Chapter 24: To The Ministry
Harry buckled the cloak about his shoulders, basking in the new warmth it offered. It was amazing how much a simple length of wool could offer you, when you had been so cold for so long. He had experimented with some wandless warming charms, but they hadn't gone as planned. He had nearly started a few fires, which was a little warmer than he would have liked. It felt good to have proper boots on as well, although they were a little bigger than he normally wore; a quick bit of wand work soon sorted that out though.
And the wand…it was oak, shorter than his holly wand, and using it felt very, very strange, although the spells seemed to work normally enough. But the simple fact that he had a wand in his hand again filled him with joy. He had never before truly realised how much magic meant to him. There was something comforting about the feel of the length in his hand that somehow wandless magic couldn't quite replace. It still didn't feel like 'proper' wizardry to Harry.
He gave the wand another swish and flick, just for the hell of it, grinning as sparks cascaded from the tip. Then he turned to Perks, his grin fading into a more sorrowful expression. His former warder was sitting against the wall, staring almost petulantly at the younger man. There had been no question of him trying to resist Harry's escape attempt, despite the fact that he had held the wand at that point. Indeed, he had almost thrown the wand at Harry in his desperation to appease him.
"I'll make sure you get this back later, Perks, ok? I promise. If it's any consolation, I might save a lot of lives with this tonight."
Perks just scowled, and Harry sighed. He couldn't blame him, really. He had just broken one of the biggest taboos in wizarding society, after all. He might as well have tried to buy an evening with his wife for the price of a bottle of butterbeer, and even that might have gone over better in some circles.
"Sorry," he said again, feebly. Turning away, he looked around him. A window was his first priority – the one in his cell aside, of course. He didn't much fancy going back inside the cold room again, even if there was literally no way Perks could close the door behind him. There was another barred window at the end of the corridor which would suit his purposes perfectly though, and he set off towards it, stepping over the ruined door and fallen buds and petals. Poking his arm through the window, he cast a Patronus charm, focussing intently on the message he wanted to convey. The silvery shape shot through the air over the courtyard below, vanishing over the other side of the wall beyond. For a moment, the image of a glowing, insubstantial unicorn galloping through the waves of the North Sea filled his mind, and he grimaced, thinking of the Muggle ships it would be sure to pass. He wasn't going to win any friends at the Ministry for this little stunt, but it couldn't be helped.
From below came the sounds of approaching guards, and he braced himself. He was lucky he had had as much time to prepare as he had taken; he had been expecting hordes of guards to appear the moment he had blown up his cell door. Casting his mind back through all the spells he had learnt, or even just looked at in books, he readied himself for a struggle that would be different to any he had fought since maybe his second year. He couldn't afford to do more than incapacitate the guards, never mind kill them – they were, after all, innocent.
Unfortunately, the same limitation did not extend to his opponents.
"Confringo!"
A quickly summoned door fragment absorbed the brunt of the blast, but Harry still staggered back a step, raising a shield to deflect the burning splinters flying at his face. Before he could recover, the guards were pouring in through the doorway, a veritable wall of spellfire hurtling towards him. Some of the spells were poorly aimed, and impacted against the walls before they would ever have been a threat to him; the rest impacted against his shield. Ordinarily, that might have been enough to at least buy him some time, but the sheer volume of spells exploding at once did far, far more damage than he had anticipated.
All of a sudden, he was falling, his vision obscured by a cloud of dust and rubble and his ears ringing with the sound of stone grinding and shattering against stone. He landed on his back, staring up at the ceiling – the ceiling of the floor above. The guards had blown a hole in the floor of the corridor.
This was his chance. He pushed himself to his feet, doing a quick mental assessment of any injuries. A few cuts and scrapes, but nothing serious. He whipped his wand up to aim at what remained of the ceiling, and barked out a spell. "Fumariverto!" The stone slabs were transfigured into clouds of murky black smoke in the blink of an eye, followed swiftly by the cries of the guards above falling through the vanished floor. Harry paid them no attention, turning his focus to the floor in front of him. Another transfiguration, and when the guards landed they sank into the stone as if it were quicksand. A third spell, and it solidified around them, locking them securely yet painlessly in place. Harry danced between them, muttering apologies as he moved, and threw the corridor door open.
