A/N: A huge thank you to Gambitized for all the help on the spiffy new summary!
To answer the main questions that popped up after the last chapter: the 'Hamilton' quotes don't necessarily mean Harry's dead, yep I overdid the foreshadowing, yep I took far too long to get to the main plot (sorry!), yep poor Ron's about to be hit with hella guilt, and yep I'm most definitely obsessed with musicals ("You've got me so helplleessss!" "Nnnooonnn-stop! I will never be satisfied, SATISFIED!").
"'Is it love again?' said Voldemort, his snake's face jeering. 'Dumbledore's favourite solution, love, which he claimed conquered death, though love did not stop him falling from the tower and breaking like an old waxwork? Love, which did not prevent me stamping out your Mudblood mother like a cockroach, Potter — and nobody seems to love you enough to run forward this time and take my curse. So what will stop you dying now when I strike?'"
—Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
The applause soon weakened. Then died. Whispers turned to confused and annoyed mutters as no Wizarding Saviour appeared. Ron, upon seeing Hermione's equally confused look, lifted his communication watch and mumbled into it. "Harry? Where are you?"
Silence.
"Harry Potter?" Ripley tried again with a loud call, now fidgeting.
"Harry? Harry, answer me," Hermione tried, lifting her necklace to her mouth. She frowned, switching to code names. "Anyone with Bolt?"
A numb, cold feeling swept through Ron. He knew he was being paranoid, but he'd learned to listen to his instincts (which were currently screaming for him to jump out of his seat). Ginny was standing, not taking notice of the many gazes on her. Swiftly stepping between tables and chairs she made her way to the stage.
"Who has eyes on Bolt?" Ron whispered, using code names as well. He kept an eye on Hermione, who was muttering into her necklace with a new urgency. "Last confirmed sighting was at his table in the dining hall, with him heading to the bathroom. We were told by Ripley's assistant he'd then gone backstage. I need confirmation on the last. Who saw him there?"
No voice murmured out of the watch as Ginny strode towards Ripley. Her appearance had given way to a wave of applause, but she sent the audience an annoyed look and kept walking. As she entered the sonorus ward her words soared around the hall: "Where's my husband?"
Ripley was insulted by her tone. "How should I know? I thought he was gallivanting around with you."
"Nellie said you called him away!"
"Nellie? Who's Nellie?"
"Nellie Lovett! Your, your—" Ginny paled, step halting. Ignoring the irritated Ripley she spun around to peer into the audience. Her hand lifted to her lips as she spoke into her ring (acting like a two-way mirror, like Ron's watch and Hermione's necklace, but personal rather than MLE issued). "Harry, where are you? Answer me right now!"
Nellie Lovett. Nellie freaking Lovett. The obvious slammed into Ron, leaving him reeling. It wasn't like the Sweeney Todd name: it was the actual bloody name.
"Love, where are you!" Ginny was still speaking into her ring, voice rattling with worry.
Ron jolted to his feet, wand in hand. There was a bare moment when he hesitated in which way to turn: but Hermione was ordering the bathrooms to be checked, Ginny was panicking, she was on the stage, that bugger Ripley was gawking at her—he strode towards them, barely aware that his wife was right behind him, shouting into her necklace: "Bolt's missing, no one leaves the Ministry! All floos and portkeys in and out are sealed unless by my direct order. Auror commands go through Skull; Skull, confirm this to me. Guards nearest the dining hall's male bathroom, search it and report back! This is code orange, to change to red in five minutes if Bolt remains silent. I'm ordering heightened security on Pauper and anyone clearance 8 or above!"
They sprinted up the stage's steps as Ginny switched from shouting into her uncommunicative ring to shouting questions at the angry host. Ron wasn't having any of that and cut through their argument. He did so by sprinting to Ripley and dragging him out of the sonorous ward by his voluminous collar. Barely behind the curtains his impatience burst forth: "Where the hell is Harry?"
"I haven't the faint—no, stop!" Ripley exclaimed as Ron pushed him against the backstage wall, out of view of the audience. "I don't know where Potter is!"
"You didn't ask your assistant to get him?" Hermione paced up.
"Not at all. Why would I?" Ripley's smile was long gone as he stared at the three. "Did Patrick do something?"
"Patrick?" Ron gritted out, still holding the man by his collar.
"My assistant! I tell him not to talk to the talent, but he—"
Ron let go of the grip, spinning around to the witches. Ripley was now ignored apart to check he didn't run off. "Lovett's a fake name from the Sweeney Todd story. I knew it earlier, but I…it's the wench who bakes people into pies. She'll be long gone by now, no doubt! Tell me there's news on Harry?"
Hermione shook her head, worry increasing as she held the necklace to her ear. "The nearest bathroom's empty, they're checking the others. All exits are sealed and there's no sign of him. He hasn't left the building."
"This is Skull, temporarily taking over command from Bolt," Susan spoke out from both the watch and the necklace. "This might be a false alarm. I'm not with Bolt but I saw him a bit ago. Noticed he'd been gone awhile so popped into the loo by the dining hall. Bolt was fine and with two others. Said the one in a wheelchair had a medical condition and needed to get to St. Mungo's. He authorised the emergency floo, though he didn't leave himself. Floo personnel, confirm to me who went through."
"He was with who?" Hermione's eyes narrowed, matching Ron's own. But before either could speak into their communicators, another voice popped in.
"Confirmation on the emergency floo," came Diggle, "used about twenty minutes ago at 8:40. It wasn't taken by Bolt—it was used by Alan Turpin and his carer Benny Barker. They were authorised to go through to St. Mungo's by Bolt and Skull."
"Whoa. Whoa whoa WHOA!" Dmitri's voice racketed out. "Turpin and Barker? Judge Turpin and Benjamin Barker? Those are characters from the Sweeney Todd musical! Barker is Todd's original name and Turpin's the judge he wanted to behead! You let them in the floo?"
"They had authorisation!" Diggle exclaimed right back.
"They're obviously fake names!"
"EVERYONE, QUIET!" Hermione shouted into her necklace, rattled. "This is for emergency news and updates only, not bickering! Now. Hit-wizards Stone and Bacon, get to St. Mungo's. The two are surely gone, but get the surveillance. Bat, you're positive these are fake names? We have a third pseudonym, 'Nellie Lovett', who had told us Bolt had gone backstage."
"Absolutely fake," was Dmitri's tense reply. "They're laughing at us."
Ginny had slid down the wall, one hand over her mouth and the other resting on her stomach. Ron felt another pull of indecision, but she looked more angry than frightened. Though she was his pregnant baby sister, he wasn't that concerned over her 'fragility' when she looked about ready to kill. Yes, as a family member she shouldn't be hearing this, but the exact same could be said for him and Hermione. But all of this did remind him of the unwelcome member of their party. With a hard tug of Ripley's arm and a push out of the curtains, the host joined the shouting masses being herded into groups in the dining hall.
