In the Crosshairs
Dragon Voldemort
Chapter 67: St. Mungo's
"Harry! Hermione!" came a familiar voice as they stepped out of the fireplace, into the waiting area of St. Mungo's.
Harry nodded as Lupin motioned to them to walk past the rickety wood chairs.
"Follow," Lupin said.
Harry secured the outback hat on his head, let his shoes move, followed as Lupin led the way. Hermione held Harry's hand, the trepidation clear in her fidgeting, walking with Harry up the stairs, to the fourth floor. Hermione's fingers intertwined with Harry's, held tight as they went down the corridor, turned right into another hallway, and took a right into the room. Harry didn't bother with the mediwizard leaving the room, his eyes went onto the bed in the middle, the familiar red hair. Harry entered the warm room.
Hermione gasped, switched to holding Ron's limp hand. Harry stepped around feet, moved along the side of the bed, the bruises on the bare chest, the blanket hiding the ones below. Harry focused on the face, the cuts, the welts, the left eye swollen shut, the mouth clenched over a tube, inhaling and exhaling for his friend. Harry lifted the eyelid on the blackened right blue eye, and peered inward.
"Who did this?" Ron inquired, weakly within the mind, "So…cold."
"I'm here," Harry replied.
"Going—" Ron started.
"No, no," Harry pleaded.
"A life rope can be fashioned," the Sorting Hat chimed in.
"Yes," Harry affirmed.
"Risky—" the Sorting Hat replied.
"Do it, do it!" Harry said.
"Do what?" Hermione asked.
An electric shock radiated inside Harry, for a moment, winced.
"Harry?" Lupin asked.
"Nothing, nothing," Harry said, "I'm fine."
Harry held Ron's other hand, the pulse faint but still there. Ron's blue eye was dead to further interrogation.
"He's my brother, and it's all your fault," Ginny scorned, finger wagging, at Harry.
Harry finally turned around, surveyed the sea of red hair in the room.
"Sorry chum," Fred said, "You know how impressionable our sister gets."
Harry felt a chill, a bit of headache coming on, but he stood his ground. Hermione stroked Ron's limp hand, Harry felt a twinge as her thumb jumped at the first swollen cut on it.
"Should get better," Charlie said as he bounced baby Edward, "He broke Madam Pomfrey's induced coma once, the Healers had to put him back in, it's quite painful."
"Will he make it?" Harry asked.
"Always blunt, aren't we?" Moody asked.
Charlie handed Edward to Ginny, grabbed Harry's hand, and pulled Harry out into the corridor. He took his wand, cast a charm to the closed door.
"What?" Harry asked.
"Sugar coating it for Ginny's benefit—and Hermione's," Charlie said, "He was beaten, badly, a hair away from dying when Madam Pomfrey reached him. Healers have stitched the cuts, put the organs back to the way they ought to be, but still a bit of bleeding in the head. We don't know if he wants to recover, if the attackers broke his will to live."
"They didn't," Harry said.
"How can you be certain?" Charlie asked.
"I know Ron," Harry said, "He wants to live."
"We all hope he's wanting that," Charlie said, "If Ginny had been a moment later—we'd be boxing him up, burying him next to Mum. We might still be doing that."
Harry swallowed, hard.
"Sorry to dump," Charlie said, "It's clear why they attacked him."
"Sorry," Harry said, "Death Eaters framing me up turns out to be very effective."
"You're seeing the price being paid for supporting you," Charlie said, "Hope Ron makes it."
"Me too," Harry said.
Charlie opened the door. Harry went in, sat next to Hermione. Harry put his arm around her, held her.
"Know who did this?" Harry asked, his eyes on Ginny's.
Harry caught the sight of if from Ginny, of Ron crumpled on the floor, of those in canary yellow jumpers fleeing, of the note pinned onto Ron.
"Called themselves EM," Lupin said, "Whatever that is."
"Took credit for busting the Unofficial Harry Potter Fan Club gift shop," Fred said.
"Could be the same ones who left that note on the bulletin board," Hermione said.
"So, they don't like me," Harry said, "Guess that's new."
Harry held Hermione as they waited, watched.
Chimes of Big Ben in the distance rang off as Harry stood by the magical window later that afternoon, drizzle within the picturesque mountain landscape, one he figured was magic. Harry turned back to Ron, walked over, lifted Ron's right eyelid, still nothing, except a shiver down Harry's back.
"You keep doing that," Charlie said.
"Thought he might…" Harry said.
"Gia," Hermione whispered.
"Be back later," Harry promised.
"Leaving already?" George asked as Harry went for the door.
"Ron doesn't want me to miss…never mind," Harry said.
"Anxious to try out those new implants?" George asked, "Ginny spent an hour talking about them up in the cafe. Think we could spice them up for you."
"No thank you," Harry said, glancing around the room, "Where is she?"
"School—Colin's there," George said.
"Well," Harry said, "Love you all."
Harry left the room, walked along the corridor. Hermione followed.
"I hope Ron doesn't…" Hermione muttered.
Harry stopped, faced her.
"He'll do better," Harry said.
"How can you—?" Hermione asked.
"Remember what this is?" Harry asked as he pulled off the outback hat, showed it to her, "Ron was dying when we entered, it helped, so he's stable, for now."
"You—?" Hermione asked, "What'd you do?"
"Dunno exactly," Harry said, putting the hat back on, "Gives Ron a chance to live, so I took it."
Harry turned, kept walking. Hermione's footsteps echoed on the floor as she walked next to Harry. Down the stairs, and Harry understood why Dumbledore had instructed to use his fireplace. Harry grabbed the Floo Powder, walked into the fireplace with Hermione.
"Hogwarts, Headmaster's Office!" Harry shouted.
A spin, Harry and Hermione stepped out into the Headmaster's Office. Fawkes' pedestal was empty, however, Professor Dumbledore was behind his desk, quill in hand.
"Any news?" the Headmaster asked, and Harry avoided the gaze.
"Uncertain," Harry said, "I have a fiancée—"
"One moment, if you would," Professor Dumbledore said, "I apologize."
"Excuse me?" Harry asked, the anger that should've been there, wasn't.
"Harry," Hermione said.
