If I Lose Myself

Chapter Twenty-One: Astoria

PART TWO

THE WAR

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Chapter Twenty-One: Astoria

August 1997

The death of the greatest wizard known to man took a huge toll on the British wizarding world. It had meant the end of a great era to many. To the Death Eaters, it had meant a time of fortune. But to most, it had meant that all hope has truly been lost.

It had been complete and utter chaos in July. With Dumbledore gone, Death Eaters were far more rampant than usual. While the Ministry was trying to detain stories of missing families or the deaths of some muggle and muggle-born families, Astoria knew too much from her father that they were fornicating lies once more to avoid civil unrest. But despite the Ministry's efforts, Astoria and many others knew that it was dark times—and vigilance is the least that would help them these days.

News even reached France, to where the Greengrasses have fled momentarily for most of the summer. But with all the resounding closeness of most of Britain and Ireland, it was impossible not to hear one or two about what was happening in England. No one in their right mind would even come close to traveling there. Everyone will have already fled out of fear for their lives or for their lack of proving their true blood status.

Generally, it had not been easy—the unrest. The morning when the students had awoken to Dumbledore's death, parents flooed to Hogwarts to drag their children out of school. Many of those parents included Astoria's. Cassandra and Cepheus Greengrass wasted no time taking her and her sister Daphne back to the manor; then many hours later, out of Britain and into France where they were much "safer".

Cassandra had considered sending Astoria and Daphne to Beauxbatons. It was not a bad school, if Astoria were being perfectly honest. But she had known Hogwarts for so long. It was her home. How could she simply abandon it just because Dumbledore was now gone?

Too much has happened since. It was impossible for Astoria to sleep at night knowing what was out there. Dumbledore was gone. The Death Eaters have won. There was simply no hope to it. There was a small part of her that kept wishing for something futile like a miracle. But the days grow darker, and Astoria wondered how long she could keep holding on to her false sense of hope before tragedy unfurls before her.

Fleeing to France seemed like the best solution at that time. Granted, the Greengrasses were now branded as cowards since anyone in the Sacred Twenty-Eight surely would be in their right mind to stake their claim in the wizarding world now, more than ever. Cepheus had passed off the family going to France as a little family vacation, still keeping in touch with the Ministry as always. But little do people know that the Greengrasses might not ever step foot in Britain again.

Until now.

The second day of August touched her days unlike any other. It felt even gloomier, and Astoria feared that Dementors had reached Montpellier like it had in Dover. The Greengrass Manor in Montpellier, France was nothing short of smaller than the one they had back home. It was more home-y, but antique-like and intricate in style. But it was lonelier and colder than it normally was. She wasn't quite sure if it was the dread of the times, or simply the weather. Either way, it gave Astoria no comfort.

Even more so when she went down to breakfast that morning, clad in a summer dress to outshine the sleet of dark and gloom that's emanated the manor. Her family sat on the circular table in the dining hall while being served by their house elf, Briseis.