Harry Potter and the Wizarding World belong to JK Rowling.

Chapter Twenty

When Heather, Seamus, and Ron pushed their way through the double doors into the Auror Office, they could feel the tension filling the crowded space. Heather, whose hair was still damp from a bath that had been abruptly cut short by the summons to the Ministry, gazed around in awe as she watched men and women rushing this way and that, checking wand holsters and scanning rolls of parchment.

A dour looking DMLE officer appeared in front of them, blocking their path. He demanded to see their badges and scanned each one carefully before allowing them entry. All three of them exchanged looks of surprise, because their identities had already been confirmed by another cordon of officers down in the Atrium before they had even been allowed to board a lift. After being waved through, Heather broke off and sprinted towards her cubicle, doing her best to dodge around other aurors in the tight passageways. "What's up?" she asked, catching sight of Honeywell standing inside, checking her hair in a conjured mirror.

"Dunno." Honeywell replied grimly. "Boss called all hands. My guess is Jones and Campbell found something." She was dressed tonight in black, tight-fitting robes that moved freely with her body without constraining her movements. Her hair was slicked back, as it was too short for a ponytail, giving Heather a fleeting impression of a female Draco Malfoy, but far less unpleasant.

"Right, you lot!" shouted Robards across the hubbub, "Briefing in ten minutes. If you need something, get it. Be ready to move out when we're done!"

"Sounds serious," Heather commented, setting her bag down in her chair and beginning to convert her hair from a loose ponytail to a tight braid. She didn't need it getting in her face tonight.

She filed into the breakroom and snagged a chair near Ron, who was talking quietly with Proudfoot. "Anything yet?" she asked.

"Nothing," Ron shook his head. "Check out that lot."

Her eyes followed his nod towards a group of witches and wizards occupying a table that she hadn't seen before. Since none of the other aurors were talking to them, just sending them furtive looks, Heather assumed that these must be members of the Hit Wizard teams she had heard so much about. There was no doubt that this group was daunting looking, even compared to the many aurors around them, most of whom were marked by some scar or other injury. Heather had heard rumors before that there was an entire ward of St. Mungo's dedicated to treating these witches and wizards, and that each member had their own reserved bed waiting for them there. Going by the number of visible scars, burns, and other disfigurements, she did not doubt this for a moment. Two of them were leaned back in their chairs, balancing on the back two legs with both of their feet crossed on the table. When one caught her eye, she quickly returned lowered her gaze.

The muted whispers died as three people came into view down the corridor. Leading the trio was Robards, looking grim, his face taught. Behind him, towering slightly over him, was another wizard. He also wore robes made of a deep black fabric that seemed to swallow light. His hair was swept back away from his face, which caused the burns and scars marking his face stand out notably. Heather shuddered to see that half of his left ear was missing. Between them, the shortest of them and yet still conveying an undeniable sense of propriety, was Madam Greenslade. As a group, everyone rose when she entered the room, including the Hit Wizards. Heather followed suit without conscious thought, wondering at the fact that even men and women as imposing as these accorded her instant deference.

Without speaking, Madam Greenslade looked around the assembly, her eyes not giving away the thoughts behind them. Her hair, which might have one been black, was going from grey to white, and was kept short and well combed. Her lips were pursed tightly, in a look that might just give Minerva McGonagall a run for her money.

"Sit." she said curtly. As everyone found their chairs, Robards waved his wand, causing a board covered in pictures and maps appeared behind Madam Greenslade, who began to speak in clipped tones. "As most of you will know, since the Battle of Hogwarts the Auror Office has been trailing this man." She pointed her own wand towards the wanted poster of Mulciber which grew in size until it was clearly visible to everyone. "Current intelligence indicates that he is working for the Lestranges."

She flicked her wand again and Mulciber's picture was replaced by those of Rabastan and Rodolphus Lestrange. "It is unclear in what capacity he is serving them, but observations of aurors in the field suggest he has been searching for something in the vicinity of Little Hangleton." Heather gulped. So, Hestia had found something after all.

"Until now, we have been unable to pinpoint the exact location of the Lestrange's base, despite constant observation by a team of aurors. This has now changed." Nervous and excited muttering broke out all around Heather while she kept her eyes locked on Greenslade. Her mouth was suddenly very dry. With third flick of Madam Greenslade's wand, the map of a village unfamiliar to Heather took prominence on the board. "Head Auror Robards, explain."

