Published 11th of October, 2020
Temple Street Children's University Hospital
Early afternoon
Professor Neumann and Dr. Roberts were sitting in a large hall with nine other specialists gathered in at noon yesterday at the behest of Tony Blair. The Prime Minister himself was supposed to be at the hospital in an hour. Till his arrival they had to specify the type of disease and possible causes and, most of all, they had to find the treatment method. So, since yesterday morning, none of them had even gone to bed for an instant, but they kept going through the pounds of reports, blood tests, scanners, ultrasound scans, and the thousands others that arrived from the other hospitals. And they still had no idea how to heal all these people.
"We can give them a full blood transfusion," someone said in the room. "If it's an internal infection, maybe a complete blood change will help. And it certainly won't hurt."
Neumann drank a little cold tasteless coffee.
"By no means full. This will only increase the risk of internal bleeding. We'll kill them with this."
"So maybe partial?"
"Give them three pints, no more. But give them frozen plasma."
"We've been doing this since yesterday," someone else snapped.
Neumann sighed heavily and nodded reassuringly. Shit, that's really not what they needed now – to start fighting!
„Excuse me. I say everything that comes to my mind."
"I'm sorry," replied the same voice, much calmer now.
"From Paris, from the Pasteur Institute, a trial vaccine against Ebola will arrive in any hour" said the President of the National Medical Chamber.
"It IS NOT Ebola," Dr. Roberts objected.
Neumann tried to focus his eyes on the increase in leukocyte counts in each patient, but he just couldn't see anything anymore.
"Maybe it will help."
"At the moment it is not yet 100% checked! Vaccine-related deaths are up to five percent. Which means thirty people can only die from the vaccine! Even more. In their condition, anything will kill them!"
„Anyway, in a moment first people will be dead."
„Stop it!" Neumann hit the table with the report and stood up abruptly. Everyone fell silent. "Choose two people from among children, adolescents and adults and put them in a pharmacological coma."
And he left. Immediately behind him, a doctor from the Military Institute of Radiobiology and Atomics stood up, apologized to everyone, and also left the room.
Neumann walked slowly, tiredly, so the young doctor caught up with him very quickly.
"I'm impressed," he said to Neumann.
The professor looked glumly at him.
„May I know for what reason?"
They reached the men's toilet for hospital staff and the doctor opened the door for him.
„Because of this coma. You're right, let them get a good night's sleep. Nothing helps better than a few hours of good sleep." he reached into his pocket with his right hand and let the suddenly astonished professor pass in front of him. "Obliviate!"
The professor relaxed and smiled gently. The doctor took him to the disabled cabin and sat him on the toilet.
„You won't remember me. You won't remember anything from the moment we walked in here. Tomorrow, around eight in the morning, you'll have an idea of how to heal these people. You tell them to give them something ... 'he pulled out a piece of paper with a few words written in capital letters and read with difficulty „four-drip-e-lec-tro-ly-tes".
Neumann stared at him with empty, unconscious eyes, still with a small smile. The doctor leaned him against the wall and left the cabin.
He walked quickly down the fire escapes to the ground floor, where Gratus was waiting for him, dressed like a typical Muggle. Four large plastic containers for transporting medical supplies stood next to it.
„That's all?" The doctor said shortly.
"There was nothing else there."
"Good. Take it."
He spun on his heel and disappeared with a loud crack. Gratus picked up all four containers with difficulty and also desapparated.
Howden Dam
Early afternoon
Holding the torch that cas a wobbly light a few feet around, Peter pushed heavy front door to their makeshift apartment and entered a long, narrow corridor.
The low ceiling made an overwhelming impression that was even deepened by muffled sounds of his footsteps reflecting off the stone walls, ceiling, and floor. Everything was so ... close. Musty, sticky, pressing against him, panting against his neck, rubbing against his hand, walking right in front of him, step by step, far enough that he didn't see it, but close enough for him to feel it. With all of him.
