The Unknown Witness

Chapter Three: Solutions and Screams

Hermione rolled over in her sleep and tried to get comfortable. However she didn't think that sleep was the most appropriate word to describe her current physical state. She found herself floating somewhere in the region between sleep and awake, where you want nothing less than the sandman to hit you with all he's got and whisk you away to a more peaceful place. But Hermione knew that it wasn't going to happen.

She opened her eyes as they slowly adjusted to the dimmed light and surveyed her room with an outsider's gaze. This was the room she grew up in. This was the room where once upon a time she'd been deposited on her first night home from the hospital, a baby wrapped in white woollen blankets as silent as a newborn lamb, so she'd been told. The room where she'd first discovered the joys of Dickens, Austen and Wells, curled up in the wicker chair in the corner, her father's voice bellowing through the rafters for her to turn that blasted light off and get some sleep. The room she retired to when she was sick, when she needed to do her homework or just get away from the world. But as she gazed across its feminine colours so late into the night, it had never felt more alien to her.

She found it strange to have a room to herself after sharing for the best part of the year. The snores and grunts of her fellow Gryffindors sleeping soundly across the floor had become the natural noises of the night to her, and it was only now she felt lost without them. Her parents had not addressed the restlessness that greeted them in the form of their daughter after she departed from the train at the end of term, and she was extremely glad of it. The inevitable 'How did it go, dear?' questions had been kept to a minimum, her mother using her woman's instinct to sense that some things were best left unsaid. Hermione certainly didn't like the idea of explaining what happened as a consequence of the Triwizard Tournament. They wouldn't understand. And as for Bulgaria - it was simply out of the question.

She remembered with a grimace trying to put it all into words as she caught up with her Muggle friends, those who had no idea as to what her 'Private school' entailed. They still showed concern after she explained away the miracle of dentistry upon her teeth without the need to mention Malfoy or Madam Pomfrey. They knew that she was hiding something. She hated all the secrecy but knew that now, more than ever, everything depended on it. But there was no way she could effectively convey to them the unnerving sense of dread that had settled in her chest, eclipsing everything in its wake. Her isolation from the wizarding world right then only heightened it.

There was only one thing for it. She pulled back the covers, swung her pyjama clad legs off the bed and strode over to her desk, switching on the little reading lamp to start on that Transfiguration essay. She sat for a moment, imagining the reactions of her friends to the idea of her midnight study urges. Ron would simply roll his eyes in his usual sarcastic manner, and mutter some comment or other that could only come from a Weasley. Harry would join in the eye rolling, but show another form of concern as to her inability to sleep, looking at her through his black rimmed glasses, more like a brother than a friend. Somehow older, wiser, more aware of the world and the horrors it held. Always the protector. Hermione just worried how far that would take him.

But as she heard the doorbell ring loudly into the night, causing minimal reaction from her parent's bedroom, she knew the answer wouldn't be that far away. She frowned, put down her quill and swung her dressing gown over her shoulders as she descended the stairs to answer to door. Little did she know that the answer was the other side of it.

***

Harry hadn't realised how dark it had got outside while he was under the artificial lighting of the Accident and Emergency department. As he descended its steps into the darkness of central London, it hit him now unlikely this situation would have seemed just a few years ago. He was only fifteen. Most of his peers could be found out with their friends now, or simply at home enjoying the last few years of their carefree existence before the horror of responsibility was bestowed upon their heads. But as Harry was finding increasingly obvious, normality just wasn't in his vocabulary. No matter how much he wanted to deny it, or how much he wanted to throw down the towel and go through his life by the usual channels of teenage angst, there were just too many scars reminding him of what still needed to be done. What he felt he needed to do. He was Harry Potter. People depended on him. He depended on himself.

He rubbed his arm wearily as he felt his feet take him along the street, not noting his direction at all. He could trace the tear under his shirt where the knife has pierced him not even two months ago, its sharp metallic teeth ripping his skin and drawing the life force of his foe from his very own blood. Yet another scar he carried, and he knew it wouldn't be the last. He'd accustomed himself to the newfound shyness that had engulfed his peers in the last few days of his fourth year. Even when the explanations came out, the stares that accompanied his departure from Platform nine and three quarters continued. But he knew what lay in those stares, ranging from their genuine concern to outright fear. Expectation. People honestly believed a fifteen year-old boy would be able to stop the oncoming apocalypse. And with an expectation like that, he'd had to grow up fast.

