Chapter 18

(A/N: Sorry about the delay, I would have posted this a few hours earlier, but I got locked out of my house after school, wonderful thing to do in the summer, especially when it's 90 F!)

Draco warned them the following day that something big was going to happen, he just didn't know what.

And happen something did.

Remus came bursting into Headquarters, gasping for breath. "St. Mungos," he wheezed, "Attack."

Harry and his friends jumped up from the seats where they'd been playing gobstones. Tallon gave Remus a calming draught from his pocket—it looked like Moony wouldn't be catching his breath for a while. "You'd better stay with Draco," he told the werewolf.

"Not if you-"

"I'll be fine," Harry interrupted, and he teleported to the first ward that popped into his head—the Mind Recovery Ward.

To his surprise, he met the others there as well. Neville had his wand out, guarding the door. Hermione was talking hurriedly with the nurse, and Ron was glaring at Lockheart.

"Do you know how many there are?" Hermione was asking.

The nurse shook her head, trembling.

"Can we portkey the patients to a safer location?"

She nodded.

"We'll do that then." Hermione grabbed a sheet and muttered, "Portus," it glowed green for a moment. "Get them all touching this," Hermione ordered the nurse. She obeyed, moving the patients towards the Longbottoms, who couldn't really move. Hermione looked at Ron, "Be careful," she told him.

"Stay safe Herms," he replied.

She nodded, "I'll be at Hogwarts," she said, and touched the sheet, leaving the three wizards alone in the room.

"Cloaking spells," Harry said, and the three became invisible. "I'll go first, wait for my signal." Tallon opened the door and swiftly exited. Looking around, he didn't see anyone. "See," he whispered, spells against fire, flooding, and apperation sprang into view. He whistled softly, and the door opened again. "We'll evacuate the other patients on the other levels, lowest first—get them out of danger—and transport them to Hogwarts, okay?"

"Sounds good," Neville whispered.

"Got it," Ron murmured.

They needed only to follow the sound of yells and screams. The Death Eaters had only made it to the second level. "Each of us take a room," Harry ordered in a whisper, he could still see the blurry-outlined forms of Ron and Neville.

"Teleport?" Neville asked, fingering his circular pendant.

"Yeah. Good luck, and be careful." They separated, Harry went to the third room. He uncloaked himself and informed the patients, as calmly as he could, about the situation. Some of them screamed, but Harry quickly silenced them. "I'll be taking you to Hogwarts," he said, "You'll be safe there." They nodded, and he got them all to hold hands, then teleported them away. The Infirmary was already full, and so Harry teleported them to the Great Hall. It had been enlarged, and rows and rows of beds had been added, Mme. Pomfrey was everywhere it seemed.

Hermione was calming the nurses and patients, establishing a tense sort of order. Harry told those with him to go lie down, and teleported away.

He met up with Ron and Neville once the level was cleared, and they went to the next. They transported at least three hundred people to the safety of Hogwarts from the hospital, then sprinted down to the third floor—the battle had moved.

"Good luck," Harry told his friends "See you soon." He shifted into a chimera.

Neville took dragon form, and Ron his thestral. The three of them roared and charged into the fray. Harry jumped in front of a pain curse sent at an Auror, reflecting it back at the dark castor. Ron knocked out two Death Eaters with his hooves as he reared. Neville swatted minotaurs away like they were flies, occasionally slicing them in two on accident—he had little room to maneuver.

Tallon's ear picked up the sound of 'Crucio!, he searched frantically for the source—a Death Eater off to his right; with Sirius on the floor in front of him.

Harry leapt over the fight and melted into human form, then bellowed "Sanctus!" His shield reached out an enveloped Padfoot, cutting off the curse. A quick knock-out hex had the Death Eater on the ground. "You've gotta learn that one," he told Sirius breathlessly, helping the older wizard to his feet.

"I tried," he croaked, "Wouldn't work."

Harry blocked an incinerating curse, and returned with a Parsloz lightning hex. "Is anybody still on the lower floors?"

Sirius shook his head, "No one alive."

Harry's throat caught. Murdering sick, injured people was worse than torture for him. "I'd get outta here," he growled.

