26. St Mungo's.
There was a moment's brief silence as everyone digested this command, and then a flurry of activity as they all headed for the portrait door.
The rest of the castle was eerily quiet as they made their way through the corridors, reinforcing the sense of urgency that seemed to permeate the very air around them. McGonagall's stride was quick but silent as she led the way to Dumbledore's office, glancing neither left nor right as her single minded determination led her towards help.
Ron walked alongside Harry and Hermione; all three of them looked grim, but Ron doubly so. They could see from his terrified expression that he was imagining the worst based on Harry's descriptions – which were of course undeniably reliable.
Judging from the vision, they didn't have much time.
"Fizzing Whizzbee," McGonagall said as they approached the stone gargoyle, who leapt aside immediately to grant them entrance.
From inside the room, they could hear dozens of voices speaking at once, as though Dumbledore had somehow managed to invite a large host of people to the school at such an early hour in the morning. Yet when they opened the door, the portraits were stock still and appeared to be asleep, though some snores were unconvincing.
Professor Dumbledore himself sat behind the usual desk, as though he had just been working, despite the fact that he was in a dressing gown. A few members of the entourage assembled began to question whether the man slept at all.
"Oh, it's you, Professor McGonagall...and...ah."
"Professor Dumbledore," the witch said without preamble, "Potter has had a...well, a nightmare."
"It wasn't a nightmare," Harry said defensively.
"We believe," Spock added, "that he has recently been telepathically contacted by Voldemort."
Dumbledore sat forward and peered at Harry in interest.
"I..." Harry began uncertainly, aware of the eyes upon him, "well, I was asleep...But it was no ordinary dream. It was real...I saw it happen...Ron's dad – Mr Weasley – has been attacked by a giant snake."
There was a pregnant pause.
Until, predictably, McCoy exploded again. "Does no one in this universe understand what an emergency is? We need to find him now!"
"Arthur is seriously injured?" Dumbledore asked the room at large.
All portraits seemed to strain to hear the conversation despite their closed eyes. No one was snoring now.
"Yes," Harry repeated urgently.
Dumbledore stood up quickly and crossed the room until he was facing two portraits. "Everard? And you too, Dilys!"
Supposedly sleep closed eyes opened immediately.
"You were listening?" Dumbledore asked.
"Naturally."
"The man has red hair and glasses," Dumbledore replied. "Everard, you will need to raise the alarm, make sure he is found by the right people-"
"I hate to say it," McCoy murmured, "but for once I think a transporter would be useful."
"Everard and Dilys were two of Hogwarts' most celebrated Heads," Dumbledore told them, approaching a magnificent looking bird. "Their renown is such that both have portraits hanging in other important wizarding institutions. As they are free to move between their own portraits, they can tell us what may be happening elsewhere..."
"But Mr Weasley could be anywhere!" Harry protested.
Dumbledore conjured up some extra chairs. "Sit down, all of you," he said, completely ignoring Harry's recent outburst. "Everard and Dilys may not be back for several minutes."
Dumbledore turned back to the magnificent bird. "We will need," he said quietly, "a warning."
With a flash the phoenix disappeared, leaving many mystified pairs of eyes staring after it.
As Dumbledore began fiddling around with an ornate silver box which showed a snake's head in green smoke, McCoy shifted restlessly.
"He'll need a medic now not later!"
"You have no tools or way of getting there," Kirk pointed out.
"There must be some kind of fast transport in this universe," McCoy muttered. "Even if I was forced to ride a turbo-broom to get to him, I would."
Meanwhile Everard had reappeared in his portrait, panting as though he had just run a great distance. "Dumbledore!"
"What news?"
"I yelled until someone came running, said I'd heard something moving downstairs – they weren't sure whether to believe me but went down to check – you know there are no portraits down there to watch from. Anyway," the wizard continued at Dumbledore's nod, "they carried him up a few minutes later. He doesn't look too good, he's covered in blood, I ran along to Elfrida Cragg's portrait to get a better view as they left-"
"Good," Dumbledore interrupted, aware of Ron's jerky reaction to this. "I take it Dilys will have seen him arrive, then-"
As if having heard him speaking, the witch reappeared in her frame. "Yes, they've taken him to St Mungo's, Dumbledore...they carried him past my portrait...he looks bad..."
"Thank you," Dumbledore said, and turned back to the anxious group. "Minerva, I need you to go and wake the other Weasley children."
"Of course..." McGonagall left swiftly, dressing gown billowing behind her and then moving out of sight as the door closed.
Dumbledore moved over to yet another portrait. "Phineas." There was no response. "Phineas." The man in the portrait stirred but did not answer. "PHINEAS!"
He gave an overdramatic jerk and spluttered about a bit. "What? Did someone call?"
"I need you to visit your other portrait again, Phineas. I've got another message."
"My other portrait? Oh, no, Dumbledore, I am too tired tonight."
"You're a portrait," McCoy snarled. "How in blue blazes can you be tired?"
"We are honour-bound to give service to the present Headmaster of Hogwarts!" A portrait cried, glaring at the unhelpful man. "Shame on you, Phineas!"
"Shall I persuade him, Dumbledore?" Another portrait growled, raising his wand in menace.
"Oh very well," Phineas snapped, "though he may well have destroyed the picture by now, he's done away with most of my family-"
"Sirius knows not to destroy your portrait," Dumbledore assured him. "You are to give him the message that Arthur Weasley has been gravely injured and that his wife – who no doubt knows by now due to her clock – children, Harry Potter and these three gentlemen will be arriving at his house shortly. Do you understand?"
"Yes, yes," the wizard replied in a bored voice. "Very well..." he slowly slouched away, looking untroubled by the night's events.
Phineas had just disappeared from the portrait when the office door burst open to admit the rest of the Weasley siblings, led by Professor McGonagall. All of them looked haggard and pale, their eyes wide with the news of their father's accident.
"Harry," Ginny immediately pounced, "what's going on? Professor McGonagall says you saw Dad get hurt-"
"Your father has been injured in the course of his work for the Order of the Phoenix," Dumbledore intervened. "He has been taken to St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. I am sending you back to Sirius' house, which is much more convenient for the hospital than The Burrow. You will meet your mother there."
"Are we going by Floo?" Ginny asked.
"Floo is too dangerous – the network is being watched. You will be travelling by Portkey," he indicated a bottle on his desk. "We are just waiting for Phineas Nigellus to report back...I want to be sure the coast is clear before sending you-"
A flash of flame exploded in the exact centre of the office, leaving behind a single golden feather which floated into Dumbledore's waiting grasp.
"It is Fawkes' warning. Professor Umbridge must know you're out of your beds...Minerva, go and head her off – tell her any story-"
McGonagall hurriedly obeyed.
"He said he'd be delighted," Phineas said in a bored voice. "My great-great-grandson has always had an odd choice in house-guests."
Dumbledore spared him a quick nod before turning his gaze back to the gathered group. "Come here, then, before anyone else joins us."
They all gathered wordlessly around Dumbledore's desk.
"You have all used a Portkey before?" He asked the students, who nodded. Satisfied, he turned swiftly to the three officers. "I am afraid that this will seem rather strange to you, but there is unfortunately no time for proper explanations. You must simply make sure that you are all touching the kettle."
McCoy eyed it dubiously. "It won't shrink us and suck us inside it when we touch it...will it?"
Dumbledore's mouth twitched ever so slightly, but the situation stopped him from the twinkling smile that he would otherwise have given. "Of course not, my dear doctor, but for safety purposes I do recommend that you hold on tightly."
"I'm not going to like this," McCoy complained, warily poking the object before him and then letting his finger settle there self consciously.
"How are we supposed to 'hold on tightly' if there is nothing to hold onto?" Kirk asked, pressing his finger next to Spock's.
"All shall become clear shortly," Dumbledore replied. "Now, before you leave, you must know where exactly you are going, since I believe you have not already been privy to that information."
"That is correct," Spock replied.
"Your destination," Dumbledore continued mysteriously, "is Number 12 Grimmauld Place. Unfortunately," he added when he saw Kirk's mouth open, "we do not have time for more discussion. Now," he turned to address the rest of the group, "are you all ready? Good. On the count of three, then...one...two..."
McCoy squeezed his eyes shut and started muttering something about exploding kettles and foolishness under his breath. Kirk looked torn between excitement and wariness, his blue eyes staring widely at the smooth surface beneath his fingers as though he was trying to see through it. Spock was the very picture of calm, only his glittering brown gaze betraying his insatiable curiosity and thirst for knowledge as he too stared at the innocent looking object.
"...three."
There was a loud and collective gasp as everyone experienced a powerful jerk right behind their navel, almost as though a fish hook was piercing them through the skin and yanking them forwards.
Seconds later and the ground abruptly disappeared, leaving them floating helplessly in crushing blackness, jostling each other as the kettle dragged them on a mercilessly bumpy ride that seemed to journey past infinity.
McCoy reflexively tried to tug his hand free, but found that it was glued to the kettle. Panic closed in on him as he realised that he wouldn't be able to control his inevitable fall, and he couldn't see...couldn't move...
There was a painfully audible thud as several bodies slammed into the ground at once, all of them falling to the floor after knees buckled with the impact.
"Back again!" A voice croaked from nearby. "The blood-traitor brats. Is it true their father's dying?"
"OUT!" Someone roared in fury at the rough voice. They all looked up to see a curiously small and wrinkled creature shuffling out of the room, glaring as he readjusted his filthy loincloth and closed the door less than quietly.
"...Ok," McCoy murmured, staring after it.
"He is a house-elf," Spock informed him.
"That...doesn't really help me all that much, but never mind."
"What's going on?" A man asked as he began helping the students to their feet. His clothes and hair were rumpled as though he had fallen asleep at daytime and had just woken up, eyes bleary and smelling slightly of alcohol. "Phineas Nigellus said Arthur's been badly injured-" He broke off as he caught sight of Spock's clothes, which had a Slytherin emblem on them. "What are you doing here?" He demanded.
"I am accompanying-"
"No you're not."
Spock allowed an eyebrow to rise. "It would appear that I am."
"No Slytherin," the man growled, "is allowed in this house. Not anymore."
"I hardly see reason to mistrust the Slytherin House."
"Oh really," the man said sarcastically. "Do you honestly think," he asked, advancing on Spock, "that you can worm your way out of this one, snake? Trust me, I know what Slytherins-"
"Sirius," Harry interrupted calmly, "he's with me – we can trust him."
"Harry, I know exactly what these...people are like, and I won't let you-"
"Sirius," Harry interrupted, voice slightly stricter, "he's with me. We can trust him – he's the one who helps control my visions."
"That's probably why you keep having them," Sirius spat.
"Why should I endeavour to continue Mr Potter's visions?" Spock asked in bewilderment. "That is hardly a logical course of action."
Sirius eyed him with malice. "You put up a good act, Snake, I'll give you that, but I'm sure there's plenty of venom just waiting for the opportunity to strike back."
"If we're going to have this argument," Kirk said wearily, "let's have it later. We have more important things to worry about."
"And you are?"
"I'm Jim Kirk and this is Leonard McCoy. That," he added pointedly, "is Spock."
"This is Sirius Black," Harry muttered when Sirius said nothing in return but stared at Spock as though he was a particularly repugnant insect. "He's my Godfather."
"Perhaps," Spock interjected, "it would be wise to formally introduce everybody under more appropriate circumstances?"
Sirius glared at Spock for a few more moments before finally relenting, albeit reluctantly. "Alright," he snapped, "what happened?"
"Ask Harry," Fred replied wearily.
"Yeah, I want to hear this for myself," George added, staring straight at Harry and making no effort to hide his curiosity at all.
"It was – I had a – a kind of – vision..." He trailed off at the sceptical looks he received from those who had not yet heard the story.
"As a telepath," Spock stated for the second time that evening, "I can assure you that he speaks the truth."
"Well isn't that a novelty," Sirius snorted. "A Slytherin supporting a Gryffindor..."
"Either shut up and listen," McCoy growled, "or I'll shut you up. Either way, this is an emergency and you'd do better to learn as much as you can instead of bickering like a school boy!"
Sirius stared at him but offered no reply, apparently seeing the logic in this though he didn't appear to like being told what to do in his own home.
"Go on, Harry," Kirk said quietly after the outburst had finished, offering him a small, supportive smile.
Slowly, haltingly, Harry repeated what he had witnessed, careful not to mention what had felt like a direct involvement with the snake. As he drew further and further into the vision, the stares grew harder and more intense, the words being drunk in with increasingly alarmed expressions.
"Is Mum here?" Fred finally asked Sirius.
"She probably doesn't even know what's happened yet. The important thing was to get you away before Umbridge could interfere. I expect Dumbledore's letting Molly know now."
"We've got to get to St Mungo's," Ginny said decisively, looking around at her friends' night attire. "Sirius, could you lend us cloaks or anything?"
"Hang on, you can't just go tearing off to St Mungo's," Sirius told them.
"Course we can go to St Mungo's if we want," Fred retorted stubbornly. "He's our Dad!"
"Mister Black is correct," Spock interjected. "It is impossible to leave at this moment; it would appear suspicious as you have not yet been formally informed."
"And you'd know all about suspicion," Sirius muttered.
"Not to mention," McCoy added, ignoring Sirius, "that the medics would be busy working on him and wouldn't let you in until they were sure he was stable."
"Or dead!" George said angrily. "What does this matter? We can at least be there-"
"-Out of the way-" Fred added.
"-For moral support," George finished. "Dad needs us there."
"We don't want to draw attention to the fact that Harry is having visions of things that are happening hundreds of miles away!" Sirius said angrily. "Have you any idea what the Ministry would make of that information?"
"You'd never hear the end of it," Kirk added. "You haven't seen the press go crazy until they really do go crazy."
"Someone else could have told us," Ginny suggested. "We could have heard it somewhere other than Harry."
"Like who?" Sirius demanded. "Look, your dad's been hurt while on duty for the Order and the circumstances are fishy enough without his children knowing about it seconds after it happened, you could seriously damage the Order's-"
"We don't care about the damn Order!" Fred shouted.
"It's our dad dying we're talking about!" George bellowed, equally as enraged as his twin.
"Your father," Sirius shot back, "knew what he was getting into and he won't be thanking you for messing things up for the Order! This is how it is – this is why you're not in the Order – you don't understand – there are things worth dying for!"
"Easy for you to say, stuck here!" Fred bellowed. "I don't see you risking your neck!"
"Think about what you're saying," Kirk implored. "You told us that Sirius is in hiding – he'd be killed too if he even appeared in public. Are you trying to attack him for staying safe?"
"You told them?" Sirius suddenly roared, glaring at each of them in turn.
"They're involved in this," Ron spat, "what do you expect?"
"You can't just go around telling everyone," Sirius snapped, "you don't know what they'll choose to do with that information. They could be Death Eaters for all you know!"
"Mister Black," Spock said calmly, "I assure you that we are trustworthy."
Sirius snorted.
"Show him your arm, Spock," Kirk ordered.
Spock obediently yanked up the sleeve to his left arm, revealing pale skin where green blood flowed, tingeing it a slightly different colour to that of a human. "As you can see," he said calmly, "I am extremely unlikely to betray you."
"You don't need a Mark to be on His side!" Sirius continued belligerently. "I've known..." he suddenly cut himself off and started his statement again. "I'd be out there fighting with everyone else if I could, if that rat Pettigrew and people like him," he jabbed a hand in Spock's direction, "hadn't put me where I am today. But I have no choice."
There was silence, but the twins were still glaring daggers at Sirius.
"I know it's hard," Sirius sighed after a few moments, "but we've all got to act as though we don't know anything yet. We've got to stay put, at least until we hear from your mother, alright?"
Everyone sat down, albeit reluctantly. Fred and George were still glaring from either side of Ginny, who looked shell shocked and dazed.
"That's right," Sirius encouraged. "Come on, let's all...let's all have a drink while we're waiting."
Spock opened his mouth with a look on his face suggesting that he was about to tell them exactly what he thought of this idea, but at Kirk's subtle shake of the head he restrained himself and accepted a cup, glancing at it dubiously before taking a small and delicate sip.
