Warnings: OOC probably, considering what I remember of Death Munchers, Harry as in character as I can make him, character death, cannonish, blood.
I'm putting up warnings according to what's in a chapter.
Disclaimer: I own neither JK Rowling's stories or Mr. Nix.
It was perfect. The restaurant was a gorgeous place on the outskirts of muggle London, away from the mainstream of traffic. Lily found she was enjoying herself immensely; this was their first meal out in a long while – just them, without any children to keep an eye on. Frank and Alice seem similarly relaxed, though she has a feeling Frank's keeping his wife distracted. She could get terribly mothering of her youngest son and easily worried if he was out of her sight for long. Then again she had good reason. The little boy had gotten hold of some Floo powder a couple of months before and ended up in Edinburgh for five hours before anyone found him. Needless to say they were a lot more careful with the Floo after that.
Speaking of which she hoped Rose was doing alright looking after the three boys – but Neville was there to help, they'd manage. It was something of a relief to have her eldest old enough to help look after the younger children, especially since they took after their father. Moments of peace were a god send.
She hoped they weren't giving her daughter a hard time. Feeling a soft nudge to her elbow she looked up, her husband smiling back at her in gentle amusement.
"I know that look, don't worry - they'll be fine. Neville's there to help as well, they're old enough to be trusted now."
They were half way through their meal and had just started a debate on how to get Fudge out of power in the most embarrassing way possible, (on James' part) when there was a disturbance. Heads were starting to turn towards the entrance; frowning Frank raised himself from his seat to get a better look. At the others questioning looks he explained.
"It's an Auror, but he's not undercover, so he's probably having some trouble with the door-man…" Unsurprising considering the flowing robes did look rather like a dress. His expression grew dark as the Auror finally gave up negotiating, flung his hand's up in the air and shoved the other aside before striding past. It took him only a few seconds for him to spot their table and change direction. He ignored the odd looks flung in his direction by the patrons as the talk in the restaurant rose in volume.
Lily couldn't help the swirl of trepidation that flared to life in her as she watched the young man approach. He had dark hair – though lighter than her husband's and his expression was both serious and grave. Unconsciously her hand's tightened on the table cloth. He stopped in front of them.
"Mr and Mrs Potter and Mr, Mrs Longbottom?" He barely paused for their response before continuing. "I must inform you that there was an attack on the home of Potter and family and we have reason to believe-"
Frank was gone in two seconds, Lily meagre steps behind. Uncaring of watching eyes they Apparated as soon as they left the building.
The house was burning. That was the first thing they realised. Frank launched himself down the hill and into the trees that sloped down to the back of the property. It was burning.
A desperate, broken cry left Lily's lips as she threw herself forward. Not her children. Please not her babies. Strong arms wrapped around her, pinning her arms to her body. Merlin be damned, she wasn't losing them! She struggled, biting, kicking and screeching as she fought like a woman possessed. One of her feet struck flesh, there was a grunt and the grip loosened. She ripped herself free. Streaking down the slope she got close enough to feel the heat against her skin. Then she was caught again.
She screamed, high and loud and pained, but her captor only tightened their grip. Going limp at last, she collapsed into the person behind her, tears rolled down her cheeks.
"Not again," She whispered. "Please, please not again."
"It'll be alright love. I promise - it'll be alright." The arms around her squeezed comfortingly. The voice of her husband was fierce in its belief, and the red haired fought back tears, before slowly pulling herself together.
She couldn't fall to pieces, not yet, not until after she had found out what had happened to her children. She couldn't have lost them, she just couldn't. Fate wouldn't be that cruel.
"Will it?" Some part of her can't resist asking, tilting her head back to gaze at her husband with pleading eyes. He stares back, forcing a smile, "Yes, come on, let's find out what's going on."
Taking her hand he leads her down the hill towards the property, tripping over roots and acquiring scratches from low branches in their haste. In front of them Aurors attempted to douse the flames and a ward to repel muggles had been raised. People were yelling back and forth to each other, gesturing towards the blaze. Where were her children?
A blur barrelled past them – Alice - only to be caught and held back by another. She snarled at him a wild animalistic snarl stretched across her features. Clouds of smoke hovered thickly everywhere. Off to the right Frank was being similarly restrained, while ripping verbally into a rather startled looking man, who James vaguely recognised as just passed trainee Auror.
A flicker above the house caught their attention, causing them to look up. Lily's grip on his hand tightened. "James…" She breathes; disbelief and horror in her voice. He squeezes her hand back, "I know."
Up above, the flames licking at the image, hangs a glowing green skull – a serpent slithering from its gaping maw. The Dark Mark. After all this time, the Dark Mark. A reporter appears from nowhere, thrusting a dicto-quill into their faces, the dark haired father pulls his wand and stuns him without really thinking about it. It had been quiet for so long, he should have known, should have known that three years of quiet meant nothing. This was all just another plot in the grand scheme of things.
