Chapter 19 – The Escape
Fleur's heart froze in her chest upon witnessing the scene through the glass wall. Her eyes landed on Lucius, standing cornered in the corridor ahead, like prey with no escape. Two figures advanced toward him, wands raised, each movement laden with the promise of imminent danger. Their faces were hidden by thick winter scarves, revealing only dark eyes that gleamed with malevolent intent. The tension in the air was almost tangible, an electric current that made the hairs on the back of her neck stand on end. Even unarmed, Lucius stood firm, a statue of determination that refused to be shaped by fear.
Then Fleur noticed something: a familiar figure standing at the end of the corridor. It was Bruna Nichols, the young Auror-in-training she recognized for always being by Ron Weasley's side. Bruna's presence should have brought a spark of hope, a guarantee that justice would prevail. But what Fleur saw froze her blood even more. Bruna was motionless, a statue of indecision, watching without even lifting her wand to help Lucius. Her gaze was fixed on the scene, but there was something hollow in her eyes, as though she was trapped in some invisible inner conflict. A wave of frustration and despair washed over Fleur. Bruna, whose mission was to protect others, stood there, paralyzed while Lucius faced mortal danger.
When she saw the two attackers starting to cast the Killing Curse, her heart pounded in panic, beating like a war drum in her chest. Lucius, trapped at the far end of a corridor flanked by glass walls, closed his eyes, resigned to his fate. He knew, just as Fleur did, that there was no defense against the most terrible of curses. The two men, wands pointed at Lucius, began to utter in unison:
— Avada...
The sound of the unfinished word hung in the air, heavy as lead. Fleur and Lucius were both aware that once the curse was spoken in full, there would be no turning back.
…
Minister Wilma Dean and Auror Alvin Arcor were focused, their wands aimed at the two great pillars in the atrium. While they attempted to conjure the powerful Magnet Charm that could save the Ministry, the surrounding Aurors fought to keep them protected. Spells darted across the air in every direction as the Aurors blocked attacks with shields and counter-curses.
Masked invaders, their faces hidden by blue scarves, charged into the atrium in a frenzy. Some ran for the stairs, trying to reach the other floors, while others hurled explosive spells directly at Wilma and Arcor, determined to stop them from completing their magic.
Ron Weasley, having quickly reorganized the Auror division to better cover the gaps in defense, noticed something strange in the behavior of Nicolas Havana, a young Auror whom Ron had always believed extremely loyal. Havana, who had been on the front line helping contain the invaders, suddenly halted his advance. His movements grew slow and calculated, and his once-alert eyes now held a cold, empty gleam.
A chill ran down Ron's spine. He followed Havana's gaze, and with horror, saw the Auror turn directly toward Minister Wilma Dean. Without hesitation, Havana raised his wand and aimed it at her, ignoring all the chaos around him. Ron realized in that moment: Havana was under the Imperius Curse.
Acting swiftly, Ron cast a spell:
— Accio wand!
Havana's wand was torn from his hand before he could strike.
Ron wasted no time. Turning his attention to the caster at the door, he shouted:
— Someone stop Havana! He's under the Imperius Curse!
Suddenly, a group of people with their faces concealed by scarves managed to break through a side barrier and rushed toward the interior of the Ministry. Ron, torn between chasing down the man controlling Havana and stopping the new invaders, made his decision. He gave up the pursuit and threw himself against the invaders, determined to keep them from seizing the building.
— We can't let them spread throughout the building! — he warned. — You two, with me!
They ran to intercept the invading group. Ron raised his wand skillfully.
— Stupefy!
One of the invaders took the full force of the spell and collapsed unconscious. The others hesitated, but soon countered with stunning spells. Ron deftly dodged, rolling across the floor and taking cover behind a column.
He rose, changing positions quickly. He saw a group of three invaders drawing near, their wands raised to attack together. Thinking fast, Ron raised his wand and conjured:
— Confringo!
The explosion shook the floor, separating the invaders and knocking two of them over from the impact. Taking advantage of the confusion, the Aurors at his side fired containment spells, binding the attackers before they could recover.
…
Upon reaching the Auror level, Bruna slowed her pace, her footsteps almost soundless against the polished stone floor. The corridor was engulfed in unsettling dimness, the torchlights flickering softly and casting trembling shadows on the walls. The distant sound of turmoil on the lower floors reached her like a muffled whisper, but here, in that isolated space, everything felt suspended in time.