Everyone fell silent as they contemplated the fate of Arthur Weasley and the puzzling role of the snake in Harry's vision. It was obvious from everyone's alternately confused and concerned expressions that this would not be forgotten in a hurry, especially with Arthur's condition remaining unknown.
Sirius continued to stare across the room at Spock and did not deign to even talk to the Vulcan directly, or even go near him unless he could help it. Spock for his part remained stoically impassive, meeting Sirius' rash hate with cool and logical fact. Harry glanced helplessly between the two, the divide clear upon his face. On the one hand, he had begun to grow slightly closer to Spock after the detentions and mind melds, but there was a deeper sense of loyalty to Sirius, his last living relative aside from the Dursleys. Needless to say, the atmosphere soon became tense.
Almost as though Fate could read everyone's thoughts, a flash lit up the room and a single scroll along with a golden feather fell onto the table.
Sirius snatched it up. "Fawkes! That's not Dumbledore's writing – it must be from your mother – here..."
George snatched the parchment, tugged it open and began to read aloud. "Dad is still alive. I am setting out for St Mungo's now. Stay where you are. I will send news as soon as I can."
He looked slowly around the table. "Still alive...but that makes it sound..." he didn't finish.
Ron blanched and swallowed convulsively, his eyes devoid of the humour which usually resided there. The twins had turned to sombre statues, the letter dangling from George's hand as though his fingers could not bear to hold its weight. Ginny sat between them, eyes dry but hands trembling, obviously trying to keep her composure for the sake of everyone involved.
Harry sat to the side and slightly away from Ron, as though he couldn't bear to be so close to someone whose father he had just seen almost murdered by his own hand. His eyes travelled listlessly back and forth as though silently replaying the vision in his head, trapped forever inside the cold, unrelenting skull as it struck a man he respected. With this new news, all worries of the conflict between Spock and Sirius had been forgotten.
The three officers sat deadly still, each of them understanding – remembering – the emotions that accompanied such a traumatic intermission. They had each been in this position when one or the other had been lying motionless in sick bay, the beep of the machines around them the only thing that stopped them from slipping quietly into death. Yet they had always come back, had always lived to fight another day.
They could only hope that Arthur Weasley would do the same.
No one talked but to discuss the outcome, though the stilted conversation swiftly died out after this point. The rest of the time the room was eerily quiet; so much so that every movement seemed to echo around and through the furniture.
Shadows slowly crept across the room, fingering Fred's sleep lolled head with an almost hidden menace. Light illuminated Ron's pale and hunched features, his face impossible to see from behind the barriers his hands had created.
The seconds trickled by like days, years. Everyone had aged indeterminably – it was impossible to know what hour of the day it was, or even remember which day. If it wasn't for the ever increasing shadows and puffs of breath as others began to fall into an uneasy dose, time could have stopped.
A door creaked open, the sound so incongruous to the setting that it was enough to set the routine of time pulsing again. A pale but wanly smiling Mrs Weasley shuffled into the room, looking exhausted but mercifully relieved.
"He's going to be alright," she said softly, as though saying it so quietly would prevent it from being proven wrong. Hope, shrouded and almost crippled by exhaustion and shock, danced almost imperceptibly in her voice.
"He's sleeping," she continued. "We can all go and see him later. Bill's sitting with him now; he's going to take the morning off work."
"Thank God," McCoy breathed, breaking the silent spell that everyone else had been locked in. Mrs Weasley looked at him curiously, obviously not recognising him. "Leonard McCoy, ma'am. This is Jim Kirk and Spock."
"A Slytherin..."
"Good God man not this again!" McCoy snapped.
Mrs Weasley shot a stern glance at the sulking godfather. "I've heard about your arrival," she said, turning back to the officers. "It was the first thing that everyone wrote in their letters...it seems you're quite a novelty at Hogwarts."
Sirius snorted and shot a glance at Spock's ears. "No doubt about that."
"Well," Mrs Weasley chirped with forced cheerfulness, "I'm starving." She looked pointedly at Sirius.
"Breakfast!" Sirius bellowed half heartedly above the excited murmurings, jumping from his slouched position and walking towards the door. "Where's that accursed house-elf? Kreacher! KREACHER!"
There was no answer.
"That can't be good," McCoy muttered.
"Oh forget it then," Sirius grumbled, not hearing the physician. "So, it's breakfast for everyone...bacon and eggs, I think-"
"Spock's a vegetarian," Kirk interrupted since Spock had not said anything.
"You can trust him to be difficult," McCoy added, hoping to lighten the tense mood.
"I am hardly able to alter my dietary requirements to adhere to your personal preferences, Leonard."
"One cereal and toast then," Sirius snapped to anyone was listening, walking out to the kitchen.
Mrs Weasley strode over to Harry and in one swift movement had him trapped in a stifling embrace. "I don't know what would have happened if it hadn't been for you, Harry," she gushed.
From what little they could see of Harry's face, they noticed embarrassment and guilt.
"They might not have found Arthur for hours, and then it would have been too late, but thanks to you he's alive and Dumbledore's been able to think up a good cover story for Arthur being where he was...you've no idea what trouble he would have been in otherwise," she rambled, "look at poor Sturgis..."
She finally released her strangle hold on Harry and instead unleashed her enthusiastic gratitude upon Sirius, who smiled and accepted it gracefully.
"Are you alright?" Kirk asked quietly.
Harry nodded, but studiously avoided the older man's eyes. "It was just..." he waved his hand lamely in the air before letting it fall back to his side in defeat. He turned instead to watch the happy celebration in the room, a mix of pain and relief washing over his features.
"You were not responsible," Spock said gently, his keen hearing having allowed him to overhear the exchange.
"You saw what happened in my mind," Harry said miserably. "It was me – I did it."
Spock shook his head in negation. "That is incorrect, Harry." At the soft use of his first name, Harry looked up in silent shock. "The snake was in a completely separate location."
"But I was there...I-"
"You were," Spock said, "and that is the distinction. You were there, but not responsible. You had no control over the actions of the snake – if you had, you would have not allowed it to cause Mr Weasley injury. You were merely a spectator."
"I could still have stopped it," Harry argued, "I saw it all, I knew it would happen..."
"You did not possess the ability. Substantial psychic energy is required to control another living being over such an extensive distance. In its untrained state, your mind reacted the only way possible – it awoke."
"Letting you warn us and save Arthur's life," Kirk added.
"No other course of actions was available to you," Spock finished. "Considering the circumstances, it is my belief that you performed admirably."
"Don't say that," Harry whispered painfully.
Kirk laid a tentative hand on the boy's tense shoulder. "Harry, it's natural for you to feel guilty, but you're not. You could have just as easily ignored the dream."
Harry stared at him in undeniable horror.
"Exactly," Kirk said. "You didn't. Instead, you helped him – saved his life. Mrs Weasley is right; without you, Arthur would be dead right now."
Harry did not look entirely convinced, but they were relieved to see that at least some of the tension and guilt had eased from him. Only time could tell whether or not he would realise that he had done the right thing.
Everyone soon drifted into a well fed and relieved sleep, though both Harry and Spock were a notable exception to this rule. Harry could be seen by the light of the window, sitting hunched over and staring at the blanket in his lap, eyebrows furrowed as he went over what Kirk and Spock had told him earlier.
Spock by contrast appeared to be watching the sky through the thin curtains, his gaze remaining fixed in one place, as though he could see Voldemort from the planet and work out what the evil wizard would do next. Once or twice he broke his stupor and allowed his gaze to drift consideringly over to Harry, who never moved.
When everyone eventually awoke, Harry seemed to shake himself and stretch, yawning in a convincing display of sleepiness. McCoy eyed him in suspicion, seeing right through the ruse, but knowing that it would only add to the boy's turmoil to ask him to repeat his thoughts out loud.
Shaking out their sleep deadened limbs, they all trooped over to recently arrived Hogwarts trunks, which thankfully provided everybody with clean clothes. Clearly, Dumbledore had been thinking ahead.
McCoy sighed in contentment as he laid his robes on a nearby chair and slouched around the room in comfortable Muggle clothes. "Much better..."