He doesn't want to think of what this could mean in the long run - it can't be starting again.
"Potter!" A man called out, jogging over to them. He nodded to them both, before addressing him. "Damn, I'm sorry about this. I've got teams out searching for your kids, I'll know if they find anything."
As her husband starts in on questioning the other Auror she drifts slowly away, approaching a rather haggard looking Alice. She looks forlorn, lost and rather small, standing all alone before the burning building. When she's within a few feet her friend turns, firelight casting dark shadows across her pale face. She looks so different from the confident, strong fighter of the last war.
Lily said nothing, simply standing beside her companion feeling as numb as that day so long ago. Why was this happening again? We shouldn't have left them alone…
Then those pale lips parted, "They've found Neville, he's at St Mungo's now, but… Hugo…" She trails off, lips pressed together in a taught line, and this is how she remembers her friend best.
She knows, almost instinctively what she must say, and inside she knows that it is the right choice. If she can ease the conflicted instincts of this woman in the slightest... then... This is what will work best in the long run. Gently she places a hand on her friend's shoulder. "You go, your son needs you. We'll stay and find the children; we will bring Hugo to you when we find him."
The 'if' goes unsaid. For a second Alice looks at her, whisps of white floating between them, before she nods decisively. "If you're sure." And then she's gone, off to rescue the new Auror from her husband's grasp.
They'd been at this for hours, various lumos spells showing the travels of the searchers in their quest as they wove between the trees. Scratches litter their skin, roots ambush feet and heaps of fallen leaves conceal pits to catch the unwary. Mud that hasn't frozen over causes them to slip and slide down slopes and up hills. Smart clothes are now ruined but neither care. They haven't seen anyone else in hours.
"Daniel!" They cry, "Hugo! Rose, Albus where are you?"
They peer in between tree branches, in muddy dips and hollows, they part bushes – anywhere a child might hide.
Their breath clouds in the cold air, James shivers from the chill – neither of them stopped for their coats, but Lily doesn't seem to feel it. They stagger on, steadying each other when needed. Faces are flushed and raw, fingers numb and feet aching.
At length James stops, catching his wife's hand when she doesn't halt. She pauses, but does not turn to him – she doesn't dare to.
"Lily, what if Nev knows something?" His voice is steady but his eyes are pleading, begging her to look at him.
Slowly she turns – not meeting his eyes, and he draws the courage to continue, "What if he bought them time to run? What if he helped them hide? What if... he knows who took them?"
By the time he finishes he's panting for breath, ideas running together, he doesn't say that Death Eaters took them; he refuses to voice that - knowing that if he does that will open up a new world of fear. He doesn't even contemplate them being dead -it never crosses his mind. But he does think of them alone and scared, the boys too little to understand what's going on.
He waits, dark hair sticking to his forehead and glasses slightly askew. The auburn haired woman seems to consider this for many minute before coming to a resolution, looking up she nods firmly. Exchanging a forced smile, they apparate.
The sheer noise hit them first. Healers stride purposefully by, clutching charts or bottles of salve, the odd apprentice jogging to keep up. Others call to each other, asking for aid or commanding others. The whole place looks like the middle of a war zone.
Pair of Aurors' guard a young man between them, his entire left arm covered in burns. All three look slightly scorched and blackened round the edges. A wailing child screamsfor a brother as a woman tries desperately to instil calm. Healers push by James, apologising hastily without stopping or looking, their robes crumpled – hair betraying that they'd just got out of bed. Everywhere someone was injured, crying, demanding information or waiting – just waiting. James looked at his wife, and she stared back with an equal look of horror dawning in her eyes.
A short stumpy figure limped towards them, people avoiding the grizzled old man almost unconsciously. One peg leg clacked against the floor menacingly, the other was still apparently whole, didn't detract from the threatening image. No one was going to take him lightly.
"I told them this would happen. That bastard doesn't give up that easily. CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" He appeared almost smug, one eye whizzing around to focus on various points, seemingly at random. A few people turned and stared at him in apprehension, or offence - one of the Aurors winced, causing his partner to give him a curious glance.
James had to fight very hard not to flinch, just about managing to keep his face straight; he really didn't want to deal with this man right now. He desperately began giving him Auror code for: emergency. Unfortunately for his rapidly slipping patience the man wasn't done yet.
"Multiple attacks and they're running around like headless puffskins, three years of quiet - of course he was up to something! They won't catch me off guard! Longbottom's are on the second floor - 108." The retired Auror barely got a, "thank you, Moody" before they had left him behind. The man shook his head, then turned round to go terrorise some poor unfortunate soul – who in his book just wasn't paranoid enough.