Suddenly, her ears picked up voices ahead. Her heart began to pound in her chest; this level was supposed to be empty—whoever was there had broken in. Cautiously, Bruna peeked around the corner, keeping herself hidden in the shadows.
The scene before her made her blood run cold. Lucius Malfoy was pinned against the opposite wall, completely disarmed. His usual haughty posture had given way to rigid tension, his eyes fixed on the two individuals threatening him. The men, faces partly hidden by dark blue scarves, emanated a sinister aura. Their eyes, the only visible part of their faces, shone with relentless determination.
The tension in the air was almost tangible. Bruna watched, powerless, as the aggressors slowly raised their wands in Lucius's direction. Time seemed to slow, each motion happening in slow motion. Lucius took a deep breath and closed his eyes, as though accepting the approaching fate.
The men's voices started to pronounce words Bruna recognized immediately, the drawn-out syllables brimming with lethal intent:
— Avada...
A greenish glow began to radiate from the wands' tips, casting a grim light in the dark corridor. Bruna felt a knot form in her throat, nausea quickly rising. She had seen the casting of that curse in training. But here, faced with a real execution, her body froze.
"Do something!" her mind screamed, but her muscles refused to obey. Her legs felt like lead, her arms heavy and useless at her sides. Fear seized her completely, an overwhelming wave that prevented her from acting.
Tears began to well in her eyes, blurring her vision. The powerlessness was crushing. Lucius Malfoy, who had come to the Ministry of his own free will to cooperate in the investigation, would be killed right there, and she, an Auror-in-training, couldn't move a finger to stop it.
…
When Fleur saw the Killing Curse being cast toward Lucius, she felt an icy chill invade every fiber of her being, as though merely witnessing the curse was draining her own life force. Lucius, standing tall with his eyes closed, accepted his destiny with a calmness that drove her to despair.
He needed to traverse less than a hundred meters of an empty corridor, from the interrogation room to her. A task that seemed simple and safe. Never had they imagined that the protesters would manage to get that far, breaching the Aurors' security. And now, Lucius was going to die because she underestimated the chaos that circumstances could unleash.
Her legs gave way, and the air around her turned dense, nearly impossible to breathe. Still, Fleur refused to yield to despair. She would not simply watch Lucius die without putting up a fight. Summoning every ounce of self-control she possessed, she forced herself to find an inner calm she didn't even know she could muster when faced with a threat this terrifying.
Her eyes roamed feverishly over the environment until they locked onto the door beside the attackers. There lay her only chance, the only opportunity that could change their fate. Fleur realized in that moment that action was her only option, and she would do it, despite the terror pulsing around her.
With a surprisingly swift movement, she drew the wand she kept hidden in her leg warmer and, gathering all the energy she could, raised the wand. With a voice charged with fierce resolve, she shouted:
— Accio door!
She made a vigorous motion with her arm, as though by pure will she could rip the door from its hinges.
The door was torn from its frame with relentless force and violently collided with the two men. The impact dragged them away, interrupting the deadly conjuration at the last instant. The door struck them with devastating force, hurling them against the glass wall, which shattered in a rain of sparkling shards. Their bodies flew into the room where Fleur was, knocking everything in their path.
The desks that had once been arranged in the center of the room were violently pushed to the back, crushing papers, books, and objects that scattered in a trail of fierce destruction. The scene was utter chaos: fragments of glass danced in the air like small diamonds, while toppled furniture and debris painted an image of a battlefield.
The attackers, unable to complete their curse, were pinned between the door and the desk, collapsing unconscious on the floor. The deafening silence that followed was broken only by Fleur's heavy breathing. She felt her legs buckle, but remained standing, fueled by adrenaline and the relief beginning to surge through her.
…
Bruna watched everything from a distance, paralyzed by terror. The air around her felt frozen, each second stretching into endless torment. And then, at the last moment, she saw a door beside the attackers torn from its hinges with overwhelming force, flying straight at the men.
The impact was immediate and brutal—the wood slammed into the pair, stopping the curse right as it was about to be unleashed. The sound reverberated through the corridor, followed by the tinkling of shattered glass when the attackers' bodies slammed into the glass wall.
Bruna, still in shock, witnessed it all as if trapped in a nightmare. The scene before her played out in slow motion: bodies falling to the floor, the shower of shards shimmering under dim light, the echo of destruction surrounding them. The oppressive weight of the Killing Curse still lingered in the air, leaving her dizzy, her stomach churning.
