WOW SO UM I SUCK. I realize it's taken me forever to get to this next chapter (which I am SO SORRY about!). I've just been ridiculously busy, and I realize that excuse is old, but it's honestly the truth. These chapters will in fact be shorter (I'm afraid) because I'm trying to spread them out more, but some may be longer than others so I can throw you guys a bone once in a while.
Disclaimer: If anyone still thinks I own Harry Potter, they can go jump in the lake with the Giant Squid.
...
As August wore on, the square of unkempt grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place shriveled in the sun until it was brittle and brown. The inhabitants of number twelve were never seen by anyone in the surrounding houses, and nor was number twelve itself. The muggles who lived in Grimmauld Place had long since accepted the amusing mistake in the numbering that had caused number eleven to sit beside number thirteen.
And yet the square was now attracting a trickle of visitors who seemed to find the anomaly most intriguing. Barely a day passed without one or two people arriving in Grimmauld Place with no other purpose, or so it seemed, than to lean against the railings facing numbers eleven and thirteen, watching the join between the two houses. The lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike for normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back, wondering why anyone would wear cloaks in this heat.
The watchers seemed to be gleaning little satisfaction from their vigil. Occasionally one of them started forward excitedly, as if they had seen something interesting at last, only to fall back looking disappointed.
On the first day of September there were more people lurking in the square than ever before. Half a dozen men in long cloaks stood silent and watchful, gazing as ever at houses eleven and thirteen, but the thing for which they were waiting still appeared elusive. As evening drew in, bringing with it an unexpected gust of chilly rain for the first time in weeks, there occurred one of those inexplicable moments when they appeared to have seen something interesting. The man with the twisted face pointed and his closest companion, a podgy, pallid man, started forward, but a moment later they had relaxed into their previous state of inactivity, looking frustrated and disappointed.
Meanwhile, inside number twelve, Levina sat at the kitchen table, drinking a goblet of water (much to Kreacher's initial protest— "That's a prized possession of the Black family!") and drumming her fingers idly against the wooden table. She, Hermione, and Ron were all waiting for dinner, in addition to Harry's return from outside. He'd gone out to snatch up a newspaper, despite Hermione's warnings not to.
The kitchen was almost unrecognizable. Every surface now shone; Copper pots and pans had been burnished to a rosy glow; the wooden tabletop gleamed; the goblets and plates already laid for dinner glinted in the light from a merrily blazing fire, on which a cauldron was simmering. Nothing in the room, however, was more dramatically different than the house-elf who now came hurrying toward the counter with a pot in his hands, dressed in a snowy-white towel, his ear hair as clean and fluffy as cotton wool, Regulus's locket bouncing on his thin chest.
"I didn't kill you," Harry's voice mumbled in the hallway—no doubt to the eerie, dusty old image of Dumbledore. Levina's keen, canine-like hearing perked up and she turned her head in the direction of his voice, whilst Hermione and Ron continued their idle chatter, whispering to themselves as they looked over some documents laid out before them. A moment later, he could be heard again, calling, "I've got news, and you won't like it."
"What a surprise," Levina muttered, setting her water aside and wiping her mouth on her arm.
"Shoes off, if you please, Master Harry, and hands washed before dinner," croaked Kreacher, seizing the Invisibility Cloak and slouching off to hang it on a hook on the wall, beside a number of old-fashioned robes that had been freshly laundered.
"What's happened?" Ron asked apprehensively. He and Hermione had been pouring over a sheaf of scribbled notes and hand drawn maps that littered the end of the long kitchen table, but now they watched Harry as he strode toward them and threw down the newspaper on top of their scattered parchment.
Levina leaned forward in her seat, squinting down at the paper. She wrinkled her nose. A large picture of a familiar, hook-nosed, black-haired man stared up at them all, beneath a headline that read:
SEVERUS SNAPE CONFIRMED
AS HOGWARTS HEADMASTER
"No!" said Ron and Hermione loudly.
"What the hell is wrong with people?" Levina growled, averting her eyes sharply away from the paper in fury. "Who would appoint that greasy-haired bastard as headmaster?"
Hermione was quickest; she snatched up the newspaper and began to read the accompanying story out loud.
