Incorruptible: The Dementor's Stigma

by The Matt Silver

A year has passed since the dead started returning to life. The fate of those hoping to survive and rebuild rests on the best and the worst of humanity, both wizards and Muggles, with their political ideologies and the ravenous undead in between, and it's up to Healer Harry Potter to save as many as he can in the crossfire. A Harry Potter Zombie Apocalypse Fanfiction. HP/AG.

10. Chapter Ten: Inception

Standard Disclaimer :: All things Harry Potter belong to JK Rowling and affiliates. This fanfiction is a non-profit venture written for the enjoyment of myself and my readers.

Dedication :: To Seratin, Lutris, Zeitgeist, Vira and my friends from DLP, for putting up with my insanity, for reading early drafts, and just being there. Also, to all those who reviewed/favourited/alerted me or my story here on FFnet, cheers. Props to DLP for the feedback, too - anyone reading this who hasn't devoured their C2 on this very site must do so now. It's the first community on the list, for a damn good reason, and I'm more than happy to have this story on it too.

Preface :: I post this as it is with a bit of trepidation, given that I'm essentially spending the next two chapters detailing events that happened prior to the rest of the story, and while they are important for rounding out more than a few character arcs, as well as detailing a very important event at a critical introspective moment, the thing is that the original chapter turned out too long for easy digestion: over 30000 words. So I split it, and what makes me a little iffy is where the split occurs, and yeah, it's not as seamless as some of the other chapter splits I made (Chapter four and five, and eight and nine once being their own chapters). Anyways, I hope you all enjoy, as per usual.

Previously :: Harry awoke the day after sleeping with Astoria to some bad news from Tiberius Ogden. Ogden had been poisoned by the pureblood agenda, and in exchange for a cure before he'd die before the next meeting, Harry was forced to move Gladys, Amaris and Ellie Ogden into Granford as pseudo-hostages at best, unneeded distractions in case of attack at worst. Harry countered with bringing in two allies to pose as male Ogdens: Auror Hart, Wizengamot member, to play Ellie's father, and Hit-Wizard Strauss, of Harry's former scavenging team, to be Ellie's grandfather. The transition went by smoothly enough, though Harry was soon disturbed by the news that Aaron Fortess, Granford's leader, is becoming increasingly unstable. The night the Ogdens were brought into town, Ellie tried to seduce Harry, but circumstances with Astoria being what they are, Harry quickly shot that down. Afterwards, a conversation with Ron prompted Harry to go visit Theodore Nott, who had yet another bombshell to drop: The Dementor's Stigma was inadvertently created by Voldemort, and Draco Malfoy knew from the start that the apocalypse was coming. He could yet be behind all the actions of the pureblood agenda; Harry's next move is critical...

..::..-.-..::..

Chapter Ten of Sixteen: Inception

..::..-.-..::..

With my thoughts as troubled as they were, I could not, would not, and did not go back to sleep.

From my position on Abe's roof, I could take in all of the town at night. If not for the light of the moon and the stars in the clear night sky, Granford would almost be invisible. A few spots of light appeared here in there in windows; the hospital especially had yellow squares of light set in a checkboard pattern on the side of the square building. But compared to a normal town at night, Granford was a ghost; it wouldn't attract zombies from all over with giant flashing lights. It was smart, efficient, and being in the middle felt like it was cloaking me from so many things, things I wish I could avoid thinking about. The dangers beyond the town's walls, the dangers within them... And maybe all the handiwork of Draco Malfoy.

Nott's revelations had made me pause, really pause, and I had come up to the roof to think. Voldemort had accidentally created The Dementor's Stigma by feeding experimented-upon Muggles to Dementors, who, when they next bred, spread a type of soul magic-based disease, a curse and a virus all in one. What happened next, the pain and the death, I knew of intimately. But it all went back to Voldemort, his ideals, his insanity, and his followers, the ones we didn't put in Azkaban for whatever reason that we justified to ourselves at the time. How far back would I have to go to beat the coming trials? The game of the Wizengamot had been stacked against me from the start, and my friends in high places weren't helping much. Ogden and his family are easily threatened, and the world will burn before Gawain Robards acts on something like this without destroying my side as well. It went down to the solution, the one key of information that I could use to outplay Malfoy's agenda.

Whether that solution would get more killed, from my friends to my allies or even to Astoria Greengrass, that was worth pausing and mulling over.

My brainstorming was interrupted less than an hour after my talk with Nott, and I guessed midnight had just passed when Ellie Ogden came up through the roof access door. Her long dark hair was tied back in a loose ponytail, and it made her fringe look longer, climbing down near to her nose. She was dressed in a dark cloak over a jumper and jeans; more clothes than the last time I'd seen her. When she saw me, her eyes tried to identify where exactly I was sitting, before lighting up in realisation. My makeshift perch was the invisible trunk that held the broomsticks she and the others would be using to escape the town in case of attack. The trunk was pressed up against the chimney, and I had decided against a cushion or anything like that. Ellie seemed to take that all in before making a decision, closing the door behind her and crossing the roof.

"Hey," she said, settling down beside me. There wasn't much room on the trunk, so her arms brushed against mine. She didn't appear too fazed by the cold air, maybe because of my Warming Charm bracelet, though she crossed her arms anyway and held them tight to herself.

"Hey," I said back, only looking at her in the corner of my eye. "I see you're wearing clothes this time."

She made an odd sound, a bit of a laugh and a bit of a squeak. "I think you like me better this way."

"I think that's up for debate," I said, a faint tease in my voice. "I only really objected to the manner of which I woke up."

She laughed, real this time, and I laughed with her. Some things just need to be laughed off, sometimes, especially when I already covered with her why appearing in my bed naked might just get her cursed, and the fact she was doing it for the wrong reasons - scared by the situation, desperate to make a connection, et cetera - and I understood it all. But to push past her mortification and her embarrassment, well, some things could be laughed off. Despite the feeling of our worlds coming down around us, we just laughed this off.

"Couldn't sleep?" I asked when we were done, looking towards her.

She nodded her head. "You couldn't either."

"Just thinking."

"About Sarah?"

I hadn't been, until she mentioned it. My hand automatically reached for my jacket pocket, where I kept the ring I never gave her on a chain. I'd almost forgotten that thing was there; I'd almost forgotten a constant reminder of just exactly what I was doing. It had been moved from its spot around my neck to my pocket more and more lately, especially when visiting Astoria. Just one of those unconsciously things people who feel guilty do, I suppose.

But now that Sarah was in my mind, I couldn't help but remember that Malfoy knew what The Stigma was as soon as he heard about it. While it didn't go truly public until right up until the end, Draco Malfoy would've found a way to know about it. If he had weeks to plan, he could've spent those same weeks telling us, telling those who could prevent what came next, exactly what we were dealing with. The thought didn't hit me hard, it just hit me like a soft oomph, a revelation that was so far down on the list it didn't even surprise me. The idea that Malfoy's inaction towards helping, him instead focusing on the magical utopia to come, and that inaction leading to the outbreak and the lockdown and Sarah's death... Damn him.

Ellie seemed to pick up on my sudden bad mood, and she asked, "What was she like?"

"Sarah?"

"Yeah."

There wasn't just one word to sum up Sarah Fawcett, so I used many. "Kind, beautiful, smart. She was one of those people who just knew people, could connect with them on a level I never really got the hang of. When she knew them, she could sympathise or chastise appropriately, but more of the former than the latter. I'm not saying she was perfect, we had our fights like any other couple, and near the end there was a moment when she- no. I, um, but she was as she was, somebody I loved dearly, and -" I cleared my throat to remove the sudden obstruction, and my voice was weaker as I continued. "She was just a great woman. I've known a few in my time, but Sarah was the woman." Maybe she won't be forever, and while that thought made me feel slightly guilty, at the same time... Life is about moving on, and Sarah would understand that; she understood a lot of things.

Ellie nodded, wearing a sad smile on cold-tinged lips. "You two worked together, right? At St Mungo's? I would've thought they would've had a thing against working relationships."

I chuckled. "Oh, they did, and we did a get a bit of grief from people who, really, didn't matter. Healer Hunt, our team's leader, was fine with it. It was Hunt's creed, one of his many, that if we wanted to get it on in our spare time, that wasn't his business. And he knew better to try and stop young people in love. As long as we didn't, and I quote, 'fornicate in front of patients', or 'be so distracted staring at each others bits that somebody dies', he wouldn't bother. Decisions like that never made Hunt popular, but he was damn good at what he did, the best, so they let it slide."

"Sounds like you thought a lot about the guy."

"I don't think much of authority figures, and Hunt never saw himself as one, so that made things easier. He was the one who taught me how to really heal, and I respect him for that."

