A/N: This chapter may be particularly triggering to some. All warnings listed on chapter 1.
Chapter Three: The Long Night
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A Muggle pub. That's where Hermione had been sitting, contemplating actually drinking herself into oblivion on cheap Muggle wine, when Ron's Patronus burst into being in front of her.
She had left their flat early that morning, arriving at the office almost before it opened, seething at Ron the entire way. She had thrown herself into her work with a furious savagery, but even the details of the updated laws regarding the use of veritaserum in trial confessions before the Wizengamot could not keep her entirely occupied. Try as she might to resist thinking about him, his face kept drifting before her, the hurt look in his eyes blazing across her mindscape. The anger had burnt out now, leaving her with a deep and painful sadness that burned at the edges of her eyes and threatened to spill over into tears.
She wasn't even sure, anymore, what they had been fighting about to begin with. All she knew was that she was angry with Ron, all the time. Whether it was because she had stumbled home late to a sink full of dishes and Ron spread out on the couch before the telly (which she regretted introducing him to), or because he never seemed to take her passions seriously, or because the one time he tried to make her dinner, he had burned it so horribly, they'd had to air out the flat for hours, but lately, she constantly found herself contemplating him with a growing feeling of resentment.
Did she still love him?
She did. She knew she did with a certainty that she was sure would eventually rip her apart. She loved him so much that it hurt; that every time Ron did something that disappointed her, she found herself drifting back to that moment by the lake, when their lips had touched for the first time. And she held on to that moment, wrapped herself in it like a security blanket, as if remembering yesterday could fix tomorrow. But they were fundamentally different, she and Ron. She had passion, found joy in her work, fought for the rights of the underprivileged. Kept up the house. Dreamed of change… and brought that change about in tangible terms. And Ron? He coasted. Did the bare minimum, at work and at home. And what he did do came at a cost.
She was tired of asking him to do it all, of nagging, as he put it. It's not nagging, she constantly threw at him. It shouldn't be nagging, to ask your husband to do his half of the bloody chores. She was the one working long hours night after night, after all, stumbling home to a messy house and an unproductive husband.
"I don't know how we're supposed to ever have a family, if you keep working as many hours as you do," Ron had shot at her last night.
"I don't know how we're supposed to have a family, if you can't even be bothered to wash the dishes while I'm at work!" Hermione had snapped back, jabbing her wand angrily at the sink until the dishes started washing themselves. "You're a wizard, for God's sakes. Just use your wand — it's not difficult!"
"Exactly, it's not difficult," Ron said, his ears turning red as he took in her furious gaze. "It took you two seconds! What's the problem?"
"What's the problem? The problem is you can't be bothered to do this on your own, until I ask you ten times! It doesn't even occur to you! You have zero initiative!" Before she knew it, she was yelling, her voice rising in an angry shriek she barely recognized as herself. "And you can't be bothered to cook. We're wasting all this money on takeaways! And who's going to be taking care of all these babies you want so bad? Me, I suppose? On top of everything else?"
"Of course I'm going to help with the babies!" Ron yelled, ignoring all her other accusations. "Don't be ridiculous!"
"Right," she had said savagely. "I'll believe it when I see it. Well, maybe I'd be able to take some time off if you put in some more hours at the office, Ronald. Eight years, and not even a Senior Auror yet."
She knew it was a low blow before the words were out of her mouth, but caught up in her tirade, she could neither stop them nor take them back. They had burst forth from her like poison, and hurt had flashed, naked and fleeting, across Ron's blue eyes, before they turned distant and cold.
"Like Harry, you mean?" he said, his voice dispassionate. "Eight years, and I'm not a Senior Auror yet, like Harry?"
She didn't speak, watching him in silence, wishing she could take it back.
"Maybe you should've married him then, if I'm such a disappointment," Ron said.
And then, before she could say another word, he had walked out of the flat, slamming the door behind him. He had not joined her in their bedroom after returning home, though she waited up for hours. In the morning, she had walked past his sleeping form on the sitting room sofa, tiptoeing past with a mixture of shame and regret, her puffy eyes carefully concealed behind layers of magic.
