Before the Dawn | George Weasley

53

I didn't leave my room the next day. I felt sick to my stomach.

Jamie left the Daily Prophet outside my door, the headline reading: TERROR IN LONDON. 

I flipped through it with dread, drinking heavily from my flask and wondering if Jamie would notice yet another bottle of liquor missing from the cellar.

The Brockdale Bridge had been brought down by Death Eaters—that would be Rabastan, Dolohov, Theodore, Miles, and Lucian—killing several Muggles and causing millions of pounds' worth in damages. Emmeline Vance was found dead too, not far from Downing Street. I'd heard her name before but had never met her—she was a known associate of the Order of the Phoenix, and had been an official member during the First Wizarding War.

On the third page was an article about another murder—Amelia Bones, a known Ministry worker, found dead in her own home. There was evidence that she had put up quite the fight. I scanned through her column, then flipped the page, my heart sinking as I saw Karkaroff's photograph.

The picture was his mugshot from his brief stint in Azkaban, his dark eyes staring up at me from the page. The article was rather brief, and surprisingly vague, saying only that he had been found dead 'up north' with the Dark Mark in the sky above him. I eyed his picture for as long as I could stomach, then closed the newspaper and threw it against the wall.

I lay on my bed for the rest of the day, staring at the ceiling and necking a bottle of gin. The room swam, the alcohol easing the stress grating at my nerves and dulling my senses enough to allow my muscles to relax. 

When at last the sun had set and the orange glow of the streetlights outside had crept through my window, there was a harsh knock on my door, and I snapped out of my stupour, my brain still a bit fuzzy. I squinted, forcing myself to focus.

"What?" I called, my voice a bit hoarse.

"Mackenzie Doyle, I need to talk to you." Jamie's voice held an edge. "Come out right now."

I groaned. "Can it wait?"

"Don't make me blast this damned door off its hinges!" she snapped. "I'll do it, I don't care what Mum says!"

I dragged myself off my bed, paused as my balance slowly returned to me, and then trudged over to unlock the door. I was met there by a livid Jamie.

"You've been lying to me," she said.

My heart stopped. "What?"

"Come with me."

I followed her downstairs, trying not to panic, and wishing I was much more sober. "Jamie, what's this about?"

"I don't know where you've been going every day, but I do know Miles is covering for you."

"Why would you say that?"

"Because I covered for you when you dropped off the grid last Christmas. I know what it looks like," she snapped, turning to face me. 

Then she plucked a wrapped package off the dining room table and threw it at my face.

I caught it just in time. "What is this?"

"Your bloody Christmas present from Miles! He sent it to my house, since that's where you told him you'd be!"

I eyed the present. "And you're giving this to me now?"

"I guess I was waiting for you to stop lying to me, but you never did, so Merry Christmas, Mackie!"

I watched her a bit nervously, having never seen her this angry before, and unwrapped the present. It was a Scotland Highlanders jersey—my favorite Quidditch team.