Sophia Holmes and the Search for Horcruxes (Harry Potter Fanfic) *Completed*

Chapter Twenty Three

We only stay by the shore until we've eaten, waiting for the cover of darkness. Once it comes, we link hands and get I brace myself for the apparation.

Moments later we emerge out of a thick mist into the middle of a small town. An alarm picks us up immediately and Harry pulls us into an alley as a couple of guards run out onto the street.

I look up and see another wanted poster with Harry's face plastered over it before realising it's everywhere: pinned to every wall, lamp-post and shop window. There's no sign of life other than the faint laughter coming from a dimly lit pub, 'The Three Broomsticks' and I notice Honeydukes is close by.

I shiver suddenly and I look up, something catching my eye. Just above the rooftops, barely distinguishable from the night, Dementors drift like smoke. Harry notices them as well and goes to draw his wand, but Hermione's hand covers his.

"No," she whispers, "you'll give us away."

The night grows seems to grow darker, as the streetlights dim. Our breath becomes visible as the air around us grows colder. As the Dementors descend, they reawaken my worst memories. I see mum lying on the floor, a pool of blood growing around her head. I see dad relapsing and remember pleading on the phone, no older than five, begging Mycroft to help. I see myself running away from home when dad fell into a drug-induced coma. So many bad memories of my childhood. They move on to the last few years. The Christmas I knew that the mum I had just got back was gone again. And then to dad. His coat flaps against the breeze. My scream rings in my ears. His head hits the pavement.

"Expecto Patronum!" Harry cries out at last and a silver stag bursts from his wand and charges down the street, scattering the Dementors before vanishing around the other side of the pub.

Ron braces his arms on my shoulders, and studies me as I calm. "Sophie?"

"I'm good," I say, wiping away the tears which coat my face, realising the scream must have been out loud. "Sorry."

"You don't need to be sorry," he says, letting go. He goes to say something else, but is interrupted by a voice down the street.

"It's him!" it cries. "He's down there!" Footsteps clatter on the cobblestones and I look around, trying to plan a route out but we're trapped.

All of a sudden, the sounds of bolts grinding and hinges squealing sound behind us. A door opens and a silhouette appears.

"In here, Potter."

I follow the others and slip quickly past the man and go inside. Once I'm in, he shuts the door and gestures towards a rickety wooden staircase, bringing a finger to his lips to silence us.

We take the stairs up into a living room with threadbare carpet, a small cracked mirror missing a shard, and a small fireplace, above which hangs a large oil painting of a blonde girl with a sweet but vacant stare. It's by far the most valuable item in this room - if not the house. It's clearly a dead family member, died young by the look of it.

There's something familiar about the man and for a moment as he moves towards the window, his face catches the light and I recognise him as the man from the mirror.

"Did you get a look at him!" Ron whispers to Hermione. "For a second I thought it was -"

"I know," Hermione replies.

The man does bare an extraordinary resemblance to Albus Dumbledore and I realise now the portrait must be of Ariana Dumbledore - his sister. Which makes this their brother, Aberforth.

"Harry!" Hermione cries out in surprise. "I can see you! In here!"

I turn to look and see Harry, the shard of mirror in his hand, in the cracked mirror on the mantelpiece. Why does Aberforth have the other part?