The Unknown Witness

Chapter Six: Choices and Chances

She awoke to find a pair of eyes staring straight at her. She gasped, taken back at the unsettling nature of its gaze, the palest of blues in the dim and faithless light as her nerves began to settle at the almost familiar sight around her. She breathed out heavily.

'Damien...' Lucy said, addressing the shadow. 'You frightened the life out of me.'

'Easily done in this vocation,' he replied with a slightly bitter twist, his eyes now leaving her face. 'I brought you dinner. It's getting cold.'

He spoke the truth. She could see the chipped plate beside him, its heat a long gone commodity as whatever substance they now served as nutrition lay unappealing on the tray. Lucy became distracted from the food and examined her companion more closely. He didn't seem to hold such bulk today: it was almost as if he'd left his toughened persona behind and arrived in a purer state, but still concealing his features in the heavy folds of the hood. He seemed afraid of facing up to the world. He was young, she had come to that conclusion. But somehow he seemed even younger than a few hours ago. His hands were now exposed to the filthy dungeon air and appeared hardly scratched by the existence of everyday life, as if he'd been treated with kid gloves. He sat on the floor with his knees half drawn up, elbows resting lazily on the joints as his eyes rose again to watch her consume the meal, the lengths of his cloak dangling depressingly in the damp, unthreatening. He was almost on her level.

He didn't make any attempt to depart, and for some inexplicable reason this came as no surprise. He watched her silently as she dug into her meal, eyes casting down when she tried to grab their gaze in return, the pale glint they held focusing on some object far beyond her reach. Despite the physical even footing, the distance between them was still an apparent barrier, prisoner and guard. For a moment, a pang of pity seemed to infiltrate Lucy's soul, watching this man who was barely more than a boy sitting there in her cell hunched up like an old man with nothing to live for. She wondered what had changed.

She continued to eat. He continued to watch. Suddenly someone else entered the frame that caused the air to freeze for both.

They were back: The evil ones. Lucy was aware of Damien standing up to attention, drawing in a breath of such depth it was as if he was preparing for a life long submersion. They didn't venture to her cell that often: once or twice a day maybe. But it was enough. Enough for them to take away everything that seemed sacred, to feast on her happiness like a rare and rich delicacy, always demanding much more than she could give. Nothing was ever enough. But as she shivered and prepared herself to delve into the depths of their breath-induced depression, Damien spoke.

'What is it?'

His voice seemed so alien in its context, talking to these creatures like an ally that could be controlled. But thankfully, thankfully it shifted their attention. She felt the warmth edge back into the play as they turned their attention to her guard, who was eyeing them fiercely through bright, narrow slits, the contempt for their existence apparent in the arrogance of his voice.

'Does the Master call?'

No voice came to answer, but Damien understood. He waved them away, his hand almost sending a tide of emotion which drove them from that place and back into the recess of the dark, a distant door Lucy had only been vaguely aware of slamming shut behind them. She shuddered with the sound and looked up at Damien with child like eyes.

'What are they?' she asked timidly, almost scared of the confirmation of the truth.

'Dementors,' he answered shortly, his voice regaining some of its superior tones that were its mask earlier in the dark. The presence of his master's minions had obviously reminded him of his position in the sphere of things. He brushed the dirt off his robes and covered his eyes with the hood. 'Evil things. They feast on your emotions and leave you with the darkest memories you ever possessed. After that, death is a welcome commodity. Strange you're so aware of them...'

'Why so?'

Damien sighed as he felt the necessity to delay the passage to his master. 'Dementors are creatures of the magical realm. I thought we'd established you simply weren't a part of that.'

There was a hint of anger and annoyance in his youthful voice, but somewhere beneath his bitter tones lay a reluctance to submit to them. She just stared into his darkened face to get a better explanation. She succeeded.

'Do you ever get the feeling that you'll never be happy again?' said Damien, his voice trembling a little as if this was a personal delve. 'When the hairs on your neck stand right up on end, and everything seems at a loss, but just a second or two later the thought is pushed out of your mind?'

She nodded, familiar with the bout of doubt that sometimes wormed its way into her brain and refused to move until depression settled in. He continued.