"Severus Snape, long-standing Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and wizardry, was today appointed headmaster in the most important of several staffing changes at the ancient school. Following the resignation of the previous Muggle Studies teacher, Alecto Carrow will take over the post while her brother, Amycus, fills the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
" 'I welcome the opportunity to uphold our finest Wizarding traditions and values—Like committing murder and cutting off people's ears, I suppose! Snape, headmaster! Snape in Dumbledore's study—Merlin's pants!" she shrieked, making Levina, Harry, and Ron jump. She leapt up from the table and hurtled from the room, shouting as she went, "I'll be back in a minute!"
"'Merlin's pants'?" repeated Ron, looking amused. "She must be upset." He pulled the newspaper toward him and perused the article about Snape.
"The other teachers won't stand for this, McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout all know the truth, they know how Dumbledore died. They won't accept Snape as headmaster. And who are these Carrows?"
"Death Eaters," said Harry. "There are pictures of them inside. They were at the top of the tower when Snape killed Dumbledore, so it's all friends together. And," Harry went on bitterly, drawing up a chair, "I can't see that the other teachers have got any choice but to stay. If the Ministry and Voldemort are behind Snape, it'll be a choice between staying and teaching, or a nice few years in Azkaban—and that's if they're lucky. I reckon they'll stay to try and protect the students."
Kreacher came bustling to the table with a large curcen in his hands, and ladled out French Onion soup into pristine bowls, whistling between his teeth as he did so.
"Thank you," said Levina, hungrily spooning soup into her mouth. She had begun to feel rather irritable and more irrational than more lately—not many of their meals these days consisted of nearly enough protein to keep her werewolf nature satisfied.
"Thanks, Kreacher," said Harry, flipping over the Prophet. "Well, at least we know exactly where Snape is now."
Levina snatched the newspaper from Harry's hands, tossed it into the air, and waved her wand aggressively in its direction. In mid-fall, the paper exploded into fire like a phoenix, leaving merely burnt pieces of Snape's face behind.
"Hey!" Harry protested. "I wasn't done with that, you know."
"Well, you are now," said Levina, licking her spoon clean.
Harry rolled his eyes, not bothering to argue with her. "There are still a load of Death Eaters watching this house," he told Ron as he ate, "more than usual. It's like they're hoping we'll march out carrying our school trunks and head off for the Hogwarts Express."
Ron glanced at his watch.
"I've been thinking about that all day. It left nearly six hours ago. Weird, not being on it, isn't it?"
Levina uttered a heavy sigh. She never realized last year that that one train ride would be her very last. She wished she'd bought more pumpkin pasties or chocolate cauldrons. Her mouth watered at the mere thought. She wondered what Luna and Neville would be thinking right now in their absence.
"They nearly saw me coming back in just now," Harry said, "I landed badly on the top step, and the Cloak slipped."
"I do that every time. Oh, here she is," Ron added, craning around in his seat to watch Hermione reentering the kitchen. "And what in the name of Merlin's most baggy Fronts was that about?"
"I remembered this," Hermione panted.
She was carrying a large, framed picture, which she now lowered to the floor before seizing her small, beaded bag from the kitchen sideboard. Opening it, she proceeded to force the painting inside and despite the fact that it was patently too large to fit inside the tiny bag, within a few seconds it had vanished, like so much ease, into the bag's capacious depths.
"And…what's that, exactly?" said Levina.
"Phineas Nigellus," Hermione explained as she threw the bag onto the kitchen table with the usual sonorous, clanking crash.
"Sorry?" said Ron.
"Snape could send Phineas Nigellus to look inside this house for him," Hermione explained to Ron as she resumed her seat. "But let him try it now, all Phineas Nigellus will be able to see is the inside of my handbag."
"Good thinking!" said Ron, looking impressed.
"Thank you," smiled Hermione, pulling her soup toward her. "So, Harry, what else happened today?"
"Nothing," said Harry. "Watched the Ministry entrance for seven hours. No sign of her. Saw your dad though, Ron. He looks fine."
Ron nodded his appreciation of this news. They had agreed that it was far too dangerous to try and communicate with Mr. Weasley while he walked in and out of the Ministry, because he was always surrounded by other Ministry workers. It was, however, reassuring to catch these glimpses of him, even if he did look very strained and anxious. Levina wished she could contact Fred that easily, to see how he was doing…The very thought made her less hungry and she set her spoon aside with a heavy sigh.
"Dad always told us most Ministry people use the Floo Network to get to work," Ron said. "That's why we haven't seen Umbridge, she'd never walk, she'd think she's too important."
"And what about that funny old witch and that little wizard in the navy robes?" Hermione asked.
