Graveyard Shift

I.

It wasn't a dark and stormy night.

It was worse.

The sky was blood red. A familiar sight for the five of them.

Tat.

The woods were ominous, dark shadows towering over them. The fog and mist were oozing out of the trees, covering their view as they hurriedly dashed through the forest.

Crunch. 

Pit. Pat. Pit. Pat. Pit. Pat—

“TIME?!” - Regulus shouted back, trying not to wince as the unfathomable screeching behind them got louder.

“EIGHT MINUTES!” - Evan yelled, hands clenching on his machete. Pandora yelped as she tripped over a malicious root, yet Barty steadied her before she fell, earning him a fleeting but grateful look from Evan. 

Dorcas cursed as she hacked through the low branches with her knife, blood pounding in her veins as they all ran towards their safezone. 

Panting, Regulus desperately tried not to think about the horde of monsters that were chasing them, tried not to think about how sore his entire body would be in the morning, tried not to think about anything but a constant mantra of run rUN RUN—

Tat. TAT. Tat. TaT. tAT. TAT…

It was getting closer.

‘Just a little more—’ - They were close, so close. As if hearing his thoughts, the imposing walls of the Graveyard came to view. Regulus sprung forward, his surroundings faded into a mass of black-and-red blurs, the constant noises buzzed instead scratching at his ears.

̵̧̡̡̮̩̠̙̻͕͔̺̠̳̻͈̥̥̮̗̊̃͐́͆̑̍
̶̛̹̔͊̐̂͐͛̑̎̈́̉̄͆̅͜
̷͙̮͓̱̖̙̰̲̻̰̤͇̼̹̯̙͈̺͆͗̉͋͋́̎̾̍̍͊̐̑̅͆̎̈͗̓
̵̧̧̳̥̩̻͙͍̩͙͉͈̱̈̏͊̂̈́̅̃̾͐̕͝ͅS̷̥͔̗̟̳̙̗̼̺͉̭͕̻͌̽̃̓̉̀͛̾̌́̽̒͝͝͝͝C̴̙͍̦̯̿̈́̂̆͆̿͐͑̊̕̚ͅŖ̵̳̗̮̞̟̠̟͓͓͇̊̀̎́̈́͆̀́̋̃̈́̍̕̚͠͠͝ͅĖ̷̙̅̎̅E̸̢̜̱̰͍̟̞͎̯̩͎̽̋̒͠C̷̤̠̣̼̘͇͖̱̭̜̹͕͓̤̃͒̍̿͋͗̈͒͑͑̀̂͌͘͝͝͠ͅȞ̴̡̨̛̖͔̱̙̣̠̥̱̞͖͇̘̜͙̯̫̌̄̀͝͝ͅ

Instinctually swinging his rifle in front of him, Regulus turned and aimed. Suddenly, a black, rotten claw-hand reached towards Evan, nearly impaling him—

BANG! 

Skiddd—

The bullet teared through the mangled palm, just as Dorcas skidded inside the mechanical gates and sprinted towards the control center.

“CLOSE THE GATE, CLOSE THE GATE!!” - Barty shouted, pulling the twins through the huge door. Regulus scrambled behind them, just in time to hear Dorcas slam the close button.

Wrrrr…

They turned, and caught a glimpse of those vindictive pintrick eyes, and a terrible, horrifying smile. The humanoid figures screeched one more time, their rancid grins wide— grins with too many teeth, filled full of decaying bone and evil intent.

The door slammed shut.

They heaved in heavy breaths as they slumped to the ground, exhausted and terrified.

Bang! Bang! BaNG! BANG! BANG!—

Feeling way older than he should, Regulus sighed in relief. They made it.

“Alright, let's head to a bus.”

Four pairs of weary eyes met his own, each of them accompanied by the protruding dark circles they sport. 

They went to the closest bus to the gate. It wasn't exactly safe yet, being so close to the walls, but after nearly bleeding out to death because their med bay was too far in, they set up multiple emergency quarantine stations near the perimeter.

A wise decision, as it turns out. 

Regulus grabbed the bandages, wrapping his shaking hands. Dorcas hissed as she pulled on a stitch too tight, sewing the large gash on her thigh together. Pandora massaged her sprained ankle, then used a piece of cloth to secure a bag of ice to it. Barty was operating on Evan, carefully disinfecting his bloody back and wrapping it up. 

