The Paths We Tread

Chapter 19:

There Will Come Soft Rains

"There will come soft rains and the smell of ground,

And swallows circling with their shimmering sound;

And frogs in the pools singing at night,

And wild plum trees in tremulous white,

Robins will wear their feathery fire,

Whistling their whims on a low fence-wire;

And not one will know of the war, not one

Will care at last when it is done.

Not one would mind, neither bird nor tree

If mankind perished utterly;

And Spring herself, when she woke at dawn,

Would scarcely know that we are gone."

—Sara Teasdale

1884-1933

Privet Drive

Little Whinging

Surrey, England

August 4, 1987

He stood on the street corner, shoulders hunched slightly as he stared across the street. Beside him, Albus Dumbledore waited quietly, humming to himself. Bill bit back a laugh as he recognized the tune. It was an old love song his Mum always sang, dancing around the kitchen by herself.

It wasn't unusual, these little outings they took. The Headmaster had been taking him on 'errands' for over three years already. They had tea in his office on Wednesday evenings. And he could always go to the man for help with his schoolwork, no matter how busy he was.

Bill never felt like he was left for last at Hogwarts. Not like at home.

So when the Headmaster asked him for something, normally… he wouldn't even hesitate. But this?

He'd been made Head Boy, and his Mum had cried tears of joy and pride. He'd smiled when he heard, and not long after, Dumbledore had owled him and told him they needed to meet.

And now he stood in a Muggle suburban neighborhood, staring at the future savior of the wizarding world.

"Him?" Bill asked incredulously, his eyes fixed on the small boy. "Are you serious?"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly, one hand straightening his long beard. The elderly wizard let out a weary sigh and adjusted his bright orange hat, peering across the street. "Yes. He is the Boy Who Lived. The child of the prophecy."

Bill stared. The boy was dressed in clothes at least four sizes too big, with shoes that kept slipping off his feet. He was sunburned and his arms were shaking as he trudged around the garden, lugging with him a watering can that was almost the same size as him. "He's not much bigger than a toddler."

Dumbledore hummed under his breath. "He is seven," the Headmaster murmured. "The same age as Ronald, I believe?"

Bill swallowed, staring across the way. His mind was racing, his heart pounding. Christ. That little kid was seven? And he was supposed to… what? Save the world? Destroy a Dark Lord that was apparently fucking immortal?

You're only sixteen, a voice whispered in the back of his mind. What are you supposed to do?

"Is he ill?" he asked finally, and Dumbledore let out another tired sigh.

"He has been a rather sickly child, yes," the Headmaster replied.

Bill was silent, watching as the small child fumbled with the watering can, struggling to lift it upright. With a frown, he raised his wand, pointing it towards the metal can, and whispered under his breath. In the garden across the way, he could see Harry visibly relax, quickly hoisting the can upright with a proud smile.

The Headmaster fixed his stare on Bill, brow furrowed. "William," he said warningly. "The Statute."

"They'll never know," he shrugged, scowling. "Any more than they know we're standing here." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his beat up leather jacket, eyes narrowed on the kid.

Emily was going to kill him. He was going to end up on her list, right up there with Ismelda. Merlin only knew the stories she would spread about him.

Harry tripped over a large root and fell to the ground. Bill winced.

But Christ, he was so small! How could a pipsqueak like that stand a chance against –

His Mum – what would his Mum say? She was already horrified enough about him going into cursebreaking, if she knew that he had another job, another dangerous agenda…. But no, she wouldn't know, would she? He would have to keep it a secret.

From everybody.

"What did you hope to find here?" the Headmaster asked him softly, and Bill shook his head. He watched as Harry pushed to his feet, his tiny frame trembling under the unforgiving sun. For a brief moment, Harry's face became Ron's, and Bill smiled sadly.

"I've found it," he muttered.

"Then you will join?" Dumbledore demanded, and Bill tore his gaze away from the little boy.

"On one condition," he replied, straightening his wiry frame as much as he could manage. "That you never, ever pull any of my family into this mess."

Dumbledore smiled, straightening his hat as it slipped once more. "You have my word," the elderly wizard replied, "provided you do nothing to jeopardize Harry's safehouse."

Bill glanced back across the street. The front door had swung open and a horse-faced woman was standing on the stoop, scowling at Harry. The kid seemed to shrink as he hurriedly raced for the door, setting the watering can down far more carefully than a little boy should have ever been.

Something wasn't right in the way the kid acted. And something in him wanted to walk across the street, blast that door off its hinges, and take the kid away.

But on what grounds? That his Aunt seemed like an absolute bitch and the kid did difficult yard work and wore hand-me-downs? He'd be laughed out of the Wizengamot and carted off to Azkaban. And what did a sixteen year old know about taking care of kids, anyway? Sure, he helped with his siblings… but only that, only helped.

…the kid was so small.

