Disclaimer: Its not mine.
Notes: Im soooo sorry that this took so long! School x Writers Block = Not Good. I really I am sorry. I tried to make the chapter a lil longer, to make up for it. Sorry.
~*~
Harry soared towards the Ministry, filled with elation. The first practice had been both smashing and relieving, the delights that came with flight causing a broad Grin to curve over Harry's face. Jade orbs were sprinkled with true happiness, so unlike the wary smile that had previously graced his face on only the best of days. He couldn't help it. His world was slowly, methodically falling back into place. After almost no contact, he had seen Hermione twice the day before. His Hogwarts obsession, quidditch, was finally possible again. He had a mission and an assignment, but it was one that didn't seem to include death. And then there was Ginny. Crazy, mysterious, fiery Ginny who he could finally face. Things were looking up for Mr. H. Potter.
Having reached the platform outside the great, pearly building, Harry went through the brief I.D. check that took place. He could remember thinking it a waste of time and an annoyance. Now, it was a precaution, and a valuable one. Even if the guards were only a handful of novice aurors and scholars. At least they were a barrier, albeit a small one.
Running a hand through his wind tousled hair, Harry grinned at the female guard before entering his workplace. People jostled through the mammoth antechamber, orbs of light glimmering with multicolored fire. The hues danced over the crowd, illuminating individuals as they rushed through their workdays. Automatically, Harry was assessing every figure in the room; searching for a potential enemy. Almost at once, the lopsided grin began to fade. Life may have been going better for Harry, but who knew how it could be going for others.
Finding no one suspicious, he slipped silently and swiftly through the throng. He loathed great masses of hurried people. They always seemed so preoccupied in their life troubles, not to mention the fact that he had never met a crowd that stay away when ordered to. Years of frustrating gawkers during miniature battles had developed a fierce hate.
Deep in thought, he was startled when man, walking sideways in animated debate, tipped completely backwards and went hurtling into Harry. Cursing under his breath, he leapt back three feet, wand drawn in a single motion. Indeed, it took him exactly six tenths of a second, only one tenth off of the record. (A record which was held by a Mr. F. Longbottom.) He didn't speak, instead analyzing the man before him.
From Harry's perspective, the man looked like a threat. Studios look, accompanied by a knowledge that seemed buried deep. There was a touch of flame in his cool eyes, something that spoke of experience. He had a wand out now, and not as slow as other's might have; but still slowly enough to be unnoticed for speed. It was a practiced timing, one which he remembered Remus Lupin pulling off on several occasions.
Therefore, he was quite surprised when a familiar hand came to rest on his wrist. "Harry, calm down." Hermione ordered sternly, voice tight with disapproving amusement. "This is Phil Davis. He works for the Irish Ministry. There is no threat here."
He lowered his wand slowly, not bothering to I.D. Hermione. With some people, one never needed to ask. A closeness had been grown that was such a strong bond; it was as if they were siblings. It had been a bond developed between The Trio, one discovered in their seventh year. A few others had held it. Dumbledore had such a bond with both McGonagall and Snape. Arthur and Molly Weasley shared such a union. A few known others, but not many. It was a rare gift between people.
"Irish Ministry, is it Davis? Name the current second in command of the International Magical Games and Sports there." Harry asked immediately, just to be certain. He heard Hermione's hen-like cluck of content annoyance before Davis answered.
"Bonnie Clarkman, though she's expected to be promoted shortly. Darrell Luthan, current fourth, is expected to take her place. Inauguration is already set for the fourteenth." Phil replied, his tone comfortable and bearing little animosity.
However, it bothered Harry. It was the ideal auror's answer, one that the common public should not be able to pull off. And yet he had.
Hermione entered Harry's line of vision as she offered a hand to Phil, helping him to his feet. She smiled a bit, and Phil grinned back. Harry's suspicion grew to hatred in a heartbeat. "Alright, then; I'll talk to you later, okay Harry?"