"I amended Nymphadora's suggest of lunch to separate the three of you," Professor Dumbledore said, "Hoped you'd speak more freely one on one, help gain a better understanding of troubles that we've been having so many of. That decision was in error and a mistake, another regret to ever growing list."
"Oh," Harry said.
"I've also amended your class schedules," Professor Dumbledore said, "Harry, you will be attending Arithmacy—"
"Got no interest—" Harry started to protest, calm.
"You will tonight," Harry snapped.
"Interest is besides the point," Professor Dumbledore said, "Attacks are occurring when you three part company, and are therefore vulnerable. Take Miss. Granger in the library while you're at Quidditch Practice, for instance, or today's lunch. I am saddened to agree that Hogwarts is no longer safe, for any of you. Therefore, you should stick together."
"Stopped being my home," Harry grumbled.
"Harry," Hermione said.
"Oh," Harry said, "Couldn't help noticing the first years—"
"We do not know who brewed the potion or released it," said Professor Dumbledore said, "Entire first year class was jinxed, along with Professor Sinistra, Luckily, your name was not associated with that one."
"That's a change," Harry said.
"Hogwarts is still a school of magic," Professor Dumbledore said, "Funny as it seems, not every activity revolves around you."
Harry activated his Portkey, Hermione grabbed on, and was whisked away from Hogwarts.
"More than one reason at home, right?" Hermione asked.
"Three," Harry said, his mind on those bits in the photograph.
Hermione turned to the bed as they landed, she removed two books from her bag, set them onto the bed. Hermione grabbed the Romantic Wizard from the shelf, set those next to the Healing and Arithmacy books. She sat cross–legged, brought pen to notebook paper as she shuffled through the books.
"Can't wait—" Harry started.
"Not so fast," Hermione said, "You definitely don't want me rushing and botching this."
"Take your time," Harry said.
"And—I need to study your implants," Hermione said.
Harry dropped his trousers, pulled the underwear off. He sat on his knees in front of Hermione.
"Should be an easy curse, right?" Harry asked.
"Don't make fun of this," Hermione warned.
"Got them?" Gia asked as she entered the bedroom.
"Yeah," Harry said.
Gia bent over.
"Seem real," Gia said.
"And for some silly reason," Hermione said, her hand waved in the air about her head, "Harry wants them gone."
"Got the photograph?" Harry asked.
"What happens to the implants?" Gia asked.
"Good question!" Hermione turned, pulled off Ministry: Penal Devices, and set it on the bed.
"Read up on them?" Harry asked.
"You'll owe Percy a big thank you note," Hermione said, "Those are penal implants."
"Be sure to write him," Harry said.
Hermione snorted, read.
"And?" Harry asked.
"Think the fractal analysis of the Healing Charm might actually be the easiest part of this," Hermione said.
"Complicated?" Gia asked.
"It's more than a pair of marbles," Hermione said, "Wards to keep them in place, along with nasty results from convicts trying to remove them. As demonstrated today, simply castrated and Harry can please Gia. With these, your drive is utterly suppressed so they wanted you to request them."
"More on them?" Gia asked.
"Sure," Harry said, "Want to submit name and address seventy two hours in advance to the Ministry? So we can have a Healer and an Auror watch us do the deed?"
"Might be…kinky," Gia said.
"And…don't forget we still have that Death Eater somewhere in the Ministry," Hermione said, "For all we know, those implants are trojan horses. Even your lack of anger today, no rise in the voice, might be enough to subvert your next encounter."
"GET THEM OUT!" Harry said.
"At least a half hour to work this out, maybe more," Hermione said, "We need to get this right the first time, because you don't want to have to see Madam Pomfrey about this."
"Sure," Harry said.
"And I could use a good salad, some ham's alright on it," Hermione said, "For Ron."
Harry stood, removed his shirt and tie.
"Lemme see," Gia said.
Harry turned, as Gia surveyed him.
"No sex drive, obviously," Gia said.
"And that photograph," Hermione said.
Gia reached into her purse.
"Had a close call as Mr. Hookgreen caught a glimpse," Gia said as she handed it over, "Luckily he didn't confiscate it."
Harry grabbed his scarlet red Gryffindor T–shirt, put that on.
"Let you have some peace," Harry said as he left the bedroom.
Gia followed. Crookshanks brushed against Harry's feet as he went down the stairs.
"What's this about Ron?" Gia asked as Harry entered the kitchen.
"He was attacked at school," Harry said, "At St. Mungo's—wizarding hospital."
Harry opened the refrigerator, pulled out a bag of lettuce.
"Will he be alright?" Gia asked.
"Too soon to tell," Harry said, "What's good on a salad?"
Harry moved over, Gia hunted in the refrigerator. Harry grabbed a large bowl from the shelf.
"She's not eating that much," Gia said as Harry emptied the bag of lettuce into it.
Harry shrugged. Gia brought over shredded cheese, cherry tomatoes. She sliced on a cucumber on the counter. Harry backed up against the other counter, pushed downward on the edge, raised himself to sit his arse on the surface, legs dangled.
"And it wasn't Death Eaters this time," Harry said, "This time, we think it was the other students."
"You think?" Gia asked.
"Calling themselves 'EM', whatever that means," Harry said, "It's them who did it, guess they're investigating it now."
…
A half hour later, Harry bent over as he added a log to the fire in the living room.
"Cute," Gia said, from the sofa nearby.
Harry stood there, letting the heat of the flames try to warm him. His implants dangled beneath the hem of his scarlet red Gryffindor T–shirt.
"See the running in them legs," Gia said.
Harry snorted, knew she was trying to provoke a response, one that was being tempered out by those invaders within him. A twinge of pain behind his scar, and he knew Voldemort was testing him, or laughing, Harry couldn't quite tell the difference. Harry still felt cold, wondered if he should sit in the fire or not.
"Feeling like a kid waiting for his present," Harry said.
Harry'd seen it in Dudley, seen it on the occasional movie, but never felt it himself before, the anticipation of it.
"Irony is that present's to be whole, again," Harry said.
"Wait for Hermione," Gia said.
"And Ron's still laying in St. Mungo's," Harry said, turning for her.
"Doing right here, fixing those," Gia said, "Even by how little I know Ron compared to you or Hermione."