BANG! BANG! BANG! Bang…! Bang…

Regulus’ ears twitched, - “The banging stopped.”

They all paused. Anxiety and anticipation filled the broken bus.

“How long..?” - Pandora asked her twin, voice hoarse.

Evan swallowed, - “Two minutes.”

They fell into silence again.

Pit. Pat. Pit. Pat.

Footsteps.

None of them moved.

“Seventy seconds.” - Evan hissed, clenching his machete.

Barty and Dorcas silently readied their hunting knives, while Pandora curled her fingers around the screwdriver she kept on her at all times. Regulus quietly took out his pistol, pointer finger on the trigger and thumb on the safety.

Evan held up five fingers.

5…

The footsteps stopped.

4…

A boney, black claw grasped the side doors of the bus.

3…

After the mangled claws followed the sinewy, sleek body, rotten black. Then came the head, turned towards them. Pinprick dots met their eyes, and then that horrible, horrible smile.

2…

With a morbid screech, it lunged towards them.

1…

They tensed, eyes not leaving the stygian figure.

BEEP BEEP BEEP!

They all woke up together, at 00:08 AM exactly.

II.

According to Sirius Black, his younger brother was an angel, could do no wrong, and was as innocent as a Black could be.

According to Laura Rosier, her twins were two curious children, stuck together like limpets and communicated on a whole separate frequency, like twins do.

According to Bartemius Crouch Sr., his son was a troublemaker, a little brat, and ultimately the bane of any father's existence.

According to Layla Meadowes, her daughter was an energetic child, sarcastically smart and adorably snarky at times.

According to the entire Hogwarts population, Regulus Black, Pandora and Evan Rosier, Barty Crouch Jr. and Dorcas Meadowes were just five ordinary Slytherins who were oddly tight-knit, incredibly good at magic, and spoke only in riddles.

Ordinary. Innocent. Naive.

Oh, how they wished that was true.

III.

Like every good story, it starts at the beginning of the end.

The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black has a fascinating way of naming their children. Before the child will ever be born, its name will appear on the Family Tapestry, along with its position within the Family Tree.

So, when Walburga Black got pregnant for a second time, she was pleased to see the Tapestry announcing the name and rank of her son— Regulus Arcturus Black, the Second Heir to the Main House of Black.

Orion Black was satisfied with this development, while Sirius Black was being hyped up by his relatives to be ready for the responsibilities of a Big Brother. 

They expected a baby boy. A son. Someone fitting the title of Heir. Someone fitting the title of Heir to the Mainline Branch, not just an heir of the Britain House.

Imagine their collective surprise when the child that bursted out of Walburga's womb was a girl, and not a boy.

“Its name is still Regulus Arcturus, and it is still the Second Heir to the House of Black. The Stars and Lady Magic had decreed it so, and those that have a problem with this shall face the Punishment of Equilibrium for speaking against a Black Heir.”

That was the final decree given to the rambunctious horde of witches and wizards that gathered in the biggest delivery room St. Mungo's could offer, by Arcturus Black III himself, The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black’s Reigning Lord. 

The shadows moved around the babe like a particularly playful friend, the stray twinkle of sparks dancing around Regulus like starry constellations.

Nobody noticed the phantom sounds of screams overlapping the chaos of baby cries. No one noticed a rotten grin smiling from the corners of the room.

Nobody realized just how terrified the child seemed.

Because from their birth, Regulus knew something was after them.

IV.

Barty never liked his father. That was a fact.

Winky was kind. His mother was the only thing keeping him alive.

He was trapped, in this forsaken home.

It was made abundantly clear to him that Barty was an accident. 

Unplanned. Unwanted.

His mother loved him like he was a part of her that she held dear. His father resents him for her weakened health during her pregnancy, plus a million other failures of his as the oh-so-great Bartemis Crouch Senoir's son.

Barty resents his mother, a little bit. 

For naming him after the man that hates him the most. For loving his father still, knowing full well what the man does to him. For asking him to stay in this nightmare, when Barty was on the edge of either suicide or running away.

For loving him so much, when she clearly acts otherwise.

Barty hates himself, just a bit, for loving her still.

Maybe he understood. Maybe he gets it.

Doesn't mean he wants it.

Barty stared at the sky, blue and bright. 

Wishing he could fly, unrestricted amongst the stars.

V.

Growing up was a weird experience for Regulus. 

It was a strange thing, learning the ropes of etiquette and the harsh reality of politics at the same time.

