I'll Work on It

Diagon Alley reeked of smoke. I could feel the thick, acrid stench burrowing down my throat. Buildings everywhere burned, lazy spirals of dull yellow smoke staining the air. Wizards and witches darted between the rubble every thirty-six seconds, and I spotted a hazy pile of seventeen dolls burning by the ice cream shop Seth and I had frequented as children.

Al stared at the destruction, his green eyes grim.

"All this for Galleons," he said quietly. Then, turning away deliberately, he looked at me. "Come on. We need to report to Kingsley."

I nodded, tearing my gaze from the desolate street, and followed as he ran towards the only building still relatively untouched.

The stern-looking Minister stood in the middle of a throng of shouting reporters.

"Rest assured, the Ministry is doing all that it can to stop these riots."

A bony woman with wispy grey hair scowled, a bevy of sharp quills hovering around her angular head. "What if the Ministry simply cannot stop the riots? It's been days, and the status on the streets hasn't changed. Shouldn't the Ministry step down and let more capable companies such as King Incorporated handle the chaos?"

The normally stoic Minister looked like he wanted to snap the floating quills in half, but his voice was devoid of ire.

"At this time, the Ministry is best equipped to handle this crisis. We are the only organisation with control over law enforcement and humane relief organisations, and-"

The woman plucked a scarlet plumed quill from the air and jabbed it accusingly in his face.

"And there lies the problem! The Ministry is trying to control too much and, quite simply, cannot handle the burden. Perhaps it's time to privatise some areas of the government!"

A thrum of agreement rose from the crowd of journalists. I saw Kingsley's hand twitch towards his wand. Al must have seen the same thing, for in the next moment he had left my side. Pushing bluntly through the throng, he murmured something into the Minister's ear.

Kingsley nodded and, raising his voice, said, "Sorry, but an important matter has been brought to attention, and I'm afraid that's all the time I have for questions."

Ignoring the answering protests, the Minister of Magic swept into the Ministry building with a swirl of his violet robes.

I caught up to Al and, avoiding eye contact with the jabbering journalists (Merlin, they were persistent), muttered, "What did you tell him?" Numberita was already coming up with dozens of possibilities - maybe he'd told the Minister about the Thestrals. Or the goblins' plan to manufacture their own wands. Or some other pertinent, top secret Auror business.

Al grinned. "I told him that my favourite Quidditch team is Puddlemere United."

…

What.

I reached out and smacked him unceremoniously on the head.

He scowled, adopting a wounded expression and peering out from underneath his dark lashes to make sure I was looking.

I rolled my eyes. "Poor Quidditch choice aside, you, Albus Severus Potter, are an actual child," I said loftily, sticking my nose up in the air. Well, it looked like I was the Mature Adult in this relationship and Al was the Goofy Child. I stifled a laugh at Numberita's last thought and sneaked an appreciative look at the imposing Auror beside me.

He shrugged and, stepping forward quickly to open the Ministry door with a flourish, gave me an exaggerated wink.

"Yeah, but I'm your child," he said.

I wrinkled my nose; that just sounded wrong.

Al frowned. "Okay, I'm hearing it now," he said. "Scratch that from the record. I'll work on it."

Kingsley intercepted us as the heavy brass door swung shut.

"What's happening, Potter? I'm having journalists jump down my throat for answers, and your father is being frustratingly reticent," he said angrily.

The playful expression vanished from Al's face. "Ragnuk's forces killed the Thestrals in the Forbidden Forest for their tail hair; Adela reckons they're making wands of their own," he said without inflection.

Kingsley paled. "All the Thestrals are dead?"

Al nodded.

The Minister of Magic cursed and, wheeling towards me with an intimidatingly intense look in his dark eyes, said, "You're the Hogwarts student who was first caught up in all this - what made you come up with the wand conclusion?"

I swallowed. "Er, well, I'm an attorney now, not a Hogwar-" I stopped when I saw his murderous expression and, glancing at Al, tried to mimic his intent stance (well, I added some of my own flair; I hadn't watched eighteen Muggle police movies for nothing).

