Year Six

~

~

            Dumbledore held Harry back at the gate instead of allowing him to go straight to the rear door, where he could smell the lingering scent of Mrs. Weasley’s cooking on the mist shrouded air.

            “Harry,” Dumbledore said, “before you go in, there are a few things you should know, but they are to be kept between us for the moment.”

            “Yes sir?”

            “I admit that I was mistaken to trust Snape in giving you Occlumency lessons last year. Therefore I will be giving you the lessons myself this year, in addition to some other studies.”

            The memory of the dream he’d had the night before, of Voldemort and Wormtail, came rushing back to Harry. “Sir, I had a dream last night.”

            One of Dumbledore’s silver eyebrows raised. “Indeed? What kind of dream?”

            Harry explained everything that had happened in his dream, omitting the parts about Sirius and Kreacher, and going straight to Wormtail and Voldemort. The more he spoke, the more Dumbledore frowned.

            “You say Wormtail was following someone last night, and he mentioned the word Horcrux? Wormtail specifically said Horcrux?”

            “Yes. Why? What does it mean?”

            Dumbledore was stroking his beard and frowning deeply. Frustration tickled at Harry’s belly. Dumbledore had admitted that it made no sense to keep Harry in the dark on anything important. He was old enough, strong enough, to be kept informed on what Voldemort was up to. Now it looked as if Dumbledore was falling back into his old habits of shutting Harry out.

            “I am not shutting you out, Harry,” Dumbledore said, staring deeply into Harry’s eyes, apparently reading his mind of a sort. “I am merely waiting for the right time to fill you in on…certain details. Now is not the time to tell you everything that I know about Voldemort, but I will share it all, in due time, I swear to you.”

            Harry sighed, knowing that he would have to trust Dumbledore to do just that, and trusting Dumbledore wasn’t a difficult thing for him to do. “Yes sir.”

            “In time, you will know all that I know.”

            But Dumbledore had mentioned teaching Harry other things, besides Occlumency, and his mind suddenly began to race at the idea of taking private lessons from Dumbledore. Surely Occlumency wouldn’t be so bad, or so difficult, to learn from a competent teacher who wasn’t looking to use the lessons as an opportunity to belittle him and his father.

            “What kind of studies, sir? Other than the Occlumency, I mean.”

            “We’ll discuss that once you’re back at school,” Dumbledore said, smiling. “In the mean time I would like for you to enjoy your summer.” Dumbledore glanced at the heavy mists. “As much as possible, at any rate.”

            “I will, sir, thank you.”

            “In the mean time, keep your knowledge of the prophecy private.”

            “May I tell Ron and Hermione?”

            Dumbledore scratched his bearded chin in thought for a moment, and then nodded. “Very well. I believe they are mature enough to handle the news, but no one else Harry. It is important we keep the knowledge of the prophecy to ourselves as much as possible.”

            “Yes sir.”

            Dumbledore gave a slight bow of his head and then escorted Harry up the path to the Burrow’s back door, which flew open as he approached. The last person in the world he expected to see came out to greet him.

            Fleur Delacour, her long mane of sleek blond hair flying out behind her, looked like an angel descended from the heavens as she approached, robes seeming to billow behind her though there was no breeze to speak of, arms outstretched.

            “’Arry! Oh, ‘Arry! Eeet is so good to see you again!”

            “My, my,” Dumbledore said in a soft voice, chuckling as Fleur descended upon Harry, lavishing kisses on his face that left him feeling dizzy and hot over his entire body. Receiving a hug from Fleur, Harry realized, was a lot like falling into a very beautiful dream.

            “Hello Fleur,” Harry said, feeling his face burn.

            “Well,” Dumbledore said. “I’ll leave you to Miss Delacour’s capable hands. Miss Delacour,” he said, with a courteous bow.”

            “Profezzor,” she said politely, still holding on to Harry.

            Dumbledore disappeared with a small pop and Fleur steered Harry into the back door of the Burrow, into the kitchen, where Ginny Weasley was helping her mother, Molly, clean up the breakfast meal.

            “Look who ‘az arrived!” Fleur gushed. “’Arry Potter!”

            “Harry, darling!” Molly said, rushing over to examine him before kissing each of his cheeks. “You look good, the Muggles must have taken care of you this time around!”

            “Oh, for crying out loud,” Ginny said, her face torn between a scowl and a smile. “He was only there for a few weeks! Hi, Harry.”