Alice was perched on the edge of her son's bed, one hand cradled between her own. Neville lay pale and still, eyes tight shut. The blanket was pulled up to his chest, his arms resting on top. A moderately nasty bruise was forming across one half of his face – the appearance made him look rather ghoulish. Only the slow and steady rise and fall of his chest showed he was alive at all.
Frank stood before a window, eyes far away from the view of a sunny field – though it should have been London streets. His son's bed was to his right and on occasion he would glance over before returning to his own thoughts. He had had to give up pacing after his wife had threatened to hex him in rather precise detail.
Up, down the boy's chest rose and fell. Two pairs of eyes snapped to the people entering the room, and then looked past them – searching. Both sets of parents visibly struggled for control. Neither fully realised the hope they had placed in finding their children with the other couple. Frank wanted to ask – was dying to ask if they'd found anything, but couldn't find the words. Part of him was scared of the answer.
"How is he?" Lily's voice was surprisingly calm, only a hint of strain audible. Her brow furrowed in concern. Inside she felt numb, like she'd fallen asleep and just not realised it. This had to be someone else's dream – someone else's nightmare.
It was Frank who answered, his wife staring blankly at her son's hand clasped protectively in her own - stroking it mechanically with a thumb. The normally confident man was shaken, hands shoved deep in his pockets and eyes glued to the floor.
"Some damage from the Cruciatus, two of his ribs have to be re-grown – they think he jumped from the second floor window. He has not woken up yet..." His voice became softer and softer until he trailed off.
The silence is awkward, no blame is voiced but it hangs heavily in the air. Why couldn't you find my other child? Why couldn't he at least be safe? The tension mounts to the point of blows, but they've faced this kind of situation before. Logic kicks in – they haven't found any of their children. They know this pain - this crippling fear. None of them should even know what this feels like, what went wrong?
James finds himself sitting on the floor, his back to the wall sometime later. Lily and Neville's dad Frank perch in the only chairs by the bed, the boy's mother hasn't moved from beside him. Enervate had been brought into question, and then promptly shot down, the Healers didn't want to risk mixing any more magic with the potions he'd been given. The reactions could apparently be rather interesting, that is if they simply didn't cancel each other out. So it's up to the pale boy in the bed to wake up normally.
It was odd, this quiet waiting. Part of him wanted to yell and hit and hex and behave as he had as a teenager. The other flickered between feeling numb and complete worry. The worry was dangerous, it kept threatening to snowball into fear and so he compressed it, and then the whole cycle began all over again.
Suddenly a metallic shriek echoed through the chamber. Frank was on his feet, chair pushed back, eyes still focused on the floor. He murmured something about going to check on the Aurors' then stalked through the door.
James wants to follow him, to just do something. But he can't leave Lily. He doesn't know how to comfort her, doesn't know how when he feels like this. He doesn't know how to keep her from shattering into too many pieces to put back together. It's easier to just sit, and remain absolutely still and just... exist.
When he opens his eyes again, it's as though he just blinked. He lies still for a while, staring at the dark stonewalls covered in lichen. Slowly he drags himself up, temples pounding and ears ringing. The odd window - boarded up, stares out at him like a dark malicious eye. Above him the ceiling is also stone, thick cobwebs hanging like something out of a muggle horror movie.
He feels sick. His head feels peculiar, difficult to focus on one train of thought before being interrupted by another. It's as though someone's filled it with fluff and dust and- he's going to throw up.
It is only when he starts to lift his head that the blinding pain erupts, tangling his thoughts even further, his ears ring, blocking out sound and Merlin damn it he is not going to panic. This feels just like the time when they went out to celebrate him and Ginny- Ginny... Oh, God.
This time he really is sick. Pushing himself off the cold stone floor violently, he staggers for a few minutes. Collapsing against a wall, he presses a feverish cheek to the surface. No. - wheris he? That sudden sliver of thought brings the confusing whirl to a halt. For a while he just stands there, eyes closed, panting raggedly while he holds himself up.
The place smells of damp and dry rot and that odd, odd smell that only comes with extreme old age. Slowly he opens his eyes. And instinctively recoils - something is glowing by his cheek! Merlin it's on his cheek! Startled he swipes at it only for it to spread across his finger tips and looking down it's accumulated on his robes as well. He brushes at it again, mind slowly gathering enough panic to develop into - get the slimy glowing green stuff off!
A good few minutes later he's out of breath and staring at the ceiling, stone cold against his back. Why haven't they killed him yet? He can hear nothing but the incessant buzzing. What is this place? A prison?
The room suggests so, and it's cold to the point where it's seeping into his very bones. Some of the lichen in the cracked walls glowed, providing dim illumination, and for a brief moment he wondered what caused it to do so. He wasn't bound - no chains or rope restrained him as he'd come to expect from Death Eaters. That fact suggested confidence in his entrapment. They didn't believe he could escape.