"I thought you'd be an Auror or something," she said. "Just felt like the thing you'd do, from what I heard back when I was younger. Err... No offence."

"None taken. And there was a time when I wanted the same, but only for a lack of other options in mind at the time. But I tried it. After the Battle of Hogwarts, there were Death Eaters out and about, and me, Ron and Neville all became provisional Aurors for the summer. The whole job was... hard, especially then. I burnt out on being an Auror, and Hunt's offer sounded more feasible by the time I was back at Hogwarts for my actual seventh year."

"Hunt's offer?"

"He offered me the job..."

Ellie shook her head from side to side. "No, I got that, but when did he make the offer? Why did you really want to be a Healer?"

"Why are you asking questions?" I shot back.

She smiled sheepishly. "It's late, the night still has a bit to go, we're both tired but not sleeping. And, well, trying to push past the incident earlier. I just want to get to know you more."

I leaned back against the cool brick of the chimney, and Ellie squirmed beside me, leaning her head as comfortably as she could without resting it too close to mine. I could forgive her curiosity in this case, and the words just came out.

"It was after the Battle of Hogwarts," I began. "Ron and Hermione and I were coming down from Dumbledore's office. They went to the Great Hall to be with the Weasleys, but I didn't want to face them yet. So I wandered, and my feet took me to the Hospital Wing. Compared to the Great Hall, which was in hour two of the thirty-six hour party that followed, the Hospital Wing was just as bustling, but in a more strained, desperate way. Kinda hard to describe, but there were Healers and Mediwizards running around, and since they were clogging Pomfrey's Floo, somebody had had the idea to make a hole in the side of the castle and make this slide thing. They would shuffle the patients down the slide all the way out past Hogwarts's ward boundary, and Portkey them out to Mungo's from there. Either way, it only added to the chaos of it all. When I got there, I immediately wanted to check on my friends, the ones who got hurt in the battle. They were all pretty banged up, and some of the worst ones had lost entire limbs, or were affected by Dark curses - some still are, even now. Anyway, I was there to check on them, but I soon realised that my presence, as a spectator, might not be wanted. I felt so in the way at first, but then there was Hunt."

I smiled in remembrance. "He was this scarecrow of a man, tall and sallow with salt-and-pepper hair sitting flat on his head, and the most noticeable thing about him was the scar running from the middle of his cheek to halfway down his neck. At first, I remember thinking he'd been injured in the battle, but that scar was old, very old. His voice was scratchy and gravely, but his words carried. He was leading the effort, this man, this Healer, barking orders at everyone there. Nobody seemed to have put him in charge, but was in charge anyway, and he was damned good. Then when he saw me, there was no recognition, no telling me off for being in the way. He barked at me to get a Blood Replenishing Potion, I asked if he wanted a specific blood type variation, and right there, he found use for me. He had me grab potions, help lift patients down onto the slide, and taught me some spells on the fly, all so I could help. And I did help. I fixed broken fingers, helped cauterise a bad curse wound, and the whole time, to the Healer, I wasn't Harry Potter, the man who just killed Voldemort. I was just helping. That's all there was to it.

"And it was afterwards, when it had all died down and we took a break, that we got talking."

..::..-.-..::..

"You did good in there," the Healer said, tapping the bottom of his pipe and spewing the refuse of his last smoke out onto the blood-stained grass. Before the battle the spot where we stood would've held a lovely view, with the lake to one side, the castle to the other, and the Quidditch Pitch off in the distance. Now, people were still fishing bodies out of the lake, both human and Acromantula; one of the castle's towers had collapsed into the castle, the rest of the rubble certainly detracting from the old, majestic, look; and the Quidditch Pitch was a burned shell, courtesy of a Death Eater who'd gotten friendly with Fiendfyre back in the battle. It wasn't such a good view anymore, but it was where we taking our break.

"Thanks," I replied, because it felt like those words hadn't come easily to him. "I've never really done anything like that."

"But you know which end the potions go in."

"I wouldn't think that would be a regular problem."

"Some people would surprise you."

I snorted. "I've had enough experience with Pomfrey to pick up a little here and there, but nothing big."

"Hmm," he grunted. "It's not hard to pick up if you have a head on your shoulders that isn't entirely hollow."

I couldn't disagree with that, and, not sure if I was being complimented again or not, stayed silent.

"You like the feel of it?" he asked, packing the pipe with some brown-coloured leaves.

"Feel?"

"Of saving people. I've found that, after a battle, with all that went down, the little victories in the aftermath taste all the sweeter."

"Yeah, I felt a bit of that," I said. "I also felt... Like I was in control, you know?" He nodded wordlessly. "Even on the smallest things, like the girl with the broken fingers. I know it wasn't life-threatening, but she still needed to be healed, and that's what we did."

The Healer nodded again, lighting his pipe with the tip of his dark, springy, wand.

"I can almost forget the rest of the battle," I said quietly, more to myself than him. "Almost."

"It takes it away for a moment, Healing and saving," rasped the Healer. "I've been in more than a few battles in my day, but back at Mungo's I have a team. We work on curse wounds, the real nasty stuff that requires extra attention. We have to find countercurses, find ways to heal those that won't respond to certain spells. Sometimes we just have to make it up as we go along." He took a pull of his pipe and breathed out the smoke. "I'm Hunt. Johannsenn Hunt."

"Harry Potter."

"Yes, I'm aware. I'm also aware that Robards and Shacklebolt are going to want to snap you up as an Auror as soon as they can, but what I want you to do is think for a second before making it a permanent deal. As a Healer, you can save people like we just did on a daily basis. Aurors fight their wars, but our wars are just as important. If you liked that feeling that much, when you helped out just now, and if you liked being in that control, know that Healing can be a natural outlet for both your want to save lives and be in control of the circumstances. I'm not saying the job is perfect - hell, you'll feel more pain Healing than being an Auror, but I'm saying, right now, that I could make you a Healer."

I thought about it barely a second, and the first thought tumbled out of my mouth. "I still haven't finished Hogwarts. I don't really know Healing -"

"Yet," Hunt interrupted forcefully. "And I look for people I can use, that I can trust, not academics and bookworms. People with sense, and understand the stakes. People who won't flake in the middle of a crisis. And if there's anything Harry bleeding Potter should be, it's capable in a crisis. I doubt you got this far by flopping about like a Flobberworm."

"No I did not."

"Then I'd have you right out of Hogwarts, even if your NEWTs turn out average. Healers spend years in classrooms, but most of your training will be on the job, with me. If you screw up, I'll send you packing, but we both know you didn't need to be told that."

"No I don't," I murmured to myself. However... "Can you give me time to think on it? Like, a few months?"

He shrugged in a way that made it clear he expected that. "Shacklebolt will have you running around as an Auror for the summer. You'll get a taste of that, and if you decide Healing sounds better, I won't be shocked." He took one long pull from his pipe, and his next words were smoky. "You have time, think on it. Consider options, make a choice. Just remember that nothing's for life, whatever you choose."

And with that, he walked away, limping on his left leg as he did. I watched him go, towards the ward boundary no doubt to return to St Mungo's and those that still needed medical attention there, and my thoughts ran the range from curious, cautious, nervously excited... but the main one involved the need for sleep, especially after being up so long and having so much happen with the battle.

There'd be time to think about Hunt's offer.

..::..-.-..::..

"I decided by December," I told Ellie now. "True to Hunt's prediction, I was an Auror for the summer, and like I said before, I burnt out. If I had to use word to describe it, it would be crushing." I killed a lot more people in that summer than I ever did in the war, for example, and it took those experiences for me to realise how much of the actual war I'd been sheltered from. "The biggest loss, however, was probably my relationship with Ginny."

"I always wondered what happened between you two," said Ellie, gesturing for me to continue.

"She lost her brother in the battle, and a lot of her friends in the DA," I explained. "Then when Luna and her father were killed, we both simultaneously realised we weren't going anywhere in our relationship. So we forced things forward, and it almost worked, too." I smiled to myself. There were days in that summer that were among the happiest of my life, days that made for great Patronuses, but... "The Auror work got in the way. It changed me, Ginny picked up on it, and in her own grief over Fred and Luna and insecurities, she changed too. We just fought and fought until we collapsed into each other, our relationship we had tried so hard to keep alive more burnt out than my desire to be an Auror. We were still friends afterwards, and still are now, but I think I'm lucky that I have much from her. It just happened. Life does that."

Ellie hmm'd in agreement.

