Chapter Two: A Monstrous Rampage
Three-hundred and fifty dead. More names were coming in all the time. More muggle families, more half-bloods, just more. If anyone had been left wondering if Voldemort had returned, they would know now. The UK hadn't seen an attack like it for hundreds of years. Muggles were claiming gas-leaks, forest fires, all the usual excuses. They would mourn, but have no idea of the true spectre that hung over them.
"How many did we lose?" Sirius Black, his hair lank and his voice hollow, asked the room at large. It was emptier than it had been a few hours previously. The bulk of the Weasleys hadn't arrived back yet, only Bill having somehow managed to escape Gringotts with his life, had appeared. Kingsely and Tonks had been summoned by the Ministry and no-one had any idea where Dumbledore was. The Order had never felt more isolated, more alone and Sirius was doing his best to pick up the pieces.
It wasn't easy. Men and women he had spent his life respecting, his life looking up to, now all turned to him for answers. As if he had any. As if he, of all people, knew what was going on. The first he'd heard of any attack was Remus bursting through the floo network, his face cut open and deep wounds in his arm. The werewolves he'd been trying to turn had shown their allegiance in the most obvious way they knew how.
But they needed someone to tell them where to go, to organise everything and seeing as how he was shackled to this damnable house it might as well be him. Not like he could do anything. The best he could manage was telling everyone else where to go. If he hadn't been so busy looking after Remus he might've done just that, might've run, might've fought. But he hadn't and for better or worse he was now the one they looked to. Tonight, he was in charge.
"Jones, Fletcher and Diggle are dead," he ground out gruffly, "Diggle got caught trying to save a bunch of muggles in Croydon, Jones was on guard - Voldemort did her in."
"And Dung?"
"Got stuck in Diagon Alley trying to sell a bunch of dodgy wands," Bill told him, "they hit most of the shops, Ollivanders, that ice cream bloke. Even Flourish and Blotts took a hammering. The Ministry's still trying to figure out who made it out." Alive. That was the word no-one wanted to use. Merlin's beard where did this even come from?
The attacks had been scattered across the country, but that was the point. The Ministry had been hamstrung to do anything and the great force that Voldemort seemed to have built had used their advantage with deadly expertise. The Order had done their best to mobilise, to help where they could, but it was like trying to tame a dragon with a dead ferret.
Grimmauld Place had become the headquarters it was also meant to be and somehow Sirius had been the one barking out orders for where people should go. The Ministry was doing their best to deal with the Muggles, they'd only get in the way. The obvious answer had been anyone connected to Harry and so Sirius had done his best to try and get to them as quickly as possible.
Mad-Eye had been dispatched to check on the Grangers, who were being cared for upstairs by Hagrid. There was no word yet from the Davises, Arthur and Fred had gone to find them when reports of their house being torched had come through. Daphne was looked after and the Weasley children were upstairs with the Grangers. As for Harry himself, Merlin only knew how Harry would react to all of this, but Molly had been sent to St Mungo's with strict instructions to get back-up if she saw anyone remotely suspicious entering the hospital.
"The Bones estate was hit too," Minerva added, her voice wavering far more than Sirius had ever heard it. "There is no word on survivors, yet, and we've had reports that the Longbottoms were targeted."
"We're pretty sure they made it out though," Mad-Eye growled roughly. "Kingsely's out looking for them but we're not sure how long he'll stay there. Depends what Scrimgeour wants him to do."
"And what abouts Tonks?"
"Safe, as far as we know," Sirius let out a grateful sigh at Mad-Eye's words. His cousin had a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time, and the stories coming out of the Department of Mysteries were beyond grim. "Last we heard she was dealing with the mess in Birmingham."
"Attacking an arena," Minerva bristled, disgust mingling with something else far more primal. Fear. They'd all thought Voldemort would just lay low, as he had been doing and use Runcorn to his advantage. They had been wrong. How could they have all been so blind? After Harry had survived the latest attack, of course Voldemort would come out like a wounded animal. "It's barbaric."
