Chapter 62: Sacrifice
Harold sat at a transfigured table in the Department of Mysteries, in the Room of Death, working on his Indexing Project.
To say that this place was highly warded was an understatement. You couldn't get into the Department of Mysteries without special permission from the Unspeakables—three of them in fact—and even then you wouldn't get out without being Obliviated. It went without saying that people didn't really know much about the place.
Supposedly, the Unspeakables used this room to experiment on the subject of death, but in reality, that hadn't been a priority for about a year now. Instead, they were using their limited resources to research in the rooms of Time and Prophecy.
It made sense. Recent events made it necessary to delve into the true meaning of the prophecies about the end of the world, and since many of those prophecies spoke of "time" and "rivers," research into time travel had become necessary.
But the Chamber of Death could not be left unguarded. This was the tradition of the Unspeakables, passed down from before living memory. It was said they needed a guard, because in case anyone did get inside, they would be able to access the Veil. And who knew what kind of terrible things they could do then?
Well…actually…as far as Harold knew, the Veil didn't do anything. It just stood there being mysterious, and sometimes creeping people out with strange sounds. The last Auror set to guard this room had a funny episode due to voices in his head, so he'd been relieved a few days early. Harold, rather than wait for a substitute Auror, decided to take one for the team and guard it himself.
It was quiet and boring here. Which was wonderful, Harold hadn't been able to walk a foot without someone hounding him for months. Sure, he might have to deal with a little Obliviation, but it was worth it to get some work done on his project.
Thousands of files from the Hall of Memories lay before him in three massive piles. Harold carefully examined each paper, placing them in labelled folders for resorting. He'd designed this filing system himself, something he believed to be much more intuitive and efficient than the last one. Working on the Indexing Project gave him a chance to search for the prophecies Madam Bones asked for as well.
In 1591, the great clan leader Robert Zigwiggle didst gift his son with a barrel of the rarest meade, with such a taste that it belonged in the realm of the magical…
Harold did a quick scan and placed it in the large pile labelled, "Garbage." He would find a better name later—maybe "Miscellaneous."
Fourteen bairns didst come blessed with the sight, and prophesied the destruction of Camelot with their cries. The elders sealed a rope with their tears, to hang those who would dare destroy them. The First Enchanter spilled his blood to save them from oblivion in time.
He put it under the file "Prophecy—1200s—Destruction." That file was getting a bit large, so there might be something more to investigate there.
Someone knocked at the door. Harold went to open it.
"Hello," said a blonde Auror, twining her hands nervously. "I'm here for my shift."
"Ahh…welcome. You're a bit early. Who sent you?"
"Kingsley Shacklebolt. He said…umm…your team is in trouble and needs you urgently in the Customs Room."
Harold sighed. Of course. The Customs Department could not simply resolve problems on their own, oh no. As soon as something went wrong, or even slightly off, his team came running to him. With Harold gone, they must have begged his Auror brother for help, which meant they'd probably exploded something in his absence.
Harold knew he needed to go back and put out the fire in the Customs Dept…but not yet. Let them suffer for a little bit, maybe they'd learn something.
With that resolved, he studied his nervous replacement. Karen Barnes, the Slytherin so skilled she put the rest of her house to shame. Popular with professors and classmates alike, she made top marks at potions, battle magic and ancient runes. She'd been recruited by the Auror program—because of course—and quickly earned a reputation as a skilled monster hunter, both human and otherwise.
Things had taken a dark turn for her recently, though. Her entire family went missing during the attack on London, and the Aurors weren't able to mount a search and rescue. The Muggle police found her mother three days ago…well, pieces of her.
Harold felt a wave of sympathy. Karen should be given time to grieve, not being forced to guard the Death Chamber. No wonder she looked pale and on the verge of tears. Harold would do what he could to cheer her up and make her feel welcome.
"Come in, Ms. Barns," said Harold, stepping aside. "Don't worry, the room isn't as scary as its name implies. It'd be almost cosy with some curtains. Looking forward to a month with nothing to do?"
She smiled weakly. "At least I won't have to remember it."
"That's the spirit," said Harold leading her inside. "Well, here's the basics. You just take out your wand, hold it in your hand, and then stare at the black wall. Or if you get bored of that, at the black floor."