            “Hi, Ginny,” Harry said. “Where’s Ron?”

            Ginny seemed to be smirking slightly when she said “He went into town with Dad. They have guard duty on Luna and her father.”

            “He shouldn’t have been allowed to go on guard duty after what happened yesterday,” Molly groused. “But no one seems to have any regard for my opinions anymore.”

            “Mum,” Ginny said, “They’re shorthanded. Besides, Harry taught Ron a lot with the DA lessons last term, and you saw how he insisted he be allowed to check up on-”

            “The Lovegoods have been receiving death threats for publishing your article last year,” Bill said, standing and shaking Harry’s hand. “They insist on…how would you say it…fair and unbiased reporting, I suppose. Mr. Lovegood has published everything the Daily Prophet is trying to keep quiet. With all that’s going on we can’t take the chance that the threats aren’t legitimate.”

            “But what happened yesterday?” Harry thought. Surely Mr. Weasley wouldn’t allow Ron to go on guard duty at his age if the threat was that bad.

            “Someone tried to set zair offices on fire! Poor people. Zey are a bit strange, yes, but zey are so nice. Zey do not deserve to be treated in such a way.” Fleur turned to Ginny and said, “shouldn’t you show ‘Arry to heez room?”

            Ginny gave Fleur a look of utmost disgust at presuming to order her around. She sniffed and stood. “Come on, ‘Arry,” she said, imitating Fleur’s accent. “I weel show you to your room. You weel be sleeping in Fred and Giorge’s old room since zey are gone.”

            “Ginny,” Molly said, looking both annoyed and amused.

            Fred and George’s old room was packed with unmarked crates of merchandise. “Be careful of those,” Ginny warned. She took Hedwig’s cage over to the window and pulled the snowy white owl out.

            “Why? What’s wrong with them?”

            “They’re still in the test phase,” she explained, stroking Hedwig’s head before allowing her to fly out into the weak daylight that managed to penetrate the oppressive mists hanging outside.

            Harry was opening his trunk when one of the crates suddenly began to shake as if something, or someone, were trapped inside, trying to beat their way out. Harry cautiously approached the crate.

            “Really, Harry,” Ginny warned. “You shouldn’t-”

            “I can’t very well sleep with all that racket going on tonight, can I?” Harry said, reaching out for the edge of the lid. He slowly lifted the lid and the knocking stopped. “What’s in here?”

            “Telescopes, I think.”

            Harry pulled the lid up and sure enough, there was a crate full of telescopes inside. He picked one up and examined it. It seemed harmless enough until a tiny fist magically appeared and tried to punch him in the eye. Luckily his reflexes were faster than the telescope and he was able to dodge out of the way.

            “Oh yeah, a punching telescope, that’ll sell,” he said sarcastically. Ginny giggled and went to the door.

            “I’ll see you Harry. I want to check on Dean.”

            “Why? What’s the matter?”

            “His mother is a Muggle, isn’t she?” Ginny said, as if that should explain everything.

            “So?”

            Ginny gave him a quizzical look. “I suppose you wouldn’t have heard,” she said, sighing and coming back into the room. She plopped down on one of the quiet crates and gave Harry a serious look, “not if you’ve only been reading the Daily Prophet.”

            “Heard what?”

            “Well, the Daily Prophet is still very much in Fudge’s pocket, so they haven’t reported everything that’s really been happening. Not like the Quibbler has. You see-”

            “Ginny!” Mrs. Weasley’s voice called from downstairs, interrupting her. “You have an owl. It’s about Dean.”

            Ginny’s eyes widened, expressing worry, and she stood. “I have to go, Harry.”

            “But what were you going to-”

            “Later,” she said, rushing from the room.

            Harry was about to rush after her when Ron’s tall, lanky frame appeared in the doorway. “Harry!” he said, grinning and coming in to slap him on the back before sitting down.

            “Ginny was trying to tell me something about Dean and his parents…”

            “You don’t get the Quibbler, do you?” Ron said at once, sitting down on the crate of telescopes, which immediately began to shake and bang beneath him. He sprung back up, looking anxious, and then sat down on the crate Ginny had vacated.

            “No, I’ve been taking the Prophet. What’s suddenly so important about the Quibbler?”