Moving my hand up in a rigid salute, I barked out, "Sir! Suspects have previously expressed interest in phoenix feathers, sir! They took one phoenix complete with thirty-nine phoenix tail feathers, sir! Also Veela hair - not sure of exact quantity, but Numberita estimates at least twenty strands, sir! This is in addition to the tail hair from nineteen Thestrals, sir! All three are crucial components in wands, sir! In my past experience with the goblins, they wished to obtain the students' wands, sir! It makes logical sense for the oppressed to want wands of their own, sir!"

I gasped for air, my hand still plastered to my forehead.

Kingsley blinked, his mouth forming a circle seven centimeters in diameter.

The silence dragged on. Maybe I ought to have thrown in more "sir"s? In the Muggle movies, this was usually the part where the heroine got a) a promotion b) sent off into mortal danger or c) fired. Seeing as Kingsley wasn't technically my employer, I supposed it would have to be option B.

After forty-six long seconds, Kingsley's eyes darted to Al's, clearly looking for agreement in his assessment that I was insane. I looked at the Auror, too, giving him a stern look that I hoped expressed something like "I will plague you with the fire of a thousand suns if you so much as hint at agreement."

Al rubbed the back of his neck. "Minister, Adela was instrumental in the capture of Ragnuk, and-"

Kingsley waved his hand dismissively. "Yes, I am aware. Auror Potter, I want you to check on the giants. Offer them gifts. Play nice."

The Minister of Magic glanced around and, lowering his voice, said grimly, "If you see even a hint of dissent, I want to know. Immediately. The giants will not betray the wizards for a second time."

I wondered what would happen if the giants were planning a second uprising; from Kingsley's expression, the Ministry's response probably didn't involve anything remotely peaceful.

Al bore the same hard, detached expression he'd had when I'd first seen him in Hermione Granger-Weasley's office all those weeks ago. I hated that expression.

"What about Hagrid?" I asked, hating the way my voice rose shrilly, hating the fact that I was even asking the question, that I was willing to sacrifice Hagrid - Hagrid - to save Al -

Kingsley shook his head. "He's the only one who can withstand the waves of magic emanating from Patient 43B. We need him there - at least for now. We'll send him to the giants if the Patient 43B's situation stabilises before your return."

He gave Al a stern nod and moved to fend off a new horde of reporters.

I stared at his retreating back, Numberita working furiously to decipher his words. Patient 43B again. Who was he - or she? Al obviously knew; perhaps he could tell me.

Seeing my questioning look, Al avoided my eyes. "I have to prepare for the mission," he said.

I frowned. "Who's Patient 43B, Al?"

He fixed me with a pleading look, and I felt myself slowly relenting. "Please, Adela, you know I can't tell you; I'd lose my job if I told you Ministry secrets."

I sighed. I couldn't fault him for following his boss's orders; Merlin knew I couldn't tell him every detail of my cases.

"Fine," I said, and his expression immediately brightened. I held out a warning finger. "But I will find out the truth," I continued sternly.

He grinned, pressing his lips quickly against my cheek. "I don't doubt it," he said.

Despite my attempt to remain severe, I couldn't help but return his smile. "Don't even try to prevent me from following you," I warned.

He studied me for a sixteen long seconds before inclining his head. Then, clapping his hands over his ears, he said loudly, "Following me? What? I didn't hear anything about a foolishly stubborn woman following me - because if I had I, as an upstanding Auror, would certainly not allow it."

I shook my head at his antics.

He leaned in suddenly, murmuring, "I'll meet you back here in thirty minutes. I have to update Vane and collect some supplies."

I shivered at the contact before nodding wordlessly. He Apparated with a loud crack, leaving me standing alone in the Ministry lobby.

A white-clad Healer rushed past me, his robes mottled with stains the colour of rust. I thought again of Patient 43B and, weighing my options, began to formulate a plan. Thirty minutes was a long time; who knew what secrets could be revealed?

I turned on my heel and Apparated away.

