The Unknown Witness

Chapter Eight: Woodland Wanderings

And so they rode. They experienced the hell of the M25, commonly known as the largest car park in the world yet somehow managed to bypass the jams in such a smooth and elegant way Harry could have sworn they were travelling on the crest of a wave. It was eerie. Yet the engine was roaring as they took the final turning, heading up the slip road towards a darkened Norfolk. Arabella had said Claudia's kidnappers wouldn't have thought to transport Claudia by magic, and assuming she was muggle they wouldn't have even bothered to cover her tracks like they did their own. Hence she needed to keep a careful watch on the monitor and keep track of the sparkling purple trail. Indeed once they escaped the fumes of central London, Arabella had taken up residence in the sidecar with Remus, Ron and Hermione, while Harry seized the chance to ride up front with his Godfather.

There was a definite feeling of liberation in the air sitting high on the flaming metal of a 1960's Harley. Harry felt the wind whip around his shoulders as Sirius turned up the speed down the more peaceful rural road, the cool evening air passing straight over the helmet and disappearing silently into the slip stream behind. He breathed freely, and for the first time that day, smiled. Up on the bike, he felt he could do anything. He felt he could fly.

Ron had fallen asleep, his head leaning casually against Hermione's shoulder and snoring silently into her hair. He wasn't one for journeys. Hermione, showing the utmost in patience, managed to ignore it as she watched her fellow passenger with incredible interest. Arabella was sitting up ahead and still making minor adjustments to keep tack of Claudia's path, occasionally yelling instructions to Sirius to take a quick change of direction. It was an interesting sight. Remus wasn't taking much notice of anything in particular, just watching the time go by in the fits and bouts of woodland and rivers. The road was almost deserted, and all at least were thankful for that.

Suddenly Sirius screeched to a halt, putting on the breaks with such velocity that they didn't all stop moving at once, the back wheel sliding dangerously to the side as the whole machine skidded to a stand still. Harry wobbled and almost fell, only a yell and a tight grip on Sirius' collar preventing the creation of a Potter-shaped stain in the middle of the B1149. He heard Hermione gasp and Ron cry awake, his eyes suddenly the size of orbs as the momentum caused him to jolt right into the back of Hermione's head. She turned and snarled at him mockingly. He could only smirk back.

'What'd you go and do that for?' moaned Remus, finally liberating his legs from the expanding sidecar, still a squeeze with four travelling occupants. He waved a hand in front of his face to dispel the steam that was rising from the tyres, gradually fogging the scene in with its white clouded scent. 'You'd think you were trying to kill us or something...'

As everyone clambered out onto the chilly tarmac, Arabella took the wand to the bike and transfigured it into a rather large rock. Arabella's eyes were glimmering with excitement and intrigue, almost like a child in a sweet shop, full of that unmistakable wonder parents couldn't help smiling about. Except this was hardly a time to grin.

'The trail...' she said, consulting her instrument again before returning it to her backpack. 'Half a click Northeast. Through that wood.'

Harry could have sworn he heard Hermione swallow sharply, and he could clearly see her point. He followed the gaze of the group to the woods that lay beyond them, the tall Scott Pines intermitted with ancient, twisted oaks that made five steps into the trees five steps in the wrong direction. It looked dark, damp and severely in decay, the wood slightly sodden despite it being the height of summer. Harry figured it was to do with being so close to the broads, a canal covered marshland that occupied a large proportion of the county allowing its waters to seep ever inland. The wood was certainly unappealing.

'Well, I don't know what you were expecting,' Sirius said sharply, surveying the looks of dismay that were evident on the faces of the teenagers. 'This isn't going to be a picnic in the park. Keep close together and follow my lead.'

'It might not be a good idea to use our wands from now on...' said Remus, seeing Hermione pull her own into view and begin to mutter 'Lumos'. She put it away sheepishly. 'We don't know what charms and whatnot You-Know-Who's got rigged up. We don't want to take any chances.'

Ron looked paler than was humanely possible. He shoved both hands in his pockets and scrunched them into fists, trying to shake off the shiver that began in the base of his spine and tingled their way down to his enclosed fingertips. Hermione didn't look much better, squeezing Ron's shoulder in a pact of assurance but looking in need of such comfort herself. She was shaking. They were scared. They'd never really had the time to be afraid before, searching for the philosopher's stone, Slytherin's chamber, the tasks. They'd had to concentrate on the task at hand and put their emotions to one side. But this time, with the real possibility they'd be coming face to face with the man whose name they were even afraid to utter, their fears were being brought to the fore. And as the adults moved to start the long trek into the wood, Harry voiced their apprehension.