She glanced around. "What about those papers?"
"Oh, those are mine," he said, taking a seat at his table. "I'd let you help, but I kind of have a system going. It would take a while to teach you."
"Well…I do have a month."
He chuckled. "Yeah, well, you'd probably do way better than my team. I'll consider it. Anyway, umm…I should get back to work. Let me know if you need anything, I'll get it for you as soon as I leave."
After a few minutes of silence, she began to fidget, staring at the walls with her wand drawn. "Will you stay for the whole month?"
"No, just a bit longer," he said. "I don't like starting something and not finishing, you know?"
She nodded, then went back to staring at the wall. Harold kept reading and sorting. He felt kind of bad letting her stand there bored, but he didn't have time for small talk. Every second another fire started in the Customs Room.
The next document was in an unknown language, which would normally have him running through his archaic translation spells until one, if any, worked. Fortunately, his constant data scrounging paid off when he found a universal translation spell. He hadn't found a text it didn't work on yet, which had saved his sanity on more than one occasion.
Harold cast it, and in the five minutes the spell would overlay the original text, he read on.
In the ancient days, we built a city for our kind amongst the clouds. Far above the mortal realm, but close enough to watch over them with benevolent kindness. We were a strong people, our efforts culminating in the construction of the Source of Magic.
Harold stopped, read that line again.
Merlin's Beard, a primary document for the Source of Magic! With trembling hands, he read on.
We discovered the Wellspring of Magic long before, then harnessed its power in a technological innovation like none other. We rose to gods among men, endeavouring always to climb higher and higher. For magic cannot create without a guide to govern it, and it was our great quest to discover the secrets of the universe.
For that, we are sorry.
Please forgive us for leaving you a broken world. We believed we were strong enough to take care of you, and we were wrong. Perhaps the Source of Magic is too powerful for any man. Or perhaps we were too proud to wield it.
It is better that we are gone. Do not look for us, and if the magic must fade with our passing, then so be it. Children, your world has little chance of survival, none at all if magic remains strong, and I have taken pains to give you as much time as I can.
But I have also left you a path to follow, one that might save you. If you do discover the way to unlock our secrets…if you pass all the gates and are granted entry…then congratulations. You will inherit the Earth, the sky and all that is in them. But be most cautious with these gifts, or your world will be destroyed once more.
The words resolved back into archaic text.
Harold's hands trembled, and he hastily gathered the files on the table, shoving them into his bag. "I'm going," he said, and ran out of the room.
He'd gone down one level when he remembered he'd left the "garbage" files behind, hidden on a chair. Harold, cursing, realized the Unspeakables would never allow him into the Hall of Memory again if they found out. He raced back up, opening the door.
The Auror stood at the veil of death, pressing her wand to its metallic gate.
"What are you doing?!" cried Harold. "You're not supposed so touch it. Stop!"
She didn't respond, whispering something under her breath as the air hummed with magic. There was a sound like a gong, and something unlatching as the metal groaned.
Karen turned, tears in her eyes. "Bellatrix has already killed my mother! I couldn't just—"
A dark hand reached out and pulled her into the veil, and with a cry she fell backwards into the abyss.
###
Two hours earlier…
Hermione was eating dinner with Cedric when Mad Eye plunked down across from them.
"How are you kids doing?" he asked, stirring his soup.
"Well, we're eating mystery stew again, but at least it's not fish," said Cedric, while Hermione tried to ignore the flavour of it going down.
"Food is food," said Mad Eye, spooning soup into his mouth. "Ack…it's hot." He drank some water, then went on. "Cancel your plans for tomorrow, kids. We've got some news, and Madam Bones wants to see you both in her office…"
He trailed off, staring at something she couldn't see. Then he stood up so fast he knocked over his soup, unconcerned that it spilled on his clothes. "Both of you—stay here!" he barked. "And if anything happens, follow Kingsley. He knows what to do."
Mad Eye strode out of the room, slamming his cane as he hobbled each step.
Hermione and Cedric stared at each other.
A couple other people heard the outburst and came over to ask about it. Hermione and Cedric could only shrug.
But within minutes, whatever secret it was had leaked out.
