In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 66: Implants
Harry didn't really feel like waking Wednesday morning into the fading darkness.
Hoot!
Harry rolled out of bed, went over to Hedwig, stroked some of her feathers, and gave her an owl treat. He pulled on his dark blue running shirt and shorts, white racing stripe down the side. Socks and shoes, left the bedroom.
"New clothes?" Richard asked.
They went down the stairs, out the door. Harry cast the warming charm on them both.
They went down the stairs, out the door, into the darkness of the budding freezing morning. Harry's wand out, cast the warming charms.
"Good thing you can fight the cold," Richard said, his breath billowing out in the faint glow from the street lamp.
And they ran. Harry pointed to the east, through the clouds, the small fuzzy dot.
"Comet Hale Bopp!" Harry said.
"You know this?" Richard said.
"Haven't been at school enough to do the Astronomy—too busy this year," Harry said, "Still, I'll brush up, but don't tell Hermione that."
"I won't," Richard said as they came to a zebra crossing with the light against them.
"I don't want to go back," Harry said, his eyes on Richard.
"Was what you said last night true?" Richard asked, "Them castrating—?"
"Doesn't matter if I was or wasn't," Harry said, "It was humiliation, deliberate, for the crimes of somebody else. I fucking hate being the scapegoat!"
They ran across the zebra crossing, headed along the footpath.
"Sorry," Harry said as he turned to him, "There's a point where I've got to face facts, adjust. That reckoning was yesterday, and they'll gawk again for the implants."
"Implants?" Richard asked.
"So I've got something down there, fakes," Harry said.
"Aw," Richard said, "Shame."
"I know," Harry said.
They continued on.
Harry turned the knob as they returned, Richard entered 26 Oak Street first, and Harry followed into the warm house.
"Harry," Kristen said, "I need to talk to you."
Richard went up the stairs.
"Thought you went to work," Harry said.
"Have a seat," Kristen said, "Unfortunately, my job starts with you today."
Her eyes hinted at it being a deeper discussion
"Harry?" Ron asked as he stepped off the stairs, "I can take Gia—"
"Good idea," Kristen said.
"Sure," Harry quipped.
Ron and Gia left the house.
"Sitting is friendly advice," Kristen said.
"Umm…" Harry muttered as he slowly drifted onto the sofa, on the other side of the coffee table to her.
Harry spotted her gaze, returning the stare, as she began to talk, the one that was more focused than anything.
"Found you on there yesterday morning," Kristen said, "Presume you and Gia had a falling out—"
"We worked it out," Harry said, not wanting to dawdle.
"Happy for that, but that's not why we're talking," Kristen said, "You were having a nightmare—"
"I don't have nightmares!" Harry protested.
"Of course you don't," Kristen said.
Harry spotted the maternal desire to down–peddle it.
"An active dream—or whatever you want to call it," Kirsten said, "During that, you were muttering 'Not Diggle'."
"Don't remember it," Harry stated.
"Thought nothing of it at the time," Kristen said, "Until I got to work, when I was told the name to a new murder victim, Diggle."
"Dedalus Diggle?" Harry asked, focused his eyes on her widening eyes. "Met him before, but a face and a name—he's dead?"
"Anonymous tips including a photograph of the crime in progress—" Kristen started.
Harry didn't need her to finish the thought to understand it.
"I didn't!" Harry protested.
"I know!" Kristen said, the firmness of her belief settled Harry's anxieties, fast, "Cop habit of checking the clock, when you weren't having that nightmare. Given Richard's insistence on keeping that clock accurate, unless you're able to be in two places simultaneously…"
"Wish others were so easily convinced," Harry said.
"Political reasons keep you on the list of suspects," Kristen said.
"Political?" Harry asked.
"Pressure from above," Kristen said, "Don't worry, Frank's aware of your alibis. We had to pull up your file, rather blank. What I need to know is how to contact a Mr. Dumbbell—"
"Dumbledore," Harry said, "I'll tell him to contact you."
"That'd be appreciated," Kristen said, "Hope your day goes well."
"Wish it does," Harry said, not caring to mention the upcoming procedure, "Thank you."
