The lifeless body on the floor leaked blood that stained the old wooden floor. I killed him. I killed the man who was trying to kill me.

Petunia wailed the next room over.

Just outside a fire raged.

Peaceful Privet Drive was no more.

I grabbed Harry by the arm—we had to go. He just looked at me in stunned disbelief. He gaped at me, frozen in time like a fly stuck in molasses.

"We have to leave, Harry!"

"You killed him!"

I looked down on the floor. The blood had spread now, reaching my bare feet. I wiggled my toes. That just brought a sense of unreality to it all. There was a man—a Death Eater , I reminded myself—that I had killed. Dead. Nothing, no magic, no Muggle invention could bring back the person on the floor. Someone would mourn him, perhaps a wife or son or daughter or lover, because of the curse I had cast. One simple Severing Charm was all it took.

I'll never forget how his grey eyes had widened ever-so-slightly in shock just before he had fallen off of me.

Lights of all colors flashed outside. There were the reds and blues of Muggle sirens, of course, come to battle a blaze they had no hope against. Fiendfyre, I knew, from the pungent smell and the impossible shapes the flame took. Soon enough the blood protections on the house would fall and we too would be engulfed in a horrible, fiery death.

But it was not just the sirens which lit up the night sky. Curses flew in every direction as the Order did battle with Tom Riddle's forces. Fledgling as they were, they had no hope of winning. Tom Riddle had the support of the Ministry now, after all. The Order was seen as little more than a terrorist organization. No one wanted to look past the charm of Macarius Gaunt to see the monster that reigned behind the pretty face. And no one wanted to think the young Minister with the winsome smile was actually Lord Voldemort.

I blinked. "We have to go," I said in a voice very much unlike my own. It was weak, quavering, and I hated it.

"Alright," said Harry, grabbing my free hand.

It was better not to think of what had almost happened. It was better to get away, not to think about the gleeful look in the Death Eater's eyes as he had reached for the hem of my nightie. It was better not to think of how he had tried to use me before he killed me.

It was better to forget.

"Hazel!" Harry said, shaking my arm as I took a gasping breath, looking at the man staring unseeingly towards the ceiling.

"Right."

Still hand in hand, we ran from the room, slamming the door behind us. Harry clutched the photo album Hagrid had given us in his free hand. His wand was at Hogwarts, with every other underaged witch and wizard's. A new Ministry rule.

My stomach rolled as I thought of how close I had come to dying, how close I had come to failing Harry, to leaving him asleep and defenseless. Then my mind turned back to the dead man on my bedroom floor and I gagged, vomiting on my blood-stained feet.

"Hazel!" Harry said again, dragging me forward.

"Get through the fireplace to Dumbledore's office—the Order needs my help."

"I'm not leaving you! And what about the Dursleys?"

Footsteps sounded behind us—in an instant, I turned and pressed my wand to the throat of the intruder. My eyes widened; I felt crazed. Another Death Eater. The white mask glowed eerily in the dim light of the hallway.

"Diffin—" I started.

"Potter," a familiar, nasally voice said from behind the mask.

"Professor Snape!" I cried, throwing my arms around him, my eyes filling with tears. I had no love for the man—he was nothing short of horrible to Harry and pretended I didn't exist—but I trusted that he was Dumbledore's man. We were saved. No more Death Eaters would try to do unspeakable things to us tonight.

He shoved me away, sending me falling to the floor. He ripped the white mask from his face and opened the door we had just shut—perhaps he was checking to make sure there was no one to witness his treachery in saving us. His pale face whitened further as he looked from the body to me, to the blood on my feet. I wrung my hands in my nightie as I peered back into the bedroom, looking at the blood, blood, blood, so much blood.

"It's time for you to go, Potter," he said.

"But—" Harry and I both began.

"You are the primary targets. Leave this place, and so will we."

"I need to stay and fight," I said weakly.

"You are in no condition to."

"What about the Dursleys?" Harry challenged.

"We already apparated them away. Enough of these foolish questions. We must leave, now."

But I couldn't tear my eyes from the dead man.

"Who was he?" I asked in a small voice.

"It doesn't matter. He's dead and he deserves to be." Snape seized me by the wrist and pulled me towards the stairs, dragging Harry along as well. I stumbled into him, my eyes still on the body. "Potter," he snapped.

Right. If I didn't move, Harry would die. There would be time to think later. I trained my eyes on the pink wallpaper. Pink was safe. Pink was not the color of blood, nor of Death Eater robes, nor of the Dark Mark which now hovered above Privet Drive.

We met Remus at the bottom of the stairs, beside the cupboard Harry and I had so often been locked in. "Is Dumbledore coming?" Snape demanded.

"No," Remus said. "He said now is not the time for him to fight."

"Of bloody course," Snape snarled, in a voice very unlike his usual measured tone, still dragging me along, towards the back garden. "You take the boy," he said, shoving Harry.

When we stepped outside, the cool air Number Four turned to a heat unlike anything I had ever felt. I didn't want to think about all the Muggles who were now nothing more than ash, who had died screaming in a fiery blaze that was our fault. My fault. Just like the man upstairs…

I was keenly aware of the blood now caked to my feet. I took another gasping breath.

"Potter! Hold on to my arm."

A pull behind my navel, a spinning world, and then nothing.