A parcel had been brought to the Head Auror that evening.

Well it hadn’t taken more than a couple of minutes of staring at where a cauldron had previously sat for Ed to realise what the message he’d just received meant. He stared at the scorched spot of his desk as he wiped his brow, quietly repeating the words from the letter.

“Tonight…tonight…ton-crap” The words were lost as the wizard leapt from his seat, snatching up his auror robes and running to his office door.
Had it been adequate warning? His head was swimming, adrenaline had started to course through his veins. There were only a few lights on in various cubicles. Bonfire night was an evening aurors didn’t want to remain late at work.

“The Leaky Cauldron! Now!” The urgency in his yell caused the aurors in the office to jump from their seats as quickly as their leader, no questions asked and they were leaving the office. Ed decided at this moment not to yet call in for further reinforcements. Instead he ran from the auror headquarters, in a rush to get out of the ministry.

---

The warning had been too late. Apparating into diagon alley meant apparating into chaos. His senses were immediately attacked by screaming, shouting, smoke billowing from the building before him, flames warming the otherwise cold night air. Witches and wizards were running past him, terrified, in shock and Ed quite simply swore. His cursing accompanied waving his arms in frustration, crimson robes billowing.

There was no doubt now that he needed more than a couple of aurors to handle this mess. Immediately his badge was pulled from his pocket. His wand was out in his left hand, double tap reinformcements, three taps healers.

There wasn’t time to wait for their arrival. If anyone was desperately injured he needed to get to them; that was the priority. So Ed started to push past the panicked crowd to enter the cauldron through the smoke.

"I tell you I can launch them out the exhaust pipe."
"Brother mine, you will be the death of yourself in those flying cars."
"Nonsense, Francis, we did it on the 4th of July." The Pepper brothers were heading back into the Leaky Cauldron after admiring the fireworks exploding above Diagon Alley, a pint each nursed in one hand.

The blast knocked them off their feet. Francis sprawled somewhere near the door, head meeting the wall as he went. The world spun, the air filled with splinters of glass and wood. His vision spun and it felt as if all the air had been thrown out of the room. Despite the blow to his head he crawled for cover.

His first thought was that one of the fireworks had got out of control and come straight through the building, but the terrific bang that had happened with it had caused an acute ringing in his ears.

He blinked painfully and reached for his wand, trying to make head or tail of what was going on - there was a great flash of light from the direction of the Leaky Cauldron's bar, all aflame. As suddenly as people could they were scrambling to their feet and dashing for the doors, but Francis could see a number lying on the floor, out cold, and could no longer see his brother around him. Shouting did no good, he could barely hear anything.

The Unspeakable's heart thumped in his chest, fearful of what was happening. His head throbbed but he would live, he was walking wounded. He pulled himself back to his feet, looking around himself with wand drawn, augamenti towards the fire before him to try and defend himself as he clambered towards the nearest prostrate form[1] on the floor, reaching them just as the second flash hit, throwing him over them, throwing up a hasty shield charm as great columns of flame tore from behind the bar and up through the pub.

1.	Could be anyone knocked off their feet

"Remember remember the fifth of November..."

Silas rolled his eyes as the guys from accounting started up that same song again, the one being repeated throughout the bar by awkward clusters of the drunk or soon-to-be. He wasn't entirely sure how he always got dragged along on these outings as the one sensible non-drinker to pour everyone into the Night Bus, but here he was, nursing a cup of tea at the bar while he reviewed his notes for tomorrow's show.

After two failed attempts to finish the song his co-workers stumbled out back to watch the fireworks. Silas made the mental note to collect them within the hour, lest they all risk being too hung-over for work in the morning. He reached again for his tea, only for the cup to begin rattling in its saucer. Looking up, he saw the bottles over the bar doing the same as the menu board swayed on its nail and then...

---

The next thing he knew, Silas was flat on his back and in a fair bit of pain. His lungs hurt the most, screaming their emptiness to the heavens; after that came his pounding head and ringing ears. He coughed and felt his body cough, but heard nothing save for their ring.