He hadn't noticed at all where his feet were carrying him, for indeed it had only felt like moments after he'd left the warmth of the hospital he found himself on the banks of the Thames. The domineering buildings of Parliament Square lay silently behind him as he strode out to the middle of the bridge and looked downstream. The water was chopping at the supports of the metalwork, lapping fiercely like that of a vicious mongrel, the water's white teeth bared and pouncing playfully at the bridge's supports as Harry gazed absently at the sea of tiny lights that made up the city of London. The city, as it was, asleep on the night of 2nd of November 1981, wasn't where he was supposed to be.

He felt in his pocket and produced what he'd come to suppose was some form of highly advanced Time-Turner. Harry was certain that in the fading dusk it seemed renewed, the mahogany casing gleaming in the moonlight as he held it up for examination, trying to remember what actions had cast the enchantment to land him in this situation to begin with. Tempus. The word echoed in his weary brain, still dazed and cloudy with the sights and stories the unusual day had brought. Tempus. It was Latin for something. Time. He'd said it, turning the item over in his hands in order to read the engraved lettering from the timer's wooden base. He'd turned it and uttered the incantation. He felt a growl of aggravation deepen in his throat, his grip on the Time-Tuner tightening as he restrained his arm from arching back to throw it in the water. Instead, his grip crushed it dangerously, the glass threatening to fracture beneath his trembling fingers as he felt an unfounded rage boil inside of him at the essence of his stupidly. But just as suddenly he loosened his hold, the calmness of the night taking him now as he let the offending instrument dangle precariously from the tip of a finger, swinging in the air over the darkened water of the Thames. There was only one thing for it. He closed his eyes and turned it over.

'Tempus…'

***

'What do you mean, AWOL?'

Remus leapt out of his seat, eyes as wide as the moon at that time of the month as he gasped at Arabella, herself busy in a drawer at the burgundy dresser covered in delicately rose clad bone China. She didn't turn to answer.

'AWOL. Absent without leave. Missing in action. Done a runner. Scarpered.' She placed a few metallic items on the counter before finally facing Remus. 'Do I need to spell it out to you?'

Sirius took over from Arabella's sharpened tones, as he saw Remus' lip begin to curl in a way hardly ever seen on the werewolf's face. It somehow reminded him of Snape. 'Remus, calm down. Petunia has probably forgotten that she's locked him in the basement, poor lad...'

The instruments Arabella had produced began to make an array of noises, not sounding unlike a collection of tower ravens after an unfortunate execution. Little silver balls were swirling unaided in the air above a large gleaming plate, humming merrily to themselves as Arabella frowned, following the sparkling tracks they left in the air that descended onto the surface of the dish. She wasn't very happy.

'I'm not getting any readings of his Veneficuim trail…' she muttered, moving from one instrument to another, the frown not evaporating from her normally mischievous features. The new look didn't suit her. 'And I hadn't noticed anything in my Foe-Glass either…'

'And did you leave anything in your office after handing in your resignation?'

She glanced at Sirius, fixing him with an unsmiling stare. 'You never know when they may come in handy. Mad-Eye was hardly going to miss them.'

The men continued to watch the ex-Auror at work, scuttling between instruments and consulting various measures with the precision of a skilled scientist. She narrowed her eyes occasionally, conclusions forming in her mind as the clogs mentally clicked into place. Sirius was taken slightly with how adaptable Arabella was. One moment she could be an inconspicuous old lady, quietly living out her widowed retirement in a peaceful Surrey village, the next she was back in her stride, whizzing around her instruments as if she hadn't been a day off the beat. No wonder the Auror Association was lost without her. She knew her stuff. But Remus continued to steam.

'That boy is too much his father's son sometimes!' he raged uncharacteristically, beginning to pace up and down Arabella's flower laden living room. The strain was obviously getting to him. 'What does he think he's playing at, wandering off like this when there's so much at stake? Dumbledore told him to stay at the Dursleys for the time being, and he wouldn't put Harry through all that unless he had good reason! Otherwise Dumbledore would let him leave for that Ron Weasley's house before you could say Avada Kedavra!'

'Well, unless he's disappeared off the face of the earth, I suggest that's our first port of call.' Both Sirius' companions raised a collective eyebrow at the use of the plural. 'Its OK, Molly and Arthur are perfectly aware of my situation.' He added sheepishly. 'Although I must admit that poor old Molly didn't take it very well…'

'Expect you could hear the scream on the other side of Hogsmeade….'

