A bell chimed gently as he stepped through the door, sacrificing any chance he had of being discreet. He reminded himself that it wasn't the time for that just yet. The clock was still ticking. There was still time left, which meant there was always a bit of hope. The shop in which he'd walked into was innocuous, resembling pretty much every establishment that adorned Diagon Alley. Shelves were lined with interesting trinkets that were designed to decorate the ideal wizarding home. Was he really going to spend his final few moments in a crafts store? It wasn't the best of looks, to be sure. He hoped the history books would scratch off that minor detail from the final pages.

Matthew casually locked the door, securing the bolt, watching as it shimmered with its protective spell. The owner of the building had apparently splashed out on the best security system, though he doubted that it would help them an awful lot. Once that was done, he proceeded to browse the shop, cutting the figure of every other customer that must have walked along the same aisles. He supposed that it was a rather nice place. It was warm, with a lot of natural light filtering in. It didn't feel as if it fit with what was waiting around the corner.

Diagon Alley was surprisingly quiet during this time of day and year. Matthew guessed that it made sense; Christmas was over with, meaning there was less pressure to procure presents. With school back in session, barely any of the shops would have seen any business that day. He was by no means disgruntled about that. As long as it was just the Tardis occupying the cobbled streets outside, then he could be content in the fact that no one else was going to get hurt. It was a small solace, but the only one he could currently cling onto.

Since it wasn't busy, the woman behind the counter was quick to notice his arrival, flashing him her best smile. He couldn't tell how old she was. Certainly old enough to be out of Hogwarts, but definitely too junior to be the owner of the shop. Late twenties perhaps. Early thirties at most. Dark brown hair would have reached well past her shoulders if she hadn't tied it up into a messy ponytail. Thankfully, she didn't seem to recognise him, which he'd obviously been expecting. It made the whole process a great deal easier. Matthew returned her smile with as much warmth as he could muster, knowing that it wouldn't be long before echoey peace was shattered.

"You look a little young to be here," the woman remarked, ending the silence just as he'd predicted.

"Looks can be deceiving," Matthew replied, picking up a wooden ornament, inspecting the price, and then putting it back down again.

"Shouldn't you be at Hogwarts?"

"I should."

"Then what are you doing here?"

"Got kicked out."

"So you're a troublemaker?"

"To put it mildly, yes."

She was still smiling, obviously unperturbed by the strangeness of his behaviour and the oddity of his answers. She was innocent, completely oblivious to what was about to happen, and things were starting to click into place. The picture was coming together, the jigsaw pieces lining up, giving him the reason for the actions that he knew were ahead of him. He wondered how long it was going to be until she smiled again after today, but at least she'd have the chance to do so.

"Anything I should be concerned about?"

"Not yet," Matthew quipped.

"Are you going to buy something?"

"Am I allowed to just look?"

"I suppose so, though I'll add that I get a small bonus for every item I sell. Not that I want to pressure you into anything."

"I reckon it must be a while since your last bonus then, judging by how quiet everything is."

"It's a bit of a struggle. The occasional couple using their weekend to go shopping, but nothing much more than that. Then September rolls around and we get the school kids running around, asking for literally everything that catches their eyes, so I can't complain."

Matthew grew bored of walking around, opting to move closer to the woman. He wandered over to the counter, pulling up a stool that was probably for sale. Getting himself comfortable on it, he noticed the woman's eyes flash with mirth, this perhaps being the only entertainment she'd get whilst at work. Maybe they were both savouring this interaction for completely different reasons.

"I should charge you for that seat," the woman remarked.

Matthew patted his cloak. "Ah, no money on me."

"What on earth would you be doing in Diagon Alley without a single galleon in your pocket?"

"I've got a few affairs to put in order."

"Do you enjoy speaking so cryptically?"

"My friends get very annoyed with me for doing it so often."

"These friends…are they at Hogwarts?"

"Yeah."

"It must be quite lonely, missing out on school, missing out on them."

"You have no idea."

"My manager tells me off for prying into other people's business, but it's not as if I get to talk to a lot of people in this gig. I've got to make the most of it."

"I don't mind." He drummed his fingers against the varnished surface. Waiting. "It doesn't sound as if you particularly like this job."

She squinted her eyes at him. "Are you a spy? Sent by my manager to test how loyal I am?"

"You've got a very suspicious mind."

"It keeps me occupied during the down time when I'm sitting at this same spot every day."