Harry knew Fred and George would back him too, if they were in the know.
"Ready!" Hermione shouted.
Harry walked across the room, up the the stairs. Harry pulled the shirt off, knelt on the bed on his knees, spread his legs, in front of Hermione. No shame, felt nothing letting her view him, starkers, but knew he wanted things back.
"Alright," Hermione said, her eyes on the paper, "You do the switch back while I drop the wards. Gia—count."
Harry's wand leapt out of his right hand, held the photograph in his left hand while those fingers kept his todger out of the way. Harry aimed his wand at his bollocks, while Hermione's was also aimed. Gia gave a countdown.
"Five…four…three…two…one…go!"
Light of the curses, from both wands, flashed in the bedroom. Gia jumped back onto the bed. A searing pain, shock, and Harry doubled over. Harry rolled to curl on his side, Hermione cursed again.
"What next…?" Harry asked, a soft but strained manner, he didn't bother to move, "Kick again."
Hermione cursed again.
"Is it…?" Harry asked, his hands clutched himself.
"You can relax now," Hermione said.
Harry stayed there, held his throbbing lumps of his heirlooms.
"Leave them alone!" Hermione said, her hands moved his away.
"I…" Harry muttered.
"Face it," Hermione said as she got off the bed, "Normally castration's permanent, and would've been if it weren't for your foolhardy experimentation!"
Harry grinned, Gia stroked his back.
"You'll want this," Hermione said as she threw a jockstrap onto the bed, "Support."
"I owe the lot of you," Harry whispered, "If there's ever a time for a Wizard's Debt—thank you all"
"You're welcome," Hermione said.
"Still throb," Harry said.
"Will for a while," Hermione said, "Holler if it gets worse or it's a sharp pain." She aimed her wand back at his jewels, chanted. "Protective charms to help—but don't use them for…I'm thinking a week."
"A week?" Harry protested.
"Could've been for life!" Hermione snapped.
Another moment, and Harry managed to sit back up. One foot, and another, he put the jockstrap on. Harry pulled on underwear over top of the strap, as he stood.
"I did prefer the live loose attitude," Gia said.
"Can't risk it," Harry said, pulling on his scarlet red Gryffindor T–shirt with faded gold writing, "One bad stiffy and…at least the impostor can't rape again."
"Certain?" Gia said, "As hard as you try, they seem to one–up you."
"All over the front page of The Daily Prophet by now!" Harry said, "Mr. Patil certainly insisted the entire Wizarding World know about it, complete with photographic evidence that I can't stiffen without a Ministry controlled potion and a Healer. I'm legally certified to be impotent, so my impostor can't rape again in my image without turning the Minster into a fool."
Harry realized how much his statement relied on there being any smidgen of respect of his impostor on the Minister, however, the Minister was sufficiently hoodwinked to fuel the Death Eater's plans.
"Ron," Hermione said.
"Yeah, Ron," Harry said, pulling on his school trousers, the Firebolt still within the pocket.
Hermione moved the books from the bed back to the shelf, which expanded to accommodate. Harry gave Hedwig an owl treat, stroked her feathers for a moment.
"Ready?" Gia asked.
Harry motioned, activated his Portkey. Gia and Hermione held on.
"School?" Gia asked as they landed in the Headmaster's office.
"Like we'd go directly there," Harry said.
All three headed for the fireplace. Harry grabbed a handful of Floo Powder. A tight squeeze, and they managed.
"St. Mungo's!" Harry exclaimed.
They heard the wireless as they arrived in the reception of St. Mungo's with the chairs of wood. A gasp from a nearby witch with a purple face, steam pouring out of her ears. Hermione went to the reception desk, signed them in.
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"…and the Minister had this to say."
"Overall," the Minister said, "I was pleased that Albus Dumbledore cooperated. Harry Potter was castrated and was implanted, we may only hope this neuters his dark ambitions, but judging by how he might have sent his best friend into St. Mungo's…"
Harry walked through the double doors; Hermione and Gia followed. He felt his rage returning as they went up the stairs. He'd pulled enough from Ginny earlier to know Ron was cursed and beaten, by the other students who wanted that sweet boy dead.
"Legally you must provide care," said a wizard in a business suit to a witch in white, "Unless you wish to resign."
"Will you rehire?" the witch asked.
"I must check the bylaws," the wizard said.
Harry spotted the loathing, the hatred behind the witch's eyes, the ones that had seen the Weasley red hair.
"Harry?" Hermione asked, "Everything's—"
"Normal," Harry grumbled as they reached the fourth floor, "Perfectly normal…as rotten as that is."
Harry stomped along, he understood, even the Healers had it out for them, as they entered Ron's crowded room. Weather in the magical window changed from overcast to a category five hurricane with bolts of lightning shooting across the sky, and a tornado started to spawn. A harsh wind blew hats off, rattled the clipboard, while Gia tried to close the window. Snuffles sniffed about Harry.
"Who's the one that's upset?" Moody asked.
"What?" Gia asked.
"That window shows the moods of those in the room," Lupin said.
"Really?" Harry snapped.
A bright flash illuminated the room for an instant, the loud crack of thunder roared in and shook everybody.
"Watch it!" Charlie said, "You'll injure Ron further!"
"Close that before we flood!" Moody shouted.
Lupin and Gia closed the window as the rain piled up behind it.
"Sorry," Harry said.
"We figured that," Charlie said.
"We forgive," Fred said, "Harry's got every reason to be upset, unless you missed his expose in The Daily Prophet."
"Harry, for you," George handed over a slim, but long, wrapped box to Harry. "We…Fred and I, felt you might need this as there's no point in pleasing the miss—"
"He shouldn't have raped her!" Ginny shouted.
Harry glanced at those eyes, ones that wanted to believe him, but yielded at the rape on Monday.
"The Daily Prophet showed it all."
Eyes turned, as Percy entered the room wearing a pin striped business suit. Moody and Lupin had their wands drawn. Harry, though, glanced at Percy's blue eyes, the sincerity behind them, grabbed Percy's hand and escorted him out of the room.
"Get the door," Harry said.
"Harry!" Percy exclaimed, as he did shut the door, eyes on Harry.
"Why doesn't the word 'Polyjuice' ever enter the minds of those at the Ministry?" Harry said, "And likely only one of many ways to impersonate somebody!"