'Anyway,' cut in Arabella, ignoring the antics of her comrades. 'We have a situation here. Harry's flounced off to who knows where, and judging by the speed of that owl which has just descended onto my back patio, I'd hedge my bets that the Phoenix will be a little delayed.'

As Arabella pottered through the living room, along by her lace-covered dining table to open the back door, Sirius stared hard at his friend. 'Remus,' he said slowly. 'You didn't see Harry at the end of last year, did you? ' Remus shook his head. 'You didn't see how shaken up he was. How badly he'd taken it. He blames himself you know.'

Remus shook his head harder. 'He couldn't have done anything - '

Sirius continued to stare. 'I know that. You know that. Damn near everyone in the school and half the Ministry are perfectly aware of that. But that won't change the anxiety that forms in the mind of your typical adolescent, and with this one, I think, doubt will be on the rampage. He wouldn't want to do anything that would put him, his friends, even us in danger. He's perfectly aware of what's at stake. He's got the scars to prove it.'

'I just don't know how he copes, you know?' replied Remus timidly.

'He's had to grow up fast. And I wouldn't wish that on anybody. But the problem now lies in that Gryffindor mentality to save mankind at every turn. He may not be hot on You-Know-Who's heels now, but it wouldn't surprise me if he was trying to tip the balance in our favour.'

'Lets just hope he stays in his depth.'

Sirius didn't reply to this last comment, instead watching Arabella scan the crinkled parchment and put it to one side, her face set in a determined grimace as she continued to produce her wizarding life from every nook and cranny. He pinched his nose wearily, taking over from Remus' pacing as he helped Arabella collect her gear. This was more than he needed at the moment. He didn't know what Harry was playing at, whether he'd simply had enough of the Dursleys or whether something more sinister was at play, but he knew one thing for sure - Harry was tough. Just like James. They'd have to beat him senseless for a year and a day before they'd get so much as a peep out of that boy. But Sirius wouldn't even put that past some of the Death Eaters he'd known.

'Got him! Thirteen clicks south east of Mayfair and on the move…'

Sirius snapped out of his trance-like daze as Arabella seemed to pack up the room with a simple gesture. She turned to the dog and raised an eyebrow questioningly.

'Still got that motorbike?'

***

'Harry!'

Hermione hadn't even noticed it was raining. But now it was horribly apparent in the form of this skinny black haired dish mop that stood on the doorstep manifesting as her friend. He smiled weakly at her greeting, not at all disheartened by the mixture of emotions that were gracing her face, ranging from amazement to outright annoyance.

'Hey Hermione,' he chattered through his frozen teeth. 'Long time no see?'

She shook her frizzy head in dismay. 'Come on in, you'll catch a cold.'

Stepping back, she allowed the drowning figure to come into the hall, wiping his feet politely on the mat as he entered. He looked paler than when they'd last parted back at King's Cross, thinner even, the soaking to the skin the summer downpour had bestowed on him doing little for his fragile frame. He looked at Hermione with tired eyes, gleaming emerald in the darkness of the doorway somewhat brighter than anything else in the picture. She supposed they had seen things that had only haunted her nightmares. She stood, captivated by an image that would never have entered her mind previously, and it seemed so out of context. Her witchery, her school, her friends, they just didn't seem to fit into her home life, that perfectly ordinary country cottage in that perfectly ordinary Kentish village. She was sure Harry had used the same expression to describe Privet Drive, but it still was the last place you'd expect anything unusual to happen. And the last thing she'd envisioned that night when she'd reached for her quill was to find the centre of that other life standing in her hall in the dark.

'Hermione…' he said hoarsely, a voice nervous with the cold that sent Hermione's nerves dangerously jangling on edge. '… Are you going to turn the light on?'

She actually considered this for a moment, then shook her head and beckoned him to follow in the silence. She brought a finger to her lips, and for a moment she held the same expression she'd had the first time they'd made a bid for Sirius' freedom, back in the muffled light of Madam Pomfrey's hospital wing. She still held that same petrified look she had back then, an expression close to the stillness that engulfed her via the basilisk's stare, as the pair of them crept deeper into the house. But they weren't thirteen any more. It felt as if an age had passed in the space of a year, the reality of the adult world taking Hogwarts in his grasp with a metal fist. As they finally reached what looked in the darkness like a homely kitchen, the issue seemed to rise between them as to how much more sacrificing she was prepared to do.