"Must be boring."

"It's not exactly what I thought I'd be doing with my life at this point, but it's comfortable."

"Comfortable is dull."

"It's probably that sort of mindset that got you kicked out of Hogwarts."

"Oh, absolutely. But I got to have fun along the way."

"Lucky."

"You could get out of here. Find something else to do. You must have had a plan when you left school."

He was eating up time. He knew that. But Matthew found that he deserved that. After a life like his, he deserved one last conversation. He better make it a good one. They'd be there soon and history would have to run its course. Even he couldn't fight against that force.

"I always thought that I was going to become a writer," the woman said, divulging her secrets as if they were close friends. "I still dream about it sometimes. But half finished manuscripts don't pay the bills."

"Have you ever considered just how odd it is that magical people have to pay bills in the first place? We can create literally whatever we want out of thin air, and we still get charged for certain things."

"That's the way the world works, isn't it? It's not always as nice as we'd hope."

Matthew knew that for certain. He looked back towards the door, as if to check that he'd definitely locked it. Had the woman cottoned onto that fact yet? Or was she so distracted by actually having someone to speak to that she'd missed it all together? The world wasn't nice. It definitely wasn't fair. And it was about to remind them both of that. A lot sooner than Matthew would have preferred.

"What's your name?"

She leaned closer. "Are we getting personal now?"

"I thought that's what we were doing from the very start."

She smirked. "Emilia."

He took her proffered hand, placing a gentle kiss against the top of it, ever the gentleman. "Lovely to see you, Emilia."

"Are you going to return the favour?"

"Does it matter?"

"What happened to 'getting personal'?"

"My name's Matthew. Matthew Mormont."

They were coming after him. He couldn't outrun them for long. The last person he was ever going to speak to at least deserved to know what his name was. Under other circumstances, he might have found her reaction to the information amusing. Her eyes went wide and the distance between them widened just a touch as she retreated. It was an automatic flinch, he supposed. He should have seen it coming.

"You didn't say that, when you had friends at Hogwarts, they were bleeding Harry Potter!" she exclaimed in a mix of awe and delight.

"Well, I don't go around shouting about it most of the time."

"You're in the Daily Prophet pretty much every day."

"Despite our best efforts to do absolutely nothing worthy of note. Yet the stories keep getting churned out."

"I can't believe I have a celebrity in the store. No one's going to believe me when I tell them."

There was going to be irrefutable proof of his presence in a short while, so she should have been cursing ever wishing for that.

"You could always write one of your stories about this," Matthew suggested.

"It'd obviously be a bestseller."

"My advice would be to quit your job as soon as possible and pursue those dreams. We live in a world with magic . Anything is possible."

"And why should I take life advice from someone ten years younger than me?"

"I've always been described as having an old soul."

"It's probably because I've read so much about you in the newspaper but…is it strange to say that I feel like I know you?"

"I've got one of those trustworthy faces."

There was a commotion outside on the street. A loud bang as if something had exploded. Emilia instantly ducked for cover, but Matthew was less surprised. Even so, he was out of his seat and moving towards the windows, surveying the scene. His cane was within his grasp by the time he reached them. In a testament to her character, his new companion was soon by his side, their shoulders bumping together, as if she felt her best form of defence was sticking close to him.

Shadows were forming along the street, ugly black clouds that swept up and left people in their wake. Their clothes were just as dark as their mode of transportation. Death Eaters. They weren't hiding it. Maybe some of them had even broken out of Azkaban that same day, immediately set to work. The cause of the bang was clear to see, a stall set alight by one of the wizards, adding even more chaos to their arrival. They were going to make a song and dance about this, just as they'd done at Sirius' trial.

Matthew watched as the group sauntered around the Tardis, a woman with crazed hair even confident enough to trail a hand lazily across its side. One of them tried to open the doors but faced strong resistance from the ship. They were fortunate that they stopped their attempts when they did, otherwise the security protocols would have sent them flying through the air thanks to a nifty charm laid into the woodwork. He would have enjoyed seeing that happen, even if it would have only served in riling them up further.

"Oh my god," Emilia whispered, despite the fact that the windows were closed. "Are those…?"

"Death Eaters, yes."