"What's wrong with robes?" Kirk asked innocently.
"They're worse than our damn dress uniforms, Jim. I feel like a bat with its neck in a cast."
"You should see dress robes then," Fred said helpfully.
"They're ten times worse than normal ones," George added.
"Especially if you have to dress in pink frilly ones," Fred snickered.
Ron went bright red. "You said you'd stop mentioning that!"
"No can do little bro."
"It's just too funny," George added.
"We want it to go down in history," Fred said.
"I see no logic in attaching pink frills to a robe intended for a male."
"I'm pretty sure they weren't for men," Ron muttered savagely.
"Then for what purpose did you, a male student, purchase them?"
"I didn't," Ron answered. "My Mum did."
"I thought they were lovely," Mrs Weasley interjected.
"They brought out the colour of your cheeks, Ronald," Fred mimicked, receiving an admonishing look from his mother.
"That's quite enough."
"Aw Mum, we were only joking," George said.
"I should have donated them to Umbridge," Ron muttered miserably. "At least she likes pink..."
Mrs Weasley pursed her lips at him. "Perhaps if you'd agreed to come shopping with me," she said pointedly, "this would never have happened."
"I think he's learned his lesson, Mum," George said wickedly.
"Never again," Ron groaned, to everyone's amusement.
"I feel for you," McCoy chuckled, "I really do."
The front door thumped open loudly and a sudden shrieking made them all jump.
"MOODBLOODS AND FILTHY BLOOD TRAITORS!"
"What?" McCoy bellowed over the noise.
"I have no idea..." Kirk mouthed.
"DIRTY SCUM BLEMISHING THE HOUSE OF MY ANCESTORS! HOW DARE YOU EVEN SET FOOT IN THIS HOUSE?"
"I told you to be quiet when you come in the front door!" Sirius bawled over the enraged howling.
"I couldn't exactly be seen out there!" A voice yelled back. "Constant vigilance-"
"MOODY!" Everyone chorused.
"...WHAT?" McCoy repeated.
"We'll explain when Mrs Black has calmed down a bit..." Harry roared.
"Mrs Black is here? Why didn't she say so?" McCoy asked.
"It's a bit hard when you're dead."
McCoy stared at George as though he was insane.
"...AFTER ALL THE WORK I DID TO BUILD UP THIS FAMILY'S REPUTATION! MY GOOD FOR NOTHING FILTHY SON BRINGS HOME BLOOD TRAITORS; IF YOUR FATHER COULD SEE THIS HE'D BE SPINNING IN HIS GRAVE!"
"I believe," Spock said, totally straight faced, "that she is slightly vexed."
McCoy rolled his eyes. "You don't say."
"-YOU DARE CLOSE THAT CURTAIN ON ME! I'M NOT FINISHED WITH YOU-"
There was an abrupt and sudden silence.
McCoy rubbed his ears and shook his head. "I think I've gone deaf."
"I beg your pardon, Leonard?"
"Very funny," McCoy snapped.
Spock frowned at him. "It would appear that my ears have been temporarily damaged by the incessant screaming."
McCoy swore. "Damn, your ears are more sensitive. Come over here," he ordered, dragging Spock into a light and not really giving him any choice in the matter, "and let me have a look at them."
"How do you propose to do so with no medical equipment?"
"...Damn."
Moody focussed his swivelling eye on Spock warily. "You have pointed ears," he stated.
"That is correct," Spock said loudly.
"Why?"
"I beg your pardon?"
"Why," Moody growled, "do you have pointed ears?"
Spock stared at him. "I apologise-"
"Don't tell me you can't hear me boy!" Moody roared.
"I think he can now," Ron muttered.
"I can at this moment in time, however the task was difficult when you insisted upon growling," Spock replied, still speaking loudly enough to be addressing someone down the street.
"You don't need to shout." Spock didn't reply, so Moody sighed and rolled his good eye, saying his next words loudly and clearly. "Why have you got pointed ears?"
"I was born with them. They are a typical feature of my race."
"Which is?"
"Vulcan."
"A what?"
"A Vulcan," Spock replied, frowning. "Is the volume of my speech unsatisfactory?"
"It's a bit too satisfactory," Moody growled. "Oh never mind..." he said when he realised Spock hadn't heard him. "I'll ask your two friends here for the information I need, since obviously you're deaf as a bat."
"That is a common misconception," Spock pointed out loudly. "Bats are in fact not deaf as they navigate using sonar which, quite evidently, requires the capacity to-"
"Right," Moody said loudly, "maybe you'll be able to tell me who or what a Vulcan is?"
"A Vulcan," Kirk replied, "is a member of a race from the planet Vulcan."
"He's an alien?" Moody demanded suspiciously.
"In effect, yes."
"I'll have to ask Dumbledore to verify that."
"Of course," Kirk replied, "but perhaps we should do this later? We have to get to the hospital after all."
"Are you trying to side track me, boy?" Moody demanded.
"Alastor," Sirius chuckled, "this can wait until we have a spare moment."
Moody hesitated, but then stomped over to Spock and belligerently shoved a finger into the Vulcan's face. "Don't think I've forgotten about you," he growled, eye whizzing madly.
"Understood," Spock replied at normal volume, his ears having apparently recovered.
"Is your eye supposed to do that?" McCoy asked warily.
Moody eyed him and McCoy winced. "Why else would I have it?"
"It lets him see through things," Sirius explained. "Really valuable in the field. He's an ex-Auror."
"Alastor Moody," the man said, thumping his strange bowler hat back onto his head, tilting it so that it would cover his eye.
"...Pleased to meet you," McCoy said, still wary.
"I'm James T Kirk, this is Mister Spock and Doctor McCoy."
"A Doctor?" Moody boomed. "Tell me – do you still cut people open?"
"No! Well...not as barbarically as people these days do."
"They're from the future," Harry explained.
Moody stared at them dubiously. "I see," he said finally, not sounding like he saw at all.
"It is true," Spock said calmly.
"IDIOT GIRL!" The voice suddenly shrieked again.
"Tonks has arrived," Moody said wryly as they heard a clatter as something fell over. "That girl needs to learn stealth. In this day and age that type of mistake can get you killed. The competence of these training courses, I don't know..." He stomped off into the hallway muttering to himself.
"I'm sorry!" A female voice shouted to anyone who was able to hear over the shrieks. "I didn't mean to – that one always seems to trip me over..."
"BUMBLING FOOL!"
"This might take a while," Harry muttered, but his voice was largely drowned out.
"SHUT UP!" Sirius roared from somewhere out of sight.
"DON'T TELL ME TO SHUT UP YOU INSOLENT LITTLE PIECE OF-"
"And there was me thinking that dead people couldn't swear," George said as Mrs Black let forth an impressive spewing rant.
"I quite agree George," Fred said. "Such a bad example," he shook his head in mock distaste and then grinned.
The screams abruptly cut off once more and a young woman with bright hair entered the room, cheeks glowing red with embarrassment at her entrance.
"Wotcher, everyone," she said.
"Hey Tonks," Harry replied on behalf of everyone's welcoming grins.
Sirius came back into the room and gestured at the three officers in turn, rattling off their names as he went. "This is Jim Kirk and Doctor McCoy."
"I am Spock," the First Officer added after a brief raised eyebrow at Sirius' childish behaviour.
"Right, everyone ready to leave?" Sirius asked. At everyone's nods they walked quietly out of the house – mercifully unaccompanied by Mrs Black's overzealous insults – and trooped to the Underground.
Where McCoy promptly felt lost.
"This way Bones," Kirk admonished, having caught sight of McCoy lagging behind in the crowd and getting shoved along in a different direction.
"I'm coming damn it!" McCoy scuttled along, scowling. "How does anyone know their way around here anyway?"
"The signs," Kirk replied, pointing.
"Oh now I see them."
"You should check your eyes, Bones," Kirk teased.
"I'm a doctor, not an optician."
"You could be both."
"And lose my favourite catch phrase?" McCoy replied with a teasing grin. "Never."
A small group of young people were walking towards them; paper held out and nervously expectant looks on their faces.
"Are you lost?" McCoy asked, hoping they weren't since he was as well and had no hope at all of giving them directions.