Hermione had the expression she only got when every answer in her head led straight to a battle or a ferocious three-headed dog. Ron could spot the exact moment she made her decision. Her voice was steady but rapid as she spoke into her necklace. "This is code red, Bolt's been compromised. Skull and Tunnel, get to the backstage of the dining hall immediately. Until the Pensieve surveillance has been viewed, we're assuming this was either the Sweenies or copycats! Due to the changed MO, it may be copy—"
"It's the Sweenies."
Both women spun around at Ron's sudden interruption. Even he was surprised he'd spoken. It was like his mouth was moving on its own, as though it'd come up with the answer while his crowded brain remained a step behind.
"It isn't a copycat." Ron swallowed, mind racing with beginnings and tails of thoughts. He finally caught up to his mouth and captured one truth, one realisation that stuck out like a roaring Horntail. Every word became that much harder to form as a bigger picture took hold. Because it had been obvious, so ridiculously obvious. "Harry had blue powder on his arm. It wasn't paint."
The witches stared at him, not following.
"I've read those reports a million times," Ron was saying more to himself then to them (he'd stopped talking into his watch), not knowing what sentence would come next. Yet he knew with an absolute certainty that he was right. He was just too late for it to do any good. "Snackboxes. Lottie Fawcett's stolen Skiving Snackboxes!"
"Ron, what are you—"
"It turns into blue powder!" Ron broke into a pace, swiping hair back from his brow. Stupefaction had turned to frenzied motion. "How could I be so stupid? They were leaving calling cards a mile wide and—bloody hell, they wanted us to know they'd taken him—snuck him out somehow, like the Wizengamot—"
"RON!" Hermione grabbed his shoulders, forcing his rant and nervous pacing to come to an abrupt halt. "What are you talking about? What does the powder do?"
Ron stared at her blankly. There was more frightened comprehension on Ginny's face, which made his confused and frazzled thoughts remember two things: Hermione hadn't been spending months pouring over every detail of the Sweeney cases, and she wasn't the sort who'd be familiar with Skiving Snackboxes. He also dimly realised there were cries of questions coming from his watch. Mutely, he put it to his mouth.
"The Snackboxes, the powder was an invention Charlotte Fawcett had on her when she was kidnapped by the Sweenies." In contrast to the careening words a minute ago, it now took an effort to speak. "They're experimental. It—"
'That wasn't a normal headache!' Ron remembered with panic. 'The symptoms worsen as time passes, didn't George say that? It was enough to make Harry admit he was in pain!'
"—it gave Harry the migraine. They knew he was going to excuse himself for being sick, they must've been waiting," Ron managed to get out after a tense pause, trying not to sound as furious at his blindness as he felt. "Fawcett's Snackboxes weren't ready for production. Without the antidote, the pain keeps increasing. I, I don't know how much. But it matches Harry's symptoms and only Fawcett's captors would've had this. It's not a copycat."
Hermione was thinking rapidly. He could practically see the gears churning in her head. "George didn't have copies of these prototypes?"
Ron shook his head. "Asked him then. Fawcett had the only versions."
"Headaches," Ginny at last spoke up, her voice calm but fragile. She stared at her ring, arm circling her belly. Ron felt another urge to get her as far away as possible, but knew that she'd resist and that he didn't have time for a shouting match. "The Prophet's mentioned that Harry gets headaches. Anyone could've known that he…that he wouldn't find it strange."
Hermione took a deep breath, trying to steady herself. She'd nervously rubbed her mouth so much that her lipstick was gone. She spoke into her necklace. "The Sweenies took Bolt and have likely left the Ministry. If I don't have the surveillance footage soon I'LL be the one baking people into pies! Skull, I know you're busy with the Aurors, but I need your statement now. Tunnel, why aren't you here already!"
"I'm here, I'm here!" Came Diggle's huffing voice as he hurried through the curtain. He looked red from the run. "Was out securing people in the Atrium and—"
"What did you see at the floo?" Ron impatiently cut in, resisting the urge to shout.
Diggle opened his mouth in what looked to be a sneering retort, before realising that three angry war heroes were facing him and twitching for their wands. "Ah, Potter wasn't anywhere. He confirmed the travel through the comm, which Bones seconded."
"What the hell did you see?" Ron repeated with heat. "You let two people with fake names leave. Who were they!"
"I, uh," Diggle stumbled, taken aback enough that he didn't protest Ron's questions, "they weren't unusual. Turpin was in a wheelchair, an old man who was fast asleep. Barker was his carer. Talked about how the health concern was likely a false alarm."
Which was when Susan cascaded behind the curtain as well, panting with hair a mess, her formal dress hiked up. "Sorry! Was, was trying to corral hundreds of angry people, and reign in the Aurors."
Hermione had grown darker throughout Diggle's statement. "Susan, what—"
Susan waved, catching her breath and straightening. "My partner and I noticed Harry leaving your table. He looked queasy when he entered the closest bathroom, though we returned to the dining hall. When Ripley began speaking at 8:30 we checked on him, to make sure he was okay and to let him know appetisers were about to begin. Harry was by the sinks, looking better. He was with two people: 'Turpin', an elderly man asleep in a wheelchair, and 'Barker', a middle-aged man who said he was Turpin's carer. Both were white and of medium build, and Barker had an English accent. I was told that Turpin had been having breathing problems, but that this had eased up and he'd fallen asleep." This was the first time Susan hesitated. "This sounded unhealthy and I moved to wake him. Harry stopped me and said he'd feel more comfortable if a professional saw to him. He authorised the emergency floo to St. Mungo's and shooed all four of us towards the exit, saying that he was heading back to you."
Ron closed his eyes, tilting his head back as the telling facts washed over him. "You last saw Harry in the bathroom and left him there alone."
"Yes."
"Did he seem strange to you?"
"No. No, except," Susan faltered, "I wasn't expecting him to look as well as he did. When I saw him the second time he wasn't pale and had recovered."
Ron and Hermione shared a dark look. He recalled that most people didn't have experience with polyjuice like they did, even within the MLE. "Turpin was asleep?" A nod. Hermione steadied herself before addressing the fidgeting Diggle. "Did you check them for glamours or other appearance alterers before they left?"
"Course not. That's the point of the emergency floo, isn't it? To be expedient?"
"Did they have the right passes to get through without a check, ones that matched their wands?"
Diggle paused. "What?"
"All-access or MLE passes…" Ron hedged off at Diggle's expression.
"Potter authorised it!" Diggle insisted. "Said so through the comm."
"Merlin!" Ginny's head sunk into her hands, braid tangled in her fingers. "How are you an Auror?"
Diggle straightened and sent her a pompous look. "Might I ask why a civilian reporter is even here? She ought to be interrogated with the rest!"
"Would you shut up?" Ron said brusquely (while sending a glare at a wide-eyed Susan), but reminded himself that hexing his coworkers would make things worse. Besides, Ginny seemed near enough to doing that. He turned to Hermione with a gritting tone. "Three kidnappers then, with 'Lovett' and the Harry imposter still possibly in the Ministry. Judge Turpin was the main target in the story, doesn't take a genius to work the rest out. BONES! Did you happen to notice if the 'old man' was breathing?" he said brutally, sarcasm seeping in with his clenching worry. The last thing he cared about right now was being rude.
