Most of this chapter is directly from the ministry visit in DH.
Not mine.
Magic for the Muggle-borns
Little more than a minute after Hermione had opened the door, there was a tiny pop, and a little Ministry witch Apparated feet from them. She stood for just a moment before Hermione's stunner hit.
Draco nodded in satisfaction, emerging from behind a bin as Harry removed the notice-me-not. Hermione plucked a few hairs from the witch's head and added them to a flask of muddy Polyjuice Potion she had taken from the beaded bag. Harry was rummaging through the little witch's handbag.
"She's Mafalda Hopkirk," he said, reading a small card that identified their victim as an assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office.
"Take this, Hermione,and here are the tokens."
Hermione drank the Polyjuice Potion, and within seconds stood before them, the double of Mafalda Hopkirk. They hurried to close the door on the real Mafalda; Hermione remained in view, waiting. Seconds later there was another pop, and a small, ferrety looking wizard appeared before them.
"Oh, hello, Mafalda."
"Hello!" said Hermione in a quavery voice, "How are you today?"
"Not so good, actually," replied the little wizard, who looked thoroughly downcast.
"I'm sorry to hear you're under the weather," said Hermione, talking firmly over the little wizard and he tried to expound upon his problems; it was essential to stop him from reaching the street. "Here, have a sweet."
"Eh? Oh, no thanks –"
"I insist!" said Hermione aggressively, shaking the bag of pastilles in his face.
Looking rather alarmed, the little wizard took one.
The effect was instantaneous. The moment the pastille touched his tongue, the wizard started vomiting so hard that he did not even notice as Hermione yanked a
handful of hairs from the top of his head.
"Oh dear!" she said, as he splattered the alley with sick. "Perhaps you'd better take the day off!"
"No – no!" He choked and retched, trying to continue on his way despite being
unable to walk straight. "I must – today – must go – "
"But that's just silly!" said Hermione, alarmed. "You can't go to work in this state – I think you ought to go to St. Mungo's and get them to sort you out."
The wizard had collapsed, heaving, onto all fours, still trying to crawl toward the main street.
"You simply can't go to work like this!" cried Hermione.
He turned on the spot and vanished, leaving nothing behind but the bag Draco had snatched from his hand as he went and some flying chunks of vomit.
Within two minutes, Draco stood before them, as small and ferrety as the sick wizard, and wearing the navy blue robes that had been folded in his bag.
"I'm Reg Cattermole, according to the label in the back."
"We don't know who he is," Hermione said, passing Harry several curly black hairs, "but he's gone home with a dreadful nosebleed! Here, he's pretty tall, you'll need
bigger robes …"
She pulled out a set of the old robes Kreacher had laundered for them, and Harry retired to take the potion and change.
Once the painful transformation was complete he was nearly seven feet tall and powerfully built.
"Holy cricket, that's a bit disconcerting," said Draco, looking up at Harry, who now towered over him.
"See you in a moment, then," said Hermione nervously, and she tottered off down the steps to LADIES. Harry and Ron joined a number of oddly dressed men descending into what appeared to be an ordinary underground public toilet.
He and Harry let themselves into adjoining cubicles.
To Harry's left and right came the sound of flushing. He crouched down and peered through the gap at the bottom of the cubicle, just in time to see a pair of booted
feet climbing into the toilet next door. He looked left and saw Draco blinking at him.
"We have to flush ourselves in," he whispered.
"That's disgusting," Harry whispered back; his voice came out deep and gravelly.
They both stood up. Feeling exceptionally foolish, Harry clambered into the toilet.
He knew at once that he had done the right thing; thought he appeared to be standing in water, his shoes, feet, and robes remained quite dry. He reached up, pulled the chain, and next moment had zoomed down a short chute, emerging out of a fireplace into the Ministry of Magic.
Previously a golden fountain had filled the center of the hall, casting shimmering spots of light over the polished wooden floor and walls. Now a gigantic statue of black stone dominated the scene. It was rather frightening, this vast sculpture of a witch and a wizard sitting on ornately carved thrones, looking down at the Ministry workers toppling out of fireplaces below them. Engraved in foot-high letters at the base of the statue were the words MAGIC IS MIGHT.
Harry received a heavy blow on the back of the legs. Another wizard had just flown out of the fireplace behind him.
"Out of the way, can't y – oh, sorry, Runcorn."
Clearly frightened, the balding wizard hurried away.