'Look,' he said quietly, so the elders couldn't hear. 'I know you're scared. I'm scared myself. Every time I've come anywhere near that man I've barely escaped with my life. It was only six weeks ago, after all.'

'I know...' said Hermione softly, her lip beginning to quiver. 'We know, Harry, but...'

'I don't want to put you through this,' he said, suddenly decisive. 'I don't want to be dragging your corpses back through these woods at the end of the day. If that were to happen, to any of us, I don't know if I could live with myself. I've already destroyed Claudia's life, I don't want to destroy any others. This is my battle. I understand if you want to turn around and go. I'm not going to hold it against you. Take the chance and get out of here.'

'But...' Ron began, looking rather shocked, but Harry didn't give him a chance to finish.

'Look,' he eventually snapped as he span angrily on his heel to face them. 'It's me who's got the blood on his hands. Cedric's blood. Mr Crouch's. Frank Bryce, the muggle's. My parents.' He gulped a little but didn't waver. 'They all died because of me. Because they thought I was worth it. And if I'm going to prove to them that they died for a worthy cause, I can't let anymore join them...' He paused and took an everlasting breath. 'I'm going to help Sirius and the others to get Claudia out of there. Alone.'

'But Harry, there's got to be another way...'

'Got any bright ideas?'

Hermione shook her head sadly. She knew when Harry wasn't going to budge, and this was one of them. She bit her lip and looked desperately at Ron who picked up the cue.

'Harry,' Ron scolded in a very Hermione-like fashion. 'You're not going to get rid of us that easily.' He straightened up, shook off his fear and stared Harry straight in the eye. 'You never will. We've come this far, and we're not letting you go just yet. You're going to as much help as you get, even with Sirius around. We're coming with you, whether we've got your approval or not. Tough luck. Like it or lump it, we're going in together.'

Harry shook his head, a disbelieving smile edging across his face. 'Honestly,' he sighed with exasperation. 'Will I never be able to shake you lot off?'

'One for all and all for one, you know,' smirked Ron Hermione shook her head for the second time, grinning all the way.

'You really are beginning to cramp my style, you know...'

Then they let the darkness of the wood envelope them.

***

'Anything to report?'

The daily briefings were so boring, Damien often wondered why on earth he bothered to attend. The lower ranking Death Eaters were merely attempting to impress the Dark Lord, gurgling to his every desire by bestowing the praise by the bucketful. It made his skin crawl with the obviousness of their cause. He sighed and sank back into the shadows.

'All quiet on the western front, my Lord,' one of the members said, his face obscured like the rest with the darkened hood of his uniform. Masks were not necessary while they were in the confines of the nerve centre. 'The usual night patrol found nothing to be amiss. Same with the day. They haven't found us yet, and don't look likely to...'

He didn't even see Voldemort raise his wand. The young Death Eater found himself struck to the ground with a yet unregistered curse, causing a small howl of pain to echo round the chamber and Damien to shrink even more towards the corner.

'Do not lie to me, fool!' their collective Master hissed, watching the Death Eater limp back onto his feet. 'My spies on the outside spotted them all not five miles away. Never assume infallibility. There is certain ability in not seeing the obvious, which you are sadly lacking.'

The Death Eater mumbled the humblest apologies he could through teeth that were gritted against the pain and fell back into line. The others had learnt from his screams not to be so foolish. It was a sharp learning curve in the Dark Lord's circle.

The rest of the meeting yielded little in particular. The tasks of these most junior servants were boring and mundane, ranging from basic patrols to outside observations, no front line activities or even curse rehearsals. Damien had his quill and parchment resting on his lap, pretending to take notes like the good little Death Eater he was, but at the instant the Dark Lord's gleaming red eyes rested upon him, he was chewing the end of his eagle feather in a dream-like daze. But the cold, high voice soon snapped him out of that.

'And you, boy...' he snarled as nicely as he could, still finding contempt for someone so youthful being present in the ranks. 'How are you finding your time here? Informative, I trust?'