One of them stepped warily forward. "We just want your autograph and a photo."
"Autograph?" Kirk repeated blankly.
"...And a photo," the man added.
The man thrust his piece of paper into their faces. "For Star Trek."
Spock raised a challenging eyebrow at them. "We are not the actors responsible for Star Trek."
"You look pretty close though," someone else piped up, "you even have the ears, for crying out loud!"
"Ah..." Kirk said, "that...was an accident. With a mechanical rice picker."
"Mechanical rice picker?" McCoy asked.
Kirk shrugged. "It was in Sp-" he gave the group a quick glance and hastily corrected himself, "Selek's...memories. I'll explain some other time."
"So will you do it?" The spokesman asked.
"Absolutely not!" McCoy said vehemently.
"It would be fun," he said enticingly.
"We have a train to catch," Kirk said shortly, "but maybe I could keep a copy of that photo of the cast you have there?"
"Sure. We have enough of them anyway," he handed over the photo and then walked away with the group in the direction of another train.
"Curious," Spock murmured, watching them leave with an almost distracted expression on his face.
"What is?" McCoy asked.
"It would appear that, unlike in other universes where one would expect to encounter a replica of oneself, we exist merely in the form of a television programme."
"The universe is a crazy, crazy place," McCoy said.
"It is illogical," Spock continued, "to attempt to mimic the conditions of space travel while living on a planet. I am certain that the scenarios will be strewn with inaccuracies."
"Do I really look like that in the TV show?" Kirk interrupted, holding the photo up and squinting at it as they caught up with the magical entourage.
"Of course not," McCoy scoffed, "that's only why there's a photo of you looking like that...though maybe Spock could do with some of those muscles," he added, nodding at the counterpart in the photograph. "He looks a bit weedy now."
"I fail to comprehend why you insist upon poorly constructed similes when in my presence."
"You're just insulted that I likened you to a plant," McCoy teased as they reached the platform.
"I am not."
McCoy rolled his eyes at him. "Whatever. So where's the train that's going to come along and poison our air so that our lungs fill with soot and we suffocate?"
"If you are referring to the early models of a locomotive which required steam to function," Spock said, "then you have failed to board it."
"By a long time," Ron interjected.
"If, however, you are referring to the more refined model then it should arrive shortly. Contrary to your expectations, this locomotive will not be directly responsible for your demise."
"What about indirect?"
"It is plausible," Spock conceded, "that although this vehicle is currently in the Underground sector, it will later journey to open countryside, with you remaining a passenger. Considering the fact that there may be numerous bridges for the train to cross and that some of these may be unstable structures, your demise could occur in this manner. It would not be directly the fault of the railway, but it is linked to the vehicle."
"Well isn't that good to know?" McCoy growled as the train came shuddering to a halt in front of them.
McCoy reached the doors first, and promptly stood in front of them with a lost and confused expression, people jostling at him impatiently from behind.
"How do you get on these damn things?"
"Push the bloody button!" Moody bellowed at him impatiently.
"Which button?"
A harried looking business man reached past McCoy and pressed a flashing button, causing the doors to leap open and everyone to shuffle inside, where they stood as no seats were available. The air was stiflingly hot underground, despite the weather outside; until a few people had miniscule beads of sweat forming on their foreheads.
Moody glared at the three officers and muttered something about being inconspicuous and vigilant before moving over to where the students were standing, trying to understand the concept of electricity. They were of course receiving several weird looks, but this went largely unnoticed.
"...But how can it travel through a wire?" Ron asked, frowning. "You just told me these people don't use magic."
"They don't!" Harry said in exasperation. "They get the current to move along a wire and into the motor...don't touch that," he added when Ron reached out to pull a lever, "that's for emergencies..."
"Oh," Ron muttered, but soon forgot this mistake as he looked around him once more. "This electricity thing is bloody brilliant."
"A bit annoying though," Fred said.
"And inconvenient," George interjected. "You'd have to take leads everywhere..."
"How do they use things when there's no electricity around?" Ron asked after a beat of silence. "Do they have back up hand operated machines or what?"
"Ron, it's called a battery," Harry said quietly, "and I'll tell you more about it when we get back..." he gave Moody, who was glaring at them, an innocent grin.
Moody snorted and stared out the window despite the fact that there was nothing to see in the tunnel. The conversation turned to less incriminating things on the part of the students, before McCoy decided to take over for the officers.
"These things a worse than shuttles," McCoy groaned.
"Shuttles," Kirk explained to a woman who was looking at them with a worried expression. "You know, the..."
"Buses," Spock supplied at Kirk's floundering look.
"Buses," Kirk continued not-so-smoothly, "that go from point A to point B but never to C? ...Never mind," he said when she just blinked at him and stepped back a pace.
He turned back to his two friends. "You'd think we were from outer space or something."
"We are."
"Spock," McCoy hissed when the woman's eyebrows twitched, "Jim was trying to make us appear normal. He doesn't need you jumping in and ruining it."
"I apologise, Leonard, however it is unlikely that these passengers will ever consider us 'normal' given the level of attention that my ears are currently receiving."
"Trust you to be conspicuous."
"This is the part where you say, 'I do my best'," Kirk quipped to Spock.
"That is a false statement as I do not endeavour to the best of my abilities to be conspicuous."
"Bones doesn't know that."
An eyebrow rose. "I would assume that, having heard this conversation, he now has his suspicions."
The train slowly drew to a halt, the tunnel over head echoing the slight screech on the rails as all momentum was banished and more people got onto the already crowded train. One young woman sashayed her way through the crowd and directly over to Spock, who remained completely oblivious to her heavily made up appearance and posh clothes, accentuated by the bright hair that draped over slim shoulders.
She flicked her hair, which promptly hit Spock in the eye and actually caused him to jerk his head back slightly as this, combined with the heavy force of slightly too much perfume, caused him to mentally stagger. She seemed oblivious to this, however, as she reached a hand out to touch the pole that Spock was grasping, her hand brushing his slightly.
Spock's eyes went very, very wide and he moved his hand away quickly, trying to appear discreet but not quite succeeding.
"I'm right here," McCoy complained, picking up their previous thread of conversation and not noticing Spock's new dilemma at all. "Why do you have to talk about me when you could just talk to me?"
"Because," Kirk replied, "it's more fun that way."
"You'll just end up being ranted at."
"Exactly. I happen to find your rants funny."
McCoy scowled at him. "You should find them intimidating."
The woman leaned against the pole and arched her leg out to the side slightly so that she could reach into her pockets and pull out a crumpled piece of paper, an address scrawled over it. She glanced at it for a few moments before shaking her hair out of her face and shoving it back in her pocket.
"How can I?" Kirk questioned. "You practically hop up and down and do air hostess arm gestures...it's impossible not to find it funny."
"I don't do that."
"Honestly Bones, you haven't seen yourself."
A pale hand snaked into a stylish handbag and pulled out a chunky walkman, the headphones going over delicate ears and a song began playing. Everyone ignored it, being unable to hear most of it, but Spock, with his Vulcan hearing, was not so fortunate.
"Ooh boys cheeky girls..." Spock inwardly cringed but kept his outward expression neutral, maintaining interest in his friends' conversation.
"I'll film you next time you do one," Kirk promised.
"Then I'd be too self-conscious of my rants to actually rant anymore."
Kirk shrugged. "Knowing you, I'd say that wouldn't be very likely."
"Ooh boys cheeky girls."
"You could always do an impression," McCoy said sneakily.
Kirk shook his head. "On a crowded train? I might have a reputation, Bones, but even I'm not willing to do that."
"Shame. I might have found some way of filming it and sending it in to a TV show...You've Been Chained, I think..."
"It is called 'You've Been Framed', Leonard," Spock corrected, still unable to escape the music drifting into his unwilling ears.
"I knew it was something along those lines. I was close though, it rhymed."
"And that makes all the difference," Kirk teased. "How do you know so much about media, Spock?"
Spock raised a noncommittal eyebrow. "My mother had an extensive fascination with media."
"Glossy magazines and comedy shows?" Kirk asked knowingly.
"Correct."
