Apologies in advance if you actually liked reading everything that happened in the Ministry. You will be disappointed. I had to cut A LOT of it out, as Ron wasn't around for the majority of it.

I am not as happy with this chapter as I would like to be, however, I'm not all that worried about it. I'm happy to be past it because now we can get into the nitty gritty of this Horcrux hunt.

Anyways, on with the fic!


Chapter 202: The Infiltration

We stepped out onto the crowded pavement, blending in with the Muggles rushing past us, but my nerves wouldn't settle. Fifty yards ahead, the black spiked railings loomed, marking the entrance to the Ministry's underground toilets.

I glanced at Hermione, who bit her lip and adjusted her bag anxiously. "See you in a moment, then," she said, flashing a tight smile before disappearing down the LADIES entrance. I watched her go, feeling an odd pang of worry. She was on her own now, even if only for a minute.

Harry and I headed down into the GENTLEMEN'S side, joining a bunch of blokes grumbling their way through the cramped, grimy black-and-white tiled space. The place smelled like damp stone and stale air, which did nothing for my already jumpy stomach.

"Morning, Reg!"

I turned, blinking as a wizard in navy robes clapped me on the back, grinning. He didn't seem suspicious, thank Merlin. "Bloody pain in the bum, this, eh? Forcing us all to get to work this way! Who are they expecting to turn up, Harry Potter?"

My stomach did an uncomfortable flip. The bloke laughed heartily, and I forced out a weak chuckle, praying he wouldn't see through it.

"Yeah," I said, swallowing hard. "Stupid, isn't it?"

Harry, crouching beside me, peeked under the stalls and whispered, "We have to flush ourselves in?" His voice came out deep and gravelly, which only made the situation worse.

I shot him a look, half horrified, half exasperated. "Looks like it."

Harry went first. I watched as he climbed into the toilet stall and, with a loud flush, disappeared.

I stood there for a second, staring at the bowl like it might come to life and eat me. "The things I do for my best mate," I muttered, stepping inside.

After a moment's hesitation, I climbed in feet first. To my surprise, I didn't immediately feel wet, which was a small mercy. I pulled the chain and braced myself. The world spun, and before I knew it, I was tumbling out of a fireplace into the Ministry lobby.

I stumbled out of the fireplace, brushing the soot off my robes and glancing around. The place was massive, bigger than I'd imagined, with towering ceilings and polished floors that reflected the eerie glow of enchanted lanterns. But what really caught my eye was the enormous black stone statue dominating the center of the atrium. A witch and wizard sat high above the crowd, their faces carved into expressions of cold superiority, watching the Ministry workers scurry around beneath them like ants. The words MAGIC IS MIGHT were carved in massive, ominous letters at the base. My stomach twisted uncomfortably.

"You got in all right, then?" Hermione's voice cut through my thoughts as I spotted her and Harry nearby.

"No, he's still stuck in the bog," I said with a grin, hoping to shake off the unease creeping up my spine.

"Oh, very funny…" Hermione shot me a look but then turned her gaze back to the statue, her expression darkening. "It's horrible, isn't it? Have you seen what they're sitting on?"

I looked again, really looked this time, and felt my stomach drop. What I'd thought were oddly shaped thrones were actually mounds of carved human bodies—men, women, and children, all naked, all crushed together with blank, hopeless faces. They were twisted and pressed down beneath the weight of the wizards above them. My throat went dry.

"Muggles," Hermione whispered, her voice barely audible over the noise of the hall. "In their rightful place."

I swallowed hard, forcing myself to look away. "Come on, let's get going," she said, nudging me forward. We merged into the flow of witches and wizards heading toward the golden gates at the end of the hall. My eyes darted around, searching for any sign of that horrible pink toad, but so far, nothing. We passed through the gates into a smaller hall, where lines were forming in front of rows of golden grilles leading to the lifts. I forced myself to focus, but that statue was burned into my mind.

"Cattermole!"

We looked around and at once I knew Harry recognized the man. His face was very uneasy.

The man's scowling, slightly brutish face was somehow at odds with his magnificent,sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread.

Someone in the crowd around the lifts called sycophantically, "Morning, Yaxley!" Yaxley ignored them.

"I requested somebody from Magical Maintenance to sort out my office, Cattermole. It's still raining in there."

I realized he was referring to me.