"Oh yeah, the bloke from Magical Maintenance," said Ron.
"How do you figure?" Levina asked, still fiddling with her spoon.
"Dad said everyone from Magical Maintenance wears navy blue robes."
"But you never told us that!" Hermione exclaimed suddenly.
Hermione dropped her spoon and pulled toward her the sheaf of notes and maps that she and Ron had been examining when Harry had entered the kitchen.
"There's nothing in here about navy blue robes, nothing!" she said, flipping feverishly through the pages.
"So?" said Levina, eyebrow raised.
"Well, does it really matter?"
"Ron, it all matters! If we're going to get into the Ministry and not give ourselves away when they're bound to be on the lookout for intruders, every little detail matters! We've been over and over this, I mean, what's the point of all these reconnaissance trips if you aren't even bothering to tell us—"
"Blimey, Hermione, I forget one little thing—"
"You do realize, don't you, that there's probably no more dangerous place in the whole world for us to be right now than the Ministry of—"
"I think we should do it tomorrow," said Harry.
Hermione stopped dead, her jaw hanging; Ron choked a little over his soup and Levina laughed.
"Good one," she snorted, setting her spoon aside. But when she realized the others had not joined in, she frowned. "Wait. What?"
"Tomorrow?" repeated Hermione. "You aren't serious, Harry?"
"I am," said Harry. "I don't think we're going to be much better prepared than we are now even if we skulk around the Ministry entrance for another month. The longer we put it off, the farther away that locket could be. There's already a good chance Umbridge has chucked it away; the thing doesn't open."
"Unless," said Ron, "she's found a way of opening it and she's now possessed."
"I'm sure that's it, Ron," said Levina sarcastically.
"Wouldn't make any difference to her, she was so evil in the first place," Harry shrugged.
Hermione was biting her lip, deep in thought.
"We know everything important," Harry went on, addressing Hermione. "We know they've stopped Apparition in and out of the Ministry; We know only the most senior Ministry members are allowed to connect their homes to the Floo Network now, because Ron heard those two Unspeakables complaining about it. And we know roughly where Umbridge's office is, because of what you heard the bearded bloke saying to his mate—"
"'I'll be up on level one, Dolores wants to see me,'" Hermione recited immediately.
"Exactly," said Harry. "And we know you get in using those funny coins, or tokens, or whatever they are, because I saw that witch borrowing one from her friend—"
"Yeah, but we don't have any of those," Levina reminded him.
"If the plan works, we will have," Harry continued calmly.
"I don't know, Harry, I don't know…There are an awful lot of things that could go wrong, so much relies on chance..."
"That'll be true even if we spend another three months preparing," said Harry. "It's time to act."
Levina exhaled a long breath. This was risky—and Harry knew it, too; she could tell from his expression that even he was uncertain of his own plan. Yet she was filled to the brim by now with adrenaline and couldn't stand the thought of even one more day in this old home, trapped like mice, just waiting to be caught.
They had spent the previous four weeks taking it in turns to don the Invisibility Cloak (Levina simply used her color spell) and spy on the official entrance to the Ministry, which Ron, thanks to Mr. Weasley, had known since childhood. They had tailed Ministry workers on their way in, eavesdropped on their conversations, and learned by careful observation which of them could be relied upon to appear, alone, at the same time every day. Occasionally there had been a chance to sneak a Daily Prophet out of somebody's briefcase. Slowly they had built up the sketchy maps and notes now stacked in front of Hermione.
"All right," said Ron slowly, "let's say we go for it tomorrow…I think it should just be me and Harry."
"Excuse you!" Levina snarled, getting to her feet, rattling the table as she stood. "I believe we've established that we're all in on this."
"Oh, don't start that again!" sighed Hermione. "I thought we'd settled this."
"It's one thing hanging around the entrances under the Cloak, but this is different. Hermione," Ron jabbed a finger at a copy of the Daily Prophet dated ten days previously. "You're on the list of Muggle-borns who didn't present themselves for interrogation!"
"And you're supposed to be dying of spattergroit at the Burrow! If anyone shouldn't go, it's Harry, he's got a ten-thousand-Galleon price on his head—not to mention Levina—"
"Fine, I'll stay here," said Harry. "Let me know if you ever defeat Voldemort, won't you?"