"Right," Robards said, stepping forward and clasping his hands behind his back. "This is the village of Upper Flagley. Yesterday two of our aurors observed Mulciber entering this structure." A building on the map glowed with a golden light. That building in particular meant nothing to Heather but based on the muttering that broke out all around her it had to be important. "For those of you who don't know, that is St. Oswald's Home for Old Witches and Wizards," explained Robards. "We now have confirmation that they are using the place as their main headquarters."

A hand was raised to the right of Heather. It was Moore, Daphne's mentor. "Has this sighting been confirmed or verified?"

"If we're bloody well telling you about it, you can bet it's been checked", replied Robards irritably.

"How the bloody hell have they been there since at least May and you're only just finding out now?" asked one of the hit wizards loudly. He let the front legs of his chair slam loudly to the floor as he leaned forward almost menacingly.

"Because" said Robards through gritted teeth. If there was one thing he hated, it was someone questioning how he did his job. "It looks like they have the entire staff there under the Imperius Curse. Probably a few of the residents as well."

"Sounds like the usual bull from the aurors," muttered the wizard in a carrying voice, turning to his neighbor. "They let things go tits up and expect us to waltz in and fix it all for them." There were mutters of disgust from the aurors, but Madam Greenslade quelled them with a look.

"That's enough, Wilson," she said curtly to the loudmouth wizard. "You're here to do a job. So shut it and listen."

"As I was saying," Robards continued when silence fell, "With the staff there under their control, they've been able to keep word about their presence from spilling out. Most of the residents are already a few twigs shy of a broomstick to start with and few still have their wands. It wouldn't be hard to subdue them."

"And turn the whole bloody thing into a hostage situation!" interjected Wilson again.

Heather gasped loudly. Under the Imperius Curse, those caretakers could be forced to threaten, harm, or even kill their charges if the aurors came calling. If Bellatrix was any indication of how the Lestrange brothers would act, killing a dozen or two old people to ensure a clean getaway would be nothing to them, blood status be damned.

"Exactly. So, we need to hit them fast and hard." Robards said over the renewed whispering.

"The plan," said Madam Greenslade, stepping forward again and imposing silence with her steely gaze, "is as follows." She waited a moment before continuing, silently challenging anyone to speak out again. "The Magical Law Enforcement squads will establish a perimeter surrounding St. Oswald's. Hit wizards and aurors will be split into two groups, located here and here. At the same time as they enter the building, ward casters will place anti-apparition charms on the building so that no one can get out." She gestured towards areas near the front and back of the house where the two teams would form up.

"And just how are we supposed to get in there without springing every bloody trap they have?" blurted out Wilson again.

"One more word and I'll have you taken off this assignment," Greenslade bit out icily. Wilson didn't quaver under that glance like Heather wanted to, but he did lean back in his chair and remain quiet.

"So…" Moore asked cautiously after raising his hand, "How are we going to get inside?"

"We will create a diversion…Yes, Auror Honeywell." Madam Greenslade said with barely hidden vexation.

Honeywell's hand had risen, giving Heather a feeling of foreboding. "Excuse me, Madam Greenslade, I have an idea." Honeywell said loudly.

"How the hell did I let you talk me into this?" Heather asked as she followed Honeywell through the village of Upper Flagley towards St. Oswald's Home for Old Witches and Wizards an hour later. Her hair had once again been transfigured to a bright blonde to match Honeywell's, and they had both changed into casual, travel stained robes.

"Because you like living dangerously. And after all, it's not like you haven't done crazier things," muttered Honeywell back at her cheerily. "Besides, I didn't ask, I volunteered you."

The sun had set and the few lit windows in the houses on either side of them did little to illuminate the street. Ron, using a department Invisibility cloak, had already been by with his deluminator. Heather knew that they were being watched by members of the DMLE who were slowly closing like a noose around the building, but she hoped that was all the night concealed.