After spending half the day intermittently hiding in the privacy of the bathroom, Hermione had finally given up on doing anything else productive and escaped to the Muggle pub, where she had been sitting ever since, slowly making her way through a bottle of wine as she contemplated one simple question.
Is love enough?
She had always thought so. But now, she wasn't so sure.
She was still thinking about it, watching the dust swirl in the dim light of the small upstairs alcove where she had chosen to make her temporary home, when the Patronus blazed into being before her eyes. Ron's voice called out to her anxiously, all their arguments momentarily set aside in the face of danger, and fear swirled in her chest like a sudden storm. She lurched abruptly to her feet, glad the few Muggles around could not see her glowing messenger as she stumbled past worn and sticky tables, shoving a chair out of her way as she hurried down to the street.
The scene at the Ministry took her breath away. The first thing she saw was the smoke. It seemed to be seeping out of the very ground around her, overtaking the air. It should have been impossible for it to make its way past the magical boundaries of the Ministry. It could only mean one thing: the damage inside was so severe, the protective wards safeguarding it had broken. And that thought left her utterly cold inside. That thought transported her right back to a freezing, black dungeon... and then a courtyard full of Death Eaters, hurling spells at her and the people she loved.
She stumbled through the panicking crowds of witches and wizards that had gathered outside the various entrances, spilling out onto the Muggle streets, covered in dust, and grime, and — for some of them — blood, as Muggle onlookers stared with rising shock and alarm. Mediwizards picked their way through the throng, searching out the injured and leading them away to a cordoned-off area at the end of the street. She could hear the sound of sirens approaching in the distance, mixing in with the panicked mutters and sobs of the crowd.
The Obliviators were going to have a field day, she thought blankly, gazing around with wide eyes. And sure enough, she saw them hurrying through the crowd now, wands raised. Damage control. She spun around, trying to get her bearings.
Just then, she spotted a familiar face rushing past her.
"Ernie!" she hissed, grabbing his sleeve. "What's happened?"
Ernie Macmillan drew to a harried halt, spinning around to look at her as the crowd streamed past. "Some kind of attack — I don't have the details. Robards got an urgent message from Ron…"
"Me too," she said. A cold weight had settled in her stomach, setting all her senses on high alert.
"I've gotta go," he said. "They need all hands on deck."
"I'm coming."
He didn't bother trying to argue, and she hurried after him as he easily parted the crowd, holding his wand aloft to clear a path.
She gasped as she stepped into the Atrium. Her breath caught in her throat as she surveyed the limp figures; the Healers and Mediwizards rushing around amidst the shattered glass; the chunks of stone; the water seeping out across the floor, washing over her boots. The whole building seemed to be shuddering around her, pulsing with residual tremors of magical energy. It froze her in place, the devastation of it all. She had not seen such utter breakage since the Battle of Shadow Hogwarts; had hoped to never see it again in her life.
"Ron…" she whispered, her voice cracking as she took in her surroundings. Surely, he wasn't hurt, somehow. Surely , the last thing she had ever said to him wasn't a scathing recrimination.
Ahead of her, Ernie was making his way toward the emergency stairs to level nine, and she hurried after him, pushing past Adrian Pucey, who tried to stop her at the door.
"Aurors and Catastrophe Squad only, Granger."
"Move!" Hermione snapped, pulling her arm out of his grasp. He stood his ground.
"It's Robards's orders! It's not deemed safe. You could get hurt, Granger."
"I'm the Senior Legal Advisor to the Minister," she hissed, her voice rising in anger. "I'm bloody going down there. You heard me! MOVE!"
He did, shrugging and stepping aside, and she ran down after Ernie, her footsteps echoing off the rough stone walls as her heart beat frantically in her chest.
Her feet carried her onwards, her eyes slipping over the wreckage and filing it away for later contemplation, her mind putting a steely wall in place round her heart. She could not allow herself to feel this all, not now, not until she found Ron.