As Ron, Levina, and Hermione laughed for the first genuine time in weeks, Harry suddenly clasped a hand to his scar, looking pained. Hermione's eyes narrowed and Levina gave him a quirked eyebrow, but he tried to pass off the movement by brushing his hair out of his eyes.
"Well, if all three of us go we'll have to Disapparate separately," Ron was saying. "We can't all fit under the Cloak anymore."
"I can just use my color spell," Levina added.
Harry stood up. At once, Kreacher hurried forward.
"Master has not finished his soup, would master prefer the savory stew, or else the treacle tart to which Master is so partial?"
"Thanks, Kreacher, but I'll be back in a minute—er—bathroom." With that, Harry hurried up the stairs and out of sight, looking pallid in the face.
Hermione shook her head and heaved a sigh. "I wish he'd just be more open with us about it…"
Levina nodded. "Yeah, but it is his business…" It had been a while since the horrifying memories had plagued her during the day, but she still had night terrors nearly every time she fell asleep. These days, she was awoken by Harry, who looked merely annoyed after the tediousness of stirring her awake ten thousand times. She missed having Fred at her side, shaking her arm gently and hugging her, reassuring her that it would be all right. No matter how often it happened, he was always there, always sympathetic and helpful. She rested her chin on her arms, eyes downcast.
The cycle of misery was endless. Every day, Levina would be reminded of Fred, one way or another.. She tried to not voice her concern, knowing that it would only annoy the others to hear her whining about the absence of her boyfriend, so she suffered in silence. When she thought of Fred, she thought of how much she missed him. When she thought of that, she thought of all the horrific things that could be happening. And then, worst of all, she'd think of Draco. Somehow, he always worked his way back into her head, and every time she shoved him out, he'd just return a minute later.
A sudden, anguished yell startled Levina out of her daze. Ron and Hermione sprang to their feet, expressions frightened, and Levina hurried from the room, feet pounding up the stairs after the sound.
"HARRY!" Levina hollered. She pounded on the locked bathroom door.
Hermione was at her side in under a second. "Harry! HARRY!" she echoed. "Harry, open up!"
"If you don't open this door, I'll break it down with my bare hands—" Levina threatened.
Harry finally unbolted the door and Levina and Hermione toppled inside at once. Ron was right behind them, looking unnerved as he pointed his wand into the corners of the chilly bathroom.
"What were you doing?" asked Hermione sternly.
"What d'you think I was doing?" asked Harry with feeble bravado. Levina smirked a little.
"You were yelling your head off!" said Ron.
"Oh yeah…I must've dozed off or—"
"Harry, please don't insult our intelligence," said Hermione, taking deep breaths. "We know your scar hurt downstairs, and you're white as a sheet."
"You've known us since we were kids. Why's it so difficult to just tell us what's the matter?" Levina demanded.
Harry sat down on the edge of the bath. "Fine. I've just seen Voldemort murdering a woman. By now he's probably killed her whole family. And he didn't need to. It was Cedric all over again, they were just there..."
"Harry, you aren't supposed to let this happen anymore!" Hermione cried, her voice echoing through the bathroom. "Dumbledore wanted you to use Occlumency! HE thought the connection was dangerous—Voldemort can use it, Harry! What good is it to watch him kill and torture, how can it help?"
"Because it means I know what he's doing," said Harry.
"So you're not even going to try to shut him out?"
"Leave him alone," Levina snapped. "I haven't been keeping up with Occlumency myself, either."
"Hermione, I can't," Harry agreed. "You know I'm lousy at Occlumency. I never got the hang of it."
"You never really tried!" she said hotly. "I don't get it, Harry—do you like having this special connection or relationship or what—whatever—"
She faltered under the look he gave her as he stood up. The room grew suddenly ten degrees colder.
"Like it?" he said quietly. "Would you like it?"
"I—no -I'm sorry, Harry. I just didn't mean—"
"I hate it, I hate the fact that he can get inside me, that I have to watch him when he's most dangerous. But I'm going to use it."
"Dumbledore—"
"Forget Dumbledore. This is my choice, nobody else's. I want to know why he's after Gregorovitch."
"Who?"
"He's a foreign wandmaker," said Harry. "He made Krum's wand and Krum reckons he's brilliant."
"Gregorvitch!" said Levina, snapping her fingers. "He's the one that made Destiny's wand."
"But according to you," said Ron, "Voldemort's got Ollivander locked up somewhere. If he's already got a wandmaker, what does he need another one for?"