            Ron sighed. “Well, it’s good news/bad news, really. The Prophet is losing popularity, being branded as Fudge’s mouthpiece, since they’re not reporting everything that’s really going on with Fudge, You-Know-Who, and the Death Eaters. The Wizarding world is calling for Fudge’s head, mostly because he wasted a year trying to discredit you and Dumbledore about You-Know-Who’s return, and because he won’t allow the Prophet to report everything the Death Eaters are really doing. Three Prophet journalists, Rita Skeeter included, have gone to work at the Quibbler.”

            “Wait,” Harry said. “Are you telling me the Quibbler has replaced the Prophet in the Wizarding world as the place to go for reliable news?”

            Ron grinned, seeming strangely happy at this news. “Uh-huh. Who would’ve thought?”

            “So they’re no longer reporting on rubbish like Crumple-Horned Snorckacks?”

            “Sure they do,” Ron said, shrugging, “but that’s all mixed in with the serious stuff.”

            “So, what is it about Muggles that the Prophet is trying to cover up?”

            Ron looked suddenly uncomfortable. “There’ve been a rash of attacks, a bunch of deaths. The Death Eaters are calling it Muggleborn Cleansing.”

            Harry’s belly suddenly felt as if he’d swallowed a huge chunk of ice. He didn’t like the sound of ‘Cleansing’ at all. That sounded like genocide to him. “Muggleborn Cleansing?”

            “They’ve been attacking and killing Muggleborn witches and wizards all over ,” Ron said. At once Hermione’s face came to Harry’s mind. She was a Muggleborn witch. Harry stood up from the bed, suddenly feeling panicked.

            “But what about Hermione? She’s-”

            “The Order has gained popularity,” Ron said, holding up his hands for Harry to be quiet and listen, “it’s bigger than ever before. People are lining up to join, and that’s not an exaggeration. We’ve gained two hundred members that Dumbledore trusts not to be spies. Most of the Order has been spread out to do guard duty for Muggleborns. We have Hermione and her parents under constant-”

            A heartrending wail floated up to them from the kitchen. It sounded like Ginny. Ron paled, pulled his wand, and dashed out of the room, Harry hot on his heels. They crashed into the kitchen, Harry slamming into Ron’s back, to find Ginny hugging Mrs. Weasley tightly, weeping, clutching a piece of parchment in her hand. The ice in Harry’s belly got colder.

            “Dean is alright?” Harry asked. Mrs. Weasley shook her head, looking upset as she stroked Ginny’s back.

            “What happened?”

            Bill, Harry noted, had his head in the fire, which burned green from Floo powder. Fleur was pressing a cool cloth to Ginny’s forehead and cooing at her.

            “’eez family was attacked this morning,” Fleur said. “Dean is injured, and his muzzer and fazzer are in St. Mungo’s, clinging to life. Eeet will be alright darling,” Fleur cooed, “We weel see about visiting, weel we not, Molly?”

            “Of course, Ginny,” said Molly, trying to calm Ginny.

            “What if he dies, Mum? What if Dean dies?”

            “He’s not going to die,” Ron said, looking uncertainly at Harry. They were both shaken. “Dean’s tough.”

            Bill pulled his head out of the fire, his head covered in ash. “I just spoke with Mundungus Fletcher. He was on guard duty for the Thomas family.”

            Ginny rounded on him, looking desperate for good news. “Well?”

            “Two Death Eaters, most likely new recruits from the clumsy way they fought, attacked this morning, but…the house collapsed on Dean and his parents.”

            Ginny looked ready to faint at this news, Harry felt sick, and Ron was so pale his skin looked almost transparent. He gulped.

            “Dean had a pretty good protective spell up, but they were still hurt. We don’t know how badly yet.”

            “Oh, Mum,” Ginny said weakly, hugging her mother as they sat down at the table.

            “We’ve got to go see ‘im!” Fleur said, “for Ginny.”

            “We can’t just rush out there Fleur,” Bill said, “as much as you want to see him, Ginny, Voldemort himself has branded our family as blood traitors. We’re as much a target as the Muggleborns now. I’ll contact Dad, see if we can’t arrange for a special line to St. Mungo’s on the Floo Network tomorrow.”

            Ginny suddenly pulled away from her mother and stood. “I’m not waiting for tomorrow. For all we know Dean could be dying. I’m going now-”

            But Mrs. Weasley pulled Ginny down beside her and placed her hands on either side of Ginny’s head. “You will do no such thing. I realize how badly you want to see him, dear, but it is too dangerous.”