'Sit!' she instructed in a harsh whisper, taking a pew on the opposite side of the wooden table top to where Harry was standing, looking a little bewildered. 'We need to keep quiet. My parents are asleep upstairs…'

Harry tilted his head back a little in realisation and began to make to stand up. 'Maybe this can wait for the morning then…'

Hermione's eyes flash with an indescribable emotion as she grabbed his arm across the wooden tabletop to prevent him making his bid to escape. They held the position for an instant, her eyes firmly fixed on his and burning a hole right through to his subconscious, screaming not to let the sleeping dogs lie.

'Harry,' she whispered with a spit, gripping his arm tighter. 'Don't think you can turn up at goodness knows what hour of the morning without any indication of an explanation!'

He let his arm hang loose for an instant before laying it to rest in front of her watchful eyes. Hermione immediately felt a surge of guilt wash over her for scolding him so. He wouldn't be here without good reason, she reminded herself as she collected a couple of glasses of milk to put out for her guest. He looked as though he'd been to hell and back. It wouldn't have surprised her if that statement were more than accurate.

Harry hung his head even lower as he made out to speak. Hermione however got there first. 'Look, I'm sorry if I snapped…'

'No,' he said, a little too loudly for her comfort as she placed the drinks upon the table. This must have shown on her face as he dutifully lowered his tones. 'You're right. It's been a long day.'

Hermione gazed at him expectantly, watching Harry take a gulp of his drink and sighed heavily before he continued. He fixed her with that emerald stare again.

'I found her.'

'Who?'

'The witness.'

Hermione's expression slowly changed as the inevitable formed on her lips. 'How?'

She wasn't being one for small talk - after all, it was the early hours of the morning. He felt around in his pocket and produced the two items that had effectively moulded the most unusual of days. She took immediate interest in the crumpled paper, almost ripping it apart as she opened it to examine its scrawl in the dimmed moonlight, her eyes widening as she tried to decipher the doctor's illegible writings.

'Claudia Darlington,' Harry recited, closing his eyes and appearing to dive into memory, 'saw everything. She saw Sirius transform from his Animagi form, saw him confront Wormtail, and the wand behind Peter's back. She heard him cast the spell. She saw the explosion. She saw no more.'

'Literally,' said Hermione, frowning at the notes as Harry brought her up to speed. 'The poor woman. It must have been awful for her. So confusing…'

Harry didn't say anything for a while, feeling a lump begin to form in his throat as he remembered Claudia's struggling whines as she clawed her bandages. The lack of colour across her irises as if she'd lost the key to her soul. The smell of her fear and apprehension. Harry swallowed stiffly as Hermione suddenly glanced up.

'Accelerated macular degeneration?' she questioned, frowning back down at the notes and up again. 'That's impossible. These notes completely contradict each other.' She quickly got up, her chair scraping hideously loud across the stone tiled floor as she walked quickly over to a bookcase. Harry smiled, the expression strangely alien upon his face as he watched her arrive back with a rather ominous looking volume.

'When in doubt, go to the library!' he quoted fondly. Hermione smirked.

'I can't see anything in this light!' she moaned quietly. Before she could rectify the situation, Harry had produced his wand, muttered 'Lumos' and allowed the blackened rod to omit a soft glow of white light. Hermione looked at him disapprovingly.

'Hey,' he whispered with a smile. 'They let me blow up my Aunt two summers ago. I'm hardly going to be thrown into Azkaban for this.'

Hermione looked at him doubtfully for a moment, but soon her tensed-up shoulders sank and she turned her attention back to the text. 'Yes, yes…' she said. 'I was right. When compared to her symptoms, burning behind her eyes, bright light and so on, it would seem more common for a burnt retina to be the source, but no…' She shut the book with a thump, throwing away with it any trust she had maintained with Muggle certainty. 'Pettigrew's curse. It must have been some sort of killing curse that speeded up a process of degeneration. Aged the organs. I'd bet anything she was on the outskirts of the blast zone and so only her vision was affected… you've got an address in here and everything, Harry…' she looked at him with astonishment, the expression then merging between something like concern and intrigue. The question finally arrived. 'How did you do it?'

He tapped the Time-Turner twice on its head, causing a couple of grains of sand to trickle into its base. Hermione glanced at him, the desire for answers burning fiercely in her eyes.

'Its been one of those days…'

***

'Claudia, now you're just being paranoid…'

Lucy sighed angrily at her sister, making Claudia fully aware at her built up frustration over how ridiculous she was being. Instead, she continued to listen to her rants and ravings.