They made their way through the shattered door of the Entrance Chamber… through the broken interior, lit up by floating golden spheres... through the rubble of a hundred experiments, mixed together and broken to pieces at their feet… past a scattered handful of Aurors that slipped through the detritus, searching for… for she didn't like to think what. She held her wand aloft, its light feeble by comparison, fading into the dusty carcass of what had once been a fortress of mystery.
And then she saw him, at the very bottom of the Death Chamber, being transferred to a stretcher by two Mediwizards. His bright red hair was barely visible for the dark black blood. And she nearly lost her grip on reality. She staggered, seemingly unable to get enough air to fill her lungs, and Ernie quickly grabbed her arm, calling her name in a voice that seemed entirely too far away for someone standing right beside her.
But then his voice called her name, stilling her spinning world, and she saw Ron's face appear out of the haziness.
"I'm all right," he said, his arms firmly on her shoulders, steadying her. She focused on his face, taking shallow breaths until her vision cleared. Ron was covered in dust from head to foot, his face so pale he looked on the verge of collapsing himself, but he was standing tall before her, his feet firm beneath him. She reached out a shaking hand, tracing it across his jaw.
Real.
"But—" she managed, "you're not?" And then she gasped, realization dawning on her. "Not Robert?!"
"He's alive," Ron said, his voice cracking.
She let the relief of that wash over her as Ron turned to Ernie, speaking to him quietly as she glanced around the broken room. She caught only snatches.
"An intruder in the Time Chamber… the Love Chamber burst… explosion was widespread, Catastrophes is reinforcing the building supports… Robards needs all possible hands securing the area… searching for survivors..."
Hermione stumbled towards Robert, who lay unmoving, his eyes closed. The Mediwizards hurried past her, taking him away, saddling her with a sharp pain in her chest that nearly left her breathless.
"Will he be all right?"
The Mediwizards didn't answer. Perhaps they hadn't heard her. Perhaps they had, and were afraid the answer would not be satisfactory. Perhaps they simply didn't have time to waste on foolish questions that wouldn't help Robert. She watched them go, the weight in her stomach growing heavier.
"Follow him to St. Mungo's?" Ron said quietly, reappearing at her side.
She hesitated, torn.
"Go on," Ron said, briefly squeezing her hand. "Send me a Patronus when he's awake, all right?"
She nodded, clasped his hand in return — their troubles forgotten, if but for a moment — and hurried after the Mediwizards, leaving Ron standing in the midst of devastation. She only hoped he would find more survivors in the ruins.
Of the long wait in St. Mungo's, she remembered little: pacing, anxiously tapping her foot on the floor in the corner of the overcrowded waiting room, failed attempts at reading, sending Patronuses out to Harry, Daniyel, Ella… all with no response . Where were they? she thought, first in anger, then in mounting terror as hours passed and still Robert didn't wake.
When the Healers finally came to get her, she was so on edge she could barely form coherent sentences. They led her to a room with a single bed, where Robert lay — deathly pale and covered in bandages, but awake. His blue eyes glassy.
Mutely, she flicked her wand, her silver otter darting off in the direction of the Ministry before she rounded on him.
"You're awake," she said, her voice nearly breaking with relief. "Thank God. I couldn't reach anyone else, not Harry or Ella or Dan. Ron's still at the Ministry... Oh my God, Rob… I'm so glad you're all right..."
He didn't speak, staring blankly ahead, his hands curled into fists above the bedspread.
"Do you remember what happened?" Hermione said softly, hovering anxiously by the bed. "At the Ministry—"
"I remember." His eyes seemed to shimmer in the bright light of the room, the familiar blue suddenly clouded by tears, giving her pause.
"You won't be able to reach Harry or Ella with a Patronus," he added, staring up at the ceiling. "They're in Muggle London. You can use the Travel Stone though, if you like."
"Er—" she said, hesitating. A million questions queued in her mind, but she clamped her mouth shut, holding them back.
"It's over there," he said, and she followed his gaze to a table beside the bed, which housed Robert's wand, wallet, and a small stone. Aside from its pale orange color, it looked so ordinary. Unassuming; as if it had simply been plucked from a riverbed. She picked it up carefully, marveling at its small, unobtrusive shape. It felt slightly warm to the touch, and now that she held it, she could feel the runes carved in intricate patterns along its edges. She put it back down gently and glanced at Robert once more.
