When Day Becomes Night

When Day Becomes Night

Supposedly.

Even the Muggles had felt it, usually too wrapped up in their own, naïve lives to notice what went on in the Wizarding World.

Even Vernon Dursley had not failed to notice the earth-shattering noise. As he was washing his car for the third time that week thunder crashed and boomed, the deep purple, almost black clouds that dominated the horizon seemed low enough to touch his head.

The summer holidays had begun a month ago, and still Harry Potter had not returned to the Dursely's small, terraced house, in its boring urban street.

Muggles were beginning to go missing.

***

Diagon Alley was virtually destroyed. A lone figure trudged wearily through the rubble. The flames of small fires licked up to the night sky, Hagrid dropped wearily onto a half disintegrated bench, which creaked ominously as he sat.

He tried to gather together the few scraps of information he knew, gliding down from above him came a white owl, like a ghost. Hagrid started in surprise. Hedwig landed on his shoulder and nibbled his ear, a habit she used with Harry.

Hagrid seized the note and tore it open:

Hagrid

The Magical Menagerie has a very pleasing selection of blast-ended skrewts.

Moony

Hagrid shook his head, and walked a little further down the street until he reached the Magical Menagerie. He opened the door.

***

Harry Potter was surrounded by a black void. The darkness was so acute he could almost taste it. He could definitely taste it. A sharp, metallic taste that grated on his taste buds. Harry spat. His mouth was filled with blood. It was caked around his nose. His head throbbed with pain.

He was leaning, in a sitting position, against a hard, cold stone wall.

He attempted to move his hands, but found he could not. He had been immobilised.

Fear coursed through him like a disease as he desperately tried to move. The smell was rank, of rotting animal and deceased rodent.

Harry tried not to breathe too deeply.

At first he could hear nothing, and then a low murmuring of voices.

This grew louder and louder until Harry could discern separate voices. One was his mother's; "You killed me, Harry," she screeched, in high, inhuman, keening tones.

Harry heard the voices of his Professors at Hogwarts.

Snape's voice came to him; "Congratulations, Potter," he spat. "You have killed us all."

Then Hagrid was saying "You let us down Harry, we relied on you."

Harry shook his head, the tears running freely down his cheeks. It was as if the sounds were inside his head, he could not get them out.

"Stop!" he yelled. Abruptly the voices stopped.

All that was left was the sound of his own harsh breathing.