My beta-readers, fredfred and InquisitorCOC, deserve a huge thank you. They helped a lot.


Chapter 79: The Cold

Northeast of Azkaban, North Sea, Wizarding World, May 15th, 2006

Ron was already wearing a hazmat suit, as was Harry, so they helped Hermione into one, then Sirius. Not that the other man needed much help - for all his complaining about 'having thought I'd left NBC drills behind', he still remembered the procedure.

"I want to come as well!" wizarding Luna said while they dressed. "You'll need another wand!"

"We'll need another wand here, in case other wizards arrive - or something goes wrong," Hermione retorted. "You're the only one able to detect disillusioned people."

"But…" The other witch closed her mouth with a pout as Luna put her hand on her shoulder. "Phooey."

Ron couldn't help it - he chuckled. Which earned him a rather pouty scowl. "Sorry," he said. He wasn't sorry - the witch's reaction to what they were doing, and what they were about to do, was just too…. too 'Luna', probably. And he needed the laugh, too.

"But will the four of you be enough to deal with it?" Luna asked.

"We just need to get the guards out - we'll stuff them in my bag to transport them," Hermione said. "Short-term, it'll be fine."

Ron nodded. Long-term… well, if the guards had to stay in there for very long, odds were the group had been killed, and the guards would've died anyway.

Hermione moved to the DMSO tank and waved her wand. A moment later, another tank appeared. Then two more. She cast a few more spells. "I've cast Extension Charms on the tanks, and I've duplicated the mixture inside. That'll be enough for you out here. We'll take the main tank with us."

Ron was already grabbing it. If things went bad, they could simply drown the entire prison in the DMSO mix.

Harry installed the replacement tank and hose while Ron checked the tank before strapping it on.

"Let's go."

Ginny piloted the tank to the top of the prison tower. Ron glanced down. "Courtyard looks empty," he said.

"My spell hasn't detected any humans," Hermione replied.

That meant no markers floating in the courtyard, Ron reminded himself. The spell didn't let you see the markers through walls.

"I feel like we're doing a prison break," Sirius commented as they stepped on to the ramp and jumped down on to the tower's roof. "Dropping down from a chopper into a prison."

"Usually, the prisoner climbs into the chopper," Harry replied.

"Not if they need to be busted out of a cell first," Sirius said, aiming his hose at the door leading into the prison.

"Focus!" Hermione snapped. "Lives are at stake!" She pointed her wand at the door and cast a spell. A moment later, the door swung open. "Let's go!"

Ron was the first one in and down the stairs. The room below was empty, but there was a body on the stairs leading further down. Grey robes - Hit-Wizard. Ron went past it, to secure the stairs.

"Still alive, but barely." Hermione was wrapping the wizard in a thermal blanket with heating pads, Ron saw when he glanced over his shoulder. Then she patted him down until she pulled a key out of his pockets. "He must be the commander of the guards here," she said. "This is the key to the dungeons." She stuffed him into her bag. Like a body in some D&D games, Ron realised with a suppressed chuckle.

"One down, five to go," Harry commented.

"Right." This wasn't the moment to make gaming jokes. Ron nodded and proceeded downstairs. Was it… yes. He checked the thermometer on his wristband. "It's getting colder," he told the others.

"Really? Damn, you're right." Harry said.

"It could be residue from the mass of Dementors outside," Hermione said.

That was possible. But Ron wouldn't bet on it. There were Dementors nearby - in the basement. He was sure of it.

They found a second Hit-Wizard - a Hit-Witch in this case - in the next room, near a broken cot and what looked like a medicinal cabinet. She was semi-conscious, mumbling incoherently through chattering teeth. And waving her wand around.

"Stupefy."

A red spell hit her, and she slumped over.

"Obliviate."

No witnesses, right. Ron moved on as Hermione treated and stored the witch. Two down. Four to go.

The next two rooms - an office and what looked like a guard break room - were empty as well. And it was getting colder with each step. Not yet cold enough for Ron to feel anything inside his sealed suit. That meant there were no Dementors close enough for their aura to work. So Hermione had been correct - this had been lingering effects from the monsters outside.