"Psst!" said a voice, and he looked around to see a whispy little witch and the ferrety wizard from Magical Maintenance gesturing to him from over beside the statue.
Harry hastened to join them.
"It's horrible, isn't it?" she said to Harry, who was staring up at the statue. "Have you seen what they're sitting on?"
Harry looked more closely and realized that what he had thought were decoratively carved thrones were actually hundreds and hundreds of naked bodies, men, women, and children, all with rather stupid, ugly faces, twisted and pressed together to support the weight of the handsomely robed wizards.
"Muggles," whispered Hermione, "In their rightful place. Come on, let's get going."
They joined the stream of witches and wizards moving toward the golden gates at
the end of the hall but there was no sign of Dolores Umbridge. They had barely joined the nearest one when a voice said, "Cattermole!"
The Ministry workers beside them fell silent, their eyes downcast; Harry could feel fear rippling through them.
Someone in the crowd around the lifts called sycophantically, "Morning, Yaxley!" Yaxley ignored them.
"I requested somebody from Magical Maintenance to sort out my office, Cattermole. It's still raining in there."
Draco looked around as though hoping somebody else would intervene, but nobody spoke.
"Raining … in your office? That's not good, is it?"
Draco gave a nervous laugh. Yaxley's eyes widened.
"You think it's funny, Cattermole, do you?"
A pair of witches broke away from the queue for the lift and bustled off.
"No," said Draco, "no, of course –"
"You realize that I am on my way downstairs to interrogate your wife, Cattermole? In fact, I'm quite surprised you're not down there holding her hand while she waits. Already given her up as a bad job, have you? Probably wise. Be sure and marry a pureblood next time."
Hermione had let out a little squeak of horror. Yaxley looked at her. She coughed feebly and turned away.
"But if my wife were accused of being a Mudblood," said Yaxley, "—not that any woman I married would ever be mistaken for such filth – and the Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement needed a job doing, I would make it my priority to do this job, Cattermole. Do you understand me?"
"Yes," whispered Draco.
"Then attend to it, Cattermole, and if my office is not completely dry within an hour, your wife's Blood Status will be in even greater doubt than it is now."
The golden grille before them clattered open. With a nod and unpleasant smile to Harry, who was evidently expected to appreciate this treatment of Cattermole, Yaxley swept away toward another lift. Harry, Draco, and Hermione entered theirs, but nobody followed them: It was as if they were infectious.
"What am I going to do?" Draco asked the other two at once; he looked stricken. "If I don't turn up, Cattermole's wife – "
"We'll come with you, we should stick together –" began Harry, but Draco shook his head feverishly.
"That's pointless, we haven't got much time. You two find Umbridge, I'll go and sort out Yaxley's office – but how do I stop a raining?"
"Try Finite Incantatem," said Hermione at once, "that should stop the rain if it's a hex or curse; if it doesn't something's gone wrong with an Atmospheric Charm, which will be more difficult to fix, so as an interim measure try Impervius to protect his belongings – "
A disembodied female voice said, "Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau," and the grilles slid open again, admitting a couple of wizards and several pale violet paper airplanes that fluttered around the lamp in the ceiling of the lift.
"Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services,"
said the disembodied witch's voice.
Draco hurried out of the lift, followed by the other wizards, leaving Harry and Hermione alone. "Level one, Minister of Magic and Support Staff."
The golden grilles slid apart again and Hermione gasped. Four people stood before them, two of them deep in conversation: a long-haired wizard wearing magnificent
robes of black and gold, and a squat, toad-like witch wearing a velvet bow in her short hair and clutching a clipboard to her chest.
"Ah, Mafalda!" said Umbridge, looking at Hermione. "Travers sent you, did he?"
"Y-yes," squeaked Hermione.
"Good, you'll do perfectly well." Umbridge spoke to the wizard in black and gold.
"That's that problem solved. Minister, if Mafalda can be spared for record-keeping we shall be able to start straightaway." She consulted her clipboard. "Ten people today and one of them the wife of a Ministry employee! Tut, tut… even here, in the heart of the Ministry!" She stepped into the lift besides Hermione, as did the two wizards who had been listening to Umbridge's conversation with the Minister. "We'll go straight down, Mafalda, you'll find everything you need in the courtroom. Good morning, Albert, aren't you getting out?"
"Yes, of course," said Harry in Runcorn's deep voice.