'You wouldn't know it then, but you've come across a Dementor. Muggles can't see them. Some people in my society would add that to the many points of inferiority which should accumulate in your ultimate destruction.'

She gulped, intimidated by this surge of information. 'Then why can I see them now?'

'Magic,' he answered simply, 'has a way of transcending the easiest of natural barriers. You are surrounded by it now, like particles in the air, it can infiltrate your body and poison your veins with an ability you didn't deserve. You adopt some characteristics. You can see and sense their presence. A most effective tool of deterrence. You must sleep now'

This last little sentence tagged on to the explanation was some of the first words he uttered that didn't seem to instruct. Instead he tidied away the tray, a job normally left to the strange goblin like creatures who seemed so willing to serve in their own frantic way, and silently made to leave. She was taken back by his concern as she settled in the darkest corner of her cell to try and get some ever desired rest. He shut the cell door and settled down to watch, his eyes now shadowed by the darkness of the dungeon. His summoning by the master appeared of little importance.

He sat for a long time, just watching. He'd drawn himself (literally) a little wicker stool and seemed settled on its edge, leaning slightly forward as the darkness began to engulf him. She'd grown used to the way it slanted across her cell. It started in the far back corner, where she currently slept in its sound security, before allowing its hands to keep slowly across the stone tiled floor. It devoured any speck of light that had previously existed and that Lucy had clung to like her life depended on it. There was no justice. The darkness showed no mercy. But as its passage escaped through the bars and began to engulf the guarding soul himself, she felt herself ask a question that emerged from her half-conscious mind and made no contact with her common sense before it entered the rapidly cooling air.

'Why are you treating me like this?'

The answer came back with an unsatisfying retaliation, a little confused. 'Like what?'

'I'm a Muggle,' she said quietly, sleep finally entering her emotionally drained brain 'but you treat me like an equal. You don't hate me like the rest. So what is it?'

But she never heard the answer as sleep took her by the hand and gently guided her away. However he remained. And in the quietest of voices, too timid to speak out, he answered.

'I'd never really met one before.'

***

That night, Harry hadn't slept. He wouldn't have slept, even if he wanted to. His mind had been racing at such a speed, it took a long, long time for his sleeping subconscious to effectively catch up. The result was a restless night, such a thing not at all unusual for the fifteen year-old boy. He had the scars, after all.

Harry, Ron and Hermione had reached the cottage well after dark. Hermione's mother had been standing on the doorstep, foot tapping impatiently as she eyed the temporary runaways with a mixed gaze of amusement and anger. Harry had looked at the woman who had awarded Hermione life and could almost see where her witching genes had come from. For Mrs Granger certainly carried along an air of unnatural grace and precision, normally observed with the dentist's drill, and which Harry supposed had been transferred to the next generation through the wielding of a wand. She too had Hermione's run away hair, but not in the same sheer quantity that adorned her daughter's shoulders. Instead it was fiercely scrapped back in a way reminiscent of Professor McGonagall, giving her a look of such stern authority that the last thing Harry wanted to do was cross her. But then he'd cast his mind to the first time they'd met, back in front of Gringotts in Diagon Alley, the Muggles that Mr Weasley was incredibly eager to take under his wing and discuss the ins and outs of 'ecklectricity' with. The couple who felt out of place, apprehensive in the presence of a world only their daughter could ever understand. But in this instant, they were the ones in home territory.

'And where exactly have you three been?' she'd said inquisitively, raising an eyebrow of suspicion. 'We were wondering if you were going to make it back for tea. Been exposing you to the wonders of the, erm, 'Muggle' world, has she boys?'

Harry had coughed loudly to cover up his snigger at the look of bafflement on poor Ron's face. Thankfully Hermione jumped in before Ron could place them firmly in the doghouse.

'We just went and caught a movie,' she'd said quickly. 'Ron had never been to the cinema, had you Ron?'

'No, never!' Ron had cried with genuine innocence. He'd looked frantically at his companions for a prompt. 'Erm.... It was amazing,' he'd finally said. 'Muggle technology, hey?'

'Well,' Mrs Granger had replied, obviously accepting the story without a need for an explanation, or They'd be on the doorstep all night. 'Dinner will be ready in about twenty minutes. You lot had better go and wash up. Welcome to normality, boys.'