"So my next step was to get some lessons from Madam Pomfrey," I continued. "I went to her after the first day of classes, asked for remedial tutorials in exchange for various services - gold or potions or whatever she needed - and she took me on. I wasn't her only student, and she'd been doing these sorts of lessons for years. Sarah was once one of her students, and Pomfrey had a funny story or two about Sarah's boyfriend when she was, Stevens or Stebbins or whoever. Anyway, that year there were only two of us to work the Hospital Wing - myself and Astoria." My thoughts began to drift to Astoria, as they had been more and more lately. I thought about how she'd called out my name in rhapsody, more than once. That was good. "By December, I just knew. Told Hunt, and that was that. I met Sarah soon after, started Healing after that, and things just went on. It was hard, at first, but I knew it would be. It always will be."

The sky was still dark, Granford was still in shadow, and the air was cold. Dawn was a long way away, and there was still time to pass before the new day would begin. I turned to the pensive Ellie. "Any more questions?"

She hesitated. "Plenty, but... I don't want to pry too much, or prod something you don't want prodded."

"Oh. Like...?"

"I was going to ask about the lockdown. I heard stories, vague ones, but all I know is that it ended with the hospital burning down to the ground, and hundreds died, and... You survived. You and some others."

There was a still moment as her declaration hung in the air. My mind went to dark places at once, to fire and death. The darkness of Granford seemed all too much for a second, and I looked towards the light sources: windows here and there, and to the hospital specifically. A hospital, so different to my hospital.

"I haven't talked about it with anyone," I said reluctantly. "For good reason."

"I know, Harry," she said softly.

"Neville and Su could tell you more, and they would shield you from the worst of it -"

"Which I don't want."

"But why?" I asked seriously. "Why would you want to know that? How it began, the inception, one of the first major losses of the wizarding world... the one that started it all. Why?"

She shuffled her feet. "Earlier, I showed up naked in your bed. I did it because I thought I bonded with you, thought that you'd, well, you know. Because it's the end of the world, and we could die tomorrow by zombies or Muggles or Dementors, and I was wrong about that. And I've said sorry and you've been nice about it, and we've joked, but I feel like I shouldn't have done something like that without actually knowing you first. I thought, when we talked about things back at the cottage, that we had gotten to know each other. We had, but not fully. My life's an open book, but yours... Yours is bigger. And..." Ellie let out a heavy breath from deep within her chest. "I saw you just now, talking about things you haven't talked about or even thought about in a long time. Can't you feel that it might be cathartic, to let it out and explain and rationalise what happened? Maybe talking about it would let you come to grips with how it happened, and you can focus on what needs to be focused on now. I want you to be at your best, and I think if you talk about it, you might... Realise something, or even if you don't, you can..."

Remember what I'm fighting for, I thought.

"There's a certain level of trust that would come with this," I told her. "I'd like to think you won't spill my secrets, especially not now, but you need to understand that if I say anything else, it'll require you to trust me, and me to trust you. Are you ready for that step?"

"Yes. You have to talk about this sometime."

"I don't know about that," I said bitterly. "But... if you want to know, I can tell. This is how it all began. St Mungo's, last year, The Dementor's Stigma." Which Malfoy caused. All that happened next was because of him. Ellie told me that it might focus me. Right away I could see what kind of focus might come out of this: rage at Malfoy's plotting, and wanting to beat him because of it. If there was ever a time to get how it all began down, to have it clear in my head, it would be now.

So I began talking.

"The Dementor's Stigma began in August, with one girl, eighteen years old. Her name was Vivian Waters, and she just finished Hogwarts. She was working as a shopgirl in an apothecary in Diagon when one day, there was a black lesion, a veiny and oily black thing, on her thigh. She took a basic potion, poked at it a bit, tried a few countercurses, and then used a Buchart's to try and diagnose it. Buchart's told her it was an unknown entity, and she went to Mungo's a few days later. She was shucked out with a salve an hour after arriving, but came back later to show off another lesion on her arm, and to show how the thigh lesion had gone from snitch-sized to halfway-bludger sized. The Healers kept her overnight for observation. It was another few days before they finally moved Vivian to Hunt's ward, to us. Then it began. Second and third case popped up, an old, retired, widower, and then a middle-aged father of three. By then we had checked the apothecary Vivian worked at for any possible causes, and research began on these mysterious lesions - these cold anomalous things that would pop back up after we removed them with magic or no - just about when the neverending fevers began. With the new cases we had a whole bunch of new variables, and, then..."

It was all downhill from there, but the lockdown itself started with a newspaper article.

..::..-.-..::..

"Read this," said Hunt, tossing the rolled up newspaper at me. Behind him, the body of Vivian Waters, our first patient and now first victim, was laid out on a stone slab. The morgue's air was cold and the lights were dim; I could make out that Hunt looked like he hadn't slept, and if what Su had told me was true, he hadn't. He'd been working for hours to save Vivian as her body finally shut down, and it had taken its toll.

I put aside what I came there to tell him as I read the paper, and I found what he no doubt wanted me to find right away.

"Well," I said when I was done reading, weariness settling into the back of my head. "They seem to know an awful lot. You've read this, I take it."

"I did," he said, scratching the coarse hairs on his chin. "They do seem to know an awful lot."

That in itself was strange. The Daily Prophet was never on the top of my reading list because of their usual propensity towards sensationalism rather than accurate facts, and when it came to articles about St Mungo's gossip, they usually did more harm than good. Just last year two successive cases of Dragon Pox had turned into a hospital full of hypochondriacs because the Prophet said it was a deadly outbreak. And that had been a Page Six article. The Dementor's Stigma, the name coined by Healer Carrie Cauldwell and relayed to the Prophet, had gotten front page treatment, overshadowing an article on the recent riots in the Muggle world. Wizarding news was always more important than Muggle news, so the article on The Stigma would soon be the thing everyone would be talking about.

The article spared no detail. It told of the progression of the disease by using the examples on hand - Vivian, our first case, being the control - with pictures of the black lesions, a description on the various ways it fought off being removed, then a paragraph on the fever that wouldn't go away, but most of the attention was towards the hallucinations. They started a couple of weeks after initial symptoms, and vivid anecdotes of some of the things the patients saw were all quoted in the article. Conjecture from our team's part made us think the disease was connected to the Dementors' breeding season, possibly spread though the mist. Hence, the name we gave it, and the Prophet had taken that and run with it all the way.

The worst part was the accuracy of the details, as well as the article directly mentioning an insider source giving the reporter this information.

"And whoever it was made sure to point out there's no reason to panic, because there's been no fatalities," I said grimly. I gestured at Vivian's body. "That says otherwise. The paper lied."

Hunt snorted. "I believe our leak should've waited another day before allowing himself to be quoted."

"Oh yeah, if that's not a wand backfire, I don't know what is." I briefly scanned another set of opinion columns on The Stigma from the Prophet's editors. "So... guesses? On who the leak was?"

"One comes to mind," Hunt muttered. "We'll deal with the leak later, but for now, I need to talk to someboy. Then... we'll deal with the girl."

I nodded. As unfortunate as it was, Vivian's post-mortem examination could potentially lead to a solution to preventing any more deaths. Going by her rate of infection, the second patient, Earl Young, would have less than three days before his body would finally succumb to the fever as Vivian did. That time was essential now, and we did not need the distraction of a Prophet fear-igniting craze.

I made a move to leave the morgue, but paused at the door when I realised Hunt wasn't following. He was slumped on the chair beside Vivian's body, his expression sour and tired.

"We did all we could," I reminded him quietly.

He raised his head, dark grey eyes meeting mine from across the room. "Of that, I'm well aware. It's what comes next that we have to do all we can to prevent. I don't want anymore deaths." He pushed back from his chair and limped across to me, and we walked out of the room together.

I didn't say anything, because when Hunt got determined, there was no stopping him. We'd all been working pretty hard since the start; The Stigma was the ward's priority case since all the beds had been filled up by disease victims. There had been sleepless nights, hours and hours spent poring over books and experimenting with potions. The patients had suffered here and there for the battery of useless solutions we'd put them through, and I knew that one of the first things Hunt would look for in the examination was whether or not something we did had finally pushed the fever into killing Vivian. But I personally thought that The Stigma had finally run its course, and told Hunt as much.

"We should consider ourselves lucky," I said. "You see the opinion pieces on Page Six?"

"I know I'm glad that Miss Waters wasn't transforming into a Dementor," Hunt said blandly.

The morgue was in the basement level, and we took the stairs up to the second floor, keeping the lifts free for anyone carting bodies down. The staircases were painted a bland white, and dull black arrows pointed towards each floor's various functions. It wasn't a very pretty-looking staircase, but the fact was that it was only less than a year old, the old rickety one lined with portraits being fazed out and the newer, sturdier, stairs being put in thanks to a generous donation from Christian Selwyn, coincidentally around the same time he wanted to avoid going to Azkaban. As for the portraits that once hung the walls? Well, in the process of making the new stairs, they'd been moved to storage, and nobody quite felt like getting them back. It made the trips between floors all the better, and created a few opportunities for private moments with Sarah.

