Ellen Dawson stared down at her cup of long-since-cold coffee. Even in her watery reflection, she could see the dark bags under her eyes and the slight frown on her own face.  With a huff she threw herself back on her chair and cast her gaze to the dark wood ceiling. Rolling her neck—and with a few satisfying pops later—she glanced over to the crystal ball on her right. It was a magic detector that covered the entirety of Great Britain, and someone had to be present with it at all times. Usually that honour was left with the newest intern, which was her.

“Dammit,” she said to the empty room.

With an eye roll at her own stupidity, she turned her attention back to the book she was supposed to be studying. It was a primer on space-modification spells and the basic theories behind how they worked. While the application of each spell was interesting, the books were so poorly written that they gave her a headache.

A soft chime emanated from the globe on her desk indicating a magical event had taken place. Ellen glanced up from her book, noting the soft red glow inside the ball meaning it was likely accidental magic and therefore only a minor event; not worth her attention. She barely had time to glance back to the ramblings of the book before there was a shrill whistle from the crystal. The soft red glow had turned a deep purple and began throbbing.

The orb pulsed once, twice, three times before repeating the pattern. Ellen grabbed her wand—eleven inches of oak—and jabbed it towards the orb, mentally forcing her magic into a spell construct designed to check the calibration of the orb. Three pulses were enough to register a class 6X event. It was not something that she had ever seen before; training had only covered up to class 5 events. She reached over to the stack of leather bound books on the oak desk in front of her and picked up the manual. Quickly flipping through the sections pertaining to magical events, she looked up class 6.

Ellen jabbed her wand at the artifact and a spell crystallized around the orb. Information began flowing into her mind through the diagnostic charm. The spell matrix was calibrated to ignore any even below a three x classification, as normal. The orb had detected a massive concentration of magical activity somewhere in the UK. Another quick spell and a map of Great Britain unfurled itself on the wall. The purple glow in the detector intensified before leaping onto the map centred around England.

Ellen attempted a few more spells to narrow the window but was unable to pinpoint the location of the disturbance. She stood from her chair and moved over to the large fireplace on the far wall away from her desk. On the mantle was an ornate bowl decorated with dragons containing a pile of floo powder. A quick pinch of the magical substance and a toss into the orange flames had them turn a brilliant green.

“Improper Use of Magic Office,” she spoke firmly into the fire while pulling up the hood on her cloak to engage the secrecy charms. Taking a deep breath, Ellen steadied herself and stepped into the flames.  

A few moments of spinning and she stepped out of the fire into the oak panelled waiting room.

A dozen parchment airplanes buzzed around the head of a young man sitting at the receptionist desk. His face was drawn into a grimace as he penned responses to the various missives.

“I need to see the detection room,” Ellen said through the voice distortion enchantments on her cloak.

Looking up sharply at the unexpected noise, his eyes widened slightly at seeing Ellen’s shrouded form standing at the desk. The young man stood abruptly knocking over a plaque bearing the name Brian Stoutfellow.

“Uh…” Brian rasped, suddenly finding his mouth dry. Swallowing a couple of times to try and get some moisture back into his parched throat he tried again “What?”

“I am Sentinel. I need access to your magic detector to confirm some readings,” Ellen responded. The voice enchantments distorted her voice and gave it an tinny ethereal quality.

Sweat began to appear on Brian’s forehead and he absentmindedly played with the quill in his hand.

“Uh, Sure. I guess,” he stammered..  

Ellen walked through the adjoining door into what amounted to organized chaos. There were desks lining the exterior of the room with a large table in the centre, upon which sat a large map of Great Britain. Above the map hung a large crystal ball suspended from the ceiling. The scent of cedar hung in the air, adding a pleasant and subtle aroma to the room. The crystal artifact glowed a deep purple and pulsing six times in quick succession. Around the table a collection of wizards and witches stood muttering spells and swishing their wands back and forth rhythmically. The purple glow that suffused the map below began to slowly coagulate around England proper and then retreated further through the midlands and centred on the southern coast.