Something of his doubt must have shown on his face, because Dumbledore stepped forward, clasping his hand on Bill's shoulder. "This is the right decision, Bill. Only the truly strong can choose what is right over what is easy."

Bill smiled back. It was something, after all, to be chosen for something so important, by someone so powerful. Shouldn't he feel proud?

Why you, mate? the little voice whispered again in the back of his mind. You're just a student. Why does he need you?

He shook his head to clear it and set his jaw, nodding to the Headmaster. The man gave him another benign smile and squeezed his shoulder, then pulled a small object out of his pocket.

"Come, now," the elderly man said. "Let's adjourn to my office and discuss the details."

And they vanished without another word.

Shell Cottage

Tinworth, Cornwall

Devon, England

October 24, 1996

(Five days ago)

"I was surprised to find I could enter," the wizened voice sounded from the doorway.

Bill let out a heavy sigh, straightening at his workstation and glancing towards the door. "And I'm not surprised to find you've been testing the boundaries," he said shortly. The Headmaster smiled at him, his eyes solemn, a slightly abashed air about him.

"Why did you restore my access?" Dumbledore questioned softly, and Bill frowned.

"I banned you out of anger," Bill muttered. "We're fighting a war. My personal grudges don't matter."

The Headmaster stared, the torches on the walls casting shadows over his face.

"And I needed you to look at this," Bill continued, gesturing to a memory phial.

A long silence stretched as the Headmaster stood in the doorway. With a slight frown, Bill turned away, picking up another lockbox and flipping the lid. He glanced down at the contents and snorted, a small grin forming on his face.

Trust Hermione to neatly label and alphabetically arrange a collection of teeth, fangs, blood, and bones. Gingerly, he sifted through the items, his mind whirling. He prodded his wand at one fang and created a small Unbreakable jar around it, the sharp tip suspended in mid-air. A jar of purple-ish hued blood he immediately vanished – that was too dangerous to even exist, in any hands.

And if you think that… a voice sounded in the back of his mind, and he huffed under his breath.

But Dumbledore still hadn't moved, so he slowly turned his head and looked at the man, raising one eyebrow.

"I regret that things have become so strained between us, William," Dumbledore said softly.

Bill gritted his teeth.

"We were great partners once," the Headmaster continued.

"Partners?" Bill shot back. "We were never partners, Headmaster. I was your errand boy. For nine. YEARS."

Christ. Bill was tired, so bloody tired, of holding everything back, of all the secrets, the lies, the subterfuge. He was tired of playing it cool.

Apparently, so was the Headmaster.

"I trusted you with the most important task I have ever laid at anyone's feet!" Dumbledore exclaimed, his eyes flashing. "Discovering what Voldemort was after, why he didn't die, why Harry didn't, is vital to the survival of millions, and I trusted you to find the answers!"

"What you did," Bill bit out, "was manipulate a teenager to make him feel important so he would do your bidding. You dangled rewards in front of me, smoothed the way for my father, my siblings, so that I would risk my life on a daily basis, lie to my family, my friends, my colleagues…"

"And your family doesn't know, do they?" Dumbledore returned, a gleam in his eyes. "They don't know that your youngest siblings had only a quarter of the costs for tuition because of you. They still believe it was a new Ministry grant. Or your father's sudden raise…" The Headmaster smiled gently. "Do you need thanks, William? Is that what will fix this? The accolades? Having someone besides me know?"

Bill bit back a curse and scowled. The horrendously off-base accusation, the idea that he was after attention, doused his anger like ice water to a campfire. "I need you to look at this memory," Bill replied evenly, his hands steady. "We are not having a couples counseling session here, Headmaster."

The Headmaster let out a surprised laugh, finally stepping forward. "What is it?" he asked, reaching out and picking up the small phial in a gnarled hand. The elderly wizard turned the phial in his hand, over and over, as though simply peering into its depths would give him an answer.

"One of Brand's," Bill said simply. "He's studying something, in a group. Looks almost like a traditional coven. I think they are talking about a ward key, but I can't understand most of it. I thought, with your gift for languages…"

He trailed off, meeting the gaze of the Headmaster, who was now watching him sharply. "A ward key? You're certain?"

"I'm not certain," Bill said simply. "That's why I would like you to take a look."

Dumbledore nodded, his eyes thoughtful, and absently conjured a squashy armchair to Bill's left. He settled himself comfortably and summoned the Pensieve with a flick of his wand, staring down into its murky depths.

"You knew the costs of your decision when you agreed, all those years ago," the Headmaster prodded suddenly. "Why does this anger you now?"

Bill let out another sigh and closed his eyes. "Seventeen year olds don't know anything, Dumbledore," he murmured finally. There was no point in trying to avoid this conversation, he supposed. When his time finally ran out, would it matter what the old man thought?

He'd spent enough of his life worrying about Dumbledore's opinion, hadn't he? And where had it gotten him?

