the last verse ; harry potter [2]

eight ; the lone four

It was too soon.

The beasts had been unleashed upon them. Too soon, Diana thought, much too soon to die. A wedding should never be a bloodbath.

Much too soon to die.

It was much too soon for Clara to die. Young and wise she was, much too good to be taken so young. That's what Diana and her friends would forever be: much too good to be taken so young.

Who else perished in the massacre?

She could see their faces: the bloodied face of Mrs. Weasley, her limbs bent at strange angles and eyes peering at something they couldn't see. Mr. Weasley, broken, his face to the floor, unmoving. The beautiful bride, Fleur Delacour, her dress bloodied. The thought was almost ironic: something so pure and unblemished can be tainted so easily. Bill, his scars reopened. Fred and George, together even in death. Little Gabrielle Delacour, her young eyes closed, never to be opened again. Luna and Xenophilius Lovegood, finally in a world in which they belong---

The sound of her coffee-filled mug being placed on the table awoke her from her torments.

A coffee shop, she remembered. In a shadowed alley, they had changed into comfortable muggle clothes sourced from Hermione's and Diana's bags. They walked until they found the empty shop, one uncaring waitress inside, light streaming from the windows into the darkened sidewalk.

It was only the four of them now. It will always only be the four of them.

Diana's left elbow hit Harry's right as she sipped from her cup, the scalding liquid burning her tongue. She did not stop. Hermione and Ron sat too, all thinking the same thing: who else is dead?

Diana's eyes shifted to the door when it opened, and two burly workmen sat in a booth across the room, hats covering their eyes. Diana's eyes lingered on them for a moment.

"I say we find a quiet place to Disapparate and head for the countryside. Once we're there, we could send a message to the Order," Hermione whispered to them, her eyes shifting around the room for prying ears. She, too, lingered on the workmen across the room, her eyebrows furrowing.

"Can you do that talking Patronus thing, then?" asked Harry.

"I can," said Diana.

"Well, as long as it doesn't get them into trouble, though they might have been arrested already," said Ron. "Let's get going, then, I don't want to drink this much," he added, scowling at his coffee. "Have you got any Muggle money to pay for this?"

"Diana and I have plenty," said Hermione. "I'll get it."

She dug in her beaded bag for loose change, procuring enough to pay and leave tip.

With instinct and speed Diana didn't know she had, her wand was in her hand and pointed at the two workmen.

The two workmen had their wands pointed at them, and Diana and Harry were fast enough to point theirs back. As she looked closer, she saw: two Death Eaters, disguised to look normal and inconspicuous. Their grins were sadistic and mean, their eyes narrowed to the four teenagers.

It was oddly silent, until finally, someone moved.

In one quick motion, Ron lunged to the side and pulled Hermione under the table just as the Death Eaters fired a spell right where they had been sitting. The spells shattered the the bench, raining tile on them and getting dust in their eyes.

"Stupefy!" yelled Diana. She hit the blonde one right in the face, and he slumped backward. The one left standing shot spells at them over and over as they dodged and blocked, ducking from flying debris and chunks of wall.