Bellatrix Black had been captured.
###
Amelia faced her archenemy across the table with cool detachment. It wasn't time yet for vengeance. There were procedures to follow to get the information they needed, and Amelia would do it, even if Bellatrix did her utmost to thwart that plan.
"Oh! Let me see…" Bellatrix said as if consulting a list. "Yes, I did kill your brother. Took less than a second, boy died with his mouth hanging open." She mimicked it, laughing. "But Mad Eye…nope, can't say I killed one of his family. Although, who knows? Could take another out while I'm here."
Madam Bones' hands curled into fists, then uncurled. She would not be baited by the dark lord's pet.
After Bellatrix's capture, Amelia and Alastor had taken her to the 10th floor prison, where criminals were held before sentencing. It was so highly warded by magic that a team of elite Aurors couldn't make a dent in the door frame. If somehow the enemy used dark forces to blast it open, they'd find themselves targeting the wrong room all along.
Merlin himself would have trouble getting down here, and Madam Bones was still nervous. Bellatrix was more powerful than she'd ever been, with an army of soldiers and the Priestess on her side, and somehow she'd become their prisoner, captured in a firefight on the first floor. It had to be a trap, and time was running out for Amelia to figure out how to stop it.
"I ask again," said Amelia. "How did you get into the Ministry?"
"I opened the front door. Why, not happy to see me?"
There was a pause as Amelia circled. "Do you have plans to attack the Ministry?"
"Naturally. You're my archnemesis. Anyway, you haven't asked me the most important question. Who's hotter, Voldemort or Grindelwald? Come on, that face…and that voice! I mean, who wouldn't pledge their soul to the dark lord's eternal service, yes?"
The Veritas enchantment was in effect in the room, as well as a Loquation charm. Bellatrix could not lie, refuse to talk, or repeat herself, so she spoke foolish nonsense. This was clearly an effort to stall for time.
The Ministry's best strategy, as Amelia had found in previous interrogations, was to keep the criminal talking until eventually they got emotional or sloppy and tripped up. This took a lot of time and patience, but Amelia Bones was running short on both.
"Bellatrix, you are responsible for the murder of thousandsof people in the attack on London. You will not dodge questions. You will give us the information we want and make yourself useful, or we will gladly let the Dementors finish what they started with you."
"Oh come on, it was mostly Muggles." She wriggled against the bonds that held her. "Casualties of war. You're well aware of that price, aren't you Madam Bones?"
Madam Bones could almost feel Mad Eye's distain from behind the door. He was her unseen guard, there to observe and protect. "You made the decision to kill all those people."
"Did I?"
A pause. "It wasn't your decision? Then whose?"
"All my choices…were my own. Choice must be free to matter, yes? My master will thank me one day."
"Who is your master?"
"You-know-who."
This was getting tiresome. "Tell me where your followers are."
"Oh here…there…everywhere."
Screw that. "Did you come to the Ministry alone?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"To be tormented by your questions, apparently," she said. "How many times have you asked me that? I've got a better question for you: where is Nicolas Flamel's Stone of Immortality?"
Amelia's eyebrows raised. "The Stone of…what?"
"You heard me." Bellatrix raised her chin. "Im-mor-tal-i-ty. You must know it isn't a myth. The Stone was taken by Voldemort, and then you took him captive…so you must have them both. My Lord and his stone."
A dark anger came over Bellatrix's face, her eyes burning like hot coals.
Amelia saw an opening in that anger. She folded her arms and said smugly, "I don't know what you're talking about."
"Ha! What lies. Your entire Ministry is built on lies!" Bellatrix spat. "Oh, you're such a paragon of goodness, but in all these centuries, what has your Ministry accomplished? Your Wizengamot is useless, always arguing, squabbling and doing nothing. At least my people know what we believe, and we take action to change this world. Yet you dare to call us monsters."
"There is no comparison. We do not commit murder to get what we want."
"No, no, you find new ways to torture." Her shrill voice grew hushed. "Look at what you've done to the man who wished to recreate the world for us…to the man I LOVED!"