Nausea overcame her. Then she bent over, pressing a hand against the wall, her body trembling as she tried to hold back the sickness. But it was no use. Bruna vomited, the sound echoing in the now-silent corridor, and she squeezed her eyes shut, fighting to regain control while the feeling of failure crashed over her.
…
Lucius opened his eyes, surprise and relief written on his face, then directed his gaze inside the room. There stood Fleur, her wand still gripped firmly, her face marked by tiny cuts from the glass shards that had exploded around her. When their eyes met, the enormity of what had just happened hit him like a blow. She had saved his life, halting a Killing Curse—a curse everyone knew to be inescapable.
Lucius crossed through the gap left by the door, his heart pounding in his chest, each beat echoing in his mind. When he finally reached Fleur, who was still catching her breath, his words escaped before he could restrain them, laden with an intensity of emotion he could barely contain:
— Thank you.
Fleur, her nervousness visible in her eyes, tried to muster a small, hesitant smile.
— My pleasure — she answered, her voice steady, yet her trembling hands betrayed her inner state. Despite her attempt to maintain composure, her anxiety simmered beneath the surface.
Observing these signs, Lucius felt a silent connection between them, a shared recognition of the fear and the adrenaline they had just faced together. For a brief moment, the silence between them conveyed more than words ever could.
It was abruptly broken by the menacing sound of a crowd approaching, their footsteps echoing through the corridors, intensifying the tension in the air. Lucius, still reeling from being without his wand, felt unsteady. Azkaban had accustomed him to the sensation of helplessness, of having his strength and security torn away. He had imagined that upon leaving there, it would be over for good. Being rescued now and relying on someone else for survival was deeply unsettling, and it rattled him profoundly.
He almost asked Fleur to hand him the wand, believing he should ensure his own safety, but the idea quickly seemed absurd. Against all odds, Fleur had defied the impossible and stopped a Killing Curse; it was evident she could protect them, and he wouldn't offend her by offering help she didn't need.
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he stepped behind her, indicating he would guide the way while she, wand at the ready, would handle their protection.
— You secure our path; I'll lead the way.
It was a silent pact: he knew the route, she would shield them from any threat.
…
Still tasting bile in her mouth and the cool sweat running down her temple, Bruna was forced back into the present. When she finally lifted her gaze, her vision still a bit blurred, she noticed a figure moving quickly along the corridor.
It was Lucius Malfoy, striding purposefully toward the fire escape, his firm steps echoing softly. His tall frame nearly obscured the person accompanying him. Bruna noticed a slender figure, shorter, staying very close to him, practically hidden by Lucius's silhouette.
But before she could take another step, a chill ran down her spine. A harsh whisper sounded behind her, so close she could feel its cold breath on the back of her neck. It was a man's voice, aged by time, the words spoken with a terrifying calm:
— Stupefy.
In the next instant, Bruna felt a violent impact on her back. The spell hurled her across the long corridor, her feet leaving the floor as the world around her became a blur of light and shadow. The air left her lungs in a startled gasp.
She hit the marble floor, sliding several yards before coming to a stop. Pain exploded throughout her body, every nerve protesting. She tried to move, but her limbs wouldn't respond—a heavy numbness surrounded her. Her wand slipped from her hand, spinning away, beyond reach.
The sounds around her began to distort, becoming distant echoes. The corridor seemed to stretch infinitely, the walls closing in. She tried to call for help, but no sound escaped her lips.
…
Outside the Ministry, in Wizards' Square, Alastor Moody stood alone, steady on the battlefield. The mob of protesters advanced with relentless fury toward the Ministry doors. The chaos was overwhelming, yet Moody, veteran of countless battles, remained resolute.
His magical eye whirled non-stop, taking in every detail. He recognized the dire situation: the protective dome was almost completely undone, and the enormous gaps in the shield allowed masked attackers to infiltrate toward the atrium. However, the greatest danger lay with the casters outside, those carrying the catapult that would strike the now-exposed Ministry. His mission was to stop them before they hit their target.
Moody moved with determined agility toward the catapult. With the wand in his left hand, he defended himself, dodging spells cast his way without uttering a single word. He blocked each attack with swift, precise movements, each incoming spell ricocheting or vanishing in a blinding flash. His experience was evident in every action, reflexes honed by years of combat.