"That's Voldemort," Sirius sighed, "but we'll worry about him later. Right now, we need to do what we can. There's also been reports that the Abbotts' place is being attacked, so Bill, you get out there - see if we can't help. Alastor, can you check in on Harry? Then get yourself to the Bones', we could do with finding Amelia. Minerva, you take the Longbottoms. Augusta's a handful but even she could do with some help against that lot."
"What about me, Sirius?" George Weasley asked eagerly.
"You stay here," Sirius said firmly, "I need someone to look after Remus and the others."
They had thought about moving Remus to St. Mungo's, but the hospital would be overloaded as it was, and the Order didn't have time to waste answering awkward questions about a werewolf attack. Minerva had done her best patching him and he'd last until morning, that's all they needed.
George gaped at him, the trademark Weasley anger evident across his young face. What was he? Eighteen? It was no age to be off fighting Death Eaters, Death Eaters that were currently tearing the country apart. He'd only let Fred go because he was with his father. "And where are you going?"
"To have a word with the Headmaster," it was bad enough that Dumbledore had lied to Harry, it was worse that the one night they needed him he'd bloody disappeared. Mad-Eye might give him a piece of his mind, but the others would just bow to whatever Dumbledore said. No, they needed someone that would actually drag the man in line. Just like everything tonight, that burden fell on his shoulders.
"I won't be long, but someone needs to find out what's going on and you lot can all do more out there than I can. They won't be looking at Hogwarts."
"So I get left here?" George argued, "who put you in charge anyway?"
"Have you ever fought a Death Eater, George?" He should be patient with the boy, but his temper like everyone else's was wearing thin. "Have you ever really struggled for your life, had people, good people, depending on you and what you think is right? Do you know what it's like to have to watch people who are counting on you die?" The silence was all Sirius needed, "Today is not the day for you to be a hero. There'll be plenty of time for that later. I need you here, someone has to keep this place running." And Molly wouldn't forgive me if I sent you out alone, he added mentally. "Anyone not here by morning, we send out a search party. No-one gets left behind, alright?"
They cleared out, some of the Order taking the floo network, others hurrying upstairs to disapparate from the street. George hurled himself into a chair sullenly, not looking at Sirius. Remus gave him a reassuring nod from his slumped position by the fire. Despite being as white as a sheet, the man still looked out for him. Even after all these years. Unable to find the words and knowing he'd just bugger it up if he tried, Sirius snatched the jar off the mantel and, for the first time in over a year, he left Grimmauld Place.
It would have been freeing if it wasn't so damn claustrophobic. He'd forgotten what it was like full travelling by floo powder. Sticking your head in was bad enough. McGonagall's office was dark, but even in the gloom Sirius could see neatly organised stacks of parchment and well-stuffed bookcases. A quick wave of his wand illuminated his way and he practically sprinted to the Headmaster's office.
"Order business," he managed to wheeze to the ugly stone gargoyle that guarded Dumbledore's office. He'd forgotten how huge Hogwarts was.
"Name?"
"Sirius Black," Sirius snapped, leaning against the wall. The cold stone was rather soothing. Merlin's beard he was out of shape. He remembered when he and James had sprinted around the castle avoided McGonagall as they dropped stink bombs and other illegal devices of their own creation. If he tried it now he'd be on his knees before they reached the third floor.
"One moment please," there was a long pause and then the gargoyle sighed, "you may enter."
Sirius took the revolving steps two at a time and burst into the office, probably looking like a wild-eyed murderer come to stab Dumbledore in the middle of the night. Rain lashed outside the window in the early morning, pale shafts of moonlight doing their best to pierce the high window. The Headmaster had his back to Sirius, leaning over the pensieve he so often stored his memories in. It was a habit Sirius himself recognised from his parents, but had never been one he'd been fond of. Perhaps because he had so desperately clung onto his past in Azkaban that dishing out memories felt like a betrayal of the very thing that had kept him going all these years.
