Flight

AN: A special thanks to Ariadne, who always knows how to polish the shiny.

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Molly stood in the cluttered kitchen, watching over a slowly stirring pot when the telltale thumping from overhead announced that someone was coming down – fast.

Ron instinctively looked up at the ceiling, his eyes tracking the footfalls, a piece of toast poised before his open mouth. Pots hanging from an overhead rack swung and clanged into each other in a chaotic chime.

Hermione appeared at the bottom landing, clutching the banister as she turned to rush into the kitchen. "They're going to attack us here!" she yelled. She gripped the doorframe and held out a parchment.

Molly caught Hermione by the shoulders. "Hermione, wait. Settle down."

Ron stood up slowly, his eyes widening.

Hermione pulled free of Molly's grip and spun when Harry entered the room. "Harry!"

"Is this more rubbish from your secret informant?" Harry said suspiciously as he walked past her. "The same as the others? Sending us straight into more traps and dead-ends?"

Hermione stilled.

Ron slowly sank back into his chair, his hand idly holding his toast as he looked helplessly between Harry and Hermione. The tension was deep, hurtful: the silence of a weight that held old wounds open just enough to bleed.

Molly shook her head but remained silent.

"Have you forgotten that the same 'rubbish' is what saved you that night?" Hermione said in a low tone. She pulled away from Molly and leaned over the table. Her shoulders were held straight, her hands clenched into tight fists.

Harry stalked around the table, his voice growing louder with every step.

"Did you think that it might have been a trap all along? If they know where we are, where are they?" he shouted, holding his arms out. "What if the only reason you got that information was so you'd call the alarm, and they'd find us?"

"Harry!" Molly scolded.

Remus appeared in the doorway along with Arthur and Ginny.

Hermione was seething. Her tone was almost calm, the surface smooth, but underneath the current, deadly. "Are you blaming me for Kingsley's death?"

Harry crossed his arms, narrowed his eyes, and looked away.

"Are you?" Hermione asked in a cold tone.

Harry moved to turn away from her, but she swiftly cut him off, forcing him to look at her.

"You do," Hermione said slowly. "You blame me."

"No..."

"Say it!" she shouted, slamming her hand on the table.

Remus stepped between them. "It was no one's fault," he said, staring at Harry until he turned away.

Ginny placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder, ignoring Harry's glare.

"That will be enough," Minerva announced as she swept into the room and made her way determinately to the back door. She opened the top half of the split door, her long fingers clutching her wand firmly at her side.

Before anyone could say a word, she held up a hand, lifted her chin, and announced, "We shall move to Hogwarts immediately. It will be – safer."

No one said a word.

Every hand on the Weasleys' clock swept urgently to "Mortal Peril," the gears grinding loudly in the silence.

Over Minerva's shoulder, a ragged mass swirled just above the tree line, obscuring all but one thin sunbeam. Following the angle of the light, the sight was enough to stop even the strongest heart.

Dark, tendril-like shadows were silently spilling out of the underbrush and spreading – killing everything in their path.

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He could hear them. Their low banter, slow easy sounds of a late summer evening carrying on the wind.

It had an edge.

Not many could feel it or discern the turn in its warmth toward the damp earthen fall. Standing in the deep underbrush, he watched. Waited. The opportunity was there – just out of reach. The wards were strong. Strong enough for concealment and alarm, but weak in other aspects.

Memory, however, could not be erased.

He knew where they were, where she was. While the others could not see, he could.

He could climb the stairs and walk directly into the sitting room should he choose. Perhaps he would even get as far as taking a seat before the first startled hex would fly.

Their naiveté was both shocking and amusing at once.

As a replica of a Muggle airplane spun in the breeze, swinging out toward the window, straining against the thin wire holding it to the ceiling, a slow sneer appeared on his face.

It would almost be too easy.

The bright sky turned grey, blotted out by a furious torrent of torn robes falling through the trees. They spun like silent silk through the branches, twisting and turning over onto each other, their brittle-thin fingers clasping onto dry wood.

Severus could smell it in the air.

If mortal fear exuded a scent, it was pouring out of the Weasleys' house, only to come crashing to a halt when met by a poisonous wave, carrying nothing but death and destruction.

He could feel it as a faint metallic chime struck the hour, and the whisper of robes slipping over wood joined the wind.

They were terrified.

And they would run.

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"Nervous among Muggles, are you, Snape? Or is it the lack of your armor?" Bella taunted.

Severus scowled but remained motionless. Dressed in only a plain shirt and trousers, he was still overdressed to blend appropriately, but then again, he mused, what was the proper dress for such an occasion?

Draco muttered, "When?" He was watching with trepidation as multitudes of Muggles rushed toward a waiting train.

Severus could hear the nerves in Draco's voice. A mistake now would be deadly.

The steam added to the already strange day. The air pressed low with something profound, something simultaneously grand and awful.

Severus shook his head, concentrating on the timing of each train's arrival and its rate of speed to the bridge. Calculating an average time depending on the train's number of cars, he closed a rusted pocket watch with a gritty click. One train stood empty of passengers while another was rapidly filling up with tired-looking Muggles clutching evening newspapers.

Long shadows stretched across the platform, becoming lost against the wall where Severus stood. The sun had fallen lower and was now shining directly through the train's windows, outlining the crush of passengers inside.

A sharp hiss came from his left.

Greyback had separated from them and was walking slowly, his hand trailing along the wall, fingers curling into a fist.

Severus followed Greyback's line of sight and spotted his prey. A boy, no older than a first-year, had left his mother's side to look in a store window, holding his hand up to the side of his face to peer through the glass.

Greyback, garnering his fair share of strange looks from passers-by for his flowing robes, too heavy for late summer, made no attempt to hide the fact that he was out for blood, even going so far as to wipe his mouth clear of saliva. His head lowered in a timeless predator position, he stopped, waiting to see if the boy sensed danger.

The others watched with bored expressions, while Bella sniffed with indifference and seemed to be considering her next insult.

Severus ground his teeth and stole a glance toward where Greyback was within meters of the unsuspecting child. Just then, a train pulled from the station, rapidly picking up speed and heading to the track that would take it over the bridge.

"Now," Severus ordered and strode across the platform.

Drawing their wands as they reached the railing, the group watched with rapt attention as the train lumbered around the curve, leaving the station and heading for the bridge.

Bella struck first, her wild laughter shattering the otherwise calm evening commute. She leaned forward and reached out, as if wishing to be even closer to the inevitable destruction that was sure to follow. The others followed suit, with only Draco falling back, holding his wand loosely. His panicked eyes found Severus, who, even as the sound of twisted iron tore across the water, was tracking Greyback's position.

Bella's spell struck the lower join of the bridge's structure, which instantly buckled, violently throwing the track to one side. The train continued even as the subsequent spells rained down in a hail of red fire, exploding the wooden ties into flaming matchsticks and wrenching steel into spiraled curls leading nowhere.

Their laughter was drowned out by the high-pitched squeal of the train's brakes, the sparks falling in a cascading shower into the water below. The engine listed to one side as it careened out of control, the smoke stack catching a glint of sun as it slammed into the buckled tracks, the momentum of the following cars thrusting it all upwards where it caught, breaking several cars in two and flipping others backwards.

One after the other, the following cars crashed into each other until they simply ran off the rails and teetered, threatening to fall.

Bella was still laughing, eyes wild with unrestrained glee as one of the last cars broke free, teetered for a moment, then fell into the water below.

The train's engine caught fire, the flames reaching higher than the setting sun. Blackened metal glowed as flames spread out along its sides, sending sparks to illuminate the whim of the breeze back to the wooden cars.

Catching, taking root, and being born again – then devouring.

Severus crossed the platform, ignoring the Muggles rushing to the railing, ironically surrounding the party guilty of the atrocity.

Greyback ignored everything, instead choosing to stalk the boy peering in the glass.

Fingers closing on thin arms.

A soul devoid of magic – helpless...

"Fenrir!"

Jerking in surprise, Greyback spun, then snarled as the boy ran to his calling mother.

Severus raised an eyebrow, standing aside to let the boy pass.

Greyback stood straighter, seemingly recovering from his primal state.

"Snape."

"You're missing the festivities," Severus said, his eyes narrowing. He held his hands clasped behind his back and approached. "We are not here to fill the world with more flea-bitten monstrosities such as yourself, but to follow the Dark Lord's orders – or have you forgotten?"

Greyback's lips curled. "Of course not."

"You'd do well not to," Severus said, allowing a moment to pass before turning toward the scene unfolding on the platform.

A multitude of Muggles had gathered, at first complaining that their train had not departed, then pressing against the railing to see another hanging over the edge of a destroyed bridge while flames captured within black smoke billowed from its engine. Flames raced along the sides of the cars, roiling inside and spilling upwards out of each window.

As the Dark Mark exploded over the rose-colored sky, the sounds of crackling and groaning wood paralyzed the crowd.

Severus stood, watching as Bella and the others faded into the background as planned.

Eventually, a slow panic spread through the Muggle crowd until suddenly their paramount mission was to leave the station – now. The frantic crowd spread, flowing around the group of Death Eaters who stood with eerily calm expressions amidst the chaos.

Fenrir suddenly let out a low chuckle, blatantly showing the startled crowd his wand before pointing it at a nearby pillar, bursting into maniacal laughter when it exploded, spraying pulverized masonry in all directions. Bella followed suit, striding past Fenrir with an air of complete arrogance, pointing her wand at the nearby ticket booth, whose occupant was currently fleeing through the back door. Flames erupted inside, their reflection quietly flickering behind the barred glass.

Fenrir sniffed, but then had to shield his eyes from the horrific explosion that followed. Everyone within range instinctively threw themselves to the ground as wood, glass, metal bars and flaming tickets shot across the platform at lethal speed, slamming into anything in their path and leaving streaks of fire in its wake. The window frame cart-wheeled through the air, finally coming to a fiery rest at Bella's feet. She raised her wand again, but then paused.

Ignoring the wanton destruction, Severus prepared to Apparate. Their mission was complete, and the Muggle sirens were fast approaching.

"Kill the Muggle, Draco."

It was Bella, her voice deadly serious.

Severus turned.

Fenrir shoved Draco hard, growling, "Now, Draco!"

Severus walked through the wreckage, ignoring the increasingly louder sirens approaching from the West, the grating sound of metal as the train shifted yet again, and the screams of the fleeing Muggles.

All of it narrowed to a pinprick as the scene unfolded.

Draco was backing away, unaware that Fenrir had circled behind him. His hand clamped down on Draco's shoulder, and he shoved him forward, hissing, "Do it..."

Severus could see the target, a Muggle man, no older than he was, stumbling through the wreckage in an attempt to reach the other side of the platform. He passed a nervous glance at them, trying vainly to move even more quickly through the tangle of wood and glass, taking large steps and dragging his leg along when it sank into the debris.

Draco stood, his wand held tightly in his trembling hand. He was shaking his head and, even with Fenrir's grip on his shoulder, backing away.

Severus' blood ran cold.

Within a fraction of a heartbeat, the prey had slipped away unnoticed, and a new victim had been identified.

One of their own.

Suddenly, Bella snatched hold of Draco and screamed, "You're worthless! Have you any will to serve the Dark Lord? Traitor!"

The sirens, muted behind buildings, quickly became clear, piercing wails, overwhelming Bella's rants and Fenrir's renewed threats. A low rumble joined the high pitch, rising, a palpable vibration in the air.

Bella viciously shook Draco, whose knees had come unhinged. Forgetting magic, he seemed to want nothing more than to flee. With Draco's shirt twisted around her fist, Bella drew her wand, waving it about in a grand gesture then pointing it directly at Draco's throat.

Muggles ran in all directions, their discarded daily papers flying through the flames, transforming into airborne torches.

Severus found his voice lost in the fray, his every attempt to get a clear shot at Bella ruined by her wild rants and drowned threats as she shook Draco, jerking his shirt ever tighter around his throat. Even if she never cast the Killing Curse, Severus knew Draco would surely die from strangulation.

Thrusting his hand between Bella and Draco, Severus took no notice when the sun was blotted out and the others suddenly Apparated.

Severus caught sight of Bella's face, filled with a horrific level of rage, only to see it fall, her expression quickly changing to one of shock as she quickly turned her wand on herself and Apparated.

Draco dropped to the ground, his face pale, his eyes showing only slits of pure white.

Severus sensed a change. Something was imminent.

Darkness fell in the afternoon, a silken curtain of black raining night down around them.

Severus picked Draco up, then almost dropped him at what he saw...

The train's engine had barely remained upright on the tracks, an astounding feat in and of itself, only now it was twice its normal size, bowing upwards in a slow bellow. Black soot poured out of the smoke stack, forced upwards in a great rush that was rapidly growing faster and faster, joined by cinders, fire, then – in a clear moment – it all stopped.

A slow breeze carried the soot away, moving it aside as if to afford a better view.

The engine, however, was now an impossible size, twisting the wheels, forcing the undercarriage into a grotesque position, bending it almost in two.

It paused – shuddering – an impossible sight, too horrific not to heed, too obscene to comprehend.

The last siren fell silent, and, as the day exploded into a blinding light, Severus threw himself over Draco and Apparated.

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Hermione sat in the warmth of an early morning sun, her quill poised over a curling parchment, her mind wandering. The repeated attacks had become more and more disturbing over the summer, but they were nothing compared to the past week. Random acts of complete and senseless destruction had paralyzed London, the Muggle newspapers screaming about robed figures and inexplicable bolts of light before explosions obliterated everything within range.

Her hand reached through the pile of papers and pulled one out. Rereading an article, it described those at the scene as "odd-looking." No need to strain herself deciphering that piece of information. The optimistic writer, however, saw fit to mention that the destroyed train had been largely empty, on its way to another station for maintenance.

With a weary sigh, Hermione held her head in her hands.

The silence deepened a fraction. Every so often, a bookshelf would settle, the wood cracking loudly, sometimes enough to startle her.

Hogwarts empty.

Somehow the thought alone was disheartening. The reality of returning to the castle after so long, though – walking through corridors turned cavernous when devoid of students, however, struck her hard.

The ghosts were pleased to see living souls among them once more, even if it was only the Order. They wafted silently through darkened classrooms, sometimes simply lingering in dusty corners, looking longingly toward empty rows of tables.

The heartache was almost too much to bear, as if the walls themselves possessed the capacity to hold a sense of tragedy.

Her thoughts turned to her source.

There had been no warning this time. Only the parchment she received that day over a week ago, simply stating that the Burrow's location was known and that an attack was imminent. To leave.

Nothing more.

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Severus held the flask up to the flame, then tilted it slowly, allowing the liquid to rest at the edge, hesitating in time with his heart. His mind slowed, concentrating on the endless churn of the potion below. Its mesmerizing spiral had been his obsession for the past two days, and his expression of pure wonder only deepened when the cycle slowed – then reversed. Without conscious command, his finger nudged the flask a fraction, sending the precious drop into the center.

His breath slowed. Everything did – clutching onto the edge of perfection behind the fragile mask of madness.

Severus' eyes slipped closed in something disturbingly close to pleasure as the light from the potion turned from red to gold.

"Well done, Severus. I had every confidence in you."

Severus' shoulders rose. One hand caressed the edge of the cauldron, his gaze still riveted on the rapidly spreading color as it bled across the surface – and deepened.

Without turning, Severus sneered, "Words of a prisoner."

"No," a nervous voice breathed, "I always thought you were one of the brightest."

Severus snorted and raised an eyebrow, turning slightly. "And now?"

Slughorn paused.

Tearing himself away from the potion, Severus stood and drew his wand.

A slow groan escaped Slughorn as he shook his head, the word "Please" repeating in his mind.

Severus thought it interesting that someone should try to plead with him using their thoughts.

Amusing even.

Slughorn looked just as anyone would seated for afternoon tea, only his expression was one of pure white terror, and magical bonds held him fast.

"Now, now, Horace..." Severus said thoughtfully, tilting his head as he stepped closer.

The chair protested as Slughorn shifted his weight, struggling against the bonds, breath hitching, riveted on Severus' cold eyes.

Unable to look away.

As Severus raised his wand, he muttered, "It's only logical. You must know how they're created – and how they're destroyed...."

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Severus sat, listening to the rustle of the weeds outside. There was no need to open any windows, as the glass was gone long ago, welcoming the sallow Spinner's End air into his home. Whether it was to wreak havoc or provide comfort, it was all the same. At the edge of the small yard, a fence board banged against its neighbor, beating it harder with every gust of wind.

Draco had recovered from being nearly choked to death by Bella the previous week, but had become a liability. His inability to either avoid confrontation or carry out the Dark Lord's commands made him expendable. Narcissa had begged Severus to watch over Draco once again, pleading with him to take Draco in and cover for his failures.

Once again, he found himself in the role of protector.

Severus' face darkened as he considered Draco, who had fallen asleep on the threadbare couch in his study. The young wizard's dreams were fitful, and Severus had taken his wand, prying it from his fingers after one too many half-asleep attempts at defensive magic.

Severus' hand held a piece of worn parchment, his thumb rubbing over the edge in slow contemplation as he watched an owl approach, its wings spread wide on the billowing current of air. It landed, folded its wings and carefully stepped through a windowpane to sit on his waiting arm.

Setting the owl on the nearby perch, Severus took the note and looked back at Draco, who, without his wand, had taken to clutching the upholstery so tightly that the tendons in his arms stood taut and shook. If the sight of complete unconscious terror wasn't disheartening enough, Draco's voice moving from gasp to half-cry completed the display of despair.

Sighing, Severus opened the owl's delivery and read, his brow furrowing more with each word. He reread the parchment and closed his eyes slowly, letting his lids settle heavily. Exhaustion threatened to take him before his hand reached for the quill and his other pulled out the crooked drawer on the nearby desk just enough to pull a fresh piece of parchment out.

The note was brief, as only one word was needed.

Severus leaned forward and noted the color of the troubled sky, then turned back to the mottled owl that was staring at him with growing apprehension.

Placing the parchment in the owl's beak, Severus touched his wand to its back and ordered, "Fly unseen."

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Bone-thin branches spread over the walls, dragging their sharp edges over the wet rocks, scratching them raw. They took years to grow in the dismal pall that passed for daylight, the low mist lifting for a time, then falling heavily back into place as night crept closer.

A dirtied hand took hold of one of the strands, twisting it to take hold, wrapping it around the palm and pulling slowly. Slick fog slipped through their fingers, each knot offering purchase for a fleeting moment before swinging further away.

The rock was bone cold against his wrist, the jagged edge rasping his pale skin raw.

He let the breath he was holding out in a slow hiss, refusing to let go. Twisting his fingers around, he wound the wet wood until it split, separating into strands.

Blood-flow slowed to a stop, fingers throbbing, wrist on fire, skin thinning – tearing.

A catch of breath across the aisle echoed.

Footsteps soon followed.

The strands tore slowly, wound around each finger while his other arm twisted between metal and stone.

Breaking skin, the fire turning dark.

Growing louder, voices reverberated off of desolate archways.

With a final jerk, the branch broke free.

The wood lying unfeeling in his bloody hands, Lucius sat back down on his bed. Warmth spread back into his fingers, sending blood streaming from the ends of each fingertip as he slowly held his hands up.

Ignoring the blood, he pulled another, larger branch from under the mattress and slowly wound the newcomer around the rest, ending in a sharp point. Baring his teeth as he nodded to a pair of eyes watching him from the other cell, Lucius Malfoy ran his hands over the wood.

Instead of holding it like a wand, he turned it over.

And gripped it like a knife.

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