Meanwhile, his right-hand wand was for offense. He neutralized anyone who attempted to hinder his path to the catapult. His voice rang out firmly:
— Stupefy!
The spell burst from Moody's wand, hitting three protesters at once, knocking them down like puppets.
— Petrificus Totalus!
Another group was instantly immobilized, their wands dropping from their hands as they crashed to the ground, utterly paralyzed.
Moody's spells didn't just hit one enemy at a time; they were powerful enough to incapacitate several opponents simultaneously. He advanced with relentless determination, knowing he was the final barrier between the casters and the Minister of Magic's defense. But he had to move swiftly, for the catapult could fire at any moment.
…
Spells of every color streaked through the air like wild lightning, while the deafening sounds of explosions and clashing spells reverberated off the marble walls of the atrium.
In the middle of the tumult, Minister Wilma Dean and Auror Alvin Arcor stood side by side, focused on a vital mission. Their goal was to activate the Magnet Charm, the Ministry's last line of defense, capable of drawing to the ground all unregistered wands and magical objects, instantly neutralizing the threat. But to accomplish this, they needed to act in perfect unison, operating two magical pillars located in the atrium.
As the protesters advanced, Aurors maintained a defensive line around the Minister and Arcor, fighting fearlessly to hold them back. Spells whizzed by on both sides, and the tension was palpable. The Minister moved her wand in precise gestures, murmuring the words needed to activate the spell, while Arcor mirrored her actions at the other pillar.
Mircella, the Minister's aide, watched in fright from behind a pillar, partially concealed. The chaos around her left her visibly shaken. With a trembling voice, she dared to speak:
— Minister, I don't think it's a good idea for you to expose yourself in the midst of this chaos!
The Minister cast her a quick, piercing look, brimming with resolve.
— Before being a politician, I am a fighter — she declared, voice overflowing with courage. — Now let's see who will have the audacity to say I was sleeping while they try to overthrow the Ministry. And please, stop talking—I can't lose my concentration right now.
The runes engraved on the structures began to glow, responding to the magic flowing through them. Energy coursed within the pillars, while the air around them vibrated with an electric tension. They knew it wouldn't be much longer before the activation was complete; they only needed to hold on a bit more.
…
Adrenaline coursed through Fleur's veins as she kept her wand steady, leading Lucius through the silent corridors of the Ministry of Magic. Lucius, still rattled, kept a firm hand on her shoulder, guiding her determinedly toward the secret passage he knew from his time as a Ministry adviser. The air crackled with tension, and the sense of looming danger never left her. Even so, up to that point, everything had gone as expected.
The corridors were empty, a result of the meticulously orchestrated chaos. Zaino had distracted the Aurors, while the protesters—riled up by one of Rita Skeeter's cunning lies—fueled the turmoil. Yet something felt off. Fleur sensed a tension in the air, a threat that wasn't part of the plan. Her suspicion was confirmed when tremors reverberated through the Ministry walls, and Lucius was suddenly targeted by a Killing Curse. Fleur reacted quickly, averting disaster. But the fact that such a deadly curse had been cast inside the Ministry itself made it clear: everything had spiraled entirely out of control.
— We're almost there — Lucius whispered, leaning close to her ear. They turned a corner, but before they could react, they found themselves face-to-face with a figure standing in the middle of the corridor.
It was a man with gray hair, impeccably groomed, wearing a long cape that made his figure seem even more exaggerated. His hair was meticulously parted, and the thin mustache curling upward contributed to his comical aura, reminiscent of a caricatured Count Dracula. His eyes widened at the sight before him: Fleur, wand gripped firmly, while Lucius Malfoy, just behind her, rested a protective hand on her shoulder.
— Maurice Teles — Fleur muttered, recognizing the Vice Minister for Magic.
The Vice Minister recovered from his initial shock and, with a tense expression, started to open his cape to draw his wand. Fleur, acting with the speed of an experienced hunter, raised her own wand and fired:
— Stupefy!
…
At last, Moody's keen gaze focused on his quarry. Three hooded figures, lingering behind the front lines, were preparing the magical catapult for another attack. His face hardened in a look of steely determination as he locked eyes on them.
— There you are... — he muttered to himself.
Without delay, Moody pulled from his pocket a colored glass ring, a magical jewel of singular power. This ring amplified explosive spells but had a limitation: it was for one-time use. Once it fulfilled its function, it turned to ash, making absolute precision a necessity for the caster.