'Yes, my Lord,' he said promptly in reply. He stood up at once and bowed in front of his master. 'It has been a most fascinating experience. I hope it has pleased you that I have taken such an enthralling interest in your work...' and so on, and so on.

The words were certainly coming out of Damien's mouth, but it wasn't Damien who was saying them. Damien wasn't there. He had drawn down the shutters and allowed his eyes to become unfocused, blurred even as he spoke the words he knew the master wanted to hear, just like the other sycophants that sat around the conference table. For a moment, at least in appearance, he was one of them. But inside, like a number of other people that proved vital to the cause, he was screaming too. He didn't like this. He didn't want to be part of it. It just wasn't him. But what he was without it was still a debatable point.

'... I am looking most forward to seeing the work of the upper ranks, my Lord, but only if your Lordship so desires it.'

Voldemort didn't smile at this comment. Damien wondered for a moment whether he had the ability to show any emotion at all, the idea of that chalk white face cracking into a grin seeming as alien as Dumbledore coming to the dark side. But the Dark Lord effectively showed his satisfaction with a glint in his blood red irises, the flash across their surface making them rave with unsettled sanity. It made Damien shiver.

'When the time comes, young servant, your place will be reserved.' Voldemort stood back, and looked at Damien sternly. 'For now, stay with this watch. We have more pressing things to deal with and cannot afford distractions...' He waved his hand absently and addressed the group again. 'Back to your stations. You will be summoned if needed. Dismissed.'

The young Death Eaters shuffled out, Damien at their rear as they disappeared down their relevant section of corridor. He sighed again, and headed back towards his quarters. He'd had enough for today. And he had the feeling that it wasn't going to be a very restful night.

***

They walked in single file, Sirius at the head with Remus and Arabella very close behind. Harry led the second pack, Ron and Hermione hanging back slightly as if they were scared of Harry himself, or even his intentions. The air was full of apprehension, being exhaled from their lungs like a poisonous gas that would rob them of will if retained for too long. They had to expel it. This had to be done, and better to do it all together than leave any one of them in the cold.

What little sunlight there was infiltrated the canopy above in tiny beams, but its orange glow was being muffled by the mist that had chosen that hour to harshly descend upon them. It was almost like the wood was holding them in its fist. Its silence closed around them as the grip began to tighten, cutting off all circulation of certainty as if its veins were set against their favour. They slowed. Every trunk and twisted root seemed to set a trap, a misguided track like the deadly lines of fortune that dictated a life from the palm of the hand. But the forest was to blame: it would never give them a chance. Every snap of a twig or branch caused the flow to halt into paralysis. It was almost as bad as the forbidden forest. Almost. At least in the forest there were people on their side. They could expect Hagrid to come bounding through at any moment, Fang at his heels, making up for presence what the hound lacked in bravery. They could trust the Centaurs, for they've seen it in the stars. Even the spiders gave them half a chance to survive. But out here, in the middle of East Anglia, they were truly on their own.

Harry noticed a subtle change in foliage as they strode deeper into the trees. The spread of the leaves, which were beginning to reach their limits having spread right to the forest floor, now found themselves exiled to the uppermost branches. As if the floor itself was poisoned. It became muddier, water beginning to seep into his ancient trainers and soaking his socks in a most unpleasant way. At least Hermione had the sense to wear suitable footwear. Her hiking boots, the mark of a country girl, made easy work of the unfamiliar terrain as she side stepped the various twisted roots like the most elegant of professional dancers. Ron, on the other hand, was like Neville Longbottom when he got out the wrong side of bed. If there was something to trip over, it was guaranteed to make Ron stumble. Hermione had eventually given a frustrated sigh and grabbed Ron's elbow to give him a little guidance. At first he'd shrugged it off, too manly to be helped by the frizzy-haired girl, but after he almost allowed his face to end up on the mud, he'd finally accepted her aid. The scene had made Harry smile.

Then the trees had died completely, along with their progress. Sirius had taken a step back in haste, bumping straight into Arabella who peered over his shoulder, strangely intrigued by the sight that lay in front of them

'We're here,' she said sharply. She put the tracer away. 'The entrance is in front of us.'

'Are you serious?' mouthed Remus, voicing the opinion of everyone in the vicinity.

'No, Moony, I think you'll find that's me...'

Remus groaned. It obviously wasn't the first time old Padfoot had pulled off that one. But Arabella nodded, looking quite solemn at the prospect. Something didn't add up. She prodded the ground ahead of her timidly, water springing up around her foot yet not crumbling away into mud as it did before. It almost sprang back up. Yet this made her even more apprehensive as she finally formulated her conclusion.

'Typical,' she spat, almost angry as she span round to address then all. 'Absolutely typical. Of all the places on the earth Voldemort could have set up his hide away, and he chooses to remain down with his fellow dirt. I really should have known...'

'Known what?' questioned Hermione frantically.

'It's a bog,' said Sirius, allowing his firm foundation in Herbology to finally be of use. 'A floating peat bog. That's why all the trees have died. They're waterlogged. Their roots have direct access to the underground lake below and nothing else besides. Look...' he pointed at a stream of water that flowed directly into a slit in the ground. 'It's simply draining away. The last place on earth you'd expect to find his hideout.'

Harry now looked at the landscape up ahead and plainly saw the devastation having too much of a good thing caused. The trees were completely devoid of life, their branches sadly splintered at the overflow they held. He couldn't hear the birds. Instead the tall river grasses were thriving in their droves, almost waist high as they swayed menacingly in the early evening breeze. It hardly looked inviting. It looked frankly dangerous. But that had never held the marauders back before.

Sirius took a tentative step onto the island. One foot first, he paused, unsure, before relieving the other foot of his unsubstantial weight and settling all on the bog. It held, and the group's apprehension was lowered to barely measurable levels as they joined him on the bog.

Harry almost had the feeling he was floating, the way the ground seemed so unpredictable and drifting beneath his feet, like a natural raft of grasses and moss. Hermione was no longer holding up Ron, more like Ron was holding up Hermione. She looked more unsure than Harry had ever seen her, her eyes flitting from one side to the other in nervous bouts, occasionally calmed by a soothing glance from the red head. She gripped his arm tighter.

'So what exactly are we looking out for?' he said to his Godfather, who was taking a particularly keen interest in an extremely dead tree.

'How about a little sign post saying 'Death Eater lair: Trespassers will be tortured?' suggested Ron. This earned him a playful smack from the woman on his arm who was in no mood for teenaged mockery. But Harry could see his point. He was merely covering up his nerves with comedy.

'The Veneficium source seems to be coming from the bog centre,' said Arabella, who was yet again checking her most invaluable instrument. She sighed with frustration. 'But that doesn't mean anything. This thing is accurate to only within ten metres, and normally that's enough. I'll check out the middle and you lot work your way in. That should cover it otherwise we'll be here all night...'

The others agreed and set to work, taking various positions in the outskirts of the bog and working their way to the centre, not missing a single, little spot. They scoured the ground with urgent eyes, searching for the smallest detail that could lead them to the entrance. It seemed a fruitless exercise. All Harry could see was grass and peat. Such desperation began to settle in his chest that he began to swipe the grasses away with his bare hands, frantic almost, as he overheard the others address their own concerns out loud.

'Anything over there, Moony?' asked Sirius.

'Nothing but mud,' came the reply, a slight moan in its tone. 'Just dirty, disgusting mud.'

Hermione stood up from her position among the grasses, Ron close behind. She peered at the scene then began to scour the ground again. 'If it's magically concealed,' she said to any one in particular. 'Couldn't we just use an anti-concealment charm? That would lift it, wouldn't it?'

'Good in theory, never in practise...' answered Arabella, just a few feet away. 'Voldemort would have thought about that. There must be some other - '

Silence.

'Some other what, Babs?'

Silence.

'Arabella, are you there?'

Silence.

'Arabella... Arabella!'

Nothing. She was gone. Remus' face instantly blanched as they surveyed the Auror-less scene, puzzlement and fear mixing into one lethal cocktail that made Harry sick to the bone. Please no, anything but...

'They've got her, Sirius,' Remus moaned painfully, looking around with a frantic glint in his eyes. 'Voldemort's got her.'

***

Just forty feet below them in the maze of tunnels and halls, Lucy was on the prowl. And she wasn't going to let anything as insignificant as a severe lack of magic get in her way.

Damien hadn't let her go that far from her destination. Merely a couple of corridors away, in fact, and that wasn't the problem, She lurked in the shadows of the hall, watching for passers by and logically planning her root to the thirteenth door on the right. She muttered the password under her breath, memorising the way Damien had uttered a word as he leant silently into the oak to open it. The theory was secure. She was just scared to an inch of her life of trying to implement it.

More people than ever before were moving in packs of twos and threes, stalking the tunnels with their black cloaks billowing behind them in an impressively controlled breeze that wasn't even there. As if they knew exactly what she was trying to do and were blocking her path rather than confront her wrath themselves. She pushed herself further against the wall as a particularly vicious pair strode past her with authority. They didn't notice she was there. They held an air of excitement as if something was going to happen, something amusingly evil that it made them cackle all the way down the hall. And she didn't like that one little bit.

As soon as they were gone, the past evaporated from sight, she made her frantic dash: Frantic in her mind, at least. For her physical actions seemed cool and calculated, darting from one pillar to another in a perfectly planned route to her sister's cell. She didn't have time to think, and she certainly didn't have time to doubt herself. Twelve doors, eleven doors, ten... hide. Breathe. Start again. Nine doors, eight... she just kept moving.

Just five doors away, the torches flickered off. Then they flickered on again. In the interim, the shadows became a useful friend and she sought their shelter again to avoid the oncoming group. She only caught a snippet of their conversation while she held her breath, her spine becoming a quiver as they came too close for comfort.

'... I thought everyone was accounted for?'

'Then we've probably got intruders, sir. We'll need to send someone up right away...'

They were gone and she continued. Four doors, three, two, one. She was there. No one around. She leant against the door, muttered 'Amadaus' and the lock broke away in her hands. Magic, she thought. It still hadn't sunk in it was real.

The cell was still in the fist of darkness, its grip tightening as the lights outside flickered once more. She froze as the thunder of feet went past, like stampeding elephants from the front of danger they stumbled past the door, more frantic, and she breathed again as the threatening noise faded.

'Claudia?'

There was no answer for a frightening minute, just the sound of her own breathing. What if she was too late? What if they'd taken her away? She didn't want to think about that. She shouldn't allow herself to think like that. For the darkness of such thoughts would only drag her down with them. But the tension was soon relieved.

'Lucy?' came the voice, a little confused. 'What are you doing back so soon? I thought Damien had taken you back to...'

'Well, you thought wrong kiddo,' she said, finally finding her sister in the dark and pulling her to her feet. She embraced her. 'I said he was a friend, didn't I?'

'What?'

'No time for explanations,' she said roughly, looking out of the door for any more inconvenient passers by. 'I say it's time to get out of here.'

'Lucy, are you crazy?' she hissed, pulling her back into the safety of the cell. If her lifeless irises couldn't blaze, they were doing their closest equivalent now. 'Those men are evil. Pure and utter evil. This isn't some good guy/bad guy fairy tale. This is real life, and if we don't do things properly, they could get very, very nasty.'

'Not while there's people like Damien in the world,' she uttered back, full of unnerving confidence but oblivious to its origin.

'You didn't see the quad,' she snapped angrily in return. 'You never heard the screams. Don't go making judgements on the only one in here with a soul. Not everyone is going to be on our side.' Lucy loosened her grip, but listened intently anyway. 'You saw those evil creatures, the Dementors, didn't you? Because of the magic, right? I could only sense them, and I knew I would never be happy again. With things like that, it's painfully apparent we're up against the elite of evil. We're up against the supernatural, and we've got to have a plan. They'll be so unpredictable, I won't be much help out there.' Her face conveyed such an air of desperation, Lucy could feel the knot developing in her throat as her sister continued. 'You've got to be my eyes, Lucy. If you haven't been before, you sure as hell going to be them now. That, sis, is the only way we are going to get out of here. The only way with our lives.'

'I know, Claudia,' she said, shaking her head as her lip began to tremble. 'I know.'

They slipped out the room and the door shut with a slam.

***

'OK, Remus, time to calm down a bit...'

This, in view of the situation, was entirely the wrong thing to say. If Hermione was so severely shaken that her co-ordination suddenly became an attribute she lacked, it was nothing compared to the emotions that were racing across the face of the werewolf. He looked positively distraught.

'How can you say that, Sirius?' he hissed, his panic manifesting itself through gritted teeth. 'How can you say that? She's gone! I think if we have ever earned the right to panic, now is a perfect opportunity.'

'Hold on a moment...' said Hermione, walking over to the group again, frantically rubbing her knee from when she tripped over a tree root. 'Just listen.'

They looked at her for an instant, expecting some form of expansion. But as she held her finger to her lips, they caught her drift and began to listen intensely. It hadn't occurred to Harry how void this bog was of any life at all. The only rustle was that of the grasses in the breeze, tall and pale with a sickly glint of yellow and mould. Even the birds that were nesting on the healthier border bushes seemed to maintain the self imposed silence, as if they were simply afraid to sing. As if something, or someone, would chide them for it.

'Can you hear it?' Hermione whispered dramatically. Harry frowned. Surely there was nothing to hear? Ron was looking at Hermione as if she'd finally lost it, his face twisted into a slightly pained smile as his eyebrows rose against it, but his eyes still distant, still listening and still attentive.

'Hear what?' said Sirius, completely confused by the look of realisation that was creeping across Hermione's features. She was fascinated, enthralled even, by whatever it was that caught her ears, as it cast her eye downward as she now frantically scanned the floor.

'Wait a second...' said Remus, his nerves that had been alight with panic now settling down to an ember. 'Some kind of squelching?' he curled his nose. 'That sounds pretty nasty...'

'No, no!' said Hermione with an air of exasperation. 'Look at the peat! The bubbles!'

She was pointing to a spot more or less in front of Harry. He stepped back a little in alarm and then watched, fascinated, as the pitch-black peat almost heaved beneath his feet, its speckled skin crying for liberation. Little bubbles were being spewed from a crack on the ground, seeping onto the surface mud making a delicate chain of self-contained gases. It was like the bog was alive, gasping deeply with every single breath and thoroughly making up for the lack of life elsewhere. The ground was moving beneath them.

Hermione knelt down, rolled up her sleeve and held no hesitation before plunging in with her hand right up to the elbow while the others looked on, wide-eyed. Her face, if she were taken by surprise, showed no trace of finding the unexpected as she felt around in the bog, her eyes deeply focused in a form of intense thought that was normally reserved for her extra Arithmancy homework. She swiped at the underground force, nodded to herself in acknowledgement and finally removed the limb. Harry watched, mouth gaped open at the sight that now beheld him. Clean. Not an inch of mud had poisoned her skin. Instead it emerged like new and untainted by the peat, as if she'd plunged it in the ground and found it piercing out on the other side of the world. As if there was something beneath them all.

'I think we've found our entrance,' she said, standing up and dusting the mud off her knees. Harry got the sense that they were still quite sore. She winced as she straightened up. 'Arabella must have fallen through. Easy enough mistake to make. This is the last place the ministry would look for a hide out. And I don't think they'd be expecting many visitors.'

Sirius and Remus looked remarkably impressed with Hermione, and awarded her a look of commendation. Ron was nodding along with them all, but his face suddenly blanched as he realised the connotations of Hermione's words. He looked at her, startled.

'So you're expecting me... I mean, you're expecting us to step over there, step on top of that peat slab, and just fall through into You-Know-Who's little secret den?'

'As Hermione said, Ron...' said Harry, stepping forward. 'They weren't really expecting visitors. Come on.'

'Wait!' said Hermione again, clearly on a roll. She took a few steps back, scoured the ground and eventually laid her eyes on a particularly decaying oak tree branch. It was like a twisted arm, painfully brittle as the bark flaked off in her hands as she felt every knot still in its possession. She removed her wand, muttered a simple transfiguration and the branch snaked effortlessly into a rope, the markings on the bark blending into the fibres of the coil as if it were the most natural thing in the world. Considering Hermione believed it impossible just a mere five years ago, her ease with magic was truly remarkable.

She coiled the rope around her bare arm, then allowed it to unravel as she cast the end over to Harry's Godfather. Without saying a word, he caught it and tied it around the trunk of a poisoned tree, the wrath from below draining it of life. More than plain old water logging. She allowed the rest of the rope to fall slack onto the floor before she grabbed the end, and prepared herself to dive into danger.

