Chapter Forty-Four: Battle Ground
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"Harry!"
He started, nearly dropping his comb as Ella's muffled voice cut into his daze. He had been staring aimlessly into the mirror, hair half-combed, his mind racing ahead to sift through the day. Chemo with Ella. Relieving Ron in Dover in the afternoon. And then, later, Robards wanted to meet.
Why? Well that was the question, wasn't it? Something to do with his shoddy attendance, no doubt.
"Harry, it's Ron's crup!" Ella called again, her voice more urgent now, and he tore himself away from his thoughts and hurried to the kitchen. Ron's patronus was frantically pacing back and forth through the remains of their breakfast, its translucent claws pattering against the table.
It stopped abruptly, having sensed its recipient, and fixed its glowing eyes on Harry. Then it opened its mouth, and Ron's frantic voice spilled out from its gaping jaws.
"It's Rookwood!"
Finally! Harry drew in a breath, clenching his hands. The sharp metal teeth of the comb dug into his palm. Beside him, Ella knocked her mug against the table so hard, some tea spilled over the edge. But Ron wasn't done.
"Bloody made me!"
"Shit," Harry said, his stomach dropping.
"Need backup. The alley. Mate, behind the house! Oi—" Ron's voice cut off abruptly, leaving a resounding silence in its wake.
"Shit," Harry repeated, his mind whirling. The last time Ron had sent him a patronus like this… No, not again. "Hell."
He turned to Ella, who was staring at him, her hand still clenched around the mug.
"Harry, go!" she managed.
He was already running, reaching for the wand he'd left on the counter. He twirled it so fast his fingers blurred, and the stag burst forth into their flat, hovering long enough for a few well-chosen words. And then it was bursting through their window, galloping away into the still summer air and down into the heart of the Ministry, in search of Robards. He dropped the comb he was still holding, Accio'ing his Auror robes instead, and hurried back past Ella, who was standing by the table.
"Your appointment." His stomach clenched as he shoved an arm into the robes. "I'm so sorry—"
"I'm fine," she said, shaking her head. "Just go!"
He brushed her hand with his as he ran past, glancing back at the door as he stomped into his boots. Ella stood stiffly, one hand braced against the table. Her face pale enough to reflect his own fear.
"You shouldn't go alone," he insisted, hovering on the edge of to subdue the dread clawing its way through him. If something happened to Ron…
Bloody hell, it was on him. It was his fault Ron was there. No backup for miles. Merlin knew how many wizards Rookwood had with him.
What had he done?
"I'll ask Siggy," Ella said firmly, though her voice still trembled. "Bloody hell, Harry, go!"
"All right." He turned, the flat beginning to blur. Heart racing.
"Update me!" she called quickly. "All right?"
"I will." But the flat was already shimmering away. Vanishing as he spun into tight, compressing darkness. Ella's pale face faded to black, and he wasn't really sure if she heard.
He stumbled as the ground shifted beneath him. Polished parquet slanting to cobblestone. The darkness faded, revealing chipped red bricks. Walls around him. A tiny stretch of sky. There was an angry shout from his left and he whirled to see Ron down the alley, wand raised, forcing a hooded figure back against the weathered brick wall.
Rookwood.
Ron had Rookwood's wand arm pinned back, pressed against the wall with magic. Rookwood was seething, his face set in a furious sneer. His eyes were sharp and calculating.
Harry ran, boots pounding against worn cobblestones, his heart jumping higher with every step.
"Oi!" Ron glanced over, blood smudged against his cheek. "'Bout time! I swear, Harry—"
"Ron!" he yelled, his stomach dropping.
In the second Ron had looked away, Rookwood lunged forward and thrust his free hand into Ron's chest, his lips silently forming words. There was a flash of light and Ron gasped, sinking abruptly to the ground. Rookwood pushed past him in the same instant, his wand arm now free. He sliced it through the air, and there was a terrible grinding sound, and a chunk of the wall opposite came crashing down into the passage.
"Protego!" Harry yelled, as screams erupted from several directions. "Ron!"
He couldn't see. The air was swirling with dust and bits of brick and plaster. He coughed, fighting his way through the falling debris as he struggled to keep the Protego in place. Ron appeared, his red Weasley hair flashing in the haze. He was crumpled on the ground, lying motionless beneath the cover of the spell. Harry crouched quickly beside him, his eyes still scanning the alley ahead as he lay a shaking hand against Ron's chest.
Alive.
The dread in his stomach lessened by degrees.
Ron's breathing was shallow, his eyes open but unfocused. And up ahead, he could see the edges of Rookwood's cloak vanishing into the dust.