From the basement we went up to the second floor, the landing taking us into a large, oak-panelled, hallway, lit by crystal orbs of white light hanging in the air above our heads lazily. Witches and wizards in lime green robes, the crossed bone and the wand insignia of St Mungo's on their chests, bustled about, more than a few tipping their heads to the two of us in recognition. A few patients were too walking, or in the case of one, hopping, from wards to the stairs or to the lifts and back and forth, a never-ending series of people going in and out like clockwork.

We took a left instead of a right at the end of the hall, and I knew we were headed for Hunt's office instead of the ward.

"So you said it's at Hogwarts?" said Hunt as we walked.

"Yeah," I replied. "Pomfrey Floo'd me this morning, and I checked on the girl myself. Twelve years old, early stages of The Stigma. Black lesion on her shoulder."

He grunted, and I knew that as a gesture to continue, so I did. "She'll be moved here when Pomfrey contacts the parents, and I'll get Carrie to organise another bed to add to the ward -"

"Or we give her Miss Waters's."

"Oh yeah, that." I shook my head. "I was coming to tell you when Su told me Vivian finally died. This is going to be our sixteenth patient affected with The Stigma."

"One dead, fifteen to follow if we don't act now," Hunt said determinedly.

"And how are we going to do that?" I asked him.

"I need to send a letter to Robards. We're bringing in the Aurors."

That got my attention. St Mungo's was its own entity not at all dependant on Ministry control. While it made the place easy to corrupt - hey, at least we got new stairs - it was a solid move that kept the Ministry out of trying to control potential outbreaks along the way. The nature of Curse Healing, the speciality of Hunt's team, sometimes involved needing to find the origin of the curse, and if it was something that was cast by another wizard and could only be reversed by that same attacker, the Aurors would need to be brought in to make an investigation out of it. They wouldn't be running the show, no, they'd be more like liaisons, temporarily borrowed until the crisis was resolved.

"You told me Robards was giving you trouble a few weeks back," I said.

"Ever since his cousin - the ninth patient, the one with the beard - got The Stigma. I didn't want his Aurors poking around for the wrong reasons, so I told him off. Then, he decided to approach Chairman Mungo directly, who's been giving me grief about it. Robards has had two liaisons ready to give to us for a week now, but I've prevented it."

"How?"

A look of amusement crossed Hunt's face. "Just haven't replied to their letters. They still need me to sign off on it."

I laughed. "Of course. You know the liaisons?"

"Senior Auror and a junior one, probably. Probably Lobell, and one of the younger ones - maybe your ginger friend."

Or it could mean Neville, and if either one was possible, it'd make things go a lot more smoothly. "Sounds good," I said. "We're going to the Aurors now because of the article, or Vivian?"

"A death changes things, and like I said before, Mister Young, our second patient, has three days if he follows Miss Waters' timetable." He grimaced. "And the article..."

Hunt paused in the hallway, wheeled himself around on his good leg and limped off in the other direction, heading to the ward, and away from his office.

When I caught up, I asked, "What about Robards?"

"Later. I need to yell at somebody first."

I found out who when we arrived at the premier Curse Healing ward, the one built after a generous donation by a certain former Death Eater after the first war. The Lucius Malfoy Ward was headed by Head Healer Johannsenn Hunt, and a golden plaque detailed the Healers assigned to the ward: Michael Rackharrow, Carrie Cauldwell, Oliver Lancelot, Sarah Fawcett, as well as trainee Healers Harry Potter and Su Li. The ward was one of the newer ones despite being over a decade old, and was spacious enough to fit more than a dozen beds, though usually only held ten in less crisis-filled times. The ward itself was no different to look at than the others; lots of white, a solitary window at the far end, and some more floating crystal baubles.

When we arrived, only Carrie, a matronly woman with dark hair, was there. When she saw Hunt, and the murderous expression on his face, she immediately put on her best kind smile and said, without a trace of sarcasm in such a way that probably made it sarcasm, "What a lovely morning it is. Hunt, Harry, how can I can help you?"

"Where is everyone?" Hunt asked.

"Su went to the tearoom, Sarah's writing the letter to Miss Waters's parents, and Michael and Oliver haven't arrived yet." Carrie answered promptly. "Why? Team meeting? Your office, ten minutes?"

"No, I can -"

The doors to the ward burst open, and Oliver Lancelot waltzed in with his robes billowing behind him. He was maybe ten years older than me, an average-looking guy with unparalleled knowledge of exotic potions. Unfortunately, he also knew that he had that knowledge, and it showed sometimes. "You would not believe what happened today!" he exclaimed, rushing to us. I noticed that he was clutching his hand close to himself, and frowned at it. "I'm getting some milk from the shop by the flat, right, and this drugged-out shopkeep up and bites me on the bloody hand! Muggles, right, I don't even -"

"You're fired, Lance," said Hunt definitively, with no fanfare. "Your loose tongue is going to start a panic, which is the last thing we need right now."

"But, I, wha -? How did you know it was me?"

Hunt smiled calmly, a scary smile that spoke volumes on just how well he knew the people under his employ. "Apart from the fact you just confirmed it now? I'd kept a close eye on everyone since the Dragon Pox thing last year, and, well, you're not subtle, Lance, and you never were."

Lancelot's mouth dropped open and closed like a goldfish, and it was a good impersonation. "But I am this ward's foremost expert on foreign potion mixtures, and -"

"People can be replaced," Hunt said. "Especially on my team. I need people I can trust, and while I make exceptions to some of your various quirks, I will not take this bullshit lightly. Go down to Moser and get yourself some actual Healing done until I can reassign you."

"You're pushing me on Moser? Reversing spell damage with the trainees?" Lancelot said, brandishing his bandaged hand to make his point. "But Hunt!"

"No, you're right. Get your hand looked at first, then go down to Moser and get yourself some actual Healing done until I can reassign you."

"You can't -"

"Get out of my sight."

Hunt was one of those people who didn't need to add the "now."

Lancelot recoiled under his boss's gaze, huffed to himself, and beat a hasty retreat out the door where he came from, passing Sarah on the way.

I hadn't even seen her there, but my heart did a little jump and my day suddenly seemed a bit brighter as she smiled at me.

Her hair was long and blond, clipped behind her head enough to keep it away from down past her neck and from in front of her eyes, though stray locks escaping their confinement framed the sides of her face. Her face was very easy on the eyes, with an especially cute mouth and a few freckles spotting on her nose and cheeks. Her eyes were hazel and expressive, and it was thanks to this that her moods were easier to read. Underneath the lime green robe she wore - like the ones we all wore - there was a slender body that was well looked after by her and very much appreciated by myself.

Hunt nodded a greeting to her, and turned to Carrie. "When Rackharrow gets here, keep everyone here, you understand? With Lancelot gone, we'll need all the wands we can spare. Keep an eye on Mr Young, especially." She chirped a reply, and Hunt's focus went to me next. "Potter, now that I'm riled enough by that twat Lance, I'm going to go deal with that twat Gawain Robards. Be there at the Floo when he sends over the liaisons, and brief them. I'm going to examine Miss Waters after, got it?"

When he was gone, Carrie went to work in monitoring our second Stigma patient, and I gravitated towards Sarah. As I got closer, I noticed her eyes were bright, but not with happiness, and her smile was sad.

"Hey," I said softly, reaching forward to grasp her hand; as much as I wanted to hug and kiss her in greeting, we tried to keep that away from the patients as much as possible.

And yes, I'm aware that Lancelot's outburst was another thing we should've kept away from the patients, but half of them were in fever-induced comas or deep into their hallucination fits, and wouldn't notice if the hospital caught on fire.

"You headed off early this morning," said Sarah.

I smiled apologetically. "Pomfrey Floo'd, wanted my opinion on something at her domain." The smile vanished. "There's a Stigma patient at Hogwarts. One of the students. She's twelve."

Sarah looked very sad right then, and she murmured to her feet, "Our youngest yet."

"Hey," I said again, bringing her head up to my level. She was nearly as tall as I was, so it wasn't a great movement. "I know you were friendly with Vivian before she died."

"I was."

"And you know we're going to find out what caused it, because that's what we do."

"My sister was her age," she said. "The Stigma affects people at random, and now it kills? We always thought it was a possibility, but with the fever being as endless as it was..."