Ellen stood there for a moment observing the chaos. Her heart thudded in her chest as the sheer momentous nature of  what was happening took over her senses. She gazed up at the detector the six quick pulses of deep purple confirmed her instrumentation in the Department.  Something big was going on, and the responsibility to alert her superiors and contain the situation fell to her.  She drew her wand and magically sealed and locked the door. Her spellcasting drew the attention of a wispy woman with long grey hair.  

“What is going on here?” the older woman demanded as she broke from her previous task.  

“I am Sentinel. Under orders from the Department of Mysteries, this is a code purple. No one is to leave this room and the events of tonight are to be considered secret. Further information will be provided to you as it becomes available,” Ellen said nervously. Thanks to the voice modulation of her cloak however, it would be impossible to discern her emotional state. The enchantments were similar to those cast to repel muggles. They drew attention away from her body language and tone; instead focusing it on the words themselves.  

“This is outrageous!” the woman announced, “You can’t just come in here and commander the place!”

Ellen swished her wand and incanted a quick “Expecto Patronum!” a flash of bright white light and a large butterfly appeared on the end of her wand.

“To Croaker. Confirmed class six event. Code purple.  At Improper Use of Magic office. Awaiting further instructions. Sentinel,” Ellen spoke to her patronus before it nodded to her and flew through the wall.

 

Turning back to Mafalda Hopkirk, Ellen raised her eyebrow at the other witch. A gesture that was lost on her due to the concealment charms embedded in her outer cloak. “You’ll find I can,” she said evenly.

With that, Ellen strode over to the nearest desk and began composing a letter to Hogwarts Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, asking him to confirm and help position the event. Time was of the essence.

Buried deep within the department of mysteries sat Professor Saul Croaker. He was ensconced in a dark purple armchair and bent over a dark cedar desk. Surrounding him floated ghostly representations of arcane formula and symbols, with each swish of his oak and unicorn hair wand the symbols shifted and warped into new incarnations. The elderly man furrowed his brow in concentration. A slight twist of the wand and the entire construct shattered, leaving behind a trail of sparkling blue dust which drifted to the ground.

Sighing heavily and using his right hand to rub his tired eyes, Croaker summoned a bottle of Gahan whiskey with his left. The bottle barely made it to his desk before the an ethereal glow of a patronus guardian lit up the room. He squinted at the butterfly as it delivered its entrusted message.

Croaker leaned back in his chair and stared at the bottom drawer of his desk. A quick flick of his wand and a muttered passphrase and the drawer popped open. He withdrew a lurid yellow potion and downed its contents. Sitting for a moment longer to allow the potion to take effect, Croaker took the time to summon a quill and parchment to jot out a quick note to the newest intern. A simple spell folded it into a paper airplane and sent it on its way out of the department of mysteries and eventually into the hands of Ellen.

Croaker crossed the room from his desk to the fireplace and with a pinch of floo powder stuck his head into the green fire.

 

The last rays of the setting sun were visible through the arching stained glass windows on the far wall of the Headmaster’s office. Croaker’s head in the fireplace strained to look around the empty room. Noticing the lack of the headmaster and his loyal Phoenix he looked up to the portraits of deceased headmasters.

 

“Phineas!” He shouted startling the portrait of the venerable headmaster out of his slumber. “Tell Albus we’ve got a class six event—a potential code purple. I need him to confirm with the Hogwarts detector. I’ll be at the ministry with Fudge trying to sort this out.”

It was a small misfortune that Croaker did not wait to hear the reply from the portrait. In his haste, he closed the connection and returned himself to the Ministry of Magic.

 

Croaker only took the time to stand and grab another pinch of floo powder before tossing it into the flames.

 

“Minister’s Office!”

 

A few moments of disorienting floo travel and Croker stepped out into the executive floor of the Ministry of Magic. Adjacent to him stood two other large fireplaces which crackled and popped merrily. Magic kept the entire floor at a comfortable temperature despite the large amount of open flames. A large imposing oak desk was placed in the middle of the wide hallway stretching out in front of him. Two or three persons could easily march down it abreast without any discomfort.

At the desk were two receptionists, doubling as guards, wearing dark navy robes with expressions of boredom etched on their faces.  

Croaker approached the two guards and dug out his identification tag which marked him as a department head.

 

“I need to see the Minister. It is urgent,” he said in a firm voice.

 

“The minister is busy,” the guard on the left replied.

