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Beyond The Morning	By : dictalicence Category: Harry Potter > General > General Views: 1891 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

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Chapter
1

�. '>. .
. and when you hear me tap on your window,

you
better get on your knees and pray . . .

Panic
is on the way. . .�

-Oasis,
Gas Panic-

October
2004. A suburb in Muggle Dorset.

Neville Longbottom had never before been so
frightened in his whole life.

And that included all the times that his
former Potions Master at Hogwarts had swept down on him like some Hell-spawned
executioner in his flowing black robes reminiscent of bat wings, snarling
insults and flinging sarcastic comments with all the tact and care of a senile
great-grandmother. Neviwoulwould have laughed had he been able to conjure up
the image of that particular trick which he used during the extremely rare occurrences in his line
of work that would allow for him to encounter boggarts. Professor Lupin had
taught him well, and right now, there was nothing more he wished for than to be
back within the bowels of the freezing dungeons, stirring a boiling cauldron
and quaking at the sound of the Potions Master�s voice. Grandmother�s robes or
none, Neville Longbottom would have much rather served a year�s worth of
detentions under Professor Snape than be where he stood now.

He was backed roughly up against a bookshelf,
watching helplessly as the dark cloaked intruders rampaged through his house,
smashing their way through glass and furniture; the sound of their heavy boots
scuffing and scraping against hardwood floors, leaving long, wide scratches on
the smoothly polished wooden surfaces that were the least of his worry.

Craning his neck as far back as possible
with a wand jabbed at his throat, Neville tried to see into the other room,
where his wife and children were being held hostage, yet for some strange reason,
kept unharmed. For now.

Above him, he heard the dull thudding of
boots as other Death Eaters made their way up the second floor to the bedrooms.
Even in his muddled state of mind he knew without a doubt they were heading to
his parents. Neville closed his eyes, shuddered, tried not to burst into tears.
Six years ago, the first thing he had done after graduating had been to check
his mum and dad out of St. Mungo�s. Convinced that there was no way they would
ever be returned to him mentally, he would at least have the comfort of knowing
that they were near him, if only in body. He thought it was the best decision
to be made for them at the time.

Now he cursed it for being the worst. What
he couldn�t figure out is why exactly, after nearly twenty-three years did
Voldemort suddenly decide he wanted Frank Longbottom and his wife dead. I mean,
it wasn�t as if they could do him any harm now, right?

In the next room, he could hear Padma
whimpering as she clutched their two children tightly to her, her mother�s
instincts taking over, willing her to protect her young at the cost of her own
life if necessary.

From upstairs, the sound of crashing and
banging had ceased, and he held his breath as a distinct flash of green light
shimmered its way down the stairs, followed by two sickening and heavy thuds,
as if thinthing heavy had been dropped on the floor. No mistaking what those
were. Neville bowed his head and tried not to cry, as the pressure of the wand
was suddenly released from his throat and he sank to the floor, shivering.

When he looked up, he saw that the Death
Eater who had held him hostage against his own bookshelf was gone, and another
had taken its place.

Their acting leader, a hulking figure of
more impressive stature than the rest barked out an order and one of the Death
Eaters broke ranks to walk towards him followed by two more. The first one
stopped beside the leader, while the other two moved to either side of him and
hoisted him roughly by the arms and slamming him against the wall before
leaving the room along with their leader.

The Death Eater who had been left to deal
with him was considerably smaller than the rest both in height and in frame.
Neville weighed his options carefully; four years of being an Auror and two in
training had lent him a cautiousness and mind for tactics and strategy that he
formerly had not thought himself to possess. Staring at the suspiciously
familiar wand in his aggressor�s gloved right hand, he mentally reviewed
everyone in his acquaintance for some clue to his aggressor�s identity.

He wondered if this was how his father had
felt on that fateful night when he was just a baby, too young to really
remember anything, yet old enough for Voldemort�s minions to deem him
sufficiently important to deserve to be killed. This was why Harry and Cho
didn�t have children right away, he lamented to himself. Why, oh why did I have
to drag them into this? Please, gods, not Padma. The kids are so young. . .

