The Janus Thickey Ward in Saint Mungo's Hospital wasn't used to getting a lot of visitors. The ward was set aside for those whose maladies were so severe that the only viable option was to keep them in intensive care for an indefinite amount of time. As such, there were only ever a couple or so people admitted to this ward, with maybe two or three visitors every so often.
Today, however, there were seven people crowding one of the beds. This particular bed had a very peculiar fifteen year old boy on it, and this particular crowd was being awfully loud, much to the despair of the Mediwitch on duty.
"—should get him out of here as soon as possible—"
"—for Merlin's sake, the boy's much too weak in his condition. He needs rest—"
"—what he needs is for you to keep your voices down! You're disturbing the other patients. This isn't a marketplace—"
Sadly, the Mediwitch's concerns fell on deaf ears. The Unspeakables had come in gradually, and as more of them gathered, they'd immediately started discussing what to do with the time traveler. The gravity of the situation made the lot of them forget that the time and place to discuss this wasn't in the same room as the recovering patient.
It was a pity, really, that the Department of Mysteries pushed the boundaries of order in the Ministry.
The DOM didn't have offices assigned for the Head Unspeakables. The DOM had seven main doors and five false ones that served to confuse trespassers (of the seven doors, there was one that couldn't be accessed through the revolving Entrance Chamber, which led to the DOM labs and was considered nothing short of sacred). There wasn't a formal conference room for the Unspeakables to meet and they didn't see much point in wasting funds on one. Rather, the Unspeakables had gotten used to congregating to one of the labs and discussing important matters even while working.
It is also interesting to note that while the other Ministry departments had a nice hierarchy with a "Head" at the very top working for them, the DOM had several "Head Unspeakables" (one for each of the six main chambers for the study of the magical constants).
Since there was no singular official that passed supreme decisions for the entire department, the Head Unspeakables were locked in a heated debate over the situation of one time travelling Harry Potter, particularly on who was responsible for the boy and what that responsibility meant.
"We can keep him under observation. Keep him away from external influences so he doesn't cause too many rifts," one of the men started, only to be cut off by the witch beside him.
"And let him sulk here until he gives in to depression?" She retorted.
"He needs to rest, anyway! Look at him, fragile as a bone!"
"—keep your voice down—"
"Bones aren't fragile," another one chimed in.
"He needs to regain a sense of normalcy," the witch continued. "He needs a support group, it's healthy. Right, Louise?"
"Maybe we can leave him at the Potters'," one of them mused. "Dress him up nice and warm and drop him off at their doorstep. They'll love it."
There was an audible snort.
"Will you bring him in a basket and leave a note, too?"
"—don't answer that—"
"Maybe we should talk to Headmaster Dippet again—"
"Or we could ask him," another wizard said, bringing their attention to the boy slowly gaining consciousness.
The eldest of the group shot a stern look at the lot of them.
"Settle down and behave yourselves," she declared.
The boy stirred in his sleep, blinking his eyes from the brightness of the room. Despite being given a Dreamless Sleep potion and a Calming Draught before going to bed, there were prominent shadows beneath his eyes. His eyes felt itchy and there was a painful scratch in his throat with each breath he took.
He had first thrown a fit when they told him about his situation, after the effects of the first dose of Calming Draught wore off. He argued that they were either demented or that he was demented and raced off. They were close to calling the Aurors when one of them found him back in the Time Chamber, glowering at one of the bell jars. The ease with which the boy had managed to get through the wards of hospital security and even get back into the Department of Mysteries was unnerving, but not nearly as unnerving as how damaged the boy obviously was.
When they'd managed to get him back to the hospital and calm him down, they casted diagnostic spells on him. They had come to the conclusion that the boy was in the same condition as Aurors that had went to war. They were forced to contemplate how a fifteen year old Hogwarts student could have gotten the injuries sustained by his thin frame and the way he reacted to people.
The very presence of Harry Potter forced them to contemplate many undesirable possibilities.
Still in bed, Harry caught sight of the old witch that had handed him that blasted Prophet article.