Two more rooms and stairs followed. Offices - but not in use any more. No paperwork, empty wastebaskets.

Then they reached the ground floor, Ron recognised the room from their visit. Another witch was on the ground, by the door to the yard. Shivering - she wasn't dead, not yet. But she was holding her head and whimpering. And she didn't even notice them before Hermione walked up and stunned her.

That meant they had half of the guards. And half were still missing. With the courtyard empty, that meant that the guards had to be downstairs. In the prison. "Let's hope they weren't as stupid as to enter the sealed parts of the prison," he said through clenched teeth.

"They wouldn't send their brightest wizards and witches to guard an empty prison," Harry pointed out.

"But not their laziest and most inept, either," Hermione replied. "Not after we blew up the pier."

And that had been his fault, Ron knew. If he had thought of another way to handle the Dementors, if he had managed to avoid getting detected… He gasped. "Dementors! I can feel their aura."

Harry and Sirius cursed as they pointed their hoses at the corners of the room.

"They must be below us," Hermione said. "There aren't any in here." She walked over to the door leading down into the prison.

"Careful." Harry took a step closer to the door as well.

"If there were a Dementor hiding behind the door, we'd have noticed," Ron told him.

"If the Dementors are so close, the guards must be dead already," Sirius muttered.

"We don't know that. And we have to check," Hermione said. She pointed her wand at the door, then used the key. "There was an alarm charm on it," she explained.

A leftover from before they had removed the prisoners? Or something hastily cast recently? It probably didn't matter. Ron took point, shivering slightly. At least if a Dementor attacked him, the others would get a warning. He heard Hermione lock the door behind them - couldn't risk those monsters getting out and reaching the others, if anything...

No. He clenched his teeth. He would destroy any of them before they got to him. If only he could see them.

He reached the first prison floor. No sign of the guards… wait! Something had moved in the corridor ahead. A broken bucket had just rolled…

He was freezing. So cold… Damn it!

He opened the valve on the hose and sprayed the corridor. A moment later, body parts - Dementor parts - rained down on him, and he had to shield his head with his arm. "Dementors!" he announced - too late.

"Bloody hell! I almost…" Sirius scoffed. "Damn!"

"But why were they in the corridor here, and not…" Hermione gasped. "There are more ahead! They must be… the guards! Expecto Patronum!"

The otter shot past Ron. "Stay behind me!" he snapped, moving ahead. He sprayed more mixture as he reached the corner, but nothing blew up. No surprise there - the spell would have driven the Dementors off. But better safe than sorry.

"Careful!" Hermione said. "The guards won't be protected by hazmat suits!"

And the cells weren't waterproof. But Ron wouldn't let himself be eaten by a Dementor. Or more than one.

He rounded the corner and saw the otter floating at the end of the corridor - no, not quite at the end. He sprayed the hallway down again. More explosions. One part hit his chest, but not hard enough to hurt. And he was still freezing.

"Is anyone left?" he asked.

"I don't see anyone," Hermione replied. "But… We need to check these cells!"

She started checking the observation slits on the cells lining the corridor. Ron moved with her. Walking helped with the cold - but not that much. He was still shivering despite the effort it took to move with the heavy tank on his back.

Empty. Empty. Empty.

"Nothing here. Nothing here."

"Dear Lord!" Hermione exclaimed.

Ron whirled and rushed towards her. She was already opening the cell.

"The three missing guards! They must have locked themselves in! But…"

She was inside before he reached her, wand weaving back and forth over the three bodies curled up on the floor. "They're still alive, but… we can't risk stunning and transporting them! I need to treat them here. They're almost… frozen."

They indeed looked frozen, in Ron's opinion. But humans could survive extreme cold - for some time. If they were lucky.

Not that anyone stuck in this prison was lucky. It was a cursed, cold forsaken place, filled with monsters and the dregs of society…

He gasped and checked the thermometer. It was getting colder.

No. "The Dementors are coming!" he yelled.

And the monsters were trying to cut them off - like they must have done to the guards.

