Chapter Thirty-Five: The Attempt

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Ministry Stumbles in Wake of Mysteries Disaster

Almost three months to the day since an explosion tore through the Department of Mysteries and killed 14 Unspeakables, the Department of Law Enforcement investigation remains at a standstill. The team of Aurors handpicked by Gawain Robards and led by Harry Potter continues to make blunder after blunder. Despite initially identifying Augustus Rookwood as their key suspect, Potter and his team have been unable to capture, question, or even locate the escaped Death Eater, who vanished from his Yorkshire residence after questionably being released on house arrest at the end of last year.

In their failure to recapture Rookwood, most recently at the scene of yet another deadly explosion in Hogsmeade this past March, Potter's team of Aurors have quietly turned their attention to another and rather unlikely suspect.

Mrs. Margaret Croaker, the widow of Saul Croaker — previously Head Modus and second in command at the Department of Mysteries before falling on 6th February as one of its heroes — recounts how Aurors stormed her Sussex mansion with no warning, forcing her to vacate the premises for days to mount a search that ultimately resulted in nothing but wasted time and resources, and a stain on the memory of Saul Croaker.

"They showed up, waving a warrant," she explained in a shaky voice from her rather disordered sitting room. "Accused Saul of all sorts of ridiculous things. Questioned me. They didn't find anything, of course. My husband was a hero. Mark my words, whatever happened that night, he gave his life trying to save others. That's the Saul I know."

When asked what could have prompted the sudden investigation into her husband, the response from Mrs. Croaker was particularly telling. "I had been asking Robert Murphie round for tea," she admitted, referring to Unspeakable Murphie, the only known survivor of the Mysteries explosion. "For weeks, I had been hoping to speak with him. Hoping for closure. He showed up, finally, with Ella Potter. The wife of Harry Potter, of course. I found it odd she was there, but she knew Saul, and she seemed lovely. But just shortly after that, the Aurors were knocking on my door. Digging through Saul's things. I didn't want to believe it was connected, but my house elf, Alvie, told me Ella Potter was very interested in Saul's library. Insisted to be let inside. Well he is too kind, Alvie. He let her have a look. And that's where they started, of course. The library. He's got an impressive collection, Saul. All in the name of research, of course. He would never hurt anyone. And when I found out this supposed new information they're investigating had come from Robert? Well I felt betrayed. I couldn't believe it. And I just can't help but think that if I hadn't invited him, the Aurors would never have considered investigating Saul."

This new information, the Prophet can exclusively reveal, is recent testimony from Unspeakable Robert Murphie, citing previously unmentioned details from the night of February 6th, including interactions between Saul Croaker and the Ministry intruder, which directly contradict his initial account of Saul's heroism. Testimony that Gawain Robards found suspicious enough to launch a full-scale search of Croaker's mansion, which came up empty. As to what the Aurors were hoping to find, or why these previously unmentioned accusations are surfacing months later, or — perhaps more troubling — why Robert Murphie and Ella Potter appear to be interfering with an official Auror investigation, remains unclear. But it brings the validity of Murphie's newest testimony into question, while leaving many wondering whether Harry Potter, with his various ties to the Department of Mysteries, is truly leading an impartial investigation or simply playing house.

"Bloody fucking hell." Robards threw down the Prophet on his paper-strewn desk and palmed his face for a solid minute before refocusing on Harry. "Who the hell leaked Murphie's statement?" he barked, and judging by the look in his eyes, Harry suspected the person in question would do well to stay out of Robards' sight. At least if they valued vague concepts like their freedom or having all their limbs attached.

Robards didn't seem to expect an answer. He picked the paper back up, skimmed it again, and dropped it in disgust. "What a shitshow."

"Sir," Harry began, "this isn't—"

"Potter," Robards said with a sigh and Harry fell abruptly quiet. "I'm only going to ask you this once. Is there anything, anything that I should know?"

Across the desk, Harry considered him. The moment stretched, silence building. "No," he said. "No, there isn't."

Robards leaned across the desk, the newspaper crumpling slightly beneath the pressure of his hands. "Are you sure?"

Merlin, he wasn't sure of anything.

"Yes," Harry said.

"All right. Then what the hell were Ella and Murphie doing, visiting the wife?"

"Nothing," Harry protested, his pulse quickening slightly. "She invited Rob for tea, just like it says. Ella, she wanted to come along. She worked with Saul, knew him. It's really— it's unrelated."

Robards merely folded his arms across his chest and said nothing.

"She likes libraries," Harry added, a bit weakly. "Ella. She thought it was nice."

"And two weeks later, Murphie shows up here and makes that statement? Help me understand please, Potter, because it was odd enough before this mess came out."

Harry tried to appear unsuspicious. "Rob said seeing her made him remember. He was in shock when it all happened. I reckon he blocked most of it out. Sir, believe me, I'd like nothing better than for neither of them to be involved. And they aren't," he added as an afterthought.

Robards sighed again, sitting back down at his desk. "All right. Then this won't go further than this, for now. We keep looking into Croaker, but if I see another word about it in the Prophet… We need to get a handle on this, before we have a riot on our hands. If upstairs orders an investigation… Well, it doesn't help that Croaker's mansion was pristine."

