𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟕 - 𝟑

It appeared that a safe place off the streets was Grimmauld Place.

When Potter first offered it we were all reluctant—for one, Snape could get in there, not to mention that it was a spot Death Eaters would be expecting us at anyways—but when Potter insisted that all he wanted was to meet Snape again, and Sirius had left it for him anyways, we agreed. I think we all just wanted a roof over our heads for at least one night.

And so when the house finally finished forming we were all relieved, but I caught Potter's hesitation just before he turned the door knob. Once we had all shuffled into the dark, thin hallway, no one walked forward any further.

"So," Weasley whispered. "Who's going first?"

"How about you?" I replied thoughtfully.

"No thanks," he huffed.

"Stop acting like children," Hermione chided.

"Children?" I repeated in mock offense.

"If I'm a child Alexandra's a-" Weasley started.

"I'll go," Potter cut him off. We all turned our heads to look at him, like how everyone focuses on a stage the second a show begins. He grimaced and took a small step. Nothing happened. Just when I thought we were fine, a blast of freezing air swept over me.

Then, at the end of the hallway, a small tornado of dust formed. It swirled and twisted around itself, sounding like shifting sand as it blows over a beach. It began shooting towards us, and formed into the shape of a lightly cloaked man with a long beard.

It was Dumbledore. His hand flew out, reaching for us, and we all stumbled back. I heard someone scream. I think it was Hermione. 

"No! We- we didn't... didn't kill you..." Potter stuttered out.

At the word "kill," the dust-version of Dumbledore exploded into thin air. There was another scream, from me this time I was pretty sure, and then the air was clear again. I looked around the room with wide eyes..

I had backed up against the wall and had just realized I was digging my nails into my palm painfully. Hermione was on the floor, I assumed she fell, and her knees were pulled close to her chest. Weasley stood next to her, frozen completely still. Potter was also completely unmoving, breathing heavily. His face was a pure mask of terror, white and flinching.

"What was that?" Weasley demanded.

"It was probably Moody's idea," I choked out. "In case Snape decided to come snooping."

Hermione slowly got to her feet and walked in front of us all, wand pointed out in front of her. That hand was the only part of her body not trembling.

"Homenum Revelio," she muttered. There was a faint fluttering sound, like a bird's wings from very far away, but it went as quickly as it came. Nothing in the house changed that we could see or hear.

"What were you expecting?" Weasley asked.

"It did its job," Hermione replied defensively. "We're alone."

That night, none of us really knew what to do. I could tell Potter's scar had been hurting ever since we settled down, but he wouldn't admit it. The kitchen was completely bare except for a few pieces of moldy bread—Hermione hadn't been able to pack any food in her bottomless bag—and we tried fruitlessly to make it as edible as possible.

I was worried terribly about Weasley's family and anyone else who hadn't made it out of the wedding, as I was sure the three of them were too. Weasley hadn't been able to do anything much besides sit on one of the filthy couches and stare into blank space, occasionally joining the bleak conversation.