Chapter 38: Seek And Find
Grimmauld Place, September 24th 1997
"You've gone mental!" Ronald exclaims before Potter even finishes his proposal.
Proposal about going to Godric's Hollow to meet Bathilda Bagshot in hope of finding out about historical artefacts, or something that could help us to find the Horcruxes.
I can feel Potter tensing next to me on the library sofa. He huffs with irritation. "You didn't let me finish what I wanted to say!"
Ronald shakes his head. "We've avoided that place for a reason, Harry…You-know-who is bound to keep the place under his watch," Ronald says and then glances at Hermione and me with a questioning look. "Didn't we all agree on that?"
The three of them have been taking fruitless trips to visit the smaller Wizarding villages during the past few weeks. But this particular village – it was agreed by all of us, that none of us will go there, as it is quite possible that the Dark Lord is expecting Potter to visit there.
Hermione is curled up in one of the armchairs, worrying her lip in thought. "Well, yes, we did," She says slowly. "It's just that…we are in a dead-end," she says with a weary sigh. "We've read everything, we've gone through every bit of information and still we are not any closer to finding out where he could be keeping the Horcruxes, or, what is the final object," Hermione continues and glances each of us in turn. "This may be our only lead to them…"
"But Bagshot – she's not even in her right mind, is she?" Ronald says pointedly, and leans forward in his seat, while watching Potter with a meaningful look. "You remember what Muriel said, Harry?"
Potter clenches his jaw. "I remember. But I still agree with Hermione. It's either that or…" he mutters, his eyes flickering to meet mine. "…Or we try to read you-know-who's mind to see if we could get the information from his memories."
I frown at Potter. The thought is tempting. But we both know that even though we have continued the training, and Potter has made progress, there is still a lot to be done. "You need more practice," I say quietly, and Potter nods in agreement.
Hermione gives us a wary look. "I still think that that – trying to read his mind – is the very last option. There are immense risks in it, and we wouldn't necessarily get what we hope for."
"So. Godric's Hollow then?" Potter asks, defiance in his eyes. When neither Ronald or Hermione answer, Potter turns to look at me. "Regulus?"
I watch Potter, my thoughts clouded by last night.
"Sirius!" I gasp after seeing my brother's appearance.
He's thin…too thin. His clothes are ripped, and his face – his beautiful face is now deathly pale, his eyes dark hollows. There're chunks of his hair missing, replaced by red spots in his scalp. His fingernails are blackened and cracked, and there's something dark…something red staining the tips of his fingers.
Seeing my brother finally fills me with both joy and dread. Then, when my brother speaks, all I can feel is nausea and coldness.
"Regulus." Sirius rasps, with a voice I hardly recognise. He's shaking in his place, barely standing.
I swallow down the terror, the nausea, and the anguish. "…Sirius…" I almost sob.
Sirius starts shuddering more and more, and he seems to be having a hard time focusing on my existence. "I-I t-tried, b…b…brother," He croaks.
His eyes roll to the back of his head, and then he's falling, falling, and I am unable to catch him.
"NO!" I scream. "DON'T! PLEASE SIRIUS!" I cry, beg, weep.
But he's gone. And I'm alone.
"…No…" I gasp, staring at the empty archway in horror. "No, no, no…" I croak, my throat closing, the air leaving my lungs.
I can't breathe anymore.
He's gone.
"No…"
…Regulus!
There's a whisper somewhere, someone calling me, but I'm still here, alone.
…Regulus!
"REG!"
I wake up with a jolt. And Potter's there, staring at me with worry and fear in his expression, his fingers pressing against my shoulders.
"W-What?" I mumble, blinking hard, trying to focus on the present.
I'm in my room. In my bed. I'm trembling, and there is panic and nausea swirling in the bottom of my stomach.
"You were dreaming," Potter whispers, his concerned eyes moving over my face.
His thumb brushes against my cheek, wiping away the wetness from my skin.
I make a sudden move to sit up on the bed.
"Regulus?" Potter asks, apprehension in his voice.
"Sirius," I mumble, my eyes moving hopelessly over the room, trying to remember the details, trying to remember how he sounded. But it fades away, away from my grasp. "I can't…" I breathe, trying to swallow down the queasiness. "I can't remember…"
Potter places a hand against my shoulder "It's…it's okay –"
"No!" I grunt and leap onto my feet, knowing that I need to do something. But what? What can I do?
"Nothing of it is okay, Potter," I say bluntly, not turning to look at him.
Instead, I move towards the armchair to pull on my robes. I need to see it. The tapestry. If there's a change. If my brother is really – but I can't even think about it. The mere thought makes my chest ache with pain.
"Excuse me…" I mutter and quickly leave the room.
Not ten minutes later, Potter enters the drawing room, closing the door silently behind him.
"What did you see?" He asks as he walks closer to me.
I am standing in front of the tapestry, my back against the door – against him – my eyes glued at the spot under my brother's birth date. A spot that is empty – and has been empty during most of the nights I've spent here.
There's a short silence. Then a soft sigh right behind me. "I wish you'd tell me."
Warmness against my spine. A touch. Potter's head is resting against my back.
I frown at the tapestry. "I always remember," I mutter, hoping, pleading, that what I saw, was in fact a dream, unlike the others. "I always remember his words. How he looked. I remember him. But not now."
There's a short silence. "What if…what if this time, it was your imagination? A dream?" Potter asks, his voice unsure.
How I'd want that to be true.
But there's another thought, gnawing at my insides.
What if…what if all of it – every dream and vision I've seen of my brother – has been that? My imagination?
"Reg?" Potter asks again, pulling me back to present.
Potter and his friends are staring at me in expectation.
There is only one way to find out, is there? Only one way to be certain that what I've been seeing for the past year – longer even – is not my imagination, but some…odd connection between my brother and I. That my brother is there, trapped between two worlds.
And the one way is ending him. The Dark Lord needs to be finished before any one of us could walk into the Ministry and walk out alive.
With that in my mind, I nod at Potter. "We'll go to Godric's Hollow."
Potter, Hermione and Ronald all give me looks of surprise and disbelief.
"We?" Potter asks faintly, his eyes moving between mine.
I arch a brow at him. "I'm with you. After what happened the last time, I thought I made myself clear," I say and give Potter a blank look.
Potter looks away, mildly ashamed, and frowns at the table before nodding slowly. "Right then." He mutters, and then glances at his friends. "What about you?"
Both of them agree to go without any hesitance.
And that is how we start planning a visit to the famous Wizarding village, a place that surely is a trap, but also, at the moment, one of our only options.
Grimmauld Place, September 25th 1997
"I think we have enough Polyjuice for all of us," Hermione mutters as she scribbles something to her notes.
We're at breakfast, continuing to make the plan we started last night. A trip to Godric's Hollow.
And even thinking about going there makes me equally nervous and excited. It's the place I lived with my parents. The place where we had happy moments together, the place where I came from. I can't wait to see it, to connect somewhere, finally.
But at the same time, I'm anxious to go there. It is where Voldemort killed my parents. Where my parents are buried.
"…We already discussed that we'd take safety precautions, which are Polyjuice potion, Harry's Cloak and the Portkey," Hermione lists as she views over her notes, before glancing at us.
"And I think we ought to practice our defensive spells a bit before we go," she says simply, her focus again at the parchment, her quill moving against it.
Ron guffaws next to me. "What now?" He asks incredulously, his voice slightly muffled by the strip of bacon hanging halfway from his mouth.
Hermione arches a brow at him. "Charming, Ronald," and then she gives us all – even Regulus – a stern look. "None of us has practiced duelling in a long time. I think we need all the safeguards we can get. And that includes being prepared to defend ourselves."
I lift my brows at Regulus, who sits next to Hermione, and sips his tea in silence. His mouth twitches slightly. "Hermione's right. We should at least review the basic defensive spells," he says, almost impassively.
Hermione gives him a pleased nod while Ron and I share a flat look.
"Excellent," She says brightly. "We'll start after breakfast. Now, when we do go to Godric's Hollow, I think we should probably move in pairs, to not draw attention to ourselves, and I reckon that at least one of us – maybe two – could take the cloak to begin with…" She says, and her eyes flicker to meet mine.
"I'm not taking the Cloak, Hermione," I say forcefully, giving her a determined look. "I'm not going to go there and – and – hide under my Cloak. It's my home. Or it was."
Hermione chews the inside of her cheek in thought while she eyes me carefully. I stare back in defiance, and finally, when no one says anything, she lets out a frustrated huff. "Fine. You're off the Cloak then," she says bitterly. "I hope you won't make us regret that decision…" she adds quietly and continues making her notes.
I swallow the urge to say something back.
Two hours later, after a preliminary plan – Hermione's words, not mine – has been put together, we're back in the library, and for the first time, I'm standing in the middle of the library floor, facing Regulus, intending to duel him, while Hermione and Ron sit close to the fireplace, both of them eyeing us with mixed looks of curiosity and excitement.
"Ready?" Regulus asks softly, a calculating look in his eyes.
I arch a brow at him. "Are you ready?"
The corner of his mouth pulls up a bit. "Clever, Potter."
"Oh, it's Potter now, is it?" I taunt him, and Regulus shakes his head, replying me with a sudden stinging hex, hitting me straight to my left thigh.
"Shit!" I shout in surprise, and quickly parry him with a couple of hexes of my own while I definitely hear Ron snorting a laugh at the seating area.
Regulus deflects my spells with ease and flicks his wand, sending a nonverbal Stunning spell towards me, which I manage to block with a hurriedly – and loudly – shouted Shield charm.
Regulus casts several Stunners, one after the other, and manages to break my Shield charm relatively quickly.
"Stupefy!" I grit out as I duck downwards to avoid another red stream of light from Regulus's wand. "Expelliar – "
"Don't even think about that, Potter," Regulus says sternly, his wand moving at the same time, and two Binding spells are sent towards me; thick ropes zooming from Regulus's wand, which I'm barely able to avoid by jumping to the side.
Regulus continues his stream of offensive spells, and I'm straining to keep up with him, to block his spells with a Shield charm or simply lunging away from them.
"Why?" I grit through my teeth, meeting him with a nonverbal Impediment jinx – which Regulus has to actually dodge since he doesn't have time to block it with a Shield charm.
Regulus huffs. "You are joking, right?" He says before sending a Trip jinx at me, which hits me on my toe as I try to swerve it.
"Ouch!" I grunt as I fall towards the floor, face first. What Regulus doesn't anticipate, is a hex. "Locomotor Wibbly!" I shout as I land on the floor with a roll to the side, using my Seeker's reflexes.
Regulus swears under his breath as he collapses on his hands and knees on the floor.
"Expelliarmus!" I yell and Regulus's wand flies in a beautiful arch through the air, straight into my outstretched palm. I give him a smirk and stand up slowly. "Not joking. Still seems to be a handy sp – "
What the hell? My…my tongue's glued to the roof of my mouth.
Regulus looks up from the floor, an amused glint in his eyes. The wanker used a Langlock hex on me. Without his wand.
He closes his eyes for a moment, and then both our wands fly back into his hand.
Bloody hell.
I'm helpless without a wand. There's nothing I can do, since I can't do wandless magic, like him. All I could do, if situation was real, is to run.
Or charge at him, try to take my wand back by force.
Which I do, precisely two seconds after, right when Regulus rids himself from the Jelly-Legs-jinx and stands up. I let out a muffled yell to distract him, and then throw myself at him, taking him by surprise, making us both tumble towards the floor as I wrestle the wands away from his grasp.
Regulus howls in pain when I land on top of him, and as he takes the brunt of the collision against the hard wood.
"What the hell, Harry?" Regulus grunts as he tries to grab the wands back, unsuccessfully, as I basically sit on top of his stomach. I manage to grab his both wrists and press them against the floor.
"Get off me!" Regulus huffs with irritation, his cheeks tinging with red.
I vaguely register that Hermione and Ron are howling with laughter.
Knowing that I'm rubbish at nonverbal spells, there really seems no point to continue the duel. So, instead, I lift my brows at Regulus, indicating for us to stop and for him to remove the hex from me.
Regulus narrows his eyes at me and murmurs a wandless spell, freeing my tongue from the hex. "You really should practice your wandless casting, Potter," He grunts and moves to sit up, forcing me to climb off of him.
He smooths his rumpled clothes and trails both hands through his hair to flatten it.
"That was a good start," Hermione says appreciatively as I slump in an armchair closest to the couch where she and Ron are situated, feeling drained. "And I happen to agree with Regulus, Harry. Both Ron and you use very little nonverbal spells," She says and gives us a stern look.
Regulus sits down in an armchair next to mine, looking as pristine as ever. As if he hadn't been just duelling, blocking and dodging spells. The prat.
Ron looks as disgruntled as I feel. "Well, go on, you two show us then how it's done, won't you?" He says dryly.
I grunt in agreement.
Hermione and Regulus share a look. Hermione shrugs. "I'm up for a practice if you are?"
Regulus stays expressionless. "By all means," he says and inclines his head before standing up again.
As the two of them take their places in the middle of the library floor, I move next to Ron to get a better view of the duel.