And Harry, swallowing past the anxious bubble that had lodged in his throat, had to agree that it really didn't help at all.

A week of exhaustively searching through all his properties and possessions, and no Saul. No secret chambers. No missing horcrux books. Nothing even remotely linking him to Voldemort. It was no wonder Margaret Croaker was furious. Still, he hadn't expected the Daily Prophet coverage to skew so anti-DMLE when the story finally broke, but of course she'd talked to Zacharias Smith. Mr. Rita Skeeter, as Ella often called him. All of which wasn't to say Croaker was innocent. But Merlin, the missing books seemed more inconsequential with every new dead end. He almost wished all the Time-Turners hadn't been destroyed so he could go back and stop Robert from making the statement to begin with.

"Where are we on Rookwood?" Robards barked, changing tracks. "Still no sign of him?"

"No." Harry wondered how it was possible that one short word could make him feel like a complete bloody failure. "No sightings. No contact with any of the others we've been surveilling. We've secured every Dark hideaway we know of."

Robards looked disappointed. Harry didn't blame him. He had plenty of his own disappointment to acknowledge. He was just a ball of pent-up disappointment and nervous energy all smashed together.

[And it's exhausting,] Riddle's voice drifted softly across his mind. [Possessing you is exhausting, Harry. Your pathetic misplaced anxiety is contaminating my energy.]

[So get the fuck out then,] Harry thought back, momentarily closing his eyes. [I'm incredibly sorry if this is unpleasant for you, Tom. Must be awful.]

[What's awful is how woefully uninformed you are. I pity you, Harry.]

"All right," Robards said, jolting Harry back to reality, and Riddle smirked and vanished as he opened his eyes. "Keep going through Croaker's surviving work records. I want your team to trace them back as far as they go. Find a connection, Potter. Please."

Harry nodded. "I will." He would. Bloody hell, if there was one, he would. "But, sir, I need to step out, I'm meeting Ella. For her appointment."

Robards frowned slightly, rubbing a hand across his face again. When he removed it, he looked downright weary. "How's she doing?"

"She's…" Harry sighed, his stomach clenching. "She's making the best of it."

Robards nodded. "Go, Potter. Do what you need to do. And when you come back, find that connection. And give Ella my best," he added, as Harry turned to step out of the office.

"I will, sir."

And then he was gone, but not before catching a good look at Robards' worn-down face. The man was right —it was a bloody shitshow.

"Sorry," Harry said, slipping into the chair beside Ella not ten minutes later. The waiting room was rather busy, humming with the low murmur of whispered conversations. "Robards is pissed over the article."

"What, this one?" Ella managed a sickly grin, gesturing with a copy of the Prophet in his direction. "Can't imagine why."

"Yeah." He sighed, opening his hand for the paper. She handed it over. The headline glared at him for a moment before he squeezed his hand into a fist, crumpling it up. Ella didn't protest.

"Is this a problem for Rob?" she asked softly.

"I dunno," he admitted. "Not yet."

Ella bit her lip, looking downcast.

"It's not going to be," he said firmly, lowering his voice more still, "once we find something. We'll sort it out. I swear."

"Wish I hadn't—" Ella began, when Hannah's voice rang across the waiting room, calling out her name. Ella glanced up abruptly, a flash of fear flitting through her eyes, and stumbled to her feet. Harry followed as she wended between chairs and benches and the people occupying them, managing to grab hold of her hand as she approached the inner office. He squeezed it lightly, and after a moment she squeezed back.

"Hi," Ella said, when they stepped into the exam room, and Harry could hear the nervous quiver in her voice. His stomach clenched a bit as he softly closed the door.

"Ella, how are you feeling?"

"Oh, fine, you know…" Ella shifted anxiously, her eyes drifting to the beaker that stood waiting on the counter. Harry couldn't help looking at it too. Couldn't help the jolt of fear at the sight of the green potion within.

"All right," Hannah said with a small smile. "I won't make you wait. We'll do the bloods first."

She lifted her wand and stepped toward Ella, who hurried to roll up her sleeve, her fingers fumbling slightly as they pushed the loose fabric away.

"Ready for my stabbing," she said, just a little too lightly.

Hannah laughed. "I'd hope not. Or I might lose my Healing license." She poked her wand at Ella's arm, and Harry watched a small phial grow into being as it filled up with dark red blood. Ella didn't reply, looking on in silence as Hannah removed the now-full phial and emptied it into the waiting beaker. The green potion within began to swirl, the red streaks fading into it.

"Has the second dose of Soreness Solution been helping?" Hannah asked, as she moved her wand in complicated-looking patterns across Ella's body, pausing to note down vitals in her chart.

"I dunno, er, maybe," Ella said, shrugging. "It's hard to say, it was Rest Week."

Hannah nodded. "Keep taking it for this round, and we'll see if there's improvement."

"Mmm." Ella glanced down, fidgeting with her sleeve as she straightened it out.

Harry looked at the beaker again, which was still swