Before First Light

Molly Weasley yawned, kissed her husband goodnight, and turned out the magical room lights.  She rolled over under the warm covers, getting comfortable on the soft bed.  She blinked -- once, twice -- closed her aching eyes, and began to dream...

It was inky black, and her surroundings were bathed in shadows.  Molly walked around blindly, fumbling in her pocket for her wand.  In a moment, she found it, lit her wand, and nearly screamed.  For there in the room, his face spookily outlined by the wand light, was her father.  He grinned like a carved jack-o'-lantern, his eyes wide and menacing.  An odd, sinister smile was plastered on his face.

"Hello, Molly," he said, and his voice filled the dream-Molly with terror.  She turned and ran in a burst of adrenaline, feeling her feet pound the pavement.  But no matter how hard she sprinted, she never seemed to move an inch; and her father was there over her shoulder, always, grinning that crazy smile that froze her heart in her chest.  The more she ran, the less she seemed to move, and Mr. Douglass behind her changed into a serpent with sharp, poisonous fangs seeking her blood...

Suddenly, Molly tripped, and fell on her face.  It didn't hurt, but when she turned to get up, he was there, in human form, looming over her.  She stumbled, trying to squirm away, but his gaze held her there, so full of malice and power.

"Nooo... nooo..." moaned Molly, crying as if she was once again only ten years old.  Worlds away, her own sleeping body whimpered with her.

"Ah, yes," smiled her father wryly, flicking his serpent tongue.  He advanced on her, pulling his wand out of his pocket, cackling like a jackal of the night.  He allowed her one last useless plea, and then, inches from her wet face, whispered the last words...

Molly woke up, sweat pouring down her forehead.  She opened her mouth to scream in terror, but found she was too frightened to.  Her heart raced in her ear, beating, beating, with the speed of a drum-roll.

It was okay, she told herself.  It was just a dream.  But her body wouldn't believe her -- it had felt so real, and her father's mad eyes still stared at her when she blinked.  Her stomach felt shaky, as though she had traveled by way of Floo Powder.  She rolled over, shaking like a leaf, and shook her snoring husband awake.

"Wassamatta?" he asked groggily, falling back asleep after finishing his sentence.  Molly shook him again.

"Arthur, it's my father ... it was so terrifying, the dream..."  But her words sounded flimsy even to herself, and she felt silly to have woken Arthur up.  Now that she had heard her husband's voice and realized she wasn't being chased after all, the dream seemed very far away.  Molly took a deep breath and lay back down in bed, cuddling up against her husband.  It was just a dream, she told herself, staring blindly into the dark.  Even so, she didn't dare fall asleep again that night.

* * * * *

Morning dawned over the quiet house on the lane.  The sun rejoiced in its daily birth, pushing away the silent moon and filling the world with vibrant color and life.  But this house, the house on the hill, remained untouched by the sun's zeal.  This was a house of deep sadness, a house of loss.  A house of death.

Annabelle's mother's face was streaked with tears as she finished doing the morning dishes.  She knew the dishes could wait, but she needed something constant in her life when her pillars of normality were being pulled down.  Her beautiful daughter was gone forever, stolen from her by a nameless, faceless pursuer.  Why had he wanted Annabelle?  She didn't know.  But he had wanted her, and she had died alone in terror in the deserted mine shaft.

Mrs. Sanderson's chest heaved with another sob as she failed to hold herself together.  It had always been just the two of them, she and Annabelle, since her husband had died in a car accident when Annabelle was only two.  But today, the day of Annabelle's funeral, she had to come to grips with the fact that she was now wholly, utterly alone in the world.

The doorbell rang, startling Mrs. Sanderson out of her reverie.  Wiping her tears on her already soaked handkerchief, she stumbled towards the door and swung it open, wondering who of the funeral guests could have arrived so early.

