Author's note: This is the prologue. All disclaimers, ratings, warnings etc. for this story can be found at the beginning of the first chapter.

Hogwarts, May 1998

A small rattle by the window startled Ron and Hermione and shook Harry from his trance. Ron's sleeve came dangerously close to sweeping off the chess board, but Hermione barely managed to grab hold of the endangered figures. Noticing that Ron's elbow wasn't the only thing threatening her queen, she gave a little frown; he'd done it again. How did that prat always manage to lull her into a false sense of security before she even heard the soft 'click' of the closing trap?

Midnight had passed and the Gryffindor Common Room was almost empty. A few students were attempting to get some last-minute homework done and somewhere in the back corner a group of fifth-years was gathered around a girl with love troubles, trying to offer some comfort. The fire in the chimney had almost burned down; reduced to a faint quiver casting twitching shadowy forms at the surrounding walls. Shapes, that seemed to move with a life of their own.

Ron and Hermione had spent the last two hours at the chess board although neither of them had been able to devote his or her full attention to the game. Every once in a while their glances wandered over to their best friend, who had bent his head firmly over his copy of Quidditch through the Ages staring at the same page over and over, barely blinking an eye.

The unexpected sound had startled him; he raised his head as if woken from sleep and the blank look in his eyes made Hermione doubt that he even knew where he was and how he had gotten there. It seemed to take him an eternity to turn his head towards the window and as he stared into the darkness, his face still seemed empty.

"Hedwig!" As Hermione walked towards the window, she saw the snowy owl sit on the window sill, her soft white feathers clearly visible against the dark midnight sky. "What is she doing here in the middle of night? It's too dangerous for owls to fly … Alohomora!"

She Charmed the window open. Hedwig spread her wings and soared into the room; a breeze of cold air rippling Harry's tousled hair as she landed on his shoulder. He gently stroked her head and she gave a content hoot, dropping the letter she carried in her beak into his lap.

Harry didn't open the letter. He slowly crumbled the paper in his fist, clutching it with such force that his knuckles seemed ghastly white. Once he raised a trembling hand towards the chimney, but instead of throwing, he let it drop again, taking in a heavy breath.

"I'm going to sleep," he said brusquely and without sparing her and Ron another glance he got up from his chair and disappeared through the small archway leading into Gryffindor Tower. His steps on the spiral staircase grew softer and softer until they eventually faded away.

"Harry, wait!" At first they had both remained silent, giving each other bewildered looks, not knowing what to make of this odd behaviour. But somehow it all fell into place now, and Hermione jumped up, mouthed a quick 'let me' to Ron, who still had the utterly bewildered look on his face, and rushed after Harry. It wouldn't do him any good to be alone again. He would brood and brood and bury his pain some more, shutting himself off from his friends and the rest of the world.

For weeks they had been sympathetic. Walking on tiptoes, lowering their voices, trying not to push him, giving him time, waiting for him to come to them. Waiting and waiting and waiting that he would finally begin to talk of his own accord, confide in them the terrible events of the past. But he hadn't done so and it didn't look as if he was going to. Ever.

She was fed up with waiting. Fed up with watching him drift further and further away from them, seeing him crawl into his own dark little world of despair. And above everything else, she was fed up with watching him suffer. She would tear down the walls he had built around himself; she would rescue him from the isolation and emptiness of his self-erected prison. It was going to stop and it was going to stop now.

Although she felt like storming into the seventh-year boys' dormitory, she opened the door cautiously, walking on tiptoes as not to disturb any sleepers. The circular room was wrapped in darkness and silence, safe for the quiet breaths from Seamus, Dean and Neville. All three boys were soundly asleep, but she was sure they didn't sleep as peaceful as it seemed. In those times, everybody had their own nightmares to cope with.

Harry sat by the window, staring into the darkness outside. For a short while his glance seemed to follow Hedwig's tiny white figure on the night sky. They could only hope that she wouldn't leave the castle grounds; she would be shot for sure. Hermione frowned; if Harry had been more prudent, he would have carried the owl back to the owlery instead of letting her fly of her own accord.

He hadn't opened the letter; bits of crumbled envelope were still protruding from his closed fist.

"You don't know whether to read it or not, don't you?" she asked sympathetically, sitting down next to him on the window sill. Broken by the mosaic ornaments of the window, the starlight painted strange patterns on the floor between them. Tiny sparks of light were flittering over Harry's face, making his tears shine like crystal on his pale cheeks.

