A Second Channe Through Time

CHAPTER TWENTY

Page count: 13

Hogwarts - Friday 12th March 1982

The quiet of Albus Dumbledore's office was almost reverent, broken only by the soft scratch of quill on parchment and the ticking of the silver contraptions lining the shelves. Afternoon light filtered through the tall windows, bathing the room in muted gold.

Without warning, the calm fractured.

A tawny owl swept through the open window in a blur of feathers, banking sharply before landing atop his desk. It extended its leg with mechanical urgency.

Dumbledore frowned.

The owl was not one of his.

He untied the parchment, unfolded it—

—and froze.

Three words stared up at him in stark, hurried handwriting.

She is alone.

The slip of parchment fluttered from his fingers, drifting onto the polished wood as he straightened abruptly. The quiet ticking in the room suddenly seemed deafening.

His expression darkened—something rare, something dangerous.

Dumbledore stepped toward the fireplace with decisive, urgent strides. A pinch of Floo powder was cast into the grate; green fire roared to life.

Without hesitation, without a backward glance, he stepped into the flames and vanished.

~000~000~000~

Sirius' Apartment

Three figures stood framed in the doorway, cloaked head-to-toe in black, Death Eater masks gleaming dully in the lamplight.

Hermione shot upright. Instinct overrode pain and fatigue; she flicked her wrist, banishing every book on the rug back to her heavily warded bookcase. Not one title could fall into the wrong hands.

She barely had time to breathe.

A neon-blue curse tore across the room, catching her square in the chest. The impact lifted her clean off her feet and slammed her into the wall hard enough to drive the air from her lungs. Her vision swam. She had never—never—been hit with magic that strong.

She tried to stand.

Another blast hit her before she reached her knees, crushing her back against the wall a second time. A third spell ripped her wand from her grip and sent it skidding across the floor, far beyond reach.

The tallest masked figure strode toward her. The other two remained by the door, voices low as their wands carved intricate, glowing runes into the wood. The entrance pulsed a menacing red.

Hermione blinked through the pain, lifting her chin defiantly just as the figure stopped before her.

"What do you know about the Horcruxes?"

Her answer was a glare.

A slicing hex lashed across her upper arm. She hissed, jaw tightening, but refused to look away.

"What do you know about the Horcruxes?"
He repeated—calm, cold.

Another slice of burning pain opened her skin.

She kept her silence.

The man bent down, gaze locking with hers—and Hermione froze.

The mask concealed the face. The charm distorted the voice. The robes meant nothing.