To his surprise, Dumbledore let out a sad laugh. "I'll let you in on a secret, my boy," the Headmaster replied, a hint of regret in his voice. "One hundred and seventeen year olds aren't much better."

Bill chuckled tiredly, shaking his head. He glanced back over his shoulder to see the Headmaster still gazing at the empty Pensieve. "I suppose not."

"Still," Dumbledore pressed gently, "after all this time, I would like to at least understand why I've lost your trust."

A long silence stretched between them again, and Bill scrubbed his hand over his face, spinning his wand in his left hand. "You use people," he said flatly. "You ask people to do for you, to risk for you, with little to no explanation, no hope of ever even knowing why."

The Headmaster leaned back in the armchair, his brow furrowed, his sharp gaze fixed on Bill's face.

"Over the summer, I have come to appreciate how difficult it is to lead a war effort. I cannot imagine the burden, the loneliness, that you've been enduring for years. But I believe," he shook his head, closing his eyes, and let out another shaky breath before he continued. "I believe you've grown too used to that feeling, to the idea that you and only you know right from wrong, and that you've forgotten the people you direct are not chess pieces."

"Is that why you stepped in for Harry the way you did?" Dumbledore asked softly. "Because you wish someone had done the same for you?"

Bill shrugged, shoving all the anger and annoyance down as he met the Headmaster's gaze. "My family are phenomenal people," he replied. "I've never needed saving from them."

"No, just from me, I suppose," Dumbledore murmured, uncorking the phial.

With another tired sigh, Bill turned back to his desk, and the Headmaster sat there, the opened phial still held tightly in his hand. "I did worry for you, you realize," the elderly man whispered. "And I can imagine how alone you must have felt, taking on such a monumental task on your own. Not being able to speak of it…"

"Until someone told me," Bill said with a small smirk. "The goblins figured it out."

"When?" Dumbledore demanded, his face going pale.

"After the TriWizard Tournament," Bill said simply, a slight grin forming as he glanced back. "Come now, Headmaster, you didn't think they would really let me pick all the job sites without any explanation, did you?"

The Headmaster was staring at him again, his jaw hanging open. "That is why you stopped answering my summons, for a time. I remember." His hand shook as he sat there, eyes distant and unfocused. "Goblins are not forgiving creatures," he whispered, a slight tremor in his voice. "And they do not abide split loyalties. It's a miracle they didn't kill you."

"They nearly did." A memory flashed through his mind, a dark chamber, him kneeling in the center, a ring of goblins around him. He could smell the putrid air, feel the cold steel against his neck.

And with another breath, the image changed. He closed his eyes and saw Harry, standing alone in the Chamber of Secrets. Ron, sitting on his mother's couch, welts all over his arms. Hermione with ice blue skin, brown veins running through her face. And Ginny. Poor, fierce little Ginny.

"No, Headmaster," Bill said softly. "If I'm angry about anything, it's because you should have done all this yourself fifteen years ago. If you had, this war would have ended before Harry and my youngest siblings ever even stepped foot in Hogwarts." He scowled, slamming the cover on his book and spinning in his chair. "And now, they are child soldiers. The latest of your trophies."

Dumbledore drew his eyebrows together, meeting Bill's angry gaze. "I regret what they have suffered," the Headmaster murmured. "But I could not have accomplished what all of you have in these past few years."

"At least with me, you had the decency to wait until I was almost grown," Bill shot back. "Harry had to kill to survive, at eleven." He closed his eyes, shaking his head again. "I'm done discussing this."

The Headmaster sighed and tipped the contents of the phial over the Pensieve, watching as a small group of figures rose up in the steam before them. Immediately, the room grew cold, and power rose up around the Headmaster, like a thundercloud forming at his feet.

"Parchment and quill," Dumbledore said sharply, and Bill conjured the items, sending them to rest on the arm of Dumbledore's squashy chair. The Headmaster tapped the quill once with his wand and it began to fly across the parchment, words and symbols etched out so quickly that Bill could not keep up. Moments passed, and the figures disappeared. With a tap of his wand, Dumbledore floated the parchment over to Bill's desk, then rose painfully to his feet.

"You won't ever tell me, will you?" Dumbledore asked, looking at Bill sadly.

Bill smoothed the parchment on his desk and shook his head once more. When the Headmaster simply stood there, waiting, he looked up.

"I've told you a dozen times already, Headmaster," Bill murmured. "I found dust."

The elderly man just sighed. "Very well," he murmured. "Will you at least tell me how you got around the Vow, to be able to remove Harry?"

Bill just smiled, meeting the Headmaster's piercing eyes. "No."

The Headmaster stared at him, his gaze searching and frustrated. After what felt like an eternity, Dumbledore nodded once, his face a hard mask, and turned on his heel, striding out of the workshop. Bill let out a shaky breath and stared down at the parchment on his desk, fear creeping into the corners of his mind.