They had eaten dinner in a sombre silence, any exciting talk about the wizarding world the Grangers had expected remaining firmly out of reach. Instead such discussions had been reserved for their late night rendezvous after hours in Hermione's den, sorting through exactly what their meeting with Claudia had added to the proceedings, for it had been proven that she was the grail of this particular quest. Harry had felt the injustice of the situation sweep over him like a storm, electrifying his anger as yet more victims came into the light cast by Pettigrew's betrayal. Claudia Darlington, by all accounts in evidence around the disruption of her home, had been destroyed by her experience and the confusion the proceeding years awarded. A supreme example of the wrong place at the wrong time. She didn't deserve it, just like his godfather. He wanted to fight for both of them. But as Hermione calmly reminded him, the whole situation would be settled with the dawn. For Harry at least, sunrise couldn't come soon enough.

The night had been restless, but a necessary passing of time allowing for emotions to be settled and energy to be regained. Indeed as the sun finally cleared the rolls of the North Downs and the three of them found themselves tucking into a hearty English breakfast, a sense of strength passed across them all. They felt replenished by Mr Granger's full fat cooking and the huge debt they were about to pay back to the man they felt they owed so much seemed to push them onwards. Of course, Sirius alone hadn't been able to stop the darkened threat. He couldn't prevent Cedric's death, or Mr Crouch's or even Frank the Muggle's. But the hope and peace of mind he'd given to Harry so many times in the short period they knew him was enough to give them purpose.

Now they were back on the street again, being addressed by the sight of Claudia's abode. As peaceful as the dawn before, it stood basked in the early morning light like a Mecca on the hill, drawing them in by the neck of the injustice they sought the occupant to cure. Harry felt no insecurity when he walked firmly up the drive, his pace determined in a way hardly witnessed by Ron and Hermione, possibly only in the light of his quest for the philosopher's stone, which held in its core much more doom than the plain suburban dwelling. However, as Harry reached out a hand to knock on the door, he froze.

'Harry?' said Hermione quietly as she crept up the path behind him. 'What's wrong?'

He didn't answer, but merely continued to stare blankly at the door in front of him, his face twisted into a horrific splice of torment and heart-breaking pain. Harry was never one to be so open, to display his fear across his features in such a blatant way. Ten years at the Dursleys had been a lesson well learnt. So when Hermione was greeted with this most frozen of expressions, she could feel her own heart grow cold.

'Harry?'

He didn't reply, merely pushed at the already open door and began to survey the damage done.

If the house had been in the midst of chaos the day before, that morning it had plunged into Armageddon. Bills and newspaper from the early evening post had been shredded across the floor, crunching slightly underfoot like the lining of a cage from which some rodent was dying to escape. Pots and plants were overturned, a particular blue ornate vase smashed in the wake of the previous intruder and scattered among the debris, the soil it held being trod into the carpet of the hall and mixing with the specks of crimson blood. A curtain rail hung desolate from its fastening at the wall, tugged down in one last moment of mercy leaving a few crumbs of plasterboard trickling onto the windowsill as the cracks around its socket became a permanent fixture. The struggle was apparent.

Hermione had to hold her hand up to her mouth to prevent herself from being sick. She could feel the gasp escape her throat as they followed Harry into the destruction, Ron emitting a similar level of concern as Harry dashed into the depths of the house. The frantic worry that now etched itself onto her black-haired friend's face caused Hermione to signal to Ron to scout out upstairs as she went into the living room to survey the extent of the damage. It was worse than the hall: paintings slashed, china smashed, furniture turned upside down... Even the stuffing from the very chair Claudia had spilled her secrets from lay scattered across the floor, like entrails left in the wake of a monster intent on devouring all that was sacred. She looked around desperately for something to hold on to, as the dizziness that was creeping into her mind made her legs feel like giving way under the extremity of the shock this sight bestowed upon her. She sank to her knees.

At that exact moment, Harry burst back into the room. His eyes were bulging with a new sense of panic, flashing green and as wide as the moon as they tried frantically to absorb all these new events. But before he spoke, Hermione dashed in.

'Claudia...' she said suddenly, as if the thought that had been lingering in her mind as soon as she'd stepped in the door was fresh in her memory. 'Where's Claudia?'

