nightmare before...

December 17th, 1995

HARRY DREAMED THAT he was back in the Room of Requirement.

Cho was accusing him of luring her there under false pretenses: she said that he had promised her a hundred and fifty Chocolate Frog cards if she showed up.

Harry protested. Cho shouted back, "Cedric gave me loads of Chocolate cards, look!" and pulled out fistfuls of cards from inside her robes, throwing them into the air. The girl then turned into Hermione, who said, "You did promise her... I think you should give her something else instead... How about your Firebolt?"

The kiss he had with Cho and Hermione's lengthy speech about what she was probably feeling and expecting afterwards from that day's earlier afternoon must be messing with his already messed up mind.

Harry was protesting that he could not give Cho his Firebolt because Umbridge had confiscated it, when the dream suddenly changed...

His body felt smooth, powerful, and flexible. He was gliding on his belly between shining metal bars, flat against the floor. It was dark, yet he could see objects around shimmering in strange, vibrant colors...

A man, alive but drowsing, was sitting in front of a door at the end of the corridor. Harry longed to bite the man... but he must master the impulse... He had more important work to do...

But the man stirred and jumped to his feet, drawing his wand from a belt.

He had no choice. He reared high from the floor and struck once, twice, three times, plunging his fangs deeply into the man's flesh, feeling his ribs splinter beneath his jaws, feeling the warm gush of blood...

"Harry! HARRY!"

His forehead hurt terribly... It was aching, like it was about to burst...

"Harry!"

His eyes were thrown open. Every inch of his body was covered in icy sweat and his bedcovers were twisted all around him like a straitjacket.

Ron was standing over him, looking extremely frightened.

"Your dad," Harry panted, his chest heaving, "Your dad's... been attacked!"

Ron blanched, "W— What?"

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December 18th, 1995

DAISY SAT ON her bed with her knees drawn close against her chest. Three letters sat in front of her, opened, and she kept looking at them alternately, over and over again.

Each one began with similar starters.

Dear Jane,

Dear Ms. Daisy Jane Allen,

And continued on similarly as well.

I am delighted to report that the Admissions Committee has voted to admit you to the Harvard College Class of 1996. Please accept my personal congratulations for your outstanding achievement.

On behalf of the Admissions Committee, it is my pleasure to offer you admission to the MIT Class of 1996. You were identified as one of the most talented and promising students in one of MIT's most competitive applicant pools ever.

I am writing to you on behalf of Department of Engineering, Cambridge University. I am very pleased to make you a conditional offer of admission as an Undergraduate Student at the University of Cambridge.

There were rejection letters as well, including Caltech's, which she had thrown aside for a moment.

Her mind spun, both in glee and confusion, because this was the branching point. Her decision would determine her future, now more than ever. Whether she would be a lawyer in Allen Incorporation, or a mad scientist, living somewhere she had no idea of at the moment. Whether she would stay here, in the UK, or Massachusetts. Whether she would be the daughter her Father had designed since infancy or... or his punching bag.

Normally, this dilemma of hers was nowhere near life and death situation. But she was not normal.

She could imagine Mrs. Weasley, throwing her utensils up into the air then showering her with hugs and kisses, saying how proud she was even though she probably didn't know what MIT and Cambridge were. And Bill, and Charlie, patting her hair, and Percy... Percy... Well, from what she had gathered months ago, he was a different person now, but the old him would definitely compliment her with a smile.

If she told Fred about her confusion, she knew he would say to follow her heart. That's what he did with the joke shop.

But right now, her heart didn't even know what it really wanted.

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December 18th, 1995

FRED THOUGHT HE was dreaming when his eyes cracked open to see Professor McGonagall shaking him awake, but her tones indicated that something serious had happened. Too soon, he found himself being ushered up the stairs towards the Headmaster's office along with George and Ginny.

"What's happened?" Ginny asked, looking frightened, "Professor?"

"It's Harry," the professor said hurriedly, "He saw your Father got hurt."

