Sunday, Bloody Sunday

Chapter Twenty-Eight — Never Comin’ Back

"So tired that I couldn’t even sleep

So many secrets I couldn’t keep

Promised myself I wouldn’t weep

One more promise I couldn’t keep."

-Soul Asylum, "Runaway Train"

Thursday, November 13, 2003

Nobody noticed a lone fox. As students were loaded onto trains to head home after four long days of terror, George Weasley crept down alleys and between the shops and homes of Hogsmeade, looking for a clue. It looked as if Hogsmeade would be taken without a fight. Aurors had set up shop in the Three Broomsticks letting the barkeep — Madame Rosmerta’s replacement — give enough alcohol to drown their fears and grief for the day. Many were his friends — and all had become mere shadows of the powerful men and women who’d graduated from Hogwarts and the other, minor schools of wizarding. They’d lost families and friends, they’d seen the aftermath of dozens of Bloody Sundays, and if George made the mistake of changing back to his human form and walking among his friends once more, he’d likely be dead in moments.

No matter McGonagall’s opinion on it — George had been labelled a traitor the moment Fred and Percy’s bodies were identified on the floor of Fudge’s office with bullet holes in their heads. Grief was something those men and women had more than enough experience with, and if George’s death deluded them into thinking they’d had some bit of revenge for the lives that had been torn from them, he was well aware of the fate that awaited him. Even hiding within the walls of Hogwarts wasn’t enough. A woman who’d attended Beaubaxtons, one who George had shared more than a few missions with, had sent him a letter demanding he turn himself over for trial and sentencing. He’d hidden the note from Hermione, of course, but the threat rang true.

If Harry failed to defeat Voldemort, George could only hope the death he met would be in battle, and not at the hands of his friends.

George almost missed the dark figure slipping from shadow to shadow, so wrapped up was he in thought. However, a flash of silver caught his attention. A signet ring, probably, but the night vision of the fox allowed him to follow the figure through the shadows. After only a block of pursuit, it was clear where the robed and masked Death Eater was heading — the Shrieking Shack on the edge of town.

It should’ve been torn down years back. George and Fred had used it for their base of operations in learning to be Animagi. George cursed himself for not thinking to check it sooner — and then turned tail and ran toward the town when a dozen black robed men slipped out of the house to join the first.

His first destination was the train station. Hopefully, the Hogwarts Express had already pulled away with the children, but if not... there wasn’t any time to waste. Voldemort’s army wouldn’t think twice about killing children. They probably enjoyed it.

He morphed as he ran under the gate, grabbing Snape’s shoulder in panic. The dark man sneered and looked ready for an angry retort until George pointed frantically toward the town. "Death Eaters. They’re using the Shrieking Shack as a base. They’re attacking now."

"Use the fox to find out what’s inside the Shack. Count the size of the army," Snape ordered, immediately turning to shove a few grumbling students onto the train. "On the train now! Leave your belongings if they aren’t stowed, the train leaves immediately!"With a quick glance to Hermione, to assure himself she was safe here with the others, George morphed back into the fox and wove past buildings and people in the direction of the shack.

It was only moments before the Dark Mark first shone in the sky over Hogsmeade. In a panic, residents turned and ran. Some remembered themselves and disapparated with a pop, others grabbed wands to protect small children and possessions, while the last group — the squibs who couldn’t protect themselves from Death Eater magic and malice — were running to try to catch the train roaring from the station.

The confusion made it harder for George to take a straight line to the shack. At the first sign of a Death Eater group blasting their way through a crowd of shoppers and drunken Aurors, he turned into an alley to hide himself. He wanted to change and fight, wanted to try to protect these people as he’d been trained to do — but the faces of the four captives remaining in the hands of the Death Eaters drove him on toward the shack. He had no way of knowing whether or not Voldemort had transferred the captives to Hogsmeade, but he had a hunch.

Screams. Flashes of green. Laughter. George raced onward, each pace taking him directly to the heart of the matter. Through alleys, then through bushes, and there! There was the shack, windows dark and door hanging open, ignored on its hinge.

He changed to human form while crouching beneath a grimy window. Cursing his Weasley-red hair, he peeked over the sill where the fox couldn’t reach. Echoes of screams rang from the village — but he saw only the two Death Eaters left behind to guard, a standard configuration.

And guards meant prisoners.

George burst through the front door shouting spells, only getting grazed in the moment before the surprised guards found themselves smashed into the floorboards. He thought he recognized one from school, but set the thought aside and dashed up the single flight of stairs. There was an escape here, an escape into Hogwarts proper, known from the Marauder’s Map... the entrance Voldemort was probably intending to use to infiltrate Hogwarts himself, if he hadn’t already... how could he be so stupid as to not think of it before!