This time, however, he couldn't simply rely on his magic to defend himself from the incoming spells. All his magical energy was being channeled into something far greater: destroying that catapult before another orb could be launched. Consequently, Moody had to depend on his practical resources, improvising with items he always carried.
Sensing the air vibrate from the approach of a spell, he swiftly pulled a small metallic sphere from his coat and dropped it onto the ground. Instantly, a magical barrier rose up in front of him, absorbing the force of impact and dispersing the spells in dazzling sparks. Another attack followed, and Moody, without hesitation, took a small enchanted iron plate from his pocket, using it as an improvised shield. The spell struck the plate with a boom, but dissipated, merely forcing Moody to step back slightly.
Each defense was a matter of timing. He couldn't lose focus on the main objective. His physical defenses served to keep him steady while, internally, he gathered energy for his next strike. The casters, unaware of the imminent danger, continued to load the device with its glowing orb, preparing to launch it.
With the unflinching precision of a veteran wizard, Moody fit the glass ring around his wand, activating the magic stored in the jewel. He felt the accumulated energy pulsing in his hands, channeling all his power into that single decisive moment. With a resolute motion, he cast the spell:
— Bombarda Maxima!
The magic burst from his wand with overwhelming force, cutting through the air toward the catapult. It blew apart into thousands of fragments, and the three casters were flung violently through the air. The shockwave rumbled across the battlefield, throwing up a thick cloud of dust and scattering debris in all directions. The crowd wavered, terrified at the crushing impact of the explosion that shook the terrain and left fear hanging thick in the air.
…
A red beam of light struck Teles full force, and he crashed heavily to the floor.
Lucius raised an eyebrow, somewhat impressed by the speed and accuracy of the spell.
Fleur stared at Maurice Teles's motionless body, and a chill ran down her spine. The gravity of her action washed over her like a cold wave. She had just knocked out the Vice Minister for Magic. That was a serious crime. As soon as he woke, both she and Lucius would be in serious trouble.
She swallowed hard but didn't allow herself to show distress. The situation called for absolute control, and she knew hesitating could come at a high price.
— He saw our faces — Fleur said, keeping her eyes on the Vice Minister's unconscious form. Her voice was firm, though a barely concealed tension lingered there. — We need to cast a spell so he forgets he ever saw us. A five-minute Obliviate should suffice.
Lucius tipped his head slightly, his expression tinged with calculated patience, as though he had anticipated the flaw in that plan.
— Memory spells only work if the person is awake — he corrected her, calmly but firmly. — And waking him magically would leave him disoriented for a few minutes, until we could use a Memory spell, and time is exactly what we don't have.
…
Back in the atrium, a magnetic field was beginning to take shape, a barely perceptible vibration in the air around them. Alvin could feel the magic pulsing under his feet. Shouts and explosions drew closer as the protesters pressed against the defensive line the Aurors maintained.
— Focus, Arcor — said the Minister, not taking her eyes off her work.
Alvin shot her a quick look, surprised she'd noticed his hesitation. He straightened, his hands firm on his wand, completing the last gestures.
— Now! — shouted the Minister, and both executed the final movement of the spell in unison.
…
Without hesitation, Fleur knelt beside Maurice Teles and activated her Veela powers. A subtle, enveloping aura emanated from her. Gently, Fleur leaned in closer, her voice sweet and comforting, flowing over him like an irresistible whisper:
— Wake up and look at me.
Teles's eyes fluttered open slowly, and a spellbound smile spread across his face, like a sailor convinced he'd found salvation in a siren's arms, oblivious that he was being drawn into the depths. His eyes, filled with fascination, locked on Fleur's, captive in the illusion she had woven. But before he could speak or act, Fleur raised her wand and, in a cold voice, murmured:
— Obliviate.
A blinding white glow flared from Fleur's wand, and Teles passed out once more, his expression now vacant.
Lucius watched with an air that was somewhere between admiration and caution. Fleur rose gracefully, brushing her hands in an automatic, controlled gesture.
— Effective — Lucius remarked, lifting an eyebrow again.
— It had to be done — Fleur replied, her voice devoid of emotion.
They quickly resumed their escape, moving decisively toward the secret passage. Silence filled the corridor, and only their soft footfalls broke the tense air. Upon arriving at the hidden entry, Lucius pushed the stone door lightly, revealing a narrow, dark tunnel.