She blinked, shock crossing her face. Her mouth moved as if by force. "I…I lived for my lord, even in Azkaban I kept faith he would return. You know nothing of this kind of loyalty, that burns so hot even death itself cannot destroy it. Then he returned for me, saved me from despair and…now you've locked him away in the cold and dark, in a place worse than Azkaban! You've stolen his body, his mind and given him a fate worse than death! Give him back!"
"Aww, poor Bellatrix," said Amelia. "Did Azkaban scramble your brain? Voldemort is dead."
"He is not!" She struggled against her bonds, kicking the table. "He lives! He would never leave me!"
"Would you like to see his severed hands? They're in my office. I use them to clean my ears."
Bellatrix screeched so loudly the room seemed to shake.
"Enough!" cried Amelia, slamming the table. "Tell me why you're here!"
Moments later, Bellatrix grew quiet again. She blinked as if growing tired.
"Imposter." The word was spoken softly, but Bellatrix's eyes were intent on Amelia, her voice childlike. "That's what you are, Madam Director. Should I tell your friend why? I know he's listening."
"Go ahead," said Amelia, folding her arms. "I'd love for you to give me an excuse to nail your tongue to the wall."
"Somebody's getting scared," Bellatrix said, singsong. "Your plans are crumbling down, down, down and if I tell you nothing, then you drown. Say, why don't you make yourself useful to me, or I will let the Dementors finish what they started."
Amelia flicked her wrist, and Bellatrix started choking. She waited ten seconds, silently wishing she had an excuse to use Cruciatus. Not that she was allowed a wand in the interrogation room.
"You really do know…nothing," coughed Bellatrix.
"Are you attacking us only for revenge?" Amelia pressed on.
"No."
"Name your other reasons."
Bellatrix twitched. "I wish to remake the world."
"How will you do that?"
"Death…and rebirth."
This was becoming tiresome, but she could not leave this room until they had something. Names, a location, anything they could work with. Amelia was tired of dark wizards always having the upper hand, boxing her in and forcing her hand. Bellatrix wanted to waste her time? Fine. Let her know the price of her insolence.
Amelia signalled to the door, and a small window opened, letting in an unwelcome gust of dreariness and darkness.
"Last chance, Bella," said Amelia. "Where are your followers?"
Bellatrix saw the Dementor and burst into a mad howl. She cackled until tears came from her eyes, beating the table with her fists.
"You have no idea? You really have no idea what you've done?"
The choke collar stopped her cackling, left Bellatrix gasping pitifully for air. Amelia kept it squeezing for 15 seconds. Twenty. Thirty. All the while, the air filled with an oppressive darkness she feared might be fuelling her cold rage.
When she finally released Bellatrix, the woman lay silently on the table, dark curls splayed out around her head. Amelia was just thinking she was dead when Bellatrix let out a long sigh. "Ahh…there it is. I feel you, now."
Amelia felt a chill go down her spine. The air seemed to tingle with power, like electricity before a storm.
The door flew open and Mad Eye fired several hexes directly at Bellatrix, but they slid off like water. Her metal bonds snapped, and she rose from her chair. "Fill me! Give me your power, dark lord!"
Then she plunged her hands straight into the ground. The room rippled with energy as she did it again and again, the pure obsidian collapsing to rubble, cracking along the walls.
Amelia's silent horror ended as the mad witch lunged for them.
###
When the alarm went off—a long, low whine—everyone knew what they had to do. They'd practiced often enough.
Evacuate. Now.
Even as the people gathered, there was a part of Hermione that wondered.
Is this an Auror test?
"Let's go, form a line. Two at a time," said Kingsley.
Hermione lined up with the rest, the Ministry employees and their families, trying to remain calm. She heard a deep groaning and creaking, felt a cold wind run through her clothes. Everyone stopped to listen.
And then the wall split apart, caving rubble over the crowd.
Their screams propelled Hermione to push her way forwards, lifting heavy pieces of wall off the injured.
"Aurors, at the ready!" cried Kingsley. "Everyone else, keep moving to the door! Two by two!"
Hermione healed their injuries, lifting them to their feet. The walls continued to crack, fractures inching up to the roof. One crack appeared above one of the doorways.
Cedric cried, "Reparo!"
The healed wall still spun spiderweb cracks all over. Others tried to fix the damage, but it was growing faster than they could handle.