"Can you tell me what happened?" she asked, laying a hand on his shoulder and giving it a gentle squeeze.
"Yes," he whispered, and the tears that had been threatening to spill out of his eyes trailed silently down his cheeks.
By the time he finished speaking, she wanted to weep right along with him.
It was very late now, and Ella felt more tired than she thought she had a right to. It had been hours since Harry had left, and it was past time for bed — her whole body was telling her so. But leaving the safety of Eliza's room meant being alone with her thoughts and fears. There was nothing keeping them out but the bright glow of her magicked lights and her sister's company; her incessant chatter, which hadn't stopped since the moment Harry had left.
"So, do you think it'll be a boy or a girl?" Eliza asked now, glancing over at Ella from where she sat at her desk, swiveling the chair with her feet.
Ella leaned forward on the bed, glancing back at her sister and shaking her head in amusement.
"Liz, you know I have no idea. I haven't even seen the Healer yet."
"Can't you tell, like with magic?"
"No…" Ella rubbed wearily at her eyes. Harry must have reached St. Mungo's hours ago. What had happened to Robert? "Well, I don't think so, anyway. No, I doubt it."
Eliza laughed. "Are you sure you got a proper education over at Hogwarts? You seem confused."
"It was satisfactory." She managed a smile and flopped down onto the bed. She was just so tired. And worried. And still nauseous. And her entire abdomen felt bloated and tender. But there was a baby growing in there, after all. Somehow, she felt woefully unprepared for the big adventure ahead.
She glanced up at the glowing ball of light, the brightness bleeding across her vision as she let her mind step away from her terrified imaginings and wander ahead across the intervening years. Was she really ready for this? Would she be a good mother? Harry, she knew, would be excellent. She had seen him with Teddy and Victoire enough to cement this feeling… without a doubt. But why did she still feel so entirely lost and unprepared? Hadn't they been trying for a baby for ages and ages now? Well, it was much too late for second thoughts. She allowed herself a small smile. She would just plunge right in… Wing it. That was all.
The room abruptly fell into darkness, the light above her winking out with an almost painful jerk. For the second time that night, Eliza yelped in surprise. Ella blinked and sat up again, staring around in confusion. The sudden darkness was disorientating.
"Why'd you turn it off?" Eliza asked from somewhere to her left.
"I didn't." Ella frowned, reaching for her wand again. Where had she put the bloody thing? She couldn't quite focus on the query enough to find the answer. She must be more tired than she thought. She probably ought to go to bed, since she couldn't seem to even keep a basic sphere aglow.
A sudden light flashed into being, and Ella saw her sister's face appear in the darkness, lit up by the glow of her smartphone screen. Eliza fiddled with her phone, and a beam of light burst forth, momentarily blinding Ella.
"Woah," she said, lifting a hand to shield her eyes. "Can you move that?"
"Whoops, sorry." Eliza lowered the phone, and the beam flashed across the room like a torch, settling on the floor. "Wait, look…"
There was a slight shuffle as Eliza worked her way out of the chair and then creaking footsteps as the beam of light bounced across the floor. The shudder of blinds being pushed aside.
"Holy crap," Eliza breathed.
"What?" Ella asked, looking over in alarm at her sister's tone of voice.
"I'm not sure… look at the sky."
Ella slid off the bed and trudged over to the window. She grasped at the window ledge to steady herself in the disorienting darkness as she stared out, her eyes widening.
The entire street was sheathed in darkness, and above it the sky was lit up in a brilliant, unearthly blue. She could feel the energy pulsing through the night air, brushing up against her own magic, like static electricity. The sky was absolutely alive, trembling with color.
"I think it's aliens," Eliza said seriously.
"Don't be ridiculous…" Ella mumbled, staring. "Aliens aren't—"
"What, real?" Eliza said. Ella could actually hear her rolling her eyes. "You can't be serious. You just came here from an alternate universe where you're married to Harry Potter, and you're a witch who went to Hogwarts. And to assume that we're the only beings in this entire universe is—"
"Fair point," Ella conceded, still staring at the sky, and Eliza somehow fell silent. She briefly wondered if she should get her wand and do… something. But her mind seemed to be moving at half its usual pace, and it all just felt like too much effort.