            “But Mum-”

            “No, Ginny!” Mrs. Weasley shouted. “You will wait here until we have a proper escort to St. Mungo’s and that’s that!” In the mean time-”

            Mrs. Weasley snatched Ginny’s wand, which was poking out of the pocket of her jeans, and slid it into the pocket of her apron. Bill grabbed his own wand and approached the fire again.

            “Wair are you going?” Fleur asked, looking worried.

            “To headquarters,” Bill said. “I have to get my next guard assignment. I think I’m supposed to guard the Grangers tonight.”

            “Can I go with you?” Harry asked. “Hermione could be in danger.”

            “Me too,” Ron said, but Bill was shaking his head.

            “I’ll ask Dumbledore, but I doubt he’ll give clearance.”

            “Why isn’t Hermione here, at the Burrow?”

            “She’s worried about leaving her parents,” Bill said. “She’ll be fine. Mundungus will be with me.”

            “Fat lot of good he did!” Ginny said, flaring up angrily before dissolving back into tears. Bill kissed Ginny, Molly, and Fleur on the cheek before disappearing in the fire.

            Harry took a seat at the table, sick with worry. Hermione was placing herself in real danger by not coming to the Burrow, and no one would allow him to go on guard duty to look after her.

            “Why is it that Ron could guard the Lovegoods, but I can’t guard Hermione?”

            “He was with Arthur,” Molly said.

            “I’ll be with Bill.”

            “Yes, but Bill doesn’t have the same decision-making powers that Arthur does. He can’t call any shots. Just remain calm, boys. Hermione will be fine.”

            They were distracted by an owl pecking at the window. It was a handsome tawny, with three thick letters attached to its left leg. Fleur went to take the post and came back.

            “One for you,” she said, handing it to Harry, “one for you,” she said, handing the other to Ron, “and one for you, Molly.”

            “Would you mind reading it dear? Ginny, would you like to lie down?”

            Ginny shook her head no, her head resting on her forearms on the table. 

            “Eeet is from ze Ministry,” Fleur said, sitting down and reading. “Eeet sez zat ze age for ze reasonable restriction of underage magic has been adjusted. All persons fifteen and older will be allowed to perform magic wizout repercussions in emergency situations.”

            “Oh, really!” Molly said angrily. “That’s already law! Who does Fudge think he’s fooling?”

            “Ron, it’s our O.W.L. results,” Harry said. He looked down the list at his results, feeling very pleased with himself. He wished Hermione was there so he could read the long line of O’s beside each of her subjects.

   Pass Grades:

Outstanding (O)

Exceeds Expectations (E)

Acceptable (A)

Fail Grades:

Poor (P)

Dreadful (D)

Troll (T)

Harry James Potter has achieved:

Astronomy A

Care of Magical Creatures E

Charms E

Defense Against the Dark Arts O

Divination P

Herbology E

History of Magic D

Potions E

Transfiguration E

            “Ron?”

            “I only failed Divination and History of Magic, like I’d ever need those anyway,” he said, looking very pleased with himself as well.

            “I failed History of Magic too,” Harry said.

            “Defense Against the Dark Arts?” Ron asked.

            “Outstanding.”

            “I knew it,” Ron said.

            Harry told them of Fudge’s visit to Privet drive, which seemed to make Ginny angry enough that she was able to stop crying and even eat some lunch under Mrs. Weasley’s urging. Fred popped his head into the fire to let them know that he and George had guard duty that night and wouldn’t be able to come for dinner.

            Harry and Ron spent most of that day moving the crates out of his bedroom, looking for anything to do to keep themselves busy as they waited for news to come of more attacks. He even read the latest edition of the Evening Quibbler, which had a front page story on the attack on the Thomas house written by Rita Skeeter.

            “I can’t believe how fair and impartial this article seems,” Harry said, “considering who wrote it.”

            “Well, Priam, that’s Luna’s father, has banned Quick Quotes quills. She had to write it herself. She’s a good writer, you know. And she seems to have a thing for Priam.”

            “What?” Harry said, lugging the last crate out of the room, the punching telescopes, with Ron. “Rita and Luna’s Dad?”

            “Yeah, well, sometimes two people who don’t seem to have a lot in common can get along,” Ron said, sounding a trifle defensive. “Luna’s not a bad writer herself. I wouldn’t be surprised if she became a reporter when she left Hogwarts. But then, she also likes Herbology too. She says she’s thinking of opening her own apothecary when she…what?”

            Harry was staring hard at Ron.