"Um…" Percy started, paused. Harry noticed Percy trying to collect his thoughts, before the tongue resumed. "Not sure—that is so elementary."
"And EFFECTIVE!" Harry said, "Your brother's laying in a coma because of it!"
Harry stared at Percy's eyes, Harry wanted to know everything at the Ministry, and Percy could likely find out.
"And I wanted to see him," Percy said, "Why do you remind me of that foolish Headmaster?"
Harry gripped his scar, the tinge behind it, the words of another came fast.
"What is it?" Percy asked.
"Voldemort," Harry said as he slid down on the wall, sat, "Somebody mentioned I can't become a martyr, not anymore." Took Harry a moment to realize the truth of it. "Blimey! It's been effective! People wound up so tight that they'll lynch."
"You–Know–Who is dead," Percy said.
"My scar binds us together, so I'm destined to be the first to know!" Harry said, still sitting on the floor of the corridor. "You trust us or you would have squirmed out. No, Voldemort's very much alive, but realized the usefulness of playing dead until it's too late to stop his plan. And I'm being so tarnished people would cheer my death. You…" He studied Percy's eyes a bit more. "Can't figure out why you're helping if you're doubting."
"Not sure I know, myself," Percy said, as he leaned back against the opposite wall, loosened the tie around his neck, "Ron's still my youngest brother—like I was around for Edward. And your recent punishment…everybody at the Ministry knows it was a revenge more gratifying than sending you to Azkaban. As for me, I abide by the rules—"
"You're being manipulated by them, so that makes you a pawn," Harry said, "As am I, welcome to the club."
Percy sighed. Harry gripped at the hem of his shirt, felt the throbbing continue below.
"You live and die by those rules," Harry continued, "You navigate them well. You've certainly helped so far, and I thank you for it."
Harry wanted to thank Percy for helping him overcome the castration, but thought better of it.
"If you'll excuse me," Percy said, "I came to see Ron. I need to get back to work. Midnight audits takes people by surprise."
"I'm sure it does," Harry said as he stood back up.
Harry and Percy entered the room. Hermione was sitting on the edge of the bed. Gia pretended to be interested in the weather patterns in the window, the storm still brewing on the other side.
"Don't see a wand on you boy," Moody said, his magical eye surveyed Harry, "How do you expect to defend yourself?"
"This?" Harry asked, his wand leapt into his hand, aimed it at Moody.
"A fake—" Moody started.
Harry aimed again, this time at the vase on a small table, which shattered.
"You're underage!" Percy protested.
Another flick, the vase repaired itself.
"Got this big bad wizard after me and most of the wizarding world ticked off to boot," Harry said, "Should I ask them to wait until I'm of age? If that worked, I'd be happy to do so."
"Constant vigilance," Moody said.
Harry turned, lifted Ron's right eyelid, the blue eye lacked any luster.
"Get better," Harry thought.
"You too," Ron replied, "That—you let Hermione—"
"Saved em," Harry thought.
"That gotta hurt," Ron retorted.
"It did," Harry responded.
Harry snorted.
"You're always checking—" Ginny started.
"Thought—never mind," Harry said.
Percy gave Ron's limp hand a grasp.
"Ron can tell me and the impostor apart, faster than anybody else," Harry said to Percy, "Makes him a liability to their plan."
Harry sat on the foot of Ron's bed, kicked off his shoes.
"Given this a lot of thought, boy," Moody said.
Snuffles curled up beneath Harry's sock covered feet.
"Had plenty of time," Harry said, "I mean, Ron tried, couldn't identify the rapist. I would've suspected Malfoy but he watched it, along with everybody else, and sympathized with my loss."
"Unusual," Percy said, "Malfoy's still a well respected name in the Ministry. Half the decor in this room was purchased through their donations. Even if you've got Polyjuice doubles, where'd they get the samples from?"
Harry kicked his feet.
"Valid point," Lupin said, "What about samples?"
"Where'd Dumbledore get them to make decoys of me during the holiday?" Harry said, "If he's stolen samples from me, then so can others. Heck, there's a damn store in Diagon Alley that sells masks of me, uniforms, so the impostors can mail order half of what they need from there!"
"As long as it remains in business," Fred said, "Which is doubtful."
"What else you know, boy?" Moody asked.
Harry read the regular eye, the desire to know more about the enemy clear.
"Obviously, Voldemort's still after me," Harry said, "But changed in…I'd say November, when he was persuaded that this was a good plan, to smear my name."
"News to me," Moody said.
"Normally gets the evening edition of The Daily Prophet," Harry said, "Already laughed at the news of impotence, and the pictures."
Everybody stared at Harry, and Harry spotted the color drain from Percy's face.
"Impostors at Hogwarts but don't know the true identities," Harry said, "Think they're coordinating with somebody at the Ministry."
"Minister's a fine—" Percy started.
"Jerk for letting Mr. Patil buy off my balls!" Harry said, "Summary conviction, and Dumbledore went along with it. If convictions can be bought, then so can the Minister. You, of all people, understand the access that being in the Ministry can bring, even if it doesn't include the Minister himself."
"Must go," Percy said.
"Voldemort himself made it into the Ministry three months ago," Harry said.
"Did not," Percy said.
"He made it into the Department of Mysteries," Harry said, thinking of the Prophecy, "Can you explain how'd he managed to do that?"
"No such report," Percy said, "Inside or outside the Ministry."
"Still got those aced NEWTs in your pocket?" Harry said, "Minister's on a crusade to eradicate the Dark Arts—nice idea, but prematurely proclaiming Voldemort to be dead? You think he wouldn't bury any such report? He's a bloody politician."
Percy turned to leave.
"Wait!" Harry said, Percy stopped.
"You seem to know a lot," Lupin said, "Might be good to write this all down."
"Risk Voldemort learning what we know?" Harry asked.
"Got a point," Moody said.
"Percy," Harry said, "Thank you for coming, I hate seeing the Weasleys divided."
"We still are," Percy said, his eyes glared, as he turned. Percy left.
"Pompous as ever," Fred said.
"That he is," Harry said, his feet rubbing Snuffles' belly, "Ron loves him, won't admit it."
"Nobody will," George said.