The stairwell was deserted, but he could hear a commotion below. He was hardly surprised, in all honesty. Perks' wand flashed, and the stairway leading down was coated in ice. It wouldn't hold them for long, but it would buy him a little time. He set off up the stairs, wand ready for anything. He was rewarded by the distant sounds of guards tripped up by the icy stairs, and he quickened his pace. Fortunately, the upper levels seemed quieter. He had journeyed four floors before he saw another guard. It was one Harry did not recognise, but he was skilled. The moment Harry's head appeared around the corner, he found himself ducking back for cover. The wall melted where the spell had impacted, and Harry stared at it in shock. He hadn't expected such creative nastiness. The guards below were getting closer, and he looked behind him desperately. He had no idea how many guards pursued him, but he did not fancy testing his wand against them, whatever their numbers. Forward seemed to be the only way. He grit his teeth, readied his wand, and threw himself around the corner. The guard's spell shot over his head, and Harry replied with a volley of Stunning spells. At least one of them clipped the guard, and he fell to the floor.
With that, Harry turned back to the stairwell. An idea had struck him. The spell itself was far from difficult, but he would be replicating it on a level that he had never yet even attempted, never mind managed. He could not be sure it would work, but he had to try. Combat against a group in such close quarters would be a nightmare. He closed his eyes for a moment, focussing all his will, and raised his wand above his head. Water began to pour from the tip, cascading around him. Within seconds, it was at the top of his boots, seeping in and chilling his feet. He kept conjuring water, opening his eyes to watch it pour down the stairs. When the first surprised cry reached his ears, he whipped his wand down and around his body. The water leapt into the air, forming a wall in front of him. Another jab, and it rushed forward, roaring in his ears. Screams echoed up the corridor in the aftermath, and he pictured the guards being washed away, perhaps all the way to the bottom. Guilt stabbed at him; it seemed harmless enough, and he was certain no-one would have been killed, but injured? That was a definite possibility.
He pushed the guilt down, and turned away. He did not have time for this. Gently, he pushed the door open and walked through, his still damp feet squelching against the glistening stone. His path took him outside the tower, into the storm. Rain lashed at him, his glasses instantly obscured, and the wind was so strong that he felt as if one misstep would have him carried away like a leaf. He closed his eyes against the rain, and just for a moment it felt as if the storm flowed through him.
Looking around the balcony he had emerged to, he grimaced as he realised that there was no way down short of throwing himself over the edge. A quick look convinced him that that was impractical at best; he could just about make out the floor below, little twinkling lights suggesting a heavy guard presence. He drew back from the edge, and looked up. There was another staircase running around the tower's exterior, although heading further up was hardly ideal. He threw a considerate glance at the door he had just closed. He couldn't hear any guards approaching, but his trick with the water wouldn't have held them back for long. He surely had only moments, and at least going up might lead to another route down. That in mind, he raised his wand and closed his eyes, muttering a spell under his breath. The air began to shimmer before him, and he repeated the spell, pushing more and more energy into it. Slowly but surely, a lump of marble took shape in front of the door; an inelegant solution, but effective for a while at least.
He set off up the stairs, wishing fervently that the architects who had built the fortress so many years ago had thought to include a hand-rail. The higher he climbed, the slicker the stone steps became, water trickling off them. Slowly but surely, the stairs became ever more treacherous, until eventually Harry was practically walking on ice. He cursed, drawing his wand to melt a firmer path, but he paused as the ice's existence registered in his mind. It was cold, no doubt about that, but cold enough for the rain to freeze?
A further chill sank around his bones, and he looked to the sky. He had forgotten that there were more than guards to worry about in Azkaban.
He could feel them already, sucking at every hopeful thought and memory not currently buried deep within himself. The sky was thick with raggedy cloaks covering insubstantial shapes, their spindly arms outstretched towards him as they swooped down towards him, and Harry pushed every thought but survival from his head: he ran, fleeing up the stairs as fast as he could manage. He practically flew out onto the tower roof, bare but for an unused flagpole swaying in the wind. He turned, looked up again, squinting against the first few drops of rain. There was no way he could outrun them now, if it were even possible to begin with. So he raised his wand, his mind flashing back to a similar evening two years previously, and he called out to the sky: "Expecto Patronum!"