I knew what she meant. After we couldn't find a link between the patients - apart from the magical thing, but that was dismissed - hope for finding out exactly what this Stigma was and how to reverse it had diminished. And while Hunt, Carrie, Rackharrow and Lancelot had all experienced total loss in outbreaks like this one before, Sarah, me and Su hadn't, and Sarah was taking the possibility of it all hard. And because she was, I was too. She took it hard because she was one of those kind of sympathetic people, and her tenacity in helping people was one of her qualities that was both admiring and infuriating. More the former than the latter, but I was biased.

"Maybe when we figure this out," I started, because I knew that we'd figure this out, "we can go away somewhere, just for a little bit. A weekend, maybe a whole week, just... go. And we'll find a nice spot to do all those romantic things normal couples who don't work as much as we do would do, like picnics."

A touch of humour re-entered her expression. "Picnics?"

"Or something."

"But you're so attached to the idea of picnics."

I chuckled. "Yeah, right. Either way, after we've done, we'll organise a lunch at your parents' house, and invite your sister."

She nodded. "You could bring Teddy along too, if Andromeda wouldn't mind."

"That would be something." I thought about the weight in my pocket, one that I'd been carrying with me for a few weeks now. It was purchased on what I'd like to call romantic spontaneity, but really it was more of a drunken whim I had last time I went out with Ron. When I'd woken up with the ring in my pocket, my first thought hadn't been that it was a mistake, or that I should take it back. No, my first thought was that I could see myself marrying Sarah one day, and that thought didn't scare me. Well, at first. The nervousness that came afterwards set me on edge for about a week, and I came to the conclusion I'd always be nervous, but...

It was just Sarah. Right then, right now, I wanted to marry Sarah Fawcett.

But I didn't get on one knee right there in the Malfoy Ward. Not today.

"I might head down to the first floor for a bit until the others get here," Sarah declared, straightening her shoulders and leaning towards me, giving me a soft kiss on the lips. It was over too quickly, and the lingering shadow of her lips on mine made me want more. "You're not going to get into trouble while I'm gone?"

"Aurors are involved, and they're probably Robards's toadies," I replied, sighing. "If he tries to recruit me one more time I might just kill him."

She giggled. "Doubtful."

"Say hi to Lance for me, if he's down there."

She laughed again, reluctantly released my hand from hers, turned and walked out of the ward. I knew why she was heading down to the first floor, because it was something Hunt encouraged us all to do. Most of what the Spell Damage floor dealt with was very reversible, and there were always a line of unfortunate wizards and witches in need of Healing. After losing a patient, if you felt down, going to do some Spell Damage work brought that feeling of little victories, and after a loss, you'd need all the wins you could get.

After Sarah left, Su Li came back, carrying a cup of tea for Carrie, and the three of us spent twenty minutes checking up on the patients, making notes about various spikes and falls (Chills one minute, hot flushes the next), of the increasing size of some of the lesions (Mr Grey's lesion was now completely covering his left eye), and even trying to transcribe the hallucinations the patients were experiencing, in the vain hope they were all similar enough to be considered a connection of some kind. After spending a few minutes writing down the murmuring of a woman who'd lost her husband to a Death Eater attack, I felt slightly sick doing it, and felt worse when I realised Lancelot had taken down some of these reports just to sell to the Prophet.

And just when I thought I couldn't stand to write another word, there was a noise from across the room, the Floo fired on, and two men came tumbling out, one after the other. The first man had sandy-coloured hair, a round face with two sharp scars on his cheeks, and looked uncomfortable in crimson-red Auror robes. Following him was an older man with a steel grey hair flat on his head, and a no-nonsense look to him. The two Aurors spotted me and made their stride purposeful, and I walked forward too, grinning casually at the younger of the two, Neville Longbottom.

"Good to see you, mate," I said, and he grinned back. We shook hands, and I turned to the older one. "Auror...?"

"Lobell," he said with a tone crisper than a fallen autumn leaf. "Where's Hunt?"

"He had to examine our first victim," I replied. "I'm here to give you all access to whatever you'll need, but Hunt wants you to know that it's our jurisdiction."

"A girl is dead, and I need to see the body."

"Hunt's examining her," I said patiently. "For now we should coordinate notes, then I'll take you to Hunt."

"I know what there is to know about the case. We've been waiting for weeks for Hunt to sign off, and we've been prepared. For example, this disease might just involve the Dementors, and one of our other Aurors has been sent out to investigate Azkaban personally at great personal risk. I'm wondering who's pulling their weight more."

"You've been involved for what, five minutes?"

"Healer Hunt's vaunted team never thought to go to test the Dementors?"

"Sir, Harry, maybe we should, you know, stop," said Neville, stepping between us. "It isn't in anybody's best interests to fight now, especially with a dead body in the mix."

"Is it now?" Lobell raised his eyebrow. "I need to see Hunt and that girl now, and since he isn't here, I'll ask somebody in charge to take me to him. That, I'm afraid, is not you, so the senior-most Healer in the ward will be...?"

"Healer Cauldwell will be the one you want, then." I nodded, conciliatory. "If you two would follow me -"

A sharp alarm echoed through the air. It sounded like a rough clanging sound mixed in with a Muggle air raid siren noise, and warbled and whined out of nothing but the walls of the ward itself. I barely had time to process this horrible noise when all the floating crystal lights went from white to red, and a wooden shutter shuffled down to cover the window against the wall. The entire ward became bathed in this red light, and a few of the active patients started to react, mumbling and yelling and one woman shrieking at nothing, desperate to be heard over the din.

The worst part was that I had absolutely no idea what was going on.

"Carrie!" I called out, walking back to the older woman, her hands pressed over her ears. "Carrie, what is this?"

"What? I can't -"

"Can we turn the lights back on or -"

Other voices added themselves to the cacophony, a chorus of everybody's worst fears coming to life in the middle of a hospital ward bathed in crimson, blinding us with just that colour until our eyes adjusted.

And, not at all helping matters was Johannsenn Hunt storming through the doors, one hand clutching at his neck, his footsteps hard and his face harder.

He waved his wand and the alarm cut off, but the lights stayed as they were.

"We have a problem," he said succinctly.

I wandered closer, but Lobell beat me to it. "Hunt, what is the meaning of this?"

"Lockdown protocol. Lobell, isn't it? Charmed." He grunted and pressed his hand on his neck harder. "Harry, Carrie, Su! Form up."

We did, joining Lobell and Neville together in a half circle around Hunt. Now that I was closer, I could see the dark blood staining his hand, collar, and robes. "What happened?" I asked, peering closer at his neck.

He removed his hand, and blood spurted out into the air. It landed on the floor beside Su's feet. "Lovely," she commented, but the concern on her face was evident.

She, Carrie and I had our wands out instantly, white light shining on the vicious marks oozing blood on Hunt's neck. Carrie immediately set about chanting a Healing spell, waving her wand in a clockwise circle, but Su and I kept the light going and examined the wound closer. They were puncture wounds, but there were tears near to the holes, like something had sunk something sharp into his neck and pulled it out roughly, turning round holes into rough wounds. I knew immediately after that this was a bite wound of some kind, and a nasty one.

I knew it was especially nasty when Carrie's first spell fizzed out and healed nothing.

"That's not a good thing," said Neville. "How did you get it?"

"Teeth," Hunt said tersely. "Dead girl with teeth."

Carrie and Su immediately tried more spells, focusing on individual holes and trying either cauterise and close the wounds. When they tried the former, Hunt didn't even react to the burning at the side of his neck, and when the smoke cleared it became evident why: the bite mark had not been cauterised, at all. Carrie kept trying, but eventually Hunt got sick of the show and snapped, "Don't you think I tried that?"

Su, at least, withdrew herself from reaching distance. "What did you mean by -"

"Dead girl, he said," said Lobell. "Dead girl? And what's this red light? Hunt, if this is some trick to subvert the Ministry's authority -"

Hunt glared. "I am not leaking this much blood for anything of Robards's, so shut up. I don't like you already." He turned to Neville. "You, boy, are you smarter than him? I might need you."

"He's solid, Hunt," I cut in. "But first, what did you mean by dead girl? An Inferius?"

"Why were there alarms and the red light, because that's the more important question," said Lobell.

Hunt rolled his eyes. "It's a quarantine lockdown, like in the drills. We never activate the full system for the drills because it shuts down the hospital, but everyone here should know the basics."

"I may've skipped that day," I said quietly. Sarah too, come to think of it. Good times.

"The lockdown's supposed to protect the world from outbreaks of any kind," Carrie explained. "St Mungo's sometimes finds itself in these kinds of situations, and we have to ensure that some of the most deadliest magical diseases in the world don't spread. So everything gets locked down. The doors, the windows, the Floos. The wards go up, some of the best wards in the country, and there's even an enchantment like a Bubblehead Charm surrounding the area to prevent airborne disease from escaping. It recycles the air inside, though, to prevent us suffocating to death."