"Where are you two going?" He asked, suddenly rounding to the offensive. It was always better to be on the hunter than prey, something agreed upon by all aurors.
"For a late lunch. We got caught up in intellectual debate, and forgot to eat." Hermione replied, eyebrows rising just a bit.
"Can't you eat here? It's not as if The Leaky Cauldron is a haven for excellent food, and it's quicker."
She sighed, fixating him with a small glare. "It's lunch Harry. Nothing to get upset over. Unless you have some urgent piece of work for me to pool over, I feel like going someplace less stifling."
"You already have the most urgent work possible, Hermione. You know there's nothing more important than it. Harry responded coldly, before he could help himself. The enigmatic Philian Davis was setting his mind down nearly buried tracks.
He regretted it in an instant. Her face fell, and a frown sloped over Hermione's lips. Something glittered in the corner of her eye, and she wiped it hastily away. "I know. You don't need to remind me. Just, please Harry, I need a break." Her voice was soft, and the creeping sensations spreading through his mind vanished in an instant.
"I'm sorry, 'Mione. Take care of yourself."
"You too." She replied, before striding away, Phil flanking her.
'Take care of yourself'; it was the new age goodbye. It was rather depressing, once you considered it. No more 'have fun' or 'hasta lavista', but simply 'take care of yourself'. With that unsettling thought, Harry turned back towards his destination.
The walk to Moody's seemed to crawl. He could have sworn the hallways had grown by tenfold. Of course, this did give him plenty of time to churn over and review Phil Davis. He knew Hermione was smart, and she seemed to like him well enough. She didn't do that often anymore, which means she must have had a good reason. He just didn't know what the reason was.
Locked once more in thought, the tiny sound that wafted to his ears was nearly lost. Nearly, because aurors were made to notice things that shouldn't be noticed. This sound was a tiny, whisper of a crackle. It was coming from directly below Harry.
Not for the first time, he decided that the anti-apparation wards were terrible. He knew, or should have known, that the crackle was nothing. But for some reason, Harry believed it was more. As an auror, or a quidditch player, you acted upon pure beliefs.
With that in mind, he raced towards the nearest staircase. Elevators were simply too crowded, even in a building that wan only three stories high. Heavy combat boots spelled to make no sound; he sprinted down the elegant marble staircase, arriving at the scene silently.
The scene that met his eyes was one of controlled panic. Thick, grimy grey smoke was pouring through the hall, obliterating the rooms at the far side from sight. Witches and wizards, all loped from within the cloud, gathering in the hallway. A few were casting any spell that came to mind, of water, or fire destruction; but it did little to the haze of silver. He glanced at the blank, shimmering walls, trying to identify exactly where he was. The blank walls indicated that, most likely, this was some branch of the Department of Mysteries. But if that were so, he should not have been able to enter. Unless, of course, someone had broken in through the wards, thus destroying them.
Another wizard emerged, dragging a scalded witch with him. The man was older looking, with graying hair and piercing blue eyes. "Squiggles, get a mediwizard immediately."
A young, pretty brunette nodded, calling out a, "Yes Sir!" before rushing up the stairs Harry had just come from.
Suddenly, an unexpected voice broke from the smoke. "I've got Joseph, Sir." A fire haired, ash covered Ginny Weasley appeared, a slender boy cradled in her arms. She dropped him lightly, falling to her knees beside the boy. Harry knew enough about Ginny to know that she had a minor degree in healing, and could most likely help with large scorch marks trailing the boy's sides.
"Good, Toad. Now, let's see..." He trailed off, whispering to himself, obviously counting heads. "Where's Spade?" The man barked, glancing urgently around. A series of pale faced glances traveled through the group. "Shit." He barked, glancing back into the smoke. "Someone send for an auror experienced with fire, or an Unspeakable. I don't care." The man drew up his sleeves, obviously planning to tackle the flames. "I'll take it till then."