He'd gone deaf. He couldn't go deaf. He'd be out of a job.

He forced another breath and rolled over, onto his elbows and knees. His left arm ached, dull pain protesting between his shoulder and elbow. The shirt sleeve there turned steadily crimson, a few glass shards visible through the mess. He had glass in his arm.

All around him, the other bar patrons panicked and fled for the doors. Silas felt their charging feet more than he heard them. He had just enough sense left to know they had the right idea and dragged himself to his feet. Injured arm tucked close, he scanned the bar in search of the door and had only just turned for it when the second explosion hit him right in the back.

Thrown forward this time, it was almost lucky he'd been knocked breathless again. The silent words that burst from his mouth were definitely not up to broadcasting standards.

Lexus had been enjoying the festivities of Bonfire Night in the local pub. Since arriving in London, the Leaky Cauldron had been almost a second home when she wasn't working. The pub atmosphere felt like home, something that few places did these days.

She had been having a pleasant conversation with a handsome bloke when the first blast threw her to the ground. She had barely made it to her feet when the second blast threw her down again. She shook the ringing from her ears cursing her heightened sense and glanced around at the panic and chaos. She couldn't tell what had caused the explosion and wasn't about to start making hasty guesses. Her senses were on fire. She was assaulted with the smell of burning wood and alcohol, dust, dirt and the metallic stench of blood. She shook her head several times as she regained her feet.

Those around her were having a harder time recovering from the second blast. She could hear screams and calls for help but the ringing in her ears made it all sound so distant. She tried to focus on one thing, something that could help her get grounded and take action. The most pressing presence she could focus on was the blood. Her emerald eyes glowed in the firelight and she withdrew her wand. Her instincts kicked in and her work as a Healer came to the forefront.
 
Lexus removed her wand and waded through the rubble to the nearest prone body, applying first aid charms to staunch the bleeding and make it easier for the groaning patron to escape the ever growing blaze. The werewolf was resilient and she wasn't as fearful of the flames as her instincts were telling her to be. There were too many people, the smell of blood was too strong. She had to save them.

The blast ricocheted over the top of his head, glass blown into a wide arc, meeting his shield spell, skimming and turning to sand as it did. He held his outstretched hawthorn wand tightly in his remaining hand, his left arm held up to protect his face instinctively despite the shield.

All around him the Leaky Cauldron kitchen staff threw themselves behind counters, attempting to save themselves as the crates of bottles delivered that morning exploded, flames licking hungrily at the ceiling.

The bright glow was blinding, and he closed his eyes and turned his head away, holding firm just long enough he hoped to turn and make an escape. The second blast brought the kitchen ceiling down, furniture from the floors above raining down between splintered beams.


Waking inside a wardrobe, face down on what had been the Leaky Cauldron's kitchen floor for Lawrence was a fate better than he could have hoped. He had gone through the doors, and he almost certainly had broken a few ribs from the pain he felt trying to gasp some air back into his lungs. In the dark he found his wand was within inches of his fingertips.

It took effort to shift the wardrobe and the moment he lifted it from the floor with a levitation spell, all he could see around himself was fire and debris. The wardrobe was pinned to the floor by something heavier, and as he twisted to direct the lift to the other end he screamed in agony, not realising he had a chef's carving knife embedded in the side of his thigh.

The whole building was creaking and groaning as more debris came down. Lawrence grit his teeth, reaching his hand down to the knife, gingerly feeling for how big it was and how deep it had sunk. If he pulled it out he'd be in more trouble, but he could hardly move himself in the dark and he had to get out from under the wardrobe.

Slowly, painfully, he turned, clasping the knife, his fingers catching on the blade as he kept hold of his wand with it. Breathing heavily, the word expendable raw in his mind, he extended his wand in the limited space, steeled himself and cast.