"Macy said it's been like that for hours!" Eliza gasped. "Since the power went out."
"Really?" Ella stared, her eyes drawn to the sky. She counted five different shades of blue and momentarily wondered if it was an especially artful display of the northern lights; but that was absurd — the Aurora couldn't knock out the power in all of London.
"Diana's speculating that a transformer blew out at the electrical substation," Eliza said brightly, and Ella glanced at her sister to see that her face was buried in her phone again, glowing in the darkness like an apparition. "Damn, they've been having a whole discussion about it in the group chat this whole time!" She sounded disappointed.
"Right," Ella said distractedly. She was starting to feel entirely out of it. Even the darkness seemed somehow softer. "Group chat?"
She took a step toward Eliza and the room abruptly spun around her. The floor seemed to melt, all but dissolving to water. She flung out her arm, grasping at Eliza's shoulder and accidentally knocking the phone out of her hands. It crashed to the floor with a loud clatter.
"Ella?" Eliza cried, her voice rising in alarm.
"Sorry," Ella mumbled, blinking. "Feel a bit dizzy."
"Here, sit down."
Eliza grabbed her arm and led her to the bed. Ella plopped down on it heavily, her head still spinning. She was having trouble keeping the dark outline of Eliza's face in focus, and she blinked furiously, trying to clear her vision. She felt like energy was just draining out of her in droves, a cold fear taking root in its place.
"What's wrong?" Eliza said. "Is the baby OK?"
"I dunno…"
The question should have made her feel afraid, and it did, in some distant corner of her mind; but the world around her felt unreal, dreamlike, as if there was a barrier between what she knew she should feel and what she could actually touch.
Eliza was shining her phone at her face again, and Ella jerked her head away, squinting, until Eliza lowered the light and let out a sharp gasp.
"Ella, there's… blood."
"What?" Ella said weakly, glancing down.
But she didn't need to see it, the black stain spreading across the bed sheet. She could feel it, she realized. Draining. Not energy at all.
"No..." she whispered. Her breath caught in her throat and her vision dimmed at the edges. This couldn't be happening.Not now. "I need to… St. Mungo's…"
She reached for the Travel Stone before remembering that Harry had taken it. And she had left the other spare at the flat. She would just have to do it herself.
"Ella," Eliza was saying, her voice rising in panic as Ella fumbled for her wand, "what are you doing? I don't think you should—"
"Have to go…" Ella mumbled, as she reached inward, focusing on her magic, trying to visualize St. Mungo's. Harry was there now, wasn't he? If she could just get to him…. She felt the magic rise up inside her, overtaking her, and then, abruptly, her stomach contracted in sudden pain that lanced through her whole body, knifelike. She gasped. For a moment, she didn't know where she was. She didn't know which way was up. She thought she was falling, drowning, her world wrapped in cotton… and then, from seemingly far away, she heard an abrupt scream.
"MUM! DAD!"
Eliza, she thought stupidly. God, why was she so loud?
There were pounding footsteps, the force of them radiating throughout the whole room. She could feel the tremors beneath her head. The darkness pressed against her, a suffocating mass. Hands seemed to be grabbing at her. It hurt. She moaned weakly. Where was she? There were disconnected snatches of an urgent conversation.
"… My sister is bleeding out… No, she's pregnant!"
"Ella! Sweetie, can you hear me?"
Something was fluttering across the outline of her face. A hand, perhaps. But she couldn't speak. Couldn't move. She was in an ocean, waves crashing over her head before she could draw breath.
Her mind flashed back to Iceland, with Harry. The black sand beach. Waves crashing over ash and iron with a mounting ferocity, their motions immune to pattern or reason. It was impossible to tell before it happened, which one had the capacity to take a life. Harsh, and beautiful, and cruel.
She had run too close to the edge, and now the wave was coming. And she was running. Stumbling. On the edge of a tightrope as the world slipped out of balance. The water… was much too close.
