The cuts and bruises were hidden for the moment, under a familiar but still foreign skin, but they still stung. Barty adjusted his robes and looked out over the sea, heart pounding. Heavy rain beat down onto his back.
The day had been an utter disaster. He'd been duped by Lockhart – who he'd believed about the Slytherin common room right up until he found Potter lurking in the bathroom – too slow to stop a pair of twelve year olds from slipping through his fingers, had lost the Imperius connection with the other boy somehow, hadn't been able to re-open the Chamber, and had nearly been taken by Aurors both at the bathroom, and at his house after they'd tracked him through the Floo.
One was dead, and another likely dying, so it hadn't been a complete loss, but he hadn't had a chance to think about what he'd do with his father, and doubtless the third Auror would have found him by now. And he regretted not killing Winky, but she'd always been good to him, though he doubted she'd be so good when his father had her tell the Aurors everything. The boat rocked as a wave hit it, and Barty ground his teeth together.
If they hadn't already, they would soon work out who he was, and his most valuable disguise – his father's face – would be useless. Today could well be the last time he wore it. He didn't know what had happened between Potter and his Lord, or how his Lord had fared against the Aurors, once they arrived. Barty only knew that he needed to be careful now, that he would need help.
It was a pity he hadn't been able to get the Lestranges; they were exactly the sort of people his Lord could have made good use of, following his reappearance; they were loyal, and powerful, and Barty and Bellatrix had been His favourites. But he'd blundered – they'd blundered – and they would be under closer watch than ever. And they were not people equipped for dealing with uncertainty; they would not take orders from him, they had no patience, and rash behaviour would lose them everything if they weren't careful.
No, Barty needed another Death Eater, a careful one, a sneaky one.
The boat bumped against the slippery, stony shore, and as a young Auror secured it under the watchful eye of her mentor, Barty stepped out with a quiet thank you, and made his way up the cliff toward the prison.
Dumbledore, dressed in bright purple robes, passed him on the way. Barty tensed, wondering if he'd heard what was going on at the school, but if he had, he didn't make the connection. Dumbledore murmured a greeting in a vague, distracted sort of voice, without slowing, and Barty walked by, uncontested, with a curt hello of his own.
Somehow, Harry couldn't help but think, he always ended up in the hospital wing. This time, though, he wasn't hurt too badly; a bit shaken, perhaps, and exhausted, but Fawkes had healed the worst of the damage. And Ron, trailing along beside him with an expression that made Harry certain Ron was not going to be left behind – or rather, sent ahead – ever again, wasn't any the worse for wear either.
Ginny had been put into a bed beside Percy's, and was so still and pale when they approached that Harry feared he might have been too slow down in the Chamber. McGonagall stood up, hand pressed to her heart when she saw Harry standing there, and Harry nodded awkwardly at her – she looked suspiciously teary - and then craned his neck to see more of Ginny; he saw her chest rise and fall as she breathed, and felt relief course through him.
Ron tried to tug Harry forward, to where Fred and George were waiting beside Ginny's bed, but Harry shook him off gently, and Ron went alone, to join his brothers. Harry stayed back to give them their time together, and Padfoot came up behind him, finally free; Madam Pomfrey had cornered him at the doors, and demanded to know what he thought he was doing, bringing a sword into her hospital wing. The sword in question was propped against the inside wall of the hospital wing, and Harry wondered what exactly they were supposed to do with it after this.
"Now," Madam Pomfrey said, swooping down on Harry. She too, looked suspiciously red-eyed, but her tone was just as brisk as ever. "Let's see what you've done to yourself this time, shall we?" He let her usher him onto one of the beds, and let her poke and prod him with her wand, and didn't say anything when she clucked over the new scar on his back. Padfoot watched carefully all the while, and Harry, who'd hoped not to have a big deal made of the whole thing, sighed.
"Nothing wrong with him that I can see," she declared after a while, and Padfoot inclined his head. "That scar's there to stay, I'm afraid, but that's probably the worst of it." She gave Harry a stern look, and then swept off to check on Ginny.
"Does it hurt?" Padfoot asked. Harry shook his head. He could see thousands of questions in Padfoot's eyes, but Padfoot wouldn't ask them here, he didn't think.