He was going to disappear. Again. They were going to lose him.
Harry cursed and stumbled to his feet. He was hardly aware of making the decision before he was running forward, pushing through the dust. Hoping the Protego would keep the alley from crumbling.
"Ventus!" he yelled, and a gust of tornado-like wind blew forward, clearing the dust and debris out of the way. There was a gaping hole in the wall to his left, but he couldn't spare it a second glance. He couldn't stop for that, not when he'd left Ron so still behind him. Only one thing mattered now.
He tore down the passage, hopping over shattered wood and bits of brick. And there, feet from the high street, a cloaked figure stumbled in the wind.
"Stupefy!" Harry yelled.
Rookwood threw himself sideways, bouncing against the brick wall to his right. The stunner flew past, vanishing onto the high street. Rookwood recovered almost instantly, jutting his wand in Harry's direction. A blinding jet of purple light flashed between them. Harry threw forth a second shield charm, letting it shatter and fall to pieces on impact. The very ground beneath him shook, but he lunged ahead, not daring to lose momentum.
"Stop!"
Rookwood ignored him, pushed off from the wall and stumbled to the mouth of the alley. To where terrified Muggles were appearing, as if summoned there by magic. Popping up like mushrooms after a heavy rain.
If Rookwood reached them, if he burst out into that dense Muggle street…
The thought made Harry's blood run cold.
He raised his wand.
"Obsepio!"
The bricks from either side of the alley surged toward each other, knitting together in a flash. Blocking the alley off from the high street. Rookwood stumbled to a halt. He whirled, furious eyes boring into Harry's before darting away to scan the alley.
"You're done," Harry said, drawing to a panting halt several feet away. He raised his wand, his grip quite steady.
Rookwood sneered. "Done, eh. Reckon you got me, Potter?"
"I've got you." Harry kept his wand trained firmly on Rookwood's heart as he took a step closer. Then another. Rookwood whirled his wand through the air and fire exploded from its end, eating up the space between them. The heat blazed across Harry's skin. But he was ready; his wand already moving to meet the flames. His silent Aguamenti brought forth a wave of water and it crashed into the passage, smothering the fire as it surged towards Rookwood.
"Give it up," Harry panted, the rush of summoning the wave slapping him like a recoil. Weariness surged through him, and he nearly stumbled. He reached out, pushing one hand against the brick wall as he steadied his wand. "There's nowhere to go."
Rookwood staggered back, his eyes flashing as the water rushed his ankles, soaking the bottom of his robes. "Feeling proud?" he spat. "Shame about your friend back there. Weasley, is it? Be awful if he were dead. Be real awful."
A sharp pang of dread sliced through Harry's stomach. His fingers tightened on his wand. "He's fine."
"Wouldn't be so sure if I were you." Rookwood smirked. "Reckon you ought to check."
"Drop your wand," Harry snapped, closing the distance between them as he shoved his fear for Ron aside. The water washed over his boots, seeping through the leather. Rookwood's eyes darted back and forth between the alley walls. He reached out with one hand, almost casually.
"Impedimenta!" Harry hissed, and there was a tremendous splash as Rookwood was blasted backward, the force of the spell pushing him against the makeshift brick wall. Drops of water splattered across Harry's robes. "Don't even think about it."
Rookwood's sneer deepened, like a gash bleeding across his face. "Judgement," he spat bitterly, forcing out the word.
"Yeah. Yours." Harry approached him, aiming his wand carefully. He bound one of Rookwood's hands to the wall. Then the other. Then he rechecked both, not daring to risk another mistake.
"You've got… the wrong man," Rookwood choked out, struggling to speak beneath the spell still freezing him in place.
Harry ignored him, summoning Rookwood's wand. There was a satisfying snap as it slammed against his palm.
"I'm innocent, Potter. Innocent. You hear me?"
"Innocent," Harry repeated, taking in the man glowering back at him. The broken bits of brick and pooling water, and the dust that coated it all. He tried not to think about Ron, or the Muggles unlucky enough to have been here. Instead his eyes fell to the wand, tracing the runes that marked the cracked black wood. Still warm from its slew of deadly spells. "Whose bloody wand is this?"
Rookwood glared, the fury in his eyes sharp enough to cut. And in the silence, Harry could hear muffled screams and cries behind the brick wall. The steady wail of sirens approaching. All audible now that the frantic pounding of his heart had eased. He chanced a glance down the alley, but couldn't make out Ron behind the rubble. Not even a flash of his red Weasley hair. He turned back, dread pooling in his stomach. Rookwood was still scowling, hatred burning in his eyes.