The wardrobe shattered, and a beam plummeted down from where it had come to rest on it, missing Lawrence's right elbow by an inch. Merlin was looking out for him today, for some reason.

Self-preservation kicked in, enough adrenaline to get him off the floor, staggering in the heat, smoke and the flames to haphazardly disapparate, collapsing into a heap, clutching his leg at the other end, coughing up his lungs.



Exit Lawrence

"God in heaven..."

No one, least of all Eha, expected anything good when Pratt came charging in shouting for all Aurors on deck to head straight for the Cauldron. Still, seeing one of the oldest and most populated locations in wizarding Britain torn to shreds and aflame...

She shook herself, hurrying after the Head Auror with wand likewise in hand. Her badge shimmered with Pratt's call for reinforcements, but it would still take time for everyone to get here, time that they couldn't afford to waste standing around. Hell, Eha herself wouldn't have been on-hand, save that her years out of the country minimized her taste for Bonfire Night and she'd traded the extra hours for a St. Andrew's Eve off. Luck of the draw, that.

She wanted to rush ahead, same as Pratt, but her training kicked in at the last moment to warn against it. Danger or not, Eha was still in-training. There was protocol to follow, and that protocol could mean the difference between saving lives and getting stuck in a situation they couldn't get out of.

With that in mind, she skidded to a stop once they'd made it inside the burning pub and flicked her wand at the door. "Lumos amotus!"

Her wand-tip lit up a brilliant white. Another flick tossed the light off her wand and up onto the lintel above the door. Two more joined it until the combined glow cut through both smoke and fire like a beacon. That done, she turned her wand to the two nearest support beams she saw, muttering more incantations to keep them standing strong against the fire for even just a little longer.

"Entrance secure sir," she reported, not bothering to check if her Head of Department had lingered long enough to hear. Next was a personal Flame-Freezing Charm. Then she could go rushing about to find the wounded. With any luck, this clear exit would stay secure until either all the civilians got clear or they managed to get the disaster under control.

Given the situation, she severely doubted it would be the latter.

Maiko had gone straight from Hogwarts to Diagon Alley to meet her dear, old friend, Rascal Rosier. She had tried to convince her brother to come along, but he insisted that the holiday was crazy enough when muggles celebrated, so he didn't want to risk a missing eye or uncontrollably dancing limbs if magic was involved.

They met outside of the restaurant-- her greeting him with a hug and lamenting the loss of his six extra arms from Samhain. "Now who I am going to get to carry my things?" She teased linking her arm with his affectionately, "Though now I don't have to decide which one is my favorite."

The pub was alive, bustling and busy. She recognized Silas at the bar and waved, though he didn't see her-- he was too busy looking at some paperwork.

"Now, this is a very important decision." Maiko said, leading him further inside and motioning towards the different empty seats. She paused for dramatic effect before halting and looking at the author grimly, "Lives depend on it. Which seat would you like to take?"

She didn't hear his response.

The force of the explosion threw her to the ground forcefully-- head whipping back to meet the ground, knocked breathless. Her head was pounding, ears ringing.  Mai struggled to catch her breath, the panic setting in making it that much more difficult. She  tried to prop herself up, but her head protested, dizziness and throbbing leading to nausea.  The last thing she saw was Francis Pepper, casting a shielding charm before the force of the second wave threw him over her.

"Now, this is a very important decision." Dearest Maiko was speaking, and Rascal strode into the space between celebrating crowds - hands in the pockets of his bright red trousers while he surveyed the seats with utter seriousness. Oh, yes indeed. A significant crossroad. "Lives depend on it," she continued. ""Which seat would you like to take?"

It could not have been planned better. He felt himself jerked off his feet, shoved by the absolutely cracking magnitude of the explosion as well as by the three to four wizards who'd gone careening straight into him, shoulders or knees ramming sharply into his lanky frame. Rascal lost sight and sound of the Leaky Cauldron. But he could smell.

