Chapter Nine: Cracks in Armour
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He woke to thunder. Or perhaps it was the thunder that woke him.
Thunder. It was the entire world. It trembled. It was, and in its wake, he was too.
The magic of it blazed through his limbs. Flowed through his veins. Beat in his chest. A heart grasping at life.
And it was pounding in his throat; beating so violently that it left his whole body trembling. He was in darkness. Surrounded. With blood rushing through his veins with the energy of life. In that moment, he could feel all the pieces. All the beating hearts. Stretched to the four corners of the earth.
A shadowed face flashed above him in the darkness. Ghostlike. The skin stretching as it broke into the widest of grins. Someone was coming. And he was laughing, his whole body shaking as mirth stole through him. Not forsaken after all.
And yet, the laughter chilled him, stabbing through him with icy intensity. Freezing his breath.
He stumbled back, pulling himself out of the cold abyss that enclosed him. He was flying now. Rising. Until the darkness pressing in on him was less whole. A shade lighter. Simply the night, which grew steadily brighter as a pale shadow of light burst suddenly into bloom above him and painted the stars. The sky was dancing. The brightest of greens lit his way, shepherding the passage of time and the coming dawn. But never morning. The earth had spun into the shadow of darkest night once more.
He glanced down, his eyes raking across familiar footing. Magic lay around him, thick and heavy. It had long-ago folded into the air. This was a sacred place. He knew without knowing. Saw without seeing. And he was not standing alone. Two hearts beat beside him. And the road was longer than long.
And he was looking down. Down into the earth. Into the stone. Into the broken casing that had once held the strongest quarter. But now stood empty.
He was too late.
And with that realization came the agony of disappointment. It cut through him, splitting him right along the seams. Burning like a long-forgotten fire.
.
The dream left Harry in tatters.
He shot up in bed, his head pounding. He sat there, gasping in the darkness as icy sweat slid down his skin. It took him a moment to place his bedroom. To become aware of Ella's warm presence beside him. To appreciate the reassuring weight of Snowy across his feet. He could almost pretend everything was normal. Almost. But his heart was a traitor. Its every beat echoed with the memory of his dark dreamscape even as his breathing gradually slowed.
He cursed inwardly, the silence of his anger seeping through the room as he tried to sort out the pieces of the dream. But it was no good. He had never been good at riddles.
He collapsed back onto the bed, drawing the blanket tightly around him as he searched for warmth within its soft fabric. He wondered, as his eyes flickered closed once more, about the unknown terror lurking in the dark. Whatever it was, he hoped it would remain there, hidden.
He hoped, despite every fiber of his being screaming otherwise, that his dream was only that. A dream.
When Harry stepped into the magically stabilized confines of the Auror office on Thursday morning, the surprising sight of Ron deeply engaged in something at his desk met his eyes. He drifted in Ron's direction, taking a fortifying sip of the tea he had grabbed from the shop off the Atrium.
"Morning," Harry said, rubbing wearily at his eyes. He was exhausted, his mind fumbling through the brightness of daylight after it had spent hours sorting puzzle pieces in the dark.
Ron glanced up in surprise, his eyes lighting up when they met Harry's. "Hey, mate," he said, his voice falling into the familiar cheery cadence it had taken on since last Sunday night. "How—how are you doing? How's Ella?"
"All right," Harry said, sighing inwardly. Ever since the boggart they had encountered at Rookwood's, Ron had been treating him a bit like a prototype from Fred and George's joke shop that was bound to go off at any moment. Despite his good intentions, it was driving Harry entirely mad.
"Have you got something?" he said, hoping to redirect Ron's attentions back to something that would appreciate them more. His eyes slipped across the mess on the desk. "Are those from Rookwood's?"
The smile slipped from Ron's face and he nodded. "Just cleared Magical Forensics this morning. Look at this…"
He gingerly picked up a small black notebook and shoved it at Harry, who flipped through it with interest. "A journal? Really?"
"Really," Ron said. "And look at the marked page, would you?"
Harry did, his eyes widening as they skimmed across the furious collection of words.
"Merlin," he said softly. "They will rot in the earth as I have rotted in this rank cell? They will bow to our Lord or fall before the stone gates of the veil, until not even their bodies remain. The fires of absolution shall fall upon the Ministry, and only the Dark Lord will reign... This is mad. When was this written?"