"Where is he?" Harry said quietly.
Rookwood said nothing. Simply glared.
"Have you brought him back already?" Harry took another step closer, his wand hand steady. Robards would arrive in moments. There wasn't time for this. "Is he alive?"
"Don't know what you're on about, Potter."
"Don't bullshit me!" Harry all but yelled, his voice rising. "I know what you did."
"Yeah? I didn't blow up your Ministry," Rookwood spat, his teeth bared. He lunged forward, struggling against the invisible bounds that held him in place. "This is a fucking witchhunt! How stupid do you think I am? You, with your mighty—"
Harry jabbed his wand against Rookwood's chest, the tip directly above his heart."Tell me where he is."
"Fucking who?"
"Voldemort," Harry hissed in frustration, and Rookwood flinched back at the name, his eyes widening.
Then he began to laugh, almost shaking with the force of it. "You're mad."
Harry glanced up at the empty stretch of sky, cursing. If only he were. If only.
"Still chasing a dead man," Rookwood jeered. "As if you don't know where you left him."
"You—" Harry stepped closer, anger surging through him. He was sick of it. Of the lies. The bodies, piling up and up. Rookwood's games. His wand was pressing hard against Rookwood's chest. Too hard. An acrid smell hit his nose. The edges of the cloak were smoking.
"If he was where I left him, d'you reckon I'd still be chasing him?" The burning smell grew stronger, and Rookwood let out an involuntary gasp, his laughter dying away. "I s'pose he got up and walked away on his own?"
Rookwood's eyes narrowed, the hatred there burning even hotter than his cloak. "What the hell are you implying, Potter? I take wands. Not bodies."
"That's not all you take, is it?" Harry lowered his voice, as if afraid the alley had ears. "But you lost the ring to Dumbledore. Only the diadem's left. Or have you got it?" He was too angry to feel afraid. "Have you used it?"
"I don't know what the hell you think—"
There were several loud cracks, and the alley abruptly filled with yells and pounding footsteps. A shout of "Potter!" drowned out the rest of Rookwood's words.
Out of time.
He cursed, though he didn't quite lower his wand. Rookwood wasn't laughing anymore. He spit angrily on the flooded cobblestones, his eyes narrowing as he sized Harry up.
"I see now," he said coldly, seizing the last moment before the others arrived. "You're just a boy, Potter. A little boy who can't let go. Haunted."
Harry stepped back abruptly with a splash, cold shivers sweeping up his arms. "What did you say?"
"Must be hard," Rookwood said with sneering false sympathy. "Living with a ghost."
The world seemed to rock, the cobblestones all but slipping beneath his feet. Harry took another shaky step back, staring at Rookwood. Cold flooded him. Somewhere in the depth of his mind, he felt Riddle shift. Awaken.
"I'll get you for this, Potter," Rookwood hissed, his eyes smoldering. "You're a dead man. You, and Weasley back there. And that pretty wife of yours." His eyes burned. "Ella, isn't it? I'll do her in this time."
Harry opened his mouth, but couldn't seem to speak. His wand hand was shaking, the shadow of Riddle rising up inside him.
"Potter!" a voice said sharply in his ear, and he felt the firm weight of a hand on his shoulder. He whirled, finding himself face to face with Robards. The shadow receded. He stood there, trembling, as Ernie and Daniyel rushed past, wands aimed at Rookwood.
"Augustus Rookwood!" Ernie snapped. "You are under arrest for acts of terrorism. For murder. For the destruction of government property. For—"
"Are you all right?" Robards asked quietly, his hand still on Harry's shoulder. Behind him, the alley was teeming with Aurors and Magical Law Enforcement. Someone had Vanished the water from the ground. His sodden robes hung heavily in its absence.
Harry nodded, not quite trusting himself to speak. Riddle was still laughing softly in his ears.
[He knows about you,] Harry thought desperately, his mind swirling with questions. With horrors.
[You think so, do you?] Riddle began to laugh. Louder. Wilder. The sound echoed in Harry's head, leaving him cold.
Lies, he realized. All of it. Rookwood knew everything. He'd known about Riddle all along.
His hands were shaking. Somewhere in the distant alley, he curled them into fists.
Was Voldemort privy to his every thought, even now?
"What happened?" Robards asked sharply, snapping Harry back into the present of the alley. He focused on Robards's lined face. On the dust, still settling behind him. The mediwizards some fifty feet away, in their blazing green robes.
"Ron!" he gasped. "He's hurt. He's—"
"The mediwizards are tending to Weasley. He'll be all right."