Susan paled, the full situation hitting her. "I—yes. Yes, he was alive. Oh, oh god…"
"Putting aside the monumental screw up of not checking for glamours," Ron sneered at Diggle, who looked ready to protest, "which no, you moron! I don't care if it's explicitly stated or not, IT'S COMMON SENSE! BECAUSE SOMEONE CLAIMED TO BE HARRY YOU LET THEM BYPASS ALL SECURITY?"
"It's against the rules to check!" Diggle huffed back, indignation swelling. Ginny was still sending him a look that could kill. "Would slow down something meant for emergencies. They had the proper authorisation!"
"You ruddy bast—"
"BE QUIET!" Hermione glared at them both. Susan was looking on with a haunted look. "This is bad enough without in-fighting. There will be an investigation of how this happened, so would you both focus on the matter at hand!"
Ron felt a thump of guilt, having been swept away with anger. He cleared his throat, trying to clench back the myriad emotions he didn't have time to deal with. "You're right, sorry. Two are still in the Ministry. Maybe. Though with how much time's past, I wouldn't hold too much on that. Except if…if the imposter's…"
Hermione cried out, following the thought and wrenching for her necklace to shout into it. "One of the Sweenies might be impersonating Bolt! He's considered armed and especially dangerous. Do not trust him or follow his orders. Hit-wizard beta team, sound the alarm to leading international agencies. Start with the ICW and go from there: someone is possibly controlling or has polyjuiced into Harry Potter and has his real wand and badge for identification. If he shows up, I want him stunned! NO LETHAL FORCE, DO YOU UNDERSTAND?"
Ginny had paled throughout the pronouncement. Ron was cursing himself for having let her stay this long, but there had been no time to breathe (let alone escort her to the floo) and he'd be damned if he shoved his sister out into the chaos of the main floor. He'd moved to approach her, but had stopped each time at her dark and measuring look. He had an idea of what caused it and, as it matched the guilt churning in his chest, couldn't bring himself to face it alongside everything else.
Ron massaged his head, the weight of the situation sinking in more heavily with each passing moment. "I doubt interrogating the people here will do much good. The—the powder. Harry wiped some off his arm in the reception area. Diggle! See if you can find samples. We were by the southern wall when it happened."
Diggle had recovered some of his composure. "You aren't my boss, Weasley."
"No, but I am." Susan stepped in, still shaken and with guilt lurking behind her stubborn tone. "Diggle, find another Auror and sweep the area." Diggle gave a deep frown but acquiesced. Susan slumped as soon as he'd left. "This is a disaster. Hermione, would it be better if I appeased the press or helped in the search?"
Hermione collected her thoughts. "You should be in front of the media, I can handle things here. The last thing we need is hysteric panic." At Susan's further slump she was given an apologetic glance. "I know you don't like it, but it's best."
"No, of course." Susan forced herself to straighten. "Press conference with furious reporters and vague answers, no problem. And…Ginny, I'm sorry I haven't said anything. I can escort you out to—"
"I'm not leaving," Ginny said promptly. Susan opened her mouth to protest but Ron met her gaze and shook his head, an idea having come to mind. When Hermione also nodded Susan stopped her protest (albeit reluctantly) and moved out of the backstage area.
"We'll find him, don't worry!" was her call as she swept out of the curtains.
Ron's mind was on another matter. Everything was distressing and had gone to hell, but there was one huge immediate issue that surpassed all else. "I need to talk to George."
Hermione stared at him aghast. "Harry just vanished and you want to what?"
"He was in pain," impatience again cut into Ron's voice. "Harry admitted to being in pain! You know what that means. That was as much of a 'headache' as a sectumsempra's a paper cut. He was drugged, most likely by the Snackboxes. If it's all the same to you, I'd like to know how bad that pain's going to get and if it's dangerous. Which means questioning George!"
Hermione deflated before his eyes. He felt a stab of guilt but couldn't bring himself to back down. "You're right, but you're needed here. Contact him through the mirror or—"
"Ginny needs to get out," Ron cut in bluntly, gesturing at his outraged sister. "There's nothing else I can do until we get the Pensieve surveillance."
"I'm not leaving!" Ginny burst forth. "I'm staying right here until Harry's back, do you hear me?"
"Why are you so stubborn?" Ron steamed at her. "We need to do our jobs and you need to get behind protective wards!"
"WHY YOU—"
"GINNY! Ginny," Hermione said over the shouting siblings, commanding order with her voice. "We don't know what's going on right now. When we do, you'll be the first to know. We're keeping the Ministry almost entirely on lockdown, but news is going to filter out. Do you want Teddy or Jamie to hear about this over the radio? Susan's going to be announcing something soon and there's surely already rumours."
Ginny's anger quelled at once, fury dying back into fright. Ron gave a silent thanks to Hermione for siding with him.
"I'm not trying to upset you," Hermione said to Ginny gently. "But I think it's best if you went to your kids, don't you think?"
Ginny opened her mouth before closing it. Looking out at the still-frenzied crowd she mutely nodded: not pleased but reluctantly agreeing.
Hermione gave a strained smile. She hesitated a bare moment, looking lost as well. Shaking her head she spoke into her necklace. "Whoever's with Percy and Audrey Weasley, expedite their questioning before leading them to MLE headquarters. I'll shortly be there myself. Those in command of the floo, Ron Weasley and Ginny Potter both have permission to leave, and the former has permission to reenter. Check their wands, badge, pass—the whole drill. We don't want another disaster!"
Ron thought this was all going too slowly. He grabbed Ginny's protesting arm and pulled her to the curtain. "I'll send everyone to the Burrow, it's the most isolated from the press."
"Give Rosie a hug from me!" Hermione shouted out to them. "Tell her I'll be there as soon as I can. I love you!"
"Love you too!" Ron kept tugging Ginny along for a few more steps before, when they'd reached the floor of the main dining hall, she wrenched herself from his grip.
"I'm not a child." Ginny sent him a haughty look. Though she did give an uncertain glance at her ring.
"Then hurry up," Ron sped up and darted around the crowds of protesting guests and corralling Aurors. "If you aren't with me, you might get stuck in this ruckus!"
She didn't answer, but did match his pace. He gave a single worried thought that he really shouldn't be making his pregnant and frightened sister run around the Ministry, but a look made it clear that she was more pissed off and bewildered than tired and terrified.
Even with the chaos and clawing crowds, Ron became aware of the all-too familiar feeling of gazes on him. There were shouted questions as well, alongside bursts of light from flashing cameras. Luckily, most of these were stopped by peeved hit-wizards or Aurors.
Ginny seemed impervious to the crowds, near running into them once or twice. She likewise took little notice of the 'barriers' where Ron flashed his badge and hurried them through the people waiting in lock-down.
Ron was happy that security was now competent. Absolutely. He entirely understood having their wands and badge/pass checked, bundling them through the glamour check, scouring them for weapons or extra wands (he received a few unamused glances for his 'innovative' shoes, even with his badge), and taking a light dose of veritaserum each (they received sheepish glances for this one: but Dmitri had taken over floo control, so Ron wasn't altogether shocked).