For the second time that night, his Patronus leapt through the air. The Dementors scattered like nine pins before its light, swooping away and back up into the sky. Waving his wand, Harry directed it after them, a grim satisfaction surging through him. He wasn't sure if the nightmarish creatures were capable of emotion, of feeling anything other than hunger – but he was going to do everything in his power to put the fear of God into them. Drawing on more of his strength, he conjured another Patronus and sent it after its companion, the two unicorns teaming up to drive off every Dementor they could see. When he was much younger, the sight of Mrs Figg's cats hunting pigeons had been a familiar one, the merest whisper of feline fury sending entire flocks of birds flapping frantically into the air. The effect now was much the same. The Dementors retreated, their deathly pall fading enough that Harry could actually concentrate. The two unicorns pulled back, falling into a circling motion around the tower, keeping the Dementors back. They were not gone though. Harry could still feel them testing his defences, nibbling at his memories. He closed his eyes, screwed his face up in concentration as he attempted to keep them out. Once again, he could feel the storm; feel it as if it were magical at heart.
Memories of his encounter with the dragon the previous year played around his head; could he steal magic from the storm, use it against the Dementors? Maybe even overcome the more normal obstacles he would encounter. Power wasn't everything, but it would level the playing field a little.
"Don't forget what happened to you…" Titus pointed out despondently. The spirit had never taken well to the fact that absorbing magic from the dragonfire had nearly killed his host. It was a valid point though. Tempting though the sheer power the storm contained was, it would do him no good to pass out before he had even left the island.
But maybe – and a grin of devious delight lit up Harry's face, the happiest expression he had worn in a long, long time – he could use it to escape.
He spread his arms wide, letting his mind wander into the centre of the storm. As he had done so many times over the last year or so, whether of his own volition or under Dumbledore's guidance, he reached for the spark of magic that seemed to be within everything around him. He gasped as he felt it, felt the intensity and power of the storm. He was reminded irresistibly of his experience at Hogwarts, the first night of the year, when the ambient magic of the castle had come close to overwhelming him. Without a shadow of a doubt, he had to be cautious: it would be far, far too easy to lose himself within the storm.
He took a deep breath, and when he breathed out the wind flowed through him. The beating rain flew away from him like wisps of dust, and his cloak began to billow as if it were raised on a flag pole. Another breath, and the wind was all around him, curling and wrapping around him. He opened his eyes to find two guards standing at the top of the staircase, staring at him in disbelief. He made a vague gesture with his hand, and the wind lashed at them, driving them back until they retreated. A wild smile crept onto his face, and he pushed the wind down, towards the tower roof.
The shout of almost childish glee he let out as he was sent rocketing skyward was audible even over the rolling thunder. He shot through the circling cloud of Dementors, their malevolent aura sucking at his spirit for mere heartbeats before he had passed through them and out the other side. He let the wind around him relax, and he slowed to a stop so sudden that it hurt. He twisted his head around, trying to ease the whiplash, and placed Perks' wand in the palm of his hand.
"Point me Ministry of Magic," he said, breathlessly. The wand spun in his hand for a moment, then came to a halt, the tip pointing away from him. The grin back on his face, Harry wrapped the wind around him again, and pushed himself forward. He flew faster than he had ever managed on a broom, faster than he had ever thought possible, his eyes streaming behind his glasses.
Such was his exhilaration that he did not notice the sea swelling beneath him. He did not notice the waves following in his wake.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
Hermione wrapped her arms around herself as she sat down, leaning against the wall. It wasn't comfortable, but it kept the portraits of the Malfoy patriarchs of former years out of sight, although not out of mind. She did not like Malfoy Manor. Not at all. She didn't like the way Lucius Malfoy looked at her as if she was something he had trod in and smeared all over his luxurious carpets, although she wasn't certain that the pity Narcissa apparently felt for her wasn't worse. Pitied for being a Muggleborn? At least Lucius' disdain was something she could rail against.
She didn't think that she would ever really understand why Dumbledore had allowed the Order to make its headquarters at the Manor. From a strategic point of view, yes – she recognised that it was incredibly well defended, that few would be willing to attack it directly, even if they knew how to find it. She just couldn't stand being around a man who, it was popularly believed, had made quite the hobby of hunting people like her not so very long ago. She could just about cope with Draco; he was rude, arrogant, incredibly annoying, and she couldn't quite pin down his strange friendship with Harry, which seemed more like friendly rivalry than anything else, but he didn't think she was subhuman.