But before they could enter, both felt a chilling tingle in the air. Lucius threw Fleur a quick, meaningful glance, needing no words. They had already discussed this in the plan. If things got out of hand, the Ministry's security Magnet Charm would be triggered, pinning any unregistered wand to the floor. Lucius had warned her about it and had told her exactly how to proceed.
Without a moment's hesitation, Fleur tossed the wand to the floor, aiming for the start of the corridor, away from the secret passage. It was an illicit wand that had belonged to a witch who had passed away over fifty years ago. They knew that doing this would keep the wand from being traced back to them, letting it be pinned to the ground without causing any further complications.
…
With the final movement of the Magnet Charm cast by the Minister and Arcor, a thunderous wave of energy rolled across the floor, and the remaining protesters felt the ground tremble beneath them. Those holding unregistered wands or artifacts collapsed, unconscious, in the same instant, while their belongings were yanked to the floor, secured by an invisible force. The few who still remained conscious, realizing what had happened, dropped their weapons and fled in panic, trying to escape the Aurors' wrath.
Arcor took a deep breath, his eyes scanning the atrium, which just minutes earlier had been on the brink of collapse. He met the Minister's gaze for a brief moment. She gave him a slight nod, a discreet acknowledgment of their success.
— Good work, Arcor — Wilma said before turning her attention to the next decisions.
Alvin responded with a nod, panting but satisfied. He wasn't Moody; he didn't have the same relationship with the Minister, but that day, he had risen to the challenge.
…
Before shutting the secret door, Fleur cast one last glance at Maurice Teles's unconscious body lying on the ground. For a fleeting moment, the scene appeared frozen in time. She turned to Lucius, her face serene, maintaining the same meticulous composure as before.
— Just a moment. We can't leave him like this, unconscious, during an invasion of the Ministry — she explained, her voice soft but firm.
Lucius said nothing in response, merely kept his inscrutable gaze, a blend of silent admiration and subtle irony. His eyes remained fixed on her every move.
Fleur, showing no hesitation, allowed her ancient Veela magic to flow through her body, focusing it on Teles. She extended her hand in the Vice Minister's direction and, in an almost hypnotic whisper, murmured:
— Awake, alert and on your feet.
A subtle yet powerful current of energy emanated from her fingers, traveling across the space until it reached Teles's inert body. The Vice Minister began stirring as if roused from a deep sleep, his eyes slowly opening, his body already attempting to stand.
Not wasting another second, Fleur placed a gentle hand on Lucius's arm.
— Let's go — she said, her voice calm but urgent.
They slipped through the secret door, leaving the chaos behind. The soft click of the door shutting echoed in the narrow, dark tunnel, the darkness enveloping them, swallowing any trace of what they had left behind.
…
Rita Skeeter, foreseeing the imminent threat of the Magnet Charm, had made her preparations. Before everything began, she had discreetly stashed her wand in a hidden compartment in her bag, which she left behind the telephone booth. Now, unarmed and feeling her body weaken, Rita stood, each movement requiring effort, her eyes scanning the chaotic scene around her with a growing sense of vulnerability.
The plaza was strewn with unconscious wizards pinned to the ground, where they would remain until an Auror came to free them from their forced slumber.
For the old Auror, the teenagers fleeing in panic seemed insignificant. However, Rita had seen the older men vanish, blending into the crowd right after launching the first sphere. The youths he had faced while destroying the catapult were mere assistants.
Still dizzy and aching, Rita trudged through the plaza until she came upon a scarf dropped by one of the attackers. She knelt briefly, picked it up, and glanced around, taking in the destruction and confusion.
With some effort, she reached into her pocket and pulled out a small camera. To her relief, the delicate device had not shattered on impact. With a satisfied sigh, she headed toward the large statue of the Three Wizards in the center of the plaza. Each step hurt, but Rita refused to give in. Struggling to climb onto the statue's pedestal, she lifted the camera, aiming it at the chaotic scene.
The camera's click rang out through the silent plaza. A feeling of triumph coursed through her as she murmured:
— Next year's investigative journalism award just had my name carved onto it.
…
Fleur and Lucius found themselves in a forgotten sub-level, a depot that looked centuries abandoned. The scene was chaotic and neglected: broken chairs, ruined pianos, rusty bicycles, and worn-out brooms lay scattered among boxes of party decorations, creating an atmosphere of disarray and desertion.