"In Azkaban," Ron said. "Magical Forensics places it as early 1983. They go on about stroke pressure or some such rubbish for a while in their report."
Harry frowned. "That's over twenty years old. You really reckon he—"
"There's more," Ron said, shoving several more notebooks at him. "Here are some from 1995, after he broke out the first time. And here, this is from last December. Have a look."
"All right," Harry said, flipping to the marked pages. The vile sentences splattered across the parchment were an assault on his eyes, blazing sharply against the page. The Ministry is the root of all evil. They will pay for their treachery. They will fucking burn.
The angry scribblings of a madman who had spent the better part of his life locked away. Hardly anything on their own, really. Harry suspected Rookwood was not alone in his bitter resentment. And yet, when contemplated alongside the collection of illegal wands that nobody could place, and Rookwood's past connections to Voldemort and the Ministry itself, the notebooks seemed a lot more sinister. According to Hermione's records, Rookwood had spent five years focusing on the Love Chamber itself. And there was also the fact that the man was missing with his bloody house armed to the teeth. Guilty of skipping out on house arrest and owning wands illegally, at the very least.
"I do like him for this," Harry said, keenly aware that he had held on to this sentiment since at least Sunday. "Definitely a possible motive. If he's our guy, there's only two places he could be: dead, or in hiding. I reckon the second's more likely. We need to find him... and we can't sit on this anymore, we'll have to widen our search. Put out an appeal. I'm borrowing these."
He downed the last of his tea and hurried towards Robards's office, the notebooks clenched tightly in hand. He was going to find Rookwood, and when he did, the man would never see the outside of an Azkaban cell again.
Rookwood's scowling face glared down at Ella from nearly every bulletin board in St. Mungo's as she navigated the brightly lit hallways to Hannah's office next morning.
"Augustus Rookwood," the Daily Prophet had all but screamed over breakfast, as Harry and Ella sat at their small breakfast bar, stabbing at their eggs and bacon while Rookwood scowled up at them from the front page. "Missing and dangerous! Released from Azkaban on house arrest, Rookwood has vanished from his Yorkshire residence, and his whereabouts are currently unknown. At this time, Rookwood is the prime suspect being sought in connection with the tragedy at the Ministry of Magic on Friday last, the sixth of February, which resulted in the deaths of fourteen Unspeakables and the destruction of the Department of Mysteries. The Minister for Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt, stresses that Rookwood is armed and extremely dangerous, and is not to be approached under any circumstances. Any sightings should be reported immediately to the Auror Office. For a full accounting of Rookwood's war crimes, see page fourteen…"
"Think this'll do it?" Ella had asked, putting aside the newspaper.
Harry shrugged. "We'll have a hoard of owls, I expect. Most will probably be useless, but if we get even one good tip, it's worth it. Plus, the public should be on the lookout. We don't know what he's capable of."
A short while later, after Ella had brushed off Harry's offers of accompanying her to St. Mungo's, he had encircled her in his arms and brushed his lips softly against hers before hurrying off to the Ministry. Now, she walked through the bustling hospital alone. In a way, this was easier. As her anxiety crept through her once again, weighing her down more with every step, her solitude enveloped her like armour. Galvanizing her inside and out. She felt brittle, held together by the faintest traces of hope. If she should break, she didn't wish anyone to see the carnage until she could gather the pieces.
Not even Harry.
Teetering on the edge of breaking apart, she stepped into Hannah's office, her heart trailing from her sleeves.
That morning, Hannah's smile was everything.
"Down to 15,000!" Hannah said brightly as she placed the potion beaker back on the table. "Excellent drop, Ella!"
She breathed again.
Sweet, wonderful air found its way back into her lungs. Her face split into a smile, the sudden bloom of relief too much to contain. Safe. She was safe. She would have a day at least, hopefully two, before this debilitating anxiety would build up again and become nearly too heavy to bear.
"It's all right," Hannah said, seeming to sense some of her inner turmoil. "It's OK to feel relief. This is good news. You're doing great."
