Arthur knew someone had dived in front of him, but he didn't want to stick around with Yaxley long enough to find out who it was. Instead he turned and ran, firing off a curse over his shoulder that, judging by Yaxley's pained cry, found its target.

"Arthur!" Kingsley Shacklebolt was there, slinging curses at death eaters. "Arthur, we've got to go. There's too many of them!"

"But Kingsley—"

"There's too many of them." Kingsley grabbed Arthur's arm and started dragging him toward the lifts. "There's nothing we can do for the minister, Arthur, he's gone."

"Gone?" Arthur looked over his shoulder at the devastation behind him. The minister's office was nothing but a pile of rubble now. How was it that the minister had been alive and well just yesterday, when he'd come by the Burrow to give Harry, Ron, and Hermione the items Dumbledore had left them.

"We've got to go." Kingsley said. "For Harry. He can't lose us too."

Arthur nodded and ran for the lift.

Once he and Kingsley were safely sequestered in Kingsley's office, Arthur sent a patronus to his family to let them know he was safe. Bill's wedding—they would have to postpone the wedding. It simply wasn't safe for that many blood traitors to gather at the Burrow. And Harry's birthday—hell, that was all gone to hell now. Arthur sent another patronus to Molly, warning her not to let Harry go anywhere. The boy would want to leave on the basis of not wanting to put others in danger, but it would be foolish to run off on his own like that. Arthur and Kingsley had to get to him first and talk some sense into him.

A memo flew under Kingsley's door and up onto the desk. With trembling hands, Kingsley ripped it open and read it. "They're saying it was an accidental explosion on level one." Kingsley's voice was thick with anger. "And the minister is dead. They're telling us it was an accident and that we all need to leave for the day." Arthur looked up at him uncertainly. "We should leave." Kingsley added. "The minister is gone. Harry is most important now."

Arthur nodded. "But before we leave, I need to go back to level one. Kingsley, someone saved me in the attack. Dived in front of me and took a spell to the chest. I didn't get to see who it was. I need to go back down and find out. Please, Kingsley. I either need to thank this person myself or pay my respects to a body."

Kingsley nodded tersely and Arthur headed for the lift.

The corridor outside the minister's office was in ruin, the carpet stained with blood and littered with rubble and shattered glass. Magical Maintenance was already there to clean up and deal with the wounded and the dead, of which there were many on both sides. Tables had hastily been set up to collect the bodies, draped with sheets.

Arthur saw Albert Runcorn stoop to collect a body that was collapsed at the door of Umbridge's office. By the way it flopped, it was either dead or comatose, and knowing the types of dark curses that had been used, being comatose was only slightly better than being dead. Judging by where it had fallen, this had to be the person who had jumped in front of him during his duel with Yaxley. Runcorn was coming towards the tables piled with bodies, and as he drew closer Arthur recognized the body in Runcorn's arms: red-haired, bespectacled, lanky and taller than Arthur when standing, though in Runcorn's arms he suddenly looked small and childlike. Percy.

"No!" Arthur ran to meet Runcorn as the latter placed Percy's body on a table. "No, no, no." He gasped at the sight before him. The right lens of Percy's glasses was shattered and a trickle of blood had dried on his face. But worse was the front of his robes, which were soaked with blood. He yanked the robes open to find a massive, gaping wound across Percy's bony chest. The edges of the wound were a nasty green color—a clear indicator of dark magic.

"No." Arthur's knees buckled and he collapsed to the floor. "No." Percy worked on this floor, how could he have forgotten? Percy would've been right in the middle of the attack the whole time. The last time Arthur had seen Percy, he'd told his son to never again darken his doorstep. Now it would be the last thing Percy would ever hear his father say to him. Arthur had failed Percy, he'd let some petty argument drive them apart. He ought to have tried harder to keep Percy in the fold, tried harder to make sure Percy would want to stick by his family. Whatever reason they'd argued, it paled in the face of Percy's blood-stained corpse lying on a table.

It should have been him, Arthur realized. It should have been him, the father, who took a dark curse for his son. What kind of parent didn't protect their child? But would he have done it? Arthur shook himself. Of course he would have saved his son.

Mafalda Hopkirk was coming around with a clipboard, noting the names of the dead. Arthur shuddered as she drew near, for as long as Percy's name wasn't on that list, he could pretend his son was alive. Mafalda reached out and grabbed Percy's wrist, and Arthur wanted to scream at her for doing so—how dare she grab his son's body like that? But he held his tongue as he realized that Mafalda was checking for a pulse.

"Arthur." Mafalda's voice was cool and firm. "He's got a pulse, albeit a weak one."

"Mafalda, please, don't pull my leg at a time like this."

"No, he has a pulse. Medic! Medic! We need a medic over here."

Arthur took Percy's wrist and sure enough, a weak, irregular pulse was there. "Percy?" He looked closely at Percy to see that, sure enough, his body was slowly rising and falling. "Oh thank Merlin." He sank to the ground in relief as the medics came and bustled Percy off to St. Mungo's. Whatever problems they had could be worked out now.