There was no point beating around the bush. Her life was about to be thrown upside down. Sugarcoating the situation would only make the harshness of the reality hurt more later. The dark wizards weren't too far away, scrutinising the shops closest to them, meaning that they still had a bit of time. Moving slowly, Matthew pulled down the blinds so that the Death Eaters wouldn't be able to see them, though it had the troubling side effect of meaning that they also couldn't evaluate the approach of their attackers. Right now, there weren't any options that were strictly good.

"What…what are they doing here?"

He gave her a grave look. "I'm under the impression that they're looking for me."

Emilia laughed sharply, no mirth present whatsoever in her voice. "Great. I should have known that there was a reason you'd be in here. You were using me to hide."

"I did say that I was a troublemaker."

"I don't think now is the best time to be making light of the situation."

"You're right, but I'm just trying to stop you from panicking."

"Sadly, you're doing a poor job of that."

"I'm sorry for dragging you into this."

"Why do they want you?"

"Isn't it obvious?"

"You know, I much preferred your quips when we weren't facing mortal danger."

"I'm friends with Harry. If they're able to hurt me or…kill me, then that's going to hurt him just as much. They want to use me to cut him down. I made the mistake of showing my face to Voldemort…" He didn't pause when Emilia flinched at the name. "...and now he obviously wants some payback. He must have known that I was away from Hogwarts, alone and vulnerable."

Emilia ran her hands through her hair as she stepped away from the covered windows. "This can't be happening."

Matthew moved closer to her, his staff banging against the floor. "Listen, I'm going to get you out of this, okay? Even if it's the last thing I do."

"What if you run? Leave me. They'd chase after you, but I'd be fine, right?"

It was clear to see that she was panicking, which Matthew couldn't blame her for. After being surrounded by people who had constantly been involved in deadly situations, it was sometimes difficult to remember that most wizards and witches had lived normal lives. They never expected to be put in this spot. He tried to place a hand on her shoulder in the hope of calming her down, but she was quick to shift away, as if his touch would have stung.

"They're going to be ransacking every shop until they find me. Do you really think they're going to let you go if you act innocent? Do you think taking a life for no reason whatsoever will play on their conscience for long?"

She was slowly nodding her head, her face alarmingly pale. "I've read the stories. You've had to deal with Death Eaters in the past."

"I have."

"How did you do it?"

"By cutting a hasty escape. Except they're currently standing in between us and our ticket out of here."

"So what do we do? Hide until they give up?"

"I don't think they will. Is there a back exit to this place?"

Emilia nodded in the affirmative and then was hastily dashing through the store, weaving in between the aisles with Matthew close behind her. In their rush, they knocked over a few items, some of them smashing and breaking. The only cause for concern was the noise they made, perhaps alerting the Death Eaters to their location. Matthew just hoped that the protective charms would hold them back for long enough as he raced through the back of the shop.

Boxes were piled high in the storage area, product waiting to be sold. At the moment, they were just more obstacles that needed to be navigated, the two of them taking a bit more care to avoid bumping into anything. Matthew didn't know for how long the adrenaline would keep Emilia moving, but she was impressing him so far with her unrelenting speed. It wasn't long until she was stopping in front of a metal door, pushing down heavily on the large handle and allowing the outside world to greet them.

It was a narrow alleyway, cobbled in the same fashion as the main street. The backs of shops greeted them, a lot less appealing than their front facades. Service hatches and delivery areas were the main decorations, the area designed for purpose more than aesthetics. Matthew busied himself with casting a simple spell on the door as it closed, his hand glowing as he waved it through the air. The handle disappeared, the hinges faded away and the gaps narrowed until they were nonexistent. The exit now resembled a solid metal wall, which would at least stall their pursuers for a bit longer. They'd reached the point of taking what they could get.

Not for the first time, Emilia was looking at him with wide eyes, presumably from his show of wandless magic. Matthew only wished that he had more opportunities in the pipeline to impress her. She was breathing heavily, a sign that her initial drive was waning. Unlike before, she allowed him to pat her on the shoulder, checking to see if she was alright, giving her the moment that she needed. A moment that they didn't really have to spare.

"What now?" she asked, a feat that seemed to take a lot of effort. She looked like she was close to being sick, which he supposed was a perfectly normal reaction to running for your life.

"We need to get you out of here."

"But you said it yourself. Those Death Eaters are going to rip through any and every building that attracts their attention. It might not be a busy day, but there are still workers in there, probably cowering away, praying that they get out of this. They don't deserve to die. Do I get to live just because you happened to choose my shop to visit?"