The healed and murdered Muggle had joined the parade of ghosts tormenting him, and Peter knew that at any moment hundreds of others would follow him step by step. Innocent and defenseless. And if he doesn't hurry up, he would be joining them soon.
So when two days ago Gratus and the Old Man left him alone and left to administer the poison in a Muggle school (which Gratus did not fail to inform him with a disarming smile), he walked around the apartment looking for any way out. The only window, or rather a skylight placed high in a narrow niche, was out of the question. There must have been a spell working there, because he couldn't even reach it with his broom handle. Unfortunately, his knowledge of magic was so poor that he had no idea what it might be or how to get rid of it. The case was similar with the large keystone in the ceiling of the room they called the living room. The others had no openings except the door. Apparently, their apartment was arranged in prison cells in the basement of a castle.
Today Gratus and the Old Man had gone back to the Muggle world, so he looked more and more desperate for an escape route.
Suddenly, in dense darkness, a wall appeared and a black passage to the right, from which fresher air blew. Peter stopped and looked over his shoulder involuntarily. For a dozen or so dull heartbeats he looked for something to emerge from there, then looked straight ahead just as quickly.
For the first time, the black emptiness in front of him gave him hope ...
But this hope died as soon as it appeared. When he passed the narrow corridor and stood in what appeared to be a vestibule, he saw a large, double-winged iron gate that separated him from the stairs that climbed high upwards.
He couldn't tell how long the stairs were, for the torch showed only the first steps, but somewhere high up above, a gray loomed, as if a little light was streaming in through some hole. A door? A window? A real window?
He did not know it and it was not possible for him to find out. He sighed heavily, hung his head, and shuffling his feet he crawled toward his cell.
Sunday May 4th
Temple Street Children's University Hospital
07:00
Two male nurses hurried down the nearly empty ground floor corridor. The police cordon set outside effectively prevented not only onlookers and journalists, but also ordinary visitors from entering the hospital grounds. He also held back the families of the sick children and when yesterday just after four in St. Vincent's University Hospital, one of the operated children died, regular riots broke out in front of all hospitals. Eighteen more people have died since then, the people have raged, and soldiers from the British Army have quickly joined the police force.
The nurses passed the ward room and, without answering a soft greeting, turned up the dingy stairwell and went down to the basement that ran under the entire hospital and the adjoining laundry room. There were stores of oxygen, nitrous oxide and anesthetic gas cylinders, warehouses for clothes, drugs and medical tools, a dissecting room, the so-called cold zone in which thousands of bags with plasma frozen in liquid nitrogen are stored, and a hot zone where all samples of infectious biological materials.
The nurses briskly reached the drug storeroom, one of them looked around discreetly and tapped his wand on the door, which opened with a loud clank.
"Nobody touched them overnight." One of them pointed to four large containers. "What now?"
"We're waiting now," replied the other. "They should come for them any minute now."
More than twenty people sat in the large conference room a few floors up. Most of them kept their heads lowered to hide their helpless, blank stares not to look at the Prime Minister, who showed up at four in the morning, installed in one of the conference rooms, and had already made two doctors cry. Now he was questioning each of them again.
„Dr. Greenwood, is a lung transplant possible?"
The completely gray-haired doctor from the National Heart and Lung Institute in London removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose.
"No," he sighed excruciatingly. "Not in their condition. For a thousand reasons... First of all because it increases the possibility of hemorrhages. And we can't even puncture another cannula anymore, their veins just run out."
Professor Neumann was the only one who looked at the unfortunate colleague who had just hidden his face in his hands. Tony Blair continued:
„How can the risk of bleeding be avoided? Can you give them some tissue strengthening agents? Dr. Margaret?"
The woman jerked violently and opened her mouth, but no answer seemed to come to her mind. Except stating that what the Prime Minister was thinking about simply did not exist. There was no insulating tape that could be wrapped around each organ to keep it from breaking.
But it wasn't that stupid ...
„What is the condition of these six persons in a pharmacological coma?" Blair asked, giving the unfortunate woman a damning look.