Back then, he was referred to as the ‘Abomination’, because never before has a lady ever been declared Heir so blatantly by the Stars and Lady Magic themselves. He hated it almost as much as realizing they called him ‘the girl’, ‘she’ and ‘her’. 

Regulus was a boy, plain and simple. Don't get him wrong— being a girl was amazing, breaking traditions and opposing sexism and all of that, but he's a boy. 

He's a boy. That was a fact he always knew.

Regulus loves climbing trees, playing tag with Sirius and the stimulating hours he puts in to study a multitude of advanced subjects. He loves his frilly dresses, making beautiful flower crowns and attending to tea parties with his cousins. 

Regulus loves dancing, the graceful and elegant movements of ballet to the demanding physicality that aerial gymnastics with suspended hoops and silks requires. He loves letting his cousins and brother do his hair, likes the feel of flowers, pearls and ribbons adorning his wavy, classic-length locks.

Regulus loves Quidditch— loves how the wind swept at his face and the amazing feeling of being so high in the sky. He loves fighting— loves the feeling of his blood pounding in his ears as he brawls with the neighborhood muggle kids, loves feeling the rush of a too-close curse just barely missing him in his dueling lessons with the other Heirs. 

Dueling lessons that he attends with his pretty dresses and lovely flats.

Throughout all of this, he was still a boy. He could be a boy and love all of this. 

So many people didn't understand this. Regulus hated that.

Sirius was never one of them though. 

It was a sunny afternoon like all sunny afternoons, and the two of them were chasing each other in a makeshift game of tag. Their stubby little legs didn't get them very far inside the giant yard, so the adults were pretty much content letting them run wild.

They were seven and eight, and being the older one, Sirius was naturally taller and could reach places Regulus would only dream of; like the wicker baskets the house elves hid on the higher shelves. 

It starts like this: there was a giant plumeria tree their Grandmother Cassopeia planted when she was their age, and now the flowers were in full bloom— beautiful and fragrant.

Regulus took one look at them and decided he wanted to make flower crowns out of them. Sirius went inside the kitchens then came back with a basket and a few needles, flourishing it in front of him with the cheekiest grin an eight-year-old could muster.

They ran underneath the shade together, first picking out the freshest fallen flowers, then taking turns holding the basket as the other climbed to pluck newer blossoms from the branches. 

Sirius was a good climber, yes, but he's got nothing on Regulus’ monkey-like tendencies. The little boy swung from the highest perches, hanging upside down between offshoots like a baboon to pluck the more colorful buds. 

He couldn't care less about how his summer dress rode up, lilac fabric bunching on the branch growths; or how anyone that looks up would be able to see his bloomers. Regulus’ only thought was getting his grubby little hands on the pretty white flowers above his head.

Sirius had different ideas.

“Reggie!” -  His brother shouted from beneath, scandalized, - “Cover your butt! I could see your bloomers!”

Regulus looked down, and Sirius was covering his eyes like his life depended on it. He was confused— it was just them, and they're not at a gala or anything. He said as much to a mortified Sirius.

“You're a girl!” - Sirius was waving his hands around, sounding pained, - “I don't want to see my sister's underwear!!”

Regulus, being this high up, could only hear the ‘You're a girl’ part; and decided to reassure his brother by yelling down below that he's a boy, so Sirius doesn't have to worry. 

Thus, completely missing the point.

“It's okay Siri!” - He shouted for good measure, - “I'm a boy, so it's fine!”

Sirius, now properly horrified, looks like he was about to cry in shame, - “It's not fine! I don't give a whank if you're a boy or a girl, Reggie! I just don't want to see your bloody knickers!”

Regulus laughed, and climbed down towards his brother, disposing of the batch of flowers he tied inside his dress into the basket. 

Luckily, they had an adequate amount, so no more mental breakdowns for Sirius Black.

They sat down together, and his brother obediently stayed still as Regulus measured, counted, and threaded the flowers through a braid of weeds he made earlier. 

As always, he made multiple crowns; one for Siri, three for their cousins, a bunch for the house elves, and one for him. 

When the brothers brought the basket full of beautiful chaplets to the whisper of elves working in the kitchens— smiling brightly as Kreacher scolded them for muddying their clothes and shoes— Sirius loudly proclaimed that his little brother made these magnificent pieces of art for them all, so everyone line up and get yours now!

For all his brother tends to forget about what their newest in-law's name was, Sirius remembers things he deemed important.