'I swear, it was him!' she hissed through her hands, currently shielding her paler than normal face as she leant heavily on the kitchen table. 'I recognised the voice! High pitched, desperate like, squeaked like a rat. Whimpering almost. If I hadn't known any better I would have felt sorry for the scumbag…'

'So you're telling me…' said Lucy slowly, as if her sister had truly lost the plot. 'That you were down the town picking up some food bits and you passed the man who you think blinded you in the street? And you totally freaked out at the sound of his voice, did a runner and now you're convinced he's after you?'

Claudia shook a little, muffling a sob into her hands as she tried desperately to cry, the dryness of her eyes becoming more frustrating by the minute as she wiped away an imaginary tear. Just this once, she longed it to be there. 'You don't understand…'

'Yes I do bloomin' well understand!' screeched Lucy, standing up in despair. 'I understand that you got a little merry on the happy pills and now seeking vengeance on the horror of British Gas. Claudia, this is just getting ridiculous.' She walked across the room and took Claudia by the shoulders, the tears of anguish now entering her strained voice. 'There was a gas explosion. No wands, no magic, no people turning into little fluffy animals at a blink of an eye. There is no scapegoat, Claudia. You can't blame all this on things that simply aren't there. This needs to stop now.'

Lucy was shaking now, the grip she had on Claudia's shoulders tightening in her desperation, shaking her as well. She paused for an instant, searching her sister's face for any indication that her words were sinking in. Claudia could feel her stare. And awarded her with the same blank expression she's been wearing for fourteen years. Claudia's voice sank to an urgent whisper.

'But its true…' she said, her voice moaning with a frustration of her own. 'It's all true. It was the last thing I ever saw, it's clearer than anything else. Your face, Mum and Dad, this house, the images all fail to compare with that one. It was as if I could sense every step, every voice with an extra edge of clarity. I remember every little detail, and believe me, I just came across the man who blinded me. And killed all those people. He's a murderer.'

'Claudia,' Lucy muttered, 'you're scaring me…'

'Not as much as I am myself.'

'Then why are you doing this!?!' Lucy wailed, letting go of Claudia and letting her head hang low, shaking in disbelief. 'Why are you putting yourself through this? I mean it's hard enough on Paul and me at the best of times, but just think about what you're doing to yourself!'

At this, Claudia leapt out of her seat, physically seething with anger. 'Do you think I'm enjoying this? Do you honestly think I made all this up? That I pretend to lie awake for hours on end as someone else's memories have a bachelor party in my head? Do you think I pretend to hear the screams? And do you, Lucy, honestly believe I wanted all this?'

Her voice ended on a pitch of a piercing scream, enough to make Lucy leap back with a horror of her own, her hand clasped against her chest as she cringed at her sister's fuming. Claudia sank down in her seat again, the desperate tears welling up inside her desert like eyes, never wanting to escape even more than they did at that moment. No one ever believed her. No one ever did. She remembered in a flash as the silence engulfed them how hard it had been the first time around, trying to explain all she had seen and heard in her dreams. It hadn't made sense then, and it certainly didn't now. But somehow, for Claudia, deep within her heart, it was the only explanation there was, and the reason for her confused existence. For her, no other possibility could exist. For her, a man with a wand had muttered a spell and blown the street apart before her very eyes. She was quite surprised she'd lasted this long without at least one vacation in the straight jacket. Lucy's constant support, despite her suspicious nature, had probably been her one saving grace. But now even she had reached the end of her tether.

'Look,' said Lucy, picking up her coat from the back of the chair and her keys with a jangle. 'My taxi is waiting. I'm going to pick up Paul from the airport…' Claudia frowned a little, but listened anyway. 'He rang earlier. Just before you came blundering back in fact. He managed to get an earlier flight, thank the lord…' she approached her sister again and held her frozen face in her hands. 'We're going to help you, Claudia,' she said softly, in tones that reminded Claudia strongly of her long gone mother's. 'We're going to get you through this, just like we did before. I'll be back soon. Try and get some rest.'