Head of hospital began to reply hurriedly, apparently feeling that the sooner he was done, the sooner Blair would throw himself at someone else. But the monotonous reading of the latest research results made Neumann return to the Prime Minister's previous question. There was something in it ... he couldn't figure out what exactly touched a string in his mind. What worried him ...? No, not worried. It intrigued.
What could it be ...
"... Medical coma doesn't heal, Sir. It turns off awareness and the feeling of pain, so you don't need to administer large doses of morphine, which is destructive to the lungs. Consequently, it does not weaken the body."
Neumann grimaced with the effort. He had a feeling that every word spoken in that room is very important. It connects to this strange, alien thing that gripped him more and more, like some paralysis, and he couldn't get away from it.
„Any comments, Professor Neumann?"
Neumann did not even notice the Prime Minister's cold voice.
"Go on," he waved his hand at them. "Anything. You're doing well."
„Excuse me...?" The Head of hospital turned to him, surprised.
"Go on, Bill. I have the impression that ..." He looked up with the same grimace.
The Prime Minister quickly nodded to Bill, who began to continue his explanation in an uncertain voice, repeating himself every now and then, but no one paid any attention to it. Everyone was looking at Neumann.
The older man squeezed his eyes shut and once again felt something overwhelm him. The words were coming and going, and finally he stopped fighting this strange feeling and gave up completely. Tape? Strengthening the organs? Protecting them when the body has already given up, weakened by a long struggle with this strange disease? The tape did not exist, only the organism existed. Organism that was weakened, so it had to be strengthened.
Give it something to make it stronger.
"Electrolytes," he heard himself. "Give them electrolytes."
The Head of hospital broke off in mid-speech, and there was a deadly silence in the room.
Neumann did not understand what he was saying. It was absurd, but there was something about it that made him right.
"Get them an electrolyte drip," he choked out.
"Professor Neumann ..." Dr. Roberts said. „Are you okay?"
Only now he realized that he was holding an outstretched hand all the time, and he pulled it back as quickly as possible. But he couldn't take his words back.
"WHAT we have to give them?" Someone stammered in the room.
"Professor, could you repeat that?"
"But we're giving them Ringer's already ...? How can saline and Duphalyte help them ...?"
Neumann himself did not know how electrolyte compounds could save from death bleeding patients whose tissues were slowly dissolving and only thanks to morphine they could not hear their agonizing howls, but somehow KNEW it would help.
"Their bodies are terribly weak," he said weakly, and the lack of conviction in his own voice scared him. And the fact that he felt like something was speaking FROM him. "They've got everything they can: coagulants, colloids, fresh blood ... frozen plasma, thrombocyte transfusions ... but their body is so weakened that it can't absorb them. Maybe a dose of electrolytes will strengthen their immune system ..."
It was a load of rubbish, some scary idiocy. He had never heard anything like it before, not even from the stupidest students. Jesus Christ, what happened to him? !
"Let's try," he added defensively.
"But how is it supposed to stop ..."
"Stop!" Tony Blair slammed his fist on the table. „Are you sure, professor?"
Neumann just nodded because he was afraid to hear himself.
„Could giving them electrolytes harm in any way?"
"No," the Head of hospital muttered without conviction.
"Then pass them on to everyone" Prime Minister decided. "Inform the other hospitals, let them do the same. Immediately!" He added in a voice that did not allow any objection, and a few people immediately burst out of the room.
Neumann felt Dr. Roberts grab his hand and help him to his feet.
"Professor ... you haven't slept for two days, I think it's time to get some rest," she whispered pleading, leading him to the exit.
Neumann smiled slightly.
"You're right, Beth," he replied as she opened the door for him. „I think I'll take a nap. Nothing helps better than a good night's sleep."
He had a strange déjà-vu feeling as he said this.
Spinner's End
Early afternoon
They had dinner exceptionally at Snape's house. Sitting at the table, mindlessly pecking at rice and meat in gravy, Hermione peered through the small, dirty window outside, but seemed to see nothing. While they were working, she had forgotten the nightmarish news she had seen before leaving the house, but now it came back like a boomerang and struck even more forcefully. And although she knew it would be useless to mourn those people, she couldn't help but feel guilty.