"Raining … in your office? That's – that's not good, is it?" I said with a nervous laugh. Yaxley's eyes widened.

"You think it's funny, Cattermole, do you?" said Yaxley, his voice making me realize that my humor wasn't humorous to him.

"No," I said quickly, "no, of course –"

"You realize that I am on my way downstairs to interrogate your wife, Cattermole? In fact, I'm quite surprised you're not down there holding her hand while she waits. Already given her up as a bad job, have you? Probably wise. Be sure and marry a pureblood next time."

Shit. Leave it to me to actually be someone that meant something.

Hermione had let out a little squeak of horror. Yaxley looked at her. She coughed feebly and turned away.

"I – I –" I stammered.

"But if my wife were accused of being a Mudblood," said Yaxley, "—not that any woman I married would ever be mistaken for such filth. And the Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement needed a job doing, I would make it my priority to do this job,Cattermole. Do you understand me?"

"Yes," I whispered, feeling very much helpless.

"Then attend to it, Cattermole, and if my office is not completely dry within an hour, your wife's Blood Status will be in even greater doubt than it is now."

With a smirk, he disappeared into another lift, leaving me standing there like an idiot.

"What am I going to do?" I asked the other two at once. "If I don't turn up, my wife … I mean, Cattermole's wife – "

"We'll come with you, we should stick together –" began Harry, but I shook my head adamantly.

"That's mental, we haven't got much time. You two find Umbridge, I'll go andsort out Yaxley's office – but how do I stop a raining?"

"Try Finite Incantatem," said Hermione at once, "that should stop the rain if it's a hex or curse; if it doesn't something's gone wrong with an Atmospheric Charm, which will be more difficult to fix, so as an interim measure try Impervius to protect his belongings"

"Say it again, slowly..." I said, searching my pockets desperately for a quill. I was never going to remember that in the state of panic I was in.

She did, and this time, I forced myself to focus.

The lift dinged, and Hermione gave me a small nudge forward. "You'll be fine," she whispered.

As I walked off, I muttered, "Yeah, easy for you to say."


I stood in front of Yaxley's office, staring at the door like it was about to bite me. My stomach was doing this weird twisting thing, like I was about to face a Hungarian Horntail instead of a bloody maintenance issue. Taking a deep breath, I pushed it open and stepped inside.

And immediately regretted it.

Water was pissing down from the ceiling in thick sheets, pooling into giant puddles across the floor. Everything—papers, books, even the stupid golden-framed portraits of sour-looking wizards—was drenched. The carpet squelched under my feet, and the whole room smelled like wet dog.

"Brilliant," I muttered, wiping the water from my face. "Just bloody brilliant."

I racked my brain, trying to remember what Hermione had told me. Finite... something. Right. Finite Incantatem. I raised my wand, pointing it at the ceiling with all the confidence of someone who definitely didn't know what they were doing.

"Finite Incantatem!"

Nothing. Not even a splutter. The rain kept hammering down, soaking through my robes, and I let out a groan.

"Come on," I muttered under my breath, flicking my wand a little harder. "Finite Bloody Incantatem!"

Still nothing.

Water dripped from my hair down the back of my neck, and I felt the beginnings of a rage fit bubbling up inside me. Hermione had rattled off a list of things to try, but hell if I could remember them now. Something about an Atmospheric Charm gone wrong... or maybe it was a jinx... or was it a bloody curse?

I cursed under my breath, pacing the office and trying to think through the sound of water sloshing around my ankles. What was it she'd said? Impervius! Right. That was it.

"Impervius!" I flicked my wand again, and this time, the water beaded off the desk and shelves. At least it wasn't soaking in anymore, but it sure as hell wasn't stopping the downpour.

I groaned and wiped my face again. If this didn't work soon, I'd have to wade out of here and admit defeat to Yaxley. I could already picture his smug, punchable face.

I took a deep breath, forcing myself to focus. Hermione always went on about concentration. I could do this. I wasn't just some bumbling idiot—well, not all the time.

I tightened my grip on my wand and tried something else. "Er—Meteolojinx Recanto?"

For a second, nothing happened, and I was ready to throw my wand through the nearest window. But then, slowly, the rain began to lighten. It didn't stop completely, but it turned into a misty drizzle. Encouraged, I tried again, louder this time.

"Meteolojinx Recanto!"

Suddenly, the rain vanished completely, and I stood there, panting and soaked to the bone, but victorious.