"Expecto Patronum!"

An otter shot past him. Ron looked over his shoulder. Hermione shook her head. "I can't keep it up and treat them! It's no good!"

The aura was getting to her! "Treat the wizards!" he yelled, then sprayed the hallway with some of the DMSO solution. Nothing exploded. The Dementors weren't close. Not yet. "Hurry up!" he yelled.

"I'm doing what I can!" Hermione yelled back.

"How much longer?" Harry asked.

Ron released another spray of the DMSO solution. The water on the floor was starting to freeze, he noticed. "We need to push them back - we can't let them get too close." He started walking towards the stairs - carefully.

"The guards survived with the Dementors at the door, didn't they?" Harry said as he followed Ron.

"It's not them - it's Hermione. If the monsters get too close…" He clenched his teeth. They were trapped anyway. And anyway, Hermione wouldn't be able to save the guards. They would all be killed for nothing...

No! He released more of the DMSO mixture. It didn't reach the ground, did it? He turned his head away and raised his arm a moment before Dementor parts flew through the air again.

"Close!" he muttered.

"Too close," Harry added, using his own spray.

More monsters blew up.

"Step back - you've got limited ammo," Ron told him. His own tank was unlikely to run out. Not before he would die, anyway, swarmed by the horde of monsters here. Or frozen solid in the water they were spraying…

No! "NO!" he yelled, pointing the nozzle at the stairs and spraying first up, then down, hosing the stairs leading down to the lower levels. He advanced, up to the stairs. A good choke point. And the water wouldn't run back to the cells. Not that it would, anyway, with the Dementors' aura freezing it so quickly.

He stepped on some of their remains, crushing them under his boots. The ice that had formed on the floor cracked under his feet, too, as he sprayed more DMSO down the stairs. "Keep an eye on the upper stairs," he snapped. If any Dementors had managed to get past them…

"Ha ha ha - how?" Harry replied.

"Just spray it regularly."

"I'll run dry that way."

"Spray conservatively."

Ron laughed at his own stupid joke. But it helped. He was still cold and freezing - was his sweat freezing on his skin, trapped inside the suit? - yet…

Suddenly, he was pelted with a veritable hailstorm of body parts. Far too close and far too numerous to avoid. Or resist.

He was blown backwards, stumbling, and slipped on the ice on the floor. The heavy tank on his back pulled him down - and dug into his back when he hit the floor. This was it. This was his end. Dying like a fool for slipping up…

He should get up, fight, but it was all so pointless, anyway. Just delaying the inevitable. Harry was down as well. Not moving. All Ron's fault. Well, now he'd pay for his mistakes. For thinking that he could be useful, could do anything as a mere muggle, fighting the bogeymen of wizards. It was all so stupid...

He felt something on his head, gripping his cowl, lifting his face up, towards the ceiling. Then he felt… something. Almost peaceful…

"RON! Expecto Patronum!"

He blinked as a shiny, translucent otter shot past him, and whatever had been holding him let him drop back down on to the floor. That had… He gasped. The monsters had almost killed him! And he had let them!

He grabbed the hose again, pointed the nozzle downstairs, and just kept spraying DMSO down the stairs, baring his teeth when more explosions followed.

"Ron!"

"I'm OK!" he yelled back. "Save the others!"

He'd empty the whole damn tank down the stairs. Fill the stairs with ice - form a wall of ice! - to block the Dementors.

They wouldn't get to him again - much less past him!

"Get Harry!" he yelled.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Harry, still unconscious, started to float next to him - and Ron switched aim, shooting DMSO solution at the stairs leading up. It flowed back down, though - and slowly started to freeze.

"Harry!"

That was Sirius. Ron glanced over his shoulder. The older man was dragging Harry further back towards the guards. Towards Hermione.

Gritting his teeth so they wouldn't chatter from the cold, he switched targets again and sent more DMSO downstairs. No explosions followed. They must have retreated.

"How's Harry?" he yelled. If his best friend was…

"Hypothermia," Hermione replied. "Stuff some heating pads into his suit, Sirius!"