            “You’ve been talking to Luna a lot, haven’t you?”

            Ron’s ears went beet red. “I had to talk to her. I was on guard duty over there.”

            Harry bit down on a grin, but he was rather surprised that Ron had taken an interest in Luna. He’d always seemed to have a thing for Hermione, but like Ron had just said, people who don’t seem to have a lot in common can get along. Or, Harry thought, he could be reading too much into Ron’s friendship with Luna. Perhaps there was nothing to it at all.

            As the day wore on Harry’s thoughts returned to Hermione. He kept imagining Death Eaters descending on her house, burning it to the ground. He even imagined her voice screaming as the house came down around her, like Dean’s house had collapsed on him and his family.

            After a quiet dinner, Ron promised that he and Harry would go out to play a game of Snitch Seeker the next day, where they’d release the Snitch and try to find it despite the heavy mist shrouding the grounds. Ron insisted that beating him at several games should cheer him up a bit.

            After tossing and turning, as usual, Harry finally managed to slip into a light sleep in which he saw Hermione and her parents kneeling under a protection charm as burning timber collapsed around them, and Death Eaters stood by, laughing.

            But the perspective of the dream changed, seeming to deepen, and Harry found himself looking at Bill’s face in a mirror. He walked from a bathroom through a dimly lit corridor, and into a darkened sitting room. Hermione’s parents were watching television, while Hermione sat in a corner, reading a book.

            “I’m going out for rounds,” Harry said, in Bill’s voice. Hermione nodded and her mother smiled wanly at him.

            Outside the mysterious mists hung as heavy and cool as ever. Harry took in a deep breath, and thought how refreshing the misty air felt in his lungs, despite the depressing effect of the darkness that it brought with it as it blocked the light of the moon and stars at night, and the sun in the day.

            Movement caught his attention from his right, a dark spot barely indistinguishable from the inky darkness of the night. Harry moved his hand toward his wand and went to investigate the bushes lining the walk when suddenly a red beam of light flew dangerously close to his head.

            “Watch out!”

            Harry turned and saw Mundungus Fletcher dueling with a Death Eater that emerged from round the sided of the house, then two, then three emerged from all sides. A fourth Death Eater aimed their wand at the house and yelled “Reductus Fortis!”

            An angry ball of fire exploded from the end of the wand, and Harry just managed to duck as it flew straight at him and slammed into the house. Flames began to consume the structure, spreading unnaturally fast, but Harry didn’t have time to watch the destruction of the Granger house. Instead he turned and began to duel with the Death Eaters. Mundungus managed to take down one Death Eater, but he soon cried out in pain and collapsed under the spell of his second opponent. Harry was left alone to duel three Death Eaters as Hermione and her parents screamed from within the house.

            One of the Death Eaters raised his wand and yelled “Morsmordre!” The sky flared brilliantly green as Voldemort’s Dark Mark took form in the sky over Hermione’s house.

            That voice that had conjured the mark was very familiar to Harry.

Harry tried to yell something at the Death eater that stood over Mundungus’ still form, but his voice wouldn’t respond to his will. He seemed to be but a spectator in his body as he dueled under the green light of the Dark Mark with the other Death Eaters. Behind him he thought he heard Hermione scream as the house began to collapse around her.

~

~

            “Harry, wake up! Harry!”

            Harry looked up and found Ron and Ginny standing over him, horrified looks on their faces. He was, he realized, covered in sweat and clutching his fists in his blanket, and his throat burned from screaming.

            “You’re yelling out curses and jinxes!” Ginny said, looking pale with worry. “What’s the matter?”

            “Hermione! Her house is under attack. Bill is all alone, fighting three Death Eaters. Mundungus is down!”

            “Is this one of your special dreams? Like you had when Dad  was attacked?” Ron asked in horror.

            “Yes! You have to get him help! There’s three Death Eaters on him!”

            “Oh, no, Bill-Arthur! Arthur!” Molly called, running from the room. Harry’s heart continued to pound hard enough to shake his entire body as he listened to Mrs. Weasley repeat to her husband what he’d just said. In moments, Arthur appeared in the doorway, still in his pajamas. He was relieved that this time no one was going to question the validity of his vision.

            “I’ve already alerted the Order,” Arthur said. “They’ll send help. I’m going to the Granger house now.”

            “I’m coming with you,” Harry said, pushing past Ron and Ginny. “I won’t take no for an answer.”

            Arthur didn’t bother to hesitate. “Alright. Ron, Ginny, you’re staying here.”