Swallowing roughly, he gazed down at the parchment and he murmured to himself, "This will probably kill me before you can."

Godric's Hollow

West Country, England

October 29, 1996

Leaves crunched under his boots as his feet lightly touched the ground. A chilling breeze stirred the air and he felt the cool prickle of late fall on his skin.

And yet, it was sunny, a brilliant, gorgeous day in this part of the country.

It shouldn't be sunny.

It was an obscene joke by Mother Nature, for it to be sunny at such a time. But wasn't everything an obscene joke now?

Not a sound echoed from the rows of buildings around them. He spun the small crystal idly in his left hand as he gazed around the deserted cemetery. The graves were empty, the ground around them crumbling in much like Bones had described. An eerie quiet hung over them, not the slightest hint of birdsong carrying on the air. Beside him, Rosy was cursing a blue streak, and he narrowed his eyes on the rows of headstones.

Peverell, Bagshot, Dumbledore, Knighton, Wright… His robes swirled around his ankles, sparks shooting between his fingers as he stalked down the aisles, quickly dismissing every open mound of dirt. The violations against these families were cruel, but not what he was looking for.

Then he found them, and he stopped at the foot of the open grave, his fist clenched around the crystal.

The Potters' grave was different than the rest. Where the others were clearly ripped open, earth caving into the space left behind, theirs was almost… clean. Cautious. As if someone had carefully, painstakingly dug out their entire coffin. He glanced to his right, eyeing the abandoned grave beside them. Sure enough, the empty coffin still lay in the ground, but theirs…

Theirs was gone. None of the others' coffins had been touched. None but the Potters.

He nodded to himself, his mouth set in a grim line. This was exactly what he had expected.

Not that it helped anything, that he had expected it. Not that it would save anyone.

"What now?" Rosmerta asked quietly, and Bill shook his head. Eyes narrowed, he stared at the open space where the Potters had once lain at rest.

There was an answer to be found here. He could feel it. Closing his eyes, he let out a slow, steady breath – and suddenly, his father's voice echoed through his mind.

You are a talented wardscrafter, son, but she – she was incredible. She could solve problems no one even realized they had.

His father's drawn face disappeared from behind his eyes, and he could see Harry, sitting on a stoop in a suburban hell, watching Bill suspiciously as he paced the boundaries of a meticulously kept yard. Is this really a seven-layer cascading –

"We need to make another stop," he said, his voice sounding hollow even to his own ears. He could feel Rosy's worried gaze on him, and he shook his head, stepping back and holding out his arm. His former mentor looped her arm through his, letting out a pained hiss as a small bolt of electricity jumped up from his skin and raced into her arm.

"Sorry," he whispered, and she sniffled at him.

"Never apologize to me, son," she whispered back, squeezing his arm with her free hand. Another tiny bolt of lightning popped up, and he felt his skin blister under her hand.

Time was running out, he could feel it.

Time to pay the price, wizard, the chilling voice agreed in the back of his mind.

He pushed down his anger, his dread, and focused. And they vanished without a sound.

They landed on a street which wouldn't have been out of place in a Muggle horror film, like Charlie and Dora used to drag him to when they were younger. The flames had vanished months before, but the houses around them were terribly charred, walls crumbling or just completely gone. It didn't look like anyone had been making any effort to clean up the debris left behind – it didn't look like anyone had been back to the street for months.

"My word," Rosmerta gasped, clutching at his arm. "I heard about this, but – "

Her voice trailed off when she looked at his face, and Bill turned on his heel and walked away. He strode up the street towards the remains of number four, jaw clenched and teeth grinding.

It was still there, he saw with a scowl, Voldemort's 'happy birthday' taunt burned into the grass. The crater someone had blasted had formed all around it, the section of earth where the message had blazed still intact. It hadn't faded, and the grass hadn't grown one bit to cover it. By design, he was sure. That demon wouldn't ever let Harry have a moment's peace.

He walked past the gardens where he had first seen Harry, nine years ago. Past the burned out shell of a house where the kid had been beaten and starved with no one coming to save him. With Rosmerta trailing behind, he stopped at the spot where the wards had once ended, his eyes narrowed on the ground.

Warding like that had to have an anchor. There was no way a seven-layer cascading containment field could sustain itself. He had realized that months before, which was how he had managed to key himself into the wards. A simple prick of the finger, a quick vow, and the magic that protected the property had accepted him. It had been a gamble, that it was truly that simple… but it had worked. He had been examined, judged, and acquitted, and from that moment on, nothing could have blocked him from the property except Harry himself.

Even Dumbledore didn't understand the enormousness of the protection that Lily Evans Potter had bestowed upon her son. Coupled with the intricate judgement wards that lay over the property, nothing could have ever harmed Harry at this spot, if only the Dursleys had been better people.

If only he had figured it out sooner.