In the distance, set a good way back from the nearest muggle dwelling, stood the old folk's home. At first glance Heather supposed it had once been the country house of some minor lord, possibly even an old pureblood line that had died out. The boundary of the grounds was ringed with a low stone wall that they knew contained muggle repelling charms. The only entrance was a wrought iron kissing gate that opened onto a driveway up to the front door. When they reached the gate, Honeywell paused. "Ready?" she asked, laying her hand on the metal.

"No, but let's get this over with." Heather muttered, checking for what felt like the thousandth time that her wand was in fact securely strapped to her arm. Her stomach was giving her fits, and she was very glad it was empty. The thought of puking on her first real mission as an auror was not an enticing one.

Pushing the gate open and adopting a look of worried concern, Honeywell rushed up the path towards the house with Heather right on her heels. Reaching the door without incident, Heather grasped the heavy metal knocker and swung it. One very long minute later, the door opened, flooding their eyes with bright candlelight. A man was standing in the opening wearing blue robes, glaring down at them. Heather but her tongue to stop herself from crying out. It was Walden Macnair, Buckbeak's would be killer. He hadn't been seen since the Battle and no one was really sure how he'd managed to escape, but clearly he had.

"What do you want?" Macnair sneered at the two of them. One of his hands was visible on the door, but the other was hidden in the sleeve of his robes, which on further inspection appeared to be two sizes too big.

"Oh please, sir," gushed Honeywell. "We just got back to the country and haven't heard from our grandmother in weeks. We need to make sure she's alright." Heather said nothing but craned her neck and stood on her tiptoes as though she might see the fictitious grandmother past Macnair's broad shoulders. Despite her efforts however she couldn't tell if he had any backup right inside the doorway.

"Visiting hours are over." Macnair growled and began to close the door in their faces.

"Please, we won't be long. We just haven't seen her in so long," pleaded Honeywell, wringing her hands in an act so genuine it almost convinced Heather.

Macnair eyed both of them closely. Heather had applied three layers of make up to hide her scar, but even so she worried he'd spy it. "All right. Fine." He relented. "You've got five minutes." He held the door open for them and jerked his thumb inside.

Acting relieved, both witches piled into the space, glancing around carefully. They had entered the foyer, a large two-story room with two carved wooden staircases flanking the door leading up to the upper floor. The walls were paneled in deep brown wood that matched the look of the exterior of the house and were illuminated by a large chandelier hanging in the center of the room. Facing the door, halfway between the entrance and a large archway that looked like it led into an enormous common room, was a high desk, behind which stood another wizard wearing the same blue robes.

"Now ladies, who's you grandmother?" asked the wizard behind the desk dazedly, slurring his words. Macnair had begun to close the door behind them.

"Oh, we don't have a grandmother," said Honeywell sweetly. At the same moment, she and Heather released their wands from their holsters and deftly stunned both Macnair and the unfortunate wizard. Cushioning charms ensured that both bodies fell to the floor noiselessly. After making sure there were no immediate shouts of alarm, Heather stuck her head back out the front door. A red flash from her wand was the signal for the frontal assault group to approach.

Honeywell was listening carefully. "I can't hear anything," she muttered to Heather after a moment. Using her wand, she levitated the unconscious forms out of sight near the desk and bound their hands. Invisible forms were now entering the open doorway and were beginning to split off. Roughly half of them ascended the staircases, intent on subduing any imperiused caregivers before the death eaters could force them to harm their charges. Heather and Honeywell flanked the open archway with those who remained behind. Their next job was to secure the back door of the house and grant access to the second half of the assault force.

"Out of the way," grunted Wilson while Heather surveyed the common room. Like a well-oiled machine, Wilson and the other hit wizards moved forward into the space, forming a loose triangle, their wands moving in a constant dance, covering each entrance to the room. Other than that, no movement could be detected. With the lateness of the hour, it was hoped that almost everyone would be upstairs getting the residents bedded down for the night.

One of the Hit Wizards waved Heather and Honeywell forward and gestured towards an open double doorway on the left-hand side of the room. It led to a large library filled with small, spindly tables and chairs. The wall opposite the doorway was a single uninterrupted bookcase filled with books of all sorts and sizes. Just as Heather stepped into the room at a nod from Honeywell, she caught sight of a flicker of movement in the corner of her eye. A bookcase along the wall was swinging outwards. She froze.

