The Potter Twins and the Deathly Hallows {7}

33. The Dumbledore Legacy

"Think I'm going through denial, it's been a while but it's clear when it hits me. Think I might have gone insane, I rot my brain getting high on our history. Always knew I'd be the one you'd sink your teeth into, never thought I'd taste as good to anyone but you." - Pretty Venom (Interlude), All Time Low

My feet touch the ground. I see the achingly familiar Hogsmeade High Street; dark shop fronts, and the outline of black mountains beyond the village, and the curve in the road ahead that leads off toward Hogwarts, and light spilling from the windows of the Three Broomsticks, and with a lurch of my heart, I remember, with piercing accuracy, how we had landed here nearly a year ago, supporting a desperately weak Dumbledore; all this in a second, upon landing -- and, even as I relax my grip on Harry and Riley's arms, it happens.

The air is rent by a scream which sounds like Voldemort's when he realized the cup had been a stolen; it tears at every nerve in my body, and I know immediately that our appearance has caused it. Even as I look at the others beneath the Cloak, the door of the Three Broomsticks has burst open, and a dozen cloaked and hooded Death Eaters dash into the street, their wands aloft. 

I seize Ron's wrist as he raises his wand. There are too many of them to Stun: even attempting it will give away our position. One of the Death Eaters waves his wand, and the scream stops, still echoing around the distant mountains. 

"Accio Cloak!" roars one of the Death Eaters. 

I seize its folds, but it makes no attempt to escape: the Summoning Charm has not worked on it. 

"Not under your wrapper then, Potters?" yells the Death Eater who had tried the Charm, and then, to his fellows, "Spread out. They're here!"

Six of the Death Eaters run towards us: we back, as quickly as possible, down the nearest side street and the Death Eaters miss us by inches. We wait in the darkness, listening to the footsteps running up and down, beams of light flying along the street. 

"Let's just leave!" Hermione whispers. "Disapparate now!"

"Great idea!" says Ron, but before Harry and I can reply, a Death Eater shouts, "We know you're here, Potters, and there's no getting away! We'll find you!"

"They were ready for us," Harry whispers. "They set up a spell to them we'd come. I reckon they've done something to keep us here, trap us --"

"What about Dementors!" calls another Death Eater. "Let 'em have free rein; they'd find them quick enough!"

"The Dark Lord wants the Potters dead by no hand but his --"

"-- an' the Dementors won't kill them! The Dark Lord wants the Potters' lives, not their souls. They'll be easier to kill if they've been kissed first!"

There are noises of agreement. Dread fills me: to repel Dementors we'll have to produce Patronus', which will give us away immediately. 

"We're going to have to try to Dispaparate!" Riley hisses. 

Even as he says it, I feel the unnatural cold begin to steal over the street. Light is sucked from the environment right up to the stars, which vanish. In the pitch blackness, I feel Hermione take hold of my arm and together, we turn on the spot. 

The air through which we need to move seems to have become solid: we can't Disapparate, the Death Eaters have cast their charms well. The cold is biting deeper and deeper into my flesh. Myself, Harry, Ron, Riley, and Hermione retreat down the side street, groping our way along the wall, trying not to make a sound. Then, around the corner, gliding noiselessly comes Dementors, ten or more of them, visible because they are a denser darkness than their surroundings, with their black cloaks and their scabbed and rotting hands. Can they sense fear in their vicinity? I'm sure of it: they seem to be coming more quickly now, taking those dragging, rattling breaths I detest, tasing despair on the air, closing in --