Harry shook his head, biting his lip in such a helpless way Hermione's own concern heightened to match his. He almost choked.

'Hermione...' he whispered hoarsely, 'Look out the window...'

She struggled to her feet and Harry took her sharply by the elbow, guiding her to look out towards the patio, down along the pretty garden to the brightening sky above. There hung a shape that would never be mistaken. Green wisps of cloud lay suspended in the air, faded a little in the morning breeze and slowly melting into the blue topaz sky. Yet it still lingered with fear as they formed the most hideous shape that they could ever be faced with. A skull, its mouth wide open in a menacing grin as a slithering snake protruded from its bare bone lips, sparkling with its own sense of genius. Hermione heaved.

'Harry?'

Both froze. The voice that had uttered the name wasn't Harry's own, or Hermione, or even Ron who was still dealing with the wreckage that savaged the upper house. In their outside observation, neither had notice the entrance of this third body, with a voice still rasping from the pain of fourteen years injustice as the rustle of his leather finally brought him to their attention. Hermione was completely aware of the wave of temporary relief that washed over Harry that could only be delivered by one individual in his life. He turned around and gasped.

'Sirius...'

***

Claudia had given up trying to understand the world as soon as she left that depression induced coma the explosion bestowed upon her. But it was in times like these, being shackled in invisible chains by a secret enemy in an unknown location, she was grateful for her desire not to question. Some things were never meant to make sense. If the events of the last twenty-four hours hadn't taught her that, nothing would.

Wherever she was, it was large. She could hear her breathing echo round the room, the stone walls giving her wheezing an amplified acoustic that did little for her nervous nature. Every shake in her inhalation was brought frightfully to her attention, but whether she shivered from fear or the penetrating cold, she found she couldn't say. The ice like air was biting her bones, the weakness spreading through her body like a poison in her veins, making her feel even more defenceless in the unfamiliar surroundings. It was empty and she was alone, as far as she could tell. No one was speaking at least.

She had always wondered where her blindness would lead her. She always imagined being able to retreat into a perfected imagination, her writing that was by the day just an over ambitious hobby proving to be a genuine talent, something that could shine through for the lack of anything else. At the other end of the scale, it would be the end of the world. And she was certainly aware what end of the spectrum her fate currently resided in. The cold was eating away at any hope of getting out alive.

Shuddering again at the cold steel bands that sat at her wrist and ankles, she thought back to the invisible faces that were dependent on her existence. Lucy, with her fizzing bacon and age old stare, always the carer who enjoyed it much more than she thought. The boy Harry, a relatively new voice that had always been there, hoping against hope that Claudia alone would deliver him a long overdue happiness he and his friends would risk their lives to gain. A friendship that had built the strongest bridges imaginable, a replacement for the family that was stolen in the same way as her sight. And as she cast her mind back to Sirius, the centre of it all, looking at her in the quad behind those dog-like eyes out for revenge, she wondered again where she fitted in the giant jigsaw. Or whether it had grown another thousand pieces that would never seem to fit.

'My Lord...'

The room began to fill, but not with the heat she desired. Claudia in fact felt a wave of weakness hit her flagging state as the unknown figures entered the room once more, rapidly filling it with a new sense of frost. She could feel her lip begin to tremble. She had never thought of herself as the strong and silent type, but this situation called for both abilities in abundance. She let her head hang low, chin left limp upon her chest as she felt as useless as a rag doll discarded at the bottom of the heap. That feeling wasn't improved as she felt two rough and overpowering arms lift her to her unstable feet, flanking her sorry state as she was presented to the invisible master. As she attempted to grasp her last ounce of strength to stand tall among her guards, she heard the voice from the stairs address the present hoards.

'My Lord,' he rasped in a drawl that made her cringe. 'My fellow servants, we have succeeded in our task far more than we could have imagined. We were sent out to regain a simple object and we came back with a much larger prize...'

Claudia was aware of a hundred eyes focused on her once again as she rose her head to meet them unknowingly, her lips now forming into a thin line of defiance at whatever her captors expected her to do. She made no attempt to reply.

'Indeed,' came another voice into the madness of the fray. 'I feel we have gained a most effective bargaining tool, Wormtail. But she was not your primary goal. I cannot allow for such disobedience. You know the punishment. Crucio.'

Claudia could feel the whole room wince unanimously as the pain struck home on the defenceless servant. His screams of pain, muffled occasionally into tiny sobs almost made her lip tremble again. It was as if the spell had electrified the air, the pain that was frying the victim's nerves making an imprint on everyone's minds so they knew that taking the initiative wasn't always the wisest choice. But what caught Claudia's sensitive hearing the most was the voice that issued the instruction. It didn't bellow out its authority, but maintained it in cold, cruel tones that nobody dared to challenge. It was almost a hiss, snake-like in its quality as it slithered into the frozen air. He held a genuine fear around himself, encasing his body like a protective field. She was scared of him, and knew instantly who he was.

'Lord Voldemort expects nothing less than perfection from his servants,' he cackled. 'Let that be a lesson to you all. Now bring the prisoner forward.'

That was her cue. She could feel the guards either side of her brace themselves for a struggle, but she offered them none. Instead, the frozen fear that had installed itself in the pit of her stomach became an unusual source of strength, so she strode forward alone, a feeling of recklessness in the face of danger becoming her motivation. She shouldn't have anything to fear. She couldn't see the gleaming red eyes and slits for nostrils that heaved with every breath, sniffing the air and sensing her filth. But she was perfectly aware of his stare as he spoke in a quiet and dangerous voice. She flinched involuntarily.

'Muggle,' he spat in the softest of tones. 'You stand in the presence of the Dark Lord Voldemort, ruler of the greatest domain, but you cannot be bothered to even open your eyes. You personify everything I hate about your kind, Ms Darlington. Look at me.'

She didn't want to. Unlike back in the house, she knew the ice of her eyes would have no effect upon the cooling of his temperament. But suddenly as the creature muttered an unrecognisable word, she had a wonderful sense of drifting on the breeze, free as the air and willing her to open her eyes, open her eyes...

'Ah yes, I see,' Voldemort said cruelly as Claudia responded to the Imperius curse. He was holding a spider-like hand over poor Claudia's forehead, sensing her mood along with her tale. 'Wormtail did a very clumsy job here. Rushed magic always has undesired side effects, as many of us are aware...' He seemed to shake the thought out of his mind before continuing. 'But yet in your brashness, Wormtail, you again open up to us ample opportunity.'

Wormtail was close to exploding with unexpected pride, gathering himself together respectfully as his limbs continued to ache in the aftermath of his master's torture. Claudia could sense his jittering at the very edge of her subconscious as everything else was focused on the common foe in front of her. These were the people who between them killed Harry's parents, she thought. The people who put that tinge of sadness in his adolescent tones. The people who allowed the guilty to go unpunished. Although she knew a million others had been touched by their accumulative cruel hand, she could find her justification to hate from Harry and Sirius alone. She found herself snarling a little.

'Look!' said Voldemort with some form of amusement. 'The Muggle growls! Oh how beast-like. Primitive. But you know about our world and have been inflicted with a distorted view only the light sees fit to portray. I dare say you've met my dear friend Mr Potter?'

She tried not to react, to give nothing away. But she knew better than to hope that her vain attempt was successful. He sighed victorious as she accidentally projected a response.

'Ah yes, Mr Potter. Likes to think he's older than his years, better than his feeble capabilities. He has had luck on his side for far too long, Ms Darlington. What he is yet to comprehend is that wherever there is magic, there will always be the dark. There will always be a fight. And the light is yet to escape from this unscathed. But alas he is young. His lesson is still to be learnt. And I dare hope you will be of aid in Mr Potter's education.'

She narrowed her eyes instinctively, suspicious of her position in this coldly calculated game. She didn't like it one bit, and was perfectly prepared to make the enemy aware of it.

'What do you want from me?' she spat into the air, her words tinged with a silent fury generated from somewhere she didn't know. Voldemort just laughed.

'What we want? Oh my dear child, you are unwise in the ways of the dark side. What we want and what you'll get are two greatly outweighed things. I think you will find yourself at the better end of the bargain.'