"Oy! Macnair!" called a rough man's voice from the dark opening in the wall "Who in the bloody hell was calling this late?" A heavyset man with a face vaguely familiar to Heather stepped out of the hidden doorway and gasped when he spied the aurors. If Heather had to put money on it, she suspected that this was Crabbe's father. Before either of them could react, Crabbe Sr. had bolted back down the passageway and was shouting at the top of his lungs. "Aurors! Aurors in the building!"

Both witches sent stunning spells after him, but neither found their target. "There goes our surprise," muttered Honeywell, moving towards the opening quickly while Heather covered her. Before she could follow, the hit wizards were pushing through the doorway, summoned by Crabbe's shouts. Heather followed on their heels, noting that Ron and Proudfoot had also joined them. Her hand had begun to shake, and it was only with a large amount of concentration that she was able to control it.

The passageway hidden behind the bookcase was pitch dark. Without hesitation, the Hit Wizards rushed into the void and vanished from sight. Honeywell, who was waiting for Heather at the entrance, flashed her an exited grin. "Well, what are we waiting for?"

It was as if someone had thrown a large handful of Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder into the air. The darkness surrounded Heather as she followed Honeywell. They kept their wands unlit, knowing that the light would help their opponents more than it would them. Heather kept her wand free hand on Honeywell's shoulder and felt Ron's on her own. Slowly they crept forward, ears pricked for the slightest sound, noticing that the floor was sloping downwards. Thinking she could almost feel the closeness of the walls on either side, Heather was surprised when the presence faded. The passageway must have opened into a larger chamber.

Without warning, lights blazed into life on all sides. They saw the Hit Wizards, only a few feet ahead of them and in a line similar to their own, all of whom were already ducking for what cover the room provided. There wasn't much. It was a low stone room, longer than it was wide, with four thick columns supporting the arched ceiling. Between the further pair of columns, the death eaters had erected a hasty barricade of shelves, barrels, and cots. In the half second she had before she was roughly pulled to the ground by Ron, Heather estimated that more than two dozen wands were aimed at them.

"Stupefy!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Confringo!"

"Protego!"

These spells and more were cried aloud, sending multi-colored lights across the room. Curses, either missing their intended target or repelled by shields, impacted on the walls, floor, and ceiling sending showers of tiny stones everywhere. There were shouts and screams, which echoed in the chamber, until it was hard to tell who was saying what. Heather was only dimly aware of this. She was still laying on the floor, uninjured as far as she could tell, but unable to move. A hit wizard, doing his best to fall back to cover behind the nearest column, caught a blast of green light straight to the chest and crumpled across her body.

"Heather, move!" Ron shouted into her ear. He had grabbed a fistful of her robes and was hauling her out from under the dead wizard. He slammed her hard into the stone column he was hiding behind with Proudfoot and two other wizards.

Heather looked around, trying to see what was happening in the chamber. The space between the column she was taking cover behind and the death eater's barricade was now a no-man's land of curses and jinxes, and was littered with half a dozen bodies, some moving, some not.

"Potter!" a voice shouted harshly, "return fire!"

She looked down into her hand and found that she was still tightly clutching her wand. Blinking slowly, she looked around again. Proudfoot and Ron were working as a team on their side of the column, Ron blocking spells as best as he could while Proudfoot fired back. The two wizards were supporting them where they could, but there was only so much room to work without exposing themselves. Even as she watched them, Heather thought everything was moving very slowly.

A sudden realization occurred to her. Dumbledore, didn't she need to find Dumbledore? Maybe if she could find him quickly enough, she could save him. After all, he had only just fallen from the tower. All she had to do was find him and everything would be ok. But, where was he? A figure rushed past in the corner of her eye, and it seemed to be wearing a long black cloak. Snape! She had to catch Snape! No, Snape was dead. So was Dumbledore. "Focus, you fool!" a voice shouted inside her head. She shook her head and raised her wand, aiming it at a head poking around from behind the barricade. "Stupefy!" she shouted and watched in satisfaction as the red jet of light hit him square in the face.

"Glad to see you're back with us, Potter," laughed Proudfoot as he too stunned a death eater.