But Harry wasn't listening. He tore abruptly down the alley, ignoring Robards's chastising calls. The dust still swirled as he ran, choking him. He coughed, skidding to a halt beside Ron, who was mercifully sitting up, leaning against the crumbling brick wall.
"Oi," he said in a faint voice, squinting up at Harry as a mediwizard swept a wand across his chest. "'Bout time, mate. Did you get him?"
"Yeah." Harry nodded, his stomach clenching as he took in how pale Ron looked. How he seemed to labor with every breath, his chest shuddering.
"Good." Ron managed to look pleased. "About bloody time." He closed his eyes, leaning further back. "I want to question him, mind…" His voice trailed off weakly.
"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked the mediwizard nervously.
The mediwizard ignored him, still focused on his sweeping wand.
"He attacked my heart," Ron supplied, his eyes still closed. "Like a heart attack. Get it? Haha." He laughed weakly.
"He's lucky to be alive," the mediwizard said, glancing up from his examination. He gestured to his partner, who removed a green cube from her bag. It glowed once, before expanding into a floating gurney. The mediwizard aimed his wand at Ron, levitating him onto it.
"The caster didn't manage a direct hit. Auror Weasley can count his blessings." With that, they each grabbed one end of the gurney. There was a bright green flash, and they were gone.
Harry stared in silence at the empty bricks and cobblestones that remained, a coldness seeping through him. He cursed softly. How much more hurt would he be responsible for?
"Potter," Robards said after a few moments. Harry turned to find his boss standing behind him once again. Robards was frowning. "Tell me what happened here."
"I…" Harry muttered. His mind was still swirling. He couldn't quite seem to organize his thoughts. "Er— Ron sent an urgent message. Rookwood was here. Ron almost got him, but then he…" He released a shaky breath. "My fault. Distracted him."
Robards said nothing, waiting.
"Got Ron," Harry finished. "I chased him down. We exchanged some spells. There were Muggles. I dunno. It might have hit— the high street." He gestured vaguely down the alley.
"And then?"
"Got him." Harry shrugged. "There he is."
"I see." Robards's face was a mask. "Good. So, Potter. Care to tell me why Weasley was here, and not in the office where he was supposed to be?"
"I…" Harry paused, trying to pull something helpful from his clamoring mind. "I don't…"
His silence was answer enough. Real anger flashed across Robards's face, and when he spoke, his voice was an icy quiet.
"Is this where you and Weasley have been vanishing to all week? Did you have reason to believe that Rookwood was here, Potter? Some reason you didn't feel like sharing with the team?"
"There may have been a tip," Harry admitted. A tip. Likely a trap, just as Ron had said. And he was so bloody stupid yet again. "I just wanted to…"
Robards cursed, and raised a hand abruptly. "Stop. Bloody hell, Potter, I swear…" He opened his mouth, seemed to consider some well chosen words, exhaled angrily, and closed it again. "This is not the end of this discussion. I have to secure the scene." He withdrew a gold badge stamped with the Ministry emblem and shoved it at Harry. "I need you in the room when we question Rookwood. Go bring him in. Take MacMillian."
"Yes, sir." Harry took the badge, his fingers pressing hard against the small letters etched into the gold. Ministry of Magic Portkey Recall, Auror Holding. Shame crept up his neck in a red flush.
"Go, Potter," Robards snapped.
He hurried away, though not without the imprint of Robards's murderous glare still burning holes in his back.
The alley was a swarming mess. Red-robed Catastrophe Squad wizards hurried past in both directions. Someone had begun to Repair the broken wall. Muggle sirens were growing steadily louder in the distance, mixing with the Muggle wails that still echoed around him, like some sort of broken symphony. At the mouth of the alley, Daniyel and Ernie had Rookwood secured and were engaged in a heated discussion. Ernie was gesturing with his wand. Harry approached them.
"Gotta bring him in," he said shortly, and they both turned to look at him. Rookwood bared his teeth in anger.
"You've got the portkey?" Ernie asked, an edge in his voice.
Harry flashed the badge in their direction. He considered telling Ernie to stay, but reckoned Robards might sack him on the spot. "Let's go," he said instead.
"Should I?" Daniyel began.
"Yeah." He touched his wand to the Recall, and three golden threads snaked out, one wrapping itself firmly around Rookwood's wrist. The others swirled, waiting, and Ernie and Daniyel each reached forward to touch one. Harry jabbed the badge, and the alley vanished with a sickening jolt; crumbling into the empty black that would reform, momentarily, into headquarters. But the darkness around him wasn't nearly as oppressive as the one swirling in his mind.