She kissed Claudia on the forehead and left, the door slamming behind her as she went. Claudia let her head sink slowly down and come to rest on the tabletop. She felt so tired, so drained that she knew sleep of any kind would not be at all rewarding. She knew the nightmares would come back, and the 'accidents' that accompanied them. She'd known for years. Ever since the quad, there had been something different about her, as if the blinding light had robbed her of her sight but awarded her something much, much deeper. She sighed dragged herself from her chair and began to ascend the stairs toward her room. She didn't hear the car door slam. She didn't hear her sister scream. She didn't hear the high-pitched screech of 'Stupefy!' and the speeding car moving in the opposite direction to the airport. For once in her life, she didn't hear anything at all.

***

As Harry wound up his tale, Hermione's eyes were beginning to droop wearily. Dawn had now broken, the blackbirds out in the Kentish hedgerows drumming up a racquet in their song as the sun peaked over the horizon and stretched out its arm like rays outside the tiny cottage window. Harry looked more tired than she was, his greying face not improved by the early morning light as he pulled absently at the cuffs of his sleeves. Hermione shook herself slightly to regain her normal focus.

'There's just one thing I don't get…' she said, allowing her voice to detract from its silent state as she heard her parents moving about upstairs. 'Who sent you this thing?'

She referred to the Time Turner as she picked it up from the table, examining it with an expert's eye. She squinted a little at its mahogany base, in a way that reminded Harry of the feeling that ebbed through him just twenty-four hours previously when Hedwig came bouncing through his window with the unexpected gift. But as she reached to turn it in her hands, he stood up abruptly and was about to protest when she caught his drift, almost dropping the hourglass on the table with shock at the look that graced his face. She looked for an explanation.

'That's how all of this started.' he reminded her. 'I was just looking at it, turned it over, and read the inscription on the bottom. It says 'Tempus'. I think its Latin for…'

'Time, yes I know…'

'And it must have been charmed to only work to word command. It was a deliberate set up.'

'But the question is, who would have done that? And why did it take you there, of all places? It's impossible to charm a timer to go to a certain point in history, so Professor McGonagall told me. It doesn't make sense. You say you only turned it once?' Harry nodded, as mystified as Hermione was as she confirmed the details for herself. She shook her head, openly baffled. It was a really momentous day when Hermione Granger didn't know the answer. But also a very frightening one.

'I don't like this, Harry…' she muttered across the table. 'I don't like it one little bit. You're right, it's got to be a set up. But for what? This thing, despite the initial proclamation, has been more of a help than a hindrance. Is someone really trying to help us or are we just rising to the bait?' she stared back at her companion with a look of sheer desperation. 'Oh Harry, I don't think I know anything for sure these days…'

Harry tried his best at a reassuring smile as Hermione's head sank into her hands, the pang of pain he felt for her indescribable in her sorrowful state.

'You know what I reckon?' he said quietly, even though there truly was no need for secrets any more. Hermione looked up. 'You know what I think? I don't think Hedwig would've brought it to me if it were a risk. I don't think she'd be that easily fooled. I think it's the only thing we've got to go on. I just can't sit here and waste away the summer, Hermione. If I had then I would have locked myself in my room at the Dursleys all hours of the day and rocked myself slowly mad already. But I'm not like that.'

'Yes, well,' huffed Hermione, getting all motherly. 'I think we're perfectly aware of your need for bravado, Mr Potter. I just think it's a little suspect that's all.'

Harry continued with his thread. 'It wouldn't surprise me if this were just another invisibility cloak. Or another Firebolt. Or even a Marauder's map. What would life have been like if we didn't have them?' Harry was sure Hermione was thinking of a more peaceful, safe existence as a dreamy look of wishful thinking glazed her face. Harry ignored it. 'Sure they've caused their fair amount of frustration and trouble in their lives, but we'd never have done half as well without them. They've been a real godsend, despite the trauma.'

Hermione sighed. 'Maybe, Harry, maybe. But I've still got a feeling that our luck is about to run out. May I remind you of a certain little black book back in our second year? Or even a rather ornate wooden goblet that sparked off half this sorry mess? Magical objects aren't always our friend. It's just all too convenient.'

'Well, maybe that's a sign that we're going to get lucky again. Someone is easing up the game, and that's certainly overdue. Someone is smiling on us up there.'

She seemed to choose not to reply to Harry's optimism, instead tearing her gaze away from the hourglass that stood between them to focus on the clock that hung high on the oak-beamed wall. Harry just supposed she was so tired she couldn't take anything in, a similar feeling creeping into his veins as he closed his eyes wearily, desperately fighting off the desire to sleep. He'd been on a roller coaster of emotions in the past day and night, much of it he'd omitted from his tale to Hermione. He hadn't told her about Remus. That meeting was for him, and for him alone. He wasn't normally so secretive by nature, but he honestly thought now, of all days, not everything was best shared. He watched her again in the quiet rumble of the morning, her eyes not seeming to leave the second hand of the ancient clock as she counted down the seconds under her breath.