Kristen stood, left the house. Harry sighed before he stood, the fatigue of the running caught up to him, and went up the stairs.
"Don't bother reading," Hermione said, The Daily Prophet spread out on the bed in front of her crossed legs.
Harry glanced, the pictures of his humiliation spread out on the page, along with measurements.
"I prefer the voluntary, wholesome view," Hermione said, her brown eyes focused on Harry as he dropped his running shorts.
"Um…thanks," Harry said as he reached for his school clothes.
"Though this shouldn't be a surprise," Hermione said, pointed to the article.
He glanced.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
UHP Cancellation
After belatedly amending its charter, the Unofficial Harry Potter Fan Club is now offering its members the ability to cancel membership, no questions asked. Previously deemed a non–issue due to a minimal volumes of requests, the executive council has wisened up to the recent press about the fall of their false idol and namesake. The Daily Prophet encourage ALL readers to exercise this option, or petition the executive council to find a more suitable role model. This is the latest setback for what was the most prominent private organization of the Wizarding community, one that came on the heels of having their publishing contract with Witch Weekly, terminated.
Good riddance.
"Should I sign up?" Ron asked as he landed in the bedroom, stashed his Portkey.
"And…" Hermione's fingers landed to the next article.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Potter Killed Dadelus Diggle
Dadelus Diggle was found murdered in the town of Noigate early Tuesday morning, the same location where Potter's Mudblood ex–girlfriend used to reside and where Finch–Fletchley's corpse was found. Despite eyewitness and Muggle photographic evidence testifying to Potter's crime, the Muggle police are refusing to consider Potter a prime suspect. Ministry officials have stated that everything points to a Muggle type crime and so it is a Muggle affair.
Of primary interest is Potter's presence away from Hogwarts, this would confirm speculation that the Headmaster, Albus Dumbledore, permits Potter to leave Hogwarts to roam the Isle to practice his Dark Arts. Many unsubstantiated leads point to this as Potter's lashing out for his castration.
"Chief Muggle police would be Kristen," Hermione said.
"Blimey!" Ron said, "Another murder!"
"Who saw me on the sofa at the time of the murder," Harry said.
"Really?" Hermione asked.
Harry grabbed his book bag.
"Ready?" Harry said, "Best to get this next humiliation over with."
"Quidditch?" Ron asked as he grabbed his Firebolt.
"Like we'll last," Hermione said.
"Positive thoughts," Harry said as he grabbed his Firebolt, "Can always be a first time."
Harry and Ron shoved their brooms into their pockets.
"At least you remember that," Hermione said.
Harry took out his Portkey, hesitated as his eyes landed on the light outback hat. Harry grabbed that.
"Taking it back?" Ron said.
"Yeah," Harry said.
"This doesn't bode—" the Sorting Hat started.
"Not returning you," Harry said, "Somebody ought to know something, maybe it can help."
"You're going to hang out in the Great Hall, scaring everybody?" Ron asked.
"If I have to," Harry replied.
Harry activated his Portkey. Ron and Hermione held on, and they landed in their dormitory, at Hogwarts.
"And not suspended," Harry said, a quick walk to the window. He glanced out, cloudy above, the dim green of the forest in the distance, the lake with dull rippling waves. "It'd be pleasant here, if it weren't for the people."
"Yeah," Ron said, nearby, "It's the people."
"Care to read the Hogwarts Corpse?" Hermione asked.
"You can," Harry said.
"Dobby brings breakfast!"
Harry turned, Dobby stood next to their small table. On it, various foods.
"That's nice Dobby," Harry said, peering at those big eyes, droopy ears, "You certainly try, but Hogwarts no longer feels like home. And, I have to use the Great Hall today."
"Dobby was sadden to hear about the mutilation of Harry Potter," Dobby said.
"You and me both," Harry replied, made for the door.
Ron and Hermione followed. Half way down, a second year boy peered out the door from his dormitory, slammed it shut as Harry passed. Harry spotted it, the bright sign on the bulletin board.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
WARNING!
Anybody caught aiding Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, or Hermione Granger will be dealt with accordingly. You have been warned.
