CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE:
MORTAL COIL

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IN THE DEAD OF night, worlds away from Ottery St Catchpole and the lurking dangers of The Burrow, three figures appeared out of thin air. One-by-one, they crashed to the ground like dominos from the looming clouds; an older man, a young boy and a girl. Slowly, each of them stood, except for the girl. She laid there for a moment, twigs digging into her back, leaves caught in her blonde hair like spiders tangled in their own webs. The air was lost from her lungs. She gasped for breath, squeezing her eyes shut as the darkness became blood that pooled in a shadow on the floor. Night became a Death Eater's perfect opportunity for escape, her first and final friend caught in their grasp. 

Freya knew no other grief quite like this.

"Solana," she murmured with every sharp breath. Both Fraser and Dean, who stood over her, were just relieved to know she was okay. They didn't realise the significance of Solana's name at first. Why would they?

"Come on, Frey," her dad helped her to her feet. 

Immediately, he drew her into his arms, the place where Freya, as a young girl, would run to for comfort. She didn't feel safe there anymore. Her dad wasn't invincible. Nobody was. Deep down, Freya knew she'd never see Solana Thomas again. That this killing blow was the first of many to come. She didn't know how to live with it.

"Solana," she said again, the only thing she could think to say. 

Her voice cracked, tears clouding her vision. She gripped her father's arms and pushed away from him. She couldn't be this close to someone. Couldn't put her head to his chest and know that, one day, the heart inside its cage would stop beating too. Her best friend, the girl who was larger than life itself, was a corpse that could rot. The essence of her, the person Freya had loved, was gone just like that. 

What was worse, her family didn't even know. Dean was watching her cluelessly, his suit covered in dirt, tie loose around his neck. "Hey, she'll be fine, Freya," he said. He thought she was just worried for her best friend. Never would it cross Dean's mind that his big sister was capable of losing against death. "Sol's tough. And she has Fred. Whatever's happened between them, I trust him to protect her."

The tears welled over then. She couldn't bear it, this agony that tore at her relentlessly. She yearned for one last hug, to hear Solana's voice one final time, to know the last words they ever shared were something meaningful, not painful. As Freya sobbed, Dean's face dropped. His brows furrowed in a confused but fearful frown. Somehow, Fraser knew. He bowed his head, one hand on her shoulder, the other reaching for Dean. But he stumbled back and Freya traced his features, Solana's features, in despair.

"I saw her," she whispered, choking on every word. "The Death Eater's... I don't know what happened but she was bleeding, and then she... she fell and she didn't get back up. And they took her body--"

"No," Dean shook his head. "No."

"I was trying to get to her," she continued, because he needed to know. 

Dean wrenched his tie off with trembling fingers. It seemed to suffocate him as he snapped, "Don't. She can't be..."

Solana was his sister by blood, but for the longest time, she was Freya's sister by choice. They had chosen each other. And now one was gone, and the other desperately wanted to follow. 

Freya's voice was soft, a murmur that died on her tongue. "I tried."

"I need a minute," Dean mumbled. He turned and disappeared into the trees with a hand over his mouth. He looked ready to be sick.

"Don't wander too far," Fraser called after him. He was eyeing the skyline with wariness. In the shadows of nightfall, anyone could be watching them, concealed by the looming veil of the sky and the thick tree branches that surrounded them. "I should put up enchantments. Freya, will you...?"

She nodded, answering his silent question as she scrubbed her tears from her skin. Her fingers came back stained with clumps of mascara, reminding Freya of blood smeared beneath the dim glow of the moon. Head spinning, she dropped back to her knees, swamped by the black and gold folds of her dress. With Fraser not too far away, mumbling curses to the heavens, she didn't notice Dean sink to the ground beside her until he'd wrapped his suit jacket around her shoulders. His eyes were red-rimmed. His lower lip was caught between anxiously gnawing teeth. 

"I hope she's dead," he blurted then, to which Freya's jaw dropped. "If she's not, the Death Eaters are going to make her wish she was. I'd rather her die quickly than die afraid and in pain."

Freya said nothing back, not that Dean expected an answer. Everything had changed so quickly. Just a few hours ago, they were dancing with family and friends, consumed by laughter and a celebration of love. Freya thought of George, of Fred and the rest of the Weasleys. She hoped against hope that they had gotten somewhere safe. She couldn't lose them too. Freya had a sinking feeling that Dean wouldn't get his wish. Solana's death was anything but painless.

