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The London air was damp and cool, fresh from an early morning downpour which had left shining puddles on the sidewalk, shallow mirrors that pedestrians had to dodge, skipping over them like the bits of newspaper the wind sent skittering between them. But it seemed that nothing-not even the rain-could wipe away the supreme sense of hustle and bustle of the London streets: it was nearing afternoon, and already the traffic had rushed itself into a creeping gridlock and a press of swiftly moving people had taken to the sidewalks.
All of these pedestrians were too preoccupied, or too rushed, to notice that the old mannequin in a run-down department store was talking, or that there was a slightly punctured stream of people walking both directions through the window pane. Two of such people-a tall, clever-looking young man wheeling a trunk, hand-in-hand with a lithe young woman with inquiring eyes-slipped right through the glass and joined the flow of Londoners without anyone so much as sparing a glance at them.
"Remind me again," said the girl lightly, smiling at her companion, "why we didn't take the floo over to the station?"
He looked sideways at her, registering the crush of people around them, reading the look in her eyes, and somehow knowing what she wanted him to say: You were right. He took in a breath, trying to think of a better response. He finally decided on a grunted "I don't trust the floo," before looking away from her, hiding a smile, to survey the crowd. He spotted a fellow Auror across the street, pretending to scan a cafe menu, and another taking a smoke on the bus stop bench. He wouldn't have been surprised if a handful of the pedestrians traveling around him were Aurors. Or if they were Death Eaters. He clenched his jaw at the thought, determined to get to the station as quickly as possible. At the back of his mind, he could sense an attack coming; the tension was just too high, eventually it would have to snap.
His companion sighed as they quickly slipped between two oncoming pedestrians and were jostled a bit. "They probably have anti-apparation wards up, but what about the Knight Bus, Frank?" she nettled, leaning into his arm, enjoying her little game. "Though I suppose I know the answer to that already."
Frank snorted, momentarily relieved from his strained frame of mind. "Alice-have you seen the way Ernie drives? And in this traffic, too."
She laughed and glanced at her watch. "We're going to be late," she said in a singsong voice, contentedly squeezing his hand, and he felt heat rush through is body at the touch. He vaguely heard himself argue with her as his thoughts were tugged away, transported back to the safe house, to the good-bye they had shared the night before. He smiled at the memory, yet at the same time he felt sick in his gut, knowing that he'd see her off on the train to Hogwarts and be unable to go with her.
"Yes we are," she said, contesting his claims that no, they weren't going to be late, unaware of his momentary lapse from the present.
"Well," he said determinedly, mentally shaking himself and trying to conclude the playful argument as quickly as possible so that she wouldn't be able to tell through his voice that he was upset. "It's better to be safe than sorry." And with that he kissed her on the top of the head, slipping his hand from hers and letting it come to rest on the hidden wand in his pocket. No, he knew. No one was safe...
It wasn't long before the station loomed before them, and Frank wanted nothing more than to just keep walking right on past it, to keep his love with him. But, inevitably, they slowed to a stop outside the station door, and prepared to part.
"Not bad," she said quietly, once again checking her watch. "I've still got a few more minutes..."
"It's odd," he mused, placing her trunk on a trolley and letting a hand rest on the handle as he turned to face her. He noticed the veil behind her eyes, knew she was at the point of tears and probably had been from the second they walked out of the safe house door, despite her cheerful air. "To be going to the station, yet not getting on the train." He nodded, feeling miserable, and coughed, trying in vain to clear his suddenly thick throat. But his words sounded so hollow. "Well, you should get inside. Before you miss it."
"I'm going to miss you," Alice said suddenly, reaching up to embrace him and trying, uselessly, not to sound like she was about to cry. That part was the worst: her crying. His stomach clenched dangerously.
"Alice..."
But as he spoke, Frank caught a sudden movement in the corner of his eye, a flash of light. Before he could move, before he could even think of putting a shield around them, the two buildings across the street exploded. The force of the blast threw the pair of them roughly against the station wall, where, winded and bruised, they were peppered with stinging particles of wood and brick.
Though his ears rang loudly and the flash-shadow of the explosions danced in his eyes, Frank, his paranoia justified, only had one thought on his mind. Before the rubble had really settled on the ground, just as a chorus of screams split the air and beams of colored light began to scorch the wall behind them, he was pulling Alice to her feet. A second set of explosions rocked the station as they ran through the door.
"Alice, run!"
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