With a whispered spell, he knelt and tapped his wand on the ground, and the dirt funneled up into the air, a tiny cyclone rushing past his face. There, nestled in the earth, lay a tiny little jewelry box, the letters LEP etched into the lid.

He reached down and scooped up the small box, silently willing its owner to tell him something, to give him any clues as to how to save her son. He had Lily to thank for the destruction of Malfoy Manor, after all - he'd gotten the idea from her. But the only sound for miles was Rosmerta's breathing, and the racing of his own thoughts. Gingerly, he pressed on the knot at the front of the box, flinching when it pricked his skin.

The last time he had tried this – and the time before that – the box wouldn't open. But this time… something was different. He could feel it in the air, an inexplicable heaviness.

A sense of finality.

He held his finger in place, feeling a sharp spear of ice moving through his hand, and closed his eyes as an eerie whisper sprang up around him, floating on the breeze. The words were indistinguishable, the tone solemn, and the ice spread through his body, freezing his veins. Everything hurt, every nerve ending burning, as his blood literally slowed its circulation and began to turn to slush. He shivered violently, his limbs shaking, but he kept his hands clasped around the box as a dome of blue light formed around him. On the other side, he could see the blurred form of Rosmerta, shouting something and drawing her wand.

As quickly as it had come, the freezing sensation vanished. The voices fell silent and the dome flickered once, twice, then disappeared. Bill fell forward, gasping for breath, his hand burning with the cold. With a grunt of pain, he uncurled his frozen fingers from around the box, staring down at his reddened hands.

The box tumbled to the earth beside him, the ruby in the center of the lid gleaming in the sunlight. And with a soft metallic click, the lid popped open.

Bill stared down at the tiny ribboned scroll, his blood thundering in his ears. A soft breeze formed around them as Rosmerta rushed forward, kneeling in front of him and grabbing his shoulders roughly. He jerked himself upright and stared at her, eyes wide.

On the breeze, he heard his father's voice whisper. Can you still learn?

Well, he thought grimly, time to find out.

Alexander Barracks

Army Training Center

Pirbright, Surrey

She paced back and forth on the open stretch of road, just beyond the guard station. At her side, Midas followed dutifully, his tongue lolling happily as he trotted along with her. The pittie seemed confused when she just kept turning back and going the same direction, over and over again, but he followed along just the same.

With a ragged sigh, she shoved her hand into her hair and pressed her other hand around the pendant at her throat. Everything was so… sharp. Hard.

Confusing.

How she wished that life could go back to the way it had been before the summer even started. Before she had met…

Percy's face, his wry smile, flashed through her mind, and tears sprang to her eyes.

No. She didn't wish that.

She had been here for weeks, and the strain of the closed-in quarters was starting to get to her. Every day, more and more reports rolled in, of entire towns falling to some mysterious 'virus,' always preceded by unusually cold weather and heavy fog. Then there were the reports of 'animal attacks,' groups of people by the dozens being mauled or – horrifyingly – having their throats torn out.

Percy had told her vampires were real, she just hoped…

The sudden sound of a motor rumbling cut through her reverie, and she looked up to see a large, double-decker bus approaching the guard station. The private on duty glanced back at her, one eyebrow raised, and she nodded, stepping forward. Still eyeing her worriedly, the private opened the gate and leaned forward out of the window of the guard station.

Something about having the Colonel's daughter supervising every check-in seemed to be making the man nervous. Especially since he had no idea what she was doing, and why the Colonel had ordered it.

Hand wrapped firmly around the pendant at her throat, Audrey narrowed her eyes and scanned through the passengers. She let out a shaky breath and nodded to the private again, and he smiled, waving the bus forward with one hand as he stepped back.

Then Midas started to growl, and she looked down at her trusty guard dog. "What is it, boy?" she whispered.

One by one, the passengers disembarked, nodding to her as they passed, some of them clapping her hand and sobbing in thanks. Behind her, one of the privates ushered the new arrivals into a barracks that had been set aside as a secondary dining hall. Twisting her hair around her finger, she watched as they filed into the hall.

Midas hadn't stopped growling, and she felt a chill run down her spine.

Something was wrong.

She heard a shout, someone tackled her from behind – and everything went black.

The Fortress

Hirta Island, St. Kilna

Outer Hebrides, Scotland

Neville leaned back against the wall and crossed his arms over his chest, tilting his head back and closing his eyes. He let out a slow, steady breath, counted to three, then slowly inhaled again.

And again. And again.

The door in front of him opened with a soft click, and Alex slipped out into the hallway, gently shutting the door behind her. She gave him a sad smile and he smiled back ruefully, straightening up from the wall.

"They asleep?" he asked quietly, and she frowned.

"I had to Stun Fred again," she whispered, turning and moving down the hall towards the stairs. Neville followed, idly playing with the pendant around his neck.

He'd been trying to get through for hours, and – nothing. All he had to tell him his friends were alive was dots on a bloody Map.