"Harry! Goddamnit, Harry!"

Would opening the suit expose Harry to the DMSO mixture? No, Hermione and Sirius knew what they were doing, They had to know.

He moved the nozzle around a bit. It was so damn cold. He could use heating pads himself. Why hadn't they stashed some inside their suits?

He was pelted by Dementor parts again. What was driving those monsters to charge towards certain death? Didn't they realise what was happening? Were they unable to? Or were they so desperate that death didn't scare them?

They had been starving, hadn't they? Oh damn - they were the only Dementor meal in range. Of course the monsters would come for them! But then, why hadn't the Dementors attacked the guards before? They hadn't swarmed the prison until after Ron and his friends had started to kill them.

He shook his head. He couldn't dwell on that. Not now. He had to focus on keeping the Dementors away.

The stairs leading downstairs were now covered with a thick sheet of ice. Ron doubted anyone could descend without slipping and falling - not that the Dementors were hindered by that, of course, seeing as they floated above the ground. But the stairs leading up to the ground floor were also covered in ice, if not as thickly.

"If only we had a flame thrower," he muttered. But that wouldn't help, anyway - the ice would melt and instantly freeze again, and the fire would contaminate the air, probably burning the oxygen, which wouldn't hamper the Dementors in any way, but would endanger everyone else. It was so unfair…

He gasped, then hosed down the stairs leading downwards. A Dementor must have snuck closer.

But no explosion followed. Were more of them massing? Could they use each other as living shields and just rush him? Have some soak up the DMSO while the rest advanced over their exploding corpses?

"Zombie rush," he mumbled. But with magic, he had a cheat code - an almost unlimited tank of DMSO solution. Still… it took some time for a soaked Dementor to explode. Not long, but it added up. If the monsters had enough warm - or cold, in this case - bodies…

"Hurry up!" he yelled. "They're up to something." Something bad.

"I'm doing what I can, but they've been severely affected," Hermione yelled back.

"Harry's coming to," Sirius told them. "Harry!"

Ron heard his friend groan something and smiled - with his teeth bared - as he hosed down the stairs leading up again. Harry was alive. But they had to go. And now. Before the horde swarmed him and then his friends.

He trained the nozzle on the stairs leading down and sprayed them. And was pelted with body parts. And again. And once more.

"Rush! It's a rush!" he yelled, taking a step back as he kept the DMSO shooting down the seemingly empty stairs. "I can't stop them!" He was just a muggle - and they were rushing him, faster than he could destroy them. They'd kill him, then his friends. And Hermione. And nothing he could do could prevent that. He might as well just give up…

No! He clenched his teeth and kept the stream up even as the explosions came closer and closer, body parts hitting him hard enough to send him reeling, stumbling back. He slipped and fell, landing on his back - on the tank, bruising his ribs and hurting his back - but he kept the hose pointed at the stairs, killing the monsters.

Something smacked into his head, and he saw stars for a moment. Damn it.

The next explosion was so close, it blew the nozzle out of his hands and threw him backwards. He rolled for about a yard, then came to a stop, the tank crushing the ice beneath it. Cursing, he reached for the hose, which was dancing around, spraying water everywhere. All over him, too. More explosions followed. He was hit once again by what felt like tennis balls. Tennis balls hit by Ginny. And his hand refused to work. His fingers just didn't want to close around the hose.

Snarling, he wrapped his arms around the hose, using his body to point the hose down the stairs. At the Dementors. DMSO solution ran down his suit before freezing. He could barely see out of his suit any more. And it was so damn cold.

But he kept the hose pointed at the enemy. Ignored the cold. The pain from the explosions. How he couldn't move any more, frozen to the ground. All that mattered was killing the monsters.

He kept moving his body to move the nozzle - to cover the stairs. Moving got harder with every moment - he couldn't feel his hands any more, and his legs were stuck. In ice, he realised.

His legs were covered in ice. Frozen to the floor by a thick sheet of ice. He could barely lift his chest any more. Every movement hurt and felt like trying to break something. Ice.

He kept swaying back and forth, frozen limbs wrapped around the hose, reeling from explosions and Dementor parts battering him. Something - some liquid - ran down his face. And froze. DMSO? Or blood? Did it matter?

He couldn't see clearly any more. Ice covered his mask and hood. He couldn't feel his arms and legs any more. And his head hurt. But he had to keep moving. Keep the nozzle moving. Keep the monsters from killing his friends. Keep the monsters from… from… He blinked. And couldn't open his eyes any more. His eyelids were stuck.

He kept moving. Blindly. Everything was so cold. So dark. So… so...


Ron blinked. Where was he? It was… it wasn't dark. But it was cold. No, he was cold. Or was he? He looked around. He was in a bed. In a room. In Hermione's tent. In their room.

And he hurt. Damn it, he hurt. Everything hurt. Breathing hurt. And his… his hands - his arms - were covered in bandages. As were his legs and most of his torso. There were bandages around his head as well. What the…?

"He…" He broke off in a coughing fit, which made his ribs hurt even worse. "Hello?"

"Ron? Is that you? Are you awake?" Luna - no, wizarding Luna - opened the door and stuck her head in. "Are you awake or having a nightmare? If you're having a nightmare, I'm not going to wake you up since Hermione said you needed rest."

"I'm awake," he replied.

"Oh! Goodie!" Smiling, she entered the room, then blinked and turned around. Sticking her head through the gap in the door, she yelled. "Everyone! Ron's awake!"

She turned back to him and beamed at him. "Hermione will be here shortly. She's currently busy flooding the dungeon."

"Flooding the dungeon?"

"She cast a Gemino Curse," the witch told him - as if that explained everything. Or anything.

"Ron!" Ginny arrived. She looked upset. And her smile was quickly replaced by a glare. "What were you thinking? You were almost frozen solid! If not for Hermione's magic…" Her glare was swept away by tears, and she started to sob.

Where was Harry? He should comfort her, shouldn't he? He was her boyfriend, wasn't he?

Ron blinked again. What was wrong with him? He was thinking… it was weird. And hard.

"Hey, Ron. Back among the living?" Sirius peered inside, with that fake cheerful smile on his face he used when he was trying to hide his feelings.

Ron nodded, then winced at the pain that caused. "Hurts, though."

"Pain's good. It tells you you're still alive," the other man replied.

Ron chuckled weakly at the stupid saying. He could do without the pain. But more importantly... "What happened? Where's Harry?"

"Harry's stuck in bed as well. Concussion," Sirius said.

"Oh." Ron blinked again. "What happened?"

"What do you remember?" Sirius asked in return.

Everyone was watching him. Waiting for his answer, Ron realised. But why? What had he done? He blinked again. "I was fighting the Dementors on the stairs. Blowing them up."

"Yes."

"And…" What had he done? Oh. "They rushed us. Rushed me."

"Yes. You kept spraying them, even when they were almost on top of you. And the water froze on the ground. And on you." Sirius nodded, now looking far too grim.

Ron moved his head to look at his bandaged limbs. It had been… Damn, it had been so cold. He had lost all feeling in his limbs. "What's the damage?" he asked, steeling himself for the answer.

"If not for Hermione pouring potion after potion down your throat, you would be dead," Ginny snapped. "And you'd have lost all your limbs."

"Oh." That was a sobering thought. Although… "And what did I lose?" Fingers? Toes? He could feel them wriggling, but the pain made it hard. And how many fingers and toes was he supposed to have anyway?

"Nothing. Well, almost nothing," wizarding Luna said.

"Almost nothing?"

"The tank - the water tank, with the hose. We didn't lose the flying tank. But you already knew that since we're inside it. So, even if we had lost it, we would've been lost with it."

His head hurt a little more. "I mean body parts."

"Thanks to magic, none," Luna told him. "But it was a near thing. I think Hermione had to regrow your fingers. Or heal them. She wasn't exactly coherent after treating you." He saw that she was biting her lower lip and very tense - almost trembling. It must have been a near thing, indeed, to shake her like that.

His eyes widened. "What time is it?" he asked. "And what about the guards?"

"They're all safely sedated," Luna said. "And it's noon."

"Noon?" And they were still on Azkaban? "What is the Ministry doing?"

"Nothing, as usual," wizarding Luna told him with a sneer. "Though, to be fair, they don't know what's happening. The guards aren't supposed to be relieved until tomorrow."

"That's stupid," he snapped. Leaving guards on Azkaban for so long? No wonder they hadn't been able to flee in time.

"That's the Ministry," the witch replied. "They didn't manage to sound the alarm, as far as we know."

He snorted. "And Hermione?"

"What about her?" Luna asked.

"Is she hurt?"

"Not physically," Luna replied. "But…"

"She's been at it for an hour, flooding Azkaban with DMSO and dry water," Ginny told him.

"She said to be sure that the Dementors are dead, she needed to fill the dungeons and all the other tunnels," Sirius added. "Which makes sense."

"She's been recasting the Gemino Curse ever since she finished treating your wounds," wizarding Luna told him with a smile.

Oh. That wasn't like Hermione. Well, unless she was obsessed with something. "So…"

The door to his room was pushed open, startling Sirius, who had been leaning against the door frame. "Ron!"

And there was Hermione. She was still wearing her hazmat suit, but she had pulled the hood back, and her hair had started to escape from her messy ponytail. She had rings under her eyes and blood - or something similar - smeared across her face.

Ron had never seen anyone more beautiful.

"RON!"

She rushed to his bed. He held his breath, trying to brace for… But she stopped at his side. "Ron," she repeated herself, more softly this time.

He smiled at her. "Thank you for saving my life. Again."

She opened her mouth, gasping, then closed it again. "It was…" She shook her head.

He heard her sniffle, once. And saw her swallow before she drew another, shuddering breath. Bloody hell - she was close to crying. That was his fault. "Sorry," he added.

"What?" She blinked, staring at him with her mouth open. Surprised. "You're sorry? It wasn't your fault!"

Like hell it wasn't. He had slipped, hadn't thought to fall back in time, hadn't managed to get up...

Her surprised expression changed into a familiar glare. "It wasn't!" she told him with narrowed eyes. "I should've been prepared for that. A mere conjured wall would've prevented them from reaching us."

"But their combined aura would've reached us," he retorted. "Like it reached the guards." He blinked. "Where are the guards?"

"Oh. We put them in an enchanted trunk. They're sleeping."

"Potions?"

"Yes, of course. We wouldn't risk them waking up and escaping." She frowned again at the insinuation.

He nodded. For a moment, they looked at each other without saying anything. Everyone else had left, he noticed almost absentmindedly. "I shouldn't have let them freeze me," he said in a low voice.

"You didn't let them freeze you - you were frozen because of the sheer number of Dementors, and their aura. And the water you sprayed them with," she told him. "I should've done something about that before you… before you were…" She swallowed, shivering, as she shook her head.

"Sorry," he repeated himself. That was his fault. If a wizard had been there, instead of him…

"Don't be sorry!" she spat. "You saved us all!"

"Harry almost died." And Ron almost died as well.

"And he would have died if not for you. Sirius and I would've died if the Dementors had reached us - or had managed to get close enough to freeze us through walls."

"Sirius could've killed the Dementors," Ron replied. All you had to do was to point the nozzle at the hallway and let the DMSO mixture do the rest.

She shook her head. "He hasn't had any experience with Dementors. He wasn't exposed to their aura until today." She leaned forward. "I had trouble focusing enough to save the others from hypothermia - and I've dealt with Dementors before. There were just too many." She sat down on his bed, sighing. "I should've been better prepared. We should have been prepared for such a…"

"Horde?"

She nodded. "Ever since the pier, we've known that the effect of their aura grew much, much stronger when they assembled in large numbers. But I didn't think there were so many of them."

"No one did." Least of all the Ministry.

"I should've prepared for the worst, though. I was too optimistic. Too…" She clenched her teeth. "And it almost cost us all our lives."