EM
"Fans," Ron said.
"Yeah, right," Harry grumbled.
Harry led the way, past a nervous first year boy. Through the portrait hole, they left Gryffindor Tower, walked along the corridors, decked out with effigies of Harry hanging. One pair of trousers affixed to the stonework, written in yellow paint with DIE POTTER DIE.
"Guess they're trying to send us a message?" Ron asked.
"Maybe flying would've been better?" Harry asked.
"You know what Professor McGonagall would say about that," Hermione quipped.
They kept walking, before they came to the top of the marble stairs. Two Aurors stood there, Buckland and Seagrave.
"Here we go," Harry said.
Harry went down the stairs, when hands of the Aurors gripped Harry's arms as he crossed the Entrance Hall.
"This way, Potter," sneered Auror Buckland.
Harry spotted Rita Skeeter as he entered the Great Hall.
"And even more," Harry said, as he left the Great Hall, about an hour after they had entered, "That'll be in The Daily Prophet for sure."
"At least you've got an ironclad alibis," Hermione whispered.
"Yeah," Ron said.
"Hey Potter!" Draco Malfoy sneered from behind, on the marble stairs, "Don't let Weasley kick you. Those might break, snip, snip."
"Ignore him," Harry whispered.
Ron and Hermione went with Harry, up the stairs, to the third floor. They entered the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, which was nearly vacant.
"Um…" Harry muttered.
"Gotta be a mistake," said Neville, as he entered the classroom, "Neither Seamus nor Dean—"
"You're in the correct place, Mr. Longbottom," said Professor Tonks.
"Don't understand," Harry said.
"Unless you'd rather help the first years brew…think Severus has them brewing Amortentia," Professor Tonks said.
"A love potion?" Hermione asked, "Thought those weren't allowed."
"For educational purposes, they are," Professor Tonks said.
"We're good," Harry said, sitting at a table, near the back.
"Move up front," Professor Tonks said.
"The others—" Ron started.
"Up front, two desks, three desks," Professor Tonks said, "Let me keep an eye on you."
Neville moved up first, Harry followed, and Neville shifted to share a desk.
"Sorry to see yesterday," Neville said, "They shouldn't have."
"Oh," Harry said, peering at those blue eyes, the confusion behind them apparent.
"It's tough," Neville said, "You don't live with them anymore, I do."
"Now that you're up front," Professor Tonks said, her eyes on the straggler, Ron coming forward, "We'll cover hideouts."
"That's not on the syllabus," Hermione stammered.
"Maybe…" Harry started, now certain this was arranged, "Let it slide."
"Hideouts," Professor Tonks said, "Can you guess?"
"Hiding from your enemy?" Ron asked.
"It's in the name, Ronald," Hermione said, quill in her hand.
"Countless wars and people make them," Professor Tonks said, "Out of necessity, usually. Sometimes its as simple as using the Fidelius Charm."
"Secret keeper," Harry said.
"Creating them is easy," Professor Tonks said, "Remaining undiscovered—that's hard."
"Don't tell anybody," Neville said.
"Fidelius Charm requires one," Harry said, "Gotta be careful who you pick, else they're running to Voldemort."
"Your great grandfather was excellent at constructing hideouts, for a fee," Professor Tonks said to Neville.
"Really?" Neville said, "Gran—"
"She married into the family," Professor Tonks said, "Not her father. Still, its one reason Longbottom's a respected name."
Harry wasn't certain to the motives, not yet.
"You build a hideout, but, you need food," Professor Tonks said, "Household errands can break the secrecy, for all they have to do is follow you from the grocer's, for instance. The more you come and go, the easier it is for any single trip to become noticed."
"Guess that makes sense," Harry said.
"Essays start now," Professor Tonks said, "List ways you know of to hide a hideout."
Professor Tonks handed over Hiding From Trouble to Harry, and a slip of parchment to Neville.
"Where in the library you can borrow a copy," Professor Tonks said to Neville, "They…might not make it."
"Understood," Neville said.
Harry opened the book, and began to read, Neville to his side. A sense of normalcy came to Harry as they continued, even though his thoughts drifted to Gia with that photograph.