McCoy rolled his eyes. "I'll never understand why everyone is so obsessed with celebrities."
"I never ask you what's in your mind..." The woman wiggled her hips a bit as she stared at the train door, sending her handbag crashing into Spock's abdomen and causing him to exhale forcefully, but the other two officers, deep in discussion, didn't notice.
"There are a lot of things you'll never understand."
"Shut up, Jim."
"Touch my bum..." Something soft and rounded suddenly decided to make its presence known to Spock's legs, and Spock looked down in astonishment to see the woman in front of him rubbing her behind up and down his legs. "This is life..."
Spock uttered a silent prayer to all the ancient Gods of Vulcan and swiftly looked up, trying very hard not to react. To think, his mother had constantly enthused to him the prospects of space travel, in particular to her own home planet, he had finally journeyed here for purposes other than study, and he was being used as a dance pole. He could barely believe it.
"...are we going, anyway?" McCoy was asking.
"St Mungo's."
"It sounds like a type of fruit," McCoy complained, "not a hospital."
"I suppose that there was once a Saint Mungo..."
"What was he?" McCoy demanded, "patron saint of tropical fruit?"
"We are the cheeky girls, we are the cheeky girls." Spock found himself slowly slipping into despair at whatever so called 'talent' had written the lyrics to this song.
"I have no idea, Bones, why don't you ask him?"
"Because he's probably dead," McCoy retorted, ignoring the joke behind the words. "There's a reason they name a hospital after these people!"
"He could be a really famous doctor at the moment."
McCoy snorted. "You'd think these people never age if that was the case."
"I don't think they do," Kirk replied. "Look at Dumbledore – I've heard him mention some things which were definitely not recent."
"It is probable that their differing biological structure renders them immune to the maladies which so commonly affect Muggles," Spock said.
Moody, who was still standing nearby, glared at them. "What are you talking about?" He asked pointedly.
"Just a movie," Kirk replied smoothly. "It's fairly old, I'm not sure you would have seen it."
"I don't watch old films," Moody grunted, playing along as he turned in apparent disinterest away from the conversation.
The woman before Spock suddenly bent over, the part of her body facing the ceiling promptly driving Spock into the wall and pinning him there, helpless. She wiggled about to the beat as she rummaged excessively through her handbag, which she had placed on the floor, humming to the beat now.
Spock attempted to move around the obstacle, but it moved with him, pushing into his lower stomach uncomfortably hard.
"We are the cheeky girls, we are the cheeky girls..." Spock couldn't agree more with that statement at that very moment.
He opened his mouth and considered asking his two comrades for help, but snapped it shut as it occurred to him that he would have to speak over the woman's head, and she might hear him. Conscious of the eyes upon him, regarding his increasingly dire situation with interest, he stood stock still, eyes wide.
He decided, after several more moments of standing like this, that he would have to say something. "Pardon me..."
No response.
Spock began to panic as the thought struck him that she might never 'find' whatever was in her bag.
"Madam?" Spock tried again. "You are currently infiltrating my personal space."
The woman finally jerked something free of her bag and yanked it into the air, revealing a large bottle of water which she unscrewed slowly, wiggling her hips, and promptly began draining. The train jerked, and water sloshed over the side, onto Spock's shirt.
It quickly spread, sticking to his sensitive skin and causing his lips to thin into a disapproving line. Several people snickered.
She screwed the lid back on and stood there vacantly for a moment, swaying to the beat that only she and Spock could hear. The unfortunate First Officer was beginning to severely fear for his sanity.
Finally, Kirk seemed to notice that Spock was backed into a corner, almost disappearing behind the seemingly innocent young woman with headphones, his eyes wide and pleading. "Excuse me," he said loudly and clearly, looking pointedly at her, "you're crushing my friend into the wall."
She took out one headphone. "Hmmm? Oh sorry," she said, taking a step further back and seriously reducing Spock's ability to breathe due to the space he was currently forced to inhabit. "You should have told me you wanted more room."
"Not me," Kirk clarified, pointing over her shoulder, "him. You're crushing him into the wall."
She glanced over her shoulder and did a double take. "I'm so sorry," she gushed unconvincingly, "I didn't know you were there!"
Spock took the opportunity to flee from the corner and stand by Kirk, shocked into silence by the excessive body contact that had been forced upon him. Kirk, for his part, gave him a comforting glance before levelling a very intimidating glare upon the woman, who appeared to be immune to it.
Mercifully, the train ground to a halt soon afterwards and they all tumbled off, Spock managing not to shoot a wary glance back at one particular passenger.
"Is such behaviour common whilst travelling on trains?" Spock asked as they caught up with the rest of the group.
"It does happen," Kirk replied in sympathy.
"Highly illogical," Spock murmured, looking slightly shell shocked as the train began to rumble away, taking the woman who was now blowing kisses at him out of sight.
"I'm guessing you won't be going on the Underground again if you can help it," McCoy cut in.
"Indeed. I found it a highly disturbing experience."
"Not far from here," Moody was saying to Harry as he stomped his way through the Christmas shoppers when they reached the high street. "Wasn't easy to find a good location for a hospital. Nowhere in Diagon Alley was bit enough and we couldn't have it underground like the Ministry – wouldn't be healthy. In the end they managed to get hold of a building up here. Theory was, sick wizards could come and go and just blend in with the crowd."
"Unless they had ears like Spock's," McCoy murmured, noticing that they were receiving many curious glances once more.
"We should have given you a hat to use to cover them up," Kirk mused.
"That would have been logical," Spock admitted. "However, we had a limited amount of time to prepare ourselves for the journey."
"They must be cold," Kirk remarked.
"It is hardly drastic."
"Here we go," Moody suddenly announced, stomping to a halt.
They found themselves staring at an old and dilapidated brick building. The faded lettering above the door told them that it had once been called 'Purge and Dowse LTD'. An ugly and broken female dummy stared at them with an unnerving gaze.
"This is a hospital?" McCoy demanded.
"Obviously it's disguised," Moody snapped. "We can't have the Muggles knowing it's here."
"Right," Tonks said, stopping the exchange with a look, "Everybody ready?"
They nodded, warily clustering around her while Moody's ever spinning eye kept a look out for any danger.
Tonks leaned forwards and spoke directly to the dummy. "Wotcher. We're here to see Arthur Weasley."
To everyone's surprise, the dummy nodded and beckoned to them with a plastic finger.
"It's...alive..." McCoy said unnecessarily.
"Leonard, you have witnessed suits of armour within the castle move in this manner. I fail to understand your sudden and unprecedented reaction to such a similar situation."
"This is just...less expected," McCoy clarified, "especially since I've been away from magic for a while."
Grinning at them, Tonks seized Ginny and Mrs Weasley, stepped through the glass and vanished. Fred, George and Ron stepped after them. After a nod from Moody, Harry disappeared as well.
McCoy simply stood there gaping like a fish out of water when it was his turn. "I'm not going through that."
"We don't have all day," Moody snapped.
"The shop just swallowed them whole!" He jabbed a finger into the glass and pulled it back quickly, as though he had been burned, staring at it. "It's made of water."
Kirk placed a hand on McCoy's back, giving a small wink to Spock as he did so. "Let me see, Bones."
"Nothing was there," McCoy murmured, wiggling his finger around a bit, "but it felt like cold water, Jim."
"How weird," Kirk pondered, before giving his friend a gigantic shove forward, ignoring the yelled exclamations as he fell through the window and disappeared.
None of the passersby had noticed.
"Curious," Spock observed after sparing them a brief glance.
Grinning, Kirk nodded his head at the entrance. "Shall we, Mister Spock?"
"I believe that now would be an opportune moment."
Kirk stepped forward confidently, Spock and Moody in tow, and promptly discovered that, as a matter of fact, the glass was as solid as glass should be, and had developed a new hobby of knocking very surprised and mystified captains into the arms of their first officers.
Kirk coughed and disentangled himself from Spock's grasp, straightening his clothes with as much dignity as he could muster. Spock, meanwhile, had turned a delicate shade of green and made a show of placing his hands behind his back in his customary stance when on bridge duty.