Harry stepped out of the life. The golden grilles clanged shut behind him.
Glancing over his shoulder, Harry saw Hermione's anxious face sinking back out of sight, a tall wizard on either side of her, Umbridge's velvet hair-bow level with her shoulder.
"What brings you here, Runcorn?" asked the new Minister of Magic. His long black hair and beard were streaked with silver and a great overhanging forehead shadowed his glinting eyes, putting Harry in the mind of a crab looking out from beneath a rock. "Needed a quick word with," Harry hesitated for a fraction of a second, "Arthur Weasley. Someone said he was up on level one."
"Ah," said Plum Thicknesse. "Has he been caught having contact with an Undesirable?"
"No," said Harry, his throat dry. "No, nothing like that."
"Ah, well. It's only a matter of time," said Thicknesse. "If you ask me, the blood traitors are as bad as the Mudbloods. Good day, Runcorn."
"Good day, Minister."
Harry watched Thicknesse march away along the thickly carpeted corridor. The moment the Minister had passed out of sight, Harry cast an invisiblility charm that Dumbledore had taught him over himself, it wasn't as could as his cloak, but it would do, and set off along the corridor in the opposite direction. Panic pulsed in the pit of his stomach.
They had concentrated all their efforts on getting inside without being detected: They had not given a moment's thought to what they would do if they were forced to separate. Now Hermione was stuck in court proceedings, which would undoubtedly last hours; Draco was struggling to do magic that Harry was sure wasn't difficult, but he still wanted him in his sight, a woman's liberty possibly depending on the outcome, and he, Harry, was wandering around on the top floor when he knew perfectly well that his quarry had just gone down in the lift.
Her office must be up here, Harry thought.
It seemed most unlikely that Umbridge would keep her jewelry in her office, but on the other hand it seemed foolish not to search it to make sure.
A young witch beside him said, still waving and twirling her wand, "Will the old hag be interrogating Mudbloods all day, does anyone know?"
"Careful," said the wizard beside her, glancing around nervously; one of his pages slipped and fell to the floor.
"What, has she got magic ears as well as an eye, now?"
The witch glanced toward the shining mahogany door facing the space full of pamphlet-makers; Harry looked too, and the rage reared in him like a snake. Where there might have been a peephole on a Muggle front door, a large, round eye with a bright blue iris had been set into the wood – an eye that was shockingly familiar to anybody who had known Alastor Moody.
The plaque beneath it read:
Dolores Umbridge
Senior Undersecretary to the Minister
Below that a slightly shinier new plaque read:
Head of the Muggle-Born
Registration Commission
He placed a Decoy Detonator on the ground, and it scuttled away at once through the legs of the witches and wizards in front of him. A few moments later there came a loud bang and a great deal of acrid smoke billowed from a corner. The young witch in the front row shrieked: Pink pages flew everywhere as she and her fellows jumped up, looking around for the source of the commotion. Harry turned the doorknob, stepped into Umbridge's office, and closed the door behind him. The room was exactly like Umbridge's office at Hogwarts: Lace draperies, doilies and dried flowers covered every surface.
He turned to face the room, raised his wand, and murmured, "Accio Locket."
Nothing happened, but he had not expected it to; no doubt Umbridge knew all about protective charms and spells. He hurried behind her desk and began pulling open all the drawers. He saw no sign of a locket. It was not until Harry reached the bottom most drawer that he saw something to distract him from the search: Mr. Weasley's file.
He pulled it out and opened it.
Arthur Weasley
Blood Status: Pureblood, but with unacceptable pro-Muggle
leanings. Known member of the Order of the Phoenix.
Family: Wife (pureblood), seven children, two
youngest at Hogwarts. NB: Youngest son
currently at home, seriously ill, Ministry
inspectors have confirmed.
Security Status: TRACKED. All movements are being
monitored. Strong likelihood Undesirable No.
1 will contact (has stayed with Weasley
family previously)
"Undesirable Number One," Harry muttered under his breath as he replaced Mr. Weasley's folder and shut the drawer. He had an idea he knew who that was, and sure enough, as he straightened up and glanced around the office for fresh hiding places he saw a poster of himself on the wall, with the words UNDESIRABLE NO. 1 emblazoned across his chest. A little pink note was stuck to it with a picture of a kitten in the corner.
Harry moved across to read it and saw that Umbridge had written, "To be punished."