Ella stared down at her hands, nodding silently. "I just feel like…" She cleared her throat, trying to unstick the words. "Like I don't even know what I'm supposed to do anymore. It's been a week, and I can't even grieve for the baby I lost… it's like everything I am's tied up in these… these numbers. And they're slowing down, aren't they? The drops."
"Not at all," Hannah said. "They drop by percentages, so it's expected for the drops to get smaller as you get closer to negative. That's completely normal."
"OK," Ella mumbled.
"And, Ella," Hannah said gently, "it's all right to feel whatever you feel. And to grieve for yourself. There's no wrong way to feel here… so please, don't feel guilty. None of this is your fault."
"I know," Ella said quietly.
"I hope so." Hannah looked her over seriously, then stepped closer and gave her a brief hug. "You're my patient," she said, "but don't forget that we're friends. And don't worry, I'm putting 110 percent into this, all right? All you have to do is show up for the blood draws. The rest is on me." She smiled. "Now go. Run off and teach those silly children something useful. And don't forget to smile while you're doing it."
Ella let out an involuntary laugh. "They're in uni, Hannah! Hardly children."
"Meh," Hannah said, shrugging. "If you say so."
"When do you want me to come back? Monday?"
"Hmmm," Hannah said, poking the potion with her wand until it swirled dizzyingly. "Your drops have been really good, so I'll stop torturing you. I'll see you next Friday morning."
"Really? That's OK?"
"Weekly testing," Hannah said. "Standard Muggle protocol. I just wanted to make sure you were on the right track, and you are. If you're not here every other day, I reckon it'll be a bit easier for things to get back to normal. Now go. Educate!"
"OK," Ella said, smiling slightly. As much as it terrified her to spend a whole week with nothing but faith to keep her going, she had to concede that Hannah had a point. It was impossible to try and pick up the pieces of her life when every moment of her day was spent thinking about her next appointment. She had spent most of the week locked up inside, avoiding other people, filling up the hours by battling her inner demons. She needed to leave the house, to venture back out into her life. And with a week of freedom before her, she hoped she finally would.
So she bid Hannah goodbye and hurried out into the bright sunlight. She had a little time before her class began, plenty to walk to the Magical Institute instead of Apparating. She did better when she limited her downtime. She always had. She knew she had to stop hiding like this. Harry would be working late into the night once more, but perhaps Daniyel was free. She slashed her wand discreetly through the air as she walked, sending forth a Patronus messenger. Perhaps Daniyel and Robert would fancy meeting for dinner.
She was two blocks from the Institute's main building when she spotted them. Three shapes were huddled in a shadowy corner, all but hidden from the world. Intent on her destination, she would have kept on walking, had it not been for the pleading cry that cut through the chill winter air and stopped her in her tracks.
"Just fuck off, would you!"
She turned, her eyes flicking down the alley until she made them out. Two men facing away from her. And behind them, pressed up against the weathered wall of an ancient building… Siggy.
Realization cut through Ella with an icy understanding. Eyes blazing, she whirled around and stalked into the alley.
"Go on, just have one," one of the men was saying, his tone forceful. Victor Burke. Just barely more than a boy. She recognized his voice, and the sound of it filled her with rage. He shoved his arm at Siggy, waving it in front of her face. "Your parents named you after it, didn't they?"
"I don't want it!" Siggy snapped, pushing his hand away. "Back off!"
"C'mon, Siggy," he taunted. "Want one? Want a ciggy?"
"It'll make you chill out a bit," the second boy added. Ella recognized his voice too: Ignatius Selwyn. Another one of the idiot boys who attended her lecture.
"Don't be such a bitch," Victor said harshly. "Just take it, or I'll—"
"Or you'll what, Burke?" Ella hissed, drawing up behind them. They whirled around, surprised to see her. Siggy's eyes widened. "I dare you to finish that sentence."
"P-professor!" Victor said, hurriedly rearranging his tone into one of pleasant surprise. "Fetchin' to see you! Really looking forward to class."
"Were you?" Ella said coldly. "That's a shame. I was just thinking of trimming my class roster. Too many students to teach effectively, you see. I reckon two less should do it."
"You can't do that!" Ignatius cried in outrage.