"He's your brother," Hermione said.
"Only by blood," Fred replied.
"A warewolf needs to eat," Lupin said as he stood.
"I'm hungry," Gia said.
"Join him," Harry suggested.
Gia and Lupin left the room. Harry sat there, feet on the belly of Snuffles.
"This little piggy went to the market," Harry said, fingers on Ron's big left toe, cool to the touch, before he moved to the next toe.
Hermione snorted, chuckled.
"And I thought getting my rocks off on Patil was fun," the Seeker said to the Keeper, mugs of Firewhiskey in both sets of hands, "Total blast today, all of it."
"No!" the Keeper snapped, "You couldn't get away with it a second time, and to go after Weasley—?"
"Not me," the Seeker said, "Alright, alright, I confess, I did suggest to Chief Fatuus, on his umpteenth complaint, that he ought to do something. Guess he did, kicked that blood traitor into St. Mungo's, haven't heard if it was a successful lynching or not."
"Luckily you didn't cut my trip to Gringotts short," the Keeper said, "Tell Chief Fatuus he's got the funds, but he's got to include Potter's girl in the list."
"Done," the Seeker said.
"Have to admit, Chief Fatuus demonstrated the brilliance of the plan," the Keeper said, "I underestimated the furor you unleashed. It's a powerful force to reckon with. So, you spare that Mudblood and Weasley—for now. Do not let Chief Fatuus succeed—"
"Help Potter?" the Seeker spat.
"Give those implants a couple of weeks," the Keeper said, "He'll need the assistance, I expect Severus to show his true colors."
"So," the Seeker said, "I thought the Dark Lord—"
"Wants to do the deed personally," the Keeper said, "Until then, stoke and harness the people's fury, makes it easier for our Dark Lord to get what he wants."
"This is fun," the Seeker said, gleefully.
Dumbledore shook a bit more on his cane in the Hospital Wing when Flitwick came in, the eyes dashed to Madam Pomfrey over her cauldron for a moment.
"You wanted to see me?" Flitwick asked.
"Filius," Dumbledore said in his office "How long have you been teaching at Hogwarts?"
"Many years," said Flitwick.
"So," Dumbledore said, "You were being truthful when you wrote out the list of students during lunch?"
Dumbledore trained his eyes on the short professor.
"Absolutely," Flitwick said.
Dumbledore sensed the deception behind them.
"Good," Dumbledore said, "Otherwise we'd have to reevaluate staffing."
"Permission to speak?" Flitwick said, "Open your eyes! Actions speak louder than any words Potter may be feeding you!"
"The words I'm heeding come from Trelawney," Dumbledore said, "May she rest in peace."
"That's not fair!" Flitwick said, "Trying to leverage—"
"People are being hood winked," Dumbledore said, "But not from me. If you listened to the truth, you'd realize the injustice being done to Mr. Potter, to us all. And if prophecies are correct, keeping the fight here, at Hogwarts, has the least calamity of the options, but the worst has yet to come."
"Be the Headmaster that you're supposed to be," Flitwick, "And maybe people will have some respect for you. Good day!"
Flitwick turned, left. Madam Pomfrey grabbed the bottle of Firewhiskey, began to pour its contents into the cauldron.
"Obvious that potion's not for the students," said McGonagall as she entered.
"Makes it…palatable," Dumbledore said.
"A potion not taken is useless," said Madam Pomfrey as she stirred.
"Ponoma now has time," McGonagall said, "She's in your office."
Madam Pomfrey tapped her wand against the cauldron, ladled the green substance into a cup, and handed it over to Dumbledore. Dumbledore brought the frothing bubbly concoction to his lips, drank with the burning sensation in his throat.
"Bit strong," Dumbledore said.
"It's not going to get any weaker," Madam Pomfrey said, "Would you rather go for being comatose until a cure can be found?"
"None of us can afford the time to wait," Dumbledore said, "I'm afraid not."
"Let me know if there's any new side effects," Madam Pomfrey said as she handed over a roll of parchment, "I'll fireside chat St. Mungo's for an update."
A bit less wobble to his hand on his cane, Dumbledore made his way back to the Stone Gargoyle, and stepped onto the stairs.
"Every student we've spoken to denies involvement," McGonagall said, "While Nymphadora and I have our hunches, not a single one has ratted out on the perpetrators."
"Aside from the four that thwarted the attack," Dumbledore said, "We have no solid confirmations to anybody's whereabouts. Unfortunately, those masks were sufficient to avoid positive identification."
McGonagall opened the door, held it open, and Dumbledore entered the office.
"See you're doing chipper," said Sprout, "Heard you wanted to talk to me?"
"Hogwarts Herbologists," Dumbledore said, "Surprised you didn't invite Neville Longbottom—"
"That didn't occur to me," Sprout said.
"You swear the roster is accurate?" Dumbledore asked as he returned to his desk.
"They filled it out themselves," Sprout said.
"How…thoughtful," Dumbledore said as he sat. He pulled up the sheet. "Seamus Finnigan is talented, wouldn't you say?"
"Eager," Sprout said, "Talent's not required."
"Aw," Dumbledore said, seeing the deception going on behind her eyes, "Any staff lying to me about this matter would be a serious matter, wouldn't you agree?"
"Look in the mirror," Sprout said, "You've been lying to us all!"
"Consider yourself warned," Dumbledore said.
Sprout glared, left.
"And those are two of the staff," McGonagall said, "Dana Cauldwell, even Sinstra provided alibis to Seamus Finnigan, Dean Thomas, Ernie Macmillan, and a couple dozen others."
"Evidently insufficient evidence against them," Dumbledore said, "A coverup."
"Yes, a coverup by the students and teachers," McGonagall said, "Any one of three hundred locations if you go by their accounts. It saddens me to see the day."
"As me," Dumbledore said, unrolling the parchment, "Keep an eye on them, I doubt it's over."
"As you wish," McGonagall said, "That's—"
"A report on the injuries Mr. Weasley sustained," Dumbledore said, "Suffice it to say, they were…extensive."
"I'll get on it," McGonagall said, a yawn.
"Get some rest," Dumbledore said.
"Take your own advice," McGonagall said as she went for the door.
"In a bit," Dumbledore lied.