'Three… two… one…'

She turned in her seat as Harry jumped at the almighty crash that followed her countdown. Suddenly her pretty little kitchen was covered in a cloud of black and dirty soot, engulfing the whole room as they coughed and spluttered in its wake. The copper pots that had been hanging over the open fire now span dizzily on the floor, finishing their uncoordinated dance with a final clank as Harry finally cleared his vision to be met by the most welcoming sight he'd come across all summer.

'Hey Hermione,' said Ron, stumbling to his feet and wiping the soot off his own clothes as his pearly white grin shone out behind the grime. 'Harry! I didn't know you'd managed to escape! Oh well, no matter. That was one hell of an entrance, wasn't it? You really ought to clean that place out there, you know…'

'Did I mention…' said Hermione as she stood up next to Ron, ruffling his hair to reveal its flaming tones underneath the soot. 'That Ron would be dropping by sometime today?'

Harry grinned as he looked at his two best friends, trying to control the incredible urge to laugh. 'No, Hermione. I think that one must have slipped me by…'

And the three of them burst into the first fit of giggles for a long time as they set about clearing the devastation from the Floo Powder and filling Ron in on the Unknown Witness.

***

Lucy had the world's worst headache. It started off behind her left temple, nothing more than a tickle underneath the skin and bone, but gradually became a pain that crept right across her brow and settled behind her eyes where no relief could reach. Her eyes remained tightly shut, screwing up against the agony as she felt herself being dragged to her feet, a daze of consciousness still waiting to be fully in her grasp. She felt like hell. She had no idea where she was, or any reasonable recollection of how she got there. But she knew to be afraid.

She felt any remaining energy ebb out of her limbs as her assailant pulled her to an upright state. He did this only for her to slouch right back down in return, gaining some muttered curses under his foul-smelling breath as he eventually was forced to half drag her behind him as they continued their journey on foot. All she could sense was that wherever they were, it was dark, damp, and about as far from Gatwick airport as Margate was Manhattan. She could hear her captor breathing in and out, his respiration coming in short spurts as he feebly struggled with her additional weight. He was almost wheezing as he plodded endlessly on, ignoring her groans as he desperately tried to reach his final destination. Whoever he was, for it was certainly a he, even the smell of him was enough to make her stomach turn. He felt cold, impossibly freezing as he held tightly to her wrist while dragging her along, as if something was stealing the very life force from his own body and replacing itself with something much darker. As she finally began to emerge from the darkness of the abyss, an equally dark sea of black met her. The aggressor seemed to be hiding beneath lengths of the black material, a hood concealing what she would have guessed to be a pale, heartless face hanging low over his features. He was almost like a sceptre of death itself, something glinting silver at his side and swinging through the air as he dragged her along and catching what little light there was as it trailed passed her sight. It seemed to weigh him down.

What struck her most however as they continued on their journey was the sheer amount of dread her captor was projecting. It was as if he was the one who was afraid. She could feel his fear shivering through his grip on her wrist, reluctant yet inhumanly strong, as if he was under the control of some exterior being forcing him to do this action against his will. Yet was he reluctant in his choice? He was certainly not making any excuses, or not any that had been audible to her own throbbing mind. She groaned again. Nothing was making sense. It was as if she was walking a personified paradox, a simple trip to be reunited to her beloved turning into a kidnap attempt from hell in a matter of moments, from shutting the door of that taxi to waking up here. Something frightening had been born out of the routine. She remembered the production of a weapon, daunting in its narrow state, a scream that may or may not have originated from her own vocal tissues echoed through her dazed memory. A word in a language she did not recognise, said with a command that turned everything black. The new thought stuck her that she was beginning to sound like Claudia.

Their journey then came to a sudden halt just as a wave of attentiveness passed across her tired limbs. She chose not to use it, instead waiting with an air of unfounded curiosity to watch her assailant's next move and where he'd brought her so she could best gauge her position. Lucy was naturally a fighter. She'd always been the protector of the playground, of dying and sick relatives, even the children she came by in the day as she found herself more and more disheartened by the state she found them in during the hours of her employment with a local childcare trust. Her mind was willing for her to go on the attack, to push away her oppressor and run as fast as her legs would carry her, and leave it all behind. But what would she be turning her back on? Whether her body just refused to cooperate on a basic feeling of fear or if her natural curiosity had transcended her waking thoughts, she couldn't say for sure. Whatever it was, it was keeping her rooted to the spot.

