We Meet Again(Cedric/Edward)

33-Case Files

Sabrina

Leo and I immediately jumped at the sound, turning towards the window. I looked back at him anxiously. We got up and sprinted out of the house to see what had happened.

The streets were dark and barely illuminated. It felt like running through a maze. I just hoped with all my might that there would be no bright blue cup waiting for me at the end of this road.

We ran through twists and turns of streets and alleyways, and, around the corner of an ancient, stone building, a hissing, thin, foggy trail of smoke led us to the source of terror.

As we followed the brume, one foot slowly stepping in front of the other along the cold cobblestone path, a horrifying image presented itself to my view. Right there, on the freezing, solid ground, lay Mike Newton, immobile but with no trace of injury. His crystal eyes had a sense of emptiness I'd seen so many times before, and as Leo ran over to the boy to check his pulse, I already knew that his heart had ceased beating.

The path of smoke had not yet decreased, extraordinarily enough. I observed as it flew up into the air and, slowly, formed a precise shape. And even once it dissipated, I still couldn't get the Dark Mark out of my head.

   It was difficult, seeing Jessica the next morning at school. The news of Mike's death had quickly spread across the little town, and she had been sobbing in my shoulder all morning. I knew exactly how she felt
   "And I kept thinking he was cheating..." she sniffed, and I passed her a handkerchief.
   "They don't even know what it was, that killed him," she continued before breaking out into a fit of sobs. I pitifully caressed her shoulder, hoping the gesture was appreciated.

   In a few days, Jessica had surmounted the hardest part of grief. Now, she had accepted Mike's death, but she wasn't quite herself anymore. It was always awkward, being all together, acting like friends without Mike. Even though I never liked him, I recognised that he somewhat served as glue for the group.

"It doesn't make sense. Doctor Cullen sent us the autopsy. There's no trace of injury or a weapon,but he was a perfectly healthy young man."
Dad was rambling, running around in his office, at the police station.

It was the first time I'd ever visited the place. His desk was covered in paperwork and wires, his walls were plain and white, and his shelf was filled with folders, all with different etiquettes naming different cases. On his desk, on top of all of his disorderly documents, a small folder lay, named: "Untraceable".

"Chief, your daughter's here," a man in a uniform whispered, and Dad looked up at me, awkwardly standing at the door.

"Sabrina!" he came over to me, "Why didn't you tell me you were coming?"

"I just... wanted to see if there's any progress being made."

"Well, not yet, admittedly. This case is really pissing me off," he answered irritatedly, turning back to his papers.

I walked over to his desk and glanced down at the folder.
"What's in it?" I asked.

"Just all of the recent murders that've been happening lately."

"All? Is Mike Newton's murder not the only untraceable murder?"

"Nope. And, funny enough, they all happened around here. There were two in a nearby town, with only 3567 inhabitants," he opened up the folder and flipped to a certain page. A photograph of a dark-haired woman stood out to me. I examined the document more closely.

"Full name: Diana Scammander
Age of death: 37
Marital status: married to Lorion Scammander
Appearance: Skinny, 5'6 inches, long nose, curly brown hair
Medical history: healthy, no serious illness or disability
Events leading to death: Was venturing around the town and found herself in a dark alleyway, where she died
Cause of death: unknown"

   "Scammander..." I whispered. "I've heard that name before..."

As I flipped through the pages, I found myself collecting a pattern: a perfectly healthy, reasonably young person killed, supposedly from a stroke, with no trace of injury or protest. I harshly closed the folder and placed it back on the desk, anxious thoughts running through my mind like a train.

I turned away from Dad from fear he could tell how fast my heart was beating. I could hear my own pulse thumping in my ear. The air left my throat. I couldn't breathe. Voldemort had found me. He'd slithered back to me, and he was going to ruin whatever ruins of a life I'd managed to install.

   I didn't know what to do. I just stood there and felt my hands shake uncontrollably. I had to warn my father.

   "Dad?" I asked quietly.

   "Mm?" he grunted.

   "What if... those murders weren't done naturally?" I asked. I heard him roll his chair out, and I could sense him looking at me. A ghostly chill ran down my spine.

   "What do you mean?" he asked, although I could tell in the tone of his voice he knew exactly what I meant.

Suddenly, I turned around to face his worried expression.
   "Dad. I know who murdered these people. It's him. His followers. The Death Eaters," I whispered, fearing that that term had also become a way to trace someone down.

Dad didn't say anything, but his frown deepened.

   "You've got to believe me. I know it's them. I saw their symbol. And the smoke around Mike's body... Smoke doesn't act like that. I'm sure that if I went there and cast a recognising charm, I'd see traces of magic in the air."

Dad gulped and looked down.

   "If what you're saying is true... I can't do anything about this case."

I just looked at him intensely. I hoped that seeing my eyes so open to him would result in his believing me—they do say eyes are a window to the soul.

   "Sabrina. This is serious. What are we going to do? I can't go against him," Dad was starting to get anxious.

I didn't answer. My chest rose over and over again at a pace I thought inhuman, my hands shook fervently, and my mind was racing.

   "We're going to have to move away. Or else they'll take you away and cut your other arm up," he uttered, louder this time.

   "No! I-I can deal with it. I've done it before," I said, but the courage I claimed to have was fading away with every waking minute.

   "No, you won't. I won't allow it," Dad answered forcefully.

   "I can't let you give up your whole career and your house just for me!" I exclaimed furiously. "None of this would have happened if I hadn't come into your life!"

   "Oh, don't you start blaming yourself when you've already been through so much!" Dad bellowed, getting up from his chair.

   "I'm not a baby anymore!" I yelled. "I know how to defend myself and others! I've done it before—you haven't!"

   "But you weren't alone!" howled Dad, louder than both of us combined. "You had Harry, and Ron, and Hermione! You don't anymore!"

   I could feel salty tears well up in my eyes. I bit them back and looked at my shoes. I wanted to shout at him, tell him he didn't know me, tell him I'd done all of this before, tell him he was wrong. But, deep down inside me, I knew he was right.
Without saying a word, I turned my back to him and left.

   As I swiftly made my way out of the police station, wild thoughts raced in my mind. One dominated all: I had to tell Leo.