Gia shifted the numbers as she wrote on her notebook paper, they were not coming out right.
"Fuck!" Gia blurted.
Richard shifted his desk chair over.
"Can't mix like that," Richard said as he pointed.
"Ta," Gia said, a bit of longing for Harry.
"Can't wave a wand," Richard said.
"I know," Gia said.
Richard moved his chair back. Gia tried computing the new row, it still didn't come out right. Gia sighed, and fingered the picture on her desk, the squiggling round lines of Harry's genitals squirmed. Gia snickered.
"Is this something you'd like to share with the entire class?" asked Mr. Hookgreen, now looming over Gia.
"I'll put it away," Gia said, putting it back into her purse.
Gia wondered if Harry was getting along with his new implants.
Hours later, Harry wondered how much longer this lesson would last, it had gone on past a normal lesson, when they heard the bell for lunch.
"Mr. Longbottom, you may leave," Professor Tonks said.
"I don't understand," Harry said as the Professor handed over notes. Harry read his as Neville left the classroom.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Harry
Chat in my office?
Tonks
"Professor McGonagall," Hermione said, reading hers.
"Dumbledore," Ron said.
"Why—why separate?" Harry uttered, the concern there, but not acting on it.
Hermione shrugged her shoulders.
"Walk you there," Ron said.
Hermione went with Ron out of the classroom.
"This way, Mr. Potter," Professor Tonks said.
Harry put the strap over his shoulder, followed the professor into her office. On the round corner table was a small selection of meats, breads, fixings for sandwiches.
"Thought you wanted to talk," Harry stated.
"Please, sit," said Professor Tonks as she, too, sat.
Harry crossed his arms over his chest as he sat, watched her make herself a sandwich.
"More than talking," Harry said.
"Since when did I need a reason to talk to the son of Lily and James Potter?" Professor Tonks said. She bit into her sandwich, ate, before she continued. "Besides, some of us figured you could use some pleasantries after yesterday's—"
"Let's not talk about that," Harry said, spotted the word 'castration' behind her eyes.
"Fair enough," Professor Tonks said. She sipped at her juice. "This girl you're seeing—?"
"That's a good question," Harry said as he stood, turned toward the shelf with its small telescope. "She and I—well, we'll have to figure out our future, together." Harry picked up the omnioculars, they replayed him catching the Snitch at the Puddlemere United match. "You went?"
"Think only Albus showed?" Professor Tonks said, "Part of being a good Auror is to know when to trust others to assist. Let you focus on the Quidditch match—which you were good at."
"Ta," Harry said, turning his attention to the foe glass, a spot of canary yellow.
"Gryffindor's odds for the Quidditch Cup?" Professor Tonks asked.
"With or without being suspended?" Harry said.
"Slytherin's are playing a mean game," Professor Tonks said.
"Why'd your foe glass turn canary yellow?" Harry asked, seeing the entire glass covered in it.
"At least they're not death eaters," Professor Tonks said.
"Nor Voldemort, nor demeantors," Harry said, "What's going on?"
"Any theories to your crisis?" Professor Tonks asked, "It led to your…procedure—"
"Thought The Daily Prophet left nothing to doubt," Harry snapped, "Need full coverage?"
"Your side to…events?" Professor Tonks asked, "Solving things?"
"Sure," Harry said, still holding the foe glass, "Catch the impostor in the act, convince everybody its not hocus pocus, and hope clearer minds prevail. Won't make up for what they've stolen from me."
"Not everybody believes in that filth," Professor Tonks said.
"I know, I…" Harry started, before the canary yellow flooded his eyes, for a moment.
"Help me," came Ron's plea, within his mind.
"Got it," Harry replied.
"Harry?" Professor Tonks asked as Harry tripped backward.
Harry caught his balance, the vision enough to act.
"Gotta go," Harry said, raced for the door.
…
A short while earlier, Hermione walked along with Ron, along the first floor corridor at the same time Harry was entering Professor Tonks' office.
"Why'd she want to talk to simply me?" Hermione asked.
"Dunno," Ron said as they came to a halt by Professor McGonagall's office.