"Maybe he agrees with Krum, maybe he thinks Gregorovitch is better…or else he thinks Gregorovitch will be able to explain what my wand did when he was chasing me, because Ollivander didn't know."
Levina folded her hands under her chin and looked between the three silently.
"Harry, you keep talking about what your wand did," said Hermione, "but you made it happen! Why are you so determined not to take responsibility for your own power?"
"Because I know it wasn't me! And so does Voldemort, Hermione! We both know what really happened!"
They glared at each other and Levina shook her head, arms folded under her chest. "For crying out loud, Hermione! Just leave it be."
"Drop it," Ron agreed. "It's up to him. And if we're going to the Ministry tomorrow, don't you reckon we should go over the plan?"
Reluctantly, as the other three could tell, Hermione let the matter rest, though Levina was quite sure she would attack again at the first opportunity. In the meantime, they returned to the basement kitchen, where Kreacher served them all stew and treacle tart.
They did not get to bed until late that night, after spending hours going over and over their plan until they could recite it, word perfect, to each other. Harry slept in Sirius' room now, so Levina took Regulus', curling up under the covers with her wand illuminating the photograph of her parents and Destiny's. She stared at the pale hand on her father's waste, wondering why someone would want Nadia torn out. Maybe because she was a Werewolf? Was the person another half-breed hater or something? She turned onto her side with a sigh and set it on the bed beside her.
She missed the feeling of Lilypad curled up at her chest, chewing on Draco's shoelace. She knew that all her pets were safe with Destiny and Uncle Nicholas, but she couldn't be sure. At this very moment, she could be sipping pumpkin juice, laughing with Neville and Luna in the Great Hall and eating large cuts of steak. The thought made her stomach rumble and she buried her face in her pillow. Night was the worst time of all—when everyone was asleep and she was left alone with only her own thoughts to comfort her.
"Bad sleep?" Hermione suggested the following morning as Levina staggered into the kitchen, rubbing her eyelids, which were dark with insomnia.
"Mm. That's an understatement." She settled in at the table and Kreacher hurried to get her a mug of coffee and some hot rolls. A few minutes later, Ron and Harry entered, looking just as disheveled as she.
"Robes," Hermione said under her breath, acknowledging their presence with a nervous nod and continuing to poke around in her beaded bag, "Polyjuice Potion…Invisibility Cloak...Decoy Detonators ... You should each take a couple just in case…Puking Pastilles, Nosebleed Norgat, Extendable Ears.."
"And food," Levina added, stuffing a warm roll wrapped in a napkin into the bag. When Hermione glared at her, she shrugged innocently. "What? You're just going to let us starve?"
They gulped down their breakfast, then set off upstairs, Kreacher bowing them out and promising to have a steak-and-kidney pie ready for them when they returned.
"Bless him," said Ron fondly, "and when you think I used to fantasize about cutting off his head and sticking it on the wall."
They made their way onto the front step with immense caution. They could see a couple of puffy-eyed Death Eaters watching the house from across the misty square.
Hermione Disapparated with Ron first, then came back for Harry and Levina. Levina was wary about doing it, since she'd pretty much bombed her exams over Disapparation, but since Hermione led the way, she was fine.
After the usual brief spell of darkness and near suffocation, Levina found herself in the tiny alleyway where the first phase of their plan was scheduled to take place. It was as yet deserted, except for a couple of large bins; the first Ministry workers did not usually appear here until at least eight o'clock.
"Right then," said Hermione, checking her watch, "she ought to be here in about five minutes. When I've Stunned her—"
"Hermione, we know," said Ron sternly. "And I thought we were supposed to open the door before she got here?"
Hermione squealed.
"I nearly forgot! Stand back—"
She pointed her wand at the padlocked and heavily graffitied fire door beside them, which burst open with a crash. The dark corridor behind it led, as they knew from their careful scouting trips, into an empty theater. Hermione pulled the door back toward her, to make it look as though it was still closed.
"Phase one: Complete," Levina whispered, grinning somewhat.
"And now," she said, turning, back to face the other two in the alleyway, "we put on the Cloak again—"
"—and we wait," Ron finished, throwing it over Hermione's head like a blanket over a birdcage and rolling his eyes at Harry and Levina. Levina muttered a color spell and vanished from sight.
Little more than a minute later, there was a tiny pop and a little Ministry witch with flyaway gray hair Apparated feet from them, blinking a little in the sudden brightness: the sun had just come out from behind a cloud. She barely had time to enjoy the unexpected warmth, however, before Hermione's silent Stunning Spell hit her in the chest and she toppled over.
