Chapters 221-230

The Sixth Precinct

They burst into the Sixth Precinct as if carried on the spray of a mighty fountain, wet, stumbling and breathless, Harry with the sword awkwardly in his left, Severus with the bell in his right, but still holding it silent with his middle and ring fingers curled around the rim.

Harry stumbled the first few steps into the shallow waters of this precinct, skidding and sliding. Panic flooded him as he scanned the waters. His heart pounded. His throat went constricted. Any second now he expected a malevolent, flayed demon of a baby to rise from the floods at his feet. But nothing happened.

The Sixth Precinct lay deserted.

The skin between Harry’s shoulder blades prickled with the piercing gaze of many unfriendly, unseen eyes watching them from the shadows. But when he surveyed the river, its dark waters burbled gently in a soft grey twilight.

Severus didn’t give him the time to catch his breath or get his racing heartbeat back under control. The Necromancer dragged him forwards as fast as he could, slipping, sliding, nearly falling along. The currents were easy in this precinct, the greatest challenge the slippery ground below knee-high, icy floods.

Finally, Harry stumbled and clutched at Severus. ‘Just a second,’ he gasped. ‘There’s no one here. I’m done in, I can’t fucking keep up!’

The muscles of his legs were cramping, his legs shaking, he was so exhausted that he felt tears of helpless fury well up in his eyes.

‘We need to get out of here, Harry,’ Severus said tersely. ‘Just because you can’t see any Dead right now, doesn’t mean there aren’t any around.’

‘I’m not stupid,’ Harry retorted and tried to massage his thigh without stabbing himself. ‘I can feel their eyes on us. But if I end up flat on my face in that water, that won’t help us, either.’

Standing still, he could catch his breath. But even these few moments of staying motionless in the river allowed the cold to seep into his bones. He felt frozen to the core, not just his body, but his mind, his magic. He shook his head, trying to clear the icy cobwebs from his mind.

‘I—’

With a splash a black figured surged from the water. Together, Harry and Severus stumbled a step backwards.

This was no Lesser Dead, Harry thought. The black thing was as tall as Severus, and vaguely humanoid. Like a charred skeleton, or what Harry imagined might remain of a human body after a great fire. There was a head, torso, legs, arms, spidery finger. But no flesh, only black, crisped matter curled around slender bones. When the figure raised its arms, Harry caught glimpses of a smooth, greyish shade of ivory where the burnt flesh was peeling off the bone underneath. The water dripping from the figure looked oily and grimy, mixed with fat and ashes.

Then he met the creature’s gaze. Liquid and red, hatred burnt bright in the destroyed visage.

Without a sound, the demon lunged for them.

Godric Gryffindor’s sword went straight through it, at an awkward angle, as if Harry had been trying to prepare a gigantic shish kebab. The creature jerked, stilled.

Then its black mouth opened. A charred tongue convulsed in silent laughter against surprisingly white, pointy teeth. Flakes of ashes floated from the demon’s lips.

Instead of backing of and dislodging the blade, the creature stepped closer, into the blade. Blackened bones reached for Severus’ throat.

Desperately Harry tugged at the sword—but to no avail. Just as the demon had intended it was well and truly stuck between ribs and spine and a power that was not derived from mortal muscles. Next to him Severus was flailing wildly in the creature’s grip. His left bound to Harry, his right holding the bell Saraneth, he had no way to fight off the demon’s stranglehold.

oooOooo

Alina stumbled out of the Knight Bus and almost fell flat on her face when the emergency vehicle of the wizarding world rushed off nearly right over her. The roar of the engine mixed with the echo of the conductor’s crude advances in her ears.

Only the post of a streetlamp kept her from landing base over apex into the gutter.

‘Wow,’ she told the wet grid of the drain underneath the lamp. ‘What a ride.’

Then she straightened up and looked around. The road was empty and dark in the small hours of the morning. Though it wasn’t precisely in the middle of the night anymore, the sky was still very dark, with the eastern horizon barely cloaked in the lighter indigo shades of approaching dawn. On one side of the road a brick building loomed over her. A shopping centre that somehow managed to look both old-fashioned and modern at once. On the other side of the road was a row of renovated houses split by small park in the middle.

Spinner’s End. Just as she remembered it from the walk she’d taken with Hermione. Okay, it had not been quite as dark then. Clenching her teeth, wand surreptitiously in hand, Alina crept closer to the last house of the row.

She felt strangely self-conscious about her wand. Then she shook herself decisively: with what she’d been up to that night, a bit of underage magic out of bound wouldn’t make a whole lot of a difference anymore.

There it was. Professor Snape’s home. Alina swallowed hard. She could feel the wards surrounding the house. Against Muggles, against Evil. For a moment she considered trying to break them, or sneak through them with magic.

Then she shook her head. She didn’t have the time for any Gryffindor grandstanding or Slytherin scheming. She could see the house and knock on the door. That was enough.

‘Winky!’ she yelled and beat with a fist against the wood, while crashing the brass knocker against the door with the other. ‘WINKY! Open the door! Now! I need help! Professor Snape needs help! Woodstock! WOODSTOCK COME HERE!’