Returning from the Shadows: Chapter II
Title: Returning from the Shadows
Rating: PG-13 / R
Length: Chaptered, WIP
Pairings: Sirius/OC, James/Lily, Remus/OC, Peter/OC, OC/OC, Other
Era: Alternate Universe (Marauder Era and Vold-War I)
Summary: There are night-time wanderings for one man and “normal” days in Diagon Alley for others. But things don’t always stay peaceful and calm - if they ever were as such in the first place.
Note: Please keep in mind that this an AU story dealing with the First War.
~*~
Chapter II: A "Boring" Day
~*~
Early August, 1978
~*~
Night had fallen several hours ago, the warm golden sun sinking below the horizon to start the country’s plunge into darkness. Shadows fell over the grounds, and trees swayed in the warm breeze that blew through their branches, giving movement to the wooden guardians. A crescent moon hung in the sky, its white light contrasting greatly with the inky blackness surrounding it, a blackness that was only broken occasionally by the small, twinkling lights of the few stars that were visible on such a cloudy evening.
Rain had drenched the towns on Britain’s eastern side, the great downpours soaking into the green grass, creating large puddles in the holes that dotted the streets. The ground gave a squelching noise with every step that the young man took as he walked, his previously brand new black boots now filthy and spotted with mud. Dirt clung to the hem of his long, dark robe, a piece of clothing that seemed to be a couple of sizes too large for the skinny individual. The robe’s hood hung low on the man’s face, keeping his identity a secret, and its ends wrapped tightly around the figure’s body.
There were not any streetlamps to help the man see where he was going, as he had passed the edges of town nearly half an hour ago. Only nature provided light for the young man, who had long since decided not to use his wand to cast a lumos. After all, he was supposed to remain hidden, supposed to arrive in the shadows and in secret.
It would not be prudent, therefore, to announce his arrival by a lit wand.
Muttered profanities flew from the man’s lips as he suddenly stumbled, his foot tripping over a raised tree root and sending him sprawling to the wet ground. By sheer luck - and the use of reflexes quicker than he had thought that he possessed - he managed to stop his face from landing in the nearby mud puddle; however, his knees and the bottom half of his body were a different story entirely. He reached up a hand to grasp a tree branch bending near his head, using the sturdy connected limb to help him regain his footing on the slippery, wet ground.
“Damn it,” he hissed, jerking his hand away from the branch, a few drops of blood falling to the mud and grass below from the new cut along his palm. There was a streak of dark red along the branch, a drop hanging on a sharp, intruding bit of bark that had pierced the man’s skin. Continuing his quiet cursing, the man searched through his pockets for his wand, withdrawing it quickly and hissing a brief spell, the cut healing instantly.
Pulling his cloak tighter around him, the young wizard continued on his way, his mind going over the only information that he had received about what he was supposed to do tonight.
The note had arrived early yesterday morning, the light brown owl tearing the wizard from his deep slumber by tapping incessantly at his closed - and locked - bedroom window. Grumpily, he had risen from the large bed and let the annoying creature into his home, removing the single, folded piece of parchment as the owl landed on his desk, its beak dipping into a small dish of water, before taking off without waiting to see if a reply was required.
But the young man had paid no attention to the actions of the bird, his gaze held solidly on the letter that he held in his - now shaking - hands. He took a deep breath, like someone who’s preparing to plunge into deep waters, before unfolding the parchment square and reading the few words sprawled upon it.
S,
It is time.
Meet tonight, at one-and-a-quarter before the new - in Harwich.
See to the underside. Put to use the power of Fire and Air to know.
Signed,
M
Only weeks had passed since the young man was told the secret to these phrases, and where some might have believed the sentences to be random nonsense, he knew better. Knowing precisely what needed to happen, he picked up his wand from his bedside table and, turning the parchment square over to reveal its blank, back side, muttered two spells. A tiny flame shot out of his wand’s tip first, landing on the parchment, and it was quickly followed by a thin jet of air, the fire soon disappearing like a blown-out candle in the air’s wake. No marks could be seen from the fire’s impact with the letter - nothing was scorched or burned black. But the back of the note was no longer bare, either.
In the wake of the fire and air, words had started to form in the blank space, sentence after sentence of numbered instructions about what the man should do tonight - where, exactly, in Harwich he was supposed to go, what he was supposed to wear, how he was supposed to arrive, and much more. Everything he needed to be aware of before the meeting tonight was written in the coded instructions on the parchment.
The sound of a twig snapping under his foot broke the man from his thoughts, bringing his mind immediately back to his current surroundings. He had not even noticed how much he had walked while lost in his memories, for he now stood on the edge of the forest that - just moments ago, it seemed - the young man had been in the very thick of.
Large trees stood tall at his back, their branches swaying in the wind, and in front of him stood a clear trail, its pathway just marked with faded dirt - but the footprints that stood out in the drenched mud showed just how much the path had been travelled recently.
He looked up, his dark eyes following the course of the trail as it curved around near the top of a hill and faded from his immediate sight. But the young man did not really need to see where that path ended up just yet in order for him to know what his destination was - and that it was just a short distance in front of him, located immediately at the trail’s end.
There would be a single house at the conclusion of the path, a house that was hidden by numerous wards and enchantments - both those of the Light and Dark variety. (Although, thought the young man, there are definitely more of the latter than there are of the former.) The house would be tall, and it would be old. Large, wooden doors would guard the entrance, their surfaces clean and polished and looking like they would be more befitting on a grand stone manor than on a simple, single-story shack at the edge of a large forest.
Outside appearances would deceive the casual observer, however, for this house had a far darker quality about it. In seeing the house from the outside - and knowing nothing of its purposes - one would think it was a cottage home to an elderly couple, perhaps, a couple who simply sought a small house in the peace and quiet of nature. It was a nice house, a plain house … a normal house.
But ‘normal’ was as far from this house as possible, for what went on inside the walls of the structure was unknown - and believed as nothing more than horror stories and make-believe - by the vast majority of the world. Tales of screaming and flashing lights that local townspeople spread about the house were not believed by most people; it was just their vivid imaginations, surely. Local legends and scary stories to waylay visitors was all that it was.
After all, those stories couldn’t be right, could they? Stories of monsters, of demons, and cloaked figures hiding in the shadows? Tales of people who had come too close to the trail’s end disappearing, their fates left unknown? Whispers that those who tried to enter the home in the bright light of daytime could never get within a few metres of the place before their walk was halted by a barrier surrounding the house’s land? Mutterings that screaming could be heard at night coming from that direction, or that oddly coloured lights sometimes flashed in the sky above the house, or that an oppressive feeling of death and evil seemed to emanate from the simple structure?
No, surely just wild and fantastical stories, they would claim.
But as the young man knew, their claims, of course, would be wrong.
Sighing, he hastily shoved his hands into his robe’s pockets, angry that his nerves were causing the limbs to shake slightly. He took a deep breath and slowly, calmly, exhaled the air from his lungs as he took his first step onto the clearly-defined path that would lead to this house that the locals feared.
Severus Snape continued to walk, preparing himself for what lay at his journey’s end as he did so.
~*~
06 August 1978
4:20 p.m.
~*~
Diagon Alley was quite busy for early August, the crowds more reminiscent of those that would converge on the shopping area in the last week of the month as families tried to gather all of the supplies their children would need for returning for a new year at Hogwarts. Old and young wizards and witches wandered the streets, darting in to and out of the many different shops lining the cobblestone street as they tried to complete the day’s errands before heading home. Small children held onto the hands of their mothers; fathers carried their little boys or girls on their shoulders, allowing the short individuals to see the stores.
A pair of witches conversed outside the apothecary, while a group of young men discussed the latest news about England’s International Quidditch team. Discarded copies of the day’s Daily Prophet littered some of the tables outside of Florean Fortescue’s, where an older, silver-haired wizard sat with a young boy who could have been his grandson, both of whom were enjoying chocolate sundaes. Laughter issued from Gambol and Japes, a sound that was soon followed by that of running feet as a couple of teenagers raced down the street, a woman who could have only been their mother yelling after them.
Children stood in front of the windows at Quality Quidditch Supplies, their eyes glued to the shop’s fancy display window and the products within. New brooms, new team robes, an all-inclusive Quidditch set … all things that topped nearly every magical child’s Christmas list. (It was too bad the holiday was still several months away.) The latest fashion styles were shown in Madam Malkin’s windows, the robes made of some of the highest quality fabrics that Wizarding money could buy, and the sounds of hooting owls, mewing cats, and other small creatures could be heard coming from Eeylops and the Magical Menagerie.
It seemed, to the casual observer, that everything was normal in Diagon Alley.
There was nothing about the scenes happening in the magical shopping centre that hinted about a war raging in the Wizarding World, a war where deaths climbed daily, causing the papers to have to make larger and larger sections for their obituaries. There was nothing that hinted that, just the night before, a total of two dozen people - wizard, witch, and Muggle alike - had been killed, some of whose bodies were so mutilated that identification would have been impossible without certain ancient - and nearly forgotten - spells. None of the actions of the shoppers, owners, or employees in Diagon Alley seemed to show any fear that the same darkness that appeared to slowly be suffocating their world could descend upon them.
After all, those kinds of things - those dark, horrifying, evil things - happened to other people, right?
Well, not everyone felt that way, of course. But the Aurors that were stationed at different points in the alley just seemed to make it easier for the people not to fear the darkness. The Aurors, of course, would protect them, should anything terrible happen.
That is, if certain Aurors (or more accurately, one should say Auror trainees) weren’t currently busy dwelling at the bar in the Leaky Cauldron.
“God, I’m so fucking bored,” sighed a dark-haired man as he leaned back in his chair, balancing it on its two back legs. He swiped a few strands of his black hair from his eyes, giving a shake of his head as he did so. He glanced over at the other man sitting next to him, whose own hazel gaze was glued to the pages of the day’s paper, a hand raising every once in a while to turn the page.
“Anything interesting in there?”
Silence followed the man’s question, his companion not making any move to indicate he had heard. “James?” Again, there was no answer. “Hey,” said the wizard, knocking his own hand against the shoulder of the other man.
“What, Sirius?”
Sirius shook his head again, muttering “Forget it”, before taking a sip of the beer in front of him. James returned his eyes back to the current article he’d been reading in the Quidditch section - “Reese Reuter, Legendary English Keeper, Signs to Irish Team” - while Sirius swept his stare around the pub.
The tables weren’t nearly as crowded as they’d been just hours ago, when it felt like every shopper of Diagon Alley had stopped in for a bite to eat, but neither were they as empty as they’d been when the two trainees had first arrived in the early hours of the morning. A group of older witches sat at a nearby table, their heads meeting in the centre as they talked, while another group sat straight-backed and proper on the establishment’s opposite side, their faces curled into visual disdain as they looked down upon the other ‘commoners’.
A trio of wizards had taken up residence at a table in the back that was mostly hidden in shadows, regardless of the bright sunlight that streamed through the few windows in the pub. The three men had their heads bowed, leaning forwards in their seats, and speaking in lowered, whispered voices. Slight shakes or nod of a head, or a brief swipe of a hand to emphasise a point, would be the only movements that the three made as they spoke.
It was because of groups like these that both James and Sirius, now over a month into their Auror training, had been stuck in the Leaky Cauldron for the majority of the warm, summer day. One of the earliest lessons each candidate in the Expedited Program was taught dealt with scouting and surveillance, placing oneself in the positions to either overhear important information or prepare to protect without seeming like they were anything other than two friends out for a drink. They were lessons where the tests couldn’t be given in a classroom, couldn’t be set up in standardised trials.
No, they were lessons in which the instructors used reality to test the trainees.
And besides, Diagon Alley was in need of a few protectors - guards, if one will - but the Ministry believed that they simply could not spare some of their best Aurors and members of the Law Enforcement Patrol for such a tedious task.
Thus, it became the thrilling opportunity of several Auror candidates to “protect the patrons of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade” - or at least, that was how Minister Bagnold had phrased the order.
Sirius sighed again, glancing at his watch as he did so to see that only three minutes had passed since he’d previously checked the time. This day was easily becoming one of the longest that the eighteen-year-old wizard had lived, as far as he was concerned. His entire day had been spent in this single pub - in this single chair, as a matter of fact - and he would have given just about anything to be outside, enjoying the summer’s warm weather, the cloudless blue sky and shining, golden sun … and preferably in the company of a very lovely witch.
It had been nearly an entire week since either James or Sirius had seen their significant other, Auror training keeping them busy almost 24/7. Lily’s acceptance into the Healing programs at St. Mungo’s Hospital kept her time nearly as tied up as the two hopeful Aurors, and Evelyn had even left the country, her parents taking her on a trip to the States as a reward for her being named the new Head Girl; she wouldn’t be back until the end of the month, leaving the two of them barely a few days to spend together before the seventh-year had to return to her final year at Hogwarts.
A shuffling coming from the corner tore Sirius from his thoughts, redirecting his attention to the table near the back, and the trio of occupants that both he and James were supposed to have been observing. The group had started to stand, their postures held stiff and forbidding, and the hissed whispers grew quicker, more urgent. One of the biggest in the group started to move next to another, his physical appearance seeming like he was readying himself for a fight. Another of the wizards looked apprehensive, while the third stood tall and proud, sparing a shake of the head to the biggest as he moved forwards.
With a quick peripheral glance at his best friend, Sirius saw that James also had his attention focussed on the suspicious group. A brief nod answered Sirius's silent question to James, and both wizards surreptitiously slipped a hand into their pockets, their fingers wrapping around the hidden wands that were ready to be withdrawn at a moment’s notice. Their gazes were now locked on the trio of wizards in the back, whose actions were also starting to draw the attention of other patrons of the pub as well.
Barely a second passed before the biggest wizard had pulled free his wand and fired a spell at one of his companions, the jet of violet light hitting him in the chest and sending him flying back into the table the three had been occupying. Others pulled their wands, James and Sirius included, but the actions were just moments too late.
With a raised wand, the large man shouted out another incantation, shooting a stream of light to the ceiling of the Leaky Cauldron. There was a bright flash of light, blinding the many pairs of eyes. Screams echoed from the numerous witches and wizards within the building.
But everything seemed to fall silent when the explosion happened.
~*~
5:10 p.m.
~*~
White walls, white floor, white ceiling … Lily Evans was surrounded by white as she walked down the long corridors of St. Mungo’s Hospital, her long, red hair pulled tightly back and out of her face. It was a hairstyle the young witch had worn after her first day at the hospital, a day in which she’d spent every other minute shoving locks of hair from her face while she tried to work.
She had just come from the fifth floor, where she’d taken the brief opportunity to relax away from her studies and duties at the hospital. A letter had arrived from Evelyn earlier that morning, the younger witch telling her friend all about her travels on the other side of the ocean, and Lily had wanted to take the time to send a lengthy reply, rather than just a scribbled note that she’d had time for earlier. So, she had decided to take a break and write that very letter in St. Mungo’s visitor tearoom.
The long scroll of parchment now sent off with one of the hospital’s available owls, Lily was making her way back to the set of offices off of the reception area, where she would resume her studies for the afternoon. Stifling a yawn and wishing more than anything that she could be at home asleep - she’d been at the hospital since six in the morning, after all - Lily had just about made it to the doorway when St. Mungo’s front doors flew open, banging against the walls.
A large crowd of witches and wizards came streaming into the reception room, all of whom appeared injured in some way - those who weren’t Healers, that is. Some had only minor cuts and bruises, while others lay covered in blood on levitating stretchers, looking barely alive as medical employees rushed them further into the hospital and out of sight. The lesser injured were helping the Healers and assistants with those who were more severe. Puddles of blood began to form on the floor as the people rushed passed, many limping as they tried to overcome their own wounds to help some of the others.
Lily just watched, her gaze seeming to be frozen on the scene before her. Fragmented explanations slowly waded through the fog in her mind.
“-at least five already dead-”
“-just exploded-”
“-entire thing collapsed on top of them-”
“-caused it?”
“-Ministry - reports being taken now-”
Most of the crowd had been taken care of, going to whatever floor was required for their treatment. Those who had been in the waiting room earlier had started to resume their seats, the excitement slowly fading away as things calmed back down. Lily had already turned back towards the door that stood behind her, intending to return to the offices, when her gaze was drawn back around as a second group of racing Healers came running into the hospital.
They had a single stretcher between them, their heads bent over the man lying atop it while they talked and waved their wands, trying to heal some of his injuries as they transported him further inside. He was, by far, the most wounded one to enter from the incident. Lily couldn’t get a close enough look at the man to see the extensiveness of his injuries, as the number of Healers surrounding him blocked her view. But if the amount of blood was anything to go by, Lily felt that she did not want to know the exact details.
A couple of assistants were already measuring his vitals, the information appearing instantly on a floating bit of parchment hanging in the air in front of them. The numbers started out slightly unstable … and they only continued to get worse.
“-are falling-”
“-becoming critical-”
But the words of the Healers had started to fade for Lily when, finally, a couple of them moved aside enough for Lily to glimpse the face of the man.
She could no longer clearly hear their words as they tried spell after spell to keep the wizard’s vitals up, the numbers slowly - but steadily - falling. Her mind did not register it when Healer Moore exclaimed, “We’re losing him!” She did not notice when the group rushed passed her, through another set of doors, down a long, white corridor and out of sight.
She couldn’t think, she couldn’t feel, and Lily could never remember how long she just stood in front of the door, her eyes just staring at the spot where the group of Healers had stood around the severely injured man. Her mind had stopped functioning the instant she had caught sight of the wizard’s face.
For a brief glimpse was all it took for Lily Evans to know the man’s identity. Even through all the blood and the dirt, the cuts and the bruises that covered his face and body, Lily knew who he was, for the aristocratic face and long, black hair could only belong to one person.
Sirius.
~*~
And that's the end of the second chapter.
~Megan
Rating: PG-13 / R
Length: Chaptered, WIP
Pairings: Sirius/OC, James/Lily, Remus/OC, Peter/OC, OC/OC, Other
Era: Alternate Universe (Marauder Era and Vold-War I)
Summary: There are night-time wanderings for one man and “normal” days in Diagon Alley for others. But things don’t always stay peaceful and calm - if they ever were as such in the first place.
Note: Please keep in mind that this an AU story dealing with the First War.
~*~
Chapter II: A "Boring" Day
~*~
Early August, 1978
~*~
Night had fallen several hours ago, the warm golden sun sinking below the horizon to start the country’s plunge into darkness. Shadows fell over the grounds, and trees swayed in the warm breeze that blew through their branches, giving movement to the wooden guardians. A crescent moon hung in the sky, its white light contrasting greatly with the inky blackness surrounding it, a blackness that was only broken occasionally by the small, twinkling lights of the few stars that were visible on such a cloudy evening.
Rain had drenched the towns on Britain’s eastern side, the great downpours soaking into the green grass, creating large puddles in the holes that dotted the streets. The ground gave a squelching noise with every step that the young man took as he walked, his previously brand new black boots now filthy and spotted with mud. Dirt clung to the hem of his long, dark robe, a piece of clothing that seemed to be a couple of sizes too large for the skinny individual. The robe’s hood hung low on the man’s face, keeping his identity a secret, and its ends wrapped tightly around the figure’s body.
There were not any streetlamps to help the man see where he was going, as he had passed the edges of town nearly half an hour ago. Only nature provided light for the young man, who had long since decided not to use his wand to cast a lumos. After all, he was supposed to remain hidden, supposed to arrive in the shadows and in secret.
It would not be prudent, therefore, to announce his arrival by a lit wand.
Muttered profanities flew from the man’s lips as he suddenly stumbled, his foot tripping over a raised tree root and sending him sprawling to the wet ground. By sheer luck - and the use of reflexes quicker than he had thought that he possessed - he managed to stop his face from landing in the nearby mud puddle; however, his knees and the bottom half of his body were a different story entirely. He reached up a hand to grasp a tree branch bending near his head, using the sturdy connected limb to help him regain his footing on the slippery, wet ground.
“Damn it,” he hissed, jerking his hand away from the branch, a few drops of blood falling to the mud and grass below from the new cut along his palm. There was a streak of dark red along the branch, a drop hanging on a sharp, intruding bit of bark that had pierced the man’s skin. Continuing his quiet cursing, the man searched through his pockets for his wand, withdrawing it quickly and hissing a brief spell, the cut healing instantly.
Pulling his cloak tighter around him, the young wizard continued on his way, his mind going over the only information that he had received about what he was supposed to do tonight.
The note had arrived early yesterday morning, the light brown owl tearing the wizard from his deep slumber by tapping incessantly at his closed - and locked - bedroom window. Grumpily, he had risen from the large bed and let the annoying creature into his home, removing the single, folded piece of parchment as the owl landed on his desk, its beak dipping into a small dish of water, before taking off without waiting to see if a reply was required.
But the young man had paid no attention to the actions of the bird, his gaze held solidly on the letter that he held in his - now shaking - hands. He took a deep breath, like someone who’s preparing to plunge into deep waters, before unfolding the parchment square and reading the few words sprawled upon it.
S,
It is time.
Meet tonight, at one-and-a-quarter before the new - in Harwich.
See to the underside. Put to use the power of Fire and Air to know.
Signed,
M
Only weeks had passed since the young man was told the secret to these phrases, and where some might have believed the sentences to be random nonsense, he knew better. Knowing precisely what needed to happen, he picked up his wand from his bedside table and, turning the parchment square over to reveal its blank, back side, muttered two spells. A tiny flame shot out of his wand’s tip first, landing on the parchment, and it was quickly followed by a thin jet of air, the fire soon disappearing like a blown-out candle in the air’s wake. No marks could be seen from the fire’s impact with the letter - nothing was scorched or burned black. But the back of the note was no longer bare, either.
In the wake of the fire and air, words had started to form in the blank space, sentence after sentence of numbered instructions about what the man should do tonight - where, exactly, in Harwich he was supposed to go, what he was supposed to wear, how he was supposed to arrive, and much more. Everything he needed to be aware of before the meeting tonight was written in the coded instructions on the parchment.
The sound of a twig snapping under his foot broke the man from his thoughts, bringing his mind immediately back to his current surroundings. He had not even noticed how much he had walked while lost in his memories, for he now stood on the edge of the forest that - just moments ago, it seemed - the young man had been in the very thick of.
Large trees stood tall at his back, their branches swaying in the wind, and in front of him stood a clear trail, its pathway just marked with faded dirt - but the footprints that stood out in the drenched mud showed just how much the path had been travelled recently.
He looked up, his dark eyes following the course of the trail as it curved around near the top of a hill and faded from his immediate sight. But the young man did not really need to see where that path ended up just yet in order for him to know what his destination was - and that it was just a short distance in front of him, located immediately at the trail’s end.
There would be a single house at the conclusion of the path, a house that was hidden by numerous wards and enchantments - both those of the Light and Dark variety. (Although, thought the young man, there are definitely more of the latter than there are of the former.) The house would be tall, and it would be old. Large, wooden doors would guard the entrance, their surfaces clean and polished and looking like they would be more befitting on a grand stone manor than on a simple, single-story shack at the edge of a large forest.
Outside appearances would deceive the casual observer, however, for this house had a far darker quality about it. In seeing the house from the outside - and knowing nothing of its purposes - one would think it was a cottage home to an elderly couple, perhaps, a couple who simply sought a small house in the peace and quiet of nature. It was a nice house, a plain house … a normal house.
But ‘normal’ was as far from this house as possible, for what went on inside the walls of the structure was unknown - and believed as nothing more than horror stories and make-believe - by the vast majority of the world. Tales of screaming and flashing lights that local townspeople spread about the house were not believed by most people; it was just their vivid imaginations, surely. Local legends and scary stories to waylay visitors was all that it was.
After all, those stories couldn’t be right, could they? Stories of monsters, of demons, and cloaked figures hiding in the shadows? Tales of people who had come too close to the trail’s end disappearing, their fates left unknown? Whispers that those who tried to enter the home in the bright light of daytime could never get within a few metres of the place before their walk was halted by a barrier surrounding the house’s land? Mutterings that screaming could be heard at night coming from that direction, or that oddly coloured lights sometimes flashed in the sky above the house, or that an oppressive feeling of death and evil seemed to emanate from the simple structure?
No, surely just wild and fantastical stories, they would claim.
But as the young man knew, their claims, of course, would be wrong.
Sighing, he hastily shoved his hands into his robe’s pockets, angry that his nerves were causing the limbs to shake slightly. He took a deep breath and slowly, calmly, exhaled the air from his lungs as he took his first step onto the clearly-defined path that would lead to this house that the locals feared.
Severus Snape continued to walk, preparing himself for what lay at his journey’s end as he did so.
~*~
06 August 1978
4:20 p.m.
~*~
Diagon Alley was quite busy for early August, the crowds more reminiscent of those that would converge on the shopping area in the last week of the month as families tried to gather all of the supplies their children would need for returning for a new year at Hogwarts. Old and young wizards and witches wandered the streets, darting in to and out of the many different shops lining the cobblestone street as they tried to complete the day’s errands before heading home. Small children held onto the hands of their mothers; fathers carried their little boys or girls on their shoulders, allowing the short individuals to see the stores.
A pair of witches conversed outside the apothecary, while a group of young men discussed the latest news about England’s International Quidditch team. Discarded copies of the day’s Daily Prophet littered some of the tables outside of Florean Fortescue’s, where an older, silver-haired wizard sat with a young boy who could have been his grandson, both of whom were enjoying chocolate sundaes. Laughter issued from Gambol and Japes, a sound that was soon followed by that of running feet as a couple of teenagers raced down the street, a woman who could have only been their mother yelling after them.
Children stood in front of the windows at Quality Quidditch Supplies, their eyes glued to the shop’s fancy display window and the products within. New brooms, new team robes, an all-inclusive Quidditch set … all things that topped nearly every magical child’s Christmas list. (It was too bad the holiday was still several months away.) The latest fashion styles were shown in Madam Malkin’s windows, the robes made of some of the highest quality fabrics that Wizarding money could buy, and the sounds of hooting owls, mewing cats, and other small creatures could be heard coming from Eeylops and the Magical Menagerie.
It seemed, to the casual observer, that everything was normal in Diagon Alley.
There was nothing about the scenes happening in the magical shopping centre that hinted about a war raging in the Wizarding World, a war where deaths climbed daily, causing the papers to have to make larger and larger sections for their obituaries. There was nothing that hinted that, just the night before, a total of two dozen people - wizard, witch, and Muggle alike - had been killed, some of whose bodies were so mutilated that identification would have been impossible without certain ancient - and nearly forgotten - spells. None of the actions of the shoppers, owners, or employees in Diagon Alley seemed to show any fear that the same darkness that appeared to slowly be suffocating their world could descend upon them.
