Chapter Five
– SAINTS AT MUNGO'S –
The next few days that passed were a blur. Harry was vaguely aware of incredible pain in his leg, and then Apparating on the threshold of a house with a battered door, grimy windows and filthy walls, with a dusty number 12 set into it. He heard cries of shock and outrage – "Kingsley, you thickhead, you can't just bring anybody and show them our headquarters!" – and the deep voice of the man clutching Harry's arm defending himself – "He isn't anybody, I wasn't going to leave the Boy Who Lived there!"
Next he knew, he was swept up into nothingness again, Apparating into a crowded reception area. It was filled with witches and wizards, some sitting on wooden seats, some queuing up in a long, winding line in front of an Inquiries desk, where a Welcomewitch sat, the words St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries floating above her. Kingsley half-dragged, half-carried him over and he was aware of faint arguing, as if it were happening a mile away, distancing farther and farther … and then nothing.
He woke up a few times, the first time dizzy and woozy, opening his eyes and realising he was wrapped up snugly in a hospital bed, with a very odd assortment of people. Mr and Mrs Weasley were sitting on a visitor's seat, the former frowning and thinking hard, the latter looking fretful and close to tears; Ron, Fred and George (the two Weasley twins), both looking anxious; Dumbledore, looking merely thoughtful and dreamy, towering everybody else; and a brooding, quiet Kingsley Shacklebolt, whom Harry recognised from the Daily Prophet Auror photographs.
Nobody noticed him open his eyes, and they were equally unaware as sleep took him over again.
The next time he woke, Mr Weasley, one of the Weasley twins and Kingsley Shacklebolt were gone. There sat Hermione Granger who was talking quietly with Ron, Dumbledore who once again was seated by himself, looking peaceful and amicable, Mrs Weasley who was agitatedly fixing one of the twins' hair and a huge, black dog whom Harry recognised as Sirius in his Animagus form.
Hermione saw Harry's eyes open and hissed, "He's awake!"
Everybody rushed over to him, but by this time he had already gone cross-eyed and fallen asleep again.
He closed his green, almond-shaped eyes and opened them, but this time they were scarlet slits. He was not in a hospital … he was in a dark alleyway, Wormtail cowering below him … Harry was furious … furious at Wormtail … the stupid fool … Wormtail had been unable to find his most faithful servant … oh yes, when Harry had found the defected little Crouch, he made sure to punish him severely … he was furious at that Order of the Phoenix for interrupting … Dumbledore's band of reckless, foolhardy idiots … Harry had been just about to finish off his nemesis once and for all, when they had interrupted … when Harry was back to full strength, he made sure to murder them all brutally … oh, but there was someone else who Harry so desired to slit the throat of, to watch in glee as the light left his eyes … the boy with the lightning scar, the one who had survived by circumstance, the one with a boatload sheer dumb luck … oh, how Harry wished to make that scar wider, bigger, not a scar, but a deep, deep gash, unhealable … he had slipped from Harry's hands again, the Boy Who Lived who was the focal point of the plan to infiltrate Hogwarts, the boy who had escaped Harry's clutches … the months of hard work and scheming had not paid off … the boy who had unknowingly destroyed one of the Horcruxes … Harry felt a horrible rage overwhelm him … he wanted to kill the boy … the boy called Harry Potter …
Even in this murky, underwater-esque state, Harry frowned. That cannot have been right … Harry Potter was himself, the Dark Lord, the one whose name sent shudders down the wizarding world's spine, the once powerful rulerof the Death Eaters, the deviser of so many plans that months, all of which had been foiled by one stupid child named … well, Harry Potter. Perplexity coursed through him, then irritation. If he himself was not Harry Potter, who was? That boy – that talentless, unskilled child – cannot have be Harry … can it? The intricacy and complexity of the whole thing made Harry wrathful, like a child unable to understand a simple question.
Slowly, the answer came to him … Harry was not the Dark Lord … Harry was not the Enemy … Harry was both … both of these personas … the Dark Lord and the Boy Who Lived were one and the same … Lord Voldemort and Harry Potter were interconnected and intertwined … they were twins, brothers, father and son, enemies, friends … how?
HOW? Harry shrieked at the universe, the tumbling, stormy sky, unnaturally dark for daytime … how was it possible? … it couldn't have been what Harry's instinct thought of … no, that was impossible … NO! NEVER! … how unstable did that make Harry? … he felt ill now, felt unsteady, shaky, unsafe … and Harry – Voldemort – Harry – Voldemort, screamed at the top of his lungs, because it meant that the one he so sorely wanted to kill would have to stay alive … would have to continue thriving … NO!