"Where the hell have you been?" Sirius demanded loudly, reducing the gap between him and the Headmaster in two strides. It was only when he drew close to Dumbledore that he saw the sword of Gryffindor abandoned on his desk and covered in blood.
"Doing what I could," Dumbledore said sadly, "and I fear I may have only made matters far worse."
"What are you -"
"I faced Lord Voldemort tonight," his voice was quiet and somehow ashamed. "Do not worry, I am quite alright. Although, my appearance may have angered him somewhat."
"He killed fifteen aurors, Albus. So yeah, I'd say he's upset." It was then that he saw the Headmaster' blackened hand, almost as if dying at the wrist. "What happened?"
Dumbledore sighed, finally turning away from the pensieve and smiling forlornly at Sirius. It was bizarre. Sirius had entered the room all fire and brimstone and now he was gaping at the Headmaster who had not only fought Voldemort but had survived - even if he was now sporting a dishevelled hand - all while the entire country was burning.
"We have much to discuss, and not enough time, please take a seat." Sirius felt his legs obey, but his mind was reeling, trying to put the pieces together desperately as his anger tried to force him to demand they flee the office and help the Order. "Before we begin I must ask that you tell no-one what I am about to share with you. Not until I have at least been able to share it with Harry."
That stopped him. At the mention of Harry, any objections died on his lips.
"Harry? So it's about that horcrux then?"
"Yes and no," Dumbledore's usually twinkly blue eyes seemed dull, as if he were somehow defeated. "Lord Voldemort has created, I believe, several horcruxes. A diary that Harry destroyed in the Chamber of Secrets, a ring," he gestured to a broken ring on his desk, "Harry and Nagini, his snake, who until tonight was under his personal protection. I believe there are several more."
"You killed the snake?"
"I sought only to prevent him obtaining the prophecy," Dumbledore confessed, "which he now cannot do. It has been destroyed, accidentally, of course." Yeah right. "But when I realised how he protected Nagini, how she never left his side, even tonight of all nights. Well, it appeared an opportunity I could not miss.
"Alas, it means that Lord Voldemort is now aware that I know of his attempts to be immortal. I fear he will move his remaining horcruxes and how many there are I do not know."
"Is that why you've been hiding here? While the rest of us have -"
"I have been attempting to understand our next move, yes." Dumbledore didn't rise to the challenge, nor did he look affronted, he simply raised his wounded hand. "Terrible thing, curiosity. It makes fools of us all, until we are blessed with understanding. Naturally, it often comes too late."
He regarded Sirius as if he were assessing him, a look Sirius was all too familiar with. Ever since school people had tried to place him in boxes. The pureblood, the blood traitor, the murderer, and yet none seemed to fit. But this felt different. It was as though he were being sized up for a part in a much larger plan.
"People are dying, Albus!"
"And the Order will do what it can to save them, you have seen to that. I cannot thank you enough for what you have done tonight, but now Sirius, I need you to listen. I am dying," Dumbledore said plainly, as if he were telling Sirius about the weather. Well, he hadn't been expecting that.
"I have lived a long and full life, but there is much to be done if we are to win this war, and sadly, I will not be here to see it through to fruition. That is why I have not joined you tonight, it is also why I attempted to waylay Lord Voldemort in the Department of Mysteries. If we are to defeat him, then we must destroy his anchors to life and to do that we need time. Because only when they are gone may he be killed."
Sirius wasn't sure how long the Headmaster spoke for, only that the information seemed to wash over him like a wave in a storm. As the world descended around them, as homes burned and lives ended, Sirius was locked in the one place that stood a chance at ending it all. More than once Sirius tried to interject, but the headmaster always overruled him and persisted with his story.