She heard the Dark Lord stand, the rest of the room immediately stepping back as she was aware of the figure striding towards her. He lifted a heavily cloaked arm and trailed a thin spidery finger long the line of her jaw. It was ice like, as if no heat of human life remained within his veins. The being was barely human. She tried to turn her head away but his finger continued to trail as he spoke.

'Wormtail's charm was very experimental...' he hissed, his finger never leaving her face. 'I was in the midst of developing that advanced killing curse when the fates decided to turn against me. The side effects weren't measured. But I can certainly assure you that any 'blindness' would be temporary.'

She blinked fast but didn't move, her breath remained stationary in her throat. Was he really saying?...

'Think about what you saw, Muggle. Think about it. It was crowded, the street. The figures were far away. Can you be certain of what you saw? Is Sirius Black completely blameless?'

She truly began to quake in his presence. 'But I know what I saw,' she whimpered. 'I've known it for years. Wormtail blew up the street, you just said so yourself. He blinded me. He framed his friend...'

'Do you know...' interrupted Voldemort, drawing back from Claudia and allowing her to sink to the floor, weakened again. 'What they did to all the other Muggles, the survivors in the quad?' she shook her head. 'They wiped their memories. The most simple of charms, but wonderfully effective. Think about it Claudia. They've gone through life with peace of mind, none the wiser. Ignorance is bliss. You were denied that opportunity. All we are doing here is giving you back that chance...'

She couldn't take it in. She didn't want to take it in. She wanted to break the chains that bound her so tightly and run as fast as she could, run from the danger, run to the safety and sanctity of her old and familiar life, beyond the prison, beyond the blinding light. But it was lost, and Voldemort for all his evil seemed to offer a straight path back. No, she couldn't, what about Harry? Why were they doing this? Voldemort continued to taunt her with possibilities as she felt her mind being devoured by the haze.

'... Servants of the dark mark are always greatly awarded. The deal is simple, Ms Darlington. You promise to take the memory charm, your vision will be returned. You will not remember a thing. The past fourteen years will simply exist as normal for you. You will have your old life back, your spirit and your soul. Simple Muggle that you are, dependent on your sight for all of life's pleasures. If you chose the less noble choice, attempt to help your new little friends and defend the traitor Black, you will not be the only one to face the consequences...'

And she gasped. Just as suddenly as the wave of Imperius made her obey the dark lord, something flashed across her eyes, more than a memory and piercing her heart with the pain it induced. Sight. She was seeing something, not a memory, but an image as fresh as the dew on the early morning grass, as real as her fingertips making her reach out and touch. She saw with her own eyes a dungeon she presumed she currently stood in, the cold infesting her skin and bone as her eyes hungrily feasted on the image produced. The walls were the darkest shade of grey, dripping with disease-ridden damp and making her cringe at its hideous touch. Nothing could survive for long in these sorts of conditions. But her eyes seemed to strain in the dark to bring another image to her attention. There was a bundle of rags in the corner of the cell, moving a little as the creature beneath began to stir and bring itself to life. She leapt back in horror, edging as far away from the thing as possible as it finally emerged from its chrysalis as some ill-deformed creation, the scream that wanted to escape from Claudia's throat finally being muffled as the creature looked at her full on.

'Lucy?'

For it was her sister, her own caring, kind-hearted sister, left to rot in the dungeon pit from hell, staring out toward her with a desperate plea for help in her eyes. The life in her eyes had been snuffed out. Claudia tried to call for her, to take a step closer and hold out to her a reassuring hand, but found herself rooted to the spot by some unwanted force. She couldn't move. She tried to scream, scream out to her captors that an injustice had been committed, to tell Lucy that everything would be all right and that she would set her free. But Lucy saw right through her. She hadn't even acknowledged her presence. Instead she breathed a life weary sigh and returned to the solace that only sleep could ever deliver. And with that, the illusion faded and Claudia found herself back in the large room with the evil laughter and back in the dark.

'I suppose you will see your sister again in death,' Voldemort pondered as Claudia found herself openly weeping. 'But alas, being so close to it myself once upon a time, I can say it lacks a certain appeal. You have a choice Claudia. You know which one to take. You will tell me in the dawn. Take her to the cells.'

***

Harry yet again found himself on the explanation, but this time he held with it a guilt that threatened to consume him from the inside out.