"Cover us!" shouted a voice from the passageway behind them. Heather, Ron, and Proudfoot unleashed a barrage of spells towards the barricade, causing those hiding behind it to momentarily fall back. Into this lull rushed Ministry reinforcements. Faces Heather knew well pressed forward behind a moving wall of shield charms, quickly eating up ground between them and the ensconced death eaters. With a loud explosion that made Heather's ears ring, the barricade was blasted aside and the swarm of aurors pushed straight through. Death eaters scrambled for the far exit, but most were caught by stunning spells before they were able to take more than a few steps.

"You alright, Potter?" asked Proudfoot as they emerged from cover. Beyond the smoking remains of the barricade was another door, and from the sounds of it there was more fighting beyond. Heather nodded mutely and took a step towards the door and stumbled. Proudfoot caught her. Pain was blossoming across her leg, and it felt very weak. "You're bleeding." Proudfoot said urgently, dropping down to investigate her leg. Heather was only vaguely aware of other moving shapes in the room now. It was as though a fog had descended, obscuring her vision. There was a loud scream from the room beyond. "Weasley," ordered Proudfoot as he sprung back to his feet, "Get Potter back. Check in with the rest of the team and route anyone they can spare down here."

Ron lifted Heather's arm over his shoulders and helped take her weight. "Better put your wand back in your holster before you drop it," he whispered to her as he steered her for the door. Her attention now focused on her hands; Heather noticed they were shaking violently again even as they clung to the wand in a white knuckled death grip. Try as she might, she couldn't get them to stop anymore.

The library and common room weren't empty anymore. Other wounded witches and wizards were occupying chairs while healers attached to the DMLE were doing their best to tend to their wounds. In a far corner under a tablecloth were a row of shapes beyond the help of any magic. Catching sight of Heather, the nearest healer helped Ron lower her into a chair. "Is she gonna be alright?" asked Ron.

"She's fine. Go." Barked the man quickly, turning his full attention to Heather's wound. He ripped her pant leg wide, revealing a foot long gash in the front of her thigh. Blood flowed freely from the wound, painting her leg a deep crimson. "It's deep, but it doesn't look like it hit anything important," said the healer, probing the wound with his fingers while Heather grunted in pain. He snatched a bottle of potion out of his robes and poured it onto the gash. Heather screamed in pain.

She must have passed out, because the next thing she knew Ron was rushing back into the room at the head of a group of aurors. Her leg was smoking but wasn't bleeding any longer. The healer inspected it again and told her curtly that he'd managed to close the wound but that she'd probably have a scar there. The red line glared angrily up at her from her open pant leg.

"Not bad," said Ron, who had stopped to hear what the healer had said.

"Yeah, just what I needed. Another scar." Heather replied in what she hoped was a light and airy tone even as she gritted her teeth in pain.

Ron waved the others on ahead and crouched next to Heather's chair. There were no more sounds of fighting emanating from the opening, and the stream of wounded had momentarily stopped.

"Did anyone see?" Heather asked quietly.

Ron's expression darkened. He shrugged, "I dunno, mate. Proudfoot maybe. Everyone else, it was probably too busy."

Heather leaned back in the chair, trying not to think about what had just happened while Ron waited with her. She closed her eyes, forcing herself to relax. Her heart was pounding in her chest, causing her hands to spasm. Through her eyelids she sensed the light shift, and she opened them to find Honeywell looking down at her grimly.

"What? What's happened?" Heather said in panic, thinking Honeywell might have seen her collapse.

"Mulciber's dead." Honeywell said in a deadpan. "Took his own life before we could get him."

"But, that's good, right?" asked Ron. "I mean, it's not good, but, you know what I mean…" He finished lamely, looking back and forth from Honeywell to Heather.

Honeywell's eyes were dark. "What happened?" Heather asked again.

"It was…his face before he offed himself. He was grinning from ear to ear." Honeywell said.

"Well, I mean he's probably a bit off his rocker," suggested Ron.

"That's not all. I was close enough to hear his last words. He said, 'You just wait. You wait until Yaxley and his lot take care of you. You'll pay. Oh, you'll pay."

"Yaxley?" asked Heather, trying to push herself into a more alert position.

"Yeah. I don't think this is over." Honeywell said. She squeezed Heather's shoulder before moving off. It was only then that Heather noticed that she was limping.