He gave the office one last sweeping look, and his heart skipped a beat. Dumbledore was smiling wistfully out of the front cover of a glossy book. Harry had not immediately noticed the curly green writing across his hat – The Life and Lies of Albus Dumbledore – nor the slightly smaller writing across his chest: "by Rita Skeeter, bestselling author of Armando Dippet: Master or Moron?"
Harry opened the book at random and saw a full-page photograph of two teenage boys, both laughing immoderately with their arms around each other's shoulders.
Dumbledore, now with elbow-length hair, had grown a tiny wispy beard that recalled the one on Krum's chin that had annoyed Ron. The boy who roared in silent amusement beside Dumbledore had a gleeful, wild look about him. His golden hair fell in curls to his shoulders. Harry wondered whether it was a young Doge.
Harry backed out of the office into the open area beyond.
Harry hurried off up the corridor as the young witch said, "I bet it sneaked up here from Experimental Charms, they're so careless, remember that poisonous duck?"
Speeding back toward the lifts, Harry reviewed his options. It had never been likely that the locket was here at the Ministry, and there was no hope of bewitching its
whereabouts out of Umbridge while she was sitting in a crowded court. Their priority now had to be to leave the Ministry before they were exposed, and try again another day.
The first thing to do was to find Draco, and then they could work out a way of extracting Hermione from the courtroom.
The lift was empty when it arrived. . To his enormous relief, when it rattled to a halt at level two, a soaking-wet Draco got in.
He nodded stiffly to Harry as the lift set off again.
"Dray, it's me, Harry!"
"Harry! Sorry, I forgot what you looked like – why isn't Hermione with you?"
"She had to go down to the courtrooms with Umbridge, she couldn't refuse, and –"
But before Harry could finish the lift had stopped again. The doors opened and Mr. Weasley walked inside, talking to an elderly witch whose blonde hair was teased so high it resembled an anthill.
"… I quite understand what you're saying, Wakanda, but I'm afraid I cannot be party to – "
Mr. Weasley broke off; he had noticed Harry. It was very strange to have Mr. Weasley glare at him with that much dislike. The lift doors closed and the four of them trundled downward once more.
"Oh hello, Reg," said Mr. Weasley, looking around at the sound of steady dripping from Draco's robes. "Isn't your wife in for questioning today? Er – what's happened to you? Why are you so wet?"
"Yaxley's office is raining," he said. "I couldn't stop it, so they've sent me to get Bernie – Pillsworth, I think they said –"
"Yes, a lot of offices have been raining lately," said Mr. Weasley. "Did you try Meterolojinx Recanto? It worked for Bletchley."
"Meteolojinx Recanto?" whispered Ron. "No, I didn't. Thank you."
The lift doors opened; the old witch with the anthill hair left, and Draco darted past her out of sight. Harry made to follow him, but found his path blocked as Percy Weasley strode into the lift, his nose buried in some papers he was reading.
Not until the doors had clanged shut again did Percy realize he was in a lift with his father. He glanced up, saw Mr. Weasley, turned radish red, and left the lift the moment the doors opened again. For the second time, Harry tried to get out, but this time found his way blocked by Mr. Weasley's arm.
"One moment, Runcorn."
The lift doors closed and as they clanked down another floor, Mr. Weasley said, "I hear you had information about Dirk Cresswell."
Harry had the impression that Mr. Weasley's anger was no less because of the brush with Percy. He decided his best chance was to act stupid.
"Sorry?" he said.
"Don't pretend, Runcorn," said Mr. Weasley fiercely. "You tracked down the wizard who faked his family tree, didn't you?"
"I – so what if I did?" said Harry.
"So Dirk Cresswell is ten times the wizard you are," said Mr. Weasley quietly, as the lift sank ever lower. "And if he survives Azkaban, you'll have to answer to him, not
to mention his wife, his sons, and his friends –"
"Arthur," Harry interrupted, "you know you're being tracked, don't you?"
"Is that a threat, Runcorn?" said Mr. Weasley loudly.
"No," said Harry, "it's a fact! They're watching your every move –"
The lift doors opened. They had reached the Atrium. Mr. Weasley gave Harry a scathing look and swept from the lift. Harry stood there, shaken. He wished he was impersonating somebody other than Runcorn. The lift doors clanged shut.
Harry cast another invisibility charm. He would try to extricate Hermione on his own while Draco was dealing with the raining office. When the doors opened, he stepped out into a torch-lit stone passageway quite different from the wood-paneled and carpeted corridors above. As the lift rattled away again, Harry shivered slightly, looking toward the distant black door that marked the entrance to the Department of Mysteries.
Lost in thought, he did not immediately register the unnatural chill that was creeping over him, as if he were descending into fog. It was becoming colder and colder with every step he took; a cold that reached right down his throat and tore at his lungs. And then he felt that stealing sense of despair, or hopelessness, filling him, expanding inside him….
Dementors, he thought.
And as he reached the foot of the stairs and turned to his right he saw a dreadful scene. The dark passage outside the courtrooms was packed with tall, black-hooded figures, their faces completely hidden, their ragged breathing the only sound in the place.
The petrified Muggle-borns brought in for questioning sat huddled and shivering on hard wooden benches. The dementors were gliding up and down in front of them, and the cold, and the hopelessness, and the despair of the place laid themselves upon Harry like a curse….
Fight it, he told himself, but he knew that he could not conjure a Patronus here without revealing himself instantly. So he moved forward as silently as he could, and with every step he took numbness seemed to steal over his brain, but he forced himself to think of Hermione and of Draco, who needed him.
"No, no, I'm half-blood, I'm half-blood, I tell you! My father was a wizard, he was, look him up, Arkie Alderton, he's a well known broomstick designer, look him up, I tell you – get your hands off me, get your hands off –"
"This is your final warning," said Umbridge's soft voice, magically magnified so that it sounded clearly over the man's desperate screams. "If you struggle, you will be subjected to the Dementor's Kiss."
The man's screams subsided, but dry sobs echoed through the corridor.
"Take him away," said Umbridge.
Two dementors appeared in the doorway of the courtroom, their rotting, scabbed hands clutching the upper arms of a wizard who appeared to be fainting.
"Next – Mary Cattermole," called Umbridge.
A small woman stood up; she was trembling from head to foot. He did it instinctively, without any sort of plan, because he hated the sight of her walking alone into the dungeon: As the door began to swing closed, he slipped into the courtroom behind her.
"Sit down," said Umbridge in her soft, silky voice.
The moment she had sat down, chains clinked out of the arms of the chair and bound her there.
"You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?" asked Umbridge.
Mrs. Cattermole gave a single, shaky nod.
"Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical Maintenance Department?"
Mrs. Cattermole burst into tears.
"I don't know where he is, he was supposed to meet me here!"
Umbridge ignored her.
"Mother to Maisie, Ellie and Alfred Cattermole?"
Mrs. Cattermole sobbed harder than ever.
"They're frightened, they think that I might not come home –"
"Spare us," spat Yaxley. "The brats of Mudbloods do not stir our sympathies."
Mrs. Cattermole's sobs masked Harry's footsteps as he made his way carefully toward the steps that led up to the raised platform. Slowly and very carefully he edged his way along the platform behind Umbridge, Yaxley, and Hermione, taking a seat behind the latter. He was worried about making Hermione jump. Umbridge raised her voice to address Mrs. Cattermole, and Harry seized his chance."I'm behind you," he whispered into Hermione's ear.
As he had expected, she jumped so violently she nearly overturned the bottle of ink with which she was supposed to be recording the interview.
"A wand was taken from you upon your arrival at the Ministry today, Mrs. Cattermole," Umbridge was saying. "Eight-and-three-quarter inches, cherry, unicorn-hair core. Do you recognize the description?"
Mrs. Cattermole nodded, mopping her eyes on her sleeve.
"Could you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took that wand?" "T-took?" sobbed Mrs. Cattermole. "I didn't t-take it from anybody. I b-bought it when I was eleven years old. It – it – it – chose me."
Umbridge laughed a soft girlish laugh that made Harry want to attack her. She leaned forward over the barrier, and something gold swung forward too, and dangled over the void: the locket.
Hermione had seen it; she let out a little squeak.
"No," said Umbridge, "no, I don't think so, Mrs. Cattermole. Wands only choose witches or wizards. You are not a witch. I have your responses to the questionnaire that was sent to you here – Mafalda, pass them to me."
Umbridge held out a small hand: She looked so toad-like at that moment that
Harry was quite surprised not to see webs between the stubby fingers. Hermione fumbled in a pile of documents balanced on the chair beside her, finally withdrawing a sheaf of parchment with Mrs. Cattermole's name on it.