"And you activated it?" I asked Hunt, who was still bleeding everywhere and looked more and more unsteady on his feet as time passed.

"All senior personnel are able to, and I did as soon as I could. It was the only way."

"Why?" Neville asked.

"Vivian Waters. She was dead, we saw her, confirmed it. I was there when she bloody died, and I felt her go. But, when I got down there again, she was moving. I'm not talking about your regular kind of moving, like you or me, but she was... shuffling. Like her legs weren't working right. At first I thought it might've been because she was in a bed for over a month, but other things took precedence. Like the fact her skin was pale, her eyes were clouded over, and she wouldn't respond to anything I said. I tried restraining her, but the spell just absorbed into her. I used a Stunning Spell, but it did nothing. I used another. And another. I was about to conjure ropes to see if I could tie her manually when she came up to me, held her arms out, reached forward and fucking bit me." Hunt grimaced at the blood covering his left hand and replaced it with his right to keep pressure on the bleeding wound. "I kicked her away and she went, because the lift opened down the hall. She went towards the poor sod who came out, pushed him back inside, and the doors closed before I heard the screaming. I locked this place down as fast as I could, but it's possible she got out on any of the floors."

We all stood in silence for a moment. Then, "What do you think it was?" I asked.

"It?"

"Her. You said it was Vivian? Was she actually alive?"

"Sounds like an Inferius to me," said Lobell. "One of the Healers down there playing with necromancy."

Carrie was shaking her head. "Where would a Healer learn reanimation spells -"

"The same place anyone else would," Lobell interrupted. "But we find the girl, we find who's in control of her."

But Hunt was shaking his head. "It didn't feel like it. She was a walking corpse, dead girl, all right, but I don't think she was an Inferius."

"One of the treatments we tried," guessed Carrie. "We mixed the wrong things together and created a post-mortem puppet effect of some kind. I would have to talk to Lancelot or Michael about their treatments, but it's a sound theory. Case files have shown -"

"A reanimated corpse, though, with enough awareness to bite people?" Su shook her head. "If I had to guess, it might be that one of our treatments actually killed her, but The Stigma kept her going -"

"Like it kept that fever going when she was alive," I finished.

"Yes. Exactly that."

"Or it could just be necromancy," Lobell said firmly. "I've worked cases before, and it's possible that -"

"You're all wrong," Hunt intoned, and that made us pause. "The bite, you idiots. She bit me and you can't heal it with magic. It's resistant to it, just like she was. But if she's a corpse that's why a Stunning Spell wouldn't work, but if a wound like mine is resistant to magic, what does that mean?" He gestured a hand around the ward, the Lucius Malfoy Curse Healing Wa- Oh. "Curse wound. Passed on through bite. A type of infection, maybe in her saliva, or her blood mixing with mine. But a curse wound, like that, would mean it came from a curse source. Usually it's a spell or a potion, but it was transferred through the girl. Infection of what she got."

"A case of the Inferi?" I asked.

"The only curse disease she had while she was alive was The Stigma."

Carrie went pale. "And if it was The Stigma that killed her..."

Upon closer inspection, the veins around Hunt's bite wound seemed oddly black in colour, like they were stained in ink. Curiously, but cautiously, I reached forward and pressed the tip of my index finger against his neck, just above the wound.

It was cold, very cold. The same kind of coldness, an oily and nauseating kind of cold, that we felt when handling The Stigma lesions.

The same cold of the disease's namesake, the Dementors.

"Hunt," I said quietly, "What happens if it kills you?"

"If?" he replied, gesturing with his free hand to the profusely bleeding wound. "When. And I have a couple of guesses."

Lobell swore. "Can you stop the lockdown? If we bring in the Aurors -"

"The entire place is locked down for good reason, and I couldn't stop it if I wanted to," said Hunt. "We have a walking infectious disease, and I saw her already bite another person - if he died, and if he came back like she did, there could be a chain reaction. In close quarters like this, with people scared by the lockdown alar -" His voice suddenly gave out, and he spat a globule of blood onto the ground. After clearing his throat with loud, wet and ugly, noises, he continued where he picked off. "I need to make an announcement. You all need to hole up, and fast."

Lobell was shaking his head still. "But if we get to the Aurors, they can initiate a quarantine."

"St Mungo's has it under control. This same protocol has been refined and added to for centuries. It's saved the world from more diseases than you'd think. The hospital will stay as is for twenty-four hours. Then, there'll be an opening for the outside world to contact, and from there, coordination from personnel inside Mungo's and out will make sure that it's under control, completely."

Neville didn't look so assured. "And if it's not controllable?"

Nobody needed to answer that question. We had imagination enough, and the idea that the Ministry would simply write St Mungo's off wouldn't shock me.

"Is the lockdown centred by floor?" I asked.

Hunt started to shake his head, but stopped immediately and winced. "No, it just protects the hospital from the outside world, not parts of the hospital from each other. That's more the individual ward's responsibilities, and it's what my announcement will advise, that they lock down immediately."

"Good," I said. "I'm going down to the first floor to get Sarah. We'll need all hands up here, and I'd rather not -"

"Yes, go. Watch out for Vivian's teeth. We'll lock this place up when you get back."

"I'll go too," Neville volunteered, turning to his senior Auror to assuage him immediately. "There could be panicking patients on the first floor, which is the biggest and holds the Spell Damage wards. If they see a Ministry Auror, they might feel the situation is at hand, in time for Hunt's announcement that they should lock themselves down."

Lobell took a moment to think about it, before nodding slowly.

Soon, Neville and I were out of the ward, walking through the eerie red hallways towards the stairs. Healers were running back and forth and trying to get information from each other, and I saw one get a nasty shock as he tried messing with the crystal lights. Neville and I shared a look after the man got sorted out by another few Healers.

"Bit different than when you're usually here," I commented.

"Putting it lightly." Neville chuckled weakly. "Regretting becoming a Healer yet?"

"No. Regretting staying as an Auror?"

"No."

"Drinks when we get out of here?"

"Many."

I got the feeling that, when all this was over and Hunt and a few others were dead, a few drinks might have to be consumed to block it all off.

I also got the feeling I was hideously underestimating the situation.

The staircases were empty, but since they had open access to all of the other floors, shouts, of fear and of anger, could be heard echoing up and down. From above us we heard a great booming sound, and I took that to mean somebody had poked the lockdown wards. A part of me twinged and wanted to be up there, making sure nobody was hurt, but another part, a part that I kept dormant after my disastrous summer as an Auror, took over. I may've been joking about it with Neville, but I was in a battle now, and not just your usual Healer work.

It was almost eerie how much the sounds in the staircases reminded me of the Battle of Hogwarts.

From the first floor landing we dove into a larger, wider, hallway, and taking a quick left took us to the biggest ward for spell damage victims, the ward's system allowing it to treat a patient and send them off to wherever they needed to be - home or a hospital bed for another few days for observation - right away. The ward itself was blocked by two sets of double doors, and when I got close enough to peer through the glass, I saw more than the usual amount of chaos for the Augustus Prickley Ward. And when I opened and the doors and every head in the room turned my way, I got the feeling it would only get worse.

Inside, scattered on beds and near the small operating areas shrouded by privacy curtains, there was the usual circus of patients with injuries that straddled that line between amusing and horrifying. I mentally diagnosed more than a few right away; man with no skin on his left forearm, but it wasn't burnt off, so he probably ate one of George Weasley's prank sweets. A woman with a peacock's head where hers ought to be; simple transmogrification, easily reversed. Another man was carrying his own head in his arms; splinching accident, a very clean splinch that left him headless, but not dead. And finally there was a young man with a pair of garden shears sticking out of his back; he wasn't bleeding or anything, it simply looked like he and the shears were existing comfortably with each other. When I spotted Sarah standing near this man, I made my way over there.

"What's going on?" the man with no skin on his arm demanded, blocking my path.

"Auror!" One of the Mediwitches cried, waltzing up to Neville. "Auror! What's going on here? Why was there an alarm?"

And so on, and so forth.

Neville stammered out a placating speech as a crowd gathered around him, and when he picked up speed he had them listening in rapt attention. He didn't go into specifics, but he was quick to assure them all what was going on and how it was all under control.

I was too busy making my way over to Sarah to listen fully, and when I got to her, her attention was back to the patient.

"Sir, you have a pair of garden shears impaling you," she said, her voice placating. "If you'd just let me have a look -"

"They're not hurting anybody," the young man said stubbornly, crossing his arms in front of the handle-end of the shears before his chest.