"Ha! Take that, you soddy office!" I grinned, wiping a triumphant hand through my hair, only to find it still drenched. "Knew I'd get it."

I took a moment to bask in my success, but reality came crashing down fast. I needed to find Harry and Hermione. They could be in serious trouble by now, and here I was, fighting with the bloody weather.

Grabbing a nearby towel—because of course Yaxley had towels in his office—I gave myself a half-hearted wipe down, then marched out the door and back toward the lifts, my shoes squelching with every step.

As I reached the lift, I glanced around anxiously, wiping my damp hands on my robes. No sign of them yet. My stomach tightened. What if something had gone wrong? What if they were caught? I clenched my jaw and forced myself to stay calm.

"They're fine," I muttered under my breath. "They have to be."

I jabbed the button for the lift and leaned against the wall, catching my breath. As I stepped on, I eyed a man that I thought I should have known but at the moment his face was escaping me.

"M-morning," I stammered to the man as the lift set off again.

"Ron, it's me, Harry!"

"Harry!" I said, startled. "Blimey, I forgot what you looked like – why isn't Hermione with you?"

"She had to go down to the courtrooms with Umbridge, she couldn't refuse, and –"

The lift doors opened, and I froze. Standing there, mid-conversation with a witch whose hair was teased up so high it looked like a bloody anthill, was my dad.

For a moment, I forgot how to breathe. Relief hit me like a wave, washing over me as quickly as the rain in Yaxley's office. My dad. He was okay. That had to mean the others were, too. Mum, Ginny, my brothers, they were alive. I wanted to run to him, to hug him and bury my face in his shoulder like I was five years old again. But I couldn't. Not here. Not now.

I clenched my fists, keeping my face blank. I couldn't let anything slip.

"…I quite understand what you're saying, Wakanda," Dad was saying, his voice calm and steady, "but I'm afraid I cannot be party to—"

He stopped. His words hung in the air as his eyes landed on Harry and me. His gaze hardened as it locked onto Harry, his expression souring. It was the same look he'd get whenever Malfoy's father's name came up at the dinner table—sharp, distrustful, and full of disgust. Whoever Harry's disguise was, Dad clearly wasn't a fan.

The lift doors slid shut again, and we rumbled downward, the atmosphere in the lift feeling tighter with every second.

"Oh, hello, Reg," Dad said, glancing at me. His voice was friendly enough, but his eyes scanned me with concern. I could feel him sizing me up, wondering why the hell I looked like I'd been dragged through a swamp.

"Isn't your wife in for questioning today? Er—what's happened to you? Why are you so wet?"

"Yaxley's office is raining," I said quickly, placing a hand on Dad's shoulder in what I hoped was a casual gesture. The warmth of his shoulder against my palm nearly undid me, but I pulled my hand back before I gave myself away. "I couldn't stop it, so they've sent me to get Bernie—Pillsworth, I think they said."

Dad nodded, his face softening slightly. "Yes, a lot of offices have been raining lately. Did you try Meteolojinx Recanto? It worked for Bletchley."

I almost groaned. Of course, Dad would have the answer. "Meteolojinx Recanto?" I repeated, pretending like I hadn't already tried it ten bloody times. "No, I didn't. Thanks, D—I mean, thanks, Arthur."

My stomach dropped. I had almost said Dad. I could feel the blood drain from my face as I forced a weak smile, praying he hadn't noticed. One slip like that, and we'd be cooked.

Dad didn't react, thank Merlin, but my heart was racing so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest.

The lift doors opened again, and the anthill-haired witch shuffled out. I didn't waste a second. I darted past her, muttering some excuse about needing to hurry. The air outside the lift was cooler, but my skin still felt clammy. I couldn't tell if it was from the rain, the nerves, or both.

I walked down the dimly lit corridors of the Ministry, my robes still damp and my shoes squelching with every step. The rain in Yaxley's office might've been sorted, but apparently, his wasn't the only place having a downpour. Because of course it wasn't. If one thing was broken in this place, it was a safe bet the whole bloody building was falling apart.

"Cattermole!" a sharp voice barked from behind me, and I turned to see a harassed-looking witch glaring at me from the doorway of another office. Water was dripping from the ceiling in fat, lazy drops, pooling around her ankles. "What in Merlin's name are you waiting for? I have important documents in here!"