"That's – that's pretty, Dolores," she said, pointing at the pendant gleaming in the ruffled folds of Umbridge's blouse.
"What?" snapped Umbridge, glancing down. "Oh yes – an old family heirloom," she said, patting the locket lying on her large bosom. "The S stands for Selwyn. I am related to the Selwyns. Indeed, there are few pure-blood families to whom I am not related. A pity," she continued in a louder voice, flicking through Mrs. Cattermole's questionnaire, "that the same cannot be said for you. 'Parents professions: greengrocers'."
It was Umbridge's lie that brought the blood surging into Harry's brain and obliterated his sense of caution – that the locket she had taken as a bribe from a petty criminal was being used to bolster her own pure-blood credentials. He raised his wand, not even troubling to keep it concealed, and said, "Stupefy!"
There was a flash of red light; Umbridge crumpled and her forehead hit the edge of the balustrade: Mrs. Cattermole's papers slid off her lap onto the floor and, down below, the prowling silver cat vanished. Ice-cold air hit them like an oncoming wind:
Yaxley, confused, looked around for the source of the trouble and saw Harry's hand and wand pointing at him. He tried to draw his own wand, but too late:
"Stupefy!"
Yaxley slid to the ground to lie curled on the floor.
"Harry!"
"Hermione, if you think I was going to sit here and let her pretend –"
"Harry, Mrs. Cattermole!"
Harry whirled around; down below, the dementors had moved out of their corners; they were gliding toward the woman chained to the chair: Whether because the Patronus had vanished or because they sensed that their masters were no longer in control, they seemed to have abandoned restraint. Mrs. Cattermole let out a terrible scream of fear as a slimy, scabbed hand grasped her chin and forced her face back. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
A phoenix soared from the tip of Harry's wand, surprising Harry, and leaped toward the dementors, which fell back and melted into the dark shadows again. The phoenix's light, more powerful and more warming than the cat's protection, filled the whole dungeon as it flied around the room.
"Get the Horcrux," Harry told Hermione.
He ran back down the steps, stuffing the Invisibility Cloak into his back, and
approached Mrs. Cattermole.
"You?" she whispered, gazing into his face. "But – but Reg said you were the one who submitted my name for questioning!"
"Did I?" muttered Harry, tugging at the chains binding her arms, "Well, I've had a change of heart. Diffindo!" Nothing happened. "Hermione, how do I get rid of these
chains?"
"Wait, I'm trying something up here –"
"Hermione, we're surrounded by dementors!"
"I know that, Harry, but if she wakes up and the locket's gone – I need to duplicate it – Geminio! There. That should fool her."
Hermione came running downstairs.
"Let's see…. Relashio!"
The chains clinked and withdrew into the arms of the chair. Mrs. Cattermole looked just as frightened as ever before.
"I don't understand," she whispered.
"You're going to leave here with us," said Harry, pulling her to her feet. "Go home, grab your children, and get out, get out of the country if you've got to. Disguise yourselves and run. You've seen how it is, you won't get anything like a fair hearing here."
"Harry," said Hermione, "how are we going to get out of here with all those dementors outside the door?"
"Patronuses," said Harry, pointing his wand at his own. The bird slowed and glided, still gleaming brightly, toward the door. "As many as we can muster; do yours,
Hermione."
"Expec – Expecto patronum," said Hermione. Nothing happened.
"It's the only spell she ever has trouble with," Harry told a completely bemused
Mrs. Cattermole. "Bit unfortunate, really… Come on Hermione…."
'Expecto patronum!"
A silver otter burst from the end of Hermione's wand and swam gracefully through the air to join the stag.
"C'mon," said Harry, and he led Hermione and Mrs. Cattermole to the door.
When the Patronuses glided out of the dungeon there were cries of shock from the people waiting outside. Harry looked around; the dementors were falling back on both sides of them, melding into the darkness, scattering before the silver creatures.
"It's been decided that you should all go home and go into hiding with your families," Harry told the waiting Muggle-born, who were dazzled by the light of the Patronuses and still cowering slightly. "Go abroad if you can. Just get well away from the Ministry. That's the – er – new official position. Now, if you'll just follow the Patronuses, you'll be able to leave the Atrium." They managed to get up the stone stops without being intercepted, but as they approached the lifts Harry started to have misgivings. If they emerged into the Atrium with a silver phoenix, and otter soaring alongside it, and twenty or so people, half of them accused Muggle-borns, he could not help feeling that they would attract unwanted attention. He had just reached this unwelcome conclusion when the lift clanged to a halt in front of them.