It really wasn't the time to do it but Matthew smiled. If he didn't have long left, then he wasn't going to waste any chances to do so. It was a look that was tinged with a heavy dose of sadness, but one that also came with a certain level of acceptance. Emilia was proving herself to be a worthy person. Handling the crisis remarkably well, still thinking and worrying about other people she likely didn't know…Matthew could think of plenty of worse people to save.

"I'm sorry, Emilia." He idly noted that he was having to do a lot of apologising. "But you're my responsibility now. If I can keep you alive, then today has been a success."

"How do you propose you do that then?"

"I'm going to get you to Hogwarts."

"What?"

"I obviously can't apparate you completely onto the grounds. The wards are too strong and prevent anything like that from happening. But Dumbledore will be able to pick up on your presence if I get you close enough."

"Dumbledore? Albus Dumbledore?"

"He'll help you. He'll give you shelter until this all blows over if you need it."

"And what about you?"

"Like I said, you're the priority for the time being. You'll be able to tell them where I am."

"Look at what we have here," a playful voice sang.

Matthew's back straightened, whilst Emilia jumped in fright, placing herself in front of the younger man. They watched as a woman casually walked towards them through the alleyway, her footsteps echoing loudly as if she'd put an amplifying charm on them. Her black hair was long and messy, matching her bedraggled attire. He'd seen her face in the morning paper, one of the people who had escaped the clutches of Azkaban. It would have been bad enough to be facing her only, but she had an entourage behind her. Burly wizards, most of them grimy, all of them smirking in perverted delight.

Holding onto Emilia's arm with a vice like grip, Matthew began to tug her in the other direction. They were only able to make a few steps until another party arrived, ominously holding their wands, prepared for a fight. So this was it. The setting was rather ignominious for Matthew's liking but it would have to do. The strangest thing was that, after becoming so accustomed to her being by his side, he kept thinking that it was Hermione who was in this peril with him. Whenever he caught a glimpse of Emilia's face, it snapped him back to reality harshly, before his mind would invariably play the same games. At least Hermione wasn't in danger for now. At least he could find comfort in that.

"Now, why are you in such a rush to leave?" the woman called, moving ever closer.

The two groups were evidently trying to suffocate them, hounding them into a corner until their backs were pressed up against the wall. It was now that Matthew regretted transforming the door so completely, wondering if it would have been at all possible to make a run for it. His shoulder brushed against Emilia and she frantically looked at him. He saw the panic and the fear in her eyes, and Matthew once again understood why he'd been brought to this spot, why he'd always been heading for this spot. If there was one less life ruined by Voldemort's followers, then that had to be a positive.

"Can I at least know the name of who I'm dealing with?" Matthew asked, hoping that he sounded calm.

"You mean you don't know me?"

"I'm sorry to disappoint you."

"Bellatrix Lestrange."

Emilia tensed up beside him and that was all that Matthew needed to know about the assailant. "I'm presuming that your master has sent you."

"He's very cross with you!"

"I bet he is. He mustn't be used to a child defying him. Then again, Harry Potter has been doing that since he was born, so a pattern is emerging, isn't it?"

Bellatrix spat on the floor. "Don't say that name in front of me!"

"Your master is so scared of Harry Potter that he's sent you to get rid of me. Is that right? And your master isn't even brave enough to do the job himself."

"I'd watch your tongue if I were you."

"Why? What's the point? You're going to kill me regardless."

"And what about your little friend? If you keep speaking out of turn, we'll have to punish her."

"You won't get the chance."

"My master said that you had an ego. He said that you had the gall to address him out of turn."

"Was that the night in the graveyard? I seem to remember him being defeated. Yet again. I'm losing track of the number of fights he's lost now."

Bellatrix's wand snapped to attention and Emilia squirmed uncomfortably, presumably expecting it to be used at any moment. "He didn't lose, boy !"

"He retreated. It's basically the same thing. When you get to the point of dealing in semantics, then you should realise that things aren't going your way." Matthew refused to back down. "Funnily enough, I don't remember seeing you that night."

"My master has freed me from incarceration at last. And has given me the spectacular job of killing someone close to the boy who has defied him. You stand there and pretend to be calm, but it must cut deep to know that your friend's cries will fill the air tonight. And we will celebrate and rejoice as if the sounds are the sweetest music."

"How very poetic."

"I'm going to enjoy this. It may not be my first kill since leaving Azkaban, but it will most certainly be the most delicious."