"Are they still evacuating the school?" Harry asked.
"For the week." McGonagall came to stand by his bed, greeting Padfoot with a nod. Her expression was unusually warm when she turned to regard Harry. "After this ordeal, we thought it best, but you will all be expected back next week, for the resumption of term." A shadow of a smile crept onto her face. "After all, exams are looming, and you and Mr Weasley both have outstanding detentions." Harry's mouth fell open, and McGonagall arched an eyebrow. "I do hope you're not about to protest, Potter," she said. "I made it clear at the time that detention with me was the kinder of the two options."
"I know," Harry muttered; it had been that, or time with Lockhart. Padfoot made a funny noise that might have been a smothered laugh.
"I'm- glad to see you in good health. You had everyone quite- concerned." Her eyes lingered on Padfoot for a moment, and Harry hoped he hadn't caused a big scene.
"Ginny'll be all right, won't she?" he asked, as she moved to turn away.
"For a moment- When we arrived, Poppy couldn't get her heart started, but then it did start again, all on its own." McGonagall gave Harry a curious look, and he wondered if she suspected how much he'd had to do with that. It was almost enough to make his own heart stop, knowing how close Ginny had been to dying.
"But now?" he asked.
"Now, Poppy's hopeful," McGonagall said, smiling slightly. "Molly and Arthur are due within the hour, but I suspect Poppy will want to keep her here for the night." She glanced around and spied Snape. "If you'll excuse me…"
As she walked away, Padfoot jumped and pulled out his Sidekick. He muttered the opening phrase, and then stepped away from Harry's bed holding it to his ear. His eyes, though, remained fixed on Harry, as if daring him to move. Harry stared at his hands, wondering why people seemed to expect him to disappear now; Tom and the basilisk were dealt with, so there was nothing left to do.
Padfoot's face drained of colour as he spoke, and Harry made to get up and go to him, but Padfoot lifted a shaky hand and gestured to him to stay where he was. Though Fred and George were talking quietly, and Ron was being fussed over by Madam Pomfrey, the snap of Padfoot's Sidekick seemed loud.
"What happened?" Harry asked. Padfoot pinched the bridge of his nose.
"There was a man in the bathroom that attacked us when we were trying to get down to you," Padfoot said. "Marlene and a couple of others went after him while we went down the Chamber, but it must have got messy; Robards just said he's dispatched a handful of others to find out where they've got to." He was obviously worried; Harry could tell from the way he was fiddling with his Sidekick, and Harry could smell annoyance… maybe that he hadn't been sent with the other group to track them, or maybe that things had gone wrong at all. The silent, brooding mood that settled on him reminded Harry of how he'd been after Azkaban, and again after the Dementor's Draught.
It was an uncomfortable ten minute wait, until anything else happened, but eventually, the hospital wing doors opened and Harry and Padfoot both turned in time to see Dumbledore stride in, with Fawkes perched on his shoulder and a grim-looking Scrimgeour in his wake.
Dumbledore's thunderous expression softened when he spied Harry and Padfoot, and softened further when he'd been to speak with the Weasleys, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey over by Ginny's bedside. Scrimgeour's expression didn't ease at all, but he did lift his hand when he saw Harry looking at him.
"Sir," Padfoot said, starting toward him, "I didn't realise- when did you get-"
"Not here," Harry heard Scrimgeour reply. "The Headmaster and I have some things to discuss, and both have need of some answers. Is your boy hurt?" But Harry didn't hear Padfoot's reply, because his vision was obscured by purple robes and a lot of silvery beard.
"You have a habit, it would seem, of not listening when you are told not to go running off alone to try to fix things," Dumbledore said, arching an eyebrow at him. "And I cannot say I approve-"
"I had Ron. And we didn't have a choice, or time to get help," Harry said. "If we'd waited, Ginny would be dead, and-"
"And I cannot say I approve," Dumbledore continued, slightly louder this time, "however, I shudder to think what the consequences would have been, had you acted any differently." Dumbledore didn't smile, nor did his eyes twinkle, but Harry could smell his sincerity. "Well done." Praise was the last thing Harry had expected.
"It wasn't just me," Harry said, uncomfortable. "-without Ron and Fawkes-" This time, Dumbledore did smile, in a way that made Harry think he was being predictable. He fell silent, confused, and Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"If you would, Harry, both Rufus and I have an interest in hearing your version of events. Much has transpired tonight-" And at that, Dumbledore looked sad. "-and your insight could help us piece together the rest." Harry glanced past Dumbledore, to where Scrimgeour looked expectant, and Padfoot looked patient. Harry nodded slowly. "Excellent. My office should be free."
As soon as Dumbledore's office door closed, Scrimgeour turned to Sirius, though not before he cast warning looks in Dumbledore's direction, and in Harry's. Dumbledore offered Harry a sweet, and Harry lay the sword on the desk before taking a sweet and sitting down across from Dumbledore.
"They came out in Barty Crouch's house," Scrimgeour said. Sirius' eyebrows shot up. Though he had them, Sirius didn't interrupt with questions; Scrimgeour was direct, and good at explaining things quickly. "The man – whoever he was – was expecting them. McKinnon's- they think she'll pull through-" Sirius' heart leapt to his throat for just a moment, and then sank back to its usual place, beating fast. "-and Proudfoot's a bit banged up, but our lot healed him when they got there. Hemsley's dead." Sirius' heart stopped, and Harry's head snapped up, showing that he'd been listening more carefully than he'd let on.
"He-" But the words died in Sirius' throat. Hemsley had been his partner, been a clever, rather brisk man, but a good man, and a patient one; he had, after all, managed to mentor Brown. And he'd had a bad enough run the past few years anyway, after losing McDuff to the Kiss before Sirius' trial…
Least he's with her now, Sirius thought, pinching the bridge of his nose. He looked up at Scrimgeour.
"Blasting curse, messy business." Scrimgeour's expression was impossible to read, but his voice was particularly gruff. "When we're done here, I'd like your help telling Brown."
"Sure," Sirius managed, though he wasn't sure how that would go; Brown had grown up a bit this past year – he'd had to – but Sirius still thought he was a bit of a prat, and was sure the feeling was mutual. "Did they catch-"
"No. The man Apparated away with the help of Crouch's house elf, so I've got Magical Creatures tracing it, and it'll either lead us straight to him, or be able to tell us where they went… They found Crouch in the house, but he wasn't making sense, so they've taken him away to be looked at by a Healer before he's questioned… It's a mess."
"I'll say," Sirius murmured. "If you ask me, though, Crouch hasn't been right for weeks. And he was there the other day, when Lestrange-"
"We'll get answers from him," Scrimgeour said firmly, and Sirius believed him. "Now-" He turned and pointed to Harry. "You'd likely have heard bits of this from Black afterward anyway, so I didn't see any point in making a fuss to talk in private, but if any of this gets out into ears it shouldn't, or if I hear a version going around that's not exactly what I tell the Prophet later, it will reflect poorly on you and on Black." Harry nodded vigorously. "As for you, Dumbledore, I don't want meddling; we keep our distance at the school for the most part – unless of course you need us – and I expect the same courtesy from you in my Department."
Dumbledore's only response was to wave a hand at one of the empty chairs, but that seemed to appease Scrimgeour. He sat, and Sirius sat beside him, next to Harry.
"At the beginning, Harry, I should think," Dumbledore said.
Harry – still inky-faced, and in his inky, bloody, tattered robes – pulled a bundle of faded black fabric, and a stained, leather-bound book from his pocket, and tossed them down beside the sword.
Hi all!
First of all, an apology is due; my computer somehow managed to lose this chapter last week, so I've spent the week re-writing it, so that's why it's late. Sorry to everyone that was waiting for the update last week; there were some very confused and disappointed reviews! :(
Secondly, another apology is due; it's getting to that time of year again, with exams and final assignments due, so I'll be flat out for the next little while, meaning there will be a delay in the next chapter; it will be up on the 28th of October (not next Wednesday, but the one after). So sorry about that as well, but I hope you all understand.
Thirdly, happy reading!
Sorry again,
MarauderLover7.