As the Death Eater began to slowly advance
towards his direction, he clenched his fists tightly, determined to fight to
the death with whatever resources he had left. In this case, he had only his
hands. And by the gods, he would do whatever needed to be done.

Closer now, closer. . . Neville lunged,
putting all of his weight into his leap, but the figure neatly backed up and
side-stepped, sending him crashing face first to the floor, skidding the few
metres� distance until his head hit the wall with a dull thunk. Looking up, he
saw the mask had slipped down. Belatedly he noticed that the knuckles of his
right fist were throbbing where they had managed to graze against the mask. He
tensed instinctively, preparing himself for the worst before a flash of
recognition swept over him.

�Oh, Thank Merlin it�s you!� he breathed, slumping back, relief
evident in his sweaty features as he tried to get up.

When the figure made no effort at
formulating a reply, he attempted to stand, feeling vaguely uncomfortable as he
became aware that the attention of the other Death Eaters had somehow become
focused solely on them. It was as if they were waiting for something to happen
with a sort of gleeful regard.

�It�s no use, Longbottom,� a harsh voice
told him coldly. Neville whipped his head in the direction it had come from.
Upon beholding the countenance of the speaker, he felt his vision suddenly
contract to long tunnels in which the pinpoint of light held only the face he
saw before him.

�You bastard,� he breathed. �It was you all
along! What have you done to her?� he jerked his shaking finger at the other
Death Eater whose mask still hung haphazardly around her neck.

�I?� the Death Eater Neville was speaking
to replied �I�d have done nothing to her had she not been willing in the first
place.�

�What are you going to do to me?�

�Well, I haven�t quite decided that yet.
Had you been able to assure us that you might actually be able keep your mouth
shut for the rest of your natural life, you and your lovely family might have
been in no immediate danger. But seeing as you cannot . . . � He nodded to the
Death Eater at his right, who froze in response to the order, but the whose
wand hand was trembling just the slightest bit, before it straightened out
again, firmly pointing the tip at Neville.

�Wait, what are you doing?� Neville nearly shouted,
a grain of panic beginning to worm its way out of his chest.

>

&;

Shrugging off the last cobwebs of
indecision, the hooded figure gave her head a shake, fixed her mask back on
properly and raised her right arm, where the tip of her wand glinted dully in
the harsh moonlight.

Neville backed away, his instincts for
self-preservation making him flatten himself against the wall, his arms flung
in front of him as a last-ditch effort.

�No, stop. What are you thinking? I�m
begging you don�t listen to him. You can�t possibly be ser�no!� A flash of
bright green shot out of the wand just as the figure whispered indifferently:
�Avada Kedavra!�

He slumped sideways to the floor, brown
eyes open, staring wide. Through the wide open door that lead into the other room,
Padma Longbottom began to scream at the sight of her husband�s lifeless body.
She screamed until she could scream no more.

They killed her as well.

And from the corner of the room where she
had retreated to, the Death Eater who cast the fateful curse silently watched
the proceedings with cold Cinnamon eyes.

**

Darkness in the apartment set somewhere in
the upscale portion of London known as Notting Hill. The door creaks open
slowly as a slight woman staggers in, rushes to the bathroom and hugs her porcelain
pony for dear life as she uncontrollably heaves, hurls and is finally racked
with dry shudders, unable to coax anything else out of her empty belly.

She hated this. Hated her weakness. Hated
that she could never reduce herself to being an emotionless set of principles
and elements. Maybe then it would make all of this easier to bear. Her eyes
slid shut heavily

It was to this scene that Blaise Zabini
apparated on. He stalked silently over to the sleeping woman and hoisted her
into powerful arms. The same hands that choked the life out of many for the
pleasure of it now tucked in the slender woman with infinite care.

Love did not have a place in the mess they
had made of their lives. But for what it was worth, Blaise was perfectly
content to adore the beautiful creature who was at the moment dead to the
world, afloat on her bed of white.

**
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Beyond The Morning