It was a man, tall and thin, who Mrs. Sanderson had never seen before in her life.  He looked fairly elderly, but was wiry and healthy.  He strode over to the bleary-eyed woman in the doorway, and patted her shoulder sympathetically.

"How are you, poor dear?" he asked, his voice full of pity.  "You might not remember me -- oh, of course you wouldn't, you were so young when I saw you last -- but I'm Donald Benstock, your great uncle."

Mrs. Sanderson stared at him openmouthed before finding her voice.  "C-come in, won't you?"  He accepted her invitation, and she led him to the kitchen and bade him to sit down.

"Would you like any tea?" she asked, pouring herself a cup.

"Yes, thank you," he said, with the air of a perfect gentleman.

"I believe I remember my mother always going on about some wonderful uncle of hers, you know," she said, offering him a bag of sugar.  "I'm sorry about the state of the house," she apologized.  "It's just that my mind has been -- well -- elsewhere, lately."

"Not at all," he said.  "You're holding up wonderfully.  Ah, yes, I remember your mother!  She was always smiling and laughing, a lovely woman."

"Yes, she was," sighed Mrs. Sanderson.  She felt so much less lost and alone talking to her kind great-uncle.

"Now, when I heard what happened -- a terrible business, I hope they catch that scoundrel -- I knew you were alone and you might like, you know, a bit of help around the house until things settle down.  I remembered that when my wife passed away, one of my friends stayed with me until I could get back on my feet.  I could never thank him enough.  So I'm here to offer you a helping hand, if you'll take it."

Mrs. Sanderson burst into tears.  "Oh, thank you, thank you!  You're s-so k-kind!"

Mr. Douglass wrapped her in a tight hug, and she sobbed onto his shoulder.  He smiled wryly.  "It's no trouble," he said, smirking, "no trouble at all."

* * * * *

The bright midday light shone into the uppermost room in the Burrow, where two boys were still in the depths of sleep.  The sun, at the apex of the sky, beamed down through the open window into Ron's closed eyes.  He stretched out, his toes reaching past of the bottom of his extra long bed, and rolled out of bed, yawning.

"Harry, wake up!" he whispered.  Harry opened his eyes groggily.

"What now?" muttered Harry, rolling over.

"Wake up, you old lump," said Ron, louder.  He examined the clock. "It's noon already!  You're sleeping the day away!  C'mon," he said again.  "I bet the girls were up hours ago and are making all sorts of plans to make us sit through hours of sewing lessons."  He made a face, disgusted.

Harry grinned, resigned to being awake.  "All right, I'm up!  But it's only because I don't like the sound of that sewing lesson," he shuddered.

"Sewing?  Come now, you don't think we'd bore you with that, do you?" scoffed Hermione from where she had appeared at the door.

"We would never!  We'd much more likely teach you something useful, like how to play croquet," said Ginny, sticking her head inside the door frame as well.

"Croquet?" shouted Ron, nearly choking.  "Good thing I woke you up, Harry!  Their evil minds are already hard at work!"

They laughed heartily, and Hermione tossed a pillow at Ron's head for good measure.  Of course, Ron couldn't let that pass, and soon the room became the battlefield for a pillow fight.  So wrapped up were they in their feud that none of them noticed that a very old, very powerful wizard had just apparated onto the front lawn.

Thoroughly battered and winded, Ron and Harry waved a mock white flag (Ron's underwear) at the girls.  "We give up!" wheezed Ron.  "You win!  Just -- no croquet, all right?"  

Ginny and Hermione laughed triumphantly.  "Oh, we'll just see about that, won't we, Hermione," said Ginny mischievously.

"Yes," she said, grinning at the boys, "we might get an urge to play, you know..."

Harry laughed and threw his hands in the air.  "Okay, we get the picture!  Just let us put some real clothes on, won't you?"  The two were still wearing pajamas.

"All right," conceded Hermione, "but you had better not try to escape!"  She closed the door, and Ron and Harry turned, grinning, to find some suitable clothes.  A few minutes later, dressed, they rejoined the girls in the hall.