The man removed his weapon again as Lucy immediately winced. She'd imagined it to be a heavy, deathlike baton that had inflicted her with the current pain she felt, something as dark as everything else surrounding the situation. But no. She could barely make in out in the dim light. It looked thin, fragile and twig-like as the man placed it in the key lock of an ancient oak door like a key, twisting it slightly a muttering about it being 'Nothing like his own' as the door finally granted him entrance like an old and faithful friend. Lucy highly doubted whether she'd be sure of anything else again as they finally stepped into its dull and lifeless light.

Bam. The door swung shut behind them of its own accord, as if an invisible wind had pushed it closed with one foul swoop of its icy hand. Lucy felt herself begin to shiver uncontrollably as the room she now entered was colder than the last. From what she could make out, a disturbing green glow seemed to be hanging over the atmosphere like a lingering smell, similar to how she'd imagined the chlorine gas hanging over the trenches of the Somme, poisoning her forefathers as they fought for a cause which never seemed entirely clear. A line of blurred enemies over a muddy patch of field. Somehow, the gap between herself and whoever was sitting in an ornate chair at the other end of the room held the same essence.

Lucy was vaguely aware of being thrown across the floor, an impact that shocked through her knees as if they'd been plunged into ice, onto the stone and now lying at the feet of a brand new tormentor. She dared not lift her head. She merely shivered and listened.

'My Lord,' came the voice of her kidnapper, high pitched and worship like. 'I have got her, this is her. Our bargaining tool. I hope it pleases you to know…'

'Stop your snivelling, Wormtail,' replied a voice from the darkened seat. 'You have yet again benefited from the disproportional amount of luck someone saw at one point in time fit to bestow upon you. The fools.'

Lucy felt herself sink further into the stone floor as this new voice entered the frame. Although it too was high pitched, it held such an air of power and authority, the hideous ring that seemed to follow every one of the unknown syllables flooded her veins with another wave of sensual danger. This man could kill her with a murderous stare and not batter an eyelid in remorse. Somehow she knew it, and so too, apparently, did Wormtail.

'I apologise most profusely, my Lord,' he continued to grovel, almost sickeningly. Lucy could sense his lord shift with disgust at this sycophantic outburst. 'But my network of informers have revealed to your lordship that the plan is in the midst of succeeding. We have the first ingredient. We just have to wait for them to walk into our trap.'

Wormtail was almost squeaking with a mixture of pride and muffled satisfaction. However, Lucy was aware of another movement further up the room and assumed the lord was raising his hand for calm. Wormtail immediately hushed, sensing the annoyance of his master at his unrestrained behaviour through the foul-smelling air, not wishing to push the boundaries so forcing himself into silence. A swish of cloaks could be felt as something else entered the room, the temperature immediately dropping as Wormtail shrank back into his robes in fright of the new company. His sense of dread had now reached a new dizzy height. However, his lord remained unaffected.

'Our role now, Wormtail, is to wait. Just like we did before, just as we always have. Power seems to find its own way in this world toward those who wish to seek it, the weak being unable to trace its natural path and so missing it altogether. It has been the case before, and I assure you it will be again. The Phoenix will be defeated. Lord Voldemort will have his day. And he will turn it into the forever night and rule for an eternity. Take her away.'

And as the darkened creatures began their trek toward her, Lucy was overwhelmingly bewildered. However, she was hardly given a moment of time to consider the information just awarded to her and the bafflement it caused before the invisible beings were upon her. She tried to suck in the air and found it came back out as shivering clouds of condensation, the air freezing as her head began to cloud, the rattling breath of the devil's creation piercing her bones like a fish to the hook. Her breath now caught up in her chest, breathing becoming a difficult necessity as she felt her heart freeze over in the cavity as any good feeling she'd ever had was drained out of her soul. All that was left was a silent and hideous moaning as the hell-like creatures flanked her, their scale covered hands gripping her limp body at the elbows as she found herself being taken to yet another unknown location. And all she could hear in her ears as the darkness finally took her was the voice of her sister, desperate, pleading to be believed. The demons. The Lord. The wand.

'It's true… it's all true…'

It was. And it was going to be worse than Lucy had ever imagined.

***