"Nicely done, Hermione," said Ron, emerging behind a bin beside the theater door as Harry took off the Invisibility Cloak. Together they carried the little witch into the dark passageway that led backstage. 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. Ron 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. "You'd better take this, Hermione, and here are the tokens."
He passed her several small golden coins, all embossed with the letters M.O.M. which he had taken from the witch's purse.
Hermione drank the Polyjuice Potion, which was now a pleasant heliotrope color, and within seconds stood before them, the double of Mafalda Hopkirk. As she removed Mafalda's spectacles and put them on, Harry checked his watch.
"We're running late, Mr. Magical Maintenance will be here any second."
They hurried to close the door on the real Mafalda; Harry and Ron threw the Invisibility Cloak over themselves but Hermione remained in view, waiting. Levina kept her color spell up, making sure it hadn't begun to waver over time and lose its strength. 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.
As Hermione and the wizard headed for the main road, Harry and Ron crept along behind them.
"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 little wizard started vomiting so hard that he did not even notice as Hermione yanked a handful of hairs from the top of his head. Levina jumped back to avoid the vomit, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
"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.
At last he seemed to accept the truth of her words. Using a reposed Hermione to claw his way back into a standing position, he turned on the spot and vanished, leaving nothing behind but the bag Ron had snatched from his hand as he went and some flying chunks of vomit.
"Urgh," said Hermione, holding up the skirt of her robe to avoid the puddles of sick. "It would have made much less mess to Stun him, too."
"Yeah," said Ron, emerging from under the cloak holding the wizard's bag, "but I still think a whole pile of unconscious bodies would have drawn more attention. Keen on his job, though, isn't he? Chuck us the hair and the potion, then."
Within two minutes, Ron stood before them, as small and ferrety as the sick wizard, and wearing the navy blue robes that had been folded in his bag.
"Weird he wasn't wearing them today, wasn't it, seeing how much he wanted to go? Anyway, I'm Reg Cattermole, according to the label in the back."
"Now wait here," Hermione told Harry and Levina, "and we'll be back with some hairs for you."
They had to wait ten minutes, but it seemed much longer to the pair as they stood alone in the smelly alleyway. Levina cleared her throat.
"Doing all right?" Levina whispered.
Harry didn't answer for a moment. "Sorry, I nodded. Forgot we were—"
"Yeah." Levina giggled. She missed this. It seemed that only years ago, she was a feisty little brunette, play-punching young Harry on the shoulder as they teased each other and snarled at Slytherins. Now, it felt like all the fun had vanished from their relationship. All the carefree times of sitting by the fire in the common room and late nights of card games seemed now only a distant memory, clouded by the recent, dark events.
Finally Ron and Hermione reappeared.
"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. Hermione then handed Levina several blond strands of straight hair. "Don't know her, either, but she shouldn't be out of the bathroom for at least another three hours."
"You two are pure evil," Levina laughed as she took the potion and the hairs, moving away to change into a set of robes for herself.
Once the painful transformation was complete, Harry was more than six feet tall and powerfully built. He also had a beard. Levina was now a tall, very thin blond woman with pursed red lips and painted nails. When they returned to the group, Hermione and Ron stared at them.
"Blimey, that's scary," said Ron, looking up at Harry, who now towered over him. "But you're quite the looker, Levina!"
Hermione punched him in the shoulder. "Take one of Mafalda's tokens," she told them, "and let's go, it's nearly nine."
They stepped out of the alleyway together. Fifty yards along the crowded pavement there were spiked black railings flanking two flights of stairs, one labeled GENTLEMEN, the other LADIES.
"See you in a moment, then," said Hermione nervously, and she and Levina tottered off down the steps to LADIES. Levina followed closely behind her, descending into what appeared to be an ordinary underground public toilet, tiled in grimy black and white.
"Ah, hello, Alicia!" another witch in navy blue robes greeted as she let herself into a cubicle by inserting his golden token into a slot in the door. "Good lord, your hair's a mess! Here, let me-"
Levina sprang back and out of her reach, cringing away. "No, no! It's fine."
The witch's eyebrows raised, but a moment later she giggled and shook her head. "Must be tired today, huh? Normally you'd be on your knees, begging me to fix your hair."
Levina managed a feeble laugh. "Ha, yeah...Just tired."