There were horcruxes. To destroy them was damn near impossible. Gryffindor's sword was one way. Fiendfyre another. Basilisk venom would do the trick too. There would be more, but little was known about horcruxes and guessing would just lead them on a wild Niffler chase. Slughorn, the old potions professor, apparently knew more and was unwilling to share. Well, if he was cowardly before, he'd be petrified now, Sirius thought sourly.
"And what do they look like?"
"Much like a portkey, they can be any object Voldemort sees fit. His diary, I believe, was his first as it still indicates that he had some humanity. This ring," the blackened gem was cracked and dark, "belonged to his family. After that, I believe, he sought other objects that reflected his own sense of importance."
"Like what?" Sirius barked impatiently.
"I have recently come into possession of a memory that indicates Lord Voldemort had a connection to the locket of Slytherin. Given his bloodline, it would be the logical next step. And once he had a taste for corrupting objects belonging to the founders… Well, I suspect he may have sought them out too." His bony fingers played with a muggle sweet on his desk. "It is just a theory, but as I say, he at least had a connection to the locket. Whether he stopped there, or persisted with breaking his soul into pieces, I cannot say.."
"So you mean they could be things like that tiara thingy of Ravenclaw's?"
"The lost diadem, yes," Dumledore said sadly, "it would explain his travels abroad. And as for Hufflepuff's cup, well, we aren't certain of its location either." He let out a frustrated sigh. Something was stirring in the back of Sirius' brain. A memory that he was far too tired and exhausted to examine. But it poked at him, just on the edge of his thoughts, like a distant breeze or the crashing of waves.
"But what does any of this have to do with me?"
"Harry," Dumbledore said simply, "show him this path if I am unable to. More importantly, do not let him fall into anger and hopelessness. The road we now tred is long and, I fear, full of heartbreak. For now, I ask that you wait until I have had a chance to tell Harry myself. Then, and only then, can we begin in earnest."
Sirius nodded stiffly, his head swimming as it tried to process everything Dumbledore had just said. But that could come later. As dawn began breaking across the sky, Sirius remembered why he'd come to Dumbledore's office in the first place. A surge of anger crashed over him, both at the Headmaster for wasting so much time and at himself for being too wrapped up in it all to force the issue.
"And what now? What're you going to do now?"
"Help where I can," Dumbledore smiled serenely. "That is, wherever you would like me."
Well, that was new. "What?"
"It is you who has been directing the Order tonight, Sirius. And in the times to come they will look to you for guidance again. There is much to do and I cannot always be there to lead the way. So, where would you have me go?"
Most men may have been overwhelmed, or simply tried to back down in the face of Dumbledore's experience and seniority. But Sirius Black was not most people.
"Check in with Alastor, see if he managed to track down Amelia. Merlin only knows we'll need her."
"An excellent choice," Dumbledore nodded approvingly. He withdrew a small magnifying glass from his desk and passed it to Sirius. "To save you the trip downstairs."
And with that, he left his desk, stuck out his good hand for Fawkes and disappeared in a wreath of flame.
oOo
The news reached Daphne Greengrass on the south coast as news reached most people. Edited. Unlike Sirius Black or even Tracey Davis, she slept blissfully unaware of any of the death or destruction that gripped the country. That was the only thing that was blissful about her sleep. As usual she struggled to drift off and when she did, the nightmares waited for her. Unlike most sixteen-year-old girls, she did not worry about boys or girls, well, not in that way. There was one boy in particular that concerned her and the memory of his torture.
She couldn't remember the last time she had slept without dreaming about Harry. More often than not, she awoke to Astoria beside her, caked in sweat and apparently screaming their new home down. Their mother never said anything, but left dreamless sleep potions by her bed. Daphne ignored them. Whether it was charity or simply Melissa Greengrass' desire to sleep without being awoken by her daughter's screams, Daphne did not care. It was petty. Yes. would prefer a mother who cared enough to fix the problem, rather than one who simply attempted to put salve on the would
"Daphne!" It was Astoria's voice that awoke her that morning. Sun filtered in through the thin curtains, a gentle sea breeze making them dance. The sound of waves gently crashing against the rocks far below them would have been peaceful, if it weren't for the sheer look of terror on Astoria's normally pretty face.