Sirius' face paled at the pure rage on his godson's face. "Tallon," he began.

"What?"

"Don't turn out like them."

Harry blinked. Sirius was afraid he would turn dark, heartless, cruel… a murderer. "Don't worry—none of them are going to die by me."

Padfoot nodded and ran to find the other Order members, Harry's shield still firmly surrounding him.

Harry began to call up his elemental magic once he had cloaked himself. He closed his eyes, and began to fight the chaos with his own.

Wind sprang up from nowhere, trapping Death Eaters' arms to their sides. Water appeared, dousing any flames that had been set, soaking everyone's robes. The ground beneath the minotaurs liquefied, sucking them like quicksand down to their knees before it hardened just as suddenly, trapping them.

Some of the Death Eaters fled. Those who dissaperated escaped Harry's grip, those who ran outside through the emergency exits found snares made of roots waiting for them. Wands came alive, bursting to splinters with the raw magic Harry put into them.

All through the sudden change of tide, not one Auror was touched.

Harry opened his eyes, and saw that only about seventeen minotaurs and thirty Death Eaters remained prisoner, another five were trapped outside. The members of the Order had vanished.

Harry allowed his invisibility charm to fade for a moment as one Death Eater looked in his direction. He recognized Pansy Parkinson's eyes, sneering at him from behind the mask. "Potter!" she snarled, fighting against the wind that held her frozen.

Harry merely nodded. "I am sorry about this war," he said quietly, and told the wind to not let them go until it was safe, then he vanished once more before anyone else could spot him.

He appeared at Hogwarts, where the Great Hall was overflowing with Ministry workers, patients, doctors, and nurses. The smell of sweat and blood was overpowering, the muggy heat of too many bodies in one place was unbearable; Harry felt sick, it reminded him too much of his capture.

"Never become a healer mate," Ron's voice said from behind him, "They've gotta do this every bloody day."

Tallon noticed the bandages and salves Ron was carrying. "You don't feel—sick?"

"Nope, I kinda like it—not the injured people," he amended quickly, "Just—being able to help; you know?"

"yeah," Harry smiled, "I can see it now: 'Doctor Ron Fenris Weasley: World-Renowned Healer Extroardinaire!'"

Ron chuckled, "Whatever Tallon." A loud bellow sliced over the din.

"How can you be out? You run a hospital for Merlin's sake! Don't you have storehouses?"

Harry and Ron looked a few feet to their left, where the head table had formerly been. Splikvin was the one who'd yelled, her victim was a wizard with blonde hair, dressed in a healer's robes.

"We weren't expecting a full-scale attack!" he bellowed back. "They destroyed the stores we had in the building!"

"God dammit! With Vold-" Snape cut her off with a hand over her moth.

"We will make some, but I doubt it will be enough." He told the healer, "See Poppy, she knows where some of the more potent supplies for the school are kept." The healer left after a hasty thank-you and a glare at Splikvin.

"We're going to need help," Splikvin told her brother sourly, "Even you and me can't make enough for these people!"

He nodded. "I am aware of that. Look for someone, I will find Miss Granger."

Splikvin ran a hand through her hair as her twin left. "I hate having to rush," she muttered, then looked up. Harry noticed that Ron slipped away as her gaze turned in their direction.

"Can I help?" Harry asked.

She sighed. "I don't know. Can you?"

He nodded. "I can help."

She gestured to the hall. "I definitely hope so. Let's go; we've got to make enough potions for a little over three-hundred people, some with critical conditions, and from scratch. It'll be a miracle if everyone makes it; St. Mungos won't be running for a while."

Harry left with his defense professor, glad to be out of the sick-smelling hall, while wondering why in the world he had just condemned himself to spending who-knew-how-long, stuck in the dungeons with Snape. Occlumency was one thing, potions was another.

Hopefully Splikvin and Hermione could keep them from killing each other.

Coming Up:

Potions Extravaganza

A Pureblood in a Muggle House?

Then:

The-Boy-Who-Lived

(It's always in the 'then' section isn't it? Sorry about that!)