And the portraits…it would have been bad enough had they simply been Muggle portraits, their sneers would have made their opinions and characters obvious enough. These portraits offered comments whenever she passed them. She tried to stay out of their way, but there wasn't really much to do at Malfoy Manor. There was a Quidditch pitch, which Lucius had 'graciously' allowed the Weasleys' to use under Draco's supervision – theoretically, she could use it as well, but…Quidditch. There was the library, but Lucius had banned even the actual Order members from going in there on their own. Something about ruining his collection, although she rather thought there would be books that might be frowned on in polite society inside.
She wasn't even certain why she was here, really. She wasn't able to contribute – or at least, wasn't allowed to contribute – to meetings, something which stung her pride a little. She wanted to help, wanted to know what was happening. Most of all though, she was worried about Harry. Was he ok? What was happening to him? Was he going to be set free anytime soon? His arrest was a travesty of justice (if technically legal and justified, a quiet part of her muttered), but Fudge did not seem to have achieved anything. The wheels of government turned slowly, it seemed. He would have been out of a Muggle prison by now.
She had come to the corridor in the hopes of overhearing something, anything, from the meeting. Ron and the others had admitted defeat two or three meetings ago, but never let it be said that Hermione Granger wasn't stubborn. She had been there for every meeting so far, and she wasn't going to give up now. Even if she couldn't hear anything through the thick oak door.
She leant her head back against the wall, letting out a frustrated sigh, and as she did so the walls began to flicker with a white light. She shot to her feet, her wand appearing in her hand almost of its own volition, and she aimed it down the corridor, watching for the source of the light. Her jaw dropped when she saw the shimmering unicorn cantering down the corridor. She lowered her wand, recognising Harry's Patronus, and reached out her hand. The unicorn approached, bucking its head against her hand. A wave of contentment and happiness rolled over her, and she closed her eyes briefly. For a moment, she was at peace.
"Miss Granger?"
She hadn't even heard the door open. It was remarkable how quickly the condescension in Lucius Malfoy's voice could dispel that peace. She turned to face him, bracing herself for the full force of his wrath, and the Patronus began to speak, Harry's voice ringing out from its mouth.
"The Death Eaters are going for the prophecy. The Knights are attacking somewhere else to distract the Aurors; I don't know where. I hope you get this in time, but I'm going myself. Just in case. Hopefully, I'll see you all there."
The words echoed around the ancient walls in the silence that followed. Malfoy was staring at the Patronus, dumbfounded, while Hermione was concentrating on not having a panic attack. It sounded very much like her friend was attempting to break out of Azkaban to go and fight people. That…didn't sound good.
"Malfoy, what the hell was that?" Remus Lupin pushed past the Pureblood, staring at his ward's Patronus in shock. As he did so, the message began to run again.
In the commotion that followed, no-one paid any attention to Hermione sneaking away. The others would want to know about this.
XxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxXxX
The wind had carried Harry across the sea, and most of Britain, in record time. His whole body ached from the pressure and speed, but it would be worth it. It would have to be.
Finding London hadn't been too hard; he'd just pointed himself and gone, using the wind to push his body around. It was an intense feeling, but he didn't think he would be giving his broom up anytime soon. Flying like this hurt. As he hovered above the capital, watching the still teeming streets, he realised that he didn't actually know the city that well.
He drew the wand again, and repeated the Point Me charm. The wand spun in his hand, and it was a long moment before he realised that it wasn't going to stop. He was too close yet far away for the spell to work with precision. Carefully – very carefully – he let the wind slacken around him, dropping through the air. His cloak billowed around him, flapping raggedly; it hadn't been high quality when he got it, and the things he had put it through tonight had taken their toll, leaving tattered holes spotted on it. He landed on a rooftop, a block of flats from the look of things, and repeated the spell. This time, the wand aimed north. He applied a Disillusionment charm, and pushed himself onwards once more. He soared over buildings and streets, watching a train race past beneath him with a giggle. A bit of pressure on the wind had him outpacing the train, and he couldn't help a shout of satisfaction. The glee left him instantly, his expression sobering. He wasn't on a day trip.