Regulus’ proclamation of his gender was one of them.

The word ‘sister’ never once made an appearance in Sirius’ vocabulary when referring to his brother again.

VI.

Dorcas was a curious child, always.

She had names that follow her heels a mile long.

She sees, she asks, she does things.

Chatterbox, was the adjective of the day. You talk too much, some of her teachers say.

Her mom told her to never stop asking, never stop discovering.

“Ask your questions. State your observations.” - Layla would tell her daughter, - “There are things that would change the world, if someone would just bother to open their mouths and ask about it.”

So no, Dorcas didn't stop asking.

She didn't stop being curious. She didn't stop discovering things beyond her age.

Dorcas grew, and so did her questions.

“Mom, why is the sky blue?”

“Mom, why does the moon grow round on certain days?”

“Mom, what does ‘bitch’ mean?”

“Mom, why does everyone laugh at me?”

“Mom, why can't they listen?”

It was hard, for a girl so young to grow so fast.

Layla held her daughter throughout it all, never once stopped answering her daughter's questions.

What you don't know, you find. What you couldn't find, you search. What you couldn't search, you ask.

Dorcas never stopped. And Layla was proud of her for it.

Then, one day—

“Mom, I said no. I told them to stop. Why didn't they stop?”

Then, the Meadowes moved to the U.K..

Dorcas was nine, when her family moved to a lively street, where her house was called ‘Number Seven, Grimmauld Place’. 

Her neighbors said that number Twelve was a running joke, that somebody messed up and miss-labeled the houses.

But Dorcas frowned, and said that she could see number Twelve, just five houses down.

The adults laughed, patted her head, and walked away.

Dorcas saw, and she asked.

She saw a house, dusty and rotten on the outside, looking like a good breeze could knock it over.

And so she asked about it.

She saw two children, one younger and one her age, going in and out the steps of the run-down house.

And so she asked about them.

She saw a strange creature once— she doesn't know what it is.

So she asked about it, too.

Eventually, the laughs turned into whispers. Eventually, the amusement turned into worried glances. Eventually, the humoring answers that never told her anything wasn't enough.

Eventually, Dorcas decided to get her answers from the source itself.

She approached the younger one, when the older one was away (he acts like a rabid dog, sometimes, and Dorcas doesn't like that).

“Who are you?”

The younger one looks up, and tilts their head, hands never stopped weaving the bundle wildflower stems together - “Regulus. Who are you?”

Dorcas eyed the colorful crown, lopsided with the younger one's motions.

“Dorcas. Watcha' doing?”

And so, two friends meet for the very first time.

VII.

Pandora and Evan were inseparable— since birth, really. 

All twins are. 

People could hardly tell who was who when they were little. They looked identical, in all senses of the word.

As they grew up, they hardly changed that fact.

If Evan wanted dreadlocks, Pandora also got dreadlocks. If Pandora wanted to wear a suit of armor, Evan would don the frilliest, laciest dresses he could find and walk alongside his sister like a princess would next to her knight.

If Evan wanted to dance, Pandora was his partner. If Pandora wanted to play, Evan ensured his sister was never alone.

They were inseparable— that was just a fact.

Like the sun would shine and the night would come, everyone knew. 

That the Rosier twins are joined at the hip.

That you can’t tell either of them apart, even though everyone knows they are of a different sex.

That you can’t find one without the other.

That they don’t need words to communicate what they want.

This went on for years, until Pandora got her first vision on the night of their sixth birthday. 

Little Evan didn’t know what to do, other than hold his little sister as she screamed and sobbed while her eyes glowed gold. Their parents were also at a loss. Foresight, precognition, the Inner Eye, whatever you call it— doesn’t run in the family on either side. They aren’t descended from mythics, or seers, or caladriuses.

But Pandora’s episode couldn’t be described in any other way— it was a precognitive vision. Their mother took them to see the old, old decrepit corpse of a woman named Cassandra Trelawney— who, in Evan’s opinion, should’ve been six feet under three centuries ago. 

Pandora was told to go in alone, and for the first time in their life, the twins were forced apart from each other. 

That didn’t stop them— Evan snuck inside the lavish almost-tomb this woman was housed in, and pushed the door to her chambers open while holding onto Pandora’s hand. 

“Ah, yes.” - The body corpse-woman spoke in a raspy voice, - “The twins have come.”

Her eyes glowed a gold hue. They stood still, silent.