            “Like hell I am!” Ron said, but Molly pushed him back.

            “Do as your father-”

            “Hermione is my friend too! I’m coming with you.”

            “Come on then,” Harry said impatiently, not wishing to waste another moment arguing. They followed Arthur downstairs.

            “I can only Apparate with one of you at a time,” Arthur said. “So we’ll have to take an emergency Portkey.”

            He grabbed the butter dish on the table, tapped it with his wand and said, “Portus.”

            It glowed blue for a moment, rattled, and then was still.

            “Be prepared, boys, for what we might find.”

            Ron and Harry nodded, and then held their hands out over the Portkey.

            “One…two…three…”

            There was a powerful jerk behind Harry’s navel, and soon he, Arthur, and Ron were flying through a swirling blur of color and a rush of sound. Then, quite suddenly, it was over. Harry barely managed to keep to his feet as he landed on the cool, moist grass of Hermione’s front yard.

            But the house itself was completely ablaze, and half collapsed. Two Death Eaters lay dead or unconscious on the grass, and the neighbors had all come out to witness what was going on. Bill and two more members of the order were still dueling with two remaining Death Eaters, who, upon Arthur, Ron, and Harry’s arrival, disappeared in a swish of their robes.

            “Hermione!” Harry shouted, trying to get near the roaring flames of the house, but the intensity of the heat was singing his eyebrows, and the heat made it hard to breathe, even on the lawn.  God, Harry thought, Hermione couldn’t possibly survive in that.

            “Dad!” Bill said, “the Grangers are still in there!”

            “NO!” Harry shouted, hoping he was having an incredibly vivid nightmare. This couldn’t be happening.

            “Move aside!” Arthur said. He, Bill, and the two Order members that Harry didn’t recognize, turned to the fire and began spraying huge jets of water onto the flames, but to no effect. The fire was magical and would need much more than water to douse out.

            Harry looked to the sky above the house. The Dark Mark hung there, sickly green and seeming to mock his grief as Ron nudged him hard in the ribs.

            “Look!”

            Harry looked to where Ron was pointing. Through the smoke and flames he saw Hermione and her parents crouching under what looked like a fragile soap bubble.

            “They’re alive!” Harry said, disbelieving. He rushed forward, but once again the heat forced him back. Hermione looked up at him, tears streaming down her soot covered face. Smoke was beginning to penetrate her weakening protection charm, and her hair was damp with sweat. She seemed to be mouthing something, screaming, and terror was vivid in her eyes. Harry wanted to turn away. He couldn’t watch her die like this, but he couldn’t turn his back on her either, not now. Ron moaned in horror beside him as more of the house collapsed.

            “For God’s sake, somebody do something!” Harry screamed, feeling utterly useless. Arthur went forward, and sent a jet of purple light, which collided with Hermione’s protection charm. At once it glowed brighter, strengthened.

            “We’ll have to go in and pull them out,” Arthur told Bill and the others. “Her father is unconscious, she won’t be able to move him.”

            Indeed he was. Arthur, Bill, and the two other members of the Order waved their wands over themselves and at once they were wrapped in protection charms that looked like wobbly bubbles of soap, but somehow the bubbles managed to hold as they walked into the flames. Harry and Ron were gripping each others arms as they watched the Order members lead Hermione and her parents from the flames.

            The lot of them had just cleared the house when it collapsed completely. Onlookers on the street continued to gasp at what they witnessed, being Muggles they couldn’t explain what they were seeing, and some part of Harry’s nearly numb mind knew that the Ministry would have to send Obliviators to wipe their memories of what they’d witnessed.

            The protection charms about Hermione and her parents burst, releasing an acrid puff of smoke, and Hermione collapsed to the ground with a small sigh escaping her. Harry and Ron ran to her side to look her over and found that soot covered her face, and she had several bad burns on her face and hands, but she was breathing on her own. Hermione had never looked so frail and weak in all the years Harry had known her.

            “Hermione?” Harry asked.

            “Wake up,” Ron pleaded, stroking hair away from her face.

            “Harry, Ron,” Arthur said, “let go of her. We have to get them to St. Mungo’s.”

            Harry and Ron reluctantly stood back as Hermione and her parents were levitated onto their backs. In moments they all disappeared, leaving Harry and Ron alone on the front lawn, the house in burning ruins, and Voldemort’s Dark Mark gleaming green and bright above them.