'Sirius...' he'd begun, a little shocked but eternally grateful that exactly the right person had shown up at exactly the right time. 'I didn't mean for any of this to happen, I swear I didn't! I was only trying to help, I...'

But Harry had then found himself gripped fiercely by his shoulders by the much older man who looked prepared to shake the very life out of him

'Harry!' he said in a panicky tone, still unsettled and looking deep into his emerald eyes. 'Do you think I care about something as insignificant as that with that thing literally hanging over our heads?' He crushed Harry to him in an all-embracing hug, almost sighing with relief as he came to believe his Godson was real. 'I'm just glad that you're safe. When I saw the mark I just thought...'

Harry could feel a strange lump begin to form in his throat, and he swallowed it roughly as he pulled away from his father's best friend. A warming thought sank to the bottom of his stomach, something ebbing his bones with unknown hope when he came to realise with this meeting that someone actually cared if he were dead or alive. The strangeness of that feeling was something the Dursleys had forever implanted in him. And with that the guilt began to spread.

He was vaguely aware of Hermione greeting Sirius' companions as the familiar ragged shape of Remus crept into the scene with Arabella upon his heels. Remus' eyes had lit up upon the sight of one of his favourite pupils as she bounded up to him with an energy unheard of in that most demoralising of surroundings. Remus had raised his wand to wipe it clean at once, but Arabella stopped him, pressing down lightly on his raised wand with only a touch of imposed control, making Remus immediately withdraw. She looked almost ashamed.

'Professor! Professor!' Hermione cried. 'Thank Merlin you're here! They've taken Claudia! She's gone! We've got to go after her...'

'Whoa!' said Arabella, finally entering the conversation. 'Need to rewind! Clarify your definitions a bit, girlie. Something along the lines of Claudia, they, taken, and, erm, where?'

Hermione frowned a little at this strange form of address from the marauder's new companion, but shrugged it off as an interesting mannerism. She looked at Harry, her eyes full of concern. She sighed. 'Do you want to tell it, or shall I?'

'No, I should Hermione...' said Harry, looking more dejected than she had ever seen him. He sat down wearily on the now tatty old sofa, head held in his hands as he muttered his apologies. 'It was my battle, my plan. My responsibility. I thought I was helping, Sirius. I didn't want to cause all this trouble. I just wanted to do my bit to make everything a bit easier...'

'Harry,' said Sirius softy. 'Its never going to be that simple. Just say what you have to say.'

So Harry began.

***

Ron, of course, didn't hear any of the conversation that followed. He didn't even know of the three extra people who existed on the floor below. And right at that very instant of time, it wouldn't have mattered if he did. There were other things to deal with.

The upstairs of number forty seven hadn't been as massacred as below, but was still just as decimated. The floor was still littered with the contents of the gutted household, and although it was a sight that lacked the sinews of its human counterpart, it still sickened Ron to almost the same degree?. As he shuffled around the painful devastation, he couldn't help the wave of hideous anger that consumed him whole and made his blood boil in his veins. Claudia didn't ask for this. She didn't demand to be in the middle of it. She was just there.

He treasured his own house. The burrow, with all its creaks and ghouls in the attic, had a little charm to itself that made it entirely Weasley. Where you lived became part of your soul, intertwined with your well being as witness to the best of your rise and falls. It wasn't just your house. It was your home. It was a part of you that could never be taken away, but when touched and disturbed like the flood of a lava flow across the fertile plain, the feeling of loss would be insurmountable. The house became your family. Ron supposed as this most vague of thoughts crossed his mind, that this was the secret behind the success of the Hogwarts four. Your house was your home, your family and your life. Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff and Slytherin. The sorting hat imposed upon you the grandest sense of pride for your belonging. You sought to protect it and give it your all. And woe betold it to anyone who dared to challenge it. As with any home, anywhere to any individual on earth, it was exactly the same story. Every house told a story. And Ron in the face of all this wrong, was desperate to find out the truth.

