Chapter 132: Hogsmeade Shadows

The Three Broomsticks offered warmth, noise, and enough steam from wet cloaks to blur the windows. Edward chose a table near the wall, where he could see the weathered door of the Hog's Head without appearing to watch it. His walnut wand rested inside his sleeve, and Dumbledore's brass signal pressed against his wrist whenever he moved. 

Three hooded adults had entered the other pub since noon. Edward had written their times beneath the table and done nothing else. That was the assignment. Watch, record, report. 

"Edward? I thought you had important business." 

Draco arrived with Crabbe and Goyle behind him and a tankard of Butterbeer in each hand. He looked suspiciously at Edward's untouched drink, then followed his line of sight toward the dirty windows across the street. 

"The meeting is over," Edward said. "I was waiting for you." 

It was close enough to the truth to sound natural. Draco pushed one of the tankards across the table. 

"Good. You spend so much time with old books that Binns will start claiming you as an assistant. Try that before it cools. Rosmerta put in extra honey." 

Edward took a sip. The sweetness coated his tongue, but his attention stayed on the door. A mirror could have carried a warning to Sirius, yet raising it in a crowded room would attract questions. The brass disc remained the safer choice if anything changed. 

Chairs scraped near the hearth. Harry, Ron, and Hermione emerged from behind a group of older students. Harry looked angry, Hermione worried, and Ron distracted by the rat squirming inside his coat. None of them noticed Edward. 

"Gryffindors," Draco muttered as the three hurried outside. "Always late for their own disasters." 

He did not call after them. Edward had just begun to relax when a black shape crossed the window. 

Sirius, still in dog form, had left the alley beside the Hog's Head. His pace was controlled until Ron stepped into the road. Scabbers thrust his head from Ron's pocket, saw the dog, and shrieked. 

The rat bit Ron's forearm. Ron cried out and dropped him. Scabbers struck the stones, recovered at once, and ran toward the cottages beyond the village. Sirius lunged after him. 

For one alarming instant, the dog closed with his jaws open. Silver flashed across his foreleg as the Vow resisted his intent. Sirius checked himself, swerved, and tried to drive Peter away from the students rather than catch him among witnesses. 

Edward was already on his feet. 

"Where are you going?" Draco demanded. 

"Ron is bleeding. Find Madam Rosmerta." 

He reached the road as Hermione wrapped a handkerchief around Ron's arm. Harry stared after the dog and rat, torn between pursuing them and helping his friend. 

"Stay here," Edward said. "A member of staff is coming." 

He snapped the brass disc inside his sleeve. Heat ran across his wrist, followed by one firm pulse. The signal had worked. 

Across the road, the Hog's Head door opened. Dolohov emerged with several hooded companions. They glanced at the injured students, changed direction without speaking, and walked toward the northern edge of the village. Edward counted seven before the crowd blocked his view. 

The proper response was simple. Remain beside Ron. Wait for the professor. Tell Dumbledore which road they had taken. 

Then the black dog vanished between two cottages, and Dolohov's group left the road for the same stretch of woodland. 

Edward told himself that one look from above would answer whether the paths met. He knew the argument was weak. He used it anyway. 

"Rosmerta is coming," Draco called from the pub door. 

Edward crossed behind an empty cottage before anyone could stop him. Fire gathered close to his skin, and his body folded into the smaller shape of the firebird. Golden-red wings lifted him above the roofs. 

The change sharpened his sight but did not make him invisible. He climbed through a veil of low cloud, located the hooded figures beneath the bare trees, and followed at a distance. Dolohov never looked up. Neither did the two men beside him. Fenrir Greyback, walking at the rear, paused twice to test the wind. 

Edward should have turned back at the first pause. Instead, he climbed higher and continued. 

The group entered a clearing at the base of a wooded hill. A concealed fire sprang to life after one wizard touched his wand to the ground. The light revealed more people waiting beneath the branches. Edward counted twelve in all, though hoods concealed several faces. 

He settled on a thick branch far beyond the firelight. In bird form he could hear only fragments: names, complaints about Ministry searches, and an argument about who still possessed safe houses. Dolohov raised one hand, and the others fell silent. 

"We do not gather for old loyalties," he said. "We gather because the Ministry has mistaken quiet for surrender." 

Edward needed no more. The number, Dolohov's presence, and the location were enough for Dumbledore to act. He turned toward Hogsmeade. 

A gust struck the canopy. The branch dipped, and one bright feather brushed a wet leaf. Steam rose with a faint hiss. 

Fenrir's head snapped upward. 

"Something is there." 

Wands came free around the clearing. Edward launched himself from the branch, but a red curse split the air above him. He dropped through the leaves, struck a lower limb, and lost the shape of the bird. Human again, he landed badly in the bracken and rolled behind an oak. 

"A student," one of the hooded men said. 

Fenrir smiled. "A reckless one." 

Edward sent a red flare through the canopy. It was not the brass signal, which lay broken in Hogsmeade, but any professor searching the sky might see it. Then he aimed at the ground between himself and the clearing. 

"Incendio." 

A low sheet of fire crossed the damp leaves. It was wide enough to force pursuit toward two safer openings and low enough to avoid the branches. Fenrir did not retreat. He drove through the edge of the flames with one arm raised and reached Edward before a second spell was ready. 

Edward cast a shield. Fenrir's shoulder struck it with enough force to throw Edward backward. The shield held, but pain ran from Edward's wrist to his elbow. 

"You smell like Black," Fenrir said. His sleeve smoked where the fire had caught it. "Which one?" 

Edward did not answer. He swept his wand across the roots. Three narrow flame serpents rose, not as independent creatures but as guided lines of fire. One curled around Fenrir's ankle. Another forced him away from Edward's left side. The third missed and died against wet stone. 

Fenrir tore free before the first line could burn deeply. His speed made the distance between them meaningless. Edward used Impedimenta, retreated, and cast again. Every spell bought a few steps rather than victory. 

The other wizards watched at first. Their amusement faded when Edward's flames began to limit the clearing. Dolohov ordered two people to put out the brush fire and told Fenrir to leave the boy alive. 

"We can ask why a Hogwarts student is spying after we have him," he said. 

Fenrir ignored the instruction. He struck Edward's next shield with both hands. Cracks of pale light spread across it. 

Edward reinforced the charm and changed its shape. Orange fire traced a loose net over the surface, ready to lash at anything that broke through. The technique had worked against targets in an empty practice room. Here, smoke stung his eyes, roots caught at his heels, and a mistake could set half the wood alight. 

Two hooded wizards began moving around the barrier. One carried a rope already charmed to bind. The other kept his wand aimed at Edward's knees. 

Edward searched for a clear path toward Hogsmeade and found none. He could transform, but not while maintaining the shield. He could drop the shield, but Fenrir waited close enough to reach him before the change was complete. 

"Surrender," Dolohov called. "No one needs to die." 

The promise meant little from a man whose wand never lowered. 

Fenrir struck again. The fire net snapped at his arm, and he recoiled with a burn across his wrist. The shield cracked from top to bottom. Edward felt the charm shudder through his wand. 

He had followed when he had been told to report. He had entered the forest without support. No clever account could turn those choices into necessity. 

The two Death Eaters raised their wands. 

Edward tightened his grip, chose the narrowest gap between them, and prepared to break for it before the shield failed.