Snape gave her brief glances, but couldn't find words that fit the situation. Memories came back to him too. The thought that the same horror would start was terrifying. Maybe because he didn't know if he would find enough strength to try to face him and persevere to the end.
„When you get home, wash ..."
"I don't want to go home," the girl replied immediately.
"Didn't I tell you not to interrupt me?" How good it was to go back to the old habit of snarling at others. As it once was. In the past.
The girl returned him blank look.
"I do not know. Probably you did. I'm sorry, sir." It didn't sound like an apology at all.
"So when you get home, wash your work clothes well. Tergeo cleaned all the visible stains, but not the vapors that penetrated the skin."
She nodded, took another bite of rice in her mouth and began to chew mechanically.
„Can I ask you something?"
Snape's mouth twitched.
"What's the point of asking stupid questions?"
"Why could I come back to your house a week ago? There weren't any protection spells?"
He looked at her for a long moment, as if weighing his words.
"Because recently ... you are the only living person who knows the Secret."
"Can you tell me who the others were?"
There was a long, painful silence. Hermione seemed to wake up and waited tensely for an answer, unsure if she didn't went so fat this time.
"Professor Dumbledore and Griffin."
The girl sighed heavily and pushed her half-full plate away. She remembered Snape's behavior after Chase's death, which she did not understand, and suddenly it occurred to her that perhaps Chase was his friend ...
She didn't dare to ask it, but the question must have been written on her face, because Snape nodded his head.
"Yes."
"Excuse me. Really," she whispered and blinked back tears.
Severus got up from the table, levitated the plates on the hob, and scooped the leftovers into a pot.
"Come back home," he said, placing it next to her elbow.
The girl jumped up and almost knocked it to the ground.
„Please, let me stay! Even for a moment! I could read ... do the dishes ... do anything ...!"
„Dishes ...? I don't need a house elf," he replied abruptly.
"I don't want to go home ..." She protested with a groan. „I was watching the news this morning and I don't want any more ..."
She looked at him pleadingly, so he suppressed a sigh and gestured her to the door.
„So go and read. You just have to be careful with books!"
„Thank you! I..."
"And you'd better hurry up, or I'll change my mind," he tried to snort, but it looked like he had failed.
When he entered the living room after cleaning up in the kitchen, the girl was huddled on the couch with a book. He went down to the basement for a while and returned with Sleeping Draught and Calming Draught.
"I think you better come home," he said softly and handed her both vials. "Take Calming Draught before going to work."
Hermione obediently took the vials, put the book back in its place, gathered her things, and went to the exit door.
"Professor ... please let me know as soon as you notify the Aurors."
He nodded, and the shadow of a smile flashed across her face, but it faded even before she went outside.
When Hermione got home, she quickly got her clothes ready for tomorrow, washed up, changed into her pajamas, and after a short hesitation, turned on Sky News. She just came across a report from the hospital; The reporter was just finishing explaining that so far, doctors had failed to discover either the cause of the poisoning or the treatment. The death toll had risen to twenty-eight, the others were in critical condition.
With one, like-convulsion move Hermione turned off the TV, threw away the remote, and quickly headed for the bedroom. She uncorked the vial and drank the entire potion hungrily.
A wonderful idleness and warmth overwhelmed her immediately. It started somewhere in the chest and slowly spread over her entire body, as if she had plunged into hot water. As it reached the top of her head, she felt her eyes close. She took a deep breath and collapsed into a delightful sense of security and peace.
Temple Street Children's University Hospital
4:00 p.m.
The door to the hall opened and everyone's heads turned towards the man entering. For the first time with an expression of hope.
"We got them," Dr. Zimmermann said immediately, waved a thick file of recent results and began reading them.
"The tests were done with a hemocytometer or a Coulter counter?" Someone asked as Zimmermann finished and slumped into the first vacant chair.
"Looks like the classic recovery from thrombocytosis," someone else noted.