Would it sweep her under?
"Please hurry! "
She lost track of reality then. There was suddenly a bright light in her face, stabbing at her eyes. She could make out nothing but several disparate voices, their words unintelligible. And then she was jarred abruptly. Moving. The whole floor was shaking. The sound echoed in her very bones. And she was freezing. So cold. Her teeth were chattering. Everything around her was vibrating, and something was cutting into her arm, her chest; and she was terrified, and frozen, and lost.
And suddenly, everything around her was bright, and the whole world seemed to be moving. Someone grasped at her hand, squeezed it. She tried to squeeze back, but her fingers wouldn't move.
Where was this place? She couldn't make sense of anything.
And then, more voices. "...it has to be now."
"Can't you wait? Her husband's not—"
"She's bleeding out, Mrs. Foster."
And then there was darkness. Only blissful darkness.
Is this the end, she wondered, as she sank into it. The end? Or the beginning?
Harry walked hurriedly down the long and empty corridor of the Artifact Accidents wing of St. Mungo's. His footsteps echoed as they slapped against the grey tile floor. He was surrounded by white walls, a white ceiling. Every few feet, he passed a dark green door. It all seemed to go on forever, pressing in on him as his panic threatened to bubble to the surface. He sped up, turning into the Nugent Potts Ward, where the number of each room was marked with a brown placard hanging from a black arrow. The numbers were emblazoned in gold. If not for the direness of the situation, it might have been amusing. He didn't have time to spare for errant thoughts, though, so he stopped by the information desk at the head of the ward and allowed the Nursewitch on duty to direct him to the appropriate door. He paused outside it for the space of a breath, then knocked softly and pushed it open.
"Hey," he said.
Ron and Hermione glanced up from where they were perched in chairs around the bed. Ron nodded at him and looked down again, his face pale and drawn.
"Hey, Harry," Hermione said in a listless voice which inspired a heavy dread to settle in his stomach.
He stepped further into the room, his eyes alighting on Robert, who seemed to be asleep. From what he could see of his face, he looked even paler than Ron. Harry glanced at Ron and Hermione again.
"What happened? You said there's been an attack?"
Ron raised his hands slowly to his face, slightly shaking his head as if he couldn't bear to describe it. His shoulders seemed to tremble with some invisible weight. Hermione picked up the mantle instead, her voice weary beyond her years.
"Yes, someone broke into the Department of Mysteries. Ron…" She glanced over at Ron, who shook his head again, and she continued, her voice softer. "Ron was still in the office. He ran down there, and, well, he found Robert, and… Oh, it's just terrible, Harry!"
"What do you mean?" Harry said, his mouth going dry. He could feel his heart speeding up anxiously in his chest as his eyes strayed to Robert again. "He'll be all right, won't he?"
"Rob will be fine," Hermione said quickly. "At least physically. They healed his injuries, but the rest of the Unspeakables..." She took a deep breath. "There was an explosion, Harry. The entire department is gone."
"Gone?" Harry said stupidly, staring at her. "What do you mean, gone ?"
"The Love Chamber was forced open, mate," Ron said quietly, speaking at last. His words hung heavily in the ensuing silence.
Harry drew in a sharp breath, dropping into the remaining empty chair. "Ron, tell me."
Ron spoke slowly, his words halting, as he described his trek down into the Department of Mysteries — what remained of it. The absent doors. The fallen archway. Kevin.
Ron's voice broke then and he fell silent. Hermione looked over at him and reached out, grasping his fingers with a tenderness that seemed to emanate strength.
"Robert said there was an intruder, one person," Hermione said quietly, when Ron didn't continue. "They were cloaked and hooded, and caught Rob, Kevin, and Saul unaware. There were several other Unspeakables down there, but they were the only ones in the Time Chamber when it happened.
"The intruder attacked them, and they dueled. They ended up in the Death Chamber, and Rob was hit with the Severing Charm. Kevin stayed behind with him while Saul gave chase. It's hard to say exactly what happened next, because Rob didn't see it, and he wasn't in the best condition to describe what he does remember, but…" She sighed, twisting her hands anxiously. "It seems like Saul chased the intruder out into the Room of Doors, and they somehow broke down the door to the Love Chamber."
