between the pair, ready to defend Potter if Bones made to charge again.

"He just risked his life to bring your sons back, you fool! This is not his fault!"

"HE LEFT HER! HE LEFT HER BEHIND!"

Potter's stayed where Bones had tossed him, leaning against the wall and still gasping for breath. Gawain spared a glance over his shoulder to check on him before looking back to Kingsley and Bones arguing. Potter face was pale with shock, as he stared at Bones. His arm was slung across his stomach as though he might be sick. A single tear rolled down one cheek and his expression spoke of guilt and sorrow and confusion.

"Maybe you should give him a chance to explain what happened!"

"THIS IS HIS FAULT! THIS WAS ALL HIS PLAN!"

"Edward! Calm down!"

"DON'T TELL ME TO BLOODY CALM DOWN!"

There was noise and commotion everywhere. As Kingsley and Bones shouted at each other and the House-elf continued to wail from her spot sitting cross-legged on the floor, Gawain saw Margaret taking stock of the two Bones children and making sure they were unharmed. Amitra hurried over to check on them too. Ben ran over to help Kingsley push back Bones, and Mary and Amin were helping Nayana and Ella out of the path of the violence.

"I'm alright, Auntie Margaret," the older of the Bones boys was saying from Gawain's left. "But Dad…"

"Don't you worry. We'll sort this all out," said Amitra soothingly.

"Brandon, sweetheart. You're covered in blood. Honey, are you hurt?"

Gawain swung his head around to look. Margaret was holding the smaller of the boys by the shoulders an arm's-distance away, and Gawain saw that his clothes were indeed drenched in bright red blood stains.

"It's not mine," the boy replied in a hesitant small voice. "It's that man's. The bad men were aiming a curse at Brandon, and he jumped in the way." Margaret and Gawain locked eyes over Brandon's head. Gawain saw his own horror reflected in Margaret's gaze. Then slowly, he turned his head to follow the direction the boy's small hand pointed. Turned his head to look over his shoulder at Harry Potter.

Potter was still leaning against the wall, breathing raggedly, his eyes still directed after Bones. But they were beginning to look glassy. Like they couldn't focus on anything. And he was pale. More pale than should be explained by the simple emotional shock Gawain had thought him in. Far too pale.

"Potter? Potter, are you hurt?" Gawain asked urgently.

Potter blinked, as though dragging his mind back from somewhere far away. He slowly turned his green eyes to Gawain and looked at him, his expression confused. Then, just as slowly, he looked down at his own body. He pulled back his hand which had been slung across his stomach and looked at it. Then he raised it up and held it out to Gawain, palm up, his eyes quizzical as he looked at Gawain.

He reminded Gawain of a small child who had just found some mysterious stone while on a walk along the riverbank. Like he was holding out his treasure to show Gawain, asking what it was. Like he couldn't understand what he had just found. For a moment, Gawain just stared in horror at the bright scarlet smeared across the boy's palm.

Then Potter crumpled, sliding down the wall, a smear of blood marking his path to the floor.