He wasn't as thrilled that the barmy thing took so much valuable time. Nor was he impressed at the wait afterwards, where Ginny and he stood about as her pass was double-checked. Extra slowly. It would have been more bearable if there wasn't an awkward silence between them. Or if the two hit-wizards in the small room had piped up. But the latter pair were more awe-struck than intimidating. Ron couldn't figure out if their stares was because of who they were (and who had just vanished), or if it was due to the stiflingly tense silence between the siblings.
Ron had tried to break it a few times. Telling Ginny that they'd do everything, that he'd do absolutely everything, and that it really was best she be with her kids. It was about then that the hit-wizards quickly excused themselves, hurrying away. For lack of a topic (and lack of response) Ron apologised for not getting her out sooner, what with the start of the investigation.
At the apology, she stiffened, having been leaning against the wall while her brother paced.
"He didn't want to go," Ginny said tersely, breaking her uneasy silence.
Ron halted both his pacing and nervous talking. She still stared straight ahead, bouncing on a foot.
"He didn't want to go," she repeated. Her features seemed to be chiseled out of marble. "Harry hates this sort of thing. So what did you do? You schemed with Shacklebolt behind his back."
"Gin, I—"
"That isn't my name!" Ginny's teeth clenched, still not looking at her brother. Her anger returned back to the surreal calm. "You know Harry probably better than I do. It's fine, I get that. You knew exactly how to make him agree to this gala. Publish a story which presses one of his biggest buttons: smart, very smart. Bring his parents into it and he wouldn't know up from down! He'd just want the story to disappear."
"I, I really didn't mean—"
"Shut up!" she all but snarled, spinning to glare at him. "What I don't get? Why you would do that. Let me guess, jealousy again? Couldn't stand seeing Harry promoted over you?"
"Merlin, no! That has nothing to do with—"
"Or is it that bs about being 'lonely' without him as your partner? Ooo, poor Ron," Ginny said bitterly. "Congratulations. If you wanted to lose your best friend, this was exactly how to go about it!"
Ron's mouth fluttered open and shut, numbness spreading out from his chest. He couldn't move as his sister stood on tip-toes, getting uncomfortably close to him.
"When he gets back," Ginny hissed, her glare and unbundled hair grazing his face, "the first thing out of your mouth had better be an apology. You treat him like he's a doormat to trod upon! Harry's wonderful and forgiving, but even he has a line. And I promise you, I promise you, if you try another stunt like this that friendship will be over!"
"It, I'm—"
"You think this is funny?"
"NO! Of course not."
There was a deep silence. Her breath was crinkled and heavy. This close, he could see the roughness around her eyes and the pinched look as though she was about to cry.
"You know I didn't mean this to happen," Ron said softly, wishing he could find the right words. "I'm so sorry."
"Harry tried to talk me out of going." Ginny's voice had returned to the unnerving calm as she took a step back from her brother, shoving off his hand from her shoulder. "Wanted us to play hooky. I was going to agree, but I felt the speech would be good for him. Finally talk about his parents, you know? Well, his mum. Thought it was a step in the right direction."
Ron gave a weighty swallow, his hand dangling awkwardly between them.
Ginny shook her head, blinking rapidly. Getting ahold of herself she continued. "I'm not angry at you. I dragged him to the gala too, after all, and neither of us are seers. Harry will be back soon, so that's not an issue. But take my warning to heart. If you care about your friendship with him, get over yourself and make amends."
Ron's numb thoughts trailed from Sweeney case to Sweeney case…all unsolved, all without clues…the convulsing potion with Fawcett, the drug that might still be hurting Harry…no bodies. All open cases. He took a deep, swaying breath. "Yeah. Yeah, Ginny. I'll apologise as soon as I see him."
Her shoulders relaxed a touch and she gave him the barest smile. "Good. I'm tired of Harry plotting how to get back at you. He's sorry about the acromantula, you know. Also refuses to apologise. Why are you both so stubborn?"
Finally through security, Ginny went through the floo first. When Ron then emerged from the fireplace at his brother's, he found his relatives were back from trick-or-treating and were sorting candy in the living room. He also arrived just in time to see Ginny tackle Jamie and Teddy into a frantic bearhug.
"What the—" George began, only to have Albus plucked out of his arms by the fearful mum, "uh, Ginny?"
"Ron?" Angelina said with equal bafflement, as the man in question had scooped up a delightedly cheering Rose and held her close to his chest. "What are you two doing here?"
"Mummy, no strangle!" Jamie was struggling to get back to his candy as Fred and Roxanne looked on curiously.
"Aunt Ginny?" Teddy said with more hesitance. His surprise had turned to concern, as the woman who'd pounced him with a hug was shaking. "What's going on?"
"Dada!" Rosie babbled, not questioning anything. Ron gave a silent thanks to his wonderful daughter and buried his face in her hair, catching his breath properly for the first time that evening. "Lookie, candy!"
"What's wrong?" George stood up. He was unusually grim for someone in a Big Foot costume. "I'd ask why you aren't at the gala, but I'm more concerned about why you're hugging your kids like—"
"You haven't heard anything?" Ron cut in. He'd intended on barging in here and screaming at George, but he didn't have the energy. He felt like he did after a rough apparation: stretched and pulled until his limbs were left dangling.
George and Angelina shared a bewildered look. Ginny was still strangling her kids while Fred and Roxanne had shrugged and returned to trading candy. Ron, taking count of how many children were in the room, made an effort to keep his voice calm. But he could feel the anger swelling through him as his sapped energy grew.
"Something…something happened. George, I have a few questions about an invention of yours." Reluctantly setting his daughter back by her candy (with a murmured, "I love you so, so much") Ron straightened and gestured to the hallway. "It isn't appropriate for kids, you get me? How 'bout we go to the kitchen."
The couple exchanged another glance. Ron had more than enough experience to see that a silent argument was taking place, but soon Angelina had acquiesced.
"Yeah, sure." George followed Ron out of the room, only leaving when he saw that Angelina had moved over to Ginny. Leaving the hallway into the kitchen and closing the door behind them, he turned to face his brother. "Now what's—"
"The Snackboxes Fawcett was working on last Spring, the ones that malfunctioned?" Frustration permeated Ron's words. "You're telling me everything you know about them."
"What?" George stepped back from his angry brother, hitting the door. "Oh-kay, I see you have your Auror face on. What happened at the gala?"
"The prototype Snackboxes! Leaves a blue powder after it's been applied, yeah?"
"What are you—"
"Is that right!"
"Yes! Yes, that's right." George gaped at him. "Why's Ginny sobbing over her kids?"
"What about the symptoms?" Ron ignored the question. "You said they got more extreme over time. How much time?"
"I don't know," George said in bewilderment, stuck against the door. "I guess it swelled up. The worst would be at, say an hour max? How about you tell me why you and Gin came flying out of the floo!"
Ron forced himself to calm down, having to remind himself that George wasn't the villain here. "The symptoms themselves. Say someone had Fawcett's altered Snackbox that induces a headache. First off, did that exist? Secondly, an hour later, how bad would the headache be without the cure?"