Waiting.

“You, boy.” - She continued, uncaring of their apprehension, - “Abandon your sister now, and you won’t have to suffer her fate.”

Evan felt a surge of anger, while Pandora tried to wretch her hand away from him.

“Evvie.” - His brave little sister whispered, already scared for her dearest twin, - “Go.”

“No.” 

His voice echoed throughout the cave-like chamber.

“No.” 

Evan Rosier’s demand was final.

“Pandie is my twin.” - He said, glaring into the dripping gold of Trelawney’s sclera, - “I won’t ever leave her behind.”

The corpse-woman smiled, as if expecting his defiance.

“You will both suffer.” - She states.

“Together.” - Evan parries, reclaiming Pandora’s hand and hugging her trembling body against his, - “Give me hers. If you can’t, we’re doing this together.”

They were both six, mere children. Unknowing, and uncaring of the future.

Pandora burrowed herself into her brother, safe and sound from the world in his arms.

Tears streamed down their faces.

“I can’t.” - Cassandra murmured, mourning the fates that belonged to these poor children— the Black’s youngest, the Rosier’s twins, the Crouch’s only son, the Meadowes’ only daughter.

“Then so be it.” - The twins declared.

Golden rivers flowed down the old woman’s cheeks, as she uttered her final words— her final prophecy.

“Twins of stars, you heed my words,

The day will come, where you will turn.

A bloody moon will haunt your nights

As friends and family protect your sights

Make a choice— your life or theirs

Only one shall live,

Unburdened by despair.”

The twins walked out, together.

When asked, they said nothing of Cassandra Trelawney’s death.

Her passing was discovered three days later, when a mediwitch was called to check on her condition.

VIII.

Dorcas’ uncle had this massive yard a street over, filled with dead vehicles.

Mostly school buses, she told Regulus.

“What’s a school bus? What’s a vehicle? Why is it dead?”

Over the course of their friendship, Dorcas’ curious nature spreads to Regulus.

“A yellow van that transports children. A type of machine us normies use to move around with. It doesn’t work anymore, that’s why its dead.”

“Why don’t you just Apparate? Or use a portkey?”

“What’s Apparate? What’s a portkey?”

“I think your word for it is ‘teleportation’. Portkey’s apparating, but by touching a chosen object.”

“I don’t think we can.” - Dorcas said inquisitively.

“They can’t.” - Reggie states, - “You can, though.”

“Why?”

“You can see us. Your others couldn’t.”

“Huh. Makes sense.”

Regulus makes Dorcas promise to take him there, to her uncle’s school bus graveyard.

Dorcas agrees, and says she’ll learn teleportation.

They pink swore on it.

VIV.

The Blacks threw a massive summer party, the June before Sirius went to Hogwarts.

All of the pureblooded Houses were invited, regardless of their political views.

It was a bragging ball, after all— their First Heir was going to Hogwarts this September, isn’t that exciting?

As the main character, Sirius couldn’t escape, no matter how hard he tries.

Regulus slipped away easily, dashing through the trimmed garden paths to find Dorcas.

“Where are you going, Miss Black?” - A well-dressed boy appeared from the back door, walking beside him, - “Shouldn’t you be at the tea table?”

‘Bartemius Crouch, Jr.’ - Those Heirship lessons told Regulus.

“To see a friend.” - He replied, - “And it’s Second Heir Black. Miss Black is my cousin. I could also ask the same about you, Heir Crouch.”

“My apologies.”

They looked at each other, then at the path they were about to escape from.

“You don’t snitch—”

“—and I won’t either.”

They looked at each other again. 

“I’m Regulus. Call me Reggie, ‘cause you’re my friend now.”

“Barty, not Bartemius. I hate that.”

“Alright, Barty. Would you like to meet my other friend?”

“Okay, Reggie.”

Together, they snuck out of the elaborately-decorated manor. The evening was young, and in no time, the two boys reached a meadow clearing.

Already there was Dorcas— and two children who look like clones of each other.

“Reggie!” - Dorcas yelled, excitedly pulling the two to meet her friend, - “I found twins!”

“We found you.” - One of them muttered, - “Not the other way around.”

“Evvie.” - The other chastised, - “Be nice to Dorry’s friend.”

Evvie huffed. Regulus giggled.

“This is Barty.” - He points to Barty, stating it gravely like a king giving a grand order.

“My name is Barty.” - Barty agrees, with equal seriousness.