"4000 for children is still far from the norm ..."
Tony Blair waved his hand impatiently to cut off a discussion he didn't understand.
"Does that mean no one will die anymore?"
„This cannot be eliminated. Their condition is so severe that there will be a risk for some time longer," Zimmermann replied.
"I want a specific answer to a specific question," Blair exploded. "Every time I hear "maybe", "quite likely" or "can't be eliminated"!"
Doctors looked at each other uncertainly for a moment, until Dr. Roberts spoke up.
"With all due respect, Sir. These are not machines, but people. Each of them is a separate case and each can react differently. We still have to wait and see how they react before we can say with certainty that the danger is now over."
"How long?" Blair pressed.
Everyone looked around at the others again, avoiding the Prime Minister's eyes. Finally, Benson from the Middlesex-London Healf Unit spoke up:
"By eight in the evening. If their condition continues to improve by then, we will be able to say with certainty that we got them."
"And that no one else will die?"
"Yes," Benson confirmed. "Nobody will die anymore."
Professor Neumann was staring somewhere at the table, not very conscious. While everyone else had relaxed, and though they had not yet enjoy openly, they visibly grew in hope, his fear grew stronger and greater. He didn't understand what was happening, he didn't understand it at all, and he was terribly afraid to believe it. What if it was some kind of mistake? Coincidence? What if ... this wasn't really happening ?!
But another research done an hour later showed progressive improvement. The condition of the patients, although still in the critical range, clearly improved.
At seven in the evening some of the patients began to regain consciousness.
Nurse Angel and Dr. Roberts were just checking the temperature of a thirteen-year-old girl when she gave a slight twitch. A second later she opened her eyes slightly and moved her lips.
Dr. Roberts glanced at the monitor screen and found pulse and blood pressure. Still far from normal, however, they were beginning to resemble human indicators, not almost-dead ones.
"She's trying to say something," whispered Angel.
"Take her respirator out, please," Dr. Roberts whispered, too.
The nurse hesitated, but finally unbuttoned the band under the little girl's nose as gently as she could and took out the tracheal tube. The little girl gasped, but let it out and took her first breath on her own. And another one.
The two women stared intently at the monitor, but her pulse quickened only a little. The little one moved her lips again.
Dr. Roberts leaned over her, his ear almost touching her lips.
"um ..."
„Yes?"
The girl breathed a few more times before speaking again. It was only a shadow of words, as fleeting as the whisper of the wind.
„Mummy?"
Dr. Roberts stroked her cheek lightly.
"Mom's coming to see you soon, my dear," she said in a choked voice.
„Drink ..."
But before she could do anything, the little girl closed her eyes and fell asleep.
„Did she say something?" Angel whispered.
Dr. Roberts nodded.
„She wanted to drink. And she called her mother" she choked out, leaned over the little girl and stroked her face for a moment. "Sleep, my little one. Everything will be fine now."
Then she burst into tears. Angel hugged her to her and cried out too.
By eight o'clock, all patients had improved so that they could all be disconnected from the life-support machines to reduce the risk of complications, especially pneumonia.
Tony Blair had ordered a press conference to announce that the crisis had been stopped, gave a short interview and went directly to Buckingham Palace, where the Queen was already waiting for him.
Although the result was terrifying - thirty-seven people in total died, including most of the children, but the doctors were glad that they managed to save five hundred others.
Everyone except Professor Neumann. When Dr. Roberts returned to the room with the good news, he didn't even smile, and an hour later he flatly refused to attend the journalists' meeting and simply left the room.
„Professor!" His assistant cried, and ran after him. "Are you feeling unwell? Something's wrong?"
"It's okay, Beth," he muttered.
"So what's going on? Are you not happy? You should be proud! You found a way to cure hundreds of people!"
Neumann stopped and looked at Dr. Roberts sadly. At this point he looked very old and helpless.
„A way to heal? Beth, you know full well it wasn't any way. It was a load of rubbish."
Dr. Roberts squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.
"Whatever it was, it saved them. And you suggested it."
