35. Arrests.

"We have to go down there," Kirk muttered. "We can't avoid her."

"Yes we can, and we damn well will!"

"Leonard, that is hardly a practical-"

"It's the only thing we can do unless we want to fall into the clutches of that evil marshmallow-"

"I agree with your character assessment, colloquial thought it may be, however, we were ordered to submit to her wishes."

"Spock's right," Kirk said forcefully. "Dumbledore told us not to fight her-"

"Then Dumbledore," McCoy interrupted, "has lost it!"

"He knows what he's doing, Bones, and the fact we've stayed here so long proves it! There hasn't been one attack on us since he opened his doors-"

"But he's not here!"

"No," Kirk replied, "he isn't, but he sacrificed himself to keep everyone else safe. We'd be doing him an injustice if we disobeyed him now."

"We must examine the situation logically," Spock added. "Argument with Professor Umbridge is futile."

"Exactly. She's also stronger than us," Kirk told McCoy. "If we argued, she'd just subdue us with magic."

"We don't have to argue openly!" McCoy protested. "We could just sneak out the castle before she notices-"

"There are numerous wards," Spock pointed out. "No doubt they have been modified to detect escape."

"A secret exit then," McCoy said desperately. "Barely anyone knows about the Room of Requirement – maybe there are other secrets we could use to our advantage."

"Assuming we even knew where to go for that," Kirk demanded, "what would we do next? We'd be without help or contact, we can't use magic – we'd be sitting ducks!"

"Fine," McCoy spat, giving in.

"It is logical," Spock assured him. "Professor Dumbledore has ensured that we take the safest option."

"Right," said Kirk, "now that's settled, let's get down to breakfast. It's all we can really do…"

McCoy snorted, shutting the door behind him and starting down the corridor towards the Great Hall. "I still think it's suicide."

"She's not exactly going to torture us, Bones."

"How do you know?" McCoy demanded, loudly enough to make a small man in a nearby painting jump.

"Because there'd be no logic to it."

"Have you completely missed the past few months? That woman is deranged. If she thinks torture or something equally as bad will help her precious Fudge, she'll do it!"

"We just have to hope she won't," Kirk replied grimly.

"And," McCoy added, turning to Spock, "I don't know if you've noticed, but she hates you."

"A decidedly insightful observation, Leonard."

"Damn it Spock," McCoy snarled, "now is not the time to be sarcastic!"

"Vulcans do not-"

"- do sarcasm," McCoy finished in exasperation, "so you told me."

"Bones, arguing isn't going to help us right now either."

McCoy suddenly deflated, running his hands through his hair. "I know. We need to help each other."

"That's the spirit!" A portrait said enthusiastically.

"Shut up," McCoy snapped.

"Well," the man looked affronted, "how rude…"

"The amount of planet-side missions that have gone wrong," McCoy explained, "and the amount of times one or both of you comes back…" he stopped himself. "Sometimes," he said instead, "I'm surprised you manage to come back."

"Bones..." Kirk said softly, "we'll do our best to stay out of trouble."

"Good, because I don't know how much magical damage I'd be able to fix without any equipment."

"We have faith in your abilities, Leonard," Spock said simply.

"That's a first," McCoy said wryly. "Things must really be getting bad if you're complimenting me, hobgoblin."

"The same sentiment could be applied to your utilisation of the term 'hobgoblin'."

"God," McCoy muttered suddenly, "I'm really gonna miss this castle."

"When we got here, you were trying to kill it."

"I know, Jim, but it grows on you."

Kirk suddenly stopped. "There's no one in the corridors."

"Indeed," Spock replied grimly.

"Well?" McCoy demanded, with the sinking feeling of someone who has guessed what was happening, but didn't want to believe it. "Where are they?"

Kirk squared his shoulders and walked forwards, pushing open the doors to the Great Hall, which was packed despite the early hour. Several Aurors were waiting for them, their wands in their hands already.

"Watching the show," Kirk replied. "Umbridge must have called them here."

"One last victory for the giant pink blancmange," McCoy muttered as Umbridge wobbled towards them.

"Well," Umbridge said, surveying them haughtily, the silence of the hall serving as a heavy backdrop to her words as everyone listened in. "I have to say I have been waiting for this opportunity."

"Then aren't you a lucky woman," McCoy snarled.