"Fine! Ignore my questions. Yes, there was a headache one," George was only growing more and more confused, his humour having temporarily left. "A right nightmare to test, let me tell you. But after an hour? I wouldn't want to be that person. Though it might be better than you interrogating me."
"How bad would it be!" Ron grabbed the front of his brother's shirt, impatience steaming through his common sense.
"Merlin, I don't know! Uh, a nightmare of a migraine." George tried to remember. "I'm talking chills, dizziness, throwing up. Course, it'd feel like someone was taking a hammer to your head, so you wouldn't much notice the rest."
"IS IT DANGEROUS?"
"No, no! Just hurts like hell. What's this about? Did it turn up at the Ministry?" George shook off his younger brother's hold, unsettled. "Wait, hold on. Your questions. You aren't telling me someone took it?"
Ron took a step back, expression pale. "Not sure."
"You sound pretty sure!" George retorted.
"Harry, Harry might've been dosed with it. I don't know." Ron drew a shaky hand through his hair. His brothers' eyes widened further. "Will this thing wear off by itself?"
"Definitely." George now looked queasy. "It wouldn't last more than two hours. But look, I can grab the antidote and run with you to the Ministry—"
"Won't do any good." Ron took a low, thick breath. "Unless you know where Harry is. Still, least that's one less thing to worry about."
"What's going o…ooo…oh hell." George froze, thoughts visibly connecting. "Lottie's Snackboxes? They could've only shown up if…if…" Ron could see the moment true realisation hit him. The older wizard took a deep inhale, blowing it out slowly. "You don't know where Harry is."
Ron mutely nodded, not trusting himself to speak.
"He disappeared at the gala?"
Another nod.
George only looked more disbelieving. "So you're, you're honestly telling me he vanished in the Ministry, surrounded by hordes of Aurors."
"Only realised Harry was missing when he didn't show for the speech," Ron said. "He had a blazing migraine and blue 'paint' on his arm. Went off, never came back."
George stared at him.
"I've gotta go," Ron's voice was heavy but had quickened. "I found out the Snackbox won't kill him: that's something. But George, listen. I don't think we're in danger, but news is already getting out. The press' going to be banging down doors. Take Angie, Ginny, and all the kids to the Burrow. Spread the word and get as much of the family there as possible, it being out of the way will be a buffer. Percy and Audrey will be there soon, and Hermione and I will check on Rose as soon as we can."
"The press?" George repeated, struggling to get his mind around the events.
"This…" Ron struggled for the words, "you didn't see the panic at the Ministry. This might get bad. Even if Harry's just taking a kip somewhere, there's near a hundred furious reporters and even more politicians in lock-down. Keep everyone out of the way, especially Ginny! I messed up and let her hear too much of the initial news. She doesn't need anything else to happen right now. I don't know what they're going to broadcast, but it won't be good, so keep the kids away from WWN."
Finished with that Ron bustled around his shocked brother, racing back into the living room. Rosie was swept up into another hug, giggling at her dad's murmured reassurances. The Potters kids plus Teddy had long since given up on getting Ginny to relinquish her embrace. Angelina was looking on with an uneasy expression, and even the twins had set down their candy and were whispering to each other.
"Ron…" Angelina hedged after he'd been there for a time.
"George will tell you." Ron gave his baffled but cheery daughter a last kiss. "I've got to get back to the Ministry. Rosie, will you be a good girl for your aunt and uncle?"
"Yeah yeah!"
"We'll take care of her, don't worry," George said seriously, having recovered and had followed Ron to now stand in the doorway. Ron gave him a grateful nod, turning back to his wide-eyed daughter.
"Your mum really wants to see you," he murmured to her. "But we're…we're trying to fix something. We'll be back as soon as we can. We love you, sweetie. So, so much."
"Luv you," Rose stuck her thumb in her mouth, the smallest of frowns appearing.
And god, it killed him to leave her. He also wanted to hug Ginny, say something, but his sister had that look back on her face and an attempt to distract her from her kids would surely get him hexed. So though everything was screaming for him not to, with a last look around he took the floo back to the Ministry.
"Winter, I'm back," Ron said into his watch, tossing his wand and badge at the attending hit-wizard to check. It was far easier to enter the Ministry than it was to exit. "Asked George: Snackboxes are painful, not dangerous. Wears off after two hours."
"Thank Merlin," came Hermione's reply, her relief clear. "Come up to my office. Did you send everyone to the Burrow?"
"George's taking them there. Yeah, thanks." Ron took back his items, rushing back into the Ministry proper. The crowds were still as big as before and just as pissed off. The MLE personnel trying to keep order were even more on edge. There were some fights scattered about, mainly from reporters breaking for the exit (only to be tackled by overzealous Aurors). "See the questioning's going splendidly. Pensieve?"
"Don't get me started," was the grumble. "We've gotten the security footage. Tracing it back from when the two unknowns went through the emergency floo. Matches with Skull's and Tunnel's testimony: Turpin was either asleep or unconscious. Didn't seem hurt, at least. We also traced back to see when Bolt got dosed: Barker shook his hand in the Atrium, applying the Snackbox. It was right in front of us."
Ron took a swift inhale, catching his breath as he waited for the lift. He jabbed the button again, sending a glare at a few staring Junior Aurors who ducked their heads and hurried on. "Seen the footage from the bathroom yet?"
"Just about to. Hurry up."
"I'm trying," Ron muttered, flinging into the elevator before the doors had fully opened. The ride up seemed horrendously slow, even with the bucking movement. He tried to ignore the thoughts sneaking into his mind, chiding himself for the sick and guilty feeling filling his gut. He'd have plenty of time to chide himself later, once this was all figured out. Still, Ginny's words were ricocheting through him. It wouldn't have hit him nearly as hard if he hadn't already been kicking himself. "What's with this bloody lift!"
Apparently shouting and slamming his hand against the wall worked, as he came to a halt. Doors reopening he darted out, cascading down the hall. Paying no attention to the frantic or pacing people around him, he made a beeline for his wife's office.
"I'm here, I'm here!" Ron shouted, bursting through the door. Adam Vance blinked at him before groaning, pointing mutely at the Pensieve which had been set up in front of the main desk. "Right, thanks. Hermione in there?"
Adam nodded. "Shout if you need another view, I'll hear you." He gestured at a shelf of vials by him, surely filled with different footages of the night. "She's started the main footage."
Ron wasted no more time. Hurrying to the Pensieve he leaned over the side, looking down to see porcelain walls, milk-white sinks, and a brunette nibbling her fingernails. In another moment his body had tipped over, falling into the memory.
As Ron clunked to the floor, the woman gave a start before relaxing. Hermione's entire face softened as she helped him up. Taking a glance around, he saw the bathroom was otherwise deserted. "Rosie's fine. Gorging herself on candy."
Hermione gave a strained smile. Her eyes were red.
"Ginny's…Ginny. About strangled her kids. Told George an overview, they're heading to the Burrow."
"That's, that's good." She nodded jerkily. "The testimonies were verified and Sue's about to make an announcement. With this memory, Harry should enter any minute now."
There was a soft silence.
"I love you."
"Love you too." She gave a weak smile, tugging at her long skirt. "I've just realised I should have asked you for a change of clothes. I'm not trying a transfiguration with all the enchantments on this silly thing."
