A/N: Hey everyone, thanks for favoriting my story :) Anyway, I hope I got you hooked in with that first chapter, I usually write with less actual adventure and more focusing on identifying with the characters, but I got an idea for this one and wanted to write on it too. I'm glad to see you guys liked it, should be a good 5-10 chapters, I'm not really sure how it will all work out. Anyway, thanks for the support :)
Chapter 2
Death… his mind was reliving the last minute of his waking hour in overexposed clarity. The bloody, black steel tip of the dagger sinking into the attacker's flesh, the roof caving over his torso, sticky blood running over his fist, and the slight tilt of the hood as it looked down at the mortal wound in its chest.
Overexposed light permeated the image, creating a distinct ethereal quality.
The figure screamed, over and over again, as the blade sunk into it repeatedly, over and over again Harry witnessed his impotent arm slam into its chest, and the cry of the fallen man echoing in his ears…
But the man hadn't cried out. He had been silent to the end…
Shouldn't he be worried about the caved roof that had sent him into this abyss in the first place? He was fairly sure he was alive…
Somehow, every time he got a grip on a conscious thought or two, it slipped away like he was clinging to a wet rock halfway down a thundering black waterfall. The darkness was the water, sweeping him back out to the sea of blackness.
Harry remembered the feeling of Ginny's hand on his shoulder, and suddenly she was there; not speaking, she simply mouthed "I love you," and faded into the darkness; the hand was replaced by Dobby's, who didn't try to speak, and Harry reached out to him; suddenly, Dobby's eyes glazed over and his grip on Harry's shoulder tightened…
No…
A gleaming black dagger, quite unlike the knife that had actually killed Dobby, was protruding from between his ribs, and Harry realized his hand that had been patting his back had held the gleaming black dagger, the dagger of night, the dagger of death…
Dobby's grip tightened further, and faded, but the pressure on his shoulder remained; it began to shake, now, and finally, finally, Harry opened his eyes.
The barrel of a gun eyed him back.
What the heck?
"There's our boy," a voice said grimly. "Wakey, wakey. You're going to prison, son." The gun disappeared. Clearly if he was going to try anything he would be caught anyway, in this condition.
Groaning, Harry tried to focus his eyes, and realized he needed his glasses. Everything would have been hazy anyway, he decided, and laid his head back down. His hand was still caked in blood, and still gripping the equally blood-caked steel of the dagger...
"What did you do to him, boy? Stab him with the stick, finish him with the knife?" The policeman laughed. Why was he laughing? What stick? Oh yeah, the wand... These were muggles…
"No…" Groan.
"Tell that to the court. Why hasn't he been cuffed?" He added to the area at large.
"Eh, couldn't move his arm. Left arm, sir. We suspected it was broken, and under all that debris… plus, we didn't know whether we should move the dagger arm…"
"Get the knife out of him…" Harry managed to mumble. His lips felt dry, caked with drywall dust.
"Cuff him."
Someone lifted his back slightly and jerked his arm behind it, and the blackness caved in again.
A/N: Ok, I know, this chapter was mostly lame, but plot development, yada yada yada. I'll try to keep to a chapter-a-day schedule here, so you won't be disappointed. And in the future, I'll probably just wait until I actually finish writing before I post anything, that would be more worthwhile, I think. Thanks for reading, I'll get the next chapter on here ASAP :)