"Reg!" screamed Mrs. Cattermole, and she threw herself into Draco's arms, kissing him soundly.
"Runcorn let me out, he attacked Umbridge and Yaxley, and he's told all of us to leave the country. I think we'd better do it, Reg, I really do, let's hurry home and fetch the children and – why are you so wet?"
"Water," muttered Draco, disengaging himself. "Harry, they know there are intruders inside the Ministry. I reckon we've got five minutes if that –"
Hermione's Patronus vanished with a pop as she turned a horror struck face to Harry.
"Harry, if we're trapped here – !"
"We won't be if we move fast," said Harry. He addressed the silent group behind them, who were all gawping at him.
"Who's got wands?"
About half of them raised their hands.
"Okay, all of you who haven't got wands need to attach yourself to somebody who has. We'll need to be fast before they stop us. Come on."
They managed to cram themselves into two lifts. Harry's Patronus stood sentinel before the golden grilles as they shut and the lifts began to rise.
"Level eight," said the witch's cool voice, "Atrium."
Harry knew at once that they were in trouble. The Atrium was full of people moving from fireplace to fireplace, sealing them off.
"Harry!" squeaked Hermione. "What are we going to – ?"
"STOP!" Harry thundered, and the powerful voice of Runcorn echoed through the Atrium: The wizards sealing the fireplaces froze. "Follow me," he whispered to the group of terrified Muggle-borns, who moved forward in a huddle, shepherded by Draco and Hermione."What's up, Albert?" said the same balding wizard who had followed Harry out of the fireplace earlier. He looked nervous.
"This lot need to leave before you seal the exits," said Harry with all the authority he could muster. The group of wizards in front of him looked at one another.
"We've been told to seal all exits and not let anyone –"
"Are you contradicting me?" Harry blustered. "Would you like me to have your family tree examined, like I had Dirk Cresswell's?"
"Sorry!"
"Their blood is pure. Purer than many of yours, I daresay."
"Mary!"
Mrs. Cattermole looked over her shoulder. The real Reg Cattermole, no longer vomiting but pale and wan, had just come running out of a lift.
"R- Reg?"
She looked from her husband to Draco, who shuffled toward Harry.
The balding wizard gaped, his head turning ludicrously from one Reg Cattermole to the other, "Hey – what's going on? What is this?"
"Seal the exit! SEAL IT!"
Yaxley had burst out of another lift and was running toward the group beside the fireplaces, into which all of the Muggle-borns but Mrs. Cattermole had now vanished. As the balding wizard lifted his wand, Harry raised an enormous fist and punched him, sending him flying through the air.
"He's been helping Muggle-borns escape, Yaxley!" Harry shouted.
The balding wizard's colleagues set up and uproar, under cover of which Draco grabbed Mrs. Cattermole, pulled her into the still-open fireplace, and disappeared.
Confused, Yaxley looked from Harry to the punched wizard, while the real Reg Cattermole screamed, "My wife! Who was that with my wife? What's going on?"
Harry saw Yaxley's head turn, saw an inkling of truth dawn on that brutish face.
"Come on!" Harry shouted at Hermione; he seized her hand and they jumped into the fireplace together as Yaxley's curse sailed over Harry's head. They spun for a few seconds before shooting up out of a toilet into a cubicle. Harry flung open the door: Draco was standing there beside the sinks, still wrestling with Mrs. Cattermole.
"Reg, I don't understand –"
"Let go, I'm not your husband, you've got to go home!"
There was a noise in the cubicle behind them; Harry looked around; Yaxley had just appeared.
"LET'S GO!" Harry yelled. He seized Hermione by the hand and Draco by the waist and turned on the spot.
Darkness engulfed them, along with the sensation of compressing hands, but something was wrong.
Hermione's hand seemed to be sliding out of his grip.
He wondered whether he was going to suffocate; he could not breathe or see and the only solid things in the world were Draco's side and Hermione's fingers, which were slowly slipping away.
And then he saw the door to number twelve, Grimmauld Place, with its serpent door knocker, but before he could draw breath, there was a scream and a flash of purple light: Hermione's hand was suddenly vice like upon his and everything went dark again.
There were many mistakes with this when I first posted it, I hope they are fixed now.