And Harry woke up screaming, his scar inflamed and agonised, his mind completely foggy and the contents of the latest dream wiped from his mind. He was still in his bed in St. Mungo's, but this time he was alone. Visiting hours must have expired because he could see by the darkness of the ward that it was night time.
This position was all too familiar to him; lying in bed panting and sweating, hand clutched to throbbing scar. When his heartbeat calmed down and the pain subsided, he let his hand hang limp. Why couldn't he remember the dream? Because the previous dreams had been, well, dreams, some bits and pieces were missing from his memory, but this … this felt like a huge chunk of his history had been removed, so there was nothing there, a blank space where something should be.
Shaking the disconcerting thoughts from his head, where the pain had finally alleviated, and the loud and worried thoughts left his heard, allowing him to hear something all too familiar coming from the door of the ward–
Knocking.
Faint but insistent, it was chilling to know that the knocking had followed Harry from his room in number four, Privet Drive to a hospital. Would the Night Knocker follow Harry wherever he went? Gritting his teeth, he sat up in the bed, only to feel a sharp pain in his forearm, where magical cast bound his left arm. To his left was a table where his wand and several potions, including sleep-inducing brews for Healers, like Drowse Draught, Snooze Booze and Hyptonic were. With his right arm, he swiped and then swigged the Draught, feeling light-headed and dizzy afterwards and promptly falling down into his bed once more in a deep, undisturbed slumber.
The next time his eyes opened, it was early morning, with pale sunlight leaking through the windows. For the first time, he noticed the other patients in the ward, clearly labelled Severe Spell Injuries. There were only four others; one person missing both arms, another sporting pustules all over their body (some of which exploded nauseatingly), another with something looking startlingly like tentacles sneaking out of her bandages, and the last of which was so heavily wrapped up that Harry could only see the man's eyes.
In the visitor's area sat Hermione and Ron who were fearfully holding hands. Despite himself, Harry grinned.
"Want to get a room? Bet there're plenty in this place," said Harry.
Ron violently snatched his hand away at the same time Hermione hastily withdrew hers. They cast reproachful looks at each other, and then Hermione jumped up and ran to Harry's bedside. "Harry! Are you okay?"
Grunting and feeling pain flowing through his whole body, especially his limbs, he muttered, "I've felt better. Guys, you two are saints for visiting me, I really appreciate it," he said, and he did, feeling warmth spread from the centre of his chest to the rest of his body. He always felt happy in the presence of his two best friends, no matter how different the three of them were to each other.
"Mate, you gave us a right scare," Ron added, walking up beside Hermione. "We thought you were – you know – done for."
"I don't get why anyone would think that," Harry said. "I mean, sure I got some cuts and bruises, but it isn't like I–"
"–came in very close contact with cursed fire?" Hermione finished. "That was Fiendfyre that touched you, Harry, it's the fire infused with dark magic. It's really hard to control and I guess it acted like a curse, burning through your flesh and entering blood system and I'm really surprised you're still alive. I mean, it says it all in Enchantments & Bewitchments: Their Advantages and Drawbacks," – and then Hermione made a sudden angry, indignant sound that made Ron jump – "Ugh! That was one of the only defensive books I haven't memorised yet – but somewhere in page three hundred and ninety-four … passage seven, I think, it says that cursed elements like water, air, fire – they all react negatively to regular life forms, so a lot of us thought you wouldn't make it, and I personally wouldn't be surprised if you're out of commission for a month or so – but the Healers at St. Mungo's are really experienced and they'll probably cut that down to half."
Harry and Ron exchanged half-amused, half-bemused looks. Slowly, Harry spoke over Hermione's ravings that she really should have memorised all the seventh year curriculum books by now. "Hermione," Harry said cautiously. "I'll be fine."
"I know, I know!" Hermione cried and then suddenly burst into tears. Harry's arms were cast in gauze and dressing, so Ron awkwardly reached over to pat her back. Hermione's words sounded thick and unclear. "Harry, we were so worried, I mean, you must try and imagine how it must've been to everyone else – first, the Ministry sent around a letter for underage magic, something about an accidental Ventus Jinx, but then the Ministry can't find you and suddenly everybody's really anxious – then they send everybody important looking around for you, using Tracking Charms, Detection Jinxes, everything and nobody can come up with anything of use."
"Yeah," Ron said, nodding. "Then some bloke left behind at the Ministry while everybody else is out searching finds that there's a bunch of magic called … er, how do you say it?"
"Martial magic," Hermione said, sounding exasperated.