"Dad," she said later once he'd moved on to gathering fallen branches to start a fire. Freya welcomed the warmth, squinting against the spitting flames after so long surrounded by darkness. "What are we supposed to do now?"

For a while, he didn't reply. There were ghosts haunting him again. Freya was sure of it. Every move was wired, tension bunched in his shoulders. If there was Firewhiskey nearby, Freya was sure he'd have downed it to the very last drop already, if only it would subdue the ghosts for a minute. A fragment of peace, of silence in his head. The cost would be his sobriety. He'd been through this before. The agony in Freya's heart? It stayed with him for every waking moment of the past seventeen years. Even then.

Now it was Freya's turn to carry it, the bonafide McKinnon burden.

"The Order's over," he muttered, voice hoarse. He threw another piece of wood into the fire and reared back as the flames leapt higher.  "We can't risk going back. If the Weasleys are alive, they're going to be under constant watch now."

"What about our home?" she asked, thinking of the familiar rooms she'd long since taken for granted.

Fraser regarded her grimly, which was an answer in itself.

"I guess we're stuck here," Dean sighed, a muscle twitching in his jaw. When Freya turned to frown at him, he shrugged and played it off with a tired grimace. "I won't risk mum's life, too. When this is over..." He hesitated, suddenly weary of her reaction. "We'll find Solana. Let mum say goodbye."

If there's a body to find. This was implied but better left unspoken. Just the thought made Freya want to be sick like Dean.

"I'm tired," she abruptly announced, pulling Dean's jacket around her as a gust of wind battered against the flames. They danced like lively bodies, reaching for the heavens despite time reducing them to embers in the ground. "I knew I should've worn jeans to the wedding. I can't wait to burn this dress."

Fraser managed the barest of smiles. "I'll sneak into the nearest town tomorrow, grab us a tent and some practical clothes." As Freya nodded, he chucked his own jacket at her. "Here. For your head."

She was out the second the side of her face met the makeshift pillow. Solana waited for her in her dreams, screaming her throat raw in an unfamiliar cellar, body twitching in a pool of crimson. Alive, but at what cost? The nightmare roused Freya about an hour later. Dean was slumped against the tree beside her, eyes shut but his breathing too shallow. He wasn't asleep, just desperately hoping for an escape. As for Fraser, he was sitting with his back to them, feeding the fire with the twigs scattered across the ground. They crackled and gave the flames a few extra seconds of life. Freya thought about trading places with him but he seemed content to stay awake.

Before she knew it, she'd closed her eyes again and morning had come. Dean and Fraser were whispering to themselves a few feet away. They didn't notice her at first. Freya caught a worried murmur of her name from her father's mouth and winced. She tried not to think about it as she dragged herself over to sit with them.

"G'morning," Fraser shot Dean a pointed look before kissing her forehead. "You sleep okay?"

Freya shrugged. One look at Dean's gaunt features made her think twice about sharing the contents of her dream with them. Instead, she let the silence speak for itself, picking at a strand of grass that scratched uncomfortably against her leg. 

In the starkness of the morning, the forest was innocuous. All around them loomed an endless plain of bare trees, leaves having fallen as Autumn faded into Winter. The sky was a pale grey but the sun peeked through the clouds, bearing the truth of their feelings as they weighed on them; still, no one breached the silence except the birds and the bugs.

"Please tell me you're going to find a town soon," Freya turned to her dad as she wrestled with the uncomfortable skirt of her dress. Despite the cool breeze, she shrugged off Dean's jacket and offered it back to him. He shook his head, though Freya knew his navy dress shirt was hardly the warmest material. She shoved it back into his hands despite the scowl of protest on his face. "I think I might die of hunger."

"Well, that's what the bugs are for," Fraser swatted at a fly and smirked.

"On second thoughts," her nose wrinkled. "I'm happy to starve."

Her father's grin didn't linger for long before reverting back to his usual stern frown. "I'm heading out now," he said, referring to her initial question. "Do you need anything else?"

Freya shook her head and Dean did the same. The two teens watched as Fraser tugged on his suit jacket. Patches were stained by mud from Freya using it as a pillow, but Fraser either didn't notice or just didn't care. He left his tie discarded in the grass, forgotten and crushed beneath his boot.

