The Winchester Portkey
Chapter Ten
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Mr Weasley poked the crumpled body of the shapeshifter, regarding it with macabre interest. It was as dead as a dodo and still looked just like him. He raised his voice to carry over the mound of bricks and dirt.
"We can't leave the body here. What would you normally do in this situation?"
"Burn it." Sam sounded distracted, his voice muffled by the fallen debris.
"Umm," Mr Weasley pondered. That would mean transporting it out of the tunnel and was bound to draw attention. Perhaps if it was smaller?
"I'll see to it," he called, pointing his wand at the corpse. "I'm sure you were a misunderstood creature," he said softly, slowly turning his wand in a clockwise direction. A soft, pink glow enveloped the body; it trembled and began to shrink rapidly, the shape altering as it reduced. Moments later he held a small red and black butterfly in the palm of his hand. It was quite dead and oddly appropriate for a creature that had spent its life transforming from one form to another.
After a brief pause, he cast the butterfly up into the air, sending a slender, silvery stream of light after it from his wand. The silver light hit the tiny corpse; there was a brief burst of coloured sparks and the butterfly disappeared.
A bitten off curse attracted his attention. Mr Weasley climbed over the rubble, careful not to twist an ankle.
Sam had cleared most of the debris away from his brother and was cautiously removing bricks from his left leg. Dean hissed, his hands involuntarily rising to ward off the interference.
"Keep still dude." Sam's voice was tight, his eyes anxious under the dust encrusted bangs. "We gotta get you out of here."
The sound of traffic on the street above the sewer filtered through to them. A fine sift of dirt trickled down onto the blood sodden jeans. It could only be a matter of time before more of the roof collapsed.
Mr Weasley held his wand aloft. "Lumos," he said quietly.
Sam's fingers closed around the final brick. It was larger than the others, perhaps part of the supporting structure of the tunnel roof. He pulled it upwards. Dean cried out, the sound ringing sharp and echoing in the tunnel.
"Crap." Sam swallowed.
Mr Weasley winced, staring in horror at the jagged ends of white bone, clearly visible through the ripped jeans. Blood pulsed out, soaking into the material and staining the fallen earth a dark ochre colour.
Sam's hands shook, his thoughts jumping jerkily around the practicality of applying a tourniquet without moving the leg more than was necessary. He tugged his belt free, trying to ignore the white noise of panic in his mind that was shouting something about open wounds and sewers. The belt slipped around Dean's thigh, catching on the rough floor. Dean slammed his head back against the tunnel wall, teeth bared.
"I'm sorry, 'm sorry."
"Looks a bit of a mess." Mr Weasley laid a calming hand on his shoulder. "Let me see, lad." He considered the wound for a moment. "Tergeo."
"Be careful!" Sam's tone was edgy, his hands fluttering protectively, as though he wanted to pull Mr Weasley away.
"Hold on a second. Watch."
Particles of dust and dirt started to pull themselves away from the wound and the surrounding area; they buzzed around like small gnats, then floated off and fell onto the floor some distance away.
Mr Weasley rubbed his forehead, speaking to himself in a monotone. "If only I could remember….no, no. It's no use. Molly will know."
He turned to Sam. "There's a spell, to mend broken bones. I can't remember the words exactly. This isn't perhaps the best place for it anyway. We want to be sure the wound is clean first."
Sam slipped off his canvas jacket, his expression grim. "Maybe we can wrap it in this, keep it stable."
"No need for that. Stand back." Mr Weasley drew himself up to his full height, gave his wand an experimental flick. "Ferula!"
Sam watched in astonishment as two small matchsticks popped out of the end of the wand. They shot through the air, lining themselves up on either side of Dean's leg. The matchsticks quivered, grew and fixed themselves in place as splints.
Dean's chin dropped forwards, eyes closing and his breath coming in harsh pants as he fought against the pain.
"Steady on there. Give it a few minutes and you should feel some pain relief too."
A bandage spewed rapidly out of the wand; it coiled and twisted through the air and bound itself securely around the splints and leg.
The roof groaned, more dirt fell down into Sam's hair. "We need to move," he said urgently.
The sound of traffic above them was punctuated by a shriek of brakes.
"You wanker!" The muffling dirt did nothing to lessen the rage in the British voice.