"Luck has very little to do with it, Mr McCoy, this moment has been inevitable for a long time."

Behind Umbridge, the Gryffindor table could be seen staring at them with open curiosity and concern, the food relatively untouched before them as they soaked in the scene. Even Ron wasn't yet shovelling his food with his usual gusto. At the staff table, the professors sat in silence, observing the woman before them with quiet hatred, but none of them coming to their aide.

"Now," Umbridge simpered, "will you confess here, before the press," she gestured to some people which, they noticed with a jolt, where standing relatively out of sight for the moment, snapping unobtrusive photographs, "or at the Ministry?"

"I don't suppose we have a choice?" Kirk asked, his voice as light as he could make it.

"You will confess," Umbridge replied simply.

"I seem to be missing something here," McCoy said angrily, taking a step towards Umbridge. "We haven't done anything wrong."

"You claim to have appeared here after the disappearance of You-Know-Who," Umbridge replied blithely.

"I know that!" McCoy snapped.

"Then you understand the charges against you, do you not?"

"What charges?" McCoy demanded, having had enough. "We didn't choose to end up here – we haven't done anything!"

"Bones-"

"Don't you 'Bones' me!" McCoy snapped, rounding on Kirk. "This insane fruitcake has been wrecking havoc with the school system for months, blinding the public to Voldemort – it's just a name," he added when Umbridge quivered, "and generally annoying everyone into early graves! Someone needs to get her to see a psychiatrist before she drives even Snape nuts!"

"Bones, that's enough-"

McCoy whirled back to face Umbridge. "These students will rebel against you," he stated, "it's been waiting to happen, and when it does, I wish I was there to watch."

Umbridge tittered even as the Aurors stiffened and gripped their wands harder. The press was now taking so many photographs it looked almost as though lightning had been trapped in the room. "I have full control over the students."

"You have full control over nothing, and that," McCoy concluded with a flourish, "will ruin you."

"I think," Umbridge said, the sweetness barely covering a more dangerous tone, "that you have overstepped your bounds, McCoy. As a Ministry official, I have more experience than-"

"Yes," McCoy said sarcastically, "because things are definitely under control here, aren't they?"

"Leonard-"

"You're only up to your eyeballs in Ministry Decrees," McCoy continued. "Any real and competent person in your position wouldn't need those decrees – they'd actually be able to keep a class under control without resorting to cutting open the students!"

There was a clatter as several forks were dropped. Over at the staff table, McGonagall was glaring mutinously at Umbridge, but did not dare to intervene.

Umbridge drew herself up officiously. "The Minister has authorised-"

"What is essentially one step away from child abuse!" McCoy finished. "And let me tell you something," he continued, rant in full flow now, "as a doctor, I've seen the result of what people like you do and the psychological impact you have on people-"

"Bones!"

"- I've seen the disasters that it can bring on and I know how difficult those are to fix! What you're doing here is creating one hell of a problem for yourself-"

"Leonard."

"- that will get you thrown out of office, and like every other idiot who ever used the same methods, you don't even realise what you're doing!"

"Leonard!"

McCoy was vaguely aware of Spock glaring at him, the Vulcan facade slipping in his desperation to get the doctor to stop the rant, but McCoy's main focus was on the short train-wreck of a teacher before him.

"Not everyone can bounce back," McCoy hissed, unaware of the camera flashes as he took another step forwards, "not everyone can let it go, and not everyone will. Sometime in the future you'll have an even bigger problem on your hands, and a country in an even bigger state of unrest, that not even-"

McCoy cut off abruptly and collapsed to the floor, Spock's hand still clamped around his neck. "I apologise, Leonard," he said softly as the man lost consciousness, glaring at the Vulcan responsible.

Kirk sighed. "There goes our dignified exit."

Umbridge stood for a brief moment, completely flabbergasted into inaction, before the dull murmur of voices around the hall spurred her on. "Take them to the Ministry," she ordered. "You know, after Mr McCoy's display, which section to put them in."

"Yes ma'am," one of the Aurors replied, raising his wand at Kirk and jerking his head, indicating that he should walk into the Entrance Hall.

"Leave him," Umbridge added when an Auror moved to levitate McCoy's unconscious body. "The comfort of opponents to the Ministry is not your responsibility."

The Auror looked slightly taken aback, but knew better than to argue, stepping back into place with a swift nod of his head.