"You're still here?" He greeted stiffly.
"Do you not want me to be here?" Janna replied in a measured voice.
"I thought I made it clear that I don't want any of this to be here."
"Rude," a redheaded man with a beard commented.
Harry shot a look at the people surrounding him with a curious mix of disinterest and suspicion.
"Brought friends?" He asked Janna.
She smiled in a way she hoped to come across as non-threatening.
"Harry, I'd like you to meet the Head Unspeakables," she said.
"This is Pandora," she gestured at a petite young witch with curiously silver hair that reminded him of Luna. "She's in charge of the Brain Room."
She nodded to the redhead that called him rude. "Tiresias. He handles the Hall of Prophecy."
The next witch had long dreadlocks that twisted around her face like snakes.
"Meadus—" This earned her a glance from Harry.
"You can call me Mae," she said. He continued to idly eye her hair.
"I know what it looks like," she said bluntly while Janna introduced her as the Head Unspeakable for the Love Chamber.
In truth, Harry was less focused on the irony of her name. He had been reminded of another witch with a taste for distinct hairstyles and distaste for her first name.
"—and Vita's in charge of the Death Chamber. Blastov here has Space," Janna finished.
Vita was a tall man with dark, feathery hair and a thin beard that framed his smile nicely. In contrast, Blastov had no trace of hair at all on his head except for his thin eyebrows.
"Er, hi," Harry said, not really knowing why he had to meet these people. Janna smiled at this.
"We're the ones who may be able to help you with this, dear," Janna told him eagerly.
"…'help me'? Sounds ominous," Harry said. "Help me how? I'm already in a hospital. What, are you planning on running experiments on me? Get in my mind? Strip me down and turn me into one of those creepy brain squid things?"
"Don't be absurd," Pandora said from his right. "Why would we do that to you? "
"Well, it's either you're all mad and that's the kind of thing mad people do," he started to list off. "I'm mad and that's the kind of thing people do to mad people, or this is Voldemort being a dick and that would be the kind of thing sadists like him do."
Pandora rolled her eyes.
"Rather narcissistic of you. Not to mention paranoid. I meant why you in particular? I doubt the mind of a traumatized teenager will be able to contribute much to the study of human thought—"
She paused and squinted her blue eyes at him, then seemed to reconsider.
"Wait, maybe it can."
Harry didn't know what to feel about that comment. Luckily, Janna saved him from having to react.
"The Ministry's currently busy trying to figure out what to do with you," she said. "Technically, you should be considered a ward of the Ministry, but there isn't any real orphanages in this side of the continent. They also can't prove you're from here, which is important for that to even be considered due to legal matters.
"Either way, we won't allow them to take you, since your presence alone is a tricky matter to handle, being a time traveler and all. The Potters want to take their claim of you, but before we can consider doing that, we have to figure out how that's going to affect everything on a larger scale.
('The Potters'? Harry thought. I…do they…I have family?)
"So, for the time being, we're your legal guardians," Janna finished.
Everyone remained silent to let Harry digest this, before Blastov spoke up to put in his two Knuts.
"For the record, I am completely in favor of dropping him at the Potters'," he said.
Harry felt a tad bit insulted.
Janna and Mae glared at him, while Pandora wore a disapproving look.
"What? It's nothing personal. The amount of paperwork's going to be hellish."
Tiresias hit him lightly on his shoulder. "We can't just pretend this never happened, you know."
"Widespread Memory Charms," Blastov challenged. "Far less paperwork."
"That's unreasonable. And illegal."
"Easy for you to say," he directed to Vita. "See, what's going to happen is that Janna's going to do most of the work trying to sort this out with her time pieces. Since she'll be busy doing that, Pandora and Mae would want to help make sure the guy's settling nice and easy and maybe run a few errands. Tiresias's always off doing one thing or another. I'm going to end up having to walk the paperwork!"
"Come on, mate. You have me," Vita said, flinging an arm over his shoulder.
"You always make me do the paperwork."