"It ain't my fault! There's a fuckin' hole in the road!"
"I can see that you twat! See that there? That's a fuckin' steerin' wheel. Couldn't you go round the bleedin' thing!"
Car doors slammed. Mr Weasley snapped his wand to the right; a stretcher flew out of the end and dropped onto the floor next to Dean.
"Wingardium Leviosa," he said rapidly. Dean rose a few inches into the air and was deposited gently into the canvas embrace of the stretcher. It rose steadily and began to glide away down the tunnel.
"Where are we going? Can't you just do that thing and zap us home from here?"
"Sadly not lads. The Ministry put a charm on the sewers last summer. There was an unfortunate tragedy when a youngster new to that mode of travel apparated into the sewerage."
Mr Weasley cast around with the light from his wand, looking for the nearest exit. In the circumstances, any quiet corner topside would do to disapparate from; Dean wasn't looking too good.
Sam went ahead, finding a ladder in a side junction. "Arthur! Over here!"
"Go ahead, Sam. Get the manhole cover up and have a look what's out there. Don't want to startle any muggles."
Sam rushed up the ladder, his boot soles slipping on the wet metal rungs. He pushed up the manhole cover, coming up beside a brick wall next to a busy street.
"It's rush hour up here," he shouted down to Mr Weasley. "Maybe we outta find another one."
"No." Mr Weasley focussed on Dean's grey face. "I think this one will have to do. Can you spot anywhere quiet nearby? Your brother's not doing too well."
Sam pushed the manhole cover away from the hole and stuck his head out, peering through the passing legs. He hoped no-one trod on him. By-passers did the British thing and ignored him. There seemed to be an alleyway on the other side of the road. A large wheelie bin obscured part of the entrance.
"Yeah," he called. "There's an alley."
"Stand clear!"
Sam crawled out onto the footpath, watching anxiously as leather straps materialised and bound Dean securely to the stretcher. It tipped on end and floated up the length of the ladder. As soon as the end appeared above the surface, Sam took hold of the handles and pretended to pull.
Mr Weasley's head appeared; he climbed out rapidly, also pretending to hold onto the stretcher. Sam kicked the manhole cover back into place with one foot. Fortunately no-one was paying much attention to them; the hole in the middle of the road was causing chaos, traffic brought to a standstill and horns blaring.
"Sam, are Dean's lips usually that white?"
"No." Sam's tone was terse. "Let's get him over to the alley."
He took off at a jog-trot, the stretcher floating smoothly along between them. They dodged between the stationary vehicles. They were almost there when Sam's foot caught on an uneven paving slab; he teetered, staggered and fell to one knee, letting go of the stretcher. It remained in a perfect hover, despite the lack of support at one end.
"Look Mom, look!" A child tugged at his mother's arm, pointing a finger at the floating stretcher. Mr Weasley, horrified, flicked his wand under the cover of his cloak. The unsupported end of the stretcher dropped immediately. Any pain relief afforded by the spell immediately disappeared. Agony shot through Dean's leg. He ground his teeth, gripping onto the edge of stretcher, unsure if he would vomit or pass out first. Every gasping breath seemed to cause the broken ends of bone to grate against each other.
"Sam…"
Sam apologised, knowing it was futile. He grabbed the end of the stretcher and they quickly moved it into the alleyway.
As soon as they were behind the bin, Mr Weasley took a firm grip of the stretcher and Sam and they disapparated.
They apparated straight into the middle of the living room, startling Molly; her shriek was cut off abruptly when she saw the stretcher.
"Arthur! Dear God, Arthur! What's happened?" She rushed over to them, scooping cushions off the couch to make room for Dean as he floated off the stretcher.
Molly immediately started flicking her wand. The bandage dissolved along with the leg of the jeans and the tourniquet, revealing the ghastly wound.
"Oh my!" She muttered spells and incantations at a rapid pace. The bleeding stopped, the area cleaning itself before their eyes.
"We need to repair that bone," Molly whispered in Arthur's ear.
Mr Weasley bit his lip, not wanting to admit he'd forgotten the spell. Suddenly his eyes widened. "That's it!" he shouted, in an eureka moment.
"Brackium emendo!"
