AN: Probably the most unfair cliff hanger I'm going to leave. Everything is going to pick up from here on out, yes Marcy will be a 4th year come the next chapter and the loose ends will be tied up (even in the Marcy/Andrew aspect). Thanks for sticking with me, again, Harry Potter belongs to JKR and I do not take any claim to it!

Marcy was in a bubble.

Well, it felt like a bubble really, even though she was actually sitting on one of the large beds of the evening Knight Bus. Andrew and Michael were sitting on the bed across from her, shifting violently as the bus took awkwardly hard turns. Marcy did not move, her bubble keeping her firmly seated on her bed. It could have been that she was already comfortable with buses after years in primary muggle school, but no one argued with her when she blamed it on her bubble.

Things had gone from bad to worse after the Yule Ball was called to an abrupt close. She was given minutes to run back to Gryffindor and grab a few things and place them in a suitcase Abbie had conjured from a discarded vase. Julian had been sound asleep when she had approached the Slytherin common room and, not wishing to wake him, she left strict instructions with Professor Slughorn for his impending wake.

Then Marcy had hugged her best friends and left. Charlie had stared at her almost sadly and Abbie had wished her a farewell. The Knight Bus was awkward and crowded with other witches and wizards attempting to locate loved ones at the Ministry. Michael and Andrew had moved away from her quickly. She had tried to talk to Andrew, to figure out what exactly had happened, but it seemed as if their moment of romantic magic had dissipated by their call back to reality.

Or at least, his call. Marcy was living in a bubble and she was quite happy with it. The attack did not exist. The starchy bed sheets she was sitting on did not exist. She was still at the dance, twirling around in Andrew's arms. Nothing bad had happened. Marcy heard the Knight Bus conductor, Stan Shunpike, yell out the next stop. They still had three more before hers. She closed her eyes, fully intent on sinking even further…

"ST. MUNGO'S! HEY, LADY, THIS IS YOUR STOP!" a man with terrible breath yelled into Marcy's face. She wrinkled her nose and sat up, surprised to find herself tucked in under the bedspread. She rubbed her eyes and fixed her sleep-mussed hair as best as she could. When had she fallen asleep? When had the bubble popped?

Michael and Andrew were waiting for her when she stepped off the bus, both of their faces pasty white with concern and a lack of sleep. Andrew was rubbing his forcefully and pulling at the collar of his dress robes. Michael, who was still in pajamas, attempted to pull his shirt down to cover the small span of stomach that showed through.

"Where are we?" Marcy asked, staring at a very stark department store building. It looked almost abandoned.

"This is the entrance of our finest hospital, St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries," Andrew muttered through a yawn, "Everyone is taken here who lives in Britain for the most part. There are other wizarding hospitals worldwide, but most severe cases are sent here." He motioned them to move forward and she followed him and Michael with hesitation.

They entered the building and Marcy was surprised to find it completely neat and tidy. A young witch sat at an information desk as other witches and wizards bustled around donning lime green robes. A long list of floors was directly to her right and described many of the injuries treatable in the hospital. Andrew and Michael took no notice to the sign and led her directly to an elevator, pushing the Fourth Floor button carelessly. She had read the sign for the fourth floor. Spell damage.

A witch, probably about ten years older than her mother, met them at the end of the elevator. She had hair the color of orange marmalade and a very tiny nose. Her eyes sparkled celery green as she gave Andrew and Michael a sad but stern smile.

"Hello boys," she looked at Marcy then, "and you must be Marcy, I'm Tonks. Healer Lopez just finished working on Arthur, I'm sure Hermione and Ron will allow all three of you to visit momentarily. They are in there right now. Andrew, your parents are sitting outside his door if you would like to see them." Her face did not match the cheery disposition of her news, and Marcy wondered if this Tonks woman was lying.

"Is my dad here?" Marcy jumped in before Andrew had a chance to walk away. Fear shot through the eyes of the woman in front of them for just a second before she shook her head and mentioned that he was held up with business. Marcy grumbled loudly to herself. Andrew, for the first time since leaving the dance, took her hand and led her over to his parents.

"Dad, Mum, can Marcy spend some time with us for a bit?" He asked cautiously. Michael was still conversing with the unusual looking witch and seemed perfectly content away from the action of the Minister's hospital bedroom.