Fourteen-years-old and suddenly looking far older, Astoria was dressed in her tartan dressing gown and emerald green pyjamas and clutching a copy of the Prophet in her skinny hands.
"Wha's goin' on?" Daphne yawned, looking at her sister blearily and trying to push her blonde hair out of her eyes. But instead of answering, Astoria simply shoved the newspaper into Daphne's hands and threw herself onto the bed, making a loud squeak on the old iron frame as she did so.
"Morning to you too," Daphne scowled, but any ill feeling towards her sister died the instant she read the headline. You-Know-Who Returns.
"They finally cottoned on then?"
"Keep going, there's more," Astoria sounded like she wanted to be sick. "Loads more."
One-hundred and thirty-five witches and wizards have been declared dead after a monstrous rampage in the early hours of this morning. Sources close to the Ministry have confirmed that these attacks were orchestrated by You-Know-Who and that, after an unsuccessful attempt to infiltrate the Ministry, the Auror Office suffered severe casualties attempting to detain He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
Death Eaters attacked Diagon Alley at 1.31AM, before striking across various muggle and magical sites across the country. The Bones, Diggory, Abbott and Longbottom estates were attacked, the whereabouts of Madam Bones and Susan Bones are currently unknown.
Amos Diggory and his wife Enid, were found dead in the early hours of this morning, while the Abbott household were able to withstand attacks from Death Eater forces until Ministry officials arrived, thanks to the aid of witches and wizards as yet unknown.
Augusta Longbottom and her grandson Neville, were located by Auror Kingsely Shacklebolt, who is expected to be awarded a commendation for bravery after defending them from five Death Eaters in Dartmoor Heath. The Auror Office has refused to make a comment on Mr Shacklebolt's efforts at this time.
Birmingham, Sheffield, London and Bromsgrove, were also the targets of Death Eater attacks, with large portions of the muggle population affected.
For more on the attacks, continue to pages 2, 3, 4 and 5.
Daphne's blood ran cold. She read and reread the last line of the front page, not daring to believe it. The first three made sense, they were huge muggle cities, but Bromsgrove. No, they wouldn't have. You'll get what's coming to you. Malfoy had promised her retribution, and so they had hidden, but never once thought that Tracey would be targeted.
"Do you know if…"
"She's not on the list," Astoria said quickly, "they'd have said if she was."
Daphne was already at her wardrobe before Astoria even finished speaking. Dragging on the first thing she found, a set of dark blue robes that were a bit too tight on her these days, Daphne flicked to the death list. She had to know, but blew out a sigh of relief when Astoria's assertion was right. No Tracey. But there were others. The Diggorys were scary enough but the Vances were in there too, a couple of Prewitts, the McLaggans, and many more besides.
No Grangers though, or any Weasleys. They'd made it out okay - it made sense as Harry's best friends. But just because the Davis' weren't on the list, didn't mean they'd made it out. Bile rose in her throat and she did her best to force it down, to try and breathe, to try and focus. There was no point panicking. Not yet. Not until she knew.
She'd kill him. First Malfoy and then Voldemort. It didn't take a genius to see who'd fed him the information of where to target. If they'd hurt her. Even if they hadn't. Her thoughts mashed together, too many of them, all tumbling over each other to be heard and most of them conjuring up ways to harm the only Malfoy heir.
"Where are you going?"
"To find out if Tracey's alright," Daphne said as she fastened up her robes over the striped pyjamas she'd managed to get Mopsy to reclaim from Greengrass Manor before they'd made the move to Cliffside Cottage permanent. "I'll be back as soon as I can."
"You mean Dumbledore?"