He quickly found himself in a part of the city he recognised, and he alighted on another rooftop. The people milling around below were hunched into coats and jackets, bracing themselves against the unseasonal chill and heavy wind. He felt a pang of guilt, but there wasn't much he could do about it. He hadn't planned to bring some of the storm in his wake, but he hadn't had much choice. He shook his head; he was only a few streets away from the visitor's entrance to the Ministry, probably his safest bet. Going through Diagon Alley probably wouldn't be the best move, given his current situation. Instead, he pushed the wind upwards against his feet. He soared over the buildings in his path in a single bound, his arms spread wide, and manoeuvred his descent with some careful nudges. He landed gently in the street, and let the wind fly away from him. He felt a pang of sorrow as his cloak sagged against him. He had never felt more alive.
"You're a fucking idiot. No, seriously, what the fuck were you playing at? You're lucky to be alive!"
"Evening, Titus…" Harry paced towards the phonebox, his wand clutched tightly in his hand.
"Do you ever stop to think before you do something? You just made a sea storm your personal chariot, dragged it in land. That affects things! And don't tell me you can't feel the whiplash, I know you can."
That, at least, was accurate, Harry admitted to himself as he punched in the code. There was barely a part of his body that didn't feel as if it had been pummelled vigorously. "What was I supposed to do? I needed to get here."
"You could have stolen a broom, for a start. A whole host of options that you didn't even consider."
"There was an army of guards between me and the brooms, or maybe you didn't notice?"
"Of course I noticed, that's not-"
Titus was cut off by the voice emanating from the phone. "Welcome to the Ministry for Magic. Please state your name, and the nature of your visit."
"Harry Potter, fighting."
"Thank you. Please enjoy your visit."
A small pin badge popped out of the change slot, and he pinned it to his cloak as the phonebox began to sink into the ground. "I still don't see what you're getting at. It wasn't that bad."
"You could have lost yourself. You noticed it, admit it. Laughing and shouting like that? That's not you."
Harry didn't respond. He couldn't deny that. The storm had been wild, and he had thrown himself into it. Was this what sorcery would be like? He dismissed the thoughts as he arrived in the Atrium. The fountain was quiet tonight, the water turned off, but the griffins heads on the gates turned to watch him, their eyes eerily blank. He approached cautiously, unsure whether anything untoward was about to happen. The griffins surveyed him carefully, and he let out a sigh of relief when the gates swung open. Something about the badge he wore, perhaps? Or maybe it was more subtle than that, something similar to the blood wards that protected him at Privet Drive. Maybe they knew he meant no harm to the Ministry. He could feel the magic ensnared within them as he passed through, and the fountain was a beacon of light, magically speaking.
His footsteps echoed off the marble floor as he walked towards the lift, alert for any signs of life. Surely there ought to be a few guards around, but the Atrium was deserted. Perhaps the Knight's distraction had been more effective than they had thought it would be. More likely, the Death Eaters had already arrived and disposed of any stragglers. He settled the wand more comfortably in his hand.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a fireplace burst into flame, and he whirled round, a curse on the tip of his tongue. He held it back when he saw the figure pop out.
"Hermione?"
"Harry!" His friend threw herself at him, wrapping her arms tightly around him and burying her face in his neck. "You idiot, what did you do? Did you break out? How did you get here?"
He stared over her shoulder, speechless, as Ron, Draco, Ginny, Fred and George popped out of the fire in quick succession. "I…yes, I did. I flew here. What are you lot doing here?"
"We got your Patronus," Draco explained, "and my father and the Order started a quick strategy session. It was taking a while, so…"
"We thought 'sod it', and Flooed over here," George cut in, beaming brightly. "So, where to, boss?"
"Are you all crazy?" Harry exclaimed, staring at them all incredulously. Ginny met his eyes with a particularly mulish expression, and the others didn't look any less stubborn. He threw his hands in the air in defeat. "I'm going down there to fight them. You don't have to follow me. I'd never ask that of you."
"We know," Ron said, rolling his eyes. "We're your friends, mate. Of course we're coming with you."
"Come on, Potter - without me you're bound to screw up so badly they'll be telling stories about it for years to come," Draco interjected, a hint of a smile on his lips. Fred reached around Ron, and clipped Draco round the ear. Harry grinned, and shook his head.
"I still say you're nuts," Harry said. "But you've got to be the best friends anyone could ever have. He was smiling so widely he thought his jaw might break. He couldn't think of anything that might make him prouder than he felt at that moment.
"Come on. They'll be downstairs. We need to find the Hall of Prophecy."
Harry stepped forward, and his friends fell into formation behind him, drawing their wands in one joint motion. He set off towards the lift, and they all followed behind.