"Excuse me, sir," all eyes turned towards Harry. Many flickered up, towards his scar. The only one whose attention was not focused on him was Ginny, caught up in her work on the boy. "I'll take it. Who's Spade?" Harry hurried forward professionally, flicking his wand as he walked. A brief incantation caused a series of numbers and letters to flow from the tip, an auror's identification.
The man looked slightly surprised, but nodded his approval of the codes. "Spade; he's tall, blonde, missing both eyebrows and the left pinkie. He's a bit overweight, probably in the back room." There was a hush, brief and strained, "think you can find him?"
"It's done," Harry replied, trying to sound confident. Whispering a spell, he cast fire protection and smoke charms over himself. His clothes were already spelled, but it couldn't hurt to strengthen them.
Now in auror mode, Harry stalked cautiously into the smoke. At once, he slowed his breathing, making it easier to maintain the spell. Bright emerald orbs scanned through the dense particles of ash, hunting for movement. He soon found a door, entering with slow precision.
Flames flickered in the far corner of the room, but not close enough for Harry to be bothered. He didn't have the time to both destroy the fire and find Spade. Just as he had no time to wonder what branch of the Department of Mysteries Ginny worked in. Continuing stealthily, he prowled towards another barely visible door.
The next room blazed with heat, fire encompassing much of it. "Flenderall," Harry murmured, tossing the 'fire wall' into place, where it would block the flames from coming closer. However, it would not hold for more than seven minutes. Fire had never been Harry's strong point, something he was regretting.
He continued on this way, casting fire walls, for three more rooms. It was from the fourth room that the fury of flames was incredible, just as he had no doubt that Spade was in the room. He blasted the door away, following it immediately with a spell to cast torrents of water upon the licking blue white tongues. A third spell shot from his wand, another version of the fire wall. It pressed the flames back, thought the fire was strong enough that Harry had to fight for the yards that he gained.
And suddenly, he was sliding over a limp, holed glass bowl. The spell was weak, but it was existent. The man within was close to six foot five, and Harry could see the missing pinky. However, he possessed little hair now, and the flames that had made their way through the shield now licked hungrily at his body.
Harry hurried forward, dragging the man to his feet. Spade was gasping for breath, covered in burns. He wasn't at all sure that the man could even walk. Looping and arm under Spade's shoulder, he began to half drag him back to the main hallway. The man beside him struggled, attempting to help, but Harry could hear the pain in his gasps. Laborious breathing came from the smoke, but he didn't have time to cast the necessary spells. Soon, his spells would crumble, and they would be trapped.
The first room they traveled through well enough. The second was difficult, an excursion of in which Spade promptly passed out. Shooting the most powerful anti-fire spell he could invoke, he placed upon the fallen man. With little power left, considering the circumstances, the young auror dragged the man to his feet. Muscles screaming from his weight, Harry continued into the next room.
Halfway across, his fire wall broke.
Flames seared throughout the room, unleashing their disastrous fury. Flames seared over him, and Harry managed, by sheer, wandless willpower, in order to maintain his wards. Struggling and unable to breath, adrenaline drew him through the waiting door. He practically threw himself from the next room into the hallway, hurrying forward as fast as was possibly with a several hundred pound man in his arms.
When they finally emerged from the smoke, Harry lowered the man to the ground and began a series of retching coughs. A wizard marked with a healing badge came forward, setting to work on Spade. Ginny appeared at his side, whispered a spell, and he felt his coughing slow.
Hands bent on his knees, he cast a look up, ebony bangs falling over to shade his eyes. The mediwizard stepped back, a look of intense sorrow on his face. "I'm sorry," were the soft words that fell upon the gathered crowd.
There was a breath of complete, absolute silence. Then, the hiccup of a small sob was heard somewhere in the midst of the crowd. Another slow, careful tear followed, and Harry bent his head.
He had forgotten that in every job, there was a chance of death.
~*~
So…?