"No?" Ella narrowed her eyes. "I don't tolerate bullying from my students, Mr. Selwyn. Neither does the Magical Institute. In fact, these could well be grounds for exclusion. Perhaps we should see if Dean Greengrass agrees?"
"Professor, please," Victor said quickly. "This is a misunderstanding. We were just hanging out. Weren't we, Siggy?"
Ella glanced at Siggy, who stood frozen, her fingers clenched tightly over her wand. She opened her mouth and closed it again, wordlessly giving the tiniest shake of her head. Her fear filled Ella with furious rage. It was as if every hurt she had felt over the last week — every bit of anger and frustration — surged to the surface, threatening to pour out.
"There are people dying out there," she hissed, turning back to the two boys and praying to God and Merlin and every force out there that she would not do or say something she'd regret. "We're in a crisis! And here you two are, displaying your fine behavior to the world. Like a pair of bloody schoolchildren. Get out of my sight!"
"But, Professor—" Victor began.
"NOW!" she snapped, glaring between them as she felt her magic surge through her. She breathed in slowly through her nose, trying to tamp it down. She could not cross that line and use magic as punishment. She was no longer a teenager on a pedestal, where every transgression could be forgiven.
Victor and Ignatius glared at her in anger before chancing a glance at each other and hurrying off. She watched their forms recede into the distance, then turned to Siggy, who had remained rooted to the spot.
"Are you all right?"
Siggy nodded wordlessly.
"I'm so sorry that happened," Ella said. "Do you want to report it to the dean? This is absolutely not acceptable, Siggy."
"No," she said quietly. "It's fine."
"Are you sure?"
She nodded once more, her lips pressed tightly together. Then, with a whispered "Thank you" she hurried off, leaving Ella quite alone.
Victor Burke and Ignatius Selwyn did not show up to class, for which Ella was grateful. She was having a rather difficult enough week without adding murder to her long list of problems. The paperwork alone would be atrocious.
As it was, she had a hard enough time fielding questions about the Ministry and what had happened the previous Friday. Avoiding them as best she could, she kept her eyes on Siggy throughout the lecture as she pivoted the discussions to the specificities of parallel universes and their positional placements in topological space. But Siggy simply spent the entire three hours staring down blankly at her parchment, her eyes rimmed with red.
"Siggy," Ella said softly, when class had ended and everybody else was rushing for the door. "Can I have a word?"
The girl nodded, waiting in silence as the lecture hall emptied. Ella sat down beside her, chewing on her words as the last stragglers vanished through the door.
"Are you… doing OK?" she asked finally, when they were quite alone.
"I'm fine," Siggy said softly. "It was nothing, Professor." Every bit of the excitement that had coated her words the previous week was gone, and it left Ella's heart aching.
"I don't mean about today," Ella said, meeting her dark blue eyes. "I… I saw you at the memorial. Siggy, I'm so sorry… about your dad."
"Oh," Siggy said. Her eyes seemed to blur, the deep blue momentarily growing lighter. "Me too," she whispered, a tear sliding down her cheek. "It's just been — I'm sorry. I don't mean to…"
"It's OK," Ella said, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "I... lost people there too. Not a parent, so I can't begin to imagine how you feel, but several good friends. I just wanted you to know that you're not alone, all right?"
"That's right." Siggy brushed at the tears slipping down her cheeks. "You worked with Mysteries, didn't you? Did you know him?"
Ella nodded, her hands clenching into fists. "He was a good man. So much passion. He really loved his work. You could tell."
"That's him," Siggy managed. "The best tata, really. Father, I mean. I"— she let out a sob —"I miss him so much… I'm sorry."
"It's OK," Ella said, wishing there were better words… that words alone would be enough to fix everything that was broken. She thought back to what Robert had said at the memorial. "He was really proud of you, Siggy."
"Really?" she gasped, trying to stifle her tears.
Ella smiled. "Really. Had photos of you up everywhere and everything."
"He wasn't even supposed to be working," Siggy said miserably. "He was supposed to be home. He and Mum have dinner together every Friday. I just don't understand why…" And she dissolved into tears once more, hiding her face in trembling hands while Ella sat beside her in painful silence — wondering if, had she not chosen last Friday to drop off her Stone at the Ministry, Nikolai Len might very well have gone home on time.