Spock bent down wordlessly and picked up the limp body of the Doctor, his face now impassive once more as he turned his back on the Great Hall without another glance. He did not notice the brief look of rage that crossed Malfoy's face.

"I do not require assistance," Spock murmured softly when Kirk moved to help.

After a moment of deliberation, Kirk gave in and re-assumed his position, walking calmly towards the great doors of the castle. Before the doors closed to the Great Hall, they heard the beginnings of frantic discussion among the student body.

Suddenly they were in silence and walking through the grounds, Aurors surrounding them, the expressions of all involved grim. The press hurried along beside them, in front of them, behind – desperate to take photographs of this event, they swarmed around the small group like flies attracted to rotting food. Not one of them appeared to show an ounce of pity.

"Where are you taking us?" Kirk asked, trying to keep his voice calm and neutral. Don't give them any reason to attack.

"Prisoners are not permitted to talk," the Auror replied calmly.

"Then how are you supposed to interrogate us?" Kirk challenged.

"Answers will be given upon arrival at the Ministry," the Auror replied neutrally.

"...Oh...good," Kirk muttered, slightly annoyed.

Umbridge tittered at him. "You must learn to obey the rules, Mr Kirk."

Kirk resisted the very real urge to throttle her and instead focused on his surroundings, knowing that he would very likely never see them again. Despite his expectations and attempts to not become too attached to this universe, he found himself suddenly missing the people inside the castle, feeling deep concern for them as he realised that they would have no defence from Umbridge, no sympathetic adults to talk to.

They would not, without a doubt, be able to even travel into Hogsmeade without over-the-top supervision on the Ministry's part, now that its fears concerning Dumbledore's so-called 'army' had been confirmed. He briefly wondered whether or not Harry would try to keep the meetings going regardless, but realised as soon as he had allowed himself to consider the thought that it was impossible. With them gone, the Room of Requirement was now empty and derelict; Umbridge could easily gain access and use it herself, forcing the students to abandon the attempt.

He shuddered to think what misguided abominations she would use that room for. A secret detention area, he supposed, where she could inflict more than cut hands.

Once more, he glared at the self satisfied woman, wondering how anyone like her could have received such a high position within the Ministry. In all of his experience with politics, he had always known of something in the government being incapable, but never to this extent. Never had he seen someone willingly inflict harm upon others in a school of all places, just to keep their leader in power. He had seen misconduct, yes, but it had generally been practiced without facade, the person responsible doing nothing to hide the fact that they knew what they were doing was wrong.

Umbridge, on the other hand, knew exactly what she was doing but refused to admit it, even to herself. She rationalised and argued, the words grossly illogical to the point that it would, he reflected in slight amusement, give the entire race of Vulcan a headache. Then again, with her attitude added onto it, he supposed that the physical results of having to put up with her would probably be quite a lot worse for a race so proudly logical...

They wouldn't fall for the same trap, he decided. He knew Spock would go down without a fight, just as Dumbledore suggested, and Kirk would do the same.

He just wished that Bones had been as rational. Now, the Ministry had an even bigger reason to imprison them, to spin their words to create a story which would be flawless even to those who opposed the regime, and they would have no legal chance of escape. They had officially defied the government in the eyes of the public, and it would soon be in print.

"I shall of course accompany you to the office," Umbridge simpered. "Cornelius would no doubt require a report on the arrest."

"We're going to the Ministry?" Kirk asked before he could stop himself.

Umbridge ignored him, instead waiting for the gates to be opened for her before striding imperiously through them, seeming not to notice that the effect of her walk was reduced by the gate looming over her as it did for no one else.

The head Auror turned around and motioned for his colleagues to grab hold of the prisoners.

"Wait a minute," Kirk protested, shrugging the shoulders off him, "what's going on?"

"We're apparating," the head Auror replied. "Since you can't apparate, we have to help you."

Kirk slowly complied, allowing slightly rough hands to hold onto his arm as he was pushed forwards a step, the hand that pushed him remaining on him even when he complied. His lungs suddenly began to compress, his breathing restricted to short gasps that, had he been able to see, would have left spots in front of his eyes, before it was cut off completely. The ground disappeared from beneath his feet and he found himself floating, crushed in a blackness which only he could see.