"Not always. It's just that you're better at talking to people for this—"
"—who am I even supposed to send the reports to, ever wondered that? The Minister? The 'Head of the DOM'? Those bloody archivers? Every time—"
"Harry's staying under our care. Blastov, stop causing a scene," Janna's voice carried over the bald man's rambles. "Vita, be sure to help Blastov with the paperwork. We are handling lives and this is a shared responsibility." She sent Vita a serious look, who returned a sheepish smile.
"We're going to do our best to try and fix this," Janna said strongly.
Between their oddly transparent behavior and his easy inclusion into "adult matters" that gravely included him, Harry started to question what kind of crowd he'd landed himself in this time.
Once again, the day marched on with students bustling about their morning tasks in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, and Hermione's week continued without incident despite her growing headaches.
It was a mess of parchment and barely-touched food in her corner of the Ravenclaw table, which wasn't all that out of norm. It was the Ravenclaw table, after all. Intellectual pursuits rarely allow themselves to be contained.
What bothered Hermione was not the chaos currently surrounding her—in fact, she had no idea what exactly was bothering her. One thing she did know for sure was that the only thing that flustered her like this was when something was inconsistent with what she knew.
Now, if she could just figure out what it was, that would be great.
Agitated, she pushed away her copy of The Mediwizard's Assistant: Maladies of the Mind in favor of the morning issue of The Daily Prophet.
'FLOO NETWORK AUTHORITY UNDER INVESTIGATION' it said on the front cover with 'AUROR OFFICE TO ANSWER FOR DAMAGES? For more details, turn to page 8…' under it.
Last week, the fifth years took a trip to the Ministry of Magic as part of the school board's agenda to "inspire students with possible career ventures". As with most trips like this, the guides failed to show the students the actual hardships of the work involved in each department (such as how and why an "Exceeds Expectations" Owl in Charms was more valued in the Department of International Cooperation than an "Outstanding" in Potions), the tour being an elaborate excuse for each Ministry Department to put on the flashiest displays of their expertise, and by extension, displays of their statuses in life.
The Department of Magical Transportation staged a broomstick show with the Department of Magical Games and Sports, featuring top-of-the-line broom models encased in suspended glass tubes whizzing past each other, a disembodied voice cheerfully bragging the finer spells individually placed on each and the drawbacks and dangers of illegitimate broomstick manufacturers. While admittedly not a Quidditch fan, Hermione was suitably impressed with the charmwork involved (even if it was rather lazy of the two Departments to essentially only show them the magic of paid advertising at work).
One of the highlights of the trip was the introduction of the bright-eyed students of Hogwarts to "internal conflict" when workers of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement had a skirmish over one of the displays: an array of narcotics protected by a thick layer of wards. While the Department of Intoxicating Substances had given its permission to showcase the narcotics "for educational purposes", one of the Aurors on duty noticed that a several of the vials contained less than what they initially had. Since the Department of Intoxicating Substances had been in charge of handling the potions, most of the workers under the department was in the hot seat, with the DIS trying to figure out how to arrest itself.
The whole trip went reasonably well until the students were due to reassemble at the Atrium.
Hermione flipped to page 8 of the Prophet. 'PUREBLOOD SUPREMACISTS AT LARGE AGAINST SCHOOLKIDS?' it said on top of the page.
'Terror struck high last Monday as ministry officials scrambled to salvage the visiting students of Hogwarts. The well-intentioned visit turned to bloodshed when explosions set off at the lifts containing the departing students. Over ten were seriously injured, while twenty sustained minor injuries. Most of the victims caught in the unfortunate incident had some trace of Muggle decent, which leads to questions of intentional terrorism…(see page 11)…several victims, however, were reported to have become severely disoriented. Mediwitch Miriam Strout, head of the Janus Thickey Ward reports that a few have even started to insist that other students were missing. A quick review of the list of Hogwarts attendees, however, would show that the students supposedly missing do not, in fact, exist…(more on the reports on casualties on page 10)…though it has been a week since the catastrophe, the Auror Office has yet to pin a name to the responsible party…(see page 11)…the Department of Magical Transportation have released a statement assuring the public that while they are confident in the security in the network in the Ministry itself, they will remain keen on any possible…(see page 9 for the full statement)'
Hermione turned to page 10 and set the paper down.