"Emily is asleep, and Elena is in and out. She was having nightmares again, so I dosed her with Dreamless Sleep." The magical archaeologist glanced over at him, her brow furrowed. "Hopefully it kicks in soon. Remus said it wouldn't hurt her, but…"

Neville grimaced, picturing the tiny little girl. The poor kid had lost her family and been turned into a werewolf all in one day, been ripped away from everything she ever knew… of course she was traumatized.

Nothing they could do would fix that.

He shook his head, clenching his fists slowly at his sides, then opening them again. He had to focus on what he could control, after all.

He had to focus on getting his friends out of that school.

"What have we got?" Alex barked as they strode into the command room. Tonks and Lou looked up from where they had been arguing over the Map, and Fleur twisted her hair around her finger in an unusual show of nerves. Neville gave her an encouraging smile and the part-Veela smiled back sadly, crossing her arms over her chest and shrinking into herself a little.

Tonks let out a frustrated scowl and Lou shook his head. "Scrimgeour and Deke went to go stake out the line," the Frenchman said angrily. "Right now, we have no brilliant ideas for how to fight an army of vampires and werewolves when we have a dozen people and they have two hundred."

"We have more than a dozen," Neville said simply, leveling the emotional Frenchman with a blank stare. "All of Mr. Weasley's people, for starters – "

"Vanished," Lou grumbled, and Neville raised an eyebrow.

"Yes, when they heard their boss was trapped in Hogwarts," he continued. "I have a fairly educated guess as to what they are trying to do. And we have the rest of the Order, and the DA."

"Trapped inside the school!" Lou hissed, slamming his fist down on the table. His face flushed and his lips thinned angrily as he glared at Neville.

"Which is why we need to figure out how to get me in there," Bill's voice cut through the space, and Neville looked back to see the cursebreaker standing in the doorway, his face set in a blank mask. At his shoulder was Madam Rosmerta and – Neville narrowed his eyes, gazing at her face. Her eyes were red-rimmed, her lashes still damp.

She had been crying.

"Which I already said. If I can get inside, I can reverse engineer those wards and try to take them down from the inside out," Bill continued, "or at least create a hole."

Fleur slowly unwrapped her arms from around herself, her eyes fixed on Bill's face. Next to Neville, Alex bristled. "You're not going in there alone," she hissed. "Whatever you plan to do, you'll need back-up."

"You aren't coming," Bill said dismissively, crossing the room to stand and stare over the Map.

"Why the bloody hell not?" Alex demanded, throwing her hands up in the air, and Neville sighed.

"Ask Jess," Bill muttered, his voice cold. Instantly, Lou and Alex froze, staring at him in disbelief.

"How dare you," Alex whispered, her face filling up with tears. "How could you use her against us? She was my best friend!"

Bill looked up and met her gaze, his eyes hardened, and Neville flinched.

He could feel it again. That sense of wrongness that seemed to spring up in Bill from time to time. That sensation that made the earth cringe, made plants shy away from him… made the basilisk sentry at the edge of the Fortress declare him 'treacherous.'

Right, he thought to himself, my friends need me, time to get everyone back on track.

"What if we go underground?" he asked sharply, cutting into the budding fight. Everyone turned as one and stared.

Order Safehouse

Somewhere in Hampshire

The sun was blindingly bright, beating down on him as he lay sprawled back in his beach chair. At his side was an ice cold drink, and he held a small gem in his hand, peering into its depths.

This would fetch him a pretty penny, that was certain. Whenever he bothered to go back to the mainland, anyway.

A shadow fell over him, and he looked up to see Pandora standing over him, a sultry smile on her face. She was wrapped in a kimono, the bottom of the garment nowhere near reaching her knees. He grinned broadly, sitting up –

Her face flickered and became her daughter's, giant blue eyes staring at him curiously. Then the little red-headed Weasley girl. Then the brunette little Mudblood.

"Won't you teach me, Mr. Brand?" she whispered, her hand tracing the edge of the kimono, toying with the opening. "There's so much I want to learn…"

The sound of boots on concrete cut through his subconscious, and he jerked upright, glaring at the door. His cot creaked and he pulled uselessly at the chains that bound him to the wall, cursing under his breath.

Probably the Weasley demon, back to torture him for more information. Or the big, strapping Auror and his clumsy little sidekick.

Merlin, he just wanted to go back to sleep. His dreams were so much more interesting than this mundane little cell.

A rustle sounded, then a crash, and his eyes darted to the doorway. The Order never broke anything when they came here. They didn't need to.

He straightened in the cell, his hands running along the edges of the cot looking for something, anything he could use…

Then the door swung open, and he stared as a sallow-skinned man with long, greasy black hair and a hooked nose studied him silently. He'd seen this guy, when he'd taken a quick walk through the surface of Billy's mind back in Germany. And Billy hated him.

Which made the guy alright in his book.