Mentally floundering, he tried to lift his arm to push the weight off his chest, only to find that it was pinned to his side, feeling leaden. He couldn't move, he couldn't breathe, he couldn't think, and he was going to die, right here, with an Auror clinging to his arm. He suddenly felt the urge to tell McCoy that he was right – he was going to leave the Doctor with a difficult situation to explain to Command when he died...

Just as he was about to give up hope of ever being able to breathe again, he felt his lungs gasping reflexively, the sound hitching in his throat as his knees jolted into a now very much present floor. He felt rough hands pulling him up into a standing position, and he did nothing to resist, the dizziness from the ordeal doing nothing to help the process of reorientation. He could only hope that Spock had some idea where they were, though he doubted it.

Judging by what he had just felt, they had apparated to their destination; a bustling office with robed Aurors scurrying from one place to another, expressions harried. The room was almost luxurious despite the fact that it had to be a police station; marble fountains lining the floor at regular intervals. He briefly wondered, as Umbridge led them forwards, whether the taxpayers knew where exactly their money was going.

Then he was brought to a stop and made to stand to attention, the rough and uncaring hands forcing him into the position. Before him stood a burly looking man, obviously bored out of his mind, holding out his wand. Trying to remain calm, he felt a small wave of magic, barely detectable, sweep over him, moving steadily up and down, and he was reminded of old films he had watched on Earth, where security at the airport waved what looked like electronic sticks up and down the passengers...

The man motioned for him to come forwards and stand in front of a tray, his pockets were forcibly emptied, and he saw the contents being filed away.

"I'll take them from here," the bored looking guard said. With a nod, the Aurors left, never glancing back. He noticed that Umbridge was still standing outside the office where, no doubt, Fudge currently sat.

He was lead forwards, down a slight slope. The air became slightly colder here, and he surmised that they were underground, where the heat was unable to reach.

Then they stopped.

All air was sucked out of the room and he was lifted off the ground before he even realised what was happening. Dearly wishing he wasn't apparating again, he landed forcefully on the ground and hurriedly sucked air into his abused lungs.

How witches and wizards could do this on a regular basis was beyond him.

He was hauled to his feet once more and the guard led them down a long, dimly lit corridor, the air feeling slightly damp. His feet slipped slightly as he stepped in a small puddle of rainwater, and he glanced up. The roof was leaking slightly.

His foot slammed into contact with a step and he looked back down, seeing that they had come to a staircase without having realised it. It seemed to stretch high into the sky, the dim lighting doing nothing to help the illusion.

Sighing, he forced himself to climb the long and winding stair case to what had to be the top floor of the building, slipping and sliding on the uneven steps in the dark.

He braced himself for the worst, for the guard to laugh and lock them in a dark and freezing cell, with no contact for weeks, without even a board of a mattress to sleep on. He prepared for them to reach a rotting carcass of a door, falling off its hinges but reinforced by magical wards. But what he did see wasn't what he had expected.

They had come to a door, strong and sturdy looking – unfortunately – but otherwise in better condition than the roof. It was only then that he realised that there was no longer any water under his feet; obviously, the corridors had been in a state of disrepair. Or maybe it was some sort of cruel joke, tormenting prisoners with worries of Azkaban like conditions. Before he could finish the thought, they were shoved in.

The door slammed behind them.

"Great," he swore to himself, glaring at the door.

"Jim," Spock admonished.

Kirk kicked the door. "I thought it was appropriate. How's Bones?"

Spock gestured behind him, where he had just laid McCoy on one of the beds which, reassuringly enough appeared to have decent mattresses. "He remains unconscious."

"I didn't know your Nerve Pinch lasted that long."

"It does."

"Is he hurt?" He asked anxiously.

To his immense relief Spock shook his head. "Negative."

"Good," Kirk replied quietly, giving McCoy one last glance before turning away.

Out of instinct, Kirk began to make a circuit of the room, his fingers probing every corner, every tiny crevice that he could find. "So," he asked, almost conversationally, "we'll be here for a while."

Spock's eyebrow twitched, but did not raise – a testament to how dire the situation was. "Indeed," he said simply.

He sighed, running his hand across the slightly jagged surface of the wall before glancing up at the only window, the slightly grimy pane of glass not large enough to climb through. "Do you think we could reach that?"