Lucius, still feeling the effects of Fleur's magic, watched as she extinguished the glow around her body and shut the door with a firm push, bracing it with an old chair. The dull sound of wood against stone echoed across the empty space, snapping him from his reverie and grounding him in reality. Unable to hide his embarrassment about what he had almost said, he offered a strained smile and muttered:
— I'm sorry for the inconvenience.
Fleur seemed distant, her mind occupied with thoughts of Zaino. Her eyes swept the area carefully, noting the old correspondence pipes, rusted and sagging in decay. Yet upon hearing Lucius's words, she paused her vigilance, and with an apologetic smile, looked directly at him.
— Lucius, don't even think about apologizing to me... — she said, her tone firm yet calm. — Not when my plan almost cost you your life... — A faint, almost sad smile softened the tension on her face.
Her words were gentle, but the guilt she felt was impossible to disguise.
— Fleur, you can't be serious — said Lucius, seeing that she avoided his eyes.
She turned, pointing at the pipes around them, obviously seeking a distraction.
— Which one is it? — she asked, forcing her voice to remain steady, though anxiety still weighed heavily in her chest.
Lucius raised his hand and indicated a pipe partially hidden between a pillar and the stairs. Fleur followed his gesture, and before she could say anything else, she heard a soft hissing sound. A brief smile formed on her lips—Zaino was on his way.
Zaino's hiss echoed through the pipe until, with a sound of displeasure, the basilisk finally emerged, sliding forth with an aura of power that filled the room. Fleur hurried over to him, her face lighting up with genuine happiness, hugging him despite realizing that the basilisk did not share her enthusiasm for such affection.
— Just a little longer, Zaino — she murmured softly. — I promise this is your last hug.
Lucius watched silently, gradually regaining his emotional composure, while Fleur stroked the basilisk and deliberately avoided looking in his direction.
…
Rita, still wavering from her injuries, gripped the scarf, feeling its rough texture. She panted slightly, striving to ignore the pain throbbing through every movement, as she headed toward the rendezvous point where Lucius and Fleur would be waiting for her.
She recalled Lucius's instructions clearly before it all began. "If the security spells are triggered, all internal doors will automatically lock. You have to reach the hidden entrance and open it from the outside. It will be the only way for us to get out without being caught."
She finally reached the spot where the stone door was concealed, almost invisible to anyone unfamiliar with its secret. Yet Rita's keen gaze discerned the subtle outline of the entrance. Her hand slid to the ring Lucius had given her—a simple, non-magical trinket, but which served as a sophisticated key to open the door. Pressing the ring firmly to the stone, she heard a gentle click, and the door began to open, leaving a widening gap for Lucius and Fleur to escape.
…
While stroking the basilisk's head, Fleur watched Zaino devour the meat ravenously. With a soft smile, she murmured affectionately:
— There, you've earned this.
Unaware of everything else happening, Zaino kept eating. At that moment, Fleur, with skillful and subtle movements, unclasped the magic necklace fastened around the basilisk's neck—hidden all throughout the confrontation. The jewelry was now completely destroyed. Letting out a sigh, she handed it to Lucius, her expression dark.
Lucius, taking care not to meet the basilisk's piercing gaze, accepted the bracelet gingerly. The once-robust jewel was now cracked and unrecognizable. Fleur broke the silence, her voice trembling:
— The jewel took all the spells aimed at Zaino, just like you predicted... But honestly, I was really scared.
Lucius examined the damaged trinket, his fingers tracing the spell marks.
— There was no reason to be afraid — he said in a low but steady voice. — The Aurors would never cast a lethal spell on a basilisk protected by law, inside the Ministry, especially in election season. The bracelet was more than enough to withstand restraining spells... Even though there were so many, as you can see—the piece is completely destroyed.
Fleur, the last of her adrenaline now waning, sighed, her voice trembling slightly.
— I feel awful for putting both of you through this — she muttered, guilt filling her gaze. — Things didn't go as I planned, and either you or Zaino could have been gravely hurt, or worse.
She paused, tension raw in her voice.