"Snape, aren't you?" he said simply, meeting the other man's black gaze. In the back of his mind, he shivered slightly. Christ, and people thought he was cold.

The Potions Master simply stared back at him, unblinking, then suddenly smirked.

"Your talents are not appreciated here," the man said smoothly. Without crossing the room, he waved his wand, and the chains began to heat, rattling and glowing red hot. Brand winced as the cuffs seared his flesh, gritting his teeth against the pain, and he closed his eyes –

The burning sensation disappeared, and he heard the clanking sound of metal hitting concrete as the manacles fell away. Opening his eyes, he looked up to see Snape slide his wand back up his sleeve, the self-satisfied smirk still on his face.

"There's someone I would like you to meet," the Potions Master whispered, and without waiting for a response, he turned and walked out the door.

Brand grinned and got shakily to his feet, rubbing absently at his wrists.

This is more like it.

Hogwarts

Room of Requirement

"Everyone is accounted for." Seamus took a sip of firewhiskey as he stared blankly at the ceiling. The other teen was leaning so far back in his squashy armchair that Ron worried he was going to tip over. Sitting on a nearby couch, Remus Lupin was eyeing the Irishman's glass with a look of both disapproval and amusement. Seamus winked at the blonde Slytherin to Lupin's right, and Greengrass rolled her eyes.

"Dean is tailing Malfoy, and we have someone on all the Marked students," Sue added. "But most of the students have kept to their common rooms."

"What was the excuse Minerva used for cancelling classes tomorrow?" Lupin asked curiously, and Ron grinned.

"Redoing the anti-pranking spells on the Great Hall and stairways." Ron shrugged. "No such thing, but it seemed to make her happy. Besides, it's not like most of the students are going to complain about an unexpected day off."

"Or year," Greengrass muttered. Beside her, Hannah frowned.

"Do you really think they'll wait until Thursday?" she whispered, and Ron smiled at her sadly.

"They're waiting for something," he replied, spinning his wand idly in his left hand.

The door to the Room swung open, and Anthony Goldstein walked in, his face looking drawn and tired. Behind him came Terry Boot and Theo, both with their faces in a stern mask. Hannah looked up, looking back and forth between the first two teens, and Ron just waited.

Terry and Anthony flung themselves angrily onto a couch near the door, and Theo gritted his teeth and turned to Ron.

"Millicent Bulstrode is missing," he said quietly, and Seamus growled under his breath. "So is Crabbe."

"Malfoy? Parkinson?" Ron demanded, and Theo frowned.

"Dean still had them twenty minutes ago," the Slytherin boy replied.

Ron glanced over at Lupin then jumped to his feet, crossing the room to the large, cherrywood desk that stood opposite the fireplace. With a tap of his wand, the Marauder's Map came to life, ink spreading across the page. He scanned over the names and dots, his eyes narrowed, and – there.

"Astronomy Tower," he said shortly. "May be nothing, but go check it out."

Terry and Anthony nodded and shoved to their feet, slipping back out the door. With a tired sigh, Ron glanced at his watch.

Christ. It wasn't even midnight yet.

"Ernie, Justin, do a patrol of the battlements. Watch your backs," he added, scowling. "Colin, Dennis, Su, you take the dungeons."

"I need to check in with Arthur," Lupin muttered, shoving to his feet, and he strode out of the room without another word.

"And us?" Sue asked lightly, frowning.

Ron snorted. "Find something I missed." Spinning on his heel, he made for the door. "I'm going to check on Hermione," he called over his shoulder.

The door swung closed behind him, then shimmered and vanished, and he stopped dead, slumping back against the wall and pressing the palms of his hands to his eyes. He hadn't slept in – he didn't even remember, truthfully. His senses were going haywire, his mind racing, and he couldn't catch a breath for the life of him.

You were wrong, Mad-Eye, he thought ruefully. I'm not cut out for this.

"Yes, you are," a soft voice sing-songed, and he let out a heavy sigh, slowly lowering his hands. Luna smiled at him, her huge blue eyes sparkling with unshed tears, and he forced himself to smile back.

"We will figure all of this out," she whispered, and Ron swallowed, nodding jerkily as he straightened up.

"Right then," he said, clearing his throat. "Harry?"

"He needed some space." As he watched, the airy girl's face fell, and she reached up and started fiddling with her bottle cap necklace. "He's up on the battlements."

Ron nodded again. Ernie and Justin were headed that way, so if anything happened, they would be there.

"I was about to go check on Hermione," he said softly, and Luna nodded. The blonde girl bit her lip then sighed, reaching out and squeezing his hand. He squeezed back and the pair of them moved quickly down to the dungeons, heading for the room where Hermione was fighting for her life.

Unknown

Something was happening.

Dan tensed in his chair, straightening as much as he could with his arms still tied down. Narrowing his eyes, he craned his neck and struggled to turn enough to see out the window.