 

A brass nameplate identified him as Reginald, Croaker noted with a glance. With a scowl he dropped his identification on the guards desk.

 

“That wasn’t a request,” the now irate department head growled.

 

“But sir, the Minister left orders not to be disturbed,” Reginald protested.

 

“Merlin’s cock to what the Minister wants right now,” Croaker snapped angrily as he walked past the desk and stalked down the hallway. As he neared the massive double doors which marked the Minister’s outer office, the two guards stationed on either side nodded to him and stepped aside to allow him entry.

 

As he crossed the threshold into the outer office, Croaker felt privacy wards melt over him. The experience was not unlike plunging his hand into a puddle of water, but without the wetness. The room was well furnished with a deep purple carpet, and stained oak walls. An empty desk dominated the left hand side of the room, and the large ebony door leading to the inner office was ajar. He didn’t hesitate in walking through the door and into the comfortably appointed room. Inside stood Minister Fudge, his under-secretary Deloris Umbridge, and two men that Croaker didn’t know.

 

“This is highly inappropriate Saul. I left explicit instructions not to be disturbed!” Fudge snapped.

 

“Apologies Minister, but a matter of national security has arisen which demands your immediate attention. I would suggest this meeting take place privately,” Croaker said, letting the minister’s ire slide off him.

 

“The situation surely isn’t that serious, Saul,” Umbridge simpered.

Minister Fudge glanced between his guests and the interloper.

 

“Whatever you need to say, Saul, can be said here. These are all trusted individuals.”

 

“Very well, Minister,” Croaker hesitated, and with a glance at the other members of the room, continued.

 

“I have confirmed a class six magical event. Both the Department’s equipment registered it, and so did the office of underage wizardry. I’ve left a message for Professor Dumbledore to check with the Hogwarts detector, but I suspect it’ll be the same. What’s worse is that it’s a Code Purple, Minister. We need to mobilize the Aurors.” Croaker said to Fudges rapidly paling face.

 

“Are you sure, Saul? There was no error in the equipment? Is it really a code purple?” the Minister asked quietly.

 

“Yes Minister, I’m sure.”

 

“Wait a moment,” Umbridge interjected, “What is a code purple? What is going on?”

 

Surprisingly it was the Minister who answered her.

 

“A code purple signifies that a society changing event has occurred. The last time a code purple was called was over a thousand years ago. And during that time Atlantis disappeared from the earth entirely, and the wizarding world was thrown into a dark age from which we have yet to recover. A code purple means that a Magus has Awoken,” Fudge said, hands shaking with restrained excitement.

 

He turned to Croaker with a resigned expression on his face.

“Set up a war room downstairs. I’ll take care of the rest of the issues, we must hurry and locate the fledgling Magus.”

 

Croaker nodded and rushed out of the room leaving the Minister and his dazed advisors.

 

“Dolores assist him in his preparations and recall all personnel,” the Minister ordered.

 

Trusting that his orders would be obeyed Fudge walked over to his desk and tapped his wand to an orb sitting on the desk. The face of Amelia Bones appeared in the orb.

 

“Yes Minister?” she asked looking surprised.

 

“Amelia. Recall all Aurors. There’s been a class 6 event somewhere in England. We need to find out what is going on and stop the Dark Lord from taking advantage of it. It’s a code purple, I’m afraid,” he said calmly.

 

The aging witches face paled through the orb and she nodded.

 

“Of course, Minister,” she nodded and broke the connection.

 

“First the Dark Lord himself appears in the Ministry not even a week ago, and now a Magus has awoken,” Fudge said to the other two remaining advisors.  “I fear for the fate of our world.”

***

 

Coals popped and cracked in the lit hearth, casting light across the dark hardwood floor of the Headmaster’s office. Albus Dumbledore sat in an overstuffed armchair; a mug of black tea grasped between his gnarled fingers. The scent of cinnamon and vanilla filled the air around the old headmaster, intensifying with each languid sip the man took of the liquid.

The tranquil scene was shattered by a soft chiming emanating from large bookshelves behind the Headmaster’s desk. Albus stood up from his chair and glanced to the bookshelf. On it sat a row of glass bottles; each containing a small silver house. Moving closer to the oak shelf, he trailed his hands along the base of each model. One by one, each of the miniature houses lit up in a soft blue glow—until the very end. The miniature of Number 4 Privet Drive, according to the brass plaque, turned a bright red, and spider web cracks begun to form in its glass casing.  