McGonagall left. Dumbledore glanced up at the window as the moon crept out of the clouds, knew Sinstra's charm was clearing it up for the third years, and read the itemized report in his hands, stopped at the last line.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Odds are not in his favor.
Dumbledore knew Molly Weasley would never forgive, not truly, even though she'd pretend otherwise. Dumbledore sighed when a flicker of white came to the corner of his eye. Sir Nick floated into his office. Dumbledore considered the possibility maybe he was in the wrong.
"Maybe I've held Harry's feet to the fire too much," Dumbledore said, "Suppose he needs the holiday from this—his friend's in St. Mungo's because I insisted he stay in attendance here at Hogwarts."
"I would regret not seeing him here," Sir Nick said.
"He's rarely here," Dumbledore said, "And…" He tapped the flipped letter on his desk, he knew the words, "That's not going to change any time soon. We need Mr. Potter trained against Voldemort, that's the bigger picture. After that, Mr. Potter could get the education he deserves."
"You sound frustrated," Sir Nick said.
"Likely because I am. Everybody expects me to be the genius in their lives," Dumbledore said, "A holiday to enjoy retirement, Spain?"
"It would be sunny," Sir Nick said.
An owl dropped a letter, Dumbledore read it.
"Bad news?" Sir Nick asked.
"Usually is," Dumbledore said, "Healers of St. Mungo's, not certain if Mr. Weasley's truly alive or if his body simply hasn't gotten the message."
"There is one thing you can do," Sir Nick said.
Dumbledore's hand trembled on his cane as he stood.
"Tell Minerva I'm going to check in on Ronald, personally," Dumbledore said, "Keep the castle in one piece."
A slow tap of the cane, Dumbledore headed for the fireplace.
Harry didn't even ask as Moody aimed his wand at Harry, and Harry's digits vanished later that evenng. Other Weasleys had already left, as had Lupin and Snuffles. A quarter moon showed in the calmness of the nighttime view of the window, beneath which, Gia asleep on a chair.
"Harry!" Hermione said, yawned, "I…"
A mediwitch, dressed in white, came through the door, and Harry understood as he stepped to the side. She brushed against Harry's red Gryffindor T–shirt, ignored it as she moved for Ron. Her wand out.
"You're here, after visitor hours," the mediwitch said to Hermione, "A good cleaning charm every so often would do your boyfriend good."
"How is he doing?" Hermione asked.
Harry trained his eyes on the mediwitch's, studied them.
"Fine," the mediwitch lied, her wand going over Ron.
Harry caught the doubts to Ron's survival, the belief that optimism was Ron's best hope, with the swelling still going inside the head.
"I'm a mess," Ron's voice within Harry's head came, "Aren't I?"
"You'll make it," Harry replied.
"Bloody liar," Ron retorted.
"Help me administer this," the Mediwitch said, taking out a potion vial.
Hermione's fingers pushed Ron's lips apart, as the mediwitch dribbled from the dropper between his lips. Harry unsure if the potion was really needed, or the mediwitch was merely humoring Hermione. Still, the mediwitch grabbed the clipboard, put quill to the parchment, and recorded. A signature and a date, the mediwitch brought it outside the room as she left. Harry returned to sitting on the foot of the bed, rubbed at Ron's left foot.
"Finite Incantatem," said Moody.
Hermione yawned, sat in the chair next to Gia, her head slumped. Harry, though, caught the magical eye rotating, heard the cane tapping. A pause, ruffling of parchment, before Dumbledore showed in the door, trembling on his cane with each step. The Headmaster aimed his wand, conjured up an armchair with mahogany framework, and sat; the armchair moved closer to Harry, elevated itself to go to eye level with Harry. Harry didn't need Legilimency to know the question on the mind.
"Should be on the mends," Harry said, "Be out in the morning."
"You're almost as bad as Poppy," said Dumbledore, "I read the chart."
"Oh," Harry said, "He wouldn't be here if he weren't my friend."
"I'd be disappointed if you didn't take every causality seriously," Dumbledore said, "If it weren't for you, Ronald might not have even made it to see Hogwarts."
"What?" Harry asked.
"Those who stood up to Lord Voldemort did not fare well in the first war," said Dumbledore, "Working for the Ministry, fighting to protect muggles, that put a target on Mr. Arthur Weasley before you were born."
"Oh," Harry said, "That bad?"
"The scheme against you is more elaborate, to be certain," Dumbledore said, "Peril is a hazard of being an Auror at any level."
"Guess I hadn't thought of it like that," Harry said.
"Until you put a stopper to him fifteen years ago," Dumbledore said, "Rumors were, Mr. Arthur Weasley was being considered…to be made an example of, which would have included every child of theirs."
"Including Ron," Harry said.
Harry's hand returned to massaging Ron's foot, rubbed the toes.
"You value that life, which makes you better than those we're fighting," Dumbledore said, "But it'll hinder you if you let the burden paralyze you. On one hand I was grieving when I heard about your parents, on the other, I had to secure you to preserve their sacrifice for you. Unfortunately, that meant sending you to the Dursleys."
"Ta," Harry grumbled.
"It's your values of love, friendship, life, that help others see the better side of you," Dumbledore said.
"Thought that was adequately covered in The Daily Prophet," Harry grumbled.
"I do know you well enough to know that you do not believe that," Dumbledore said, "We both know that, given time, the truth will exonerate you—even the students—"
"Oh the students!" Harry said, "They want me gone and took it out on Ron. I'm so tired of them!"
Dumbledore paused for a moment.
"It is clear that a toll is being exacted for you to remain at Hogwarts," Dumbledore said, "Despite the disastrous consequences foretold for it, I will no longer stand in your way should you decide to yield. However, I personally request that you do not give into the pressure. You must remember that the students are being mislead by your impostor—"
"That does not excuse their actions," Harry said, pointed at Ron's face laying there, barely breathing.
"Of course not," Dumbledore said, "Should you quit, no stalling from me, I will accept your resignation, save an option to reconsider. Should you remain, I'll consider any reasonable terms from you, within the irrational mandates from the Board of Governors."
Harry glanced at Gia, asleep.
"Not sure," Harry said, "I'd like to play Quidditch, avoid the other students, the ones who laughed with Voldemort, the ones who'd rather I was hung, drawn, and quartered."
