Written for the Quidditch League Fanfiction Competition, Season 11, Round 3.

Info:

Team: Tutshill Tornados.

Position: Chaser 2.

Prompt: Write a story set at the break of dawn.

Optional prompts:

7. [dialogue] How could you have possibly forgotten?

8. [object] golden chalice

14. [family] Prewett

Word count: 2097

Warnings:

Darkness yields to the brightening sky; insects flutter above the dew-covered earth, buzzing around newly blossomed flowers; robins, sparrows, and blackbirds—all the songbirds sing their glorious song for the new day that has arrived.

And all the wild owls return to their roosting place, whilst all the tame resume their duties and rush to deliver one letter after the other. One such owl is Finn. Finn the Owl has no time to stop and admire the new day. His journey is a hundred miles long and the letter in his break is an important one; his owner shed a tear when he handed it to him and urged him to waste no time in delivering it. When Finn reaches the recipient of the letter he carries, the moon is no longer the earth's sole supplier of light. The clouds have found their colours, picking them out in beautiful shades of red and pink coming from the rising sun below.

Finn doesn't notice. He focuses on tapping against the window, his attempt to wake the man on the other side of the glass. Finn taps again, and again, but Ignatius Prewett doesn't wake; his sleep is too deep and heavy for him to even be aware of his surroundings. He is not a morning person. Of course, had he known the contents of the letter Finn is trying to deliver to him, he would have hastened to her side without another thought. But he does not know the contents of the letter, and he does not notice Finn's attempts. He does not see nor hear the bird fly around his house in search of an open window—the windows are all sealed shut, so Finn has resigned to sitting on the windowsill, waiting for Ignatius to wake up.

He waits, and he waits, and the eastern horizon is illuminated by a bright light that forces the dark out of the world. The pinkish and reddish hues climb further up into the sky to make space for the new gold. But although neither Finn nor Ignatius notice any of this, Fabian and Gideon notice it all the more. They are a hundred miles from Finn and Ignatius, but the sky behaves the same. Fabian and Gideon have often seen the sunrise, but never before have they watched it with such anxiety. The silence is suffocating and tense. It is broken only by the arhythmic breathing coming from behind them both—Lucretia, their aunt, lies in the double bed, fighting to keep her life. The world outside may be ablaze with colour; to the Prewetts, it is grey.

"I can't remember when we sent out Finn," says Fabian. He doesn't look away from the window as he speaks. He inspects the skies for any sign of the owl, to no avail. "He isn't coming back, he got lost—"

"We just have to be patient," says Gideon. He, too, faces the window, watching over the streets outside. "Uncle 'Natius will be here soon."

"He needs to wake up, first! And he won't. You know he won't. We must go ourselves."

Gideon casts a look over his shoulder at Lucretia's sleeping silhouette. They found her like this in the dark Muggle streets of London, and not by chance—she had been wearing Muggle clothes, a dress of fine Muggle linen, when they found her. She has been unconscious ever since. "We cannot leave her."

Fabian approaches her and kneels at the bedside. He takes her hand into his own. It is cold, but not stiff. Her breathing continues; she is alive. She won't last long, however. She can't last long, not in this state. "You go. I'll stay with her."

"We did all we can do," says Gideon. "If she won't wake..."

"Shut up. She'll wake. Just go."

Gideon leaves the room, mentally going over everything he and Fabian had done for Lucretia since they found her. They had healed her broken bones and cleared any blockage from her lungs. They had done all they could for her by putting her down to rest, by obtaining a house for her to sleep in. If all that proves not to be enough, it will not be their fault. Unless they failed to think of a solution, but even then they wouldn't bear the blame; to forget is a human thing to do.

He descends the stairs and exits the house through the front door, stepping into the cold, still quite dark world outside. He Apparates, and Apparates again; a hundred miles is a long way to go in one bout, but there is no faster method of transportation.

Gideon arrives at the house mere minutes later and greets Finn the Owl, still waiting by the window. Three knocks with the brass knocker on the front door aren't enough to wake him up. Neither are five. Gideon has no time to be patient and spins on the spot a third time, landing in his uncle's bedroom. He fights against the nausea that passes through him and gives Ignatius' shoulder a light shake.

Ignatius awakes with a jolt. It takes him a few seconds to realise where he is and who is standing afore him, and he gropes for his wand at the bedside table.

"Uncle? Lucas's in trouble, it's serious. We think... we think she doesn't have long."

Ignatius lowers his wand and sits upright. "Have you taken her to St. Mungo's?" He is fully awake now. When it comes to his wife's safety, there is no amount of sleep that can hold him back.

"No," says Gideon. "Though we have mended everything ourselves, it—"

"Slipped your mind?"

"Of course it didn't slip my mind, but we caught her in Muggle London. You know, there."

Ignatius pales. "What exactly is wrong with her?"

"She won't wake."

"Have you tried an Awakening Potion?"

Gideon scratches the balding spot on the back of his hair. "We might've possibly, er, forgotten to..."

"Forgotten?!" Ignatius jumps from the bed. "How could you have possibly forgotten?"

Gideon's hands fly up in the air in defence. "We tried the Reviving Spell, but it didn't—"

"Spells aren't everything; they can be countered, stopped, hindered with hexes. How often must I tell you? Use Potions!"