St. Mungo's was drowning. Harried Healers rushed through the crowded lobby, balancing clipboards and bubbling potions. Patients and crying families bearing wounds ranging from bloody gashes to missing appendages huddled on the mismatched chairs pushed into every available corner. The air smelled strongly of disinfectant and something horribly acrid. I counted no less than three black-clad Aurors and eight MLE officers patrolling the perimeter, their wands held firmly in their hands.

It looked like a war zone, not a hospital.

I ducked between a grieving woman and a large plant, keeping well away from the Aurors. What I was about to do broke at least six major laws, which, as a lawyer, was troublesome, but I reasoned that the benefits outweighed the costs. Patient 43B was obviously pivotal. If the Ministry was holding one of Ragnuk's crew hostage, they needed to know what they were risking. From what I'd seen, Ragnuk was more than willing to sacrifice his own. He cared about making a bloody statement, about obtaining revenge. If the Ministry relied on Patient 43B as a bargaining chip in a crucial moment, they were doomed.

Besides, Kingsley's prior words were troubling - if Patient 43B was emitting levels of magic dangerous enough to warrant pulling Hagrid away from a crucial envoy to the giants, he - or she - might be the result of Ragnuk's experimentation with the Elder Wand. The Bulgarian twins had exhibited runes that had given them frightening powers. Perhaps Patient 43B was similar.

I walked swiftly from the plant's shielding fronds, looking hurriedly at the ground as a dark-haired Auror passed two meters away from me.

I glanced around the room for any observers before joining a couple and their young son as they headed towards the heavily guarded double doors.

I nodded along as the middle-aged woman answered her husband's question. "They say transportation to and from Hogwarts is delayed. Besides, with most of the currency gone, the train ride's costing a full arm and a leg. Everyone's in a panic trying to get to their kids. The Ministry says they're safe in Scotland, but I can understand the reluctance to believe them - they've been absolutely useless in these riots."

She tucked a protective arm around the short, ash-streaked toddler stomping along beside her. "I'm just glad Jimmy's with us," she whispered before coughing loudly, her chest jerking backwards. Her husband patted her back helplessly with a trembling hand spotted with dried blood. His pale eyes gleamed with unshed tears, and I watched as the child - Jimmy - looked up at his wheezing mother with innocent concern.

"Mama okay?" I heard him say.

The father let out a half-strangled sound. He licked his lips and swiped roughly at his eyes. "Yes, Jimmy. She just needs some medicine," he said.

Jimmy's small face crumpled; he'd obviously sensed the lie in his father's words. Something gleamed among the dull locks of his black hair, and I realised with a horrified start that it was crushed glass. He began to wail, drawing the attention of the others waiting in line to pass through the doors.

A man standing directly behind us glared, cupping his hands around his daughter's ears. She was deathly pale and looked as if she was going to faint at any moment.

Jimmy's father ran a hand roughly through his hair, his knuckles white, before saying, "Come on, Jimmy, it's okay. Please, we're almost there."

Jimmy's wails increased in volume.

"Can you quiet your child?" the man said harshly.

Jimmy's father stiffened. "Mind your own business" he snapped.

As they began to argue, the line moved forward, drawing us nearer to the pale green doors.

We'd reached the front of the line. A bored-looking MLE officer guarding the entrance said, "Papers, please."

The mother, still coughing, fumbled with her bag. She'd placed a heavy metal padlock on the zipper, and her shaking hands couldn't hold the small key.

I pointed my wand subtly, whispering, "Alohomora."

The bag opened with a soft click, the padlock dropping to the floor with a loud clang. She threw me a grateful expression and produced a creased sheet of paper.

I bent to retrieve the padlock, making sure to keep my face turned away from the officer, and, still crouching, offered it to the sniffling child. "Hey, Jimmy," I whispered. "Look at what I found."

He stared at me suspiciously with large grey-green eyes. Then, his eyes darting to the lock, he extended a chubby hand. I smiled, pressing the lock carefully into his waiting palm.

"Head on in to the third door to your left," I heard the MLE officer say.

I took Jimmy's hand into my own sweaty palm and led him past the MLE officer.