Spock appeared to calculate for a moment before replying. "Affirmative." The Vulcan reached out his hands and placed them low to the ground.

"Spock," Kirk said, "I can go on the bottom..." He blushed and Spock raised his eyebrows. "I'll never say that again."

"Indeed. However, I must remind you that my physical strength allows me to support weight much more easily. It would be logical for me to lift you towards the window."

"Alright," Kirk replied, placing his foot on Spock's hands and balancing on it.

To his surprise, Spock lifted Kirk off the ground without waiting for Kirk to place his other foot on his hand, effortlessly bringing him over to the window in question, at a height perfect for being able to look out the glass.

"Show off," Kirk muttered, grinning.

Leaning forwards, he rubbed his sleeve briefly against the window pane, noticing as he did so that he created a slight smear on the glass. "When do you think Bones will wake up?" He asked quietly, glancing over at his still unconscious friend.

"Momentarily."

"Great," Kirk scowled.

"Jim?"

"I have no way of ranting at him until he wakes up," Kirk explained.

There was a brief beat of silence, during which Kirk surveyed the view from their window. "We're high up," he said finally, dropping back down to the floor. "I don't recognise the area, though. It's in the country somewhere."

"That is convenient," Spock replied grimly.

There was a small groan and two heads whipped around instantly, focusing on the brown haired man.

"He's coming around," Kirk whispered, before sitting gently beside his friend and touching his shoulder lightly.

"Unnngggh," McCoy groaned, struggling to sit upright and wincing, allowing Kirk to steady him.

"Bones?"

"I hear ya, Jim," McCoy drawled, wincing again. "Damn, I have a hell of a headache..."

"That is to be expected," Spock said quietly.

McCoy eyed him warily. "Not to mention my neck feels like it's been ripped off my shoulder and wrapped in a knot before being bolted back on. Remind me never to get within arms' reach of you again, Spock."

"The Nerve Pinch isn't that bad," Kirk replied.

McCoy snorted. "I wish I'd never woken up. Spock, you're a menace to everyone around you, you know that?"

"Leonard," the Vulcan said quietly, "I apologise for-"

"For what?" McCoy snapped. "For interrupting me mid-rant? That is never a good idea, I tell you now, especially when it was against Umbridge!"

"It was necessary."

"Like hell it was!" McCoy exploded.

"Bones," Kirk interrupted the argument softly, "he's right. Thanks to you, the Ministry now have a reason to keep us here."

"What?"

"You insulted one of their highest ranking workers," Kirk said, with a mixture of annoyance and amusement. "They can blow that out of proportion to exist in their favour, then print it in the newspapers. Even those against the Ministry will be in agreement that we're meant to be here. Wherever here is," he added.

McCoy's mouth formed a small 'o'. "Ah."

"'Ah' is right," Kirk muttered.

"Jim, I'm sorry – I wasn't-"

"It's alright, Bones," Kirk sighed after a warning glance from Spock. "I've done the same thing. Just never with a wand pointed in my face," Kirk snorted.

McCoy sighed. "It's still my fault we're here."

"Leonard," Spock said, "this was none of your doing. Our arrival here was inevitable."

"Don't argue with him Bones," Kirk added when McCoy opened his mouth to do just that. "You know you'll never win."

McCoy rolled his eyes. "Great. So what do we do now?"

"Now?" Kirk repeated. "Now, we wait."

oOo

Scott ran his hands through his hair in what was becoming a newly formed habit. As he had suspected when he had originally started interrogating his prisoners, he had received little or no answers regarding their origins. The only information he had was almost useless; the leader believed he was a future world leader, they were all obsessed with blood purity and were convinced, despite all the evidence otherwise, that magic existed. And none of them liked him. At all.

Of course, that went without saying – he did put them in there, after all, but he had never expected something approaching this level of disdain. Loathing, even. From the expressions they assumed when he dealt with them, they considered themselves to be superior to him, and insisted upon calling him "Muggle", despite the fact that he repeatedly gave them his name. The fact that he had no idea what "Muggle" meant only seemed to amuse them further, for some reason that he could not hope to fathom. The thought that he didn't understand everything annoyed him, and he had worked tirelessly with the rest of the crew to find out what exactly was happening.