Hermione knocked.
"Come in," hollered Professor McGonagall.
Ron kissed Hermione, and she entered the office. Ron left and the door closed behind her. Upon the small table, a lunch platter with many fruits and vegetables and bread; the Professor was already behind it.
"You wanted—" Hermione started as she sat
"It was Nymphadora's idea to take time for lunch together," Professor McGonagall said, fixing herself an egg salad sandwich, "Given how much you're suspended and how little I see you, I thought it was a great idea."
"Of course," Hermione said.
"As head of Gryffindor," Professor McGonagall said, "I see members of my house struggling, not for fault of their own. So, we figured a bit of talk would be good."
Professor McGonagall ate into her sandwich.
"What about Ron or Harry?" Hermione asked.
"I confess that I do like them," Professor McGonagall said, "And…you know how boys are. There's times when it is better for them to not be in the conversation."
Hermione snorted, assembled a fruit salad, and started to eat.
"Besides," Professor McGonagall said, "Think I've seen enough of Mr. Potter recently. Absolute shame that it came to that. But boys are…touchy when it comes to that topic, but you're in a position to assist. I do have some books I could lend, let you read up to help Mr. Potter deal with things."
Hermione wiped away a tear as she tried to munch on a melon ball of her salad, the pictures she'd seen in The Daily Prophet was more than enough to know the extent of the ordeal Harry suffered the day before, even if she had a remedy. Hermione put the food aside, stood, crossed her arms, and focused out the window. Mostly cloudy outside, a couple of students crossed the courtyard below, wearing canary yellow jumpers.
"New fashion," Hermione muttered.
"Frustrating when few staff enforce the dress code," said Professor McGonagall, "I fear it may be solidarity against Harry for his…purported acts, they were plentiful during yesterday's…farce."
"It's all ridiculous!" Hermione said, "All leads—save the eyewitnesses and pictures—were botched, so of course they had to march him in front of the school to make an example of! Totally undignified—!"
"Undignified to Parvati too," Professor McGonagall said.
"Now we've got two victims," Hermione said as she turned back around, "Parvati was violated and raped, true, but so was Harry. This impostor managed to take it out on both of them! And everybody rushed to vengeance, Harry got castrated on the front of the Daily Prophet!"
"Don't forget the other victims—it's more than two here," Professor McGonagall said, "Your parents, for instance."
"Sorry," Hermione said, sitting back down.
"Dadelus Diggle was a good friend of mine," Professor McGonagall said, "Knew him since we went to Hogwarts ourselves. He insisted on studying at Muggle University after he left here, loved mixing arithmacy with accounting."
"Oh," Hermione said as she reached for a cherry tomato.
"Do not misunderstand me," Professor McGonagall said, "It's not merely a plot against you. Whatever's happening is having grave consequences for others, those fellows in Hogsmeade, Justin Finch–Fletchley, and now Diggle."
"Year at Hogwarts with a body count," Hermione said, "Seems—normal."
Professor McGonagall drank at her juice for a moment.
"Sorry," Hermione said, "Been so much, gotta lighten it up enough to…function. Didn't mean to dismiss it."
"I do not envy your position," Professor McGonagall said, "So, I mean no disrespect when I say this. Never do I want you to treat the victims, the harsh reality of the losses, lightly."
"I'd guess Harry's not eating today," Hermione said as she took the fork to her salad.
"He's stressed," Professor McGonagall said, "Ronald…has his brothers' legacy to contend with."
Hermione snorted.
"A bit of levity in your life," Professor McGonagall said, "At least the two of you have a future… Of children, if you wish."
"He's…" Hermione started, when Professor Dumbledore's face appeared in the fireplace, he glanced about.
"I need to see Miss. Granger in my office," Professor Dumbledore said, "It cannot wait."
"Go," Professor McGonagall said.
Hermione grabbed her book–bag, left the office.
…
Meanwhile, Ron waited until the door closed as Hermione entered Professor McGonagall's office. He walked along.
"Weasley!" came the bark, from Seagrave.
"I'm seeing the Headmaster," Ron stated.