Fire, wood, blood, sloshed ale. He could feel sharp splinters digging into his palms as he pushed a weight of his back, and somebody's shattered drinking glass cutting through his jumper at the shoulder blades beneath. A second blast forced the writer back down with a start, nose smashing against the floor. The pain sent a knife-like sensation slicing straight through his head and he felt the heat of rising flames through the bodies shielding him.

Nothing, then.

One, two... no three? This wasn't right. There had to be a third act. One, two, bang. What was happening? His mind was racing in a hundred different directions. Maiko. It was an attack. It was a performance. It was a horseshoe crab, knowing and ignorant of everything it had done, a lecherous fire greedy for something they had.

If anyone were capable of hearing just then they might have discerned Rascal's grating laugh as he tried to lift himself up, a touch hysterical but still conscious.

He fell back to the ground, flinching at the pain. No. They weren't going anywhere like this.

Bertie had been going through paperwork when Edward Pratt stood up in a frenzy-- demanding that they all go to the Leaky Calderon. He did not hesitate-- apparating into Diagon Alley, no questions asked. From the sounds of it, there was no time. And from the look of the chaos, they were too late. The leaky Calderon was up in flames, injured civilians were limping and stumbling their way out of the burning building.

There was broken glass everywhere.

Eha Farro, the auror-in-training, acted quickly-- and he couldn't help but nod in approval as she followed protocol. The entrance was secure, but the building wouldn't be for long. They needed to get people out, and quickly. It was risky-- some people could get injured even more if they were moved.

The smoke was suffocating.

As he looked around, he saw that some of the less injured people were doing their best to help. Bertie began to transfigure chairs into stretchers, and with the help of levitation charms, he managed to gingerly place some of the wounded on the strechers. Another auror began to help. It would be easier for the healers if they got as many people out as possible, and the chances of the healers getting wounded would decrease.

Flynn had just clocked out when his badge began to burn, slowly until it felt like it was aflame. So much for meeting Monty and Francis at the Leaky Cauldron after work. They would have already been there by the time he got off work, and he had felt guilty about being late. Now it seemed, he wouldn't even be able to show up.  It would have to wait for another time. Flynn knew he would have to find a way to make it up for them-- perhaps he'd buy them a round next time they met.

There was an emergency. With the help of accio, Flynn obtained an emergency kit. The inventory would have the essentials, quick things for a patch up to keep people hanging on before being admitted to the hospital.  He clutched his badge, closed his eyes and focused on it-- apparating to the location of the call. He didn't know what to expect-- but upon his arrival he certainly was not expecting this, The Leaky Cauldron up in flames. The pub had been there for over five hundred years. It was popular, a favorite for wizards whether or not they lived in London. Essence of dittany could not be used here; it was highly flammable.

And his family was in there. Family was involved. He hated it when family was involved. He felt his heart drop to his stomach. He could see stretchers being levitated out. He didn't see a Pepper on any of them.

"Healers!" Flynn shouted, "Do not bring any dittany into the building!" It would have to be used when the wounded were safely away from the flames. Most healers would know this, but when there was an emergency and they had to think fast, even the most  basic things could be overlooked. "Wait until patients are safely far away from the fire!"  He saw aurors in their red coats on the scene, Bertie was likely to show up soon if he wasn't already here. And once word got out... They could expect the media to show up and his sister with them.

She hadn't wanted to stay tonight to work, but in honesty Bonfire Night wasn't her kind of thing. Neither had it been Mordecai's, but she had firmly shooed him home since it was Friday night. And now she was finishing up the administrative work before she could go home and enjoy a nice mug of coffee by the fireside.

She was finishing up on jotting down the details of a case file for the records when she heard the commotion outside the office. For a moment she looked up, puzzled at the noise. It usually wasn't this noisy. Had there been a huge event?

Sameera stuck her head out of the door. Familiar cracks of apparition were reaching her ears now. She saw one auror run into the foyer and immediately accosted him without much shame.

"What's going on?" she demanded sternly.