"Right. So there's this martial magic used in this cave in a Muggle-inhabited area and that bloke looks into it further and finds you, using Disarming Charms and everything – and the same guy goes out to alert everyone else, but Dumbledore catches on first, and he tells his reinstated Anti-You-Know-Who group or whatever and they Apparate into the cave … but what's really odd is that they almost immediately Apparated back, and then Kingsley Shacklebolt, that Auror bloke, Apparated with you into St. Mungo's. After about a day, everyone found out and we came rushing here, and mum's been worried sick ever since – oh, and so has Hermione, I've always said there isn't much difference–"
"Amusing, Ron," said Hermione, and then she turned back to Harry. "Yes, Harry, though how inaccurate Ron's usual narrations are, he has been telling the truth. We have been nervous, really anxious–"
"We thought you were going to die!" Ron interrupted. "Especially Hermione!"
"No," Hermione said acidly. "You thought he was going to die, I had faith in the Healers–"
"Pfft, who was the one bawling their eyes out before about how you didn't think Harry was going to make it–"
"Well, excuse me, I'm sorry that I talk about more important things other than how many goals the Cuddly Cannons have missed this season–"
"Chudley Cannons, it's Chudley Cannons–"
"Guys," Harry said, supressing a grin. "Don't fight for once, please."
Hermione and Ron both rolled their eyes and turned their backs on each other in unison and Harry couldn't fight the smile.
"What are you beaming at?" Hermione said suspiciously, turning her head as if looking for a clown.
Seeing Ron whip his head around simultaneously and bump his head into Hermione's, Harry bit down hard on his lip and said, "Nothing."
A burly, blonde man carrying a roll of newspaper strode through the door of the Ward for Severe Spell Injuries. He walked over to the heavily wrapped man, who widened his eyes as if brightened and happy at the new arrival.
Hermione's mood changed drastically in seeing the newspaper. "Ooh, I wasn't at my house this morning, I wouldn't have gotten the Prophet!"
She hurried over the man, who was alarmed and looked uncomfortable as Hermione asked if he could lend her the newspaper. As he passed the newspaper over to Hermione, he seemed unsettled, checking his watch multiple times.
Ron whispered to Harry, grinning. "Mental, she is, didn't I tell you that in our first year? Going up to strangers and asking stuff from them …"
Hermione came back to them, holding the roll of newspaper out to them; she flattened it out wide, and the very first headline made Hermione gasp.
"NO!" she yelled, snatching the paper up and pointing wildly at the largest heading, in bold, black print.
GRISELDA GREY: CANDIDATE FOR MINISTER FOR MAGIC
It has been long known that many deem Cornelius Fudge as incompetent without the real qualities to become Minister. It has also been known that Griselda Grey, Vice-Chief of the Wizengamot and Ministry's Head of British Magical Education, has long since been regarded as a much more reliable, trustworthy figure in modern magical Britain's political structure. Only two days ago did Griselda convince her colleagues to file a law to further strengthen our protection against dangerous inferiors, though her first action based on the law was stopped by Albus Dumbledore, the forever-controversial Headmaster of Hogwarts School, which Griselda will inspect later this year. Finally yesterday Griselda has decided what will be a major turning point into what will be a golden age for magical Britain.
"For a while," Griselda announces to the audience several hundreds of listeners, "I have thought Cornelius made quite a few mistakes, which is very human. However, Cornelius does not learn from his several blunders, and the past years have become error after error in Cornelius's rule. Today, I desire to change this. According to the wizarding laws, any person with correct qualifications may challenge the Minister. I challenge the Minister for Magic for his role," she finished to a whole-hearted applause.
Griselda is allowed to do challenge the rule of Fudge as she has the proper documents and qualifications; she is now the candidate of the newly formed Iron Party, the opposition of Fudge's Gold Party. She has confirmed that the campaigns shall begin officially on the 1st of September and the voting shall be on the 1st of January.
(Cont. page 3 for Fudge's reaction)
Hermione widened her eyes in alarm and flicked to page three and speed-read the passage so fast that Harry and Ron hardly began it before she slammed shut the newspaper in shock.