It's not an Auror test. It can't be…can it?
"Hermione!" bellowed Kingsley, then grabbed her arm and whispered, "There is a hidden exit closeby. Down the hallway at the intersection, turn right. Second room on the left, exit code is 449. Lead them and I'll bring up the rear."
She nodded and ducked under the doorway, Cedric close behind. They squished into the hallway of bodies, everyone rushing towards the stairs to go up.
"Everyone, the exit is this way!" cried Hermione.
Hermione winced against an elbow in her ribs. Some people were panicking too much to listen. "Everyone, follow me! We're going right!"
She had just gotten their attention when she saw a flash of green light. Around the corner coming from their exit, more hexes flashed, and she heard animal-like howls.
There wasn't time to think. Hermione pressed forward against the crush of bodies running away. She felt hot and restless, her magic nearly crackling into her wand.
"Protego!" she cried, her shield bursting blue and strong, deflecting a dark curse and blanketing half the hallway.
It wasn't enough. The perpetrator—his face hidden under a dark hood—pivoted around it and pointed his wand.
"Expelliarmus!" Cedric cried, before casting a killing blow.
Hermione fell back, realizing they were in the worst position possible for a fire fight. In an open hallway, they had no cover, and they were surrounded by non-combatants who were panicked and scared. Any spell she cast could easily hit an innocent person.
But her enemy didn't have those qualms. Five more insurgents rounded the corner, firing at the crowd with wands and guns.
Hermione held her defensive shield, covering as much of the hallway as she could. Others behind her were shooting hexes but missing, hitting walls or the ceiling, probably each other. Others ran away into the winding halls of the Ministry, where they would be easy prey.
"Cedric, they're blocking our way out! And there's too many of—"
But before she could finish, something fell into the crowd behind her, and Hermione heard a pop and a hiss.
People screamed in horror. Hermione cast a bubblehead charm, and then felt her arms prickle and burn.
It's not a test. This is real, and people are dying.
Another hex whizzed past her ear, and she felt the hallway shudder as it cracked. At her side, an injured Kingsley fired a Ventus charm, pushing the enemy back and dispelling some poison. It wasn't enough.
"We need to fall back," said Cedric. "Heal and regroup."
"If we do, they will trap us," said Kingsley, who fired off two spells in rapid succession. "We must defeat them here."
Her mind raced. They were on the fifth floor, trapped far below ground with no windows to break out of. But maybe…they could use the crumbling walls to their advantage.
She turned to Cedric. "I'm going to draw their fire, and I need you to run through their line. Throw this into the left side of the tunnel, then run away."
He held the device in mid-air. "What...is this what I think it is? Are you crazy?"
"It's not like last time, the force is localized and unidirectional. If we get the crowd far enough back—"
They were interrupted by a shockwave and more screaming. Kingsley bent over, his skin cracking and bleeding.
"If you've got a plan, do it now," said Kingsley, gritting his teeth. "More enemies are coming. I will hold them back."
"Yes, push as many as you can away from us," said Hermione. "And hold on tight to the wall!"
Cedric left, Hermione turned to throw a pulse at the crowd behind her, knocking them back. She fired a net enchantment that laced and circled over the entire crowd. It stuck to the floors, the walls, and the people nearby. Then it latched onto the walls and held them down. It was ridiculously undignified, but the whale net was the biggest trap she knew, and one of the strongest. She hoped it would be enough.
Then, against the hallway and arches, she cast the strongest damage protection spell she knew—Dongurami. Almost as an afterthought, she cast the same spell on the crowd, just in case the worst happened.
The rush of wind knocked the air out of her and threw her back. She slammed into the wall and gritted her teeth, her hands holding her fast. The gale force winds were way stronger than she expected, that net would rip like paper in a blender, they were all going to crushed to death and it was all her fault and—
The wind suddenly stopped, and Hermione let herself drop to the floor. The first thing she noticed was that the walls were standing, minus a few cracks. A miracle in and of itself. The second was that the entire intersection of the hallway was clear of burning fog and enemies, minus a few stragglers that Kingsley was picking off.
She turned her attention at last to the crowd behind her, and realized she'd forgotten one very important thing.