"You could be dealing with some serious internal damage, even if it doesn't feel like it."

But the man kept shaking his head no, and I had to wonder if he had some mental damage too.

I drew Sarah's attention by tugging at her hand, and got her to leave the patient behind by gesturing to Head Mediwitch Moser to take him. We found a little corner of the ward, and everybody who could be was gathered around Neville by now.

"A lockdown?" Sarah asked. "Who locked it down? What's the disease?"

"That's why I came down here," I said quietly. "It's The Stigma."

Her mouth dropped open. "How? We've tested it - it's not airborne, and it doesn't pass through touch... Is somebody out there spiking everyone's food with infected blood? Harry, did the disease change?"

"Yes, yes it did. Vivian Waters came back to life."

Sarah's eyes flashed. "She was dead, I saw her, I checked. I came in this morning and she was dead."

"I know."

"Necromancy? Here? That's just..." She frowned. "But, given the look on your face, it's not necromancy."

I nodded. "We think The Stigma revived her, and the infection that triggered the lockdown was passed through a bite. Vivian bit Hunt, and someone else we haven't found yet, and the wound is cursed. Hunt's going to die, Sarah. Vivian's still out there, a walking corpse, a walking infectious disease, and that's why we locked down."

"How long will it take?"

Neville answered that very same question from across the room, his voice clear and strong. "The hospital will be locked down for twenty-four hours."

That didn't go over well, and Neville's wand erupted in sparks to keep the crowd at bay. "Further instructions will come in a general announcement, and it will come through the walls like the alarm just did. But for now, we need you all to stay here, and stay calm. Aurors will be here to check on you, and the Healers will be more than happy to make you all comfortable as can be until this is resolved. But for now, please, when you lock the doors, don't try to get out. For your own safety until the situation is one hundred percent resolved. Now, who's usually in charge here? Can I have them come forward?"

As Moser made her way up to the front, Oliver Lancelot walked up beside us, clutching his bandaged hand. "What the hell does that mean?"

"Until we take care of it, Lance," I told him. "You still haven't got that hand looked at?"

"This happened first," he snapped. "What's going on, seriously?"

I nodded towards Neville wordlessly, and Oliver rolled his eyes. "Yes, I heard that. But who triggered the lockdown, and why? Was it Hunt? Is that why you're here?"

"Oliver, leave off. Hunt doesn't want you involved, and I agree with him on the why." He opened his mouth to protest, but I shushed him. "But, I know that you're not entirely stupid, and can handle things here with Moser. So stay put." I looked behind him and saw a pot-bellied bald man hovering nearby. "Look, see, you have a patient."

Lancelot turned, assessed the man, and scoffed. "Some idiot who swallowed something dragon-related, and who's been vomiting flame since."

As if on cue, the bald man leaned over and coughed out a fireball, scorching the floor.

"Take care of him, and take care of the rest of them," I ordered, before turning to Sarah. "We're leaving, now. Neville's finishing up, and we'll be needed back to the ward."

She nodded, and after we collected Neville, we were off. After we left the Prickley Ward, the doors locked shut behind us, and protesting wizards and witches could be heard all down the hall.

We were halfway back to the stairs when I encountered my first zombie.

Now, by this point, we'd gone down to every ward and got those inside to calm down and lock their doors. Neville went up to the other side of the floor to lock down the second-largest ward, and Sarah and I went on ahead to the stairs. We were about to turn into the hallway leading to the landing when a figure shambled into view.

The man was tall, with reedy brown hair down to his shoulders. In life, he may've been handsome, but here, now, he looked more than a little... corpselike. His face was exceptionally pallid, his eyes glazed over in a dull white colour. Oh, and there was a huge chunk of his nose and neck missing, a bloody hole where the former was and a gash on the latter. When he saw us, he made his way towards us with a loan moaning sound erupting from his throat. His gait was slow, his arms stiffly held in front of himself. Sarah let out a little noise of surprise at the man's sudden appearance, but I was a bit more composed.

I whipped out my wand and shot off a Stunning Spell for the first time in years. It did nothing, sinking harmlessly into his skin.

"He's dead," I murmured. "Like Hunt said. Walking dead."

Inferi, I remembered, were very much susceptible of fire, but right now, I didn't want to destroy this thing, because my first thought was about how to, well, reverse it and let the poor bugger rest in peace, or even come back with fully human functions... Wishful thinking, probably. But still, I didn't want to destroy it, but needed to gather him up. After throwing another Stunner, followed up by a Jelly-Legs Jinx, an Impediment Jinx and finally, a Petrification Spell. None of them had any effect. And before the undead man could cross that final distance towards me and bite me with teeth I noticed were exceptionally bloodstained, I conjured thick black ropes, the cords shooting out the tip of my wand and wrapping themselves around its legs.

The undead man collapsed under the ropes and onto the ground, and, assured that he was tightly bound, I crouched down to get on eye level with it.

"What are you doing?" Sarah asked, fear in her voice.

"Legilimency," I replied. "I need... to see."

I locked eyes with the dead man, concentrated hard on what I was about to do, something I'd only done a few times, and only just in learning circumstances. I murmured, "Legilmens," and I dove into its mind.

All my concentration was on the spell, and everything dropped away one by one. Sarah and the rest of the hospital turned to black, and sound muted into nothing just as Hunt began his announcement, no doubt repeating what Neville had said but in that blunt, scratchy tone of his. When all my senses dulled, I began the Legilimency. Scanning surface thoughts with the spell was always a chaotic process at first. Snape was right about the mind not being an organised thing one could just waltz into and pluck what was needed from it. Another person's mind was a scary place for people to venture, and things had a habit of just appearing, pushing memories into my own head through the link, things I had trouble forgetting. The Auror who taught me the basics of Legilimency a few years back had lived a hard life, and it showed in the memories I came across. Although they were no walk through a park on a sunny day, all of those memories had rhyme and reason to them; they were there because that's what the person's mind was, even if they didn't want to think about them.

When I ventured into this dead man's mind, I didn't know what I'd expect to see. At first there was nothing, just darkness, and I thought it was because, after all, this man was dead. Then, a single thought. No memory, no flash of insight. A whisper in the dark, soft then loud, of the yearning for... food. Food. The thought was hungry. As soon as I realised, the Legilimency spell pushed itself forward naturally, and the assault began. Food, hunger, rage, the want, starvation, the need, the instinct, the food.

It was a dead man, with one thought, and that was on its prey. Us. Human beings.

I thought about the Dementors, who we believed started this whole thing. They used despair and negative emotions as their weapons, turning the most confident of men into snivelling wrecks, and that was only them basting the meal before going for what they really wanted: the soul. They were always hungry, people would say, hungry for souls. We kept them at bay with the Patronus, but they'd never stop being hungry. I'd learnt that in my third year when they attacked for no reason other than hunger and the fact they hadn't been warded off with a Patronus for a while. This thing, this zombie, was a product of The Dementor's Stigma, and it was just as hungry. But since it couldn't perform a Dementor's Kiss, and because it had teeth, it would eat.

"Harry!" Sarah's voice cried, and I pulled myself from the darkness of this thing's mind as fast as possible. My entire head lurched back just in time to avoid the dead man's teeth. I got the sudden feeling I'd gotten closer to it, unconsciously, while performing the spell. If Sarah hadn't have warned me...

I reacted immediately after snapping my head back, whipping out my wand and blasting the dead man, still in his ropes, back into the wall beside the staircase landing. Its neck snapped at the force of it, but from the gasping noises from the back of its throat, it was still alive. My wand tip exploded in brown light, a barking sound not unlike a cannon fired, and the zombie's head exploded in a shower of blood and gore, coating the wall and the floor liberally. For a second the stump of its neck spurted blood, but the body itself was still.

Neville came around the corner just in time to see me stand up and take a step back from the body. "Why did you -?" he asked.

"I read its mind," I replied. "There's nothing left but hunger, insatiable, impossible hunger, and... I reacted when it dove at me. I don't know if there's something worth salvaging in there, Nev, and that's the worst part. It might mean there's no going back from what that, that, thing. We might have to kill them."

"And how do we do that?"

I kicked the headless zombie's foot. "The head. Aim for the head." I kept an eye on the corpse for another second, but, assured that it probably wouldn't get back up again, I turned to Sarah. "We need to get back to Hunt."

She was looking from the corpse to me, her eyes wide with an odd expression I couldn't quite place. It didn't look like she'd heard me.

"Sarah," I prompted.

"Yeah," she said after a moment. "Yeah, we have to..."

I took her arm with my free hand, keeping a gentle grip on it. Neville went up ahead to check the stairs, and I led Sarah close behind.

