chapter twenty five

                                    

                                          
─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───
Clara's feet touched the road. She saw the achingly familiar Hogsmeade High Street: dark shop fronts, and the mist line of black mountains beyond the village and the curve in the road ahead that led off toward Hogwarts, and light spilling from the windows of the Three Broomsticks, and with a lurch of the heart, she remembered with piercing accuracy, the warm taste of butterbeer and the sound of laughter. Her insides went stiff at the memory, things were so different now... And then, as she relaxed her grip upon Harry's and Hermione's arms, it happened. The air was filled by a scream that sounded like nothing she'd ever heard before. Even as she looked at the other three beneath the Cloak, the door of the Three Broomsticks burst open and a dozen cloaked and hooded Death Eaters dashed into the streets, their wands aloft. Hermione seized Ron's wrist as he raised his wand; there were too many of them to run. Even attempting it would give away their position. 
One of the Death Eaters raised his wand, and the scream stopped, still echoing around the distant mountains. "Accio Cloak!" roared one of the Death Eaters. The cloak remained over the four friends. The Summoning Charm had not worked on it. 
"Not under your wrapper, then, Potter?" yelled the Death Eater who had tried the charm and then to his fellows. "Spread now. He's here." 
Six of the Death Eaters ran toward them: Harry, Ron, Clara, and Hermione backed as quickly as possible down the nearest side street, and the Death Eaters missed them by inches. They waited in the darkness, listening to the footsteps running up and down, beams of light flying along the street from the Death Eaters' searching wands. 
"Let's just leave!" Hermione whispered. "Disapparate now!" 
"Great idea," said Ron, but before anyone could reply, a Death Eater shouted, "We know you are here, Potter, and there's no getting away! We'll find you!" 
"They were ready for us," whispered Harry. "They set up that spell to tell them we'd come. I reckon they've done something to keep us here, trap us— " 
"What about dementors?" called another Death Eater. "Let them have free rein, they'd find him quick enough!"
"The Dark Lord wants Potter dead by no hands but his— " 
"And dementors won't kill him! The Dark Lord wants Potter's life, not his soul. He'll be easier to kill if he's been Kissed first!" 
There were noises of agreement. Dread filled Clara: To repel dementors they would have to produce Patronuses, which would give them away immediately. Not to mention she didn't even know if she could produce one anymore.
"We can't face dementors." whispered Clara.
"We're going to have to try to Disapparate, Harry!" Hermione whispered. Even as she said it the unnatural cold began to spread over the street. Light was sucked from the environment right up to the stars, which vanished. In the pitch blackness, Clara felt Hermione take hold of her arm and together, they turned on the spot. 
The air through which they needed to move, seemed to have become solid: They could not Disapparate; the Death Eaters had cast their charms well. The cold was biting deeper and deeper into Clara's flesh. The group retreated down the side street, groping their way along the wall trying not to make a sound. Then, around the corner, gliding noiselessly, came dementors, ten or more of them, visible because they were of a denser darkness than their surroundings, with their black cloaks and their scabbed and rotting hands. Could they sense fear in the vicinity? 
They seemed to be coming more quickly now, taking those dragging, rattling breaths he detested, tasting despair in the air, closing in— Harry raised his wand. He whispered "Expecto Patronum!"