There were probably Anti-apparition wards and portkey ones too, though he didn't actually posses one of those so that idea was out anyway. Hermione had always taken care of those kinds of things… They were probably panicking by now - though for all he knew it could have been ten minutes since…
Ginny's dead. The thought hit him hard, the blood draining from his face. Home was dead. Nowhere left to go now, he hadn't been able to step in certain parts of Hogwarts since the last battle. Post Traumatic Stress he had caught Hermione whispering to his auburn haired love. He still had nightmares - mostly different ones than he used to at any rate.
Ginny's dead. He closed his eyes against the ache. There was a loss of… something where his heart belonged. A cavernous maw he didn't know how to deal with. Didn't want to deal with. He was so tired of losing people.
He pushed the sense of loss away, pushed away all the grief he hadn't yet dealt with in the few months after… after the war had finished. Now was not the time. He needed his head on straight, he couldn't die – not now – he had promised. And he would keep his promise. The greatest revenge was to live.
Almost unconsciously he crosses the floor to the door, testing the handle. He already knows it won't work. The handle turns, but that doesn't mean it's not locked. Pushing against the door he nearly falls through the opening in shock as it suddenly gives with the shriek of rusted hinges.
Regaining his balance he stares - beyond the door lies only darkness. Frozen, eyes open as wide as possible he strains to catch every noise, every whisper of sound. Surely they must have heard that?
For the longest time he stands there, poised for fight – then as time ticks on it becomes more obvious no one is coming. Slowly he relaxes a bit, still staring into the deep black pit of nothingness before him. He can't see anything, can't hear anything besides his own breath and rustle of clothes. He shudders; the very existence of this portal seems to absorb all light. If you stare into the abyss long enough, the abyss stares back.
Carefully he backs up; never removing his eyes from the cavern he's unearthed. With his luck there's probably a Death Eater waiting on the other side… or something worse. Shuffling like a crab over to the wall he slowly peels away some of the glowing lichen, grasping it firmly in his hand.
He probably should have thrown a handful of the stuff in first; he reconsidered several minutes later. At least then, he would have had an idea of what he was walking into before he actually did. Even with the plant producing some low level light he still tripped over things. More than once he was certain that something had brushed past him. Occasionally it was as though he'd had cold fingers slide over his limbs. Every time he'd turned round nothing was there - he was sure when he turned back something had moved on the edge of his peripheral vision. He didn't like it.
Harry reckoned he was in a passageway, but where exactly he was remained a mystery. The only thing he was certain of: he was walking straight into a trap. He hated being played with. Everywhere the gloom lingered, reluctant to give up its hold. The odd piece of furniture or protruding wall would loom out of the darkness eerily. Sometimes he thought he saw her.
His breath clouded in the air before him, a chill clinging bone deep to his limbs. He vaguely remembered what it felt like to be warm. He thought of summer evenings and a house that seemed so very far away.
This, he decided was a very odd prison.
Suddenly he stopped, twisting around with a frown, lichen pulsing softly in his grasp. Something flickered, barely there. All his senses were on alert. There it was again. He just stared, a figure slowly becoming clearer.
Breath caught in his throat. Relief, fear, pain, hopelessness and confusion soaring through him all at once. "Oh, Merlin," the words slip past his lips. "Ginny."
And it is. She is pale, oh so pale in a white gown and she smiles. Unbidden tears well; she cannot be here – not really. His Ginny wasn't covered in blood. This spectre floats towards him slowly. Patches of dark liquid forms below her as she moves. It fades away into the floor, only to be replaced by more each time. Then she stops, hovering and still.
A thought occurs to him. And abruptly he is laughing, laughing, laughing and he just can't stop. The figure retreats a bit, almost hesitant. Still he can't halt.
"Riddikulus," comes choking forth between bursts, "Riddikulus!" He cackles loudly. The spectre weakens, coming apart in wisps of mist.
Harry's breathing came in short pants. This, he decided was a very odd prison. He wandered closer to where he assumed a wall to be, the dark shape looming in the gloom revealing itself to be a chest of drawers upon closer inspection. The wood had split and covered in so much dust gauging the colour was impossible. Why would there be furniture in a prison, even if it was old? Why were there no guards? Confusion lingers like a cloak. What had he been doing a moment ago? It was something important but he just couldn't remember...
His feet carried him onwards; how the bloody hell did you get out of here?
Authors note:
Anyone know what Nev's parents look like?
No warnings for this chapter, couldn't decide if it needed it so here you go.
Hopefully there aren't any inconsistencies, I lost this for about five months, started rewriting it then found it again – so it's a bit of a mix.
Why do animals like sleeping on me?