The Raven's Call

Rough Night

We exit number 4 Privet Drive one pair after another.

I focus on the broomstick, feeling its pulse beneath me as it slices through the air. Hermione's arms are wrapped tightly around my waist, her grip solid but not tight enough to be painful. She's steady, but there's a tension in her posture, a kind of quiet anticipation.

The night air feels colder now, the wind sharper as we climb higher, leaving Privet Drive behind. I can see the lights of the city glittering below, but something's off. The hairs on the back of my neck prick up, a feeling I can't shake, like we're being watched.

"Atticus, do you hear that?" Hermione's voice cuts through the wind, but I'm already straining to listen.

At first, it's just the usual rush of wind, the whoosh of the broom slicing through the air. But then—there it is. A faint thrum, like the sound of distant wings. I glance over my shoulder, but there's nothing there, just the darkness of the sky stretching behind us.

"I don't hear anything," I say, but the uneasy feeling doesn't go away.

Hermione doesn't reply, but I can feel her tighten against my back. Her breath is shallow now, coming in quick bursts. I risk a quick glance back, just enough to see a faint shape in the distance, moving fast.

"Atti..." she whispers, her voice tight. "Something's following us."

My heart skips a beat. I push the broom forward, trying to get ahead, but the shape is still there, closing in too quickly. The unmistakable dark figure, like a shadow in the sky, is gaining on us.

A chill runs down my spine.

"Death Eaters," I mutter under my breath.

The sudden rush of fear that grips me is replaced with determination. I can't let them catch us. Not like this. Not now.

I lean forward, urging the broom to speed up, feeling Hermione's arms grip me tighter as she holds on for dear life. But no matter how fast we go, I can feel them getting closer, the pounding of my pulse matched by the relentless pursuit behind us.

And then, before I can react, a flash of green light bursts past us—too close. We're officially in their sights.

"Hold on," I growl, pushing the broom into a sharp dive, aiming to lose them in the chaos of the city below. We're not just flying anymore; we're running for our lives.

Below us, London is a blur—a sprawling city of stone and steel. The Death Eaters are right behind us, their dark shapes trailing in the sky like hunting falcons, their wands sparking with deadly intent. A curse zips past us, missing by inches, and I grit my teeth.

"Hold on!" I shout, leaning forward even more. The broom whines under the strain, but it answers me, its speed kicking up a notch. Hermione's breath is warm on my back, her body pressed against mine as we dive toward the ground, trying to lose them in the maze of buildings below.

"Faster, Atti," she breathes into my ear. "They're gaining!"

I risk another glance behind me—too close. One of them is right on our tail, close enough that I can feel the heat from their curse as it streaks past. My heart pounds in my chest, adrenaline pushing me faster.