Chapter 25: Confund It!
As Ron reached for the door knob, Hermione stayed his hand.
"Wait. Uh, Ron, I don't think we should go into your Dad's private workspace."
"Huh? Well, then... why'd you want to go in there in the first place?"
"Well, I, I... I don't know."
"You don't –? Hang on. Hold still a sec." Ron pulled out his wand and pointed it at Hermione.
"What are you doing, Ron?" Hermione pulled her own wand from her sleeve and assumed a defensive position.
"No, it's okay, 'Mione. I think we've been confunded."
"Why ever would you think that?"
"Huh. When you said, 'I don't know', I knew something was wrong."
Hermione cast, "Finite!" on Ron prompting, "Well?"
Ron's eyes widened. "Harry!"
"What about Harry? And Ronald, I really think we should go now. Your Dad –"
"Finite!" Ron waved his wand at Hermione as he cast the cancellation spell.
"Harry!" Hermione gasped, "His accidental magic must have confunded us. He doesn't want to be found."
As one, they cast an Alohomora so powerful it knocked the shed door to pieces, which fell into Mr Weasley's workshop. Ron launched himself over the splintered wood, with Hermione close on his heels, both calling for their lost friend.
~o~
Harry froze when he heard the door crash open. He had to get away. He had to finish getting all the bad blood out no matter what. He could not let his friends get sent to the bad place. He felt a breeze to his left and saw that a Harry-sized hole had appeared in the wall beside him. He made it out of the opening just as he heard Ron and Hermione calling him. Harry looked back when their voices muffled, to see only the solid back wall of Mr Weasley's shed. The hole was gone! Harry did not waste one moment more, but made for the grove behind the Burrow. He knew Ron and Hermione would be angry at him for not minding them, but once he had rid himself of the bad blood and was sure that his friends were safe, he could come out of hiding and would accept whatever punishment he was given for disobeying.
~o~
Hermione and Ron's voices rose in desperation, as they searched behind, in and under every box, shelf and table laden with Mr Weasley's collection of Muggle detritus. But they found no sign of Harry.
"Harreeeeee! Where are you?" Hermione had been convinced they were going to find him in the workshop. Why else would they have been confunded? She could tell by Ron's frantic yelling that he'd thought so too. Hermione feared the worst. How could you have left him alone, Hermione, she berated herself silently. If anything happens to Harry, it will be your fault! She knew they needed help searching, but certainly not from Percy. Ginny was in Hogsmeade, meeting up with Katie Bell and some other members of the Griffindor quidditch team to strategize for the coming season. Hermione was mustering the will to send her otter Patronus to them all, when she spied Percy coming out of the Burrow, accompanied by, of all wizards, Rufus Scrimgeour, the Minister of Magic.
"Haaaaar-" Ron stopped mid yell when he too, saw his brother, now trailing the Minister of Magic, coming towards them.
"Hallo, children," Scrimgeour's voice was laden with condescension. "It would appear that you have lost... someone? True?"
Before either Hermione or Ron could answer, the Minister spread his arms wide and cast, "Accio Harry Potter!"
"No!" cried Hermione. She feared what obstacles might cause Harry injury as the magic propelled him speedily to the Minister. That was the reason she had tried to Accio one of Harry's shirt buttons: to determine his location and avoid the inherent danger in summoning a living being.
Minister Scrimgeour, however, seemed wholly unconcerned at the risk of his spell for Harry. Regardless, and on the Minister's part, it really was 'regardless', they heard Harry caterwauling a moment before he flew into view and into the waiting arms of the Minister.
The relief at Harry's return and the worry at the method by which it had been done had barely registered, when the Minister wrapped his meaty arms tightly around a wild eyed and struggling Harry.
"Gerroff him!" shouted Ron, as Hermione demanded,
"Let him go! You're scaring him!"
"He should be scared – of the poor care he is receiving at the hands of Madam Pomfrey. This boy is a mess."
Harry did, indeed look wretched. His face was dirty, his palms were a mix of scraped skin, blood and dirt, his clothing was also dirt-ridden and what's more, he was incoherently screaming and struggling to escape the Minister's grip.
"And where is his guardian? I daresay the Ministry of Magic's Child Welfare Division will have something to say about this. I am taking charge of Mr Potter, now," grunted the Minister over Harry's wails.
"You can't do that!" implored Hermione. "Can't you see your making this worse?"
Ron pointed his wand at the Minister, but dared not use a spell for fear he would harm Harry. He and the Minister both knew it, and Scrimgeour stared him down until Ron reluctantly lowered his wand. Ron stood there dumbly, powerless to help his friend.
"I'm afraid you're mistaken, children. I most certainly can do this, and I mean to remedy this unfortunate situation, before it gets any further out of control. Clearly, this boy needs to see a Healer." And before either of them could say a word, Rufus Scrimgeour, a struggling Harry held tightly in his arms, spun on his heel and Disapparated.
Ron and Hermione looked at each other and said in unison, "St. Mungo's." They Apparated after the Minister, without giving a thought to Percy, who stood shocked in the wake of their departure.
Percy Weasley was not a cruel person. Selfish, yes. Absolutely and to a fault. But he never intended Harry harm, and having just witnessed Harry's rough treatment at the hands of the Minister, he was shaken to his very core. A moment later, when Ron and Hermione Apparated back, he nearly jumped out of his skin – which would have saved Ron the trouble of removing it, inch by inch (if only Hermione would have let him). Percy stood frozen, that is until Ron launched himself at his older brother.
Rufus Scrimgeour had not, in fact, taken Harry to St. Mungo's. Hermione and Ron were informed by a mediwizard that the Minister was't there, and would have little reason to be, as he had his own, personal, Ministry Healers. Hermione reckoned they were taking care of Harry at the Minister's residence.
"This is all your fault!" Ron knocked Percy down and stood over him, fists clenched white in the air.
"My fault? I'm not the one who lost him!" Percy wisely stayed down. He may have been older, but Ron had a good two stone over him. And if Ron's whitened knuckles were anything to go by (and Percy knew they very much were), his little brother was itching to pummel him.
"Leave him, Ron," Hermione tugged at his arm, trying to push down her own accountability and focus on Harry. "He's not worth our time. We have to find Professor McGonagall. We have to get Harry back!"
Ron was shaking with barely contained rage. "You. Are. Not. My. Brother." he ground out, and with great effort, turned away. "Hogsmead," was all he said to Hermione, and he Apparated with a 'pop'.
Hermione just shook her head at Percy and Apparated away, as well, leaving the young man to wonder what, exactly, had he just participated in.
~o~
Dark! And tight! Too tight, Harry felt as if all the air was being squeezed from his body. Then, there was a burst of sound and air, and Harry realized he was being squeezed. A strange man with a big metal necklace, which was pressing into Harry's face, held him practically immobile. When he tried to move, the arms crushed around him more tightly. Harry gasped for breath. It hurt. At last, the man released him, only to grab him by the shoulders and shake him so hard his teeth clacked together and his head snapped back painfully.
"Time to behave, Mr Potter," the man said in a gravelly voice, adding, "You are safe now," as an afterthought.
Harry felt anything but safe. However, he was badly rattled by the shake and so he stilled, trying to catch his breath.
"That's better, Mr Potter. Now let's sit down and have tea, like civilized wizards." The man gestured towards two wingback chairs beside a softly crackling fireplace.
As Harry turned to look, an extremely wrinkled house elf appeared with a small tray for tea. Harry was scared, but he was also angry. He did not like this man, who seemed familiar and dangerous, but he couldn't quite remember where he had seen him before. Harry made no move to sit, and the man growled.
"Mr Potter, have a seat," Said Scrimgeour, barely holding in his temper.
Harry said softly, but with determination, "No fank you."
Scrimgeour clamped a large had around Harry's upper arm and steered him forcefully to the closer chair. "I insist," he commanded, and yanked Harry's arm so that the boy fell into the chair with a yelp. Scrimgeour then silently cast a sticking charm and said aloud, "There, now isn't that better? Now we can just be two gentleman wizards, having a friendly chat. Tea?" He gestured the house elf to serve them, and ignored Harrys pitiful attempts to wriggle out of the chair. "Now then, Harry," the Minister chose an iced biscuit and dipped it with surprising grace into his teacup. "Why did you run away? They are not treating you very well, are they?"
Harry said nothing, but kept testing the chair to see if it would release him – to no avail.
"That is why I brought you here to my home. I am going to be taking care of you from now on. I have sent for my own personal mediwizard to come and heal you; your hands are quite raw."
Harry shook his head in disbelief. He had to get out of there before the Healer got to him. He was afraid to go home, when he was still so full of bad blood, but he was more afraid of this man. "No, my gotsa go back. Pomfee am comin' home soon, an' my needs a' get all da bu- my needs a' go." He again tried to get up from the chair, but his efforts were futile.
The minister rolled his eyes at the boy's lack of diction. "She 'is coming home' and 'I need to be there,'" he corrected.
This only confused Harry. "Why you got's a' be dere? Dat not your home. Dat am my home. Mine an' Pomfee's!"