"With either decision," Dumbledore said, "I believe that we are both in agreement with you getting properly trained. Concur?"
"Yes," Harry said.
"He puts up with me," Hermione said, groggily nearby.
"After being possessed on Monday—" Dumbledore started.
"Was not," Harry said, felt a tinge behind his scar, "Wake her up."
Hermione stirred Gia.
"Clear you need lessons from Professor Snape," Dumbledore said, "The matter is urgent and not open for—"
"I am NOT going to take any of those lessons from Snape," Harry said, reading the sense of panic from those twinkling eyes trying to read him, the anger and wrath against Snape building in Harry, "Nor will I do them from you—no, those will not be done—"
"You have me confused," Dumbledore said, "Earlier you agreed to more lessons—yet, you refuse…"
Harry's scar ached, he rubbed at it.
"Harry!" came Ron's thought to him.
"My my," Voldemort's thoughts chimed in, "Let's join the party."
"Drop it," Harry stated to Dumbledore, "HERMIONE!"
Harry's wand came into his hand.
"If only you'd reconsider—" Dumbledore started.
A loud crash came from the hallway.
"Dumbledore!" Moody yelled.
Harry took the steps faster than Dumbledore, jumped into the hallway two paces ahead of the professor. A broken vase at Moody's feet, and from both directions of the corridor, were mobs of masked people wearing canary yellow descending upon them.
"DIE POTTER DIE!" the mob chanted, "DOWN WITH WEASLEY!"
A crash came from inside the room.
"What's happening—?!" Hermione muttered, half asleep.
"Wake up!" Harry snapped into the room, "Both of you!"
"Protege!" Dumbledore and Moody shouted, wands aimed, the canary yellow mob pressed into the magic.
"Fascinating," Voldemort said.
"Evacuate—" Harry whispered, "Somebody else is moments behind!"
"Are you—?" Dumbledore asked.
"YES!" Harry said, "He knows I'm here!"
"How…?" Moody started, "All exits are—"
"They clearly want me and Ron," Harry said, when the thought came to his mind, "I…"
Harry ran into the room, went over to the pile of Ron's torn clothes. Harry pulled Ron's Firebolt out of the pocket, handed it over to Hermione. Harry pulled the blanket.
"I…" Hermione muttered.
"You'd be a bonus to them," Harry said as he pulled his own Firebolt out of his pocket.
"Ingenious!" Moody shouted back into the room.
"You fly Gia out," Harry said to Hermione, as he fumbled for a moment, tried to maneuver Ron's unconscious mass, "Sure be helpful if he was awake!"
"Get on the broom," Hermione said.
Harry did. Gia and Hermione lifted Ron onto the back of the broom. Hermione conjured ropes that fastened tight to bind Ron to Harry's backside. Hermione mounted Ron's Firebolt, Gia climbed on her back.
"Meet up at home," Harry said, as he hovered.
Hermione's hands shook.
"Relax," Gia whispered to her.
"FOLLOW!" Harry commanded.
Harry bolted from the room, flew.
"STUPEFY!" Moody shouted as Harry turned.
Dumbledore shouted the same, "STUPEFY!"
Red stunning curses scattered the mob as Harry bore down upon them. Only momentarily dazed, the mob gave chase.
"DIE POTTER DIE!" the mob chanted, "DIE WEASLEY DIE!"
Harry turned left, toward the stairs. Harry's scar seared as he spotted him, the Healer robes, red eyes, and its yew wand aimed at Harry. Harry leaned in, the broom sped up as it accelerated along the floor. Voldemort, with the dark hood raised up over the back of his head, whispered with force, the curse Harry knew.
"REDUCTUS!" Harry shouted, as the bead of green light, the deadliest of curses, started to barrel out of the phoenix feather. Harry wrenched his Firebolt up hard, a hole punched itself through the ceiling as the handle came to bear. Harry ascended up to the fifth floor corridor. A second green curse came up, Harry pulled a hard right and punched through a wall. China in the visitor's tearoom shattered as it was flung across the room. Parts of the mob in canary yellow, stuck on the fifth floor unable to reach the fourth, spotted Harry.
"DIE POTTER DIE!" the mob chanted, "DIE WEASLEY DIE!"
Curses flew and Harry pulled up fast. Glass shattered as Harry went out a skylight, a real skylight, and found himself shooting off the roof. Moon ready to set, motorcars honked as Harry sunk toward the road below.
"POTTER!" came Auror Buckland's voice.
Harry ducked behind a red double decked bus as more curses flew. Ministry officials apparated in, the Muggles watched as Harry flew with Ron bound to his back. Obliviators ran amongst the Muggles, obliviating while the aurors cursed. Harry ascended fast as he pulled around the corner, dropped into the alley between the buildings, and cast SEP on himself, Ron. Harry pulled up, soared a hundred feet into the air, flew south toward the Thames.
"I know, I know," Harry said to the comatose mass tied to him, "No other good choice."
Harry glanced behind him as he went over the river, neither Hermione nor Gia were with him.
"Damn," Harry said, realized he had no option to go back, had to trust she flew well enough. He found the train tracks and followed them southwest away from London Waterloo.
Hermione's hands shook.
"Go," Gia whispered.
Hermione floated on the broom, her hands trembled, as she went for the window. The crowd uninterested in them, and they flew out of St. Mungo's.
Aurors after Harry, Hermione turned north, settled down one street over.
Pop!
Moody and Dumbledore appeared.
"Not the keen flier?" Dumbledore asked Hermione.
"Flying's more of a Harry or Ron thing," Hermione said, holding Ron's Firebolt in her hand.
"You escaped, that's what matters," Dumbledore said, "I suppose it'd be fruitless to attempt to chase Mr. Potter."
"Doubt Devin Whitehorn himself could keep up," Moody said.
"Here, I'll be along shortly," Dumbledore said, pulling out a Hogwarts pin, "Alastor."
Hermione recognized the activation, she and Gia held on. A jerk behind the naval, felt more natural than flying. Moody, Gia, and Hermione landed in the bushes outside 26 Oak Street.
"Best go inside," Moody said.
Hermione carried Ron's Firebolt, entered the darkened house with Gia.