Most of them had magic too. They had all, one way or another, managed to stick to the wall, the floor or each other.
Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, and raised her wand for the counterspell that would release them…well, from her net, anyway.
Panting, Kingsley came up behind her. "Hermione…what was that," he said, his face a mix of shock and awe. "You must have an angel at your side." He turned to the crowd of staggering people. "I know there's injured, but we have to move now. I will take whoever is ready and open the exit. Follow as soon as you can."
The walls groaned as people hastily cut their bonds. Within a minute, a large group split off down the hallway. Cedric stayed to help Hermione get the last few stragglers off the ground.
With seconds feeling like hours, she was anxious to move but even more concerned about the injured. Some of their burns were bad. "I've got a healing spell," she told them. "Let's just get to the surface and—"
She saw the tell-tale flashes of hexes being fired—this time from behind—and she abandoned her plan for ordered retreat. "Go now! Follow Cedric!"
As everyone fled, Hermione held back, blood thundering in her ears. Alright, think like Harry, how can I hold them back for five minutes—
And then someone sliced off her wand arm.
She saw it flop onto the ground, then heard a shrill giggle beside her. "Hello, little Miss Mudblood. I hear you regrow everything, but tell me, what happens if I take your head?"
Hermione dodged just before Bellatrix sent another cutting hex through her neck. She lunged for her dropped wand, missing it by mere centimetres. Bellatrix knocked Hermione into a wall, sending rubble crumbling on top of her.
She struggled to her feet, her arm screaming at every movement. It still bled profusely, leaving her weak and trembling.
The dark lord's tool of destruction laughed at her. "Is that all you've got, Mudblood?"
Hermione was wandless, defenceless. Her best chance was to run away, but that'd lead Bellatrix straight to the others…maybe if she could reach her pouch—
The dark lady smirked. "Well, come on then! Diffindo!"
Her left hand flaring with magic, Hermione cast a wandless shield, but poorly, and she almost collapsed when Bellatrix struck again.
"So disappointing! I thought you would be a match for me, Destroyer of the Dark Lord. Shall I take both your hands first? No, we'll do it his way. Avada K—"
"Marathi!" cried a voice, and fire hurled into Bellatrix's back.
Bellatrix shrieked and whirled around. "Ha! The bitch survives!"
Madam Bones stood behind her, bleeding from a head wound, while Mad Eye Moody yelled curses from a ravaged face. His magical eye was shut and covered in blood.
"We'll hold her off!" Madam Bones shouted. "Run!"
Obeying orders, Hermione did.
She would have liked to say she retreated, but it was more like a hazy run for safety, her clothing soaked with blood, terrified of what she would see if she looked back for even a second. Darkness seemed to encroach on every side, and she needed to run, run, run.
When she got there, the room was still half full of people trying to leave. "Hermione!" they said. "We're stuck, help us!"
"What? Where are Cedric and Kingsley?"
"We don't know, we just got here…oh Merlin, your arm!"
"It's fine," she said, limping forwards. "The code is 449."
She ushered the people inside the exit, using a wand one of the ladies gave her. In the end, she sent 40 people through before the mass of people slowed. The ominous rumbling grew louder with every minute. A strong sense of fear and dread made her shudder, and a dark shape appeared in the door. The floor shuddered violently, a crack splitting the floor in half. Unable to wait any longer, she escaped.
Hermione reappeared in the park, somewhere behind a bathroom. A few survivors waited outside, but most had fled.
She had no idea what to do. Call McGonagall? St. Mungos? Her arm was half regrown, and she didn't know if she could cast left handed. She was attempting to locate her Auror mirror when Bellatrix Black appeared, blood all over her. She turned to look at the crowd of survivors.
Before Hermione could think, she raised her wand, and screamed a spell that fired into Bellatrix. Afterwards, Hermione would not even remember which one she'd cast. But Bellatrix fell, her eyes wide in shock.
Then she heard laughing. But Bellatrix wasn't moving.
Hermione stood there, frozen for a few seconds. The body kept laughing for an eternity, and she crept up to it.
One of Padma's extendable ears was in the pocket. "You killed him! I can't believe you fell for that! Ah ha ha ha!"