"We're too late," Moody told them angrily. "If that friend of yours hadn't been so slow, we wouldn't be out here now!" He stomped forwards and spoke quickly to the dummy, leaving an awkward silence in his wake.
Kirk cleared his throat noisily once more. "I meant to do that."
"Of course, Jim."
The glass shimmered ever so slightly, indicating that it was now safe to go through. Moody promptly vanished with an angry glare, as though the two remaining officers were somehow at fault for allowing McCoy to take so long.
"It's now or never," Kirk murmured, and stepped through, with Spock close on his heels.
"There you are!" Tonks exclaimed when they emerged surprised and blinking on the other side of the glass.
"What took you so long?" McCoy asked quietly, stepping sharply out of the way of a man who scuttled towards them on five, madly dancing legs.
"You did, Bones."
"Me? I didn't do anything!"
"Exactly," Kirk groused. "You took so long that the glass became solid when I finally tried to walk into it."
McCoy grinned in amusement at the image and Spock's apparent embarrassment, but then decided to examine Kirk with not entirely convincing sympathy. "Are you injured, Jim, or is it just your pride?"
"Shut up, Bones."
McCoy chuckled and glanced around, clapping his hands together when he caught sight of some green robes with an embroidered badge on each chest. "Finally, some doctors. I might learn to like this place."
"Doctors?" Ron repeated with a startled glance at McCoy. "Those Muggle nutters who cut people up? Nah, these are Healers."
"I should have known..." McCoy grumbled.
"Over here!" Mrs Weasley called, waving her hand above her head so that she could be seen through the crowded room.
"Honestly," they heard George complain, "Mum has no tact."
"Right you are, bro," Fred agreed.
They shuffled over to a desk marked 'Enquiries' where a fairly large queue had begun to form.
"I've never seen that injury in my life," McCoy muttered as he stared at as man whose head had done a 180 degree turn and was now staring at them, elephant trunk twisting lazily. A moment later, the head rotated again so that it was now facing the right way.
"Considering the fact that magic does not exist in our usual timeline, that is hardly surprising."
"I know that, Sherlock."
"I am not Sherlock Holmes."
"Oh forget it," McCoy snapped.
At the front of a queue, a man was hopping frantically from foot to foot as though his feet were on fire. "It's these – ouch – shoes my brother gave me – ow – they're eating my – OUCH – feet – look at them, there must be some kind of – ARGH – jinx on them and I can't – AARRGH – get them off!"
"The shoes don't prevent you reading, do they?" The witch behind the desk snapped. "You want Spell Damage, fourth floor. Just like it says on the floor guide. Next!"
"Hospital staff are supposed to be helpful," McCoy growled as he watched the man struggle and hop towards the lift without any assistance.
As the mismatched queue decreased in size, McCoy seemed to increase in temper.
"What kind of hospital is this?" He demanded, pointing at a woman who was struggling to pull herself along the floor, mermaid tail flapping frantically. "Does no-one help anybody else around here?"
He rushed towards the woman and crouched before her, placing a soft hand on her shoulder to stop her laboured journey. "Hey, now, I can help – let's just get you off the floor and-"
He backpedalled sharply when the woman barked at him.
"Do you want someone to help you, Bones?"
"I'm fine," McCoy snapped, recovering his dignity and finally managing to help the woman into a nearby wheel chair. "There you go."
She barked her thanks at him and began heading in the direction of the lift.
"You're welcome," he replied uncertainly, rejoining the queue where Mrs Weasley was now at the front.
"My husband," she said, "Arthur Weasley, was supposed to be moved to a different ward this morning, could you tell us...?"
"Arthur Weasley? Yes, first floor, second door on the right, Dai Llewellyn Ward."
"Thank you. Come on, you lot."
They followed her through the double doors and into the well lit corridor beyond, sparing a curious glance at the candles which floated high above them, caged in what looked like giant bubbles.
"Hey!" One of the portraits on the wall exclaimed. "Hey, you!"
"Me?" Kirk asked.
"No," the witch snapped, rolling her eyes. "Not you. The one with the ears."
Spock turned a curious gaze towards her.
"Looks like you got caught with a nasty hex there," she said, looking him up and down. "Are you sure you're on the right floor?"
"I beg your pardon?"
She sighed in irritation. "How can you be deaf with ears like that? I said," she repeated loudly, "are you sure you're on the right floor?"
"I do not require the attention of a Healer."
"Are you mad? You can't wander around like that for the rest of your life! People would think you've escaped."
"Escaped?" Spock repeated blankly.
"From the North Pole of course. Haven't you ever heard the Muggle legend of Santa Clause? What do they teach these people in Muggle Studies, I don't know, things were never like this back in my day..."
"He usually looks like this," McCoy explained.
"Really? I had no idea that jinxes like that could last from birth – you poor dear. Who did it?"
"His parents," McCoy snapped, "and it isn't a jinx."
The portrait looked taken aback. "Oh. Well – God have pity on you..."
Kirk and McCoy looked as though they would like nothing better than to pull the portrait from the wall and set fire to it, but Spock was already walking away, unconcerned.
"Spock," McCoy puffed, catching up with the Vulcan's long stride, "you have to learn to defend yourself."
"There is no logic in entering a lengthy debate with a portrait."
"You shouldn't have let it talk to you like that."
"It is merely an imprint of a person, Jim. To say that it 'talked' to me at all would be an error of judgement."
"Spock..."
"Gentlemen, the situation was far from dire and we are no longer in the presence of the portrait. Any further discussion of the incident would serve no use."
"Right," McCoy snapped, "because teaching you to defend yourself is not important at all."
"In comparison with our current endeavour, it is not."
"We'll wait outside, Molly," Tonks said, cutting the argument short. "Arthur wouldn't want too many visitors in at once...it ought to be just the family first."
When Harry tried to back away, Mrs Weasley grabbed him and pushed him through the door. "Don't be silly, Harry, Arthur wants to thank you. You'd better come too, Spock, you're the one who helped Harry get out of the vision in time, from what I understand."
"I would be honoured," Spock replied, dipping his head.
"We'll be right here," Kirk said to Spock.
"Don't be silly," Mrs Weasley said, "you can come too."
"Why don't you just invite the whole corridor?" Moody growled as Kirk and McCoy trooped in too, leaving just Moody and Tonks outside.
The door closed behind them, leaving only one window to light the room by Mr Weasley's bed. The man was propped up in bed and reading a newspaper, looking for all the world like he was lounging around on his own sofa and not in a hospital bed with bandages covering his injuries.
"Hello!" He called, but not loudly enough to disturb the room's other two occupants. "Bill just left, Molly, had to get back to work, but he says he'll drop in on you later."
Mrs Weasley reached down to kiss him and squeeze his hand, looking into his eyes earnestly. "How are you, Arthur? You're still looking a bit peaky."
"I feel absolutely fine," he said as he gave Ginny a hug. "If they could only take the bandages off, I'd be fit to go home."
"Why can't they take them off, Dad?" Fred asked, looking concerned.
Despite what he was about to say, Mr Weasley looked cheerful as he reached for his wand and conjured some chairs for them to sit on. "Well, I start bleeding like mad every time they try. It seems there was some rather unusual kind of poison in that snake's fangs that keeps wounds open."
"Lucky it wasn't in the neck, then."
"George!" Mrs Weasley admonished, looking horrified.
"I was very lucky," Mr Weasley assured his son gravely. "If it wasn't for you lot, I would have bled to death."
"What about your wounds?" McCoy asked. "I'm a doctor," he added at the man's vacant look. "Doctor Leonard McCoy, this is Jim Kirk and Spock. We were there when Harry had the vision."
"A doctor?" Mr Weasley repeated in curiosity.
"Don't get any ideas, Arthur," Mrs Weasley warned.
"I won't, dear," he replied hastily. "They're sure they'll find an antidote, Doctor. They say they've had worse cases than mine, and in the meantime I just have to keep taking a Blood-Replenishing Potion every hour."
McCoy nodded, a thoughtful look crossing his face, which Mr Weasley evidently saw but pretended to ignore with his wife in the vicinity.
"But that fellow over there," he added, nodding towards an ill looking man lying prone on his back, "got bitten by a werewolf, poor chap. No cure at all."