Harry flew southward along the track, passed the occasional night train beneath him. Normally a short enough flight, however, a comatose Ron tied to his backside made it a bit less steady in the hands. Harry had traveled the train enough to know the way, found Noigate, flew until he recognized the house, the clouds above. He reached to slide the window open, and Dumbledore was on the other side helped to slide it open.
"You…" Harry started.
"More than one way here," Dumbledore said as he assisted in laying Ron onto Gia's bed, "Miss. Granger's flying skills are… I had to assist."
"I could've used the Portkey," Harry muttered, rubbed his own sore shoulder.
"Your friend's in a fragile enough state," Dumbledore said, as he lit the several candles on the desk, "We're not moving him."
"Agreed," Harry said.
"I do need to inform you that St. Mungo's did not take kindly to your departure," Dumbledore said, "We've all been banned for life."
"Voldemort—" Harry started, before his thoughts shifted, "Ron…?"
"I've already sent for Madam Pomfrey," Dumbledore said, "We're out of other options, so this bed, unfortunately, is where he'll live or die."
"Understood," Harry said, feeling the fatigue.
"She'll be downstairs shortly," Dumbledore said, "Both girls are already down there."
Harry nodded as Dumbledore tapped his Portkey, vanished. Harry pulled the blanket up over Ron, covered up to the chest. Harry lifted the right eyelid.
"Hang in there," Harry said.
Hedwig flew back into the room.
Hoot!
"Keep it down," Gia whispered as she entered the bedroom. Madam Pomfrey walked with her. "Others are asleep."
Harry felt the anger start to swell within, the woman who had mutilated him.
"Surprised you haven't murdered her for it," came Ron's wit.
"Mr. Potter," Madam Pomfrey said as she entered, "I'm disgusted with what I was required to do—"
"Work on Ron," Harry said, his arms crossed, "Save him and I'll forgive."
Harry glanced at Hermione entering, nearby.
"Go ahead," Ron's wit came again, "She absolutely needs you to bang her."
"Wish you could've stayed at St. Mungo's," Madam Pomfrey said as she waved her wand over Ron.
"We were evicted," Harry said.
Madam Pomfrey poked Ron with the wand, Harry felt the brief jabbing sensation on himself.
"Revolting how everybody's turning on you," Madam Pomfrey said.
"Yes, yes they are," Harry said, "You, you had no choice."
Harry read the thoughts behind her eyes, the conversations, the caveat should she ever learn of its failure, she'd be obligated to carry it through again, and Dumbledore was under a similar obligation.
"Everybody has a choice," Madam Pomfrey said, "It's the alternative one dreads—like your case. Macnair cuts all and leaves nothing, no measures taken so you'd have half a chance of bleeding to death. Instead, I used the surgical curse without the Cruciatus Curse they wanted me to use."
Madam Pomfrey dribbled a bit of potion between Ron's lips.
"Can you slip me a beer instead?" Ron's inquiry came.
Harry snorted, spotted Madam Pomfrey's glare at him.
"So," Harry said, "They used your conscience against you."
"Yes," Madam Pomfrey.
"I'll forgive you," Harry said, "However, need you to swear, your wand, sorry, it's never to touch me again—swear on it."
Harry spotted the hesitation behind her eyes, the healer oath going through her mind, her having been caught in a bind, before she spoke.
"Understood," Madam Pomfrey said.
Hermione gave Harry a shrewd glance, before she the pressing matter on her mind came first.
"How's Ron going to do?" Hermione asked.
"You're both expecting miracles!" Madam Pomfrey said, "Aside from the fact he was on verge of being murdered—rest, minimal disturbance, and plenty of dumb luck."
"So he'll be up and around in no time," Hermione said.
"Hmph!" Madam Pomfrey said.
Harry snorted.
"As you two are now his primary caretakers while I'm not here," Madam Pomfrey said, "You both ought to study up that Healing book."
"WE will," Hermione said.
"Owl if there's any change, good or bad," Madam Pomfrey said, holding the Hogwarts Pin, "Now, do I have go back down the staris?"
"Tap three times with your wand," Harry instructed.
Madam Pomfrey did this, vanished. Harry pulled off the red T–shirt he still had on.
"You best study—" Hermione started.
"Need rest," Harry said as he yawned, the fatigue strong.
"Sofa's available," Gia said.
"In a minute," Harry said as he went for the bookshelf.
"Bedtime reading," Hermione said, "Guess we'll hear all about it."
"Something like that," Harry said.
Hermione and Gia left. Harry ran his hand along the books on the shelf, past the clock showing it after two in the morning. Past the Occlumency books, his hand landed on the thick black book Ministry: Mysteries.
"Trying to understand, Potter?" asked the Sorting Hat.
"Yeah," Harry said as he sat on the foot of the bed.
Harry opened it on his lap. Harry opened the pages, testing his dumb luck as he flipped through the sheets of bound parchment. Harry stopped.
=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=v=
Katra Effect[1]
Katra Effect is a very rare bonding of healing support, about once or twice a century, that can occur between two people who have previously experimented with the restricted skill of Legilimens, hereafter referred to as the patient and an assistant. A comatose patient's subconscious must initiate this bond, and the assistant must accept, binding both parties to share the same fate. For the duration of the bond, the patient's soul resides in the assistant, with the assistant's powers helping the patient to recover. Little further is known for the mortality rate of this is high. Only one case was investigated in 1873, but it proved fatal for both parties.
"Shit," Harry muttered, realizing this is what he'd been experiencing, for that voice in his head was Ron.
"Best take care of yourself, Potter," the Sorting Hat said.
"Dunno…" Harry glanced at the bed, his thoughts drifted to the girls on the sofa.
Harry yawned, lifted the blanket, and crawled into bed with Ron. Wondered how long the hatred against him would last.
"I—" the Keeper said, "That was unwarranted—"
"The Master will do as the Master does," Wormtail said.
"A dead Potter does not accomplish what he ultimately wants—!" the Keeper said.
"Are you questioning—?" the Dark Lord asked.
"Alive, Potter is useful," the Keeper said, "Alive and those sheep will eagerly give you the keys to the entire Wizarding World."
[1]: Yes, inspired by Spock's out–of–body experience in Star Trek