Prologue -- Taken
The rain poured down with a painful force. Diagon Alley seemed to have become a ghost town, so to speak. Yet not even a ghost would brave these streets at night. Ever since the dark mark appeared over three separate shops the night Rufus Scrimgeour was murdered, not many people were willing to set foot outside their homes, let alone make a nightly visit to their favorite pub.
Yet there was one brave soul who dared to do what others considered pure lunacy. Cloaked and hooded, this dark figure passed quickly between the dark, boarded-up windows of Madam Malkin's Robes and the depressingly empty tables outside Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream shop as he made his way down the street. Past the mammoth building of Gringotts Bank, which now looked not unlike a deserted cathedral, and past the even darker turn towards Knockturn Alley. Finally, the figure paused outside Mr. Ollivander's shop of wands. Seeing the windows boarded, and no more than darkness within, this figure took hold of the doorknob and opened the shop door.
The shelves along the high walls, once filled to bursting with immeasurable amounts of different types of wands had been left empty in the cold shop, and the dust was thick enough to make a man choke on his breath.
The young man lowered his hood to reveal a thinning, once round face. The young man ran his hand through his brown hair and stepped past an upended chair. He remembered when he first came into this shop. Mr. Ollivander nearly ripped his hand clean off when he tried to touch that wand in the window.
He looked back to that window. Of course, the wand was no longer there. Undoubtedly, it had been taken by whomever had cleaned this shop to its bones, the faded cushion remaining along with a layer of dust.
But something caught his eye. He stepped forward and lifted the edge of the pillow to reveal a small square raised up in the dust. Touching the square, he saw it move to reveal a small hole in the windowsill. Reaching inside, he pulled a small blue velvet satchel from the its resting place. His eyes going wide, the young man slowly slipped a long, slender wand from the satchel. It was at least 15 inches, and had etchings that reminded one of vines clinging upwards. And looking upon the end of the handle, be found an elaborate, swishy engraving of the letter R.
He quickly replaced the wand inside its containment, and stowed it inside his robes. Noticing it was still in his hand, he rubbed the dust from the face of the square and from the window's rainy moonlight, he was greeted with the coughing image of Rowena Ravenclaw upon a chocolate frog trading card. He left out a gasp. Could this be the wand's previous owner?
“Do not move,” a voice hissed from behind him. He felt a wand tip stuck into the back of his neck.
12 Wizards and 39 Muggles Dead in Leaky Cauldron Explosion
The popular pub in downtown London has become the most recent target in the numerous attacks by He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his followers. The attack, which occurred last Thursday afternoon, claimed the lives of 12 wizards inside the establishment as well as 39 Muggles outside. Officials say the strategically-placed curse was aimed directly at the sidewalk outside the Leaky Cauldron, causing not only the entire Muggle street and its pedestrians to be destroyed, but half of the Wizarding pub and portions of its surrounding Muggle shops.
Although the names of those killed and injured in these attacks have been withheld, pending notification of kin, rumors are circulating that among the dead is a top ministry official who has been involved with the fight against You-Know-Who. These rumors, of course, have sparked the debate as to whether this was another horrifying random attack, or an assassination.
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A copy of the Friday Prophet lay open upon the table in the Gryffindor common room, its headline emblazoned over the top. Underneath, covering nearly the whole of the front page, was a scene of sheer chaos. The street outside the Leaky Cauldron had disappeared, leaving simply a charred, painfully empty hole left in its stead.
Beside the table, in one of the common room's squashy armchairs sat a round-faced seventh year, his face sullen. He twirled the baton that was his quill between his fingers absentmindedly as students passed him back and forth, all anxiously discussing the previous day's events.
“All right, Neville?” Neville Longbottom's head jerked up out of his reverie at the sound of his name and the feeling of a hand on his shoulder. To his right stood Harry Potter, his friend Hermione Granger behind him, looking concerned. Neville hastily nodded, snatching up the newspaper from the table.
“We didn't see you at breakfast or lunch,” Hermione spoke from behind him. She had rounded Harry and was now face-to-face with him. “We were worried about you.”
“I-I'm fine,” Neville said. He let the paper fall to the other side of his chair, and out of sight. “I'm just,” he paused, “I'm just worried about my Gran. She was in London yesterday visit”” he stuttered, then cleared his throat before continuing “visiting my... My parents.” His eyes wandered to the fire beside his table, but somehow he felt even colder.
“Well, here,” Hermione said, pulling a kind of parcel from inside her robes. “I thought you'd be hungry.” Hermione opened the folded napkin to reveal a small ham sandwich, then offered it to Neville. Though he was sure she knew he would not eat it, he took it and thanked her. After a moment, Hermione smiled at him and took her seat across the table. However, before Harry took his seat, he placed a stack of two chocolate frogs on the table in front of Neville's chair.
“You can have them,” he said. “I don't feel too much like chocolate at the moment.” he then took his seat beside Hermione as the two began an attempt on their NEWT Transfiguration assignment. Neville just sat there. With a clear head, NEWT-level essays were nearly impossible. Personally, Neville couldn't care less about his remaining assignments.
He had sent a letter to his Gran as soon as he had heard what happened. She had yet to get back to him. All through that morning and early afternoon, his eyes flew from the fire to the window, then to his fingertips, then to the window again.
But now, after more time had passed, Neville began to grow restless. Before he knew it, the sandwich had gone and his fingers were tearing into one of the two chocolate frog boxes. He wasn't really hungry, but out of habit he first pulled the Famous Wizard Card from the box, the smiling face of Albus Dumbledore greeting him. He tossed the box onto the table and opened the next, not really looking at it. He was watching the various students around the common room. Some were busy in their books, others playing games.
Laughing. Not a care in the world...
Unconsciously, he pulled the next card from its place. But when he looked down upon it. A very old, white-haired man peered back at him. Perhaps it was Neville's own emotions, but he had a sad look across his face, Maybe it was the old man's sunken eyes. But it was as if he knew all the pain and turmoil the present Wizarding world was going through. Maybe this old man's time was going through the same thing. Looking below his photo, his eyes went wide. Unnoticed, Neville read the name
“Merlin...”
Leaning forward, Neville examined the small card. Merlin's photograph wiped his brow before sitting stationary once more. Looking at it, Neville let out a hallow laugh and wondered what all the fuss was about.
“You know,” he said to the card, “there was a time when I would be leaping for joy in finding you.” He took the card between his hands. “To think I was so stupid.”
For a fleeting instant, Neville wanted nothing more than to throw it in the fire. But something stopped him. A small, odd feeling in his lower abdomen. He resigned to resting his back in the squashy armchair once more, his fingers running along the edges of Merlin's card. He sat there, through dinner, dragging his fingertips along the card. All the while, his eyes glued to the windows for any sign of word.
He would have stayed that way if his fingertip hadn't caught on something. Once again, his attention focus on the card, and he found a small piece missing near the top left-hand corner. Unconsciously, he picked at it with his nail, and found a silvery material behind the paint. Leaning closer, he picked at it again, his nail coming in contact with the silvery material.
With a sudden jerk behind his naval, Neville was forcibly pulled from his comfortable seat in the Gryffindor common room.