Ron didn't process the statement immediately. Then he clued in, eyeing her extravagant dress for the first time since dinner. He'd completely forgotten their formal attire. "I'm sure there's spare clothes somewhere in the office. We'll check when we're done here."
"Yes. Yes, you're right." She leaned against him tiredly. He rested his head against hers, wondering which of them was more tense. Something he hadn't been meaning to say came bubbling up.
"When we were waiting at security, Ginny said…well, she said…" Ron stumbled off. His jaw felt stiff. "Never mind. Doesn't matter right now."
Hermione made a noise like she was about to say something, but was cut off by the door opening. In seeing a familiar head of messy hair they straightened. Ron was startled: had Harry really looked that sick? Or maybe he was emphasising things now in hindsight. Whatever it was, Harry groggily walking to the sinks set Ginny's words to harsh reality.
Ron rubbed his mouth, unsteady on his feet. What was that Ginny'd said, that he walked all over Harry? Poked and prodded his weaknesses while being too stubborn to apologise?
"There's one person already in here," Hermione whispered as Memory Harry turned on the water and swept some on his face. He looked pale. Clammy. Ron noted it was the centre of his forehead that he was rubbing, not his scar. This didn't cheer him up much. "I should have mentioned. It's 'Barker', the one who took the floo with 'Turpin'. He's in the stall nearest the door and has been here at least ten minutes."
"Let me guess, he's also the bloke who dosed Harry in the Atrium?" Hermione nodded in affirmation. "So we're still at three suspects, including Lovett and the Harry imposter. Think Lovett could also be the imposter?"
Hermione bit her lip. "Some of us were figuring out the times when you were gone. Harry left the dining hall at around 8 and Lovett came up to us about fifteen minutes after that. Susan only checked on Harry at 8:30. That'd give Lovett ten possible minutes in here."
"Plenty of time. Two or three kidnappers, then. Harry's speech was supposed to be at 9, right? When was the emergency floo activated?"
"8:40," was Hermione's sigh. "With Barker already here that gives him half an hour to incapacitate Harry. They had this planned perfectly."
Meanwhile, Harry was wadding up tissues from the dispenser. Drenching them with water, they were pressed against his forehead. His frown deepened. Muttering a low curse he tossed the disintegrating tissues in the bin. After a flush, the unknown man exited his stall.
Ron turned his gaze to the stranger as he washed his hands. Barker was scrawny, with dark blond hair and a flimsy moustache. The Senior Auror vaguely recalled seeing him in the parade of people who'd talked to them earlier that evening. The guy gave Harry a once-over.
Seeing as how Harry stiffened, he'd noticed the other wizard's gaze. Ron could read his brother-in-law's thoughts on his face: was the man a reporter? A fan who'd sing his praises? A groupie who'd gape at him? There was faint recognition, too, but Harry didn't seem to connect the stranger to the Atrium.
The man paused in washing up and quirked his head in a half-nod. "Mr. Potter. Pleased to meet you."
Harry gave him a second glance, surprised at the lack of gawking. Likely due to his migraine he brushed the oddness aside. "Err, you as well? Sorry, feeling out of sorts."
"Of course, pardon me." Barker turned back to washing up.
Ron and Hermione gave each other a startled glance, having thought this would trigger something. Harry, having grabbed another tissue, transfigured it into a washcloth. He dropped his wand beside the sink (the side opposite the lingering stranger, the silent observers noticed). Soaking and folding the cloth he placed it on his forehead. Following this he gave a small sigh of relief, accompanied with a wry glance at the stranger. The man, who'd been taking his good time drying his hands, noticed the look.
"Right, sorry," the sheepish man gave the Head Auror a disarming grin. He put his gloves on. "Surprised to run into you. Great honour, of course, but I was wondering…I know you aren't feeling well, but my son's a huge fan. Wants to be in Gryffindor just like you! If it wouldn't be too much trouble?"
Harry relaxed as the man pulled out a fountain pen and stub of parchment. His suspicion drifted away. "Sure, I guess. Give me a mo."
He dropped the washcloth to the sink, drying his hands on his jacket.
"I really am sorry to bother you," Barker said apologetically, his expression leaping as Harry took the parchment. "But I couldn't let the opportunity pass. Timmy wouldn't let me live it down!"
"Don't worry about it." Harry unclasped the pen, a small sigh escaping him. "I don't usually sign things, but I know how kids can get. When my godson met Viktor Krum he practically jumped the poor bloke." He paused, biro lifted. "Your son's name is Timmy?"
"Can you make it out to Timothy? Timmy's more of a pet name," Barker chattered on as Harry scribbled. "I'm Daniel, by the way. It is a great pleasure."
"Hmm. Good to meet you," Harry murmured, finishing up. From his vaguely pained expression, this was the last thing he wanted to be doing. "Now, I'm sorry, but…"
"I'll leave you alone!" Barker said boisterously, reading over the parchment he'd gotten back with cheer. Glancing at it, Ron couldn't see why. Harry's penmanship was as much of a mess as usual, so the so-called 'Timmy' would have a grand time translating.
Harry returned the other wizard's smile weakly, turning again to the sink. Pressing the washcloth back against his forehead he winced, the hot water no longer helping. He seemed worse than he had a minute ago. This raised all kinds of alarms for the watching couple.
"Barker's taking his time," Hermione said. Barker was stowing away parchment and pen at a turtle's pace.
"He's waiting for something." Ron returned to looking at Harry. When he did his heartbeat quickened: his best friend was bent over the sink, clenching the washcloth with his eyes screwed up in pain. "Merlin. That look like a headache to you?"
Hermione had no chance to answer, for Harry dropped the cloth and bolted for a stall. A moment later they heard him being sick. The observing couple would have hurried to him, but something else caught their attention. Barker stopped fiddling with the parchment as soon as Harry raced off. His movements became quick and deliberate. Darting to the now-unoccupied sink he sent off a silent spell back to the main door before pulling a small bag from his pocket. Taking the discarded washcloth he placed it in the bag, letting it soak up the foreign liquid inside. The bathroom door opened and closed, not showing anyone entering. Meanwhile, taking out the washcloth, Barker only touched it with his gloved hand. The wizard grabbed Harry's wand and vanished the bag.
"He signalled a partner to enter," Ron said hollowly, kneading his brow. Hermione gave a furious growl. "My bet's Lovett."
Barker was hurrying to the stalls. As he went, his expression became one of concern. "Mr. Potter?" The criminal crouched next to the sick man. He held out the washcloth. "I called for an attendant. Take this, it should help."
"Get Ginny," Harry wheezed, covering his mouth. He didn't touch the offered cloth. "My wife. She, she—"
"She's coming," Barker said sympathetically. Grabbing Harry's shoulder he tugged him to his swaying feet. The washcloth was placed in his unresisting hand. "There's a bout of dragon flu going around. You'll be alright, lad. Can you contact someone? How about you wash your face?"