— At first, I thought Zaino would never have to come out of the backpack... — Her voice faltered for a moment as the seriousness of the situation weighed on her. — But when I saw Moody heading toward him... — She shut her eyes for a moment, her breath catching. — I was afraid... afraid they'd capture him, lock him up someplace where basilisks are feared... — Her voice dropped to a trembling whisper. — Kept sedated... in a cage too small for him even to breathe. And then my grandmother would have to step in to fix everything, as if I were useless.
She went quiet for a moment, as though the words themselves sapped her strength.
— And you... — she said, voice cracking. — I thought walking the Auror corridors between the interrogation room and where I was would be safe. — A long, painful pause. — But you could have died... without your wand, no way to defend yourself. And all because I believed my plan was foolproof.
Lucius, who had so far remained silent, stepped forward, his intense gaze locked on Fleur.
— Fleur, look at me — he requested softly, yet gravely.
Fleur, struggling to keep her composure, felt a tear threatening to fall. She knelt beside Zaino, trying to hide her vulnerability.
— Not now, Lucius. I need to get Zaino back into the backpack — she said, her voice trembling with guilt. — Why don't you see if you can open the door for us to leave?
Lucius watched the slight tremor in Fleur's hands as she stroked Zaino's head. With a sigh, he replied calmly:
— The building's security has been activated, with the Magnet Charm. The door won't open from within unless we break it down. It's wiser to follow the plan and wait for Skeeter to unlock it from the outside.
Fleur kept stroking Zaino, softly whispering to him.
— I'm sorry, Zaino. I'll never put you in a situation like this again, I promise. Climb back into the backpack... Everything's fine now.
Obediently, the basilisk glided into the backpack, curling up without protest inside it. Fleur watched in silence, still unable to meet Lucius's gaze. The weight of what had happened was crushing—an emotional burden she couldn't yet bear.
— And I'm sorry, Lucius — she whispered, her voice nearly breaking. — I never imagined this would happen.
Lucius reached out wordlessly, resting his hands gently on Fleur's face, guiding her to look at him. His fingers traced her skin in a tender caress.
— Fleur, you saved my life — he said, his voice low but sure, trying to bridge the distance she had created.
Surprised by his closeness, Fleur offered a slight smile, meeting his eyes.
— You wouldn't have needed saving if not for my "wonderful" plan — she replied, candid and vulnerable.
Lucius's thumbs brushed away the tears that threatened to fall, his gaze steady and intense.
— Without your strategy, I never would have discovered how far my enemies were willing to go for revenge. They intended to kill me with an Unforgivable Curse, right here in the Ministry. If they can do that, there's no limit to what they might attempt. Now I have time to prepare myself, strengthen my defenses — he said, regarding her with a blend of respect and admiration. Then he continued:
— And everything that happened also made me see how much I can rely on you, precisely at a time when I thought I could trust no one.
He paused briefly, as though still processing it all.
— You are an extraordinary witch, Fleur. You stopped what everyone considers an unstoppable curse just to save me — Lucius said, his voice deep, laden with an emotion he rarely displayed. — I don't even know how to begin expressing how impressed... and grateful I am.
As his fingers gently brushed away the tears from Fleur's face, Lucius studied her intently, as if staring at something beyond his grasp. His touch, firm yet delicate, drove away the tears Fleur strove to contain.
She closed her eyes for a moment, letting herself bask in his gentle touch, only to snap back to reality. Exhaling softly, she murmured:
— Perhaps it's better if you don't say anything else. You might still be influenced by the light I conjured with my Veela magic.
Lucius smirked, but before either could speak further, a loud crash echoed through the room, shattering the silence and forcing them back into reality.
The heavy door swung open forcefully, revealing Rita Skeeter. Behind her, the deafening noise of a restless crowd. Fleur and Lucius instantly pulled apart, their senses on high alert.
Rita walked in, wide-eyed, wearing a mischievous grin, obviously pleased to disrupt them.
— And here I was, fearing for your lives, while you two were... dating? — she teased, dripping with sarcasm.
Not giving them a moment to respond, she turned sharply to Fleur:
— Everything all right, Fleur? Did you memorize the map?
Fleur nodded subtly.
— And the basilisk, did you manage to get it back?
Fleur hoisted the backpack onto her shoulders.
— That's a long story, but yes, he's here, safe and sound.
Rita, impatient, gestured for them to hurry.
— I'll want every detail later, but for now, let's go! My contact has prepared the fireplace so we can get out of this mess — she ordered hastily.
Without hesitation, they followed her, ready for the second phase of the plan: transcribing the map.