Her wand gripped in her hand, she cast, "Finite Incantatum!" Then, "Polyfluis!"
And the body shifted.
Cedric lay still before her.
###
"The Ministry is under attack—it's bad Headmistress," cried Harry frantically, to the woman behind his Auror mirror.
"I know," McGonagall said, grave and urgent. "I just received word. Help is coming from the south."
"From Paris? That's 450 km to London. Even by the fastest broom, they won't get there until the emergency is over."
"I understand, Harry, I do! But we're doing all we can to support them, and we must defend Hogwarts. It is the last stronghold and it cannot fall. You agreed to this plan—"
He ended his call, frustrated and swearing.
This was certainly not his plan. There were countless better ideas besides doing nothing. In all of England, didn't one person have a phoenix? Or bribe a metamorphmagus to impersonate Madam Bones and end the apparition ban? One thing's for sure, if Harry had made this decision, he would have—
He stopped.
Wait a minute. You're a bloody wards master, aren't you?
He emptied his pouch of portkeys—he had seven of them unfinished. He enchanted one, giving it the destination of Ministry.
Port keys imbued normal objects with the magic of the Earth, allowing them to ripple space and time. It wasn't creating anything, merely using what was already there in abundance. The reason Anti-Apparition wards cost a fortune was they were so difficult to cast, it was like holding back a raging river.
Restricting Apparition throughout England would require so much power it would be like…like syphoning all the water in the hydrosphere into a tiny container and holding it there. There was a small chance the Ministry had an artefact that could generate that kind of power, but he highly doubted it. If they had that kind of energy, they would be using it to create megaweapons or ubershields, not some stupid Apparition barrier that was barely helping.
No, there was no way England's travel ban didn't have gaping holes, and when he found them, he would rip them open. Harry justified his decision by saying the travel ban had outlived its usefulness anyway, and if he succeeded he'd bring reinforcements.
Harry imagined the distance between Hogwarts and the Ministry. He willed it to connect, for the space between them to stretch and expand.
Time and space refused.
Taking a breath, Harry closed his eyes, gritting his teeth. Okay, so we've been here before, Magic. Last time we were debating transfiguration restrictions, and I won the debate, because my logic is solid. Research shows that magic is more stable when it aligns with scientific principles and natural law. By defying it, it's only a matter of time before something breaks.
You know the magic of Apparition is everywhere, even in our very cells, and there's no logical reason why I can't use it. The ban is a false mental barrier…it's in my mind, or it's in your programming…and there's no reason for it to exist. Permitting a non-existing barrier—or at most a weak one—to keep out all magic is allowing a mathematical impossibility to run your decision making.
Harry felt the magic straining against the force of his will, and he heard a voice. Not…enough.
He took a moment to consider this unexpected response. In all the times he'd talked to magic, it had never actually talked back.
This was probably all in his head, but he decided to give it a shot. Very well, then, the utility function approach. If you are magic, then you should know the purpose of this law was to protect the Ministry from its enemies, but I am not one of them. I am a friend. I want to help.
Friend? asked Magic, in clear English. My…friend?
Err…well, I don't wish you ill, so I suppose we could be friends. Listen, I am trying to help the Ministry. The terminal value of disallowing port keys was to save lives. Now it is permitting their destruction. If you help me create port keys, I will use them to fulfil the original directive.
Magic made no sound, but he felt it considering. Harry thought he'd picked a wonderful time to go crazy, but on the off chance he wasn't…
After a few moments, he received a response.
DECLINED. Subject is known entity, has already attempted revision of Rule (Transfiguration—Form). Access denied.
What? said Harry.
Rule (Line of Merlin) does not authorize lifting port key ban. Second failed attempt at accessing Source Code 001 results in expulsion from system.
Another voice interrupted. Subject not attempting to rewrite Rule (Portkey). He's requesting a temporary work around.
Based on what?
Err…the power of love? It's the oldest form of ritual magic—
Denied.
The second voice sighed. Sorry, I tried, but rules remain intact for now. Well…most of them. Our conversation is breaking a few rules, but time is a bit too preoccupied to notice.
Well okay. Harry was along for this ride. Isn't there anything we can do?