"No." Harry put a hand to his temple to steady himself. He used his other (the one still holding the drenched cloth) to try and push the wizard away. In the small time this took, he swayed with increasing illness. "Not, not Ginny. Get Ron. Ron Weasley. He's an Auror and, and he—"
"You'll be fine," the man intoned, trying to get his arm back around Harry. Ron was torn between rage at the scene and a sick feeling that Harry had asked for him. "You need to relax. You, ah, what are you doing?"
Harry had dropped the washcloth and was weakly digging in his pocket, stumbling even as he stood still. "Mirror," he said clumsily, as though his mouth was full of marbles. "Two-way mirror. This, this was too fast. Something, something's wrong."
Barker gave a sympathetic chuckle, though a flash of true concern filtered over his expression. "No need for that. Just the flu, you'll see. Remarkable how quickly it sets in."
But Harry had frozen. Hand still in his pocket, he glanced at the sink. His wand was nowhere to be seen. With this realisation his voice became tense, more deliberate. "You aren't, aren't letting me call anyone."
"I'm afraid not." The other man smiled good-naturedly. "Why don't you take that washcloth and take a good whiff? It will go easier, that way."
Harry, though still looking awful, took a surveying glance around without moving his gaze from the man. His words became stronger, from what Ron guessed was pure adrenaline. "How many wands are on me?"
"Not as many as are on your wife," was the simple reply. "Now then, unhand the mirror."
"For being poisoned," Hermione said softly, her hand clutching Ron's in a death-grip, "Harry figured it out quickly. Do you think it's true, about Ginny?"
Ron shook his head, feeling horrid in gazing at the past scene. "He's bluffing. If they had a chance to grab Ginny they would've wanted us too. Or you, at least." He faltered. "But, yeah, that was fast."
"Revenge?" Harry was saying quietly, drawing their attention back to him. A storm raged through his still-weak words, his hand bracing the wall behind him to keep upright. "Ransom?"
"Not that simple," the man chided. "Now, the mirror. As well as any weapons or ways to contact others. If you don't comply, your wife will be the one who—"
Harry made a sudden leap at him, cutting him off. Drawing a knife from his pocket instead of the mirror, the Head Auror twisted unsteadily around. The knife was pressed against the stranger's throat.
"You're bluffing." Harry growled, keeping his arms clasped to trap the man. His breathing was laboured. "Hard enough for you to sneak in. I'm giving you one chance: what's your plan—hmph!"
It was Harry's turn to be cut off, as the washcloth flew up from the floor and wrapped itself around his mouth. He struggled for a minute, but soon his chokehold around the man loosened. The knife fell to the ground. Hermione and Ron watched in horror as their friend's eyes fluttered shut and he slumped over. His arms gave a last shake, as though the muscles were settling. With the Head Auror unconscious the washcloth undraped itself from his mouth. It was only then that the woman holding it unwrapped an invisibility cloak from her body.
'Barker' twisted around to glare at 'Lovett', his false sympathy fleeing into rage. "Why were you waiting? He almost killed me!"
"Don't be overdramatic. Potter could barely hold the knife," she chided, accent now poshly English rather than Scottish. Crouching down and turning Harry's unconscious face to her, she whistled. "Even handsomer in person."
"Harpy," Barker straightened and brushed nonexistent dust off his robes. Ignoring the other two he grabbed the washcloth, put it in his pocket, and pulled out a small, shiny object. He began to enlarge it, taking off a shrinking enchantment.
The woman pinched Harry's features about. "Ooo, wicked. He's a looker for a half-blood! Those brill green eyes alone." She blinked, her brown eyes becoming the exact same shade as Harry's. Barker didn't glance over, enlarging the metallic object. "Not as pretty as the Missus, though."
Barker sent her a harsh look. "Are you fantasising over Potter and his whore wife?"
"Yep!" the woman replied brightly. "Blood traitor or no, I'd shag that. Sure, she's preggers. But those Quidditch pin-ups where she's only covered by golden snitches? My, my. What a gorgeous slut."
Ron's burning temper rose yet another pitch, for the words as well as her squeezing Harry's face. Considering Hermione's revolted look, her piercing anger had also heightened. Barker humphed, back to ignoring his companion. He put the final touches on the enlarged wheelchair.
"I still don't see what's wrong with my plan," the woman pouted. She twisted up her eyes: hair and skin rippled until, seconds later, she looked identical to Harry. A Harry Potter who was giving a lecherous grin that Ron had—thankfully—never seen on his real brother-in-law. "Perfect distraction. You go with grandpa to the hospital and I stroll into dinner. Where I grab 'my wife' and shag her senseless."
"Stop talking." Barker pulled Harry's limp form into the wheelchair. "Will you do your job?"
The metamorphmagus clicked 'her' tongue. But she approached the unconscious man. With a short spell, small lights appeared around Harry's body. The woman expertly went from light to light, removing all the hidden objects:
The other knife sheaved in the sole of Harry's left shoe. The two-way mirror in his pocket. The jagged wire in the lining of his belt. She even rolled up Harry's sleeve and—pinching his lower arm—made a slight incision. Removing the small tracker she closed the wound without leaving a trace. While at it she took his badge, two-way mirror, and grabbed his wand from Barker.
Hermione frowned at Ron throughout this, having not known the extent of Harry's precautions. Ron shrugged, feeling like the current situation justified Harry's (that is, Ginny's) paranoia. He was mainly just enraged someone had detected the items. When the woman spotted that Harry's glasses could be snapped apart into a lock picking device, he reluctantly admitted she was thorough.
"Are you joking?" Hermione whispered at the enfolding scene. "Is that really…is his tattoo a ward against spells?"
"It reveals if a spell's incapacitated him," Ron muttered. "Supposed to trigger alarms if something happens. Been wondering about that."
"So why didn't it!" Hermione cried out, shoving aside the odd paranoia.
"Because this wasn't a spell. They must've figured he'd have some detector on him. Not much of a leap, him being who he is." Ron kicked himself for overlooking this. "Was George's idea, but he couldn't very well charm it to go off whenever Harry fell unconscious. We'd be on red alert every time he took a nap! Whatever they hit him with, it's not magical."
"They're incredibly organised." Hermione bit her lip, watching as the tattooed snitch was removed from Harry's shoulder. "They knew he wouldn't be suspicious about a migraine, how to bi-pass his precautions, and how we were securing this event. Then there's Harry's question, about whether this was for revenge or ransom? We haven't heard any demands yet. If they were going to…to kill him, they would have already done it. Same with polyjuice: they would have shaved his hair. What are they after?"
"Could still be revenge," Ron admitted, not wanting to think that Harry could be undergoing torture. "Or they want information. But he's not about to give them anything. He couldn't! The most sensitive stuff's under Unbreakable Vows. Veritaserum or legilimency couldn't pry it out."
"More minor things wouldn't be protected," Hermione said, surely going over all the grim possibilities. "Say, ways into secure areas. Extensive knowledge about British defences. Global ones, too. Information or blackmail on heaven knows how many people and governments? He's an incredibly influential person, though he doesn't act like it. He could stroll into practically any world leader's office!"