After all, those kinds of things - those dark, horrifying, evil things - happened to other people, right?
Well, not everyone felt that way, of course. But the Aurors that were stationed at different points in the alley just seemed to make it easier for the people not to fear the darkness. The Aurors, of course, would protect them, should anything terrible happen.
That is, if certain Aurors (or more accurately, one should say Auror trainees) weren’t currently busy dwelling at the bar in the Leaky Cauldron.
“God, I’m so fucking bored,” sighed a dark-haired man as he leaned back in his chair, balancing it on its two back legs. He swiped a few strands of his black hair from his eyes, giving a shake of his head as he did so. He glanced over at the other man sitting next to him, whose own hazel gaze was glued to the pages of the day’s paper, a hand raising every once in a while to turn the page.
“Anything interesting in there?”
Silence followed the man’s question, his companion not making any move to indicate he had heard. “James?” Again, there was no answer. “Hey,” said the wizard, knocking his own hand against the shoulder of the other man.
“What, Sirius?”
Sirius shook his head again, muttering “Forget it”, before taking a sip of the beer in front of him. James returned his eyes back to the current article he’d been reading in the Quidditch section - “Reese Reuter, Legendary English Keeper, Signs to Irish Team” - while Sirius swept his stare around the pub.
The tables weren’t nearly as crowded as they’d been just hours ago, when it felt like every shopper of Diagon Alley had stopped in for a bite to eat, but neither were they as empty as they’d been when the two trainees had first arrived in the early hours of the morning. A group of older witches sat at a nearby table, their heads meeting in the centre as they talked, while another group sat straight-backed and proper on the establishment’s opposite side, their faces curled into visual disdain as they looked down upon the other ‘commoners’.
A trio of wizards had taken up residence at a table in the back that was mostly hidden in shadows, regardless of the bright sunlight that streamed through the few windows in the pub. The three men had their heads bowed, leaning forwards in their seats, and speaking in lowered, whispered voices. Slight shakes or nod of a head, or a brief swipe of a hand to emphasise a point, would be the only movements that the three made as they spoke.
It was because of groups like these that both James and Sirius, now over a month into their Auror training, had been stuck in the Leaky Cauldron for the majority of the warm, summer day. One of the earliest lessons each candidate in the Expedited Program was taught dealt with scouting and surveillance, placing oneself in the positions to either overhear important information or prepare to protect without seeming like they were anything other than two friends out for a drink. They were lessons where the tests couldn’t be given in a classroom, couldn’t be set up in standardised trials.
No, they were lessons in which the instructors used reality to test the trainees.
And besides, Diagon Alley was in need of a few protectors - guards, if one will - but the Ministry believed that they simply could not spare some of their best Aurors and members of the Law Enforcement Patrol for such a tedious task.
Thus, it became the thrilling opportunity of several Auror candidates to “protect the patrons of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade” - or at least, that was how Minister Bagnold had phrased the order.
Sirius sighed again, glancing at his watch as he did so to see that only three minutes had passed since he’d previously checked the time. This day was easily becoming one of the longest that the eighteen-year-old wizard had lived, as far as he was concerned. His entire day had been spent in this single pub - in this single chair, as a matter of fact - and he would have given just about anything to be outside, enjoying the summer’s warm weather, the cloudless blue sky and shining, golden sun … and preferably in the company of a very lovely witch.
It had been nearly an entire week since either James or Sirius had seen their significant other, Auror training keeping them busy almost 24/7. Lily’s acceptance into the Healing programs at St. Mungo’s Hospital kept her time nearly as tied up as the two hopeful Aurors, and Evelyn had even left the country, her parents taking her on a trip to the States as a reward for her being named the new Head Girl; she wouldn’t be back until the end of the month, leaving the two of them barely a few days to spend together before the seventh-year had to return to her final year at Hogwarts.
A shuffling coming from the corner tore Sirius from his thoughts, redirecting his attention to the table near the back, and the trio of occupants that both he and James were supposed to have been observing. The group had started to stand, their postures held stiff and forbidding, and the hissed whispers grew quicker, more urgent. One of the biggest in the group started to move next to another, his physical appearance seeming like he was readying himself for a fight. Another of the wizards looked apprehensive, while the third stood tall and proud, sparing a shake of the head to the biggest as he moved forwards.