Which is an amazing thing to watch.
They're both silent, their wands and their bodies moving quickly but gracefully; brown long curls sweeping through the air every time she turns, while black robes swish quietly as his wand slashes in front of him.
Regulus is faster, and perhaps stronger than her, but Hermione…wow. She's using so many different spells, that I'm quickly losing track of them. There're wand movements I haven't seen before, and even Regulus has to rely to dodge her spells at times, since some of them shatter his Shield charms instantly.
"Show offs," Ron mutters wryly next to me and takes a more relaxed position, his eyes still tracking the duel.
I let out a hum of acknowledgement.
"She's brilliant, though…" Ron says softly, his focus completely at her, a slightly dazzled look in his eyes.
A smile curves my lips. "Yeah?" I ask, and watch Ron closely. I know there's something between them, and there has been for quite some time. They have been sleeping in the same room for a couple of months now. Perhaps even in the same bed? "Have you told her?"
Ron arches a brow at me. "Told her what?"
"That you fancy her."
Ron's ears tinge with red, and a sheepish smile spreads over his face. "Er…I mean…yeah. Sort of. We're – um – she knows," he mumbles and looks quickly away, his eyes back to the duel.
The amusement I feel quickly dissipates and I frown at my friend. Are they together? Is there something else they're not telling me? Are they talking about our situation, about the mission, about the war, without me?
And as bitterness swirls inside me with those thoughts, I realise I've been keeping things from them as well.
Sirius.
But…it's not like I could tell them. I know they wouldn't understand.
"…Harry?" Ron asks, his eyes moving searchingly over my face.
"Huh?" I blink.
"I asked – well – about, you know. You and him." Ron manages to say without flushing, before he glances at Regulus.
Regulus and me.
What about us? Well, first of all, I'd like to know that myself. I'd like to know what is he thinking most of the time. Or what is he feeling? He's been distancing himself for so long, that I'm having a hard time remembering what it was like before, or what if felt like before. Before the wedding, before the memory of Sirius's death. Before everything started to go downhill.
I shrug at my friend, feeling powerless all of a sudden. "It's complicated," I merely tell him.
Ron nods slowly, watching me thoughtfully. "Are you…are you sure taking him with us is a good plan?" Ron asks quietly, his eyes flickering back to Hermione and Regulus, who are both still focused on their duel, moving and casting as efficiently as they were in the beginning.
I watch Regulus, and yeah, I know there're risks, of us stepping into a Death Eater trap, but Regulus – he's a very skilled wizard, an excellent duellist, and he can even do magic without a wand. Not to mention, he probably can fight dark magic with dark magic.
I clear the tightness away from my throat. "Why wouldn't we take him? I mean, I reckon if were to get caught, he'd probably be the only one of us to escape…" I mutter, and Ron grunts in agreement when Regulus finally manages to hit Hermione with a full Body-Bind-curse – after being knocked on his arse by her. And before either Ron or I have time to gasp and stumble to our feet to help her, Regulus aims another spell at Hermione's falling body, easing her slowly and softly to the floor.
Godric's Hollow, October 1st 1997
A week after we decided about the trip, it's finally happening. We're actually here, walking along the outskirts of the village that sometimes haunts me in my dreams, even if I haven't yet seen it, even if I have no memory of the place.
Hermione and I are disguised as an elderly couple, while Ron and Reg are Polyjuiced as two middle-aged men; one of them tall and lean, sporting a short brown hair and thick moustache, while the other is slightly shorter and bulkier, and completely bald.
Regulus – the shorter one – is hidden under the Cloak, while Ron – the taller one – is paired with him.
"Remember," Hermione whispers as she glances behind her towards Ron, and Regulus, "Constant vigilance."
Ron snorts quietly as he starts walking away from us, in purpose of finding another entrance to the village with Regulus.
Hermione and I make our way slowly through the old stone-made arch gate, along the narrow main street of the village, with half-timbered medieval cottages lining up the road on both sides. It's getting dark, and the streets are mostly empty, with only a few people walking past us – Muggles by the looks of them. Hermione moves tensely next to me, her fingers undoubtedly gripping her wand inside the pocket of her long coat, while her other arm is linked through mine.
We walk in silence until we reach the centre of the village; a round clearing, lit with street lights, surrounded by shops, a pub filled with voices and laughter, and a church. And in the middle of it all, some sort of…memorial obelisk. But as we walk closer, it starts to change in front of us.
"…What is that?" I whisper in dread, my arm jolting against Hermione's.
Hermione squeezes my arm. "Relax. It's not a threat. Just…just look," she says back quietly.
And – there's a statue. Of people. A man, a woman, and…a baby. A family.
My family.
"Is that – "
"Yes, it is," Hermione murmurs softly, as we stop in front of it.
While Hermione glances surreptitiously around us, I stare at the statue. Stare at the man with glasses and messy hair, a man who looks very much like me. And the beautiful woman with a soft smile, holding her child – holding me – in her arms.
My parents.
My gaze flickers towards the church. There must be a graveyard nearby. Where they are buried. "Hermione let's – "
But my words die in my throat as Hermione's grip on my arm tightens close to a painful one. "What is it?" I hiss as I turn to look at her, but Hermione doesn't look back.
"Someone's there, watching us."
Her words send chills running down my spine and I slowly turn to watch where her eyes are glued at; in the middle of the street, in the direction we came from. There's a small figure. An old…woman.
Is it…could it be Bagshot? If she is, she must've known we'd come to see her! And – what if Dumbledore told her that I'd be here? What if he left her instructions?
"Is she…Bathilda?" Hermione says, almost inaudibly. "Does she know that it's us?"
"She must know," I mutter to her, when the woman inclines her head, as if asking us to follow her.
"Should we follow her…?" continue, as the woman beckons us towards her again.
Hermione shivers next to me. "I don't know…perhaps we should wait for the others?" She whispers.
I glance around us. We're alone. I look back at the woman. "Are you Bathilda?" I ask, quietly, but loud enough for her to hear me. Hermione flinches next to me.
The old woman nods slowly, waves her hand for us, urging us to follow her, before turning around and walking away from us.
"Hermione, we need to go," I say quietly, taking a step towards the woman, pulling Hermione with me.
Hermione still looks hesitant, but follows me without a word.
We walk behind the woman along the silent streets, turning left from the main street, to one of the alleyways, where it is darker. After taking another left, and then right, she finally stops in front of a small, poorly maintained cottage. A flicker of uneasiness passes me, as I have no idea how far we have walked from the clearing. No idea where Regulus and Ron are.
But the feeling quickly dissipates. I'm quite certain Bagshot can be trusted – after all, she's a friend of Dumbledore's!
It's eerily silent, and the woman – Bagshot – opens the door, with difficulty, before moving to the side and gesturing for us to walk inside.
The smell inside the house is rather…horrible; dust and mould and something…decaying. I glance around the hallway. Newspapers are stacked in every corner, the paint is peeling from the walls, and the floor is sticky with dirt.
Perhaps this wasn't the best idea, after all…
Bathilda walks closer to me, and the smell intensifies. I have to breathe through my mouth to keep myself from coughing. She looks very old this close; her skin is blotchy and wrinkled, her eyes sunken hollows and the lenses of her eyes clouded with grey and white. Her clothes are stained and moth-eaten. Her eyes move across my face before she pushes past us, inclining her head towards what I assume is the sitting room.
Hermione is staring at me with a horrified look, swallowing hard. "We should go back. Wait for the others," she whispers quickly.
"Come!" Bathilda calls from the other room.
Hermione gasps next to me, her fingers pressing against my wrist.
I shake my head at her. We've come this far. I admit that it doesn't look like she's in any state to be useful to us, but I have to see it through. Perhaps there is something…
"It's fine, come on. We'll be quick," I tell her, and pull her with me towards the other room.
Bathilda bustles around the sitting room, her shaking hands trying to light the candles. I quickly move closer to help her, wondering how long has she been here alone, and has she forgotten how to use magic. Magic she could use to clean up the filth and dirt.
As I light the last of the candles on a cabinet, my eyes flicker to a handful of framed photographs placed on top of it. I can barely make out the movements through the dust. I pick up one of them and brush away the thick dust from the surface with my hand.
It's the golden-haired boy. The thief. Grindelwald.
And then I remember. I remember reading from the book, The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore, that Grindelwald had once stayed here, with Bathilda. That he was – is? – a relative of Bagshot's.
"Mrs. – Miss – Bagshot?" I ask, turning around to see Bathilda watching me closely. "I know who this is," I tell her. "He – he took something, from a man called Gregorovitch. Do you know what it was?" I ask urgently.
Bathilda narrows her eyes at me, but doesn't say anything.
"Do you know what it was? The object?"
"Harry, I don't think – " Hermione starts.