“I’m Dorcas.” - Dorcas grinned, and points to the twins, - “And they are—”

“Pandora.” - One said, giggling.

“And Evan.” - The huffy one declared.

“I’m Reggie.” - Regulus nods, - “We’re all best friends.”

The other four children nod like it was the most obvious thing in the world.

The sky was blue, the sun was bright, and Reggie, Pandora, Dorcas, Even and Barty were the bestest friends in the universe.

It was such a lovely, innocent moment.

(It was the last they’ll have.)

They decided they were an adventuring party.

They named themselves Skittles, after Dorcas’s favorite candy, something she brought with her to share.

Like all kids do, they talked about everything and nothing at all. 

The Skittles’ number one enemy is Barty’s father, who shall be poked with sticks and stones should he ever hurt Barty again. It was in their imginary rulebook— as was ‘never separate the twins’, as was ‘Reggie is a boy, stone anyone who says otherwise’, as was ‘Dorcas is cool, and Barty’s dad and Reggie’s family were wrong about Muggles being bad’.

Adventuring together, the Skittles discovered a shack.

It feels bad. Like, evil bad.

So naturally, they had to go inside.

“I think it's haunted.” - Barty says, making spooky sounds and creepy hand gestures.

Evan shivered, glaring, - “It’s not.” 

“Are you scared?” - Barty asked, grinning.

“NO! I’M NOT SCARED!”

“Then go inside with me!”

“...NO!”

“You’re scared!”

“I’m not!”

Regulus and Dorcas watch this while snickering, as they gather weeds as per Pandora’s instructions. (“I’ll cast a protective charm on.” - The girl insisted, - “Then it will repel ghosts and ghouls.”)

Barty and Evan tousled on the dirt, screaming and ripping each other’s hair out.

They managed to tumble into the shack.

There was a loud crash.

Then silence.

Regulus, Dorcas and Pandora hurriedly followed. They see the two boys on the ground, scratches all over them, but okay.

“Evvie, why didn’t you call out to me?” - Pandora rushed to her twin.

But— something was wrong.

Evan didn’t answer, but instead, put his hand over her mouth. She squeaked, looking up at her brother.

He fearfully glanced back, shaking his head.

There was something creeping in the shadows. Something dangerous.

And it was looking right at them.

Pandora made eye contact with the white pinpricks.

And before her wide, terrified eyes— a deranged, rotten grin appeared, right where a mouth should be.

Reggie, who was closest to the door, motioned them to move— his face also drenched in terror. He and Dorcas helped a petrified Barty up, and as one— everyone ran.

That— that thing chased after them.

For a moment, just for a moment, Pandora swore the sky turned red, and everything was black.

She hoped it wasn’t real.

Because— because….

…there was a bloody moon in the sky.

X.

That night, all five went to bed.

That night, at 00:00, they woke up— to a red sky, a blackened world with no one else but them, and hordes of horrific humanoid creatures.

They hid, and cried, and at 00:08— the world returned to normal.

This happened every night, after.

Regulus curls up in Sirius’ bedroom, clutching his brother’s blanket around himself, desperately wishing his older brother was here.

Dorcas tucked herself in her closet, hand to her mouth, and tried her best to muffle her cries.

Barty takes the fire poker his father was so fond of to bed.

The twins hold each other, waiting until the nightmare would be over.

Then one day, when the sun was high and she and Regulus made flower crowns again, Dorcas told him.

“I had a bad dream. Super bad. Every night.”

Reggie stared at her.

“..me too.”

Dorcas nodded.

“...meet me at the graveyard. Tonight.”

“...okay.”

The continued weaving wildflowers again.

“I don’t want to be alone.” - Regulus murmured.

“...me too.” - Dorcas agreed.

“I’m telling Evan, Pandora and Barty to come too.”

Dorcas nods, - “Can they teleport?”

“No, but their fireplaces should connect to the Floo Network.”

Regulus wrote to Barty and the twins, telling them to meet him in the dream.

‘Use Floo.’ 

That night, instead of hiding under Sirius’ blankets, Reggie waited in front of Grimmauld Place’s fireplace.

Whoosh. 

Barty stumbles out, and they both cry.

Whoosh.

The twins come, relieved they weren’t the only ones.

Together, they ran, and ran, and ran. 

Those creatures gave chase.

Dorcas pulled them in, and closed the gates.

All five collapsed.

That was the first of their many nights in the school bus graveyard.