"There is nothing to save, now all is lost,
but a tiny core of stillness in the heart
like the eye of a violet."
― D.H. Lawrence

"I felt very still and empty, the way the eye of a tornado must feel, moving dully along in the middle of the surrounding hullabaloo."
― Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar

Your duty is to be and not to be this or that. 'I am that I am' sums up the whole truth. The method is summed up in the words 'Be still'. What does stillness mean? It means destroy yourself. Because any form or shape is the cause for trouble. Give up the notion that 'I am so and so'. All that is required to realize the Self is to be still. What can be easier than that? - Ramana Maharsh


So apparently copy and pasting from a google docs causes a bunch of weird code script to corrupt the document, apologies for those who got an email but then couldn't access the chapter.
I've re-written this chapter at least 6 times, so this is it, partly out of a rage quit, and partly so I can get to the good stuff. Ignore my 'done by new year' idea, I forgot what retail in Christmas was like. Please be kind to your cashiers and shop attendants this Christmas!


By the time Harry finally accompanied Emmanuel on the extraction raid, his hands shook with his barely restrained anger, his shoulder throbbed with residual curse damage, and he had had enough of his very first day as a Ministry stooge.

Almost immediately upon his arrival that morning, Harry had been asked to wait in the corridor of the MLE department.

He'd sat for over an hour and a half.
He doubted there was a single person in the building who by 10 o'clock hadn't found some excuse to traipse past the MLE, or congregate with the masses in the nearby tea room. Harry had fidgeted and self-consciously straightened his spine in the uncomfortably conjured chair.

By the time Emmanuel finally sent one of his men to fob him off, Harry was torn between relief and rage. He only nodded to smirking officer, agreeing to return after his daily training drills.

Returning to the auror's wing of the ministry, Harry tried to drown out the hushed voices that followed him. This was no different to Hogwarts, wasn't it. He'd dealt with this for years. Hermione needed him to keep is cool. Harry was flooded with the vibrant memory of Hermione dragging him through the corridors in fourth year.
Oh, just ignore them Harry, they've got nothing better to gawp at.

In the end, the memory made it worse. Harry was met by whispers and raised eyes from his fellow auror recruits gathered in the training hall. Squads were lined up, and as he took his position, the supervising auror's announced a change of proceedings and swept through the lines handing out a white square of cloth to each squad of four.

The hall was silent, and their head trainer, a staunch man Bradford, made eye contact with Harry before his voice boomed across the lines.
Each team must stupefy the witch or wizard with the flag. Team members without the flag will remain on the field and do not face elimination until their flag bearer falls.

Harry felt nothing as he watched Paul, a nice bloke, about Bill's age, cling to the white square of fabric determinedly. Harry fell mechanically into position and it took a few moments of fervid shielding and hexing as the playing field spread out to notice he was attracting far more attention than anyone else, flag or no flag.

His other squad members must have come to the same conclusion, as they shot him a irritated glance, then shepherded the flag bearer away from him.

It took exactly ten minutes for the other squads to notice, and the spells tossed in the furthest reaches of the training hall fell into a distracted lull, gawping instead at the energy in those hurled at him now, his shield charm crackling as he dodged and parried all the curses he was able.

As he fell to the floor, his shoulder crackling with an ice-like burn, the memory of Hermione crumpled with him. The field returned to the objective game in a sweep, as though nothing untoward had occurred, as though it hadn't been ten or more against one.

Harry was lifted off the granite floor and magicked to the departments medical staff. As the healers cast diagnostics, and the burning cold began to alleviate, He caught sight of the lunch time prophet, or more specifically, to Ginny's face that moved across it.

WEASLEY CLAN BREAKS SILENCE ON DISAPPEARANCE OF HERMIONE GRANGER

Harry attempted to gingerly work the still leaden pangs of his shoulder, while looking at Ginny's guilty face, and Molly's staunch glare as captured and replayed in ink. Ginny looked mortified, but still the black and white captured the blush that dusted her nose in that way she hated to be teased about, and injured though he was, Harry tiredly rose from the floating stretcher and braced himself to continue with Hermione's insane plan. He would watch everything Emmanuel did, and he would find out exactly what was going on. Even if that meant taking an odd hex or too in the process.
Just ignore them Harry

Hermione's voice was with him as he closed himself into the brass caged elevator, and despite the many people who waved or nodded amicably, or wished him well, the throbbing of his shoulder served as a constant reminder of how quickly people could turn, and who his true friends were.

The elevator descended and Harry attempted with a sudden panic, to calm his breathing and remember everything Hermione had ever told him about clearing his mind.

Harry attempted to focus on every detail as he made his way into the MLE office.
George had arranged to obtain a pensieve as part of his research into the globes-
Hermione had lead him into this but Harry relished in each and every second as he examined the papers littered throughout the office, and felt his mind finally lapse into the calm Dumbledore Hermione and even Snape had talked of.

Only this time it was a becalmed rage that fueled his eyes, ears, and focus.

This time, the receptionist failed to stop him as he entered what he knew was Emmanuel office. The man himself looked up from his desk with a bemused expression, however if Harry was surprised as Emmanuel handed him a port key and briefed him, it didn't show, and unspoken in the room lurked the twinge in his shoulder, his wait that morning. On the desk, the record of magical publications contract made it more difficult than ever to summon his patronus, even as Emmanuel nodded sternly at the message written in a sharp inky scrawl

Luna Lovegood, you've been linked to an address at 4 Rue aux Ours, please return to address for Ministry confirmation.