Instead of an answer he gave a silent shake of his head; his fingers closing more tightly around the paper. His hands were trembling and she gave way to the impulse of reaching out and clasping them with her own.

"I don't want to read it," he mumbled. They had been sitting in silence for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Hermione's earlier confidence had vanished; she no longer felt that raging and storming would gain her access to Harry's thoughts. Nor would kind words and sisterly advice.

It seemed that, again, all she could do was wait. Wait for him to break the silence.

"I know what's in there." His voice sounded hard and bitter as he looked up to meet her eyes. "More lies, more fake apologies, more promises never meant to be kept in the first place. I've heard them all before. How stupid would I be to listen to this load of rubbish? Do you think I'm that naïve?"

All truthful answers to these questions included either a reproach or an 'I told you so', so she kept quiet, trying to comfort him with a reassuring smile and the gentle touch of her hands. Why couldn't he have been more careful? Why couldn't he have chosen a worthier candidate to bestow his heart on? Someone who wouldn't have so callously broken it?

"No, I don't want to read it!" He opened his hands, dropping the crumbled paper into hers. "Throw it away, Hermione. Throw it into the fire where it belongs."

He turned away from her, pulling his arms to his chest and resting his head upon them; curling up like a wounded animal in a cave. She reached out for him, but he shrunk back at her touch, shaking his head and retreating further into the corner.

"I'll be back in a minute," she promised, leaving the room on tiptoes as not to wake any sleepers. She would try to talk to him again later, but first she would comply with his request and get rid of that letter. She would go back to the common room and throw it into the chimney to make sure that it couldn't do any more harm.

Or should she burn it right here, right now? No matter what message the letter contained, it was bound to hurt Harry and bring him more pain. The sooner it was destroyed, the better.

And yet she wondered. Why the effort of trying to sway Harry again? And how? Her fingers smoothed over the paper as she walked down the staircase, flattening the creases and ridges, so it was possible once more to read the address on the envelope.

Harry Potter,

Gryffindor Common Room

What if it was a misunderstanding of some sort? What if someone else had written this letter? There were hundreds of people at Hogwarts.

A teacher, perhaps? She doubted that Professors Dumbledore or McGonagall would need to resort to an owl if they wanted to send Harry a message. A student? And which student would want to talk to Harry in the middle of the night? It didn't make sense.

Besides, Harry had probably recognized the writing at once. She hadn't thought of that before.

But what if something else was in this letter? Something important?

No, this was simply her own silly curiosity. She had no right reading Harry's mail, not even if he didn't want to have it. It would be a break of trust. And a break of the promise she had given to him. He relied on her to destroy the letter because he couldn't do it himself.

But he would never know. And she would never breathe a syllable of this message to anyone and she would destroy it right away after she had…

She listened for steps on the staircase or any other sounds of movement and when there were none, she hurriedly ripped open the envelope. Her eyes skimmed over the unusually scrawly writing; it appeared that the message had been written with great haste.

Harry -

Hogwarts surrounded. Crimson Thunder tonight, shortly before dawn. All information about later attacks is fake. Don't answer; they shoot the owls.

What did that mean? Where the Death Eaters going to attack Hogwarts? Tonight? But that couldn't be possible! Voldemort had overthrown the Ministry, yes, but he wasn't powerful enough to attack Hogwarts. Not yet. It couldn't be.

"Hermione? Is Harry OK? What's going on?"

Startled, she looked up to see Ron's concerned face hovering before her; mere inches from her own. The paper was sliding from her hands and he picked it up, frowning. "This must be a fake, Hermione. If the Death Eaters planned to attack tonight, don't you think someone in the Order would know? Snape, perhaps? We all know they'll attack eventually, but it's much too soon. Dumbledore said…"

He broke off, helplessness showing in his eyes. With utter shock she realized that he didn't believe in his own words, waiting for some sign of reassurement from her, some proof that it couldn't be. They couldn't loose Hogwarts, their last safe refuge.

Seeing her own fear mirrored in someone else's eyes was exactly the right thing to snap her into action. "Ron, I'll go upstairs and get Harry. We need to talk to Professor Dumbledore at once. Maybe it's a false alarm, but we can't take that risk. Hogwarts might be in terrible danger."

"Hermione?" She had already jumped up a few stairs when she heard Ron call her name. "Who says we're being attacked? Who sent this letter?"

She turned around, crossing her fingers behind her back. "I don't know, Ron."