All in all, stress levels were high, and had been for quite some time. When Shore Leave had finally rolled around, Scott had placed the crew on a well ordered rotation shift, so that everyone had a chance to rest but the search for the missing officers was not abandoned. Officially, the ship was AWOL, with the full consent of the crew. He had offered everyone the chance to leave by shuttle craft before he had begun ignoring Star Fleet transmissions.

Star Fleet had tried to order them to return to base in order to collect replacements – as if the missing people were simply broken machinery which was discarded when it was no longer of use. The crew, still feeling intense loyalty to their new captain, had flat out refused and, in an open act of rebellion, joined Mr Scott. They had then proceeded to continue to search the area, avoiding any other Star Fleet vessels when they passed and then returning when there was no longer any sign of them. This game of cat and mouse had been going on for some time, and Scott was worried.

The search for the officers was a dead end, as it had been when it had started. For those first few weeks, they had maintained hope, had even dared to tempt themselves into thinking that the officers would be back the next day, if all went to plan. But it never did, and as weeks turned into months, practically all hope had vanished, to be replaced with resignation.

They had watched the video records of the disappearance over and over again, yet the only conclusion they could draw was that this was either alien machinery they had no hope of combating or, Scott shuddered to even admit this inside his own head, magic. Suffice it to say that everyone was rapidly becoming frustrated with their lack of results, and Scott was not sure how much longer they could continued before he too, finally faced a rebellion.

In addition to this, the dreams had continued to plague him, some even managing to infiltrate his waking mind to the point where he was no longer certain if he was asleep or awake. Dark circles, a testament to his now present reluctance to sleep, now lay under his eyes, a permanent fixture of the past few months that the crew could not ignore. He felt the Bridge crew's concerned stares on him whenever he was with them, but he ignored it, having had much time to get used to it over the duration of their search. He had given up hope on the dreams ever stopping, and instead a sneaking suspicion entered his mind, frightening him to his very core.

"Mr Scott." Uhura's voice rang across the intercom, jerking Scott out of his morose thoughts.

Running his hand through his hair again, this time without realising it, he jabbed at a switch and wearily regarded the screen before him, where Uhura's tired but beautiful face swam into focus. "Aye lass?"

"We've detected a strange energy signature, sir," she reported, businesslike despite her evident exhaustion. "It's almost as though we're being watched by something."

So, he mused, it's finally happening. Outwardly, he nodded. "I'm on my way, Uhura."

Waiting to see her nod of understanding, he turned off the intercom and levered himself out of his chair, shuffling slowly to the door of his quarters. Once outside in the crowded corridor and the bright glare of the busy ship, he straightened his posture with an effort and walked towards the turbolift.

He was so tired, but the visions refused to give him any respite, to even leave him alone long enough to catch up on his sleep. He could barely remember what sleeping properly felt like. Even when he had desperately resorted to going to sickbay for medication, the visions had been there.

Always in chronological order, as though something was showing him his life from one point onwards.

Shaking himself from that thought, he stepped out of the now stationary lift, sitting down gratefully in the command chair, despite the impulse to get out of it, to let it be until the rightful captain could sit in it once again.

"Report," he ordered quietly, remembering a time when Kirk had uttered that word.

"Zere eez an energy seegnal, sair," Chekov reported. His accent had grown thicker the harder the Ensign worked, but Scott had been unable to persuade him to take Shore leave along with the others.

"Have ye managed tae pin point it?"

"No sir." This time it was Sulu who replied. He looked more rested than the man sitting next to him, but not by much. His face too was lined by stress.

Scott sighed. "Put it on-screen."

The steadily drifting stars were replaced with a mechanical spread, and for once Scott was grateful of the work. Here was something he could understand, something he could control. Here, he was in his element and wasn't forced to verbal joust with arrogant prisoners. He wasn't forced to relive memories.

Instead, he frowned at the image before him, noting the fact that it looked familiar. "Almost like a cloakin' device," he said quietly.

"We thought that too, sir," Sulu replied, "but we weren't sure. It looks different."

Scott nodded. "Aye, it does, lad."

"A new model?" Chekov asked curiously, turning to face the scotsman.

Again, he nodded. "It could be." He continued to stare at the image. "Put the ship on yellow alert," he said finally.

There were a few beats of silence as the implications of this sank in.

"Aye sir," Sulu said finally.

Scott sat back, praying that his suspicions were not true, but with no real enthusiasm behind the internal words.