She was one of those released early. Aside from the feeling of unsettlement and a few scratches, she'd walked away from the incident unharmed.
'…several victims, however, were reported to have become severely disoriented. Mediwitch Miriam Strout, head of the Janus Thickey Ward reports that a few have even started to insist that other students were missing. A quick review of the list of Hogwarts attendees, however, would show that the students supposedly missing do not, in fact, exist…'
She reached for her glass of pumpkin juice and tapped on the moving pictures on the page idly.
'…several victims, however, were reported to have become severely disoriented...'
Of course, she'd taken shock into account. She even went back to the Hospital Ward to consult with Madam Pomfrey before she went to the library to investigate the matter.
"You're concerned about improved spellcasting?" The matron asked incredulously once she finished her tirade about the nagging feeling of déjà vu.
Needless to say, she dropped the subject and instead asked about similar complaints from recovered students. From the reports released by the Prophet and the records Madam Pomfrey allowed her to view, a pattern seemed to surface.
There's definitely a pattern, but is it significant? She thought to herself, frustrated.
All of the students that recovered early came from Muggle families, with Muggleborns like her only needing to stay at St. Mungo's overnight and Half-Bloods staying for only a few days. Several purebloods on the other hand were still bedridden or, at best, confused. A few parents had even requested their children to be sent home for their recovery.
But non-"pure" wizards and witches in each year outnumber purebloods easily, she thought. It could just be a coincidence due to uneven proportions.
But what if it wasn't?
What would this mean? Pureblood supremacists bombing Muggleborns but purebloods sustaining injuries? And how and why were they messing with their minds? Was it a variant of the Confundus Charm, or something worse?
"Oi, Granger, are you planning on eating your beans?" Terry Boot's voice jostled her from her thoughts.
It caused Hermione to blink back and notice her surroundings again, the bright light of the Great Hall suddenly coming back into focus as if she'd been sleeping with her eyes open.
"Oh," she said absently. "Go ahead, then."
"Are you alright?" Sue Li asked, eyeing Hermione's pile of parchments concernedly from a few seats away. "You aren't working yourself too much over O.W.L.s this early, are you?"
She's nice.
"I'm alright," Hermione replied, offering a small, quick smile.
"If you're sure," came the dubious reply. The blonde turned her attention to the girls surrounding her, dismissing Hermione entirely. The sight gave her an odd pang in her chest.
It made sense that no one would want to sit next to her. After all, the chaos of parchment and ink at her side of the table didn't leave much room to seem inviting. But the empty seats beside her felt more pronounced while she watched Michael Corner joking heartily around with Terry Boot.
Sue Li was nice. She and the other Ravenclaw girls were friendly to her, really.
They've known each other for years now.
They liked to giggle and they always smelled nice.
They always looked put-together.
They were understanding with each other's feelings.
They were vastly different from the guys, who would push each other around and laugh loudly and openly.
The guys who would get into fights and weren't afraid to break the rules.
The guys who would come up with the most ridiculous predictions of their deaths for Divination instead of doing real homework.
The guys who would get distracted in class and scribble stupid comments in their schoolbooks, like that poor copy of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them that was vandalized with numerous games of Tic-Tac-Toe because they'd forgotten to—
Her thoughts came to a halt.
For a moment, she thought she spotted the strangest thing at the Gryffindor table. An unruly head of jet black hair and a tall ginger one, laughing with arms over each other with the back of a bushy brown mane between them.
It was brief—a trick with her eyes, she was sure—but she recognized her own defiant frizz.
She blinked, and the silhouette of the merry trio disappeared. She scanned the crowd, but she could no longer see a trace of either the scrawny raven-haired lad or his gangly ginger companion.
She blinked and once again she was alone, surrounded by parchment and the strange, persistent feeling of loss.
Now more than ever, she felt out of place.