Neumann shrugged and walked away down the empty corridor. He still didn't get it. They recovered from ... nothing. It was some bloody black magic for him. And not any medicine.
Hermione was asleep when all UK stations interrupted the program to bring back the latest and finally good news from all hospitals in and around Dublin.
Monday, May 5th
Ministry of Magic - Auror Headquarters / Powell's Lab
08:30
Sleepy Roger and Paul were swinging over the almost empty parchment when one of the ministerial messengers burst into the Quarters.
"Auror needed immediately in Leoncius Powell's Laboratory!" He called loudly.
Paul jumped in his chair, and Roger just sprang to his feet.
"Someone died there again ?!"
The messenger glanced at the brief note and scratched his head.
„I don't think so ... It doesn't look like a call to death ..."
Roger's expression showed that he was both curious and angry that it had happened right now. They were about to write a detailed report of the inspection of the Belfast park where the Dark Mark had appeared, and although no bodies were found, Gawain ordered them to go back and search the grounds.
Paul had no choice, he couldn't let Roger go with him! Whatever happened there, no one had the right to find out!
"Stay here and write, otherwise Gawain will get crazy," he said to Roger and reached for a light cape. "I'll go see what happens. Maybe Snape saw something again."
"Let me know if needed," Roger nodded.
„Sure, mate!"
Forcing himself to remain calm, he walked slowly to the door, let the messenger pass, and, waving his hand at his partner, left.
Bloody hell! What's happening?! Have they discovered that some ingredients are missing? Or maybe the night watchman remembered seeing that stupid cook and equally stupid security guard going there? Or maybe Powell or somebody else found out what was going on in Muggles and it reminded him of something...?
He apparated in front of the building, quickly passed the front desk check, and sat down on the couch to go through the yesterday's Prophet. Such a loose pose is sure to be a perfect cover.
At the same time, he secretly took a small vial of Reverserum from his pocket and took a decent sip.
Powell found him engrossed in deep reading.
"Good morning, morning ... And thank you for coming so quickly," he said rapidly.
"What's happening?" Paul asked reluctantly. "I hope no one is hurt? Because I was already scared!"
"No, of course not! We just found more traces, and it would be good if you could take a look at them," Powell reassured him.
But Paul felt like he was knocked hard directly in his stomach. We saw everything! There was nothing but a small spot of chocolate ?! You saw it! And checked it!
He followed Powell, trying to walk relatively slowly, though he wanted to run.
"You mean the physical traces or some ... let's say, premises?"
"Severus Snape will explain everything to you," Powell replied, walking upstairs.
With each step, Paul began to get a bad feeling.
It was definitely about stealing the ingredients! Tylor was a fool! Why he had to steal from others ?! He couldn't order everything?! It was so short-sighted!
As he climbed the steps, he tried frantically to imagine how to react. Feel disbelief? Ignore it? Or on the contrary? Maybe he can say he'll take care of it and do nothing?
They walked over to lab eight and Paul put blank expression on his face.
Snape stood by the wall and looked at the pile of cauldrons and bottles, which only confirmed his suspicions.
"Good morning, Professor Snape," he said, trying to be carefree.
Snape looked at him critically, and Paul got the impression that he was staring at him a moment too long. Or was it just what he thought?
"Bryant," he greeted him coolly.
"The messenger just said you called for Aurors," Paul said, and cleared his throat. "What are you missing?"
Snape raised an eyebrow and tilted his head slightly.
"Why should we miss something?"
Oh fuck! But it was too late to deny it.
Snape walked slowly over and stopped in front of Paul
"Why should we miss something?" He repeated. "You seem better informed than we are."
"Is that not why you called me? After all…" Paul looked surprised at Powell. "Judging by your concerned look at the ingredients ... and the cauldrons, I thought that was it."
Snape looked deep into his eyes and the Auror forced a smile. Don't even try, you son of a bitch. Just whisper Legilimens and I'll beat you on the spot ...!
Snape studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowing.
"What a Brilliant analysis," he finally drawled. "Now I am not surprised why you closed the investigation."