Harry turned to his two best friends to give them the look they dreaded. The questioning look. The glance that had already been in evidence that day, asking their commitment and offering them escape without consequence. They knew Harry would never hold it against them, even if they dropped the rope and ran far away as fast as they possibly could. But Harry didn't need Ron to assert the words he was clearly conveying with his eyes. They'd never leave him alone.

'Harry,' he scolded. 'If you think that for just one second we're contemplating desertion, you are more of an idiot than Snape gives you credit for.'

And with that trademark Weasley grin, Harry knew they were in it for life.

'Let's do it then.'

***

Arabella was scared. This was a rare occurrence in itself. She used to be an Auror, the best in the business if her record of achievement was anything to go by. A number of captures, but never a kill. A record to be proud of. She'd been on the front line when they apprehended Rosier, up with the best at the capture of Travers. She'd brought in the Lestranges personally, and felt they deserved everything they got. But for now, she knew her circumstance. She was alone, outnumbered, and within the next ten minutes, most probably dead.

She'd found an entrance all right, but she got the sense it wasn't authorised. For one thing, the corridor was deserted, and didn't look much used. The footprints she'd made upon her surprise landing were the first fresh ones for months, quickly disguised with a concealment charm before she dived into the shadows to contemplate her next move. The ceiling was dripping from the water of the bog, a stinking dampness that chilled her bones by clogging the air all around her. She didn't think she could breathe. But she had to, somehow. For everyone's sake, she couldn't let them down.

She thought herself too old for this. Too old for tricks, for games and all this second-guessing. As the sound of her breathing clamped down on her heavy ears, she became almost wishful for home. Back on Magnolia Crescent with the cabbage leaf room perfume and the soft old cardigans of her alter ego. She'd gone into retirement. She'd thrived alone in peace among the muggles, living on air in a world of her own. After 1981, she'd had no reason to return. She was Harry's watcher and it was a role she'd begun to cherish. But she'd also looked forward to life, and most importantly to being a Godmother. That was what she was missing out on. And she found herself wanting it back. The truth.

It's gone, you're here, and there's no use moaning about it. Her sensible side was speaking with clarity. Best to stay put and assess the situation. Remember the training. Act now, and you'll be thinking in your grave. You've got to be quick in this game, or you'll end up quick dead. That's what made you good. Thought at the speed of light. Let's just hope the old girl's still up to it.

Rumblings above. She didn't like the sound of that. A few clumps of soil descended from the ceiling, filling the air with a stream of fine dust that made her choke and caused her throat to swell. It wasn't going to hold for much longer and that idea didn't hold much appeal. Now she had to move. Slowly, slowly, she edged along the wall, not daring to increase her speed until she felt a notch in the wall, just a couple of feet deep, providing perfect shelter form whatever was about to come in. She felt her way in and settled in the corner, just as the crumbling produced its first victim.

The person fell, and landed on their feet with the agility of a feral cat, a long thread arcing out behind them as they secured it with their wand to the ceiling of the hall. Then they stepped back and waited. A larger figure was next, a little more heavy footed as they stumbled out of sight, eyes wide open and glaring through the dark as if it were more of a comfort to them. And then as the last group descended, crawling through the gap and quickly disappearing from sight, Arabella finally received her assurance. The last figure hung a little, holding onto the hole with one desperate grip before finally accepting gravity's fate. But there was no mistaking the shadow. There was no mistaking the scent.

'So are you the rescue party or what?' she said, stepping out of the shadow to greet Remus and the others. Remus, who had just stood up and was in the process of dusting the grime off his clothes, could only smile back. The tension was eased immediately.

'Right then, people,' said Sirius, stepping up to the fore. 'Let's find the unknown witness.'

***

Two floors below, in the stone walls of the solid compound, the Death eaters were on manoeuvres. They say manoeuvres, but Voldemort's minions were hardly a militant organisation. They obeyed because they feared. There was nothing else to it but the fear.

Right now, these two individuals had the most tedious task available: checking on the prisoners. They weren't exactly dangerous people, most of them just severely subdued by the presence of the Dementors or one too many curses. From what these two could observe, they merely sat and shivered in the darkness of their cells, praying in vain for a rescue that would never come. For them, it was almost amusing, watching the desperation seep out of their souls until they were left in a shell without the hope. So in conclusion, the idea of the prisoners as a threat that needed to be guarded day and night was unthinkable. Especially a pair of useless muggles.