"Let it go, Hermione. We have no idea what they're after." Ron didn't like where the conversation was heading. He uncomfortably remembered laughing with Harry that he'd make a damn good criminal or Dark Lord if he so wished. "You've locked him out and set out an alert, there's little else to do on that front. Look there, will you? The bitch's done."
Lovett was vanishing the objects she'd 'retrieved'. She inclined her head, carefully observing Harry. "Nothing too fancy, eh?"
Barker humphed. "Nothing the detectors could notice."
"All cosmetic charms are picked up." She swirled her wand, lengthening Harry's hair. Soon the longer fringe hid his scar, while a sprouted beard obscured his lower face. Another swish and the dark hair had lightened to a peppery grey. "They're generally ignored with this vain crowd, but something extensive? Your problem."
"Not like we're going through the detector."
"Still say we shouldn't be sneaking out the first floor," Lovett mused. "Why risk getting the floo on how well I can shout at minions as Potter?"
"Would you shut up?"
"Blimey, don't get your wee knickers in a twist." The woman hummed, spinning her wand around with light charms. Harry transformed before the watchers into someone near unrecognisable. Wrinkles were scattered over his skin, pouches appeared under his eyes, and laugh lines crinkled his mouth. The already hidden lightning bolt was blended into the rest of his skin, all of which shifted to a clammier, paler shade. His glasses were already gone, but his eye colour changed to brown and the rest of his clothes were altered to lighter, less notable shades.
The metamorphmagus did another identifying charm, making it so that spots of light appeared over his body. Ignoring any covered by clothes, she closely examined his arms and neck. It was when she was blending the trace marks of a blood quill from Harry's hand that Ron realised the famous lightning bolt wasn't the only scar that was being hidden.
A green light glowed from Alan's watch. Seeing this he tapped it off. "We have company. Aurors, two of them."
"A guard then or an enchantment, outside the door," Hermione said darkly, wholly unshocked. "We should check that after this."
Lovett made a final flourish and grinned at the unconscious man. "You can't rush art, but…"
The bathroom door burst open. Ron watched as Susan Bones and Orla Quirke strode in, taking in the scene. Though their wands were in hand, both relaxed when they saw 'Harry Potter' standing up from the floor, safe and sound.
"Come on, come on," Ron muttered to himself, not believing this was happening. "It's a fake! Ask the impostor a question, anything!"
"They had no reason to," Hermione sadly mumbled back, watching as the Aurors approached the small group.
"Good! Good, you're here." Lovett looked at the Aurors impatiently. Her accent had changed into one closely resembling Harry's London drawl.
"Sir?" Orla glanced at the scene. "Are you okay?"
"Of course I am." The imposter's manner was a fair enough imitation of Harry (Ron would only darkly admit this, convinced that he'd have noticed the difference). "But this man has been having breathing problems. He's recovered now, though I want him to be checked over. Can you two show him and his carer to the direct emergency floo to St. Mungo's?"
"Breathing problems? He shouldn't be asleep." Susan's expression turned to one of concern. She stepped towards the disguised Harry, but Lovett held her off.
"Hence the emergency floo," Lovett said grimly. "No offence, but I'd prefer he be seen by a Healer at the hospital."
"But I—"
Lovett arched a brow. "Mr. Turpin needs medical assistance. I'll call ahead and give direct authorisation for him and Mr. Barker." She fished in her pocket for Harry's badge, flashing it. "No need for paranoia, everything's fine. So long as he gets checked over."
Susan hesitated but nodded, gesturing for Barker to follow her. "Orla, stay here with Harry. We'll go to Diggle."
"No Orla, it's alright." Lovett remarked, making the Junior Auror flush at the use of her first name. "Go with these three. They might need assistance and I'm fine. Just need to get back for that blasted speech."
Though Susan took another glance back the four did exit, Barker talking to her pleasantly even though they were hurrying. The moment the door closed Lovett took out Harry's communication mirror, examining it.
"Hmm, funny thing," Lovett mused to herself, lifting it to her ear. "Never held an MLE one before. If it works like a regular one…connect me to Diggle." A small pause before her tone became more serious. "Diggle! I'm authorising emergency floo usage for Barker and Turpin, due to a medical emergency. They're to be sent to St. Mungo's immediately. Don't waste time moving them through security or checking their wands. Bones will second my authorisation for the floo when she drops them off, though she should stay here. Yes. Yes, thank you."
She clicked it off, humming as she stowed the mirror back in her pocket. With this done she curtsied with a pearly smile. Straightening, she looked around the empty room.
"Don't think we didn't do our homework," Lovett called out, seemingly talking to nobody. "Shoddy security you have here. Granger and Weasley, I assume? I was nervous about using a Sweeney Todd alias right to your faces, but couldn't resist. I do love putting on a show! Pardon my companion's rudeness, he doesn't share that trait and has little patience with the Ministry. To all the Aurors who will watch and rewatch this scene? Be happy I have restraint. Because, sweet Jesus, am I tempted to have my way with the Missus before gutting her and her kiddies! Wouldn't that be fun?"
Hermione had paled throughout the scene. Ron wove a shaking arm around her, trying his best to keep them both upright.
Lovett did a tempus charm. "But business before pleasure. It's just past 8:30 now, with Potter due to speak at the hour. In thirty minutes you'll realise your Head Auror's missing. Shame. You know why?" She smacked her lips. "Because Potter will be dead in twenty. It's for a fantastic cause, though, and I hear he's all about the greater good."
The woman sent a last spell around, cleaning up remaining evidence. She gave a cheery wave. "Can't stay, sorry. See you at the funeral! If you ask nicely maybe I'll bring his body as a gift." She morphed into an elderly woman. With a smirk over her shoulder she skipped out of the room.
Hermione stumbled back, hands flying to her mouth. Ron, on automatic, pulled her into a tight embrace. His heart beat like mad as he felt wetness on his cheeks. He wasn't sure who was crying. Most of his thoughts had fallen into a repeated mantra: it's not too late. It's not too late. It's not too late.
"VANCE!" Ron barked, only vaguely aware he was shouting in Hermione's ear. "TEST EVERYONE FOR METAMORPHMAGUSES! YEAH, YOU HEARD ME! FIGURE OUT A DAMN TEST!"
"He's…he's…" Hermione stumbled, hands still pressed against her mouth.
"Harry's fine." Ron tightened his hug, leaning his head against hers. "He'll be fine, you'll see. He's always okay."
It's not too late. It's not too late. It's not too late.
Please, dear Merlin, let it not be too late.
"'I'm going to keep going until I succeed — or die. Don't think I don't know how this might end. I've known it for years.'"
—Harry Potter, Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows
A/N: As I'm staying the hell away from Cursed Child spoilers, the new canon won't be incorporated into this story (at least not on purpose). As for the fic...yeah. I'm sorry about that, I really am. Unfortunately, this main plot point won't be resolved for quite some time.
The next few chapters will be about what happens to Harry Potter without Harry Potter. I'm talking manic Ministry, worrying Weasleys, poisonous press, and panicking public. Sounds like a grand ole time! No, but seriously. There's going to be a lot of talk of grief, denial, and struggling on in the face of the unthinkable. The comedy has come to an abrupt halt. Harsh mystery and world-weary characters, enter stage right.