"By the way, Ron," said Hermione, looking shrewdly at him, "was that your underwear Harry was waving about?"

"What?" he choked out, turning a brilliant red. "No, of course not!"  Ginny and Hermione giggled madly, and traipsed to the stairs.  But upon reaching them, they heard a voice that had grown familiar to them over the years, speaking in an unusually grave tone.

"Dumbledore?" whispered Harry, "What is he doing here?"

"I don't know," whispered back Ron, brows furrowed.  "Shh... listen."

Dumbledore's musical voice floated up the stairwell, so that the four could hear every word clearly.  "... Might wonder why I asked you for your diary, Molly," he said.

"Yes, I rather did," replied Mrs. Weasley.  "Why...?"

"You see, in the days following the Triwizard Tournament," -- Harry gulped -- "I've been devoting all of my time to studying Voldemort.  His movements, his plans -- I've had to consult my pensieve a good many times, I'll tell you.  And amid all of the other faces that remained prevalent in my mind, yours was there, Molly."

"Mine?" she gasped.

"Yes.  I didn't understand why, at first, but then news of your disappearance reached my ears, to my great dismay.  I wondered if your unhappy disappearance might be linked to Voldemort... I still do, in a way."

"What?" she asked, puzzled.  "I'm afraid I don't see the connection."

"Your father, Molly.  A Mister Rupert Douglass, able to elude capture for so many years, use you to get revenge, and then escape again, right out from under our noses.  Let me be frank, Molly -- I think your father is important, and I believe Voldemort thinks so as well.

"Have you ever wondered how he was able to remain hidden for so long?  It is no small feat, you realize, hiding from the Ministry of Magic.  Very few have gone more than a week before being captured.  But your father did it..."

"But ... why would You-Know-Who want him?"

"For his mind, Molly, for his mind.  Voldemort is an amazing strategist, but he is ever seeking that brilliant, manipulative mind that will help him succeed where he once failed.  And your father, Molly ... he has a special power, a power he has cultivated, that would be very useful to Voldemort.  That power, I dare say, might be the grain of sand that tips the scales.  It is imperative that we find him before Voldemort does.  In the hands of the Dark Lord, your father could become the instrument of our destruction...

"So I come before you asking your help, Molly.  If you have any idea, any hunch of where your father might have disappeared to, give it to me, I beg of you."

"I'll do whatever I can to help you, Albus," said Mrs. Weasley, shaken.

"Thank you.  And now, I'll take my leave."  Mrs. Weasley showed Dumbledore to the door, and he apparated away from the house with a loud pop.  

From their perch at the top of the stairs, the four teenagers stared at each other, mouths open in shock.

* * * * *

Big thanks to all who reviewed on FF.N or the Yahoo!Group, including but not limited to:

American Hermione (Thanks for looking this over!  You know you want Pulin...)
Athena_arena (Ah, Rach, you rock!  What would I do without you?)
Aurora Lynn Rose (Very beautiful review, ALR.  I'm so proud!  *wipes a tear away*)
Goddess of Fire (Look... I wrote more!)
Jessica C. Malfoy (You can thank athena_arena for the mine shaft... it was going to be a cave but she said they didn't have many of them in England.)
Jennie-chan, a.k.a. ~J.C.~ (So weird... I had a teacher last year named Mr. D... but not Douglass)
Juliette (Thanks SO much for plot-bunny help!!)
lil_girl_renegade (I agree... poor lil Annabelle... *sniffles*)
Megaroni (Awww, thank you Meg!)
Pie (Yup, Mr. D is a bad bad man!)
Ron Weasley's Cutie (Eep!  Not the keyboards!)
Rose Weasley (Ahh!  Don't kill me!  I'll finish it!)
xoe (Hmm... your lucky ONE of us knows where the plot is going, lol... see ya on the bus, softball buddy!)