"It's absurd!" Hermione said loudly, over the squelching of popping pustules. "She can't possibly – it's impossible –" then Hermione stopped, thinking. "Well, nothing's impossible, clearly, we all go to a magical boarding school named Hogwarts – but I've read all about her, that Griselda Grey, that's not even her real name, she changed it from something else and she destroys anyone who mentions her real name, she destroys their reputation, incidents happen to their family, oh she's horrible! And that's not even the worst of it: she treats house-elves less than helpers, more like slaves, she beats them and punishes them if they don't do exactly what she says – "Discipline and dedication towards superiors is imperative" is her excuse – oh, and she's signed several anti-werewolf, centaur and mermaid legislations – "half-breeds must realise their place in the world as beneath us", HOW DARE SHE? She's absolutely horrid – she doesn't even know the definition of half-breed, she's both prejudiced and stupid – and she tried to create one to make it a law, a sport, to round them up and slaughter them – "danger to society", more like she's a danger to society – and, plus, she doesn't even work in the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!"
"Then why–?" Harry began, but Hermione cut him off viciously.
"Oh, I'll tell you why," she said hotly. "Everybody loves her, because she's powerful and pure-blooded and pretty and rich! Her grandfather – have no idea who it is, she covers up her history so heavily like she covers up her face with make-up – gave millions of Galleons to the Ministry as friendly, financial assistance and then when she was immediately offered a spot in the Ministry without seemingly any certificates or eligibility it was because of gratitude because of previous, kind donations, oh, but what they really mean is that nobody would like her unless her granddad had given them dosh. They let her do anything and I'm really convinced she's a fraud like Lockhart or something, because she's much too vapid and devoid of real intelligence to write those long, drawn-out speeches. And they're letting her inspect Hogwarts. It's horrible! She hates Hogwarts because" – and now Hermione had sort of a twisted smile – "when she was eleven, she and her brother did something so terrible to a Muggle – did I mention that she's a pure-blood supremacist? – that she was banned from coming to Hogwarts and she was forced to go to some ratty, poor institution called Frogfeet. HA! And she was expelled, but nobody cares because her grandfather gave the Ministry money. Our justice system is appalling but when that horrible – horrible – hag comes to Hogwarts, I'll make sure I find out everything about that cowand I'll uncover all her dirty little secrets just like I'll rip off that almost-as-thick-as-her-head layer of make-up from her smug face."
By this time, her narrowed eyes were glistening with angry tears. "I hate her. She's such an awful person."
"Hermione … maybe you should calm down a bit …" Ron trailed off, looking concerned.
"She found out Hagrid's a half-giant," Hermione said, her voice trembling. Harry had never heard of this before, but wasn't shocked or startled at all; Hagrid was still the same person as he was a few seconds ago, when Harry didn't know this piece of information.
"So?" Harry said.
Hermione's voice wavered again, but this time it was with fury instead of withheld tears. "She hates half-humans, Harry! When she found out there was a half-giant employed at Hogwarts tried to get him fired, and when that didn't work, she told her friends at the Magical Creatures Department to make a law that half-breeds proven to be dangerous were allowed to be hunted and slain by the Ministry. She went to Hagrid's hut and tried to attack him. If it weren't for Dumbledore, Hagrid would probably be dead by now. That was the "new law to further strengthen our protection against dangerous inferiors" in that Prophet article."
Harry suddenly felt as angry as Hermione looked. As before when Dudley had insulted Hagrid, Harry felt a surge of rage at anybody insulting or harming the very first parental figure in his life, a best friend and a father.
Harry said, "She can't be Minister. She can't."
"I know–"
Ron spoke up timidly. "Harry … Hermione …"
"Yes?" Hermione said and looked at Ron, who was gingerly pointing at the article beneath the enormous GRISELDA GREY: CANDIDATE FOR MINISTER FOR MAGIC story. It was short clipping talking about ex-Death Eaters sighted in London. There were three moving pictures, one of a man with a long, pale, twisted face, another pockmarked, greasy-haired Death Eater and the last another black-haired, sturdily built man, all of them snarling at Harry.
"That man …" Harry said quietly.
He looked up at the heavily bandaged person whose eyes were looking directly at Harry and was making muffled sounds. No … it wasn't happiness the widened eyes were expressing … it was alarm, panic …
Harry looked at the newspaper where the mugshots were – the paper labelling the last man as Thorfinn Rowle – and back to the bulky man who was regularly checking his watch. The man in the photograph had dark hair and plenty of stubble, while this new man had lighter hair and was clean-shaven, but there was no denying it; they were both one and the same.
Harry was just about to tell his friends, grab his wand and Stun the man, when Thorfinn Rowle checked his watch once more, grinned a toothy, unpleasant smile and all the lights in the room, the hallway outside and probably the entire hospital went out. Thorfinn drew his wand faster than Harry could think; he knocked Ron and Hermione out with Stunning Spells shot exuberantly and promptly ran outside, hooting gleefully and casting hexes in every direction.
A stray spell hit Harry directly in the face and he saw nothing more.