The auror barely glanced at her. "Head Auror should tell you everything!" And with that, he was gone.

Sameera frowned, but then sorted out her face and went down to the Head Auror's office. She was never sure if Pratt tolerated talking to her with the barest amount of patience, but either way it was no excuse to have to speak with him. Both Offices had to work closely with each other, and if she had to plant someone's legs into cement and threaten to drop them into the sea then she would do it.

His office was vacated, but before she could consider other venues of information she noted the package on his desk. Her curiosity drew her to look at it, picking up and examining it. An exploding cauldron from Weasley Wizard Wheezes with a note on one side. The single word on it made her stop and stare. Tonight.

Premeditated. The Leaky Cauldron explosion was no accident, but she was sure that only Pratt had realised. And now her.

Evidence would still be fresh on the site. She would have to contact her analyst friends. Mordecai would know about this the next day, but she needed to know now.

She strode out and apparated mid-stride, but she did not turn up in the Leaky Cauldron. Rather, she appeared in Diagon Alley, where people were approaching the wall that divided the backyard of the pub and the alleyway. The crack her apparition produced actually scared some people, but no one else took notice of her.

"Everyone!" They looked at her, and then looked back towards the pub. Sameera sighed. A train wreck was a train wreck, and people were people. She drew her wand and flourished it as she spoke. "Expecto Patronum."

The gigantic moose crashed down in front of the approaching crowd of spectators and lowered its head to display its massive antlers, scraping the ground with one massive hoof. This was enough to stop people from advancing.

"Good evening, I'm from the Improper Use of Magic," she said, making them turn to look at her. "Under the Ministry, this area is now closed off for further inspection of the blast. Please move aside or I will have you removed by force." She didn't say by who. She didn't need to say so.

Leaving her moose to protect the area, she stepped into the backyard. Her eyes immediately watered; the acrid smoke was blocking out any and all visibility. For the sake of not stepping onto any injured person by accident, she used her wand to draw the smoke into a large ball that swirled overhead rather ominously, revealing huge piles of rubble and debris. She stood there, her wand now emitting light from its tip onto the broken areas of the pub, and sighed. This incident report was going to be rather long.

Late, late, late. She'd been drinking a bit as usual. The Werewolf Games had not gone down well with her; even though she had tried to stay away, mostly by dealing with low-key cases in Wales, they filtered down to Level Two eventually and the information still bit into her even after this long. That was the reason why she hadn't even been in the office, having left early so she could go home and sit alone in her little place.

Adrianna arrived at the Leaky Cauldron slightly tipsy, but the state of the entire pub made her sober up very quickly. She wished it hadn't had that effect on her. Glass crunched under her boots as she began to set up wards and Muggle-repelling charms around the area, just in case anyone had heard the explosion and wanted to investigate.

The smoke was starting to irritate her eyes. The sooner it got out of the way, the better. She covered her nose and mouth with her scarf and began to shift parts of the smoke out of the pub and away into the air with her wand, channelling fresh air from outside with sweeping movements of her hands with her wand, a glow of white forming around both wand and hands.

She didn't want to go inside just yet.

Any excuse to celebrate was one that Margo seized.  Guy Fawkes day was a personal favorite of hers: fall weather (no one judged  wearing boots, leather pants, and oversized flannels), lots of drinking, and fireworks.  So, she resolved she would actually enjoy the holiday – celebrate away from Muggles – and get several cold pints with a rowdy crowd. 

Margo didn’t necessarily need to be with people she knew to have a good time, and like-minded people generally flooded into pubs on nights like this.   So, she perched herself right near the bar (her favorite space) and enjoyed the crowd, and music, and general merriment.  She was so caught up in arguing over a quidditch match as well as trying to get another firewhiskey – plus there was a cute bloke by the window, perhaps she’d make her way there soon…

She lifted the glass up to her mouth, a little bit of liquid courage and Margo pushd herself off the stool, smoothing down her shirt and… adjusting.  When you didn’t have much to work with you had to play it up the best you could.  Margo looked down, satisfied with the partner work of her garments and went to take a step. 