A scream cut through the night, then a crash. His blood ran cold as he heard an unearthly snarl echo on the air.

It was coming closer.

Shadows formed on the wall across from him and he swallowed, his hands beginning to tremble.

Emma. He had to get to Emma.

The steady, constant sound of her humming floated out of the kitchen and he let out a sigh of relief. All he had to do was…

Get out of the chair. The thing he hadn't been able to do in the weeks that fucker had been coming to this godforsaken place, had been –

He swallowed again, the surge of anger building up in his veins, his vision going red at the edges.

Don't think about him, he told himself angrily. Think about Emma.

Glass shattered somewhere nearby, and every hair on the back of his neck stood up as he gritted his teeth. With slow, steady breaths, he flexed his hands, struggling to raise his right arm. A terrible pressure formed over his arm and he cursed under his breath as his bones began to feel like they were being crushed. Another crash sounded outside, and he let out a pained groan, closing his eyes, and focused all of his energy on his arm.

If he could just lift his fucking arm, he could get free. He just knew it.

He could hear feet shuffling on the pavement outside. A thud sounded through the house, coming from the front door, almost like something had thrown itself bodily against the door. Emma's humming stopped in the kitchen, and he heard the window shatter, heard his wife scream.

Dan Granger wrenched his arm up, barreling to his feet. On lurching legs, he ran for the kitchen, his teeth barred in a feral snarl.

Divination Tower

Hogwarts

"What do you think you're going to see from up here, Harry Potter?" a soft voice cut through the darkness, and Harry sighed tiredly. Behind him, he heard the clattering sound of hooves on stone, and he glanced over his shoulder to see Firenze standing there, the torches from the tower walls casting shadows over his face.

"A way out," Harry murmured, grimacing as he looked back over the grounds.

The amount of figures at the gates had multiplied, and by this time, there were hundreds. He watched as the vampires stood, perfectly still, with their pale skin almost glowing against the darkness. The werewolves paced up and down behind them, like sentries on patrol. He swallowed as he smelled burned flesh on the air, and glanced over at Firenze, frowning at the wound on his chest and side.

"You should get that looked at," he murmured, and the centaur smiled at him indulgently.

"All things in their time," Firenze replied quietly.

"Do we have time?" Harry muttered bitterly, flushing as he felt Firenze's gaze on him.

"Harry Potter," the centaur intoned, moving to stand beside him at the tower's edge. "You haven't even begun." With a sound that was half-whinny, half-sigh, the centaur threw his head back and stared up at the stars.

"If you say 'Mars is bright tonight,' I swear…" Harry scowled, and the centaur let out a booming laugh.

Turning his head to look at Harry, Firenze's laughter died on his face. "Mars isn't bright, child," the centaur whispered. "Mars is here." Then his eyes slid past Harry to the doorway, and Harry spun wildly. Behind him, Sue and Seamus came running in from the Divination rooms, red-faced and panting. Sue looked grim, Seamus wild and angry.

Somehow, Harry knew before they spoke.

"It's Dean," Sue said tightly, her eyes flashing and her hands fisted at her sides. "He missed the last check-in."

"I guess we begin now," Harry said darkly, shooting a look at Firenze. He strode past the others for the stairway, snarling back over his shoulder, "Get everyone."

Slytherin Dungeons

He sat on the edge of his bed in the darkness, his eyes fixed on the Cabinet before him. His hand shook around his wand as he waited, holding his breath.

Maybe it had failed. Maybe he had failed.

Maybe it wouldn't work.

A rattling sounded from within the Cabinet and he felt a flash of success, followed by the roiling sensation of dread.

Of course it had worked. Since when did he fail?

The door rattled again and he sat there, frozen. The Vanishing Cabinet had to be opened from the outside. That was why they had needed him, wasn't it? He had to open the door.

Maybe…. Maybe he could just not open it. Maybe he could pretend it didn't work.

He thought of the little firsties in the common room, playing Exploding Snap in front of the fire. The kids scribbling away on their parchments tucked in corners. Pansy, Blaise, asleep in their beds.

He thought of himself, bleeding and broken if he didn't do as he was asked.

But… what were they going to do to all the little kids?

What are they going to do to you? The voice in the back of his mind whispered, and he shook his head. He let out a shaky breath, staring at the rattling door.

He could just… not open it.

But no. With another tired sigh, he stood and crossed the room, pulling the latch free with a steady hand.

He held his breath, standing straight and proud, his chin held high. The door flew open, and Antonin Dolohov stepped out of the Cabinet, eyes flashing.

"Hello, Draco," the Russian hissed. "Shall we begin?"

END BOOK ONE

A/N: I struggled with this one - the apocalytic tone is too... too real right now, I suppose. And I kept trying to make this longer but well... This is where they wanted to end. Book 2 is in the works, but a few weeks from the first post, I think.

Don't hate me for the cliffhanger, and everyone stay safe and healthy! ~*~ALIBI