Her wand straightened. The cohorts flanking her matched the action, the tips glowing threateningly. Matthew wasn't in the mood to count, but there must have been at least fifteen of them. If these were his final moments, then there was an element of solace to be gained from the fact that such a large execution squad had been sent to deal with him. Voldemort was scared of him, and of the power he possessed. Dying with that knowledge in his head wasn't the worst way to go.

He leaned in so that he could whisper into Emilia's ear. "Are you ready?"

She gave him an alarmed look, though that might have been her permanent expression at that moment in time. "Ready for what?"

"When you see Hermione…because I have no doubt that you will…could you just tell her…oh, what words could do it justice? Just…remind her not to lose hope, even when I'm gone."

With a grim yet determined expression, Matthew turned to face their attackers. For one last time, he flexed his fingers and his cane melted away, a golden force billowing around him before it eventually retreated into his digits. The display had understandably put the Death Eaters on edge, with some of them shifting from foot to foot. Yet the majority of the group, including Bellatrix, saw that as a sign of aggression, aiming their wands.

He heard the joint incantations. He saw the massing of magical energy just before it surged towards him. But he didn't have to worry about that. All Matthew focused on was producing his own spell, sending it straight at Emilia. It connected with the pit of her stomach and, a moment later, she was being carried away in a thunderous whirlwind, leaving the cobbled alleyway with its ugly scenery. She'd get to Hogwarts. She'd be the one to break the news. This wasn't for nothing.

He wasn't allowed to enjoy the minor victory, for the Death Eaters' attack reached him within the next second. Roughly fifteen spells hit him at once, throwing him against the wall. He heard something audibly snap. It might have been his back from the impact with the bricks. It might have been his ribs from the sheer force and number of the spells. It didn't matter. Matthew was left a crumpled heap, broken and bruised, left panting for the final few breaths that would come to him.

With his eyes threatening to drift closed, he watched as Bellatrix stood over him, a devilish smile lighting her face. Or was it a sneer? It was difficult to tell. She was probably there to finish the job, taking the final ounce of glory. Matthew could feel his magic dissipating, his entire life force. It didn't hurt as much as he might have expected, it almost being a peaceful experience. But perhaps that stemmed from the satisfaction of knowing he'd used his last act to save someone else. Perhaps it stemmed from the fact that he knew Harry and Hermione would live on. He just hoped that they could forgive him for leaving the battlefield so soon.

xxxxxxxxxx

Moody was the first to arrive on the scene. Or, to put it more accurately, he was the first person to get there who somewhat knew what had happened. The magical services were already there, putting out a blazing fire. One of Diagon Alley's numerous shops was alight, burning bright. He stomped past the crew, ignoring the other aurors. They probably didn't want anything to do with him either, given his track record. That was until Kingsley Shacklebolt appeared at his side.

"I'm presuming that Dumbledore sent you," he said in greeting.

"He didn't want to believe what he was told from what I could tell," Moody replied. "But the woman went into a lot of detail."

"There was a witness?"

"You sound surprised."

"You would be too if you'd laid your eyes on the crime scene."

"That's exactly what I'm here to do. Checking to see whether this woman was telling the truth. Judging by the look on your face, she was."

"You should follow me."

Shacklebolt led him through the shop that stood next to the one currently in flames. Most of the smoke was being swept away, but Moody was still left choking uncomfortably. Not that he was at all willing to show any sign of weakness, marching through the building with a determined purpose until he was escorted onto the back streets of the shopping district. Which was just as scorched as the rest of the area, with the only thing uglier than the damage being the ethereal skull in the sky.

"Merlin's beard," he cursed.

"They were celebrating their victory," Shacklebolt remarked, who probably wouldn't have been brave enough to make that sort of comment in front of the Potter boy or, dare he even consider it, the Granger girl. "I don't think this was from any fight or duel. They struck him down and gloated by leaving their mark on the street. We haven't found any other casualties yet."

"And then they scarpered."

"They knew an incident like this would bring the weight of the world down upon them. They're despicable, but they're not stupid."

"You're thinking they're the ones who escaped from Azkaban?"

"It'd stand to reason. Their Master probably released them for this very purpose."

Moody, acting more gently than he'd ever done before, lifted Matthew's head up, watching as it lolled back into place without any resistance. "I don't think You-Know-Who understands just what sort of a mistake he's made here today."