"Or people like him," Daphne said as carefully as she could. By sheer logic Astoria had figured out there was some kind of organisation. She didn't know they were the Order of the Phoenix, but it didn't take a genius to realise there was more than one man standing up to Voldemort. Especially when you were sent into hiding and the cottage you arrived in was ready and waiting for you. Complete with food, furniture and even some of the clothes you'd left at home. But that didn't mean she had to know their names or who they were. She was in enough danger as it was.
"Take me with you!"
"No!" Daphne snapped, before adding quickly when she saw the look on her sister's face, "Sorry. I'm just… I need to know Trace is okay. I promise we'll talk about this another time, okay? Just do me a favour and keep mum busy? I shouldn't be too long." She hoped.
Astoria nodded, hugged her and left. The hug itself was heartbreaking. It said so much more than words ever could. It was both, I hope she's okay and I'm here if she's not all at once. The first was fine, the second, well, Daphne didn't want to think about the second option. Her limbs hurt and tiredness tried to force her lids shut. She blinked back the start of a tension headache, she'd have time for that later.
Once she fastened her robes, which in her haste she'd done up wrong the first time, and retrieved her wand and the small Greengrass family goblet that Dumbledore had turned into a portkey for travel between Cliffside and Grimmauld Place; Daphne took a deep, calming breath, tapped the goblet with her wand, and vanished.
As with all forms of magical travel, the experience was stomach-clenching, but instantaneous. One second she was in her poorly decorated room and the next she was in the dark, gloomy hallway of Grimmauld Place. It was odd that a place so dingy and decrepit could make her feel so at home, but even in the darkness, she felt herself relax. Just a little. Not enough to actually mean anything, but the ache in her shoulders began to dissipate for a moment. It was something.
She hurried quickly to the kitchen, knowing that it was there that Sirius could usually be found. He probably had a drink in his hand and was staring moodily into the fireplace. But it was a start and a start was all she wanted.
Her progress was halted though at the sound of voices coming from a room at the far end of the hallway. It was where the Order had taken their secretive meetings, none of which Daphne and Harry had been allowed to witness. Trying her best to remain silent, Daphne edged towards the door.
"Still no word from St. Mungo's," a voice Daphne recognised as Mad-Eye Moody said gruffly.
"Nothing?" That was Sirius. He sighed and the room waited for him to answer. Where was Dumbledore? Surely he should be in charge? It sounded, and Daphne seriously doubted it was true, as if Sirius was leading the Order tonight. "Fine, keep an ear out anyway. If anyone can pull through it'll be Amelia. Bill, any luck with Bromsgrove?"
Daphne tensed, she was so close to the door she could basically touch it. She just hoped Moody's magical eye didn't see her through the wall, it was a miracle she'd not been seen already.
"Managed to get most of the fires out," the aforementioned Bill said, "dad's in a bad way though, the house collapsed while he was getting those muggles out. We managed to pull him out but…"
"He'll be alright, son," Moody said firmly, the sound of Bill being slapped heartily on the shoulder reverberated around the small room. "And it might interest you to know Sirius that this conversation is no longer private."
The door swung open and Daphne had just enough time to raise her fist in an attempt to make it look like she was about to knock. Moody would know the difference, but the others wouldn't. She might be spying, technically, but she didn't want it to look like she was. Rather than frown, the gnarled ex-Auror gave her an impressed half-smile.
To his left sat Fred and George Weasley, one of them looking a lot more dishevelled than the other - despite it being impossible to tell which one was which. To his right, stood the man Daphne presumed was Bill Weasley. Long red hair tied in a ponytail revealed a silver earring and sharp features. In any other circumstance, Bill would have been the epitome of cool, but in this dank room, with bags under his eyes and concern wracking his face; he appeared much more like a rebellious teen dragged home for an unexpected funeral.
Opposite them, leaning against the long oak table in the centre of the room, stood Sirius. The look of suspicion he had been wearing as the door opened, relaxed when he saw her. He was still gaunt, but there was a look about him Daphne hadn't seen before. He seemed calmer, more authoritative. It was like he had found a purpose and those cold eyes, the ones that had seemed so dead when she had been there at Christmas, were sparking into life.