"Right, right—I'm sorry!"

"Get me a golden chalice," says Ignatius as he begins to pace up and down the bedroom.

"A golden chalice?"

"Yes! Now hurry up, you've already wasted enough precious time."

Gideon hurries out of the bedroom to search for a chalice just as bright and golden as the colours hanging in the sky. The pinks and reds have all but disappeared already and the sun won't be long now. He searches in the cupboards and rummages through drawers...

Meanwhile, Ignatius preps the ingredients and finds his mortar, he lights a fire, and he does what he does best; he works on the potion in utmost concentration. He crushes and heats the ingredients, stirs where necessary, and brews. There are distractions.

A hundred miles away, Fabian sits by the still unconscious Lucretia, watching as she slips further and further from the land of the living.

The clouds slowly turn white, and still Gideon hasn't found the chalice. The skies lose their colour and the first sunbeam stretches out over the world, but the chalice he needs to find is gone.

Ignatius finishes the potion under the light of the rising sun. From his wardrobe he pulls a golden chalice, the only one he has at home, and he fills it with the dark liquid from his cauldron. He seals the chalice with a flick of his wand and calls for Gideon.

Gideon hears Ignatius' call and runs to his side. "I can't find—oh." He sees the golden chalice in his hands and scratches the balding patch on his head again.

"Are you ready?"

Together they Apparate back to London, in four deliberate bouts as to not disturb the potion. Once at the house, they go up the stairs and enter the bedroom where Lucretia lies.

Fabian hears the door creak open. He doesn't look up. "Well, did he wake?"

"Open her mouth," says Gideon, ignoring his question.

"What, why?" Fabian looks up to see Gideon and Ignatius. "Uncle 'Natius? You came!"

"Yes, yes, of course I did. Now open her mouth."

"What do you have there?" Fabian asks. He still doesn't comply with the request.

"Awakening Potion," Gideon explains.

"You just thought about that now? It's been hours!"

"Enough of all that," the now-agitated Ignatius says as he takes a few long strides towards the bed. "We haven't the time to quarrel about why neither of you was clever enough to come up with this on your own. Think! We need to act now."

He forces Lucretia's mouth open, and puts the chalice against her lips. He gently tilts it, pouring the sticky contents down her throat until there's nothing left to give. After putting the chalice aside, he takes her hand and murmurs sweet words of encouragement for her to wake up.

And as the sun fully climbs above the horizon and the earth has reassumed its natural look, Lucretia stirs from her sleep. She looks at her husband, then sees her nephews standing at the bedside. She smiles, yet she is disorientated and doesn't recognise the bedroom. "What happened?" she asks, but she needn't hear the answer; the moment the words leave her lips, she remembers...

It was late. The sun was rapidly setting, and she was in Muggle London. A strange sound filled her ears—it almost sounded like someone crying—and she clutched her wand in case it was hostile. She followed her ears and found the source of the noise in the form of a small, black-haired boy in long robes. He was leaning against the brick outer wall of one of the houses and sobbed into his arms.

She approached him. The closer she got, the more familiar the boy became. "Regulus?"

"Aunt Lu-Lucretia... I — I ..."

"This is disappointing, Regulus," she said, lowering her wand. "What are you crying for? Why are you in the backstreets of Muggle London? You are incredibly lucky nothing has happened to you!"

"W-what do you-"

"It's dangerous to venture into Muggle neighbourhoods, Regulus! Especially at night, and especially now." She pulled him to his feet and nudged him into the right direction. "Come on."

They took a few steps and Regulus' sniffles lessened. Then he moved his arm towards his face to wipe it clean with his sleeve. She grasped hold of it at once. "Regulus! Don't wipe that on your robes!"

"Sorry..."

She released him and sighed. "Let's just get you home, all right? Come on," she said again, resting her now-free arm upon his shoulders. Together, they left the narrow alley.

They passed several Muggles before they reached their destination: Grimmauld Place. She knocked on the front door, still holding on to both Regulus and her wand.

"Why are you in Muggle London?" Regulus asked all of a sudden. "I mean, if it's dangerous..."

"I had some business to attend to."

"What—"

The door opened, cutting his question short. In the doorway stood Orion, his wand drawn at the both of them, his face twisted in both distrust and fear. Instinctively, Lucretia tightened her grip on Regulus' shoulders—the boy trembled slightly at the sight of his father.

"Orion, look what I found."

"Lucretia," he nodded, extending his free hand towards Regulus.

Lucretia still held on to the boy, refusing to let go of him. She studied her brother's face as he studied hers. Neither of them did anything for a couple of long minutes.

Orion broke the silence. "Luca, let him go."

Lucretia didn't move. Orion lowered his wand and took a step in their direction. He tore Regulus from her grip with both hands, forcing her to let go.

He shoved Regulus inside the house with more force than necessary, and she could see him still, peeking around the corner with those big, innocent eyes.

"Leave now, and I won't hurt you," said Orion. His wand was pointed at her face again, and she was well aware that he meant every word that came out of his mouth. Still, she didn't move. She didn't leave; her eyes kept flickering between the man, filled with rage, and the young boy inside.

"I said, leave!"

It happened before she could register—her feet no longer touched the ground. She tumbled through the air. Her wand fell from her hand. The world was spinning, spinning, spinning...

Darkness swallowed her.