'Pointless...' one was uttering in the softest of whispers. 'Utterly, utterly pointless.'

The other just hummed in agreement, as if not wanting to distinguish his viewpoint on the fear of being heard. They continued along the corridor for a while, cloaks marking the way behind them in a much more intimidating style that they could ever portray without them. In a way they sufficiently mirrored the image of their surroundings. The cold stone walls that enclosed their private hide away held within them many secrets. But how many of them that were worth knowing, neither man could say. Many doors with nothing behind them, passages with darkened dead ends. It was overly complicated, but that in design was its purpose: To confuse and disorientate so no one could get out. Unless they knew the way.

They reached the prison complex. It was merely made up of enchanted rooms; hidden deep away so escape without detection was improbable. No one could confess all its knowledge, for there was no such person alive. Instead these men attempted to rely on memory, which wasn't the most tactical path to tread considering they were responsible for bringing Crabbe and Goyle into the world. They were as much bumbling fools as their sons.

'Can you remember what door it is?' said Crabbe Senior, his arms dangling oaf-like at his sides as his partner shrugged in confusion. 'Typical,' he grunted. 'I'm sure I left a marker somewhere...'

'Wasn't it about fifteenth door on the right?'

'Nah, that's got to be too far up. How about eleventh?'

'Your guess is as good as mine, mate.'

They ambled their way up the corridor and produced their wands, ready to curse in the face of non-co-operation. Goyle Senior felt himself blush at his own stupidity. Hadn't the master been expecting more from them this time round? Those were his exact words, if he correctly recalled. He wanted to make him proud. He wanted to obey. What else was there to do in life but to serve the greatest of evil? He smiled slyly to himself as he finally recalled the room.

'Not eleventh' he said toothlessly. 'Thirteenth.'

Crabbe Senior looked at him as if he'd suddenly been admitted to Cambridge. He merely shrugged, as if to say he was intending to go up in the world and remembering the room number was just the first step on the ladder. Of course he could have been conveying something different, for the gormless look remained. Crabbe Senior at least remembered the password and opened the door with a grunt.

'Oh,' he said, surveying the contents of the cell. 'Oh dear...'

'I think, Crabbe...' said his fellow Death Eater as the torches flickered on and off for the umpteenth time that evening. 'That we're in a lot of trouble.'

And with that, Claudia's shackles finally crumbled to dust.

***

The moon chose that moment to make its common appearance. Merely a crescent, it rose beyond the bog before the sun had even set, hanging like a ghost of what was to come in the early evening sky. Considering the chaos that was bound to erupt before its sombre surface, the stillness of the wood was remarkable. It was almost at peace with itself, accepting the inevitable. The birds had flown away.

All too soon, however, the peace was sadly broken. The rumble of an engine, making its way clumsily up the muddy track, echoed loudly round the glen as it left in its wake long, deep tyre tracks that almost scarred the earth. But it would be gone with the rain, at least according to the weather forecast. A thunderstorm was brewing, its clouds upon the horizon engulfing the fading sun, its first victim in the game of playing God. It stole away the dusk.

The van made its stop as the first spots of rain began to fall. Heavy drops of rain quickly misted up the windscreen as the driver emerged and went to open the back. First however he paused, surveying the dead trees on the bog in front of him with a mixture of awe and outright disgust. His pale eyes flashed with outrage. It was as if so much death and destruction just sickened him

'Sycamore,' he said.

He began to heave out his cargo. He rummaged through the varying nick-knacks, whistling as he did, and finally found the desired object. A tyre. For a minute any observer would have thought he was merely repairing a puncture. Indeed the variety of other instruments he dragged out along with it seemed very mechanical in their tones. A spanner here, a bolt head there, the occasional ill-fitting screw. But all he did was tap it a few times at what looked like regular intervals, and heave it onto the bog. It fell with an almighty thud, the wet mud slapping loudly against the rubber. The squelch it made was amazing.

He chuckled. A strange sound, alone in the night, with soft splashes of water echoing all around him. He didn't seem to notice as he almost skipped off the floating bog and hopped back in the van and began to drive away. In the haste of his retreat, the pretty little logo depicting 'Guy Fawkes Fireworks: Fine users of Gunpowder since 1882' was quickly engulfed in the mud. But one thing was for certain: There was going to be a spark or two tonight.

***

To be Continued...