Hermione glanced over her shoulder at Levina and they entered into adjoining stalls, shutting the doors behind them. Levina glances around, baffled. What were they supposed to do from here?
Bushy brown hair appeared under the gap at the bottom of the cubicle. "I think we have to flush ourselves in," Hermione whispered.
"Ew," Levina remarked, making a face. She reluctantly hoisted herself up and into the bowl, fully expecting her robes to be soaked, only to find that she was as dry as before. She reached up, yanked on the chain, and the next moment had zoomed down a short chute, emerging out of a fireplace into the Ministry of Magic.
Levina staggered, almost losing her balance, and glanced around. The areas was much different than Levina remembered-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.
"Psst!" said a voice, and she looked around to see a whispy little witch, muscular man, and the ferrety wizard from Magical Maintenance gesturing to her from over beside the statue. Levina joined them, fixing her hair.
"Well, I guess you could say the Ministry of Magic's really gone down the toilet," Levina joked, and Ron and Harry hastened to muffle their laughter. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"You got in all right, then?" Hermione whispered to Harry.
"No, he's still stuck in the hog," said Ron.
"Oh, very funny ... 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?"
Levina squinted for a better look and realized that what hse had thought were decoratively carved thrones were actually mounds of carved humans: 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.
"What the hell...?" Levina whispered, horrified.
"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, looking around as surreptitiously as possible, but there was no sign of the distinctive figure of Dolores Umbridge. They passed through the gates and into a smaller hall, where queues were forming in front of twenty golden grilles housing as many lifts. They had barely joined the nearest one when a voice said, "Cattermole!"
They looked around: Levina's insides burned. One of the Death Eaters who had witnessed Dumbledore's death was striding toward them. The Ministry workers beside them fell silent, their eyes downcast.
The man's scowling, slightly brutish face was somehow at odds with his magnificent, sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread. 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."
Ron looked around as though hoping somebody else would intervene, but nobody spoke. Levina's eyebrows raised. Raining? After all her years dealing with magic, she would've thought nothing could possibly surprise her.
"Raining...in your office? That's -that's not good, is it?"
Ron 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 Ron, "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 cough feebly and turned away.
"I-I-" stammered Ron.
"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 Ron.
"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. "Nice to see you, Miss Matthews. Looking well, as always." Yaxley gave her a swift slap on the arse and Levina yelped inadvertently. Flustered and flushed in the face, she had to muster all her willpower to not punch him right then and there, for the sake of their mission. With a nod and unpleasant smile to Harry, Yaxley swept away toward another lift. Harry, Ron, Levina, and Hermione entered theirs, but nobody followed them: It was as if they were infectious. The grilles shut with a clang and the lift began to move upward.
"Bastard," Levina muttered, arms crossed over her chest and expression sour.
"What am I going to do?" Ron asked the other two at once; he looked stricken. "If I don't turn up, my wife ... I mean, Cattermole's wife -"
"We'll come with you, we should stick together-" began Harry, but Ron shook his head feverishly.
"That's mental, we haven't got much time. You three 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 -"
"Say it again, slowly-" said Ron, searching his pockets desperately for a quill, but at that moment the lift juddered to a halt. 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.
"Morning, Albert," said a bushily whiskered man, smiling at Harry. Levina glanced over at Ron and Hermione as the lift creaked upward once more; Hermione was now whispering frantic instructions to Ron. The wizard leaned toward Harry, leering, and muttering "Dirk Cresswell, eh? From Goblin Liaison? Nice one, Albert. I'm pretty confident I'll get his job now!"
He winked. Harry smiled back and Levina shuddered and turned away. The lift stopped; the grilles opened once more.
"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.
Hermione gave Ron a little push and he hurried out of the lift, followed by the other wizards, leaving Harry, Levina, and Hermione alone. The moment the golden door had closed Hermione said, very fast, "Actually, I think I'd better go after him, I don't think he knows what he's doing and if he gets caught the whole thing -"
"Level one, Minister of Magic and Support Staff."
The golden grilles slid apart again and Hermione gasped. Levina's breath caught in her throat and the scars on her arm, though concealed by polyjuice potion, flared up again with a stinging pain. 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, toadlike witch wearing a velvet bow in her short hair and clutching a clipboard to her chest.
...
For the sake of getting this chapter up quickly, I will just do a communal thank you: THANKS FOR ALL THE REVIEWS! You guys rock my socks and are the reason I keep going with this story. Thanks!