I gritted my teeth, plastering on what I hoped was a professional smile. "Right, of course. I'll get it sorted."

Stepping into the room, the stink of damp paper and mildew hit me hard, making my nose wrinkle. The place was a mess—files soaked, ink running down parchment in thick, ugly smears. The rain wasn't as bad as Yaxley's, more of a steady drizzle than an outright storm, but it was still a bloody nuisance.

I raised my wand, forcing myself to remember what Hermione had drilled into me. Meteolojinx Recanto. That's the one.

I cleared my throat. "Meteolojinx Recanto."

For a horrible moment, nothing happened. Then, slowly, the rain tapered off to a faint mist before finally stopping altogether. I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.

"There you go," I said, trying not to sound too smug. The witch barely glanced at me before bustling back to her desk, muttering about incompetent staff. Lovely. No thanks or anything.


I moved on, fixing another two offices in quick succession, each one with more waterlogged paperwork and pissed-off Ministry workers than the last. The whole time, a tight knot sat heavy in my stomach. Harry and Hermione were off somewhere in this hellhole, doing Merlin-knows-what, and I was stuck playing handyman, hoping none of these Death Eater types got suspicious of me.

The corridors were colder now, and the further I went, the quieter it got, like the whole building was holding its breath. It made the hairs on the back of my neck prickle, and I couldn't shake the feeling that something was off.

Then I passed her office.

Umbridge.

Her name was carved into the polished brass plaque on the door, and even without seeing her, I felt like I needed a shower just standing here. The door was slightly ajar, and through the gap, I caught the faintest flicker of movement. My gut told me to keep walking, but curiosity got the better of me.

I crept closer, heart pounding, and pressed my ear against the crack. Inside, the air was thick with the scent of old perfume and parchment. I could hear voices—low, serious, and unmistakably bad news.

"…that ruddy eye is missing from the door. They're here, I tell you."

My stomach plummeted.

A second voice spoke next. "I want a full sweep of the building. If Potter's found, the Dark Lord will reward us handsomely."

My breath caught in my throat. They knew.

I tried to swallow the lump in my throat, willing myself to stay calm.

"We'll find them," the other voice said. "They won't escape."

I needed to get out of here. Now.

I took a careful step back, but my foot slipped in a puddle, and I nearly cursed aloud. Heart hammering, I hurried away down the corridor, trying not to break into a run. My hands were shaking by the time I reached the lifts, my mind racing.

What if they had Harry and Hermione already? What if they were waiting for me in some dark corridor, wands ready? I wiped my sweaty palms on my damp robes, trying to ignore the fact that my legs felt like they might give out any second.

When the lift doors slid open, I practically jumped inside and slammed the button for the atrium. The lift creaked and groaned as it ascended, and I forced myself to breathe.

Think, Ron. Think.

I couldn't panic, not yet. I had to find Harry and Hermione, warn them before it was too late.

The lift dinged, and the grilles slid open to reveal the crowded atrium. Witches and wizards bustled past, none of them paying me any attention, but I felt like I was standing under a spotlight. My heart was pounding so loud I was sure someone could hear it.

I barely had time to process what was happening when the lift doors opened, and there they were—Harry, Hermione, and a frantic-looking woman I'd never seen before. Her eyes were wide with panic, scanning the space like she expected something to jump out and attack her at any second. A crowd of scared-looking people stood huddled behind them, their faces pale and drawn, their eyes darting in every direction like they could sense the danger closing in.

"Reg!" the woman shrieked, throwing herself at me before I could react. Instinct kicked in, and I caught her, awkwardly steadying her before she could collapse onto the floor. "Runcorn let me out, he attacked Umbridge and Yaxley, and he's told all of us to leave the country," she babbled, clinging to my robes like I was her last hope. "I think we'd better do it, Reg, I really do, let's hurry home and fetch the children and—" She stopped mid-sentence, staring at me with sudden suspicion. "Why are you so wet?"

"Water," I muttered, peeling her off me and trying to ignore the cold dampness that clung to my skin. I turned to Harry, swallowing hard. "Harry, they know there are intruders inside the Ministry—something about a hole in Umbridge's office door. I reckon we've got five minutes, if that."

Hermione's eyes widened in alarm. "Harry, if we're trapped here—" she began, but Harry cut her off.

"We won't be if we move fast," he said, his voice steady despite the tension thick in the air. He turned to the frightened group behind him. "Who's got wands?"