Once I'd made it through the double doors without detection, my shoulders sank in relief. The odd, acrid scent was stronger now - it smelled like burning rubber and smoke. I'd bet my last quill that the smell came from Patient 43B's magic.

Turning back to Jimmy, I said, "Why don't you hug your mum? She looks like she could use one."

Jimmy nodded solemnly before stumbling over to wrap his short arms around his mother's leg.

"Thank you," she whispered hoarsely.

I fished a chocolate frog from the pocket of my trousers - I always made sure I had a stash of emergency chocolate somewhere on my person - and gave it to the boy. He took it shyly and held it up towards his parents. Merlin, this kid was going to make me cry - already my chest was aching, and my eyes had become quite watery.

"No, Jimmy, you have it. We're too full," she said.

The boy nodded and stuck the sweet into his mouth.

Jimmy's father murmured something in his wife's ear before embracing her tightly.

I took one last look at the shell-shocked family - had the riots spared no one? - before jogging away.

I climbed the far stairwell two steps at a time, my breath heaving from my lungs as I followed the smell up to the top floor.

Numberita estimated I had only eight minutes and thirty-four seconds left until I had to return to the Ministry. I pressed my ear against the metal stairwell door, listening intently to the muted footsteps emanating from within the corridor. Judging from the mixture of heavy thumps and quieter shuffles, there were at least four Aurors and two Healers.

I had just begun weighing my options when the door swung outwards, knocking me to the ground.

I grimaced, rubbing at my head, and looked up to see Elise's shocked dark eyes staring at me.

"Adela?"

I smiled sheepishly. "Er, hi, Elise," I said. I tilted my head sixteen degrees to the right, trying to make out the corridor from between her legs. The hallway pulsed intermittently with flashes of blue light emanating from a curtained-off section at the very end. That shade of blue was strikingly familiar…

I froze. Numberita identified it as the colour of the Bulgarian twins' runes.

Merlin, what was the Ministry doing? Did they know they were housing a volatile weapon? Worse still, there must be at least two hundred people in the hospital. If Patient 43B became uncontrollable, all those lives would be forfeit.

"You can't be here," Elise hissed, glancing over her shoulder.

I scrambled to my feet, frowning when she shifted to block my view.

"Elise, those runes...you have to move Patient 43B. Those runes can activate at any second, and from the looks of it, that's going to happen very soon. There are children down there - children and grandparents and innocent lives," I said fiercely.

She hesitated before shaking her head. "I'm sorry, Adela, but I have my orders," she said stiffly. She turned, opening her mouth to call to the patrolling Aurors.

My eyes narrowed, my shoulders bunching. "No, I'm sorry," I said angrily. Then, summoning my Beater strength, I barreled past the slim Healer, crashed through a cart laden with bloodied bandages, and wrenched the curtain to the side with a slash of my wand.

I caught a glimpse of shockingly familiar long brown hair before my eyes fell on the red-blue runes that stained every centimeter of Patient 43B's dark skin.

Then, seeing the trio of angry Aurors barreling towards me, I Apparated away.

Back at the Ministry lobby, Al stood rigidly, his back to the wall, as he scanned the Ministry workers, Healers, and MLE officers milling about. He held his wand tightly in his left hand, half-hidden behind his black trousers.

I stormed up to the tall Auror and, meeting his gaze squarely, pushed him roughly against the wall with my forearm.

Logically, Numberita knew he wasn't entirely to blame for the Ministry's poor decision making. He hadn't wanted to conceal Patient 43B's identity from me. He'd only been following orders.

Well, I was bloody tired of secrets, orders or not. This was different from trial details or minor security issues - Patient 43B's identity had changed everything. I smelled like burnt rubber, there was a large, ragged hole in my shirt, and we were about to enter yet another life or death situation in the middle of nowhere.

"Albus Severus Potter," I hissed.

He blinked down at me, a bewildered expression in his bright green eyes.

"What are you do-"

"Why in Merlin's bloody beard is Aleksandra lying unconscious in St. Mungo's?"

Author Note: ahhhh ugh yet another long break between chapters - I'm sorry! Thank you all for reading. You guys seriously brighten my day(s) c: