Captain, my Captain
Silence was golden. Until it wasn't.
Although I knew that I ought to be screaming, or crying, or at least registering the loud crashes outside the shield charm, I did nothing. I merely watched as the cave swallowed itself and chaos spilled through, each second torturously slow and dizzyingly fast at once.
My heart roared in my ears, drowning out all external noise with its racing drone. Large, jagged rocks crashed ominously to the ground, the cold, slimy stone shuddering with each drop. I flinched with each movement, gripping my wand with slippery fingers and staring at the thin barrier separating us from the tons of deadly rock outside.
The cave was a mess of slashing shadows and groaning earth.
I was a mess of dull eyes and heavy breaths.
I felt sluggish. I was not racing into death. I was not raging into the night, was not shaking my fist at my impending doom.
No, I was silent and still and waiting for the inevitable.
If this were a Muggle movie, this would be the part where I usually screamed at the heroine to stop slogging in a pool of self pity and get up and do something.
If this were a Muggle movie, I could laugh at the end and return to my world of paperwork and research.
But it wasn't, and I wasn't a heroine, and the cave was and the danger was and I was about to die.
It was almost funny, really (in a very dismal way). The girl who had laughed at everything became the girl who couldn't live at the very moment she needed most to act.
I hoped someone out there was appreciating the irony.
Another flash of movement, another shadow. This one appeared only six meters beyond the shield charm's translucent glow, directly underneath a shuddering rock. The shadow writhed, and a slow pull of curiousity tugged at my stricken mind. Rocks were large, harsh swathes of darkness. This shadow looked lithe, thin…
The shadow straightened and turned slightly, revealing eyes as pale as bone.
Lysander.
Several things happened at once. The world crashed into unbearable noise once more. The cave sounded like it was tearing itself, a dizzying, careening cacophony of screeching protests. My eyes flicked up, eying the boulder directly above Lysander's head. A few pebbles rained down, flitting harmlessly off of his dark cloak. His brow furrowed for an instant, and he swirled, his cloak carving a dark curve in the air that mirrored the arc of the boulder as it descended, splitting into shards that ricocheted against the battered shield charm.
I jolted forward, reaching unconsciously for the vanished Unspeakable.
Two strong hands pulled me back, and I stumbled against Al's chest. Right. Magical and unstable shield charm = not the best thing to touch.
With a loud pop, Lysander reappeared, stumbling into the narrow confines of the shield charm.
"Lysander!" I exclaimed. He straightened slightly and said simply, "A Dabberblimp detained me."
I didn't have time to react; Al placed his hand on my arm, nodding at the rapidly weakening barrier.
Long, ugly cracks lined the luminous surface, mirroring the cracks that had brought down the cave ceiling only minutes before. I resisted the urge to whimper, my hands trembling erratically at my sides.
Lysander frowned, following my gaze. "The Apparition wards are weakened; I can probably trick them into letting us out. Unless you want to be crushed, I suggest holding on to my arm," he said.
I nodded, swallowing thickly as my eyes traced the angry fractures once more. If he hadn't appeared…
I gripped Lysander's arm and stepped close, preparing myself for the inevitable pull that would transport us far away from the ravenous cave.
As we Apparated, I caught a glimpse of a single, jagged boulder crashing through the flimsy barrier.
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We landed in a heap of tangled limbs and bumped heads. When I had managed to extricate myself from the mess, I examined my surroundings carefully. We were in a small, cozy bedroom decorated with Puddlemere United jerseys and a collage of smiling friends. A Gryffindor flag was pinned proudly over the sunny yellow bed. A warm oak desk was tucked in one of the room's corners, and various lavender cosmetics were tossed carelessly across its nicked surface.
I frowned. Where were we?
"Lysander," came an icy, flat voice from beside me. I glanced at Al, my brows raising; what had gotten him in such a mood? The Unspeakable had just saved our lives. I let out a long, shaking breath, the finality of my prior thought settling into Numberita.
He had saved our lives. If he hadn't arrived…
Al glowered at Lysander, who looked serenely back at him.
"Why in the bloody hell are we in my little sister's bedroom?" he asked through gritted teeth. Oh. Oh. I looked at the room with renewed interest, noting the flowered scarf tied to one of the bedposts and an elegant "L" embroidered on one of the crocheted sweaters flung carelessly across a comfortable red armchair (hm, Rose used to have a white sweater just like that one. It even had the same stain on its sleeve where I'd accidentally spilled some maple syru - that was Rose's sweater!).
Lysander blinked. "It was the first place I thought of," he said simply.
My eyes widened; Merlin, he really was honest. Al looked at a loss for what to do (he'd probably expected Lysander to lie), and his dark brows furrowed.
After four seconds he sighed. "I'm not even going to ask how you can picture Lily's bedroom so clearly that you can Apparate to it under extreme duress. I'll leave that to James. But thank you. Thank you for saving us."
He shrugged loosely. "We ought to return to the Ministry," he said quietly. I nodded, stepping forward and offering my dust-streaked arm.
"This time, I'm Apparating," I said firmly. Lysander's style was far too uncontrolled for my tastes, and Al's was...well, there was admittedly nothing wrong with it, but after the surge of helplessness that had held me captive in the cave, I needed to take control of something.
Al rolled his eyes but acquiesced, curling his slender fingers around my tanned wrist. I flushed a bit at the contact (Merlin, would that reaction ever go away?). Lysander took hold of my other arm, and I spun wordlessly, carefully picturing the outside of the Ministry (there was no way I was ever returning to the Department of Mysteries).
The warm reds and golds of Lily's room melted away, swirling into a dizzying kaleidoscope of scents and colours. We landed with a jolt, stumbling a bit on the rigid concrete. The air reeked of smoke and something acrid. Lonesome spirals of grey smoke spiraled into the air, collecting under the trembling, almost-transparent magical barrier placed above the Ministry building. I could just make out innocently blue sky beyond the barrier, mocking in its tranquil regularity.
Several Ministry workers were staring at the sky, narrowing their eyes in concentration as they cast smoke-dispelling spells. Others herded the few Muggles unfortunate enough to be caught in the barrier - which, Numberita calculated, covered an area of approximately 4,000 square meters - into a relatively debris-clear corner, casting memory charms left and right. A confused Muggle blinked blearily at the destroyed building. She looked around forty, and her face was covered in soot. Then understanding flashed in her dark eyes, and her mouth opened, a silent scream spilling from her cracked lips. A harried-looking wizard waved his wand carelessly at her, and the woman quieted, a dazed look masking her face once more. I frowned; why didn't they just escort the Muggles away so they didn't have to keep reapplying the Obliviate charm? The continued stress on their minds was definitely detrimental. I'd heard of wizards going insane from just one miscast Obliviate. Why were these Muggles still here?
Al scowled beside me, his hand tightening on his wand.
"There better be a very good reason for that atrocity," he hissed, his lips pulling back into a thin-lipped snarl.
"Come," Lysander said blithely, ignoring the muted chaos around him. He strode forward, leaping lightly over an overturned bench. The few wizards who saw him quieted immediately, their eyes fixating on the small, glowing pin on his chest that labeled him as an Unspeakable. I followed him carefully, my eyes lingering on the smoking ruin. What had happened in the hours we were trapped in the Department of Mysteries? Judging by the overwhelming number of wounded Aurors and Ministry employees, it had been a close fight.
But we had won, and that meant we were safe from Ragnuk's clutches for at least another day. I could only hope the victory would last.
We approached a group of black-clad Aurors. They were arguing quietly, and an Auror with his back turned was gesturing vehemently at the dazed Muggles absently patting one another in the corner.
As we drew closer, the man's voice became clear.
"-isgraceful conduct! Nothing excuses the clear abuse of Muggles. Nothing. Are we no better than our enemy? And why in the bloody hell can no one tell me where my son is?"
Al stilled. "Dad," he breathed.
The man paused at the sound, turning slightly. I watched as a barrage of emotions - annoyance, confusion, and then, aching relief - slipped over his strained face. Merlin, Al's father looked like he'd aged a decade since the last time I'd seen him.
Harry Potter broke free of the group of Aurors, wrapping Al in a tight hug that lasted six seconds.
The rest of the Aurors looked on, their expressions ranging from annoyance to grim resolution.
I spotted an elegant blonde ponytail, and nervous hope filled my chest. I moved eight centimeters past Lysander, my mouth splitting into a wide grin as I recognized Vane's sharp features. I quickly looked at her stomach; although her black shirt covered any sign of her prior wound, the fact that she was standing was comforting.
"Vane!" I exclaimed. Her stern expression didn't shift, but I thought I saw her eyes soften for an instant.
"Lancaster," she said, inclining her head. Then her eyes slid to my left, and she snapped to attention.
"Auror Potter, with your permission I will escort the Muggles to their respective residences myself," she said solemnly. Harry blinked, swiping a hand across his weary green eyes.
"Thank you, Vane. I appreciate that," he said quietly. Vane nodded again and left the circle, placing a hand on Al's shoulder as she left.
Al's father looked at me, then Al.
"Now, would you like to tell me why you have not responded to any of my messages?" he asked.
"Your communication devices do not work in the Department of Mysteries," Lysander said dreamily, absently picking at the silver embroidery on his cloak. The Aurors exchanged disconcerted looks behind Mr. potter's back, but Al's father didn't look surprised.
"The Department of Mysteries," he repeated flatly. Al shifted beside me, edging a two centimeters closer to me.
"Why were you in the Department of Mysteries, Al? We needed all Aurors up here to fight. We barely survived as it is; Yancey's at St. Mungo's now with a nasty hex to his stomach, and Vane looks like she's not much better," he said, frustration coating his words with harsh edges.
Al swallowed, heavy guilt bringing his brows together in the beginnings of a frown.
"It was my fault, sir," I broke in quickly, forcing myself to meet Harry Potter's gaze squarely.
He lifted an eyebrow, waiting wordlessly for me to continue.
"Erm, I thought I would go down to see if I could find Aleksandra - well, Green, really, I suppose, considering she was possessing him…"
A tall, blonde Auror drew in a sharp breath at my words.
"Possessing?" he asked. I nodded grimly.
"Yes, it appeared to be a complicated runic spell. I wasn't familiar with it," I elaborated.
"Explain," he ordered. I spoke quickly, my voice trembling only slightly when I came to the unfortunate part of the story that involved not platters of brownies and happily ever afters for our two brave heroes but, instead, a nasty, grumpy werewolf with a creepy fixation on the word 'little' (honestly, more originality, please).
A heavy silence settled on the black-clad Aurors. They exchanged somber looks, and Auror Potter nodded to himself after sixteen seconds.
"Right, thank you, Adela. We'll send a-" his voice cut off abruptly as a small, wispy blue sparrow streaked through the air, her delicate wings summoning swirls of translucent magic from the ashen ground.
The Patronus's beak opened, and a slightly-panicked, female voice (huh, it sounded a bit familiar; I filed the information away for future examination) spilt from within -
"Patient 43B is alert. Patient 43B is alert. Pat-" Auror Potter dispelled the Patronus with a grim slash of his wand. Then he turned, giving a steady stream of orders in a low, urgent voice.
Two by two the Aurors nodded, Apparating away with loud, successive pops. When only Al and I remained, Auror Potter avoided my eyes.
Well, that wasn't a good sign. In my many years of wisdom (okay, so maybe I was still twenty-one. I'd be twenty-two in six days, though!), I'd found that avoiding eyes generally meant something bad was coming.
Still, that had never stopped me before.
"Who is Patient 43B?" I asked. He shook his head.
"Sorry, I - and other Aurors" - here he gave Al a stern look - "can't disclose that information to civilians. I suggest you return to your office. I've heard that you're tackling an important case that is time sensitive."
I nodded slowly, Numberita weighing my options solemnly.
Option A: tackle Harry Potter, the Savior of the Wizarding World, and refuse to let go until he told me who Patient 43B was (could it be Rose?).
Option B: salute Harry Potter, say "Yes, Captain, my Captain!" and Apparate away in a flurry of dancing orchids (what? I've had "make a dramatic exit and astound everyone with your theatrical prowess!" on my bucket list for ages).
Option C: nod and return to GW firm. Get yelled at by Ms. Granger and Black. Call Violet. Win the Daisy case.
Huh. Well, Options A and B, while appealing, would probably end up with an uncomfortable stay at either Azkaban or St. Mungo's, so Option C it was!
I nodded again, my eyes straying in Al's direction. He was in the midst of hushed conversation with his father, but he happened to glance my way. Our eyes met, and his lips curved into a slight smile. He stepped forward six centimeters, dipping his head to brush a soft kiss on my forehead, his warm hands brushing away some of the soot and cave-dust that had collected on my cheeks (and on my forehead. And my chin. And, well, basically everywhere). I flushed, my forehead still tingling from the contact.
"Dad wants me to accompany him back to the Department. Scamander's coming, too," he whispered quickly. My stomach dipped. He was going back? We had barely survived the first round.
He pulled back a centimeter, his narrowed eyes stern.
"Stay safe," he said fiercely, his voice hoarse.
I nodded clumsily. "Same goes for you, Albus Severus Potter. If you die down there, I swear I will find some way to kill you all over again."
He grinned, and the mischievous slant of his lips caused caused flutters to start prancing around in my stomach (Merlin, I dearly hoped he was as affected as I was because otherwise this was not fair). "Really? And here I thought you would be too busy sobbing over the loss of my exalted presence to even think ab-"
I cut him off with a kiss.
It was needy, tinged with a bitter coating of desperation, of sorrow. It was grief and longing and anger slammed into one chaotic, fleeting touch.
Auror Potter coughed, and common sense returned to Numberita. I sprang backwards, my face bright red underneath the charming layer of blackened ash and grey dust.
Merlin. I had just snogged his son right in front of him. How long had it continued? I wracked Numberita, but my mind was frustratingly still reeling with mental images of Al's stupidly fit face.
Ugh. I really was hormone crazed.
Al smirked knowingly at me, arching a dark brow in an innocent question. I scowled, pointedly looking away.
"Well, I'm off," I muttered.
Then, without another word, I spun, the fear and fire of the destroyed Ministry dissipating into a comforting swirl of colours.
Author Note: Thanks so much for reading! Happy Thanksgiving to those of you who celebrate it :) As always, all reviewers will be given a teaser of the next chapter c;