She was ushered inside, to save Mrs Black from screeching at their words.
"Oh, Daphne, it's you. Come to check on Tracey?"
"She's alive?" Her words came out in a jumble, but she was not too proud to show the sheer weight of panic that was pressing down on her.
"Yeah, she's upstairs. She's fine. Arthur found them a few streets from their house, they're a bit shaken, but they're okay." At the mention of their father, all three Weasleys paled. Daphne knew better than most how they felt and forced herself to keep her eyes on Sirius. They deserved some privacy. "Fred, could you?"
"Sure," the more banged up of the twins said, springing from his chair. "C'mon, they'll be pleased to see you."
"They?" Daphne asked when they had made it out of earshot of the infuriating Black matriarch. Her heart was still pounding, her mind racing, but she couldn't help the sense of elation even in all this darkness. It was conflicting. She wanted to be happy that Tracey and her family were safe, but so many others weren't. So many families had been torn apart, or even shattered entirely. Some names would never exist again, so many days that were meant to be lived, gone.
And all because of Voldemort.
"Oh yeah, Ginny, Hermione, Ron," Fred listed, stifling a yawn as he did so. "Shame Harry's still in St. Mungo's or you could've had the set."
Daphne hummed, then asked, in a bid to steer them both aware from the talk of the wretched hospital, "what happened to you?"
"Bromsgrove," Fred muttered darkly, "me and dad got sent out when the news came in. They'd set whole streets on fire, probably to make it look random. Bill took over after that mess at the Abbotts', nightmare that was apparently, that's when dad tried to get those muggles out and…"
That hadn't gone well, good job. "He'll be okay." It was a limp offering, the kind she'd heard as a child when people kept saying her dad's dive into depression was just temporary. 'He'll be fine, it's just a phase'. Three weeks later and Daphne didn't have a father anymore. In a weird way they were right. It had been temporary. Just not in the way she'd wanted.
"He was last time," Fred sighed, "gotta just hope it's second time lucky. Mind you, he looked better than Lupin, and he's talking so it should be fine. Werewolf attack," he explained before Daphne could ask, "nasty one too. Poor bloke's arm was basically hanging off, but Pomfrey's with him downstairs. Dad too. Sirius said we shouldn't send them to St. Mungo's in case we get 'awkward questions.'"
There it was again. Sirius making all the decisions, and apparently ones that not everyone agreed with.
"I thought Dumbledore would be in charge?"
"We all did, he never showed. Sirius just stepped up," they were on the second floor, having passed the various elf heads mounted on the walls. "Turns out he was busy fighting You-Know-Who - that's why all those aurors copped for it in the Department of Mysteries. Dumbledore destroyed that weapon-thing, whatever it was. Apparently old snake face didn't like it too much."
"Can't imagine he would."
That explained the carnage in the Ministry at least, but why was Dumbledore going up against Voldemort on his own and, more to the point, had the attacks been to distract from Voldemort's clandestine visit to the Ministry, or because Dumbledore stopped him from getting what he wanted? Daphne suspected that both was the answer, the initial phase a simple smokescreen - albeit a bloody one - and the second retribution on a population that had no power to resist.
"Anyway, they're in there," Fred gestured to the door behind Daphne. "I'm gonna check on dad and see if Sirius wants us to do anything else."
He turned to go, but Daphne couldn't let him leave. Not without saying anything. "Thank you," she said and she meant it. It was no small thing, putting his life on the line like that.
He paused, halfway back to the staircase, looking nonplussed. "For what?"
"Finding Trace, helping out," Daphne said, a little lamely. The adrenaline that had forced her to Grimmauld Place was slowly fading now that she knew Tracey was safe. Fred shot her a sort of half-smile, half-smirk, shrugged, and disappeared downstairs without a word.