We were back at the ward ten tense minutes later, after a trek through the second floor's empty hallways. I'd been busy mind-reading to hear Hunt's announcement, but it had obviously gotten through. The wards were all locked tight, including the Malfoy Ward when we got there. Su saw us coming through the glass window on the door, and opened it up for us.

Sarah went in immediately, disengaging from my grip as she did, and I let her go. I stopped Neville before we went inside and said, "Do you need to check on your parents?"

He shook his head as if the thought had occurred. "It all started on the lower floors, and they're on the fourth... I have to hope that the Healers locked them down securely."

"Just because you're here for work doesn't mean they shouldn't be your priority in this."

"Harry, it's fine. I'm worried, yeah, but they'll be all right. Come on, we have work to do."

When we got into the ward, Su locking the doors behind us, we found the others converged in the middle of the patient beds, all of those occupying them asleep. If I had to guess, it was to keep them calm, and it would've been Hunt's idea. I appreciated the silence as we approached the group, all watching as Sarah poked at Hunt's wound with her hand. I opened my mouth to tell her not to bother, but the pink light at the end of her wand dying and a spurt of blood erupting from Hunt's neck and splattering her cheek and ear kind of proved the point well enough.

"Thanks for trying Sarah, but it's too late," rasped Hunt. He was leaning on the end of one of the patient beds, his pallor just as unhealthy as the zombie back on the first floor. One of his eyes was bloodshot, and his teeth were stained red from vomiting blood. "I'm done."

Nobody had anything to say to that.

"I met one of them on the first floor," I said to break the silence. "A walking dead man."

Hunt gazed at me sharply. "What did he look like?"

I shrugged. "Brown hair, long, tall... Plain robes. He was wearing plain robes."

"Fuck," said Hunt. "The man I saw Vivian bite was a Healer, with blond hair."

"And that means there's more of them out there," I surmised. "In close quarters like this, and with people not knowing what's going on until they're already being chewed on... We've locked down the wards now, but there might be a few strays."

"Which we will not deal with," Hunt said firmly. "Safety is paramount, and increasing the rate of infection in this lockdown will only lead to a hospital full of corpses by the time the Aurors can get in."

Auror Lobell frowned, but said nothing.

"How did you deal with him?" Hunt asked me. "The walking corpse."

"The head. I blew up his head."

Hunt nodded. "Basic brain function keeps them walking, though it must be the magic that reanimated them. The Stigma curse."

It hit me then, when Carrie started to sob and Sarah bit her lip, that Hunt was really, truly, going to die. It seemed to hit us all at once, a black cloud of despair and uncertainty hovering over our heads. Hunt, our leader, our mentor, our guide, was about to die. The Malfoy Curse Healing Ward suddenly felt empty and foreign.

"I can't be here when I turn," Hunt decided, pushing himself off from the bed and swaying woozily on the spot. "Might go lock myself in my office. Die in peace." His gaze went to Lobell first, and his voice turned hard. "Lobell, as to what we were talking about before this lot came back, don't. This is a St Mungo's crisis first and foremost, and your way will get people killed when they don't have to be." I wondered what the hell that meant as Hunt turned to Neville next. "Keep him in line."

And his expression turned fierce as he looked us over, fierce in a determined, almost paternal way. "All of you survive, you hear? When this gets cleared up I still want my life's work intact, and you lot are the legacy for that. And I won't spare long goodbyes, don't have long myself, but..." He reached out and squeezed Carrie's hand. "You stuck by this entire time, even though I made you miss your kids' birthdays so many times. Thank you Carrie. And when you get out of here and talk to Rackharrow, tell him the same." To Su, he just nodded brusquely, and I could imagine that he gave her some vague approval while telling her to keep her chin up. Su seemed to understand well enough, though, and she nodded back. Finally, Hunt looked to both me and Sarah, as a couple and not as separate people. "Save all that you can," he rasped. "And damn it, survive. In twenty-four hours, there'll be a way to contact the Ministry. Until then, keep the hospital in check with announcements like mine. Got it? You damn well should."

Six sets of eyes watched him cross the ward, unlock the doors, go through them, and... The doors slammed shut behind him.

..::..-.-..::..

Sometime during the retelling, Ellie had snuggled in close to me, and I found I didn't mind. My voice was flat, listless, as I said, "I never saw him again."

Ellie said nothing.

"But let me tell you about Hunt's office, the place where he went to die. It is not your usual neat administrative office. As much as Hunt despised paperwork, and who could blame him, he still spent a lot of time in that office. And, well, it showed." I chuckled. "He adds a new filing cabinet every year for all the knowledge he collects for what we do. Potion recipes, old wives tales on curses, anecdotes, even some tablets from Ancient Greece. What he can't fit in those cabinets he throws everywhere. The floor is littered with books, his desk is a parchment tsunami, and best of all is how he kept adding expansion charms in places in order to fit it all. The leftmost wall is purple because of a bad expansion charm, and there's unusual amounts of room underneath his desk. But anyway, we always met in there for meetings. There was always enough room for it, but at the same time, we were cramped. I remember this one time, maybe three months after I started dating Sarah, we had just successfully saved three Muggleborns from a Maxilla Curse.

"Basically, we had ten hours to reverse the curse, and the pureblood who cast it didn't know the counter, so we had to make it up as we went. I bullied Ron into giving me access to the Auror archives, Sarah sent letters to shamans in Africa, Lancelot exploded six cauldrons and made the ward smell like garlic for six months. Su passed out in exhaustion after putting her all into a spell that didn't work. Rackharrow and Carrie were both called in from their homes for the night, and still managed to coordinate with Hunt to prevent the curse from killing anybody. It was a tough, frantic, night, but afterwards, we were all cramped in Hunt's office. Hunt was behind his desk, playing with his pipe - not smoking it because Carrie told him off. Sarah and I were sitting on filing cabinets, giving each other little looks when we thought nobody was noticing. Su was asleep on the ground, curled up in a ball. Rackharrow and Lance were leaning on walls, glaring daggers at each other after some minor incident during the night. But, in the end, we all just laughed tiredly, because everything seemed funnier now that we saved those three lives in under ten hours like that. We later registered the counter for the Maxilla Curse with the Ministry, and that felt good. Mostly because it was the first countercurse our team as it was had created. Hunt has a draw full of the case files, like a proud parent would have a drawer full of his child's schoolwork. But Hunt, though he was never sentimental, smiled to himself the entire time in his office that night."

I cleared my throat and idly traced circles on my leg. "I like to imagine that, in his final moments, Johannsenn Hunt would know everything that was coming to him. He'd waltz into his office, step around the books on the ground, collapse in his desk chair, and lock the door with his wand. He'd fetch that pipe of his from the desk draw, and wait a second for Carrie to tell him off for it, but when he doesn't hear it, he would sigh, lean back, and light it up. He'd take one long pull, and maybe he'd take a moment to sigh, or to smile to himself while he looked through his desk drawer, at the work he and his teams over the years have amassed. Next, he'd remember what I said, press his wand against his temple... and blow his brains out onto the wall. In the end, that's how he would've done it. I don't like to imagine there was a zombie in Hunt's office, a zombie that was once our team's leader. It's easier my way."

Ellie nodded slowly. "He sounded like a great man."

He was, and with what happened next overshadowing his death, I rarely took a moment to think about it. When I did think about Hunt, I thought about his final words, about surviving, about saving. He had no idea what was coming next, of course, but he still managed to give one last piece of advice I'd follow to the end.

But now, with hindsight, I had to remember his first bit of advice, the one time he'd been so terribly wrong.

He'd said I had time, to consider options, to make a choice.

"Just remember that nothing's for life, whatever you choose."

I opened my mouth, and began talking again.

..::..-.-..::..

To Be Continued in Chapter Eleven: Inferno...

..::..-.-..::..

Post-Chapter Notes:

- Next Chapter Tease :: In the second part of Harry's story, St Mungo's crashes down around the remnants of Healer Hunt's team. Not just with zombies. Flaming zombies.

- Wizengamot Scorecard ::

- Pro-Disclosure :: Harry, Neville, Susan, Antioch Boot, Brown, Patil, Hart, Diggory.

- Anti-Disclosure :: Malfoy, Parkinson, Bulstrode, Selwyn, Gale, Burke.

- Swing Votes :: MacMillan, Smith, Zabini, Cuffe.

- Former Members :: Bill Weasley (Resigned), Isaac Aquilla (Dead), Hoster Harper (Dead).

- Member Count :: Eighteen.

- Status :: Evenstalled.

- Pending Members :: Astoria Malfoy (Greengrass seat).

Thanks for reading!

..::..-.-..::..