About half of them raised their hands, trembling fingers clutching them like lifelines.

"Okay," Harry said, his voice carrying that natural authority he had, the kind that made people listen. "All of you who haven't got wands, attach yourself to somebody who has. We need to be fast before they stop us. Come on."

I couldn't believe it. What was supposed to be a quick snatch-and-grab had turned into a full-on rescue mission. Leave it to Harry.

We crammed into two lifts, my heart pounding so hard I thought it might burst out of my chest. The golden grilles slammed shut with a clang, and Harry's stag Patronus loomed in front, standing guard like a beacon of hope we desperately needed.

"Level eight," chimed the witch's cool voice, "Atrium."

The doors slid open, and my stomach dropped. The place was packed—wizards and witches in deep purple robes swarmed from fireplace to fireplace, sealing them off with hurried flicks of their wands. My throat went dry.

"Harry!" squeaked Hermione, her voice barely a whisper. "What are we going to—?"

"STOP!" Harry thundered, and I nearly jumped out of my skin. His deep Runcorn voice boomed across the Atrium, and everyone froze. He motioned to us. "Follow me," he whispered. I quickly herded the Muggleborns forward, Hermione at my side, both of us trying to look like we belonged.

"What's up, Albert?" said a nervous-looking bald wizard, his eyes darting between Harry and the growing commotion.

"This lot needs to leave before you seal the exits," Harry barked, and his voice was so full of authority I almost believed it myself.

The group of Ministry wizards exchanged uncertain glances.

"We've been told to seal all exits and not let anyone—" one of them started, but Harry didn't let him finish.

"Are you contradicting me?" he snapped, stepping forward menacingly. "Would you like me to have your family tree examined, like I had Dirk Cresswell's?"

Damn. He was good. The bald wizard blanched, backing away with a stammered apology. The Muggleborns didn't hesitate, bolting for the fireplaces as fast as their legs could carry them. I let out a breath I didn't know I was holding, watching them vanish two by two. We might actually pull this off.

And then—

"Mary!"

Oh, fuck.

Mrs. Cattermole stiffened, her eyes snapping toward the voice. And there he was—the real Reg Cattermole, looking pale and confused but very much not unconscious anymore.

"R-Reg?" she stammered, staring at me, then at him, and back again.

I threw my hands up. "Fuck!"

The bald wizard's head whipped between the two of us, his mouth hanging open in shock. "Hey—what's going on? What is this?"

"Seal the exit! SEAL IT!"

Yaxley's voice cut through the chaos like a blade, and suddenly it was like all hell had broken loose. I saw wands being raised, shouts erupting, and then Harry—bloody brilliant Harry—punched the bald wizard square in the face, sending him sprawling.

"He's been helping Muggleborns escape, Yaxley!" Harry shouted, voice echoing through the chamber.

In the confusion, I grabbed Mrs. Cattermole and yanked her toward the fireplace. "Come on, come on!" I hissed, pulling her in just before a jet of red light flew past my head. We hit the toilets hard, stumbling out into the cold, sterile air.

Mrs. Cattermole clutched my arm, wide-eyed and terrified. "Reg, I don't understand—"

"Let go, I'm not your husband!" I snapped, shoving her toward the exit. "You've got to go home, now!"

Before she could say anything else, a sound behind us made me whip around. Harry was staring at the cubicles, his face drained of color. "He's here," he breathed.

I didn't need to ask who. Yaxley had just appeared, his wand raised.

"LET'S GO!" Harry bellowed, grabbing Hermione and me before I could even think.

The crushing darkness of Apparition wrapped around us, squeezing so tight I thought my chest might cave in. But something wasn't right—there was a tug, a resistance, like we weren't alone in the pull. The moment we landed outside Grimmauld Place, it all went to hell.

A scream tore through the air, followed by a burst of purple light. Hermione's hand was a lifeline, gripping mine so tightly it hurt, but I could feel her fear bleeding through.

I felt the squeezing of Apparition once again, only this time, it was vastly different. It was cutting off my air supply, and I felt like I was about to be torn in half.

Then came the pain. Blinding, searing pain that tore through me like wildfire, stealing my breath and sending me crashing to the ground. My vision blurred, the world spinning out of control.

The last thing I saw before everything went black was Hermione's face—her wide, terrified eyes locked on mine...and then, nothing.