“It appears as if I will need you again, old friend,” Dumbledore murmured.

Fawkes whistled a short response and bobbed his head.

With one hand he jabbed his wand toward the adjoining bedroom, and with the other withdrew an hourglass necklace from his robes. A twist of the wrist, and he performed a switching spell on his robes leaving behind the bright yellow robes with black stars, and replaced them with robes of deep crimson. Another flick, this time from his index finger, and Albus Dumbledore was sent hurtling through time.

The group of Aurors lounged in the briefing room, waiting for their Senior Commander to commence the briefing. Several of them looked like they had just been roused from bed, and one hunchbacked, hard-faced witch was curled up on her chair, snoring as ferociously as any man. A group of junior Aurors, newer to the force than others, whispered to each other furtively on the other side of the room.

 

The Auror closest to Tonks, a large portly wizard, was smoking a pipe- one that sent shimmering wisps of rianbow-coloured smoke rising into the air. The metamorphmagus could vaguely smell a hint of fairy-floss, and it was a distracting odour as she tried in vain to tug her boots on propely.

 

“Sonnuva…” she swore under her breath, then hissed in pain as she chipped a nail.

 

“Oi, Nymph!”

 

Tonks looked up, a scowl on her face. Williamson, a tall, handsome man grinned down at her, looking bright-eyed and annoyingly cheerful considering the time of the night.

 

“Call me that again and I’ll cut you!” Tonks snapped, her hair flickering with an angry red colour.

 

Williamson didn’t seemed concerned as he raked a hand through his red-hair, and he gestured down at her feet.

 

“Wrong shoe,” he elaborated with an easy smile.

 

Tonks blinked and looked down.

 

“Oh,” she uttered, suddenly feeling foolish. She paused, and then swapped her shoe to the other foot. “You’re still an arse.”

 

“Love you too!” Williamson chuckled and wandered off.

 

Just as the others were finding their own seats and chatting lightly with each other, the door leading to the main offices slammed open and Kingsley Shacklebolt strode to the podium.

“Listen up everyone, we’ve received reliable intelligence that there will be a Death Eater attack on a muggle neighbourhood. I want everyone suited up and ready to go in five. Use of lethal force is authorized, and this is not a drill.” Kingsley said with a carefully neutral expression.

 

“Williamson, Prodmoore, and Jacobs, you’re on point,” he said nodding to the three Aurors.

Tonks stood from her chair and made her way over to see Kingsley, her boots thunking loudly on the hardwood floor of the briefing room.

“What’s going on Shack?” she asked her mentor.

“Dumbledore tipped us off. They’re after Harry. I have a portkey for you to take him back to headquarters. Your mission is to secure and extract him at all costs. You are not to engage any Death Eaters unless it’s necessary for you to get Harry. Even if we’re losing to the Dark Lord himself, you must get him out. Do you understand?”  Shack said, his voice taking on an urgent tone.

***

Tonks blinked as the swirling cascade of light and motion which signified portkey travel came to an abrupt halt. Her team lay in various states on the well manicured grass—a fate which she managed to avoid due  to her instinctual understanding of her own body. Another perk of being a metamorph. Tonks took in her surroundings, there didn’t seem to be a pitched battle occurring. A series of identical muggle houses greeted her inspection. Each house had the same roofs, the same walkways, and the same driveways in which a similarly looking cars were parked.

 

It was the height of normality. It was also a place that she was familiar with. The Auror response team had appeared in the front garden of number 7 Wisteria Walk, the home of Arabella Figg.

 

“Ah, fuck me, I think I split me trousers,” came the voice of Timmons.

 

“Maybe you should lose some of that excess you’ve got goin’ then, huh?” Williamson needled the portly wizard. His barb was greeted by a few chuckles from their fellow Aurors and a small smile from Tonks.

 

“Cut the crap, this ain’t social hour, we have a mission to complete,” Kingsley’s deep voice rattled through the group and doused any good humour they might have had.