Three. There were only three captives lying unconscious and helpless on the second floor. That meant that one more had already met his or her death. George hadn’t worked fast enough, hadn’t found the truth fast enough, hadn’t been fast enough —

Setting aside the guilt, he hoisted one unconscious — bleeding? — woman over his shoulder and took the stairs down two at a time. Trapdoor flung open to reveal the tunnel to the school... he repeated the action with the other captives, making a quick search of the house and finding nothing as screams continued outside. But the screams meant that the Death Eaters were still too occupied to look for the three victims now lying in the tunnel.

He spent a few moments dragging them down to the other end of the tunnel before checking for injuries. George recognized Parvati Patil instantly — after all, Ron had taken her twin to the Ball years and years earlier. Sally-Anne Perks and Justin Finch-Fletchley were probably the other two. And that meant little, red-headed Susan Bones wouldn’t be waking up tomorrow.

He pushed the thought aside. He had to. Parvati was in fairly good condition — she was probably meant to be the last to die. Sally-Anne was in the worst of shape; beaten and bruised. Justin didn’t look untouched either. However, the captives all had one thing in common — all three were marked with the lightning bolt already, as if marked for death. George turned his face away.

Returning to the Hogsmeade end of the tunnel, he popped up through the trap door and, thinking about his actions for only a moment, pointed his wand at the wooden table in the center of the room. He promptly set it on fire.

Leaving the unconscious Death Eaters to their fate, he ducked back into the tunnel, closed it, sealed it, and set every ward, protection, and hex he could think of over the opening. After he and the rescued three were safely out of the tunnel, he’d collapse it.

Hogsmeade was probably lost — too little, too late.

~

Hermione stood in the entryway of Hogwarts, directing a swarming mass of humanity toward the Great Hall. If Dumbledore had been here, he would’ve thought of the human factor in the equation of war, she was sure. McGonagall hadn’t given a thought to the refugees who would result from the attack on Hogsmeade. And so Hermione directed them to the Great Hall, Snape and Malfoy grilled them on their Death Eater associations, and Madame Pomfrey sent them off to the emptied Hufflepuff House to crowd together until the crisis was averted.

And suddenly George was rushing at her from a side hallway, pressing his lips to hers and wrapping her in his arms. "I found them, Hermione! They were in the Shrieking Shack! Parvati and Justin and Sally-Anne Perks, they’re all in the infirmary now!"

She thought she heard Snape making a derogatory remark to her left — though really, he did that most of the time — but ignored him. "That’s three, George. Three dead, three recovered — where’s Susan?"

"It’s Thursday," Malfoy shrugged from close by, causing Hermione to step back from George to face the other man. "She’s dead already. Probably closer to the school than Lisa’s body was found."

"Why do you say that?" George demanded, turning on Malfoy with a glare.

Hermione rolled her eyes and tried not to compare the relationship between George and Malfoy to the one at school between Ron and the same. Despite proving himself on the field, the old blood-feud between the families wasn’t to be overlooked, it seemed.

Except by Ginny. "Oh, get off it," she growled at George, coming up between her brother and her lover, as if from nowhere. "He doesn’t know anything more about the situation than you do. It’s perfectly logical that Susan’s body will be closer — do the math!"

"MacMillian was found nearly in the Forbidden Forest, Boot next to Hagrid’s — a bit closer to the school — and then Turpin on the middle of the Quidditch pitch. Each one comes a bit closer to the goal of Hogwarts. It’s as much symbolism as the marks carved all over their bodies," Malfoy finished with a shrug. "I would think an Auror would figure that much out."

Hermione’s glare kept George from responding, just as Ginny reached over to whap Malfoy’s shoulder to keep him from making the taunting worse. "Just drop it," Hermione commanded, pausing to make sure they’d obey before continuing. "If this is a logical progression, where will Susan’s body be, Malfoy? I want to find her before some poor sod coming up from the village does."

"Whomping Willow or the greenhouses," he replied. "And I can take up your directing job here. Do you want to take care of it?"

She didn’t bother to reply, already halfway out the front door, pushing against the stream of refugees, with George tagging along at her feet.

~

Draco was correct, George thought blankly as Hermione sobbed into his chest. This murder was more gruesome than the one before, though not by much. Instead of merely killing her, they’d carved their calling card and hung her over a tree in Greenhouse One to suffocate.

"They’ll be setting up positions in the forest, probably," Hermione murmured, keeping her head turned from the sight. "We should set up patrols... maybe Ginny can stay behind to keep track of the children who are still at Hogwarts. We have plenty of adult wizards to fight now, don’t we?"

He pushed away from Hermione without a response, sending off a spell to snap the rope. The body fell to the ground and George covered it with his cloak, as gently as possible. Not that she could care, anymore. One more death on his conscience.

Or maybe it was one more on Potter’s. Or Malfoy’s. Who was really keeping count, anymore?

Well, Voldemort was. The numeral four was carved into her cheek, a reminder of the Sunday to come. Possibly the bloodiest Sunday of all.