He walked slowly along the hall, frightened out of his wits of disturbing even the smallest of item, as if they had a direct connection to Claudia's well being. She was a woman who relied on smell, sound and familiarity. To have a house full of strangers, unwelcome beings, intent on destroying the perfect harmony so carefully constructed must have been heartbreaking. It was a simple house, not too cluttered with unneeded ornaments or bits of decoration. Everything had a place in the order and needed to be kept there. Ron was perfectly aware the house had other occupants, but he couldn't shake of the sense that Claudia had a certain hold over the place. Hall, bathroom, sister's bedroom. All turned over and over without a shadow of respect. He felt his stomach churn again as he walked into Claudia's abode.

He stood on the threshold, unsure whether to venture in and disturb the peace again or whether to ignore the facts and turn back downstairs. A personal space was sacred. His room in the burrow was the one thing that was his, out of the borrowed wands and second hand bedspreads that seemed to infiltrate the rest of his life. That room had been created for him and he made it his own. Looking at Hermione's place, he could see that she did exactly the same, made a home. He just prayed it wasn't ruined. He reached up and gasped the door handle in a large, oversized palm, and considered the limb for an instant, smiling with a memory. Claudia had been able to ascertain so much from that one little touch, her small delicate hand gracing his one, the smile edging over her lips as she analysed every square inch of the flesh. Familiarity. He didn't want the smile to be ruined. He wanted to help. He entered.

He didn't react as badly as he thought he would have as he surveyed exactly what the intruders had done in the room. Her pillowcases were ripped and the feathers were spilling everywhere like a small avalanche cascading to the floor, the most delicate of falls, yet so harsh in its necessity. The spreading of the contents just seemed to emphasise that fact. But the damage looked worse than it was. As he fully stepped into the ruined surroundings, he realised the intruders must have been interrupted. They must have been called away. Items were dropped, not just swept aside, like a sudden summoning had diverted their attention. He sighed with an air of gratitude than they were called away so soon. Nothing taken.

But as he turned to leave, a small item he'd have never placed in these most ordinary of surroundings caught his eye and beckoned to be noticed. He frowned a little at the sight, wanting to dismiss it to make life that little bit simpler, but the nagging courageous Gryffindor that thrived within his veins begged him to investigate for important implications. The item was hidden by the bed, only the very tip visible beneath the mounds of duvet and rigid bed frame. It was almost hiding from the world itself. But even in the most heavy of disguises, there was no mistaking what it was. The most valuable item in the world, at least to one person. Something that someone, somewhere, couldn't bear to be without. His wizarding tool. A wand.

He didn't want to touch it, lying in its dormant state in the room of a Muggle woman who just twenty-four hours before hadn't known of its real intent. He didn't know what to do. Pulling the covers back and shifting the bed aside, he was able to view it in its full perspective. A quality Ollivander make. Eight inches he'd guess some sort of Scandinavian wood. He shook his head for a minute as he realised how like the ancient wand maker he was beginning to sound to himself. But there was no denying it hadn't been used for a long, long time. The whitened tips were grey with grime, no magic expelling from its powerful core in the recent weeks at least. He didn't know what to do.

'Harry!'

His call went unanswered, he guessed his counterparts were in some other part of the house and caught up in their own horrific discoveries. He didn't like it one little tiny bit. Harry always knew what to do, Hermione ever present with at least one wise word of wisdom. Let it be. It was only a wand. But like unattended luggage at the airport or the plane, it had a destructive nature that no one could predict. Dormant magic was a dangerous entity indeed. Despite his better conscious, he took a step closer.

To his own surprise, he proceeded to crouch down and look more intensely at the object. After a minute or so, he found himself on the verge of calling Harry again when he stopped himself as the first letter of the name began to form upon his lips. No. Harry was his best friend, almost like a brother, even if it seemed he had enough of those for the world. Harry was his confidant. His protector from the evil. Harry was everyone's protector, and to have one less person on his shoulders wouldn't do him any harm. And as Ron felt himself lose the will to battle his limbs, that oversized hand reached out of its own accord and seized the wand firmly round its waist. There. Done it.

'Ron! Ron, its Sirius! Come down!'

Harry's voice echoed up the stairs and into Ron's ears just as he felt them turn very red indeed. Harry needed him, and he was ready to reply. He slipped the wand neatly into his pocket for consideration later on in the proceedings as he acknowledged the call and departed from Claudia's room. He was Ron Weasley. And he was finally about to do something.

***

To be continued...