"Good!" Seagrave shouted.
Ron went up to the second floor, the Stone Gargoyle let him past, and he went up the ascending stairs. Ron knocked on the doors.
"Enter!" came Professor Dumbledore's voice.
Ron opened the door, entered the Headmaster's office, the paintings above moved as usual, around the windows that revealed the cloudy sky outside.
"Have a seat," said Professor Dumbledore.
Ron spotted the old man in the armchair, next to the fireplace, with a small table full of meats and cheeses and breads.
"I'd appreciate company for lunch," the Headmaster said, pointed.
Ron sat on the other armchair, across the table from the wizard. Ron slathered some mayonnaise and mustard on the baguette. He added ham, roast beef, sliced pickles, some onion, oil, sprinkled on some pepper, a bit of salami, and put the sandwich together. Ron wondered for a moment about how it'd fit into his mouth, until he squeezed on his stretched mouth, and managed to sink his chompers into it.
"Leave it to Nymphadora to suggest this, excellent idea," Professor Dumbledore said, his hands on a much thinner tuna salad sandwich, "Time's a precious thing, and we often are so busy we overlook the simple things in life."
"Yeah," Ron muttered through his filled mouth, kept devouring the sandwich.
Professor Dumbledore nibbled at his tuna salad sandwich, watched Ron as a bit of the mustard dripped onto the collar of Ron's white dress shirt.
"You, like me," Professor Dumbledore said, "Find recent events worrisome, right?"
"Yep," Ron said, as he grabbed a chicken wing, reflecting on the sign he saw that morning, the gist of The Daily Prophet articles, "Anybody who sticks their necks out for Harry gets it hung—which is why the Minister nor the Aurors has any concern for Harry, or me."
Ron ate into the chicken wing. One, two, six, the pile of bones grew on Ron's plate. He sipped at the pumpkin juice.
"As Chief Warlock," Professor Dumbledore said, "I've got the right to inspect any prison. So, I took the liberty of inspecting Azkaban on Sunday. Arthur Weasley's in as good of spirits as anyone could have in that place. I would've loved to have chatted, but one does not loiter in Azkaban."
"Of course not," Ron said, having heard the stories.
"I did get his signature to appoint myself as his solicitor so I could file an appeal on his behalf with what you uncovered," Professor Dumbledore said, "Of course, I cannot guarantee anything."
"Yeah," Ron said as he grabbed a baked potato that appeared on the platter, set it on his plate, "That's great."
Ron sliced the potato open, began adding the butter, sprinkling on cheese, and bacon bits.
"Severus expressed concern about Harry," Professor Dumbledore said, "Riddle possessed Harry during Monday's Potions class. Doesn't that frighten you?"
"No," Ron stated.
Pumpkin juice spilled across the table as the Headmaster dropped his cup with pumpkin juice.
"Please enlighten me," Professor Dumbledore said, his twinkling blue eyes trained onto Ron's.
"Why?" Ron asked, trying to deflect the interrogation.
"Any friend of his ought to be utterly concerned," Professor Dumbledore said, "Or you seemed that way last month. There are skills that Harry could learn, but has so far refused—"
"No," Ron said, "I won't enlighten." Ron took a final bite of his baked potato, swallowed. "Hope his fixing doesn't hurt his Seeker skills."
Ron continued eating, watched his fingers as he polished off the contents of the lunch platter.
"Do you respect me?" asked Professor Dumbledore.
Ron focused on the twinkling blue eyes.
"If you're asking, you've already made up your mind," Ron said as he stood, "Tell the House–Elfs that the food was delicious. We'll have to do this again, however, I did promise Hermione to bang her in the library."
Ron spun, left the office. Ron made it down the stairs, walked along the second floor corridor, until it became the first near the Hospital Wing, a sign on the door.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
WARNING to Madam Pomfrey!
Do NOT treat Harry Potter, Ronald Weasley, or Hermione Granger for any injuries they may incur.
EM
Ron rushed for Professor McGonagall's office when he heard it.
"Petrificus Totalis!" came the shout.