I shake my head at her and turn to look at Bathilda. "Why did you take us here? Did Dumbledore tell you I'd be here? Did he leave instructions to you?" I ask, taking a couple of steps towards Bathilda.
Bathilda watches me silently for a moment, but then she moves her head, nodding at the door in the corner.
Does she have something for us? Is it…is it a Horcrux?
Bathilda walks slowly to the door and opens it, revealing a set of stairs. She jerks her head again, gesturing for me to follow her.
"Come on, Hermione," I murmur, and walk towards Bathilda.
But when Hermione takes a step, Bathilda starts shaking her head furiously.
"What is it?" Hermione asks with a deep frown.
I look between the old woman and my friend. "I dunno…maybe she wants only for me to follow her?" I say unsurely.
"Harry, I don't think you should – "
"It's all right, Hermione. Just wait here. I'll be down in a bit," I tell her, and leave my friend downstairs, leave her worrying her lip and watching me in concern.
Bathilda walks silently upstairs, tottering on the uneven steps, and I follow her, hoping that she doesn't fall backwards. We finally enter the upper floor, and Bathilda leads me to a dark bedroom, stepping on the side to close the door behind us as I walk further into the room.
"Lumos." I whisper, and turn around, and have to stifle a gasp.
She's standing right in front of me.
"You are Potter?" She asks quietly.
I give her a clear nod. "Yes."
She stays silent and still, only her eyes moving along my face. My heart is beating rapidly, my skin prickling with anticipation.
"Have you got something for me?" I ask from her, and feel excitement coursing through me as Bathilda nods and moves her focus towards a chest of drawers, partly behind me.
"Yes. Over there." She whispers.
I give her a small frown. Is she waiting for me to go and have a look?
"Okay. I'll – I'll get it." I mutter, and turn towards the chest, and then, I feel something. Uneasiness. Agitation.
"Ah!" I gasp, slamming a hand against my forehead. My scar starts to pulse with pain, and my vision becomes blurred.
Hold him! A cold voice speaks inside my head.
What is happening? I quickly turn back to Bathilda, and nearly choke in horror.
Her body – it collapses to the ground, and where she was just standing, is now the snake, emerging from…from inside her.
Air leaves my lungs, my insides filling with fear and nausea, and the snake stares me for a fracture of a second, before it attacks.
I only have enough time to lunge to the side.
"HERMIONE!" I yell, and the snake strikes again, its long teeth on display.
"HARRY!" Hermione screams from the staircase.
I lift my wand but the snake is faster; its sharp teeth find the shoulder of my wand arm, pressing into my flesh with a deadly grip, making me cry in agony.
My shoulder and arm become instantly numb, and my wand flies away from my grasp, clattering to the floor.
My vision swarms, and the snake's grip is unrelenting. Hermione yells, her voice coming from somewhere closer, and then, a splitting pain tears at my shoulder as the snake is blasted away from me.
"Harry!" Hermione cries in panic, and I can see her, barely, running closer to me, taking most of my weight as I nearly collapse against her.
"Come on," She sobs, pulling me with her, towards the…the stairs?
"NO!" Hermione yells suddenly, pushing me towards the floor as the snake dives towards us again. "Confrigo!"
I barely have time to grunt as pain flashes through me, before the room – and everything in it – explodes around us; splinters of wood and glass fly over the room, raining upon us, cutting our skin open.
"Come on, Harry!" Hermione shrieks and drags me towards the stairs.
Warm liquid runs down my torso, making my clothes soak with something. With blood.
My scar is on fire. "He's coming, Hermione!" I gasp, stumbling down the stairs. "He's coming!"
As soon as we emerge back to the sitting room, the front door bursts open. I start to crawl onward, trying to fight against the nausea and the pain, and the numbness on the right side of my body. The burn in my forehead becomes unbearable; I'm unable to see clearly, unable to move. The pain shoots through my body, suffocating me. Disorienting images fill my mind, and press a hand against my eyes. But I only see him.
At the main street of the village, gliding towards us.
"Ron!" Hermione screams with relief. "Disapparate, now!"
I force my eyes open, and can make out their figures; Ron and Regulus…they're…they're fighting, sending spells after spells towards the front door.
"We can't! Anti-Disapparation wards!" Ron shouts, panic in his voice, right before he blasts the ceiling down between…him…and us.
"They're here!"
No...no.
Is this it? The end?
"Harry!" I hear Regulus yelling, but the dizziness starts to take over.
He's coming.