"But how could they have done?" Harry said. "The protection spells…"
"We don't know," Hermione said, her voice breaking, "but, Harry, you know how the Love Chamber is. It can't just be opened. It…"
She trailed off and he felt his breath catch in his chest.
"How bad was it?" he asked quietly.
"Bad," Ron gasped. "There were fifteen people down there, Harry."
Harry dropped his eyes to the floor. "Are they all…?"
"Except Rob," Hermione whispered, her voice shaking. "Robards's team found them all, after they transferred Rob to St. Mungo's. Hearts shattered inside their thoracic cavities. Saul was too close to the point of impact. They… didn't find him at all."
"Merlin," Harry said softly, his stomach contracting. "How did Rob…"
"They think the archway must have… shielded him," Hermione said, her face recoiling slightly. "And Kevin. He took the brunt of it. Tried to stop it falling down, according to Rob. But it was— there was nothing they could do. The last thing Rob remembers is the archway falling, the veil tangling around Kevin, and then…"
She trailed off, looking ill, and took a steadying breath. Harry shuddered, trying not to let his mind drift to the veil; that cursed gateway to the other world that had, in some other version of his life, taken Sirius from him. It was something he had never shared with Ron or Hermione, but thoughts of the Department of Mysteries — of the Death Chamber specifically — had always left him cold, as if the veil were reaching for him with its tattered trails of cloths, waiting to steal away the life he had carved out. And now, Robert had slipped its clutches by inches… at the cost of another life.
"And the intruder?" he asked finally, after a painful silence.
Hermione shook her head. "Nothing."
"Could be dead," Ron said roughly. "Could be gone. Like Saul."
"Could be." Hermione didn't look convinced. "Would we be so lucky? You said the Anti-Disapparition Jinx was broken."
"You reckon they could get out that fast, though?" Ron said, staring at his hands again. Harry noticed the flecks of blood beneath his fingernails.
"I don't know," Hermione said honestly. "But if they did, it must have been premeditated. They couldn't have escaped once the Love Chamber burst otherwise. They would've had only seconds. The whole department all but collapsed."
Ron fell silent, putting his head in his hands. Harry glanced at Robert again, still unconscious. His heart ached. It was a horrible tragedy, whether it had been an accident or not — and he would find out, if it was. It was his job, and for once he was glad of its grim nature. Glad he could do something useful instead of sitting idly by and searching for answers while Robert lay unconscious and pale as death. He stood abruptly.
"Where's Robards?"
"Still at the Ministry," Ron said. "I should head back there. I—"
"No, stay here," Harry said, glancing at Ron again. "You look like shit, no offense. I'll go. Where's Dan? Does he know?"
"We couldn't reach him," Hermione said, while Ron nodded silently, his lips pressed together. "We'll keep trying. What about Ella?"
"Still in Muggle London," Harry said, turning towards the door. "I'll… tell her tomorrow. I better go, Robards will need all hands on deck for this."
Hermione eyed him, her expression serious. "Go on, we'll be all right. Update us when you can."
Harry nodded at them and left the room, Ron and Hermione's mournful faces imprinted across his memory like a relief as he hurried back down the hall. He inhaled sharply. Robert broken, Ron seemingly steps away, and Hermione trying to hold them all together. It was going to be a long, bleak night. He was glad Ella was still in Muggle London. It sent another painful pang through him to think of what her reaction would be when she found out about Robert and the tragedy that had befallen the team she'd been working so closely with for the past few years.
No, he thought, she could have one last night of happiness, at least, before her world came crashing down too. He'd give her that much.
If he had had a thought to spare for anything but the destruction that lay ahead, perhaps he would have felt the presence of his vision, hovering just on the fringe of consciousness, reaching into the waking world to touch the edges of his mind.
He didn't, though, preoccupied as he was; so he slipped out of St. Mungo's and Apparated to the Ministry, and walked into one of the worst scenes he had seen in his life, Ella slipping to the back of his mind. Safe. In Muggle London.
He didn't know yet, what anguish truly was.