Ron's muscles froze into place as he was surrounded by a sea of canary yellow hoodie jumpers. A moment for his wand to fly into his hand, only to be ripped out to be tossed onto the floor. Hoodies up, masks of yellow, a fist bearing spikes flew at Ron's chest, and piercing pain radiated into Ron.
"DIE WEASLEY DIE!" came the chant, his shirt torn off.
"Petrificus Totalis!" came another shout, renewed Ron's paralysis even stronger.
Another punch, more pain.
"Not bleeding enough," said another.
Another punch, more pain.
"REMEMBER FINCH–FLETCHLEY!" came the shout.
A kick to the groin with a spike toed yellow shoe. Pain seared through his bollocks, as they kicked a second time. A punch to Ron's back, his blood drizzled down his ribs, and Ron lost feeling in his legs. Only the petrification curse kept him upright for another second. Ron began to topple forward, a punch of a fist to his soggy wet groin changed his momentum to going backward. Ron's concern over himself pissing his trousers faded with the fist punch to the side of his head, the spikes burying themselves into his red hair.
"DIE WEASLEY DIE!"
Tearing at his ear, the spikes repeated themselves as he fell. Spikes greeted the back of his head as he hit the stone floor. Spike toed shoes greeted his ribs, his legs, his neck, with each kick his stomach began to wrench. Vomit stuck halfway up, a gasp for breath, and the world blackened to Ron.
"Help me!" Ron pleaded.
"Got it," came the faint reply.
"STUPEFY!" came a shout, hit him in the chest.
Ron entrusted himself to his fate as he lost consciousness.
"RON!" Harry shouted out on the second floor corridor, his heart should've been racing, but figured it was the implants, maybe it was a trick of his mind.
"Harry?" Hermione asked as she came up to him.
"What's—thought I heard…" Harry said, "Never mind."
"Was told to go—" Hermione started.
"Headmaster," Ash said, coming up to them, "Hurry."
Harry bolted into a run, Hermione followed. Stone Gargoyle already open, they stepped on and ascended.
"Ronald is at St. Mungo's," said Professor Dumbledore as Harry and Hermione entered the office.
"What? Why?" Harry stammered at the old man standing next to the fireplace, "Will he—?"
"Madam Pomfrey is with him now," the Headmaster said, "Do you know who this EM is?"
Harry shook his head.
"A threat was already posted to the bulletin board in the Common Room when we arrived," Hermione said.
"Ron was having lunch with you," Harry said.
"And he did," Professor Dumbledore said, his hand trembled on his cane, "After he left…Ginny's initiative led her to stop the attack, save her brother. The attackers called themselves EM and left a note taking responsibility, so none would agree it was you."
"Thank you," Harry said.
"Unfortunately," Professor Dumbledore said, "By custom, you're now suspended until Friday, however, you're excused until Ron recovers."
"Lets see Ron," Hermione said.
"Be advised that St. Mungo's has wards," Professor Dumbledore said, "Usage of Portkeys would be inadvisable, therefore, I've amended the conditions of your suspension to permit usage of this office for travel. Do not enter any other part of Hogwarts until Friday, understood?"
"Yes," Harry said.
Hermione nodded.
"I understand one of you has taken a liking to Healing," Professor Dumbledore said, "I agree it would be useful, though I forewarn that if you plan to address the procedures you received—"
"Whose fault was that?" Harry asked, "Still, Minister's off my back."
"High cost of irreplaceable flesh—" the Headmaster started.
"Which YOU sold off," Harry said, "Parvati felt better, I guess."
"A bit late," Professor Dumbledore said, "Our procedures have been revised to make it unwise for your impostor to strike again in that fashion."
"RON!" Hermione snapped.
Harry started for the fireplace, grabbed a handful of Floo Powder.
"I will send my regards shortly," Professor Dumbledore said.
Harry waited for Hermione to enter before he dropped the Floo Powder.
"St. Mungo's!" Harry bellowed out.
Harry reached into his pocket as the green smoke shrouded them, put on the light brown hat, also known as the Sorting Hat. Harry and Hermione spun together as they traveled toward St. Mungo's. Worry over Harry's real balls faded as his mind shifted to Ron's plight.