And their souls. "No one else expected this, either. Not Dumbledore, not wizarding Bill and Fleur, not Harry and Ron," he told her.

"I should've expected it, though," she repeated herself.

"You knew more about Azkaban than your friends who've worked for the Ministry for years? Or than the people whose job it is to keep an eye on the Dementors?"

"No, but…"

He tried to reach out to her, but his arm didn't cooperate. Instead of touching her thigh, the bloody useless limb only twitched. He muttered a curse under his breath.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing." At her glare, he added: "I can't move my arm."

"That's normal."

"What?"

"It's so you don't move too much and harm yourself. Most Healers use potions with that effect," she explained. With a wry grin, she added: "It also keeps patients from hexing each other - or disapparating without paying, or so I've been told."

"It wasn't like that when you saved my life the first time," he said.

"I wasn't using healing potions meant for the hospital. I was using the sort of potions that you use in the field to keep going."

"We're in the field right now."

"We're in a flying t...armoured transport. At a safe altitude above the island," she corrected him. "And you needed the best potions. You were..."

That was a sobering thought. He nodded. "Thank you."

"Don't thank me. It was my fault," she insisted.

"No, it wasn't." He tried his best to glare at her. "Let's make a deal: You stop blaming yourself, and I do the same."

"You'll stop blaming yourself?"

"Yes." Perhaps she was right, and no one else could've done better than he had. He didn't know.

She hesitated a moment, then slowly nodded. "Deal."

He sighed. "Good."

She snorted, then leaned over and placed a soft, almost chaste kiss on his lips.

He really wanted to be able to hug her, right then.

"What are we doing now?" he asked once she pulled back.

"You will be resting. And we are going to destroy Azkaban so it won't ever be used again as a prison."

"So it's time to release the Firestone Lice?"

"Yes. As soon as we have confirmation that the tunnels beneath the island have been filled, Luna will release them."

"I want to see that," he said.

"You need to stay in bed," she replied with a deep frown.

"So?" He grinned. "You're a witch, aren't you?"

She glared at him, any trace of guilt and self-recrimination gone from her expression.


Half an hour later, he was literally stuck to his bed, which was floating and turned so he could look down on the island. It didn't seem as sinister in plain daylight from about a few hundred yards up. Just a desolate, barren rock with an ugly prison on it.

"Ready?" Hermione asked.

"Yes! The poor dears have been going stir crazy," wizarding Luna said. She was straddling a broom, like Luna. "They're not meant to be kept in a trunk!"

"Release them."

Wizarding Luna flicked her wand, and a trunk floated out of the back of the tank and began to descend to the island. The Lunas followed it down, the witch keeping her wand trained on the trunk.

"Couldn't she have shrunk the trunk and carried it in her pocket, then restored it to its natural size once she reached the prison?" Ron asked.

"Yes," Hermione replied. "She said this way was less disturbing for the animals."

"Oh." That… fit the Lunas. He nodded.

The two Lunas reached the roof of the tower, and Ron could see the trunk being dropped on to it. He couldn't see any details, but after a minute or so, they were on their way back to the tank.

And behind them, a huge swarm of magical stone-eating lice was starting to reduce Azkaban to rubble and dust.

Good riddance.


Black Lake, Scotland, May 16th, 2006

Azkaban razed! Dark Wizards Take All The Dementors!

Ron stared at the headline of the Daily Prophet. "Isn't the Prophet supposed to be the mouthpiece of the Ministry?"

Hermione sighed. "I think that the lack of direct intervention by the Ministry and the time passed since Skeeter's trial have borne fruit. It's really unfortunate timing for the Prophet to develop a spine at this particular moment, but with first the Hogsmeade 'attack', and now the complete destruction of Azkaban, the pressure to report those blunders is too great."

"Ah." He reached for the cup of tea on the tray in his bed and muttered a curse when he pushed it away, spilling tea over his bed, instead of picking it up.

"Oh, let me!" Hemione flicked her wand, and the stains disappeared. Another flick refilled his cup.

"Thanks." He tried again, moving his arm and hand more carefully, and managed to grab the cup.