"Gentlemen," said Powell nervously. "Let's not argue, it won't help at all ...! Severus, please explain to Mr. Bryant what you found." Snape nodded slowly and pointed to the floor.
„Take a look at that chocolate spot on the floor. Right next to the sink, in case your astonishing perception fails."
Paul only managed to master his face with great difficulty. You checked over there too, fucking bloody hell !
"You mean to say ..." he heard his soft voice and cleared his throat. "That you haven't cleaned it till now?"
"Of course not!" Powell said indignantly. "We clean every week!"
"Why do you assume it's a spot from three weeks ago?" Snape asked in the same time.
Fuck fucking hell! Control yourself !
"Are you saying it's something new ...?"
"It is obvious, is not? We wouldn't be called for immediate Auror visit to the old spot."
Paul squatted beside the spot and bent low to hide his sudden concern. He tilted his head from side to side, pretending to be watching the chocolate closely and trying to focus.
A few weeks ago, Tylor said they wouldn't be coming here anymore. He was sure no one had been here anymore!
So if this spot is poison ... it couldn't have been made by Tylor's team, but by someone else.
Someone who knew potions very well ...
„When did you find it? And since when do you think it's been here?" He asked, struggling to get up from a crouch.
"I found it this morning. And certainly on Friday there was nothing here," Snape clarified. "I suppose someone got into the Lab on Sunday."
A cold chill ran down Paul's spine. From what the Old Man said, they spent Sunday with Muggles. Even if one assumed that Tylor broke his promise, they just Could NOT be here on Sunday.
All the pieces of the puzzle crunched into place like bones in a coffin.
"It's very good you called me here," he said. "I'll take care of it immediately."
After collecting the dried chocolate and explaining that he had to call for help immediately to investigate the traces, Paul forbade using Lab Eight until his return and ran out.
His head was full of questions, doubts, and completely chaotic ideas about what to do now and he had the impression that he would just go crazy.
He spun on his heel and Apparated at the edge of the lake that Mia had showed him. For a while he continued to jump frantically from one thought to another, but slowly he calmed down.
With the soft splash of water at his feet and the light waves rushing toward him, ideas finally came.
As Bryant and Powell left the studio, Severus pulled a Galleon out of his pocket, whispered Scribere, and simply wrote Granger, "Done."
Then he looked at the door and came back to the Auror's visit. Something was wrong, though he couldn't pinpoint what. From the very beginning, he felt some unease that he couldn't get over. Was that Bryant's behavior? His look? Tone of the voice? Or maybe his idea that some ingredients were missing?
But he was looking you straight in the eye. Besides, he had drunk Veritaserum ...
Apparently he must have misunderstood Powell, and seeing you look at the ingredients, he just said that some had been stolen.
But despite these explanations, the anxiety did not leave him at all.
Some soft voice told him that only he, Hermione Granger, and the killer knew about the theft of ingredients.
Stratford, North East London
Paul's apartment
Around 10:00
Paul unfolded in front of him the real Augie report he had hidden in a pile of ministerial papers and, taking a pen in his left hand, began writing a report on TODAY's analysis of the chocolate spot.
Most, including the ingredient list, he simply prescribed and went on to summarize.
"Sanguinaria Canadensis is classified as a Class A hazardous ingredient. It causes severe bleeding. In a larger dose, it is capable of killing even such strong animals as hippogriffs, thestrals, Erumpent and Graphorn.
At the same time, on contact with the snake's fangs it decomposes within a few hours and is impossible to detect."
He finished and briefly compared the two reports. He had failed to perfectly imitate Augie's handwriting, but only someone who had both documents in front of him could notice it. And he wasn't going to let that happen.
He glanced at his watch and winced involuntarily. It was time to hurry up.
Mia was not supposed to be back in a few hours but he had to go to the Ministry to calm Roger and ask him to finish the report himself, because he had to go with his wife to St. Mungo.
He shifted the quill into his right hand, took a blank piece of parchment, and wrote his report, based on a new findings from the Research Office.