"What?" The twins chorused sharply.

Professor McGonagall threw the study door opened, revealing Harry and Ron sitting in front of Dumbledore, looking as disheveled and shocked as they probably were.

"Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore said immediately, "He has been taken to St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius' house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than the Burrow. You will meet your mother there."

"How're we going?" Fred asked. "Floo powder?"

"No. Floo powder is not safe at the moment, the Network is being watched. You will be taking a Portkey." Dumbledore motioned to the old kettle lying innocently on his desk. "We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back... I wish to be sure that the coast is clear before sending you—"

There was a flash of flame in the very middle of the office, leaving behind a single golden feather that floated gently to the floor.

"It's Fawkes's warning," said Dumbledore, catching the feather as it fell. "Dolores must know you're out of your beds... Minerva, go and head her off— tell her any story—"

Professor McGonagall was gone in a swish of tartan. She was quite happy to be presented with the opportunity to speak back against the newest devil in school.

"Sirius says he'll be delighted," said a bored voice behind Dumbledore. The portrait of Phineas had reappeared in front of his Slytherin banner. "My great-great-grandson has always had odd taste in houseguests..."

"Come here, then," Dumbledore said to Harry and the Weasleys. "And quickly, before anyone else joins us..."

The kids gathered around Dumbledore's desk.

"On the count of three then... one... two... three."

Fred remembered this sense of powerful jerk behind his navel, and as he travelled, he allowed himself to imagine that he was back at Stoatshead Hill, looking forward to spend the night watching his favorite sports with his favorite neighbor.

He was banging into the others as all sped forward in a swirl of colors and a rush of wind, and then his feet hit the ground so hard that his knees buckled. So did his mind.

Dad, he thought. Dad's hurt.

They had arrived in the gloomy basement kitchen of number twelve, Grimmauld Place. The only sources of light were the fire and one guttering candle, which illuminated the remains of a solitary supper. Kreacher was disappearing through the door to the hall, looking back at them malevolently as he hitched up his loincloth while Sirius was hurrying toward them all, looking anxious.

"What's going on?" He said, stretching out a hand to help Ginny up. "Phineas Nigellus said Arthur's been badly injured—"

"Ask Harry," said Fred, crossing his arms.

"Yeah, I want to hear this for myself," said George.

The twins and Ginny were staring at him. Kreacher's footsteps had stopped on the stairs outside.

"It was—" Harry began, "I had a— a kind of— vision..."

And he told them about the dream he had, though he altered the story so it sounded as though he had watched from the sidelines as the snake attacked. When he was done, Ron was ghostly pale as the other three Weasleys stared at him, longer than they probably should.

Fred couldn't care less, though. Polite or impolite, the strange way Harry had been acting rouse a sense of suspicion in him. He turned to Sirius and asked, "Is Mum here?"

"She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet," said Sirius. "The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's letting Molly know now."

"We've got to go to St. Mungo's," said Ginny urgently. She looked around at her brothers, who were of course still clad in their pajamas. "Sirius, can you lend us cloaks or anything?"

"Hang on, you can't go tearing off to St. Mungo's!" said Sirius.

"'Course we can go to St. Mungo's if we want," said Fred, with a mulish expression, "He's our dad!"

"And how are you going to explain how you knew Arthur was attacked before the hospital even let his wife know?"

"What does that matter?" said George hotly.

"It matters because we don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!" said Sirius angrily. "Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?"

Ginny said quietly, "Somebody else could have told us... We could have heard it somewhere other than Harry..."

"Like who?" said Sirius impatiently. "Listen, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order's—"

"We don't care about the dumb Order!" shouted Fred. His blood was now boiling.

His eyes were clouded by the image of his Dad's dead body on the floor as Mrs. Weasley's boggart form and he was very anxious that it would come true. Please, don't let it come true.

"It's our dad dying we're talking about!" yelled George.

"Your father knew what he was getting into, and he won't thank you for messing things up for the Order!" said Sirius angrily in his turn. "This is how it is— this is why you're not in the Order— you don't understand— there are things worth dying for!"

"Easy for you to say, stuck here!" bellowed Fred before he could stop himself. "I don't see you risking your neck!"

The little color remaining in Sirius's face drained from it. He looked for a moment as though he would quite like to hit Fred, but when he spoke, it was in a voice of determined calm.

"I know it's hard, but we've all got to act as though we don't know anything yet. We've got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, all right?"

Fred and George still looked mutinous. Ginny, however, took a few steps over to the nearest chair and sank into it. Harry looked at Ron, who made a funny movement somewhere between a nod and shrug, and they sat down too. The twins glared at Sirius for another minute, then took seats on either side of Ginny.

"That's right," said Sirius encouragingly, "come on, let's all... let's all have a drink while we're waiting. Accio Butterbeer!"

He raised his wand as he spoke and half a dozen bottles came flying toward them out of the pantry, skidded along the table, scattering the debris of Sirius's meal, and stopped neatly in front of the six of them.

They all drank, and for a while the only sounds were those of the crackling of the kitchen fire and the soft thud of their bottles on the table. Fred and George were only drinking to have something to do with their hands.

Then a burst of fire in midair illuminated the dirty plates in front of them and as they gave cries of shock. A scroll of parchment fell with a thud onto the table, accompanied by a single golden phoenix tail feather.

"Fawkes!" said Sirius at once, snatching up the parchment. "That's not Dumbledore's writing— it must be a message from your mother— here—"

He thrust the letter into George's hand, who ripped it open and read aloud, "Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St. Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can. Mum."

George looked around the table.

"Still alive..." he said slowly. "But that makes it sound..."

✿ ❀ ✿ ❀ ✿

December 18th, 1995

"I HAVE NEWS."

"Not that I mind being called at two in the morning," came Vincent's drowsy voice from the other side of the receiver, "But must it be two in the morning?"

Daisy grimaced, "I apologize. I couldn't sleep and I needed to tell somebody. Should I call you again in a few hours?"

"No, no." Some rustles were heard, and Daisy could tell that Vincent had sat up in his bed, wiping his face with his hand. "I'm up now, anyway. What's the news?"

"I..." Daisy paused, arranging her words, "I have three options for college now. Three accepted me."

"That's great! What are those?"

"HLS, MIT, and Cambridge."

"Wonderful! Those are all top universities, Jane! Have you choose?"

"No, that's the problem. Which one do you think I should choose?"

The two teens just sat on their respective bed, quiet, with their phones glued to their ears. After some moments, Vincent said, "I can't choose for you. But we only have one life, Jane. We should make that count."

✿ ❀ ✿ ❀ ✿

December 18th, 1995

IT WAS ANOTHER long, exhausting night.

The last time Fred felt this sick was when Ginny was taken into the Chamber of Secrets.

Sirius suggested once that they all go to bed, but the Weasleys' looks of pure disgust were answer enough.

They mostly sat in silence around the table, watching the candle wick sinking lower and lower into liquid wax. Now and then, they rose their bottles to their lips, speaking only to check the time and wonder aloud what was happening, and to reassure one another that if there was bad news, they would be told straight away.

Fred told himself to stay awake, but he failed in his fight against drowsiness and fell into a doze, his head snagging sideways onto his shoulder.

Ginny was curled like a cat on her chair, but her eyes were open. Ron was sitting with his head in his hands. Harry and Sirius looked at each other every so often, intruders upon the family grief, waiting... Waiting...

And then, at ten past five in the morning by Ron's watch, the kitchen door swung open and Mrs. Weasley entered the kitchen.

She was extremely pale, but when they all turned to look at her —Fred, Ron, and Harry half-rising from their chairs— she gave a wan smile.

"He's going to be all right," she said, her voice weak with tiredness. "He's sleeping. We can all go and see him later."