He took a sip, then put it back - slowly and carefully. "So, what's the diagnosis?" he asked.

Hermione blushed a little. Did she think he wouldn't catch her casting a spell at him? "You're healing up well. Your recovery rate is within the expected range."

"But I'm not yet healed enough to get out of the bed. Or eat a meal at the table." He shook his head - it hurt a little, but much less than the day before.

"Some wounds take time to heal," she told him. "Regrowing bones, for example. Or recovering from having extremities literally frozen solid."

He winced. Without magic, he'd be dead. Or a cripple. A temporary period of weakness was a very small price to pay for surviving this without permanent injury. Time to change the subject. "So, what's the Ministry's reaction?" After arriving at the laboratory, he had been stuck in bed and slept through until noon today, but he was sure Hermione had been in contact with her friends.

She sighed. "The Minister isn't amused."

Ron scoffed. He didn't care about Shacklebolt.

Hermione grimaced. "And there's been mass panic in Hogsmeade - apparently, a substantial part of the village expects another attack, this time with Dementors."

"What? Even though we dropped all the guards off unharmed at the coast? And haven't they realised yet that the Dementors are dead and not merely gone?" That was…

She sighed again. "Well, the guards were hurt before we healed them, so they might think that's just a ruse. And according to Harry, the Department of Mysteries is still working on identifying the parts we left behind."

They had expected that. But vanishing all the body parts hadn't been feasible. "And they'll suspect you once they verify the destruction of the Dementors."

"Yes." She turned a little and sat down on his bed, looking at the ceiling for a moment. "But without proof, there's not much they can do officially."

"They could paint you as a dark witch." He had heard the stories of her Harry's time at school.

"They can try. But that would antagonise Harry and Ron and my other friends. And it would antagonise me. Not the smartest course of action if they still want me to join them."

"They might not want that any more," he pointed out.

"Some won't," she replied. "But Croaker? He'll want to recruit me even more, now that I've 'proven myself'."

"That sounds like a quote." He narrowed his eyes, ignoring the small amount of pain that caused.

"He told Harry that he would like to recruit whoever destroyed Azkaban, provided they weren't a dark wizard."

"Ah." That fit Ron's impression of the old wizard. "What about the Lunas?"

"So far, people have focused on the absence of the Dementors, not the destruction of Azkaban. Although the International Committee for the Preservation of Magical Creatures has already urged the Ministry to declare the island a reserve for the new breed of stone lice discovered there." She smiled. "Luna's supporting the proposal, of course - she's currently writing an article to that end."

He shook his head.

"Of course, the Ministry won't do that. They're not that foolish."

"Let's hope not." If those things ever managed to escape and breed…

"But they will investigate. With a little luck, that'll take so long, the lice will die off before the Ministry delegation reaches a conclusion."

He nodded. "Let's hope. We're bound to get lucky one of these days!"

"That's not how probability works," she retorted.

After a moment, they laughed together. And Ron tried not to show how that hurt his bruised chest.

And he didn't protest when Hermione buttered his toast. Or fed him, one piece a time.

"Oh." She suddenly chuckled.

"Hmm?"

"I just remembered a similar occasion. Long ago. After Malfoy Manor."


The smell of fresh bread woke her from a nightmare. What…? She sniffed the air. Yes. It smelled like a bakery in the tent. And Ron wasn't in bed.

She grabbed her wand from under her pillow and looked around. She doubted that any Death Eater who managed to find them and get past their protections would try to lure her out with fresh bread, but… better safe than sorry.

"Hermione? Are you up?"

Ron! "I just woke up," she replied.

"Good!"

The door opened, and Ron walked in - a huge tray floating next to him. Croissants. Tea. Pain au chocolat. She felt her mouth water at the sight. And the smell. "Continental breakfast?"

"It seemed more suitable for breakfast in bed," he said.

"Where did you get all of this?" They didn't have most of that in the pantry.

"Muggle bakery in London," he replied. "I thought you deserved something special."

She knew what he meant. After Malfoy Manor. After Bellatrix. She sniffled, once, as the tray set itself down in front of her.