 

“Williamson, take your team and go. Keep your eyes open and your wand ready, there’s no telling when this could kick off.”    

 

The ginger haired Auror nodded and gestured to two other Aurors. A quick spell later and the three of them disappeared behind magical concealment. The rest of the group waited a few short moments and followed them into darkness.

 

Tonks could feel the shift in the air long before she crossed the ward boundaries. The feel of ozone that caused your hair to stand on end signified the presence of hastily cast wards, and the slight heady scent confirmed anti-travel wards. As she turned the corner onto Privet Drive itself she hesitated at the sight before her. Spellfire lit the air as Albus Dumbledore dueled ten black robed wizards at the same time. He moved with inhuman grace and speed as he ducked, weaved, and shielding the multitude of bright lights.

 

“Holy shit,” Tonks breathed in awe.

“Must be a pretty impressive set of concealing wards for us to miss the action,” Jenkins commented lightly while fiddling with a stone in his hand.

“Everyone engage the enemy. Take no prisoners.” Kingsley said firmly.

 

Williamson’s group apparently had similar thoughts as an azure jet of magic burst forth from the opposite side of the street and slammed into the back of one of the Death Eaters. Judging from the tone of the scream, the bone breaker had succeeded in breaking the man’s spine.

 

Two of the Aurors, Prodmoore and Jenkins, were busily setting up defensive spells around the white picket fences of numbers 5 and 7 Privet Drive while the others laid down a barrage of spellfire in hopes that it would allow the defensive wards to be completed.

 

Tonks ducked as a sickly purple curse narrowly missed her head. She retaliated with an iridescent cone of shifting multi-coloured light.

 

“What the fuck?” a female voice screamed from the other side of Tonks’ witchcraft.

 

Tonks grinned and jabbed her wand forward, a strong piercing curse left her wand and proceeded to bore a hole the size of a pound through a fence post.  She frowned at her terrible aim, but chalked it up to protective wards on the fence. After all, if all was going according to plan, Timmons and Jacobs should be setting up wards now.

 

The sound of a gong ringing filled the battleground and the sky was rent aflame. Tonks robes flapped in the wind as the magical fire drew air from outside into the inferno high above. The outer wards had been destroyed, wards which had been crafted by Dumbledore himself, and were rumored to be as strong as the ones surrounding the ministry. However, if a bunch of Death Eaters could bring down the wards in the middle of a firefight, then they had either underestimated the Death Eaters or overestimated Dumbledore, neither boded well.

 

Tonks flicked her wrist and parried an orange spell into a nearby bush which promptly caught on fire. The metamorphmagus jabbed her wand again and cast a powerful bludgeoning spell known as the Witch’s Foehammer. It blasted forward, invisible, and smashed into the Death Eater in front of her, alighting their shield a brilliant blue, but failing to break through.

 

The Death Eater knelt and jabbed his wand into the dirt. Tonks’ breath left her body as she barely as she threw herself to ground in an attempt to dodge the rock spire which had erupted beneath her feet. Scrambling to cover behind a now warded post, she cast a silent leg locker and a stunner to buy herself some time and regain her breath.

 

She turned her head to the sound of Williamson screaming down the street. Tonks stilled. The two Aurors assigned to Williamson’s team were already dead, their bodies brutalized and strung up on the street upside down by their ankles. Williamson himself meanwhile was being held under a torture curse. Tonks felt the wave of despair hit her. Her heart rate increased, and her pupils dilated in fear. The darker, and more basic, areas of her psyche were screaming at her to run. The Dark Lord stood above Williamson, a twisted smile on his face as he tortured her friend.   

“So, that’s how the wards came down,” Tonks gulped before being forced to rollaway as the ground beside the post exploded outward sending clods of dirt raining in all directions, and little rocks acted as shrapnel, digging into her hands and face.

 

She conjured a blue and green mutli-faceted shield which would buy her enough time to get to her feet and assess the situation. Dumbledore was still dueling four Death Eaters, and by the look of the magic being tossed around they were inner circle members. The Aurors had the remaining Death Eaters pinned down in the front lawn of Harry’s house. They were ideally flanking them with Dumbledore, but the Headmaster was too busy trading spells with Voldemort’s finest. Seeing that she was largely ignored in the arcane melee that had consumed Privet Drive, she tapped her wand to her head and disappeared from sight. It was time to get Harry. It was only an added benefit that she would further away from the Dark Lord and behind the inner wards which protected the house itself.

