Every Little Thing, James Potter.

29. The Forest of Dean

                                         Together, Gwen and her Apparation mate landed quite roughly on a soft ground. Gwen couldn't hush a twinge of pride at herself—she had managed to Apparate entirely without Splinching herself, and the only other time she'd managed such a feat was during her Apparating test.

     "Where are we?" said a wary voice, and Gwen recognised it instantly. She turned to see Lily, green eyes darting around their surroundings. "Gwen?"

"It's alright, Lily," she assured the other witch. She held her wand arm outstretched, though nothing in the immediate vicinity seemed as though it would be jumping out at them and attacking—they were in the middle of some sort of Muggle park, abandoned and quite eery in the night's darkness. A nearby swing set squeaked in the wind—Gwen's eyes shot to it. "Do you know... Where are we?"

"Binns Park," Lily responded in a little voice. She had her wand out, too, but she seemed apprehensive to use it. "I—it was the first place that came to mind. I used to come here, when I was a girl—my house is just around the corner..."

Gwen tried to ignore her disappointment at understanding the fact that she herself had not been the one to manage the Disapparating, and she twisted her lips to the side, turning back to Lily. "We've no way to no where the others ended up, do we?"

Lily shook her head slowly. Still on-edge and unwilling to lower her one defence, her wand, she instead hugged her elbow further into herself and flattened her wrist. "No, we don't. But I think that's the least of your worries, Gwen—your house's just been attacked. How could they know your flat?"

"Somebody must've let the information leak," Gwen reasoned in a flat voice, eyes fixed on the ground. She shook her head slightly, in nothing but disbelief. "But that's... rubbish. Only people who knew its whereabouts were us, Moody, Dumbledore, and, probably, the Weasleys. Right? None of them'd give it up—"

"We didn't need it to be given up," came a drawling voice, a familiar one that spun Gwen and Lily around on the spot, their wands raised once again and two identically furious glares in the direction of the shadows.

     "Snivellus," muttered Gwen, her eyes scanning the darkness for the greasy git to emerge. "Referring to yourself and the Death Eaters as 'we', now? Glad you're finally beginning to accept yourself."

     Slowly, his lanky figure emerged from the shadows supplied by the little clump of trees, and Gwen wasn't surprised to see he wasn't alone. Behind him was a stocky figure, and it wasn't until the pale beams from the half-moon illuminated his face that he became regonisable: Macnair, a Slytherin Gwen remembered who graduated four years above her own and had always hung around with Snape and the like. She only knew who he was because she'd always thought it odd of him to be so close with anyone four years younger than he, but to each their own. And anyway, look where he'd ended up...

     "Severus," sniffed Lily, contempt lacing her tone. "How did you know where to find us?"

     She tried to keep her voice hard, but there was an aching fear beneath it, hidden through her words. Gwen felt it, too—if it came down to it, neither of the witches were too confident in their abilities to defeat these wizards in a duel. They only had to hope things could stay civil.

     "Next time you're trying to escape an attack," sneered Snape, "maybe don't return to your childhood home when one of your adversaries grew up just next door."

     "Why are you here, then?" Gwen managed, extending her wand arm again—she ignored the growing ache in her shoulder. "Why follow us, instead of the others?"