There was a very long moment of silence. Hesitation.
There is…a possible alternative to saving lives at the Ministry. It requires a sacrifice of your life points, but your death is unlikely. It's within your prescribed limits of allowance based on qualifiers "friendship" and "noble sacrifice." Shall I execute?
Harry flinched a bit at the idea of sacrificing "life points," whatever those were.
Will it be able to help Hermione and others at the Ministry?
75% chance. Without it, she's at 10% chance of survival.
Then do it.
His connection to the voices vanished. Harry stood there for a moment, thinking. What just happened did not make any sense whatsoever.
Then, he collapsed onto the grass.
###
"Cedric!" cried Hermione, pointing her wand. "Innervate!"
He didn't move.
"Cedric is deaaad! Yoouuu did it!"
Hermione stumbled forward and collapsed at Cedric's feet, staring down at his prone form. He could be asleep, she wished he were and this was all a horrid dream.
There had to be something. What hex did she cast? Maybe she could undo—
Hermione saw another fallen wizard, grabbed his wand, pointing it to her own, "Priori Incantatem!"
It was the blasting hex. She…she could fix his injuries! Hermione cast several healing charms, assessing the damage to his spleen, his spine…
And he remained still, eyes open.
Hermione slumped down to her knees, too shocked even to cry. She'd snapped his spinal cord. He'd died instantly. There was no reversing what she'd done.
All around her, she saw people running, fleeing. It made no difference.
"Ha ha! You killed Cedric! You killed Cedric!"
Hermione crushed the laughing voice of Bellatrix in her palm, spilling the shards onto the grass. She blinked, unseeing.
Something cold and dark spread over her, like the void of death.
You're a murderer.
The ever present screams rose higher. Dark creatures floated towards those who ran. Dementors.
You killed him with your dark magic. That's what you are. Corrupted.
There was something she was supposed to do when she saw Dementors. What was it?
Run away
The dementor floated towards her.
Then again…why bother?
She rose to her feet, not sure what to do next. Hermione had invented a hex that stopped Dementors, but it only worked on a few at a time. She'd counted ten wandering through the trees. No way she could fight them off.
She ought to be running, and in the corner of her mind she knew that, but the thought that rose to the forefront was:
Oh well.
Death came closer. Its friends feasted on the people around her.
But then…they'll all die too. They don't deserve that, even if you do.
She raised her wand.
"Illiusio," Hermione whispered, then louder. "Illiusio!"
Her spell landed on the dementor, but it was like hitting it with a ping pong ball. The dementor moved closer.
You don't have to fight anymore.
Hermione cast the hex again, and it failed completely. Why couldn't she bring herself to run?
Just let it all end.
Death smiled, opening its mouth to kiss her, take all her pain away.
A bright light appeared before her, and Hermione fell back. She gasped as the Dementor was destroyed, consumed by the light and burning to ashes. Relief flooded her as she stared up at her saviour.
Harry's Patronus strode forwards, growing brighter with each step. It destroyed a Dementor with a wave of its hand, and then another burned into ashes by proximity. The rest of the dark forces screamed and flew away into the night.
Hermione was transfixed by the sight of Harry's Patronus. It was so bright, she almost couldn't bear to look at it. The golden glow looked like a rocket, preparing to launch into the dark sky.
Then the flaming Patronus turned to the bodies.
The bile rose into her throat as she observed the carnage around her. At least twenty people lay on the ground, splayed out and mangled. She'd almost been one of them.
The Patronus passed over some of them, shaking its head. But the others…
It knelt down beside them, a hand of golden light passing over their foreheads. A bit of its brightness passed like a pulse of energy into them, leaving its body just a little dimmer. The Patronus stopped before Cedric, placed a hand on his forehead.
A wave of light rushed from his body into Cedric's, and Hermione saw the boy take a gasping breath.
"Cedric!" she cried, amazement flooding her. "You're alive!"
Hermione looked up, saw the Patronus frowning down at his hand, which was so dim it was completely transparent. It staggered, clutching its chest like it had been stabbed, and she could swear a shocked expression crossed its face.
"What's happened before must happen again," he whispered. "Goodbye."
Then, like a candle burning out, the Patronus disappeared.