"'Have to be there' – Potter, I am simply correcting your infantile speech. Didn't your Madam Pomfrey teach you how to speak properly?" This was, Scrimgeour knew, to be the first of many moments when he would be reminded of why he'd never had children. He loathed the little wretches, and definitely would have the house elves take charge of the boy, once all was settled with the Child Welfare court.
~o~
"Minister, you must understand. The boy may appear to have reached the age of majority, but his mental capacity is that of a three or four year old child." Healer Biobaku had the misfortune of being the previous Minister for Magic, Cornelius Fudge's personal Healer. With the arrival of Rufus Scrimgeour, Biobaku thought his luck had changed. But in light of this Minister's blind ambition (an unsurprisingly common trait among Ministers for Magic, Biobaku was discovering) Healer Biobaku was rethinking his good fortune. Yes, the position came with several perks, including complete access to all research and all staff and patient records (which was how he had learned the depth of Harry Potter's condition), but Biobaku was beginning to have serious doubts as to whether the prestige was worth it.
The Minister cut in to the Healer's train of thought, "Healer Biobaku, I don't think you are grasping the severity of the situation. You saw the condition he was in. The Potter boy cannot be sent back, but to keep him, I must show him to have progressed under my care. The gibberish he is spewing is not going to help my cause.
"You don't have any children, Minister, do you?"
"Not a one. Potter will be my first – and most definitely my last."
"Then respectfully, sir" Biobaku began with some trepidation, "Lowered expectations are in order here. I am not an expert in the field of young wizards and witches, but I believe the changes you are looking for follow a natural progression and take time."
Scrimgeour was unaccustomed to being spoken to with such candor. He was, however, a practical man and took Biobaku at his word. "Fine then, " he acquiesced. "Go and clean him up, and figure out in which areas we can improve the boy. And make arrangement with the house elf for suitable quarters, won't you?" Without waiting for a reply, the Minister turned away and left the room.
Before Healer Biobaku had time to react, and to say he was a Healer, not a child minder, he was startled half out of his robes by the sudden appearance of a wizened house elf.
"Scully is at the Healer's service" he said in a crackly voice and bowing so low, the tip of his nose came in contact with the floor.
"Oh. Well. Good, then" Biobaku cleared his throat nervously. "We will need to equip an oversized nursery. Mr Potter will require a bed, low to the ground, fresh clothing, including nightshirts and a dressing gown." He gestured to Harry who sat in a wingback chair by the fire, looking forlorn. The elf disappeared with a somehow wizened-sounding 'pop', and Baako Biobaku approached The Boy Who Lived. When Harry refused to hold out his hands for inspection, Biobaku closed his eyes a moment, to prepare himself for what he was about to do. He called for Scully, and instructed him to place Harry's arms – palms facing up – on each armrest, while the Healer applied sticking charms.
Now that Harry was anchored to the chair in three places, he could barely move. He pulled all the more, but could only bring his upper torso slightly forwards. He was panting with the effort
The Healer, himself, looked pained. "I'm so sorry, Mr Potter, but needs must. It'll be over in a flash, and your hands won't hurt anymore." Biobaku gently spread a fast-acting salve to each of Harry's palms, and the young man, boy really, whimpered softly through the Healer's ministrations. Biobaku knew the boy was not in pain, the salve contained a highly effective numbing agent, and this made Harry's reaction even more pitiable. Biobaku tried to comfort Harry while the salve was working. "There, there, almost done, now." Biobaku felt his scant words of comfort to be equally pitiable. In a few minutes time, the salve had done its job, and Harry's palms were clear of abrasions."All done! Finite Incantatum."
As soon as the charms were lifted, Harry curled into a foetal position, taking deep breaths and regaining some composure. "Pease, sir, my go bat now? My not wanna stay wif da Yion Man."
Baako Biobaku shook his head sadly, and where The Boy Who Lived had looked despondent before, he now appeared devastated. Healer Biobaku could not fault the boy for being afraid of the Minister. He was an intimidating presence and it was nearly impossible not to make the classic, 'Don't judge a scroll by its ribbon' mistake with him. The same mistake could easily be made for Harry Potter, who looked like a normal seventeen year old, but was really just a child. And the Minister's misplaced expectations and gruff manner surely did not engender a sense of trust or safety in Harry. Scrimgeour's behaviour was baffling, given that a generalization of Potter's condition had been reported ad nauseum in The Prophet, and that the man had first hand experience with Potter at the custody hearings.
For all the prestige his position as Healer to the Minister of Magic afforded him, Biobaku was essentially a fairly benign cog in the political wheel of wizardom.