With a quick peripheral glance at his best friend, Sirius saw that James also had his attention focussed on the suspicious group. A brief nod answered Sirius's silent question to James, and both wizards surreptitiously slipped a hand into their pockets, their fingers wrapping around the hidden wands that were ready to be withdrawn at a moment’s notice. Their gazes were now locked on the trio of wizards in the back, whose actions were also starting to draw the attention of other patrons of the pub as well.
Barely a second passed before the biggest wizard had pulled free his wand and fired a spell at one of his companions, the jet of violet light hitting him in the chest and sending him flying back into the table the three had been occupying. Others pulled their wands, James and Sirius included, but the actions were just moments too late.
With a raised wand, the large man shouted out another incantation, shooting a stream of light to the ceiling of the Leaky Cauldron. There was a bright flash of light, blinding the many pairs of eyes. Screams echoed from the numerous witches and wizards within the building.
But everything seemed to fall silent when the explosion happened.
~*~
5:10 p.m.
~*~
White walls, white floor, white ceiling … Lily Evans was surrounded by white as she walked down the long corridors of St. Mungo’s Hospital, her long, red hair pulled tightly back and out of her face. It was a hairstyle the young witch had worn after her first day at the hospital, a day in which she’d spent every other minute shoving locks of hair from her face while she tried to work.
She had just come from the fifth floor, where she’d taken the brief opportunity to relax away from her studies and duties at the hospital. A letter had arrived from Evelyn earlier that morning, the younger witch telling her friend all about her travels on the other side of the ocean, and Lily had wanted to take the time to send a lengthy reply, rather than just a scribbled note that she’d had time for earlier. So, she had decided to take a break and write that very letter in St. Mungo’s visitor tearoom.
The long scroll of parchment now sent off with one of the hospital’s available owls, Lily was making her way back to the set of offices off of the reception area, where she would resume her studies for the afternoon. Stifling a yawn and wishing more than anything that she could be at home asleep - she’d been at the hospital since six in the morning, after all - Lily had just about made it to the doorway when St. Mungo’s front doors flew open, banging against the walls.
A large crowd of witches and wizards came streaming into the reception room, all of whom appeared injured in some way - those who weren’t Healers, that is. Some had only minor cuts and bruises, while others lay covered in blood on levitating stretchers, looking barely alive as medical employees rushed them further into the hospital and out of sight. The lesser injured were helping the Healers and assistants with those who were more severe. Puddles of blood began to form on the floor as the people rushed passed, many limping as they tried to overcome their own wounds to help some of the others.
Lily just watched, her gaze seeming to be frozen on the scene before her. Fragmented explanations slowly waded through the fog in her mind.
“-at least five already dead-”
“-just exploded-”
“-entire thing collapsed on top of them-”
“-caused it?”
“-Ministry - reports being taken now-”
Most of the crowd had been taken care of, going to whatever floor was required for their treatment. Those who had been in the waiting room earlier had started to resume their seats, the excitement slowly fading away as things calmed back down. Lily had already turned back towards the door that stood behind her, intending to return to the offices, when her gaze was drawn back around as a second group of racing Healers came running into the hospital.
They had a single stretcher between them, their heads bent over the man lying atop it while they talked and waved their wands, trying to heal some of his injuries as they transported him further inside. He was, by far, the most wounded one to enter from the incident. Lily couldn’t get a close enough look at the man to see the extensiveness of his injuries, as the number of Healers surrounding him blocked her view. But if the amount of blood was anything to go by, Lily felt that she did not want to know the exact details.
A couple of assistants were already measuring his vitals, the information appearing instantly on a floating bit of parchment hanging in the air in front of them. The numbers started out slightly unstable … and they only continued to get worse.
“-are falling-”
“-becoming critical-”
But the words of the Healers had started to fade for Lily when, finally, a couple of them moved aside enough for Lily to glimpse the face of the man.
She could no longer clearly hear their words as they tried spell after spell to keep the wizard’s vitals up, the numbers slowly - but steadily - falling. Her mind did not register it when Healer Moore exclaimed, “We’re losing him!” She did not notice when the group rushed passed her, through another set of doors, down a long, white corridor and out of sight.
She couldn’t think, she couldn’t feel, and Lily could never remember how long she just stood in front of the door, her eyes just staring at the spot where the group of Healers had stood around the severely injured man. Her mind had stopped functioning the instant she had caught sight of the wizard’s face.
For a brief glimpse was all it took for Lily Evans to know the man’s identity. Even through all the blood and the dirt, the cuts and the bruises that covered his face and body, Lily knew who he was, for the aristocratic face and long, black hair could only belong to one person.
Sirius.
~*~
And that's the end of the second chapter.
~Megan