"Yes of course," Melinda Potter nodded, resting a hand on her husband's knee. Marcy barely knew Harry Potter, but had never seen him so torn up before. His eyes were dark underneath his glasses and beads of sweat were rolling down his forehead. She looked to Andrew for answers; he merely shrugged his shoulders and mentioned for her to take her seat. It was, apparently, something she was not supposed to ask about, "You two must be famished. There is a café on the next floor up if you would like to grab a bit to eat."

Marcy shook her head. She should have been hungry; she had not eaten since the middle of the dance but something inside of her forced her to say no. Andrew declined as well, looking at his dad with a bit of remorse as the older man's trembling hands clenched and unclenched.

"Where's Molly?" Andrew asked.

"She's staying at Headquarters," Melinda answered before Harry was given the chance, and Marcy wondered if maybe all the adults in St. Mungo's were expected to lie about serious situations.

"What happened?" she voiced, unable to remain quiet about it.

A hush fell over the small waiting room; it seemed as if Michael and Tonks had even stopped their conversation to hear what would be said. Harry looked up at her then, his eyes a mixture of fear and pain. Marcy had not noticed at first, but his cheek had been stitched up, the remnants of a very large gash only barely visible beneath a set of gauze taped bandages. There was also a small bruise forming by the edge of his left eye, causing the eyelid to droop slightly in an almost tired expression.

"They came out of nowhere, five men with black robes and masks. I managed to take out one of them before they banished me from the room. It was an impossible battle," Harry said aloud, "They apparently came up the elevator, wiped out at least one important figure head on each floor. I don't know how anyone didn't stop them."

"Dad what were they after?"

"A project of some sort would be my assumption," Harry mentioned but stopped himself as Tonks gave him a very angry glare, "Probably top secret."

"Arthur doesn't have that kind of access."

"No one outside of the Ministry would know that darling," Melinda chimed in, patting her son on the shoulder, "Besides…I'm sure he'll be..." Melinda's words were cut off by a large blaring siren from inside the minister's room. Tonks, who had been leaning calmly against the doorway, ran into the room and locked the door behind her. Marcy could here the pops of apparition as more healers rushed into the rooms. She could almost swear she could hear Hermione yelling.

"What's going on?"

"I…"

Marcy closed her eyes before Harry could answer her, trying to go back into the bubble. Something was going terribly wrong and she knew; if she could just reach the bubble, it would all be alright. She would be safe. She could see it rising in front of her, could see Hermione and Ron standing there waving at her. Why they were there, she was not quite sure, but she knew the Burrow was safe. She would retreat there.

Suddenly, she was somewhere she didn't recognize. She could see Aunt Hermione, Tonks, and Uncle Ron looking devastated in the corner as two healers twirled their wands in intricate patterns over a man's chest. He was old, with fading auburn hair and a very long pointed nose, and brilliantly white skin with just the tiniest bit of peach fuzz. His eyes were closed although she knew, somehow, that they were blue.

How did I get in here? She thought to herself from the corner of the room. She had seen Tonks lock the door. She had seen…

Hermione let out a small cry that brought her attention back to the scene in front of her. A healer was holding her hand and shaking his head, handing her a wand with a broken tip. Ron had moved to the window and looked as if he was trying with all his might to not put his hand through it. Tonks was gone, replaced by a woman with long mahogany hair and very large features. The machine over the man's head, which had been beeping moments before, was turned off, and a blanket was slowly being pulled over his head. She could feel the tears start to fall down her face for the man she had never met and would never get to know…

"MARCY!" yelled Andrew Potter and she opened her eyes, surprised to find herself on the floor in the waiting room.

Was that a dream?

She touched her face cautiously and felt them, the hot tears that had not been their moments before. She heard the door creak open and she looked up to see Hermione and Ron come out with that woman she did not know, their faces the same as they had been in her dream sequence.

"Tonks is he alright?" Harry asked.

If that's Tonks…this doesn't make any sense

"He died," Marcy answered from the floor. A collective gasp spread around those waiting and Hermione started to cry again, folding into her husband's shoulder for comfort. Ron stared at his childhood best friend and nodded solemnly before forcing Hermione into a chair. Melinda grabbed Harry's hand as his own tears started to fall for the father that had been Arthur Weasley. Michael, who had been the most optimistic of them all, looked sick. Andrew would not let go of Marcy's hand.

"This is…much bigger than we expected," Tonks murmured behind her new hair, "None of you are safe now, not until we learn what happened to the Minister. I have to inform the appropriate sources. The chain of command…it…it isn't prepared for something like this. We haven't had…"

"…not since him…" muttered Ron.

"…yes. And now…" Tonks shuddered visibly before muttering, "To Headquarters."