"Hey, dad?" Freya spoke up before he could leave the safety of their enchantments. Fraser turned to her. With a lump in her throat that felt strangely like her heart, she said, "Stay safe, yeah? Don't go looking for trouble."

At that last part, Fraser's lips twitched. "You too, kid," he replied. 

Then, he was gone.

Freya tried her best to keep busy in his absence. With Dean's help, they gathered two giant armfuls of firewood for another fire that night, then set about reinforcing the enchantments where they'd started to weaken. Dean went for a brief walk (nowhere that Freya couldn't immediately see or hear him if needed) to search what food, if any, while Freya tore the skirt off her dress until it reached her knees. She wasn't sorry to see it go. She wanted no memory of the night before if she could help it.

It still didn't feel real.

By noon, Fraser was yet to return. Freya pretended not to worry. In fact, she damn near freaked Dean out, shrugging off her dad's absence with an easy-going smile. 

"He said not to look for trouble," she insisted. "And just this once, I'm listening to him."

"Well," Dean had sighed after a long beat of silence. He dropped down beside her again, long legs stretched out awkwardly in front of him. Freya snorted at the sight. "I guess there's a first time for everything."

But in her head, she was already plotting ways to find him. It made sense he would've gone to the nearest town, so if he wasn't back at the first hints of sunset, she'd go searching for him. She wasn't about to lose anyone else. Not if she could help it.

Thankfully, luck was on their side for once in their Goddamn lives. Fraser returned an hour later, scaring the wits out of Dean by throwing the tent down in front of his snoozing form. 

"I've got news," he declared just as Freya rushed into the clearing. She threw her arms around him, then just as quickly reared back to smack him on the shoulder. "Hey!"

"You were gone for ages," she exclaimed, sighing to herself when he shrugged and exchanged a nod with Dean, who'd moved to stand beside him. "You know what? I haven't got the energy to argue right now. What's your news? Please tell me it's good."

Fraser snorted. "As if."

"Yeah, who am I kidding?"

The three of them sat down. Fraser didn't share his news at first. After divvying out their meagre rations -- 'I could only grab so much with thirty muggle pounds, Freya' -- he turned to clothes. He'd 'borrowed' three pairs of jeans, three sweaters, new shoes for each of them and a few spare undergarments. Freya wasn't entirely happy to be wearing jeans while camping/living in the woods, but she'd take them over her damn dress. The three took turns changing behind a tree before gathering around the ashes of last night's fire, chewing on bits of bread and cheese Fraser squashed into sandwiches. Freya was in a food-coma by the time he pulled out the copy of The Daily Prophet. She barely noticed it at first, idly sipping from her canteen of water. She only looked up when Dean gently nudged her side with his elbow.

"Your news?" he asked Fraser, his wary gaze locked on the front page where he could just make out Snape's sneering face.

"I guess we must be close to a wizarding village because this was at the bottom of a bin," Fraser explained. He turned the page to face them, allowing them to read the headline written in bold letters.

SEVERUS SNAPE: NEW HOGWARTS HEADMASTER

"You're shitting me," Freya exclaimed, snatching the paper towards her and Dean. With the younger boy hovering over her shoulder, her eyes quickly raked across the article, catching bits about a sterner hand of discipline needed at Hogwarts before she couldn't take it anymore. "So now You-Know-Who has control of the Ministry and Hogwarts. Does Harry have any hope of defeating him?"

Fraser sighed. "Look at the next page."

She did.

UNDESIRABLE NO. 1: HARRY POTTER

"Of course," she scoffed, tossing the Prophet to the ground. "Who else would it be?" 

"Ron's listed on here too," Dean murmured, his face suddenly pale. "And Hermione."

Freya was starting to feel sick again. She turned to Fraser desperately. "So what's next? We sit here and wait for You-Know-Who to either bite the dust from old age or Harry to do the impossible?"

Despite the heat in her voice, Fraser's reply was soft. "We have no other options."

Freya hated it when he was right.

I'm sorry, George, her mind cruelly wandered to the boy she'd left behind. She hoped, prayed, that he was out there somewhere, safe enough that her apology was warranted. That when 'no other options' became just one choice, she would find him and tell him in person. I'll see you again soon. I promise.

She had no idea how far away 'soon' really was.