He stabbed the air with his wand. There was a grating noise; the air shimmered around the wound and then the bone snapped back into place, bonding immediately.
Dean screamed and passed out.
"Probably for the best," Mr Weasley said wisely. "Sorry about the excitement there. The words suddenly came to me; the old brain hasn't given up yet."
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A few hours later, they were still in the living room, although the fire was now alight and the smell of hot bread cooking was wafting in from the kitchen.
Mr Weasley relaxed in the arm chair, casting an eye in Dean's direction occasionally. He seemed to be on the mend, although he was still a little pasty.
"Is he gonna be okay?" Sam asked in an undertone.
"He'll be find, lad. Takes a while to get over something like that. Remember, magic can only do so much. The bone is healed, but that doesn't mean the body is over the shock yet. Just give him some time."
Sam smiled; it seemed Dean was in good hands anyway.
Ginny was watching him intently, offering hot cups of tea and chunks of chocolate at regular intervals. Her face was thoughtful as she worked something through in her mind. "They feel almost like family… distant cousins?" She thought. "I like Sam. He has pretty hair… and he's so smart, unlike Dean… I don't always get Dean; he's fun though." She smiled a little, remembering the gnomes. "They're both quite old, but not as old as Mom and Dad. Sam's very tall; I wish I was taller. And Dean has green eyes. I really, really like green eyes. I hope Bunny Slipper is okay; she really liked Dean!"
Mr Weasley settled back. He was just about to doze off, when he remembered something he had to do. He went over to the old blanket box in the corner of the room and rummaged through it until he came across a small wooden box. He took hold of it with a delicate grip and carried it over to the armchair, where he placed it on his lap.
Sam watched with interest.
Arthur whispered, "Ontsluiten." The finely twisted metal bars began to slither off the carved wooden box as though they had been turned to mercury. They settled on the arm of the chair in a twisting, silver blob.
Inside the box were hundreds of tiny vials, bearing labels such as: 'Fire crab shell', 'Nundu claw' and 'Jarvey tail'.
Mr Weasley hummed at the contents, obviously re-living fond memories.
"I'll have to tell you the tales which go along with these sometime, Sam." He smiled kindly at the long-haired man.
Sam perched on the edge of his seat, peering into the box; he was fascinated to discover that there were even more monsters out there than he'd met.
Mr Weasley reached inside his jacket and pulled out a small vial, filled with some sort of slime.
"Uh gross, shapeshifter skin." Sam screwed up his nose.
Mr Weasley's eyes twinkled as he labelled the new item and put it inside with the other vials.
"Mmm, indeed it is Sam. I couldn't pass up the opportunity. I've never heard of one before, let alone seen one!"
Mr Weasley closed the lid and watched the fluid, silver mass turn back to fine twists of metal.
He'd just settled down again when they were interrupted by a sharp rap on the window.
Molly rushed to open it, letting in a bedraggled and exhausted looking owl.
"Get Errol some owl nuts and water, Ginny. Quickly!"
The owl hooted piteously and then toppled off the window ledge onto Sam's lap. He regarded it with surprise.
"Is it okay?" he asked, a little nervously, poking it gently with one finger. Errol glared at him.
Dean snorted in amusement. "What's the matter, Sammy? Scared of an owl now? Don't worry; if it's got rabies, the foaming mouth is gonna look good on you."
"Feeling better there, Dean?" Sam asked sourly.
"He's not ill!" Ginny said sternly. "It's just the way he looks. He's just old, like you."
"It's a letter from Charlie, dear." Mr Weasley took the letter from Errol and began reading it to himself.
"So owls deliver your mail?" Sam asked, amazed.
Ginny gave him a funny look. "Obviously! How else would you get letters?"
Sam opened his mouth, shut it again. It was too big a subject and he was too tired.
"Charlie wants to know if we'll join him for Christmas. We could see the dragons he's looking after, how wonderful! Although it'd mean that the boys would have to stay at Hogwarts for Christmas rather than coming home." He raised an eyebrow at Molly.
"We'll talk about it later, Arthur."
"Home." Sam thought. "I guess it's about time we went home."
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Cheers for reading! There'll be another chapter soon.
Thank you, princessbinas, for the suggestion that Arthur just might want to keep a piece of skin from the shapeshifter!
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