"A werewolf?" McCoy asked.
"A bite from a werewolf can be fatal," Mr Weasley explained, "if help doesn't arrive in time. Some are lucky enough to survive...but they're never the same again."
"Why not?"
"They become one as well," Mr Weasley whispered, sympathy on his face.
"Is he safe in a public ward?" Mrs Weasley asked in alarm. "Shouldn't he be in a private room?"
"It's two weeks till full moon," Mr Weasley said quietly. "They've been talking to him this morning, the Healers, you know, trying to persuade him that he'll be able to live an almost normal life. I said to him – didn't mention any names of course – but I said I knew a werewolf personally, very nice man, who finds the condition quite easy to manage."
"What did he say?" George asked.
"Said he'd give me another bite if I didn't shut up. And that woman over there won't tell the Healers what bit her, which makes us all think it must have been something she was handling illegally. Whatever it was took a real chunk out of her leg, very nasty smell when they take off the dressings."
"Don't they have a spell to counteract that?" McCoy asked.
Mr Weasley shrugged slightly. "They probably haven't thought of using any to control smells."
"So, you going to tell us what happened, Dad?" Fred asked.
"You already know, don't you?" Mr Weasley replied, smiling at the group gratefully. "It's very simple – I'd had a very long day, dozed off, got sneaked up on and bitten."
"Is it in the Prophet, you being attacked?"
"No, of course not, Fred. The Ministry wouldn't want to know how a dirty great serpent got-"
"Arthur!" Mrs Weasley hissed.
"-got – er – me..."
"So where were you when it happened, Dad?"
"That's my business, George," Mr Weasley said with an apologetic smile. He opened the newspaper again. "I was just reading about Willy Widdershins' arrest when you arrived. You know Willy turned out to be behind those regurgitating toilets back in the summer? One of his jinxes backfired, the toilet exploded and they found him lying unconscious in the wreckage covered head to foot in-"
"When you say you were 'on duty'," Fred interrupted, seeing right through his father's attempt to change the topic, "what were you doing?"
"You heard your father; we are not discussing this here. Go on about Willy Widdershins, Arthur," Mrs Weasley ordered.
"Well," Mr Weasley replied dutifully, "don't ask me how, but he actually got off the toilet charge. I can only suppose gold changed hands-"
"You were guarding it, weren't you?" George whispered. "The weapon? The thing You-Know-Who was after before he disappeared."
"George," Mrs Weasley barked, "be quiet!"
"Anyway," Mr Weasley said desperately, as though daring anyone to interrupt him, "this time Willy's been caught selling doorknobs to Muggles and I don't think he'll be able to worm his way out of it. According to the article, two Muggles have lost fingers and are now in St Mungo's for emergency bone re-growth and memory modification. Just think of it, Muggles in St Mungo's! I wonder which ward they're in?"
"I'm sure they wouldn't exactly enjoy everyone staring at them," McCoy said.
Mr Weasley looked slightly mollified. "No, of course not, I was-"
"Didn't you say You-Know-Who's got a snake, Harry?" Asked Fred. "A massive one? You saw it the night he returned, didn't you?"
"That's enough," Mrs Weasley snapped. "Mad-Eye and Tonks are outside, Arthur, they want to come and see you. And you lot can wait outside," she said, gesturing to the students. "You can come and say goodbye afterwards. Go on."
"What about them?" Fred demanded, nodding his head at the officers.
"We need them to stay here for the moment."
"Fine," Fred retorted coolly, "don't tell us anything, then."
They trooped reluctantly out into the corridor, holding the door open as Moody and Tonks came in, eying Spock curiously.
"So," Moody said without any preamble, "you saw the whole thing, then?"
"I did," Spock replied, casting a careful glance at the other occupants in the room. None of them were listening.
"And?" Tonks prompted.
Spock steepled his fingers in front of his face and rested his elbows on his knees. "It would appear that Voldemort has a powerful mental connection with his snake, as he was able to posses it despite the universal barriers."
"You're sure it was him?" Moody demanded.
"Quite sure."
Moody didn't look convinced. "Even He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named can't be strong enough to possess a snake from another universe."
"I assure you that he is."
"And just what experience have you had?"
"I am a natural telepath," Spock said calmly. "It is customary on Vulcan to be trained from birth in the art of telepathy."
"How convenient," Moody growled.
"If this is true," Kirk interjected before an argument could escalate, "then we may be in trouble. Voldemort might have sensed both Harry and Spock in the vision."
"He did not," Spock said. "I felt no recognition of our presence."
"We'll have to verify that," Moody said. "We want to be sure this is accurate."
"For heavens' sake Mad-Eye," Mrs Weasley sighed. "How likely is it that he's under the Imperius Curse or lying about what he saw?"
"I didn't live this long by trusting people without evidence."
"Since we have no proof otherwise," Mr Weasley suggested, "perhaps we should assume for now that it is correct information...that is," he amended, seeing Moody's look, "until we can find proof."
"Either way," McCoy said, " it's obvious that these visions need to stop. They place a lot of strain on Harry's body and if he's alone when a particularly strong one comes, there's no telling how much damage it would inflict upon him."
"I think Dumbledore has a plan," Moody said shortly. "Now, about that snake-"
"They searched the whole area," Tonks interrupted, looking at Mr Weasley anxiously, "but couldn't find the snake anywhere. It just seems to have vanished after it attacked you, Arthur...but You-Know-Who can't have expected a snake to get in, can he?"
"I reckon he sent it as a lookout," Moody growled, "'cause he's not had any luck so far, has he? No, I reckon he's trying to get a clearer picture of what he's facing and if Arthur hadn't been there the beast would've had a lot more time to look around. So, Potter also says he saw it all happen?"
"Yes," Mrs Weasley replied. "You know, Dumbledore seems almost to have been waiting for Harry to see something like this."
"He should have sorted something out when he first knew Harry was having visions," McCoy added.
"It is possible that the Headmaster was attempting to ascertain the depth of the connection," Spock said. "The previous vision merely occurred as a direct result of emotion. Here, however, the vision was much more lucid and purposeful."
"He wanted to see if it was a one-off?" Kirk asked.
"Precisely."
"Well," McCoy grunted, "now he knows it isn't."
"Dumbledore seemed worried about Harry when I spoke to him this morning," Mrs Weasley whispered, giving the door an uneasy glance.
"'Course he's worried," Moody growled as though this was the stupidest statement in history. "The boy's been seeing things from inside You-Know-Who's snake. Obviously, Potter doesn't realise what this means, but if You-Know-Who's possessing him-" He cut off, magical eye having turned all the way around to look through the back of his head towards the door.
"I don't like discussing this here," Moody suddenly said, his magical eye swivelling around and focussing on the door, "especially because they've overheard us." He stomped towards the door angrily.
"I'll see you later, Arthur," Mrs Weasley said, giving her husband another kiss on the cheek.
"Doctor!" Mr Weasley called out, just as everyone else left his bedside, "I have something to ask you."
McCoy waved his companions out the door and walked back to Mr Weasley's bed, where he sat down. "Is this about your wounds, Mr Weasley?"
"Yes – I've consulted the Healer, and although he thinks a cure can be found, he wants to try something else."
"Muggle methods?" McCoy guessed.
"Stitches, to be precise. I was just wondering if you, being a Muggle doctor, would be able to recommend anything better."
"Ordinarily," McCoy sighed, "I could, but I don't have my equipment with me. Under the circumstances, I think that stitches are really the only chance you have with Muggle medicine, provided the venom doesn't dissolve them."
Mr Weasley nodded, but seemed slightly disappointed. "I'll see how it goes, thank you."
"No problem," McCoy said, standing up.
"Just don't mention it to Molly – my wife," Mr Weasley asked. "She doesn't trust Muggle medicine, you see."
"Given the amount of time doctors spend cutting people up in this era," McCoy muttered, "I'm not entirely surprised, but I won't tell her. You should be safe with stitches."
"Thank you," Mr Weasley said again, smiling at him in gratitude.
McCoy grinned back. "Get some rest, Mr Weasley," he said simply. "I hope it works." Giving the werewolf a tremulous nod, he headed out the ward.