Usually, she would attribute a sudden burst forward with her own clumsiness over her feet… but this was different.  It was so different.  There was a shaking and then crashing and Margo could hear shatters and a bang for a moment… just a moment before her shoulder and head crashed into the floor.  She felt her mouth open but couldn’t hear herself screaming as pain ripped through her shoulder.  It felt like thousands of needles prickling on her skin and there were similar spots all over, just radiating pain.  The insides of her abdomen clenched: she almost wondered if the nausea was from the bruise, but the splitting pain in her head told her differently.  Margo instinctively attempted to curl up, but she could barely move.  Her shoulder throbbed and she couldn't move her legs... Even when she tried to move the arm that didn't hurt it felt like there was something wrong.  Margo finally opened her eyes after coughing to look for what the hell had happened. 

Hot – fire and smoke, she could barely see through – A stool had gotten caught on her very mangled prosthetic and… when she put her good hand (not attached to the shoulder in pain), it was…. Wet?  It was only a moment of realization before Margo struggled to wriggle away… wet meant booze… or blood.  Either way, she didn't want to know which she was laying in, nor which was dripping into her eyes, making it that much harder to see. 

Margo could feel herself coughing, but heard nothing.  She licked her lips, attempting to moisten them and just tasted sharp metal.  She knew what was dripping into her eye then.  The smoke was thick and she could only make out licks of flame in between the clouds.  Margo didn’t need to move herself too much though; a second blast (from the feel… not the sound) sent her – and the stool – rolling.  She knew she was swearing up a storm as best she could considering the smoke, before stopping sprawled on the ground. 

It was so hot… everything hurt in the most familiar way… and there was a lot of smoke.  It wasn’t a surprise when everything went inky and dark. 

Jane Hunter was a free flying witch, out to celebrate the great night of November fifth. She always loved this time of year, when the trees crisped up just perfectly and the butterbeer was cold enough to chill you but warm enough to warm you. She had holiday after holiday to celebrate. Thing after thing to dress up for. Time after time to go out and party.

Tonight, she found herself at the Leaky Cauldron, bobbing for apples and hunting down stories. The Prophet had asked her to come down here and get interviews. They wanted a nice little feature story to tell the events of the night. Maybe get a little publicity along the way.

Right now, she was dancing with an extremely handsome young gentleman, bumping and grinding, having the time of her life. "I'm going to go grab us some drinks," she said next to his ear. He smiled and nodded, sliding his hands away from her waist.

What happened next was, in a word, unexpected.

---

Jane had been close to the epicenter of the blast, close to the bar when the first explosion went off. A scream was ripped from her lungs, as she flew back, smacking into a wall. Glasses shattered, raining the projectiles towards her, imbedding themselves in her arms and in her legs. The bar splintered, sharp wooden pieces falling towards her.

It happened so fast, and yet so agonizingly slow. When she was finally able to lie still, she opened her eyes to access the damage. Her whole white dress was ruined. Blood from everywhere, whether it was hers or not, she didn't know, stained it.

It was then that she noticed the wooden splinter sticking out of her abdomen. It jutted out like a missile, and blood was spreading around it. Maybe it was the shock or the new deafness, but she didn't feel that hurt. She felt numb, tingly. The smoke encircled her head, causing her to cough, but she sat there, as if it was an out of body experience.

...and then the panic set in.

She was in a bar that had just exploded. There was fire. She couldn't breathe, she couldn't move, and she had a wooden stick (seemed like one of the legs of a barstool) impaled in her torso. Jane started to hyperventilate, sucking in air and smoke and coughing as a result. "Help me," she shouted as loud as she could. "Please, someone," she shouted again. Jane had no idea how loud she was yelling. The ringing in her ears refused to stop.

"Help me," she said once more, trying everything she could to keep herself conscious, even when everything was tugging her towards the darkness.