The night had been perfect. Music still lingered in the air, stalls glowed warmly under the lantern light, and the laughter of children echoed through the cobbled streets of Hogsmeade. The final lanterns were being set aloft, drifting like golden stars into the late-summer sky. For a moment, it felt as though the war had been held at bay β a village wrapped in peace, however fragile.
The former Minister for Magic, Nobby Leach, stood near the fountain, offering a few kind words of thanks to those gathered. His presence had been reassuring all evening, a reminder of a steadier time. Applause rippled through the crowd, soft and heartfelt.
Then, the air shifted. A strange, electric chill ran down spines.
Without warning, half a dozen lanterns overhead burst into emerald sparks, the night sky briefly awash in sickly green. Screams broke the calm as masked figures appeared at the edges of the square. Curses split the air β stalls overturned, firelight flared unnaturally, and the joyous music cut off into panicked shouts.
In the heart of the chaos, a jet of green light arced clear and precise. The former Minister crumpled where he stood, lifeless before he hit the stones.
The attack was over almost as soon as it began. The Death Eaters melted into the night, disapparating with cruel efficiency. Above, the Dark Mark bled into the sky, its skull and serpent twisting through the drifting lanterns until the image blotted out every trace of light and hope.
What had begun as a celebration ended in terror. Families clutched one another and fled, Aurors barked frantic orders, and whispers already spread: no place was safe. Not even here.