 

***

Harry stood staring out his too small window in his too small bedroom at number 4 privet drive. The gouges in the masonry were still present from his liberation by the Twins some three years ago. He smiled as he traced his fingers over the rough and broken brickwork. The clouds were coloured a deep purple and red from the last light of the setting sun. The distant sound of birds chirping and the smell of the rosebush beneath his window—a rosebush that he had painstakingly tended all month—filled his perceptions. Harry took a deep breath and smiled, letting himself sink into the little things in nature.

Harry took another deep breath and turned away from the beautiful vista, and returned to his ratty desk in the corner. His transfiguration homework was sprawled over the desk’s pot-marked top, and a quill sat in an old inkpot. He picked up the quill and scratched a few more sentences on the parchment—already just over five feet long—before he was interrupted by a brown barn owl swopping through his open window.

Harry let the owl settle on Hedwig’s unused perch—she was out hunting—and take a drink of water before he removed the crisp white parchment letter baring the seal of the Ministry of Magic. A loud bang accompanied by the loud drone of a car horn interrupted his examination of the letter. Harry snatched his wand from the end table by his bed and opened his door and swiftly made his way towards the noise. Uncle Vernon had made it into the front garden by the time Harry had made it to the landing. The sound of the car horn was louder now with the door open, as Harry crossed the threshold of the front door and took in the mess that had become the front lawn of Number 4 Privet Drive.

A light pole had collapsed onto his uncle’s new company-issued land rover. The rover had smashed into the pole and managed to crumple the engine compartment back to the driver’s seat. The windshield was broken, and the side mirrors lay on the ground. Vernon was pulling on the driver’s side door, his face red and purple. The driver—aunt Petunia—was collapsed over the steering wheel and blood covered her face. In the passenger side his cousin Dudley was sprawled against the cracked window unmoving.

Harry raised his wand a spell on his lips to help free his trapped aunt when he felt a chill across his body and heard a whispered “Avada Kedavra.”  A bolt of pale green light struck his sobbing uncle from behind and he collapsed to the ground.  

Harry felt the chill deepen as a wizard cloaked in black with a bone white mask covering their face stepped into view from behind the parked car at number 6. Behind it were two Dementors, the foul guards of Azkaban. Harry’s eyes narrowed and he jabbed his wand towards the monster that had just killed his family, “Confrigo!” he spoke harshly, and a swirling red-purple spell flew from his wand and and slammed into a glowing yellow segmented shield.

No, please no…

Harry could hear his mother’s cries as the Dementors drew nearer to him. Clearing his mind, he drew upon the happiest memory—Sirius telling him that he could finally leave the Dursley’s—and summoned Prongs, his ethereal patronus. Leaving Prongs to deal with the Dementors, Harry continued moving his wand and levitated a piece of the debris into the path of a putrid yellow hex from the Death Eater.

“It’s over Potter,” the man snarled as he fired off another curse, this time red. “You’ll never make it out alive.”

Harry jumped backward to avoid the spell rather than raise another shield. He slammed the door and waved his wand, a muttered spell later and the front door had transfigured itself into solid stone and blended in with the wall.  Hopefully, Harry thought, that would buy him a few seconds to get out of this mess.

The sound of breaking glass and a slamming door let him know that the Death Eater apparently wasn’t alone and that his friends were coming through the backdoor. Having little time to react, Harry jabbed his wand at the chair in the living room. The chairs morphed and twisted into the shape of a golden lion, and ran into the kitchen. Harry sent another blasting curse blindly down the hallway before sprinting up the stairs.

A loud crash heralded the stone door being blown inward by the Death Eater outside. Harry grimaced as he slammed the door to his bedroom closed behind him. A few more swishes of his wand and he placed a shield charm and several strengthening charms on the door and wall beside it. Turning to his room he jabbed his wand towards his desk.

“Pack!” He said roughly.

His belongings shot to his trunk from all over the room. His clothes neatly folded themselves and settled into the bottom of his trunk. The books followed next and arranged themselves by subject, and then by alphabet according to the title of the book. The various knickknacks that he collected over his years as a wizard were next, with his prized invisibility cloak finishing off the assortment of possessions. Harry snatched the cloak up and donned it, disappearing from any observers.

A series of sharp cracks and pops sounded nearby followed by an explosion that shook the house. Harry snapped his wrist and flicked a spell at the spell at the ground before vaulting out the window. The cushioning charm blunted the impact of his short fall allowing Harry to roll onto the back garden, narrowly avoiding the rose bushes. Harry saw the flashes of spell fire from the front yard.

“Aurors out front!” Harry heard one of the masked Death Eaters yell back while crouching behind the rubble that was once the front door.

“Fuck,” the nearest Death Eater swore “How did the Auror’s get the tip off?”

“I don’t kno—“

Harry jabbed his wand toward the other Death Eater and silent cast a piercing hex. A twist of his wrist and the curst crossed the distance and bore a hole the size of a sickle in masked invader’s head. The spell continued through his head and burrowed part way through the mask of the first Death Eater.

The Death Eater dropped to the ground and an amber shield blocked Harry’s next hex. Harry spelled his shoes silent and moved around the house to the front. ‘Let him try and play hide and seek with nothing in the garden,’ Harry thought to himself.

Harry turned the corner of the house only to see Albus Dumbledore duelling ten Death Eaters on his front lawn. He paused to watch the Headmaster of Hogwarts effortlessly deflect, shield, and move around spells.  The Headmaster didn’t even look stressed as he held off the dark wizards that surrounded him.

Harry’s vision swam as a searing brand imprinted itself across his forehead. The pain in his scar caused spots to appear in his vision. Harry tried to clear his mind—to force his emotions aside and maintain a calm detachment—but the pain was too much. The last thing he saw before he collapsed into unconsciousness was the Dark Lord stepping out of the shadows, and the sound of two Aurors screaming.

***

Tonks took the long way to the back garden behind Privet Drive. She ducked down and through number 1 and 3. She didn’t want to be caught in any defences that the Dark Lord’s minions had put up around the property, or however unlikely, become the subject of friendly fire.  As she entered into the back garden she saw the corpse of the Death Eater and the rent up back lawn. She crept into the house keeping a careful eye out for any strange movement or noises that would indicate a bidding Death Eater.

As she made her way down the hallway she could see the battle unfolding through the wreckage of the front door. Dumbledore and Voldemort were trading spells faster than she could identify which spells were being cast. She could hear the faint song of a Phoenix beneath the crashing and banging of spellfire.

Tonks made her way up the stairs to where Harry’s bedroom was, as she reached the top Harry’s bedroom door came into view. The door was split in half with one end still attached to the wall, and the other had fallen into Harry’s room. Dreading the worst Tonks made her way into the too-small bedroom—wand at the ready.

Tonks entered there room, and finding now one obviously there cast her wand in a wide arc and spoke a spell. An invisible wave of magic filtered through the bedroom. The objects in the room were imprinted briefly on her mind as the magic touched each thing—even invisible ones.

“Fuck, not here,” she swore.

Making her way down the stairs and through the house again, she observed the ongoing battle out front once more. The Aurors had successfully taken down two more Death Eaters, but the three Inner Circle members still remained, by the sounds of the cackling, one of them was her aunt Bellatrix.

Tonks decided to make her way back to the front and help out the Aurors, she moved through the backyard and skirted the edge of the house. She waived her wand a few more times and settled some more protective enchantments on her clothing. She took a step forward—wand raised—prepaired to launch a vicious curse at her aunt when she stumbled and fell on her face.

She felt a body beneath her as she struggled to get to her feet. Her knee pressed into something soft and squishy and she stood up, but nothing was beneath her that she could see. She groped around for a moment, and her hand came into contact with an invisibility cloak. She pulled it off an unconscious Harry and pulled out her emergency portkey, and raised her wand. A few medical spells fell from her and surrounded Harry with a pale blue glow. She nodded to herself in satisfaction and pulled Harry into her lap, threading her arms around him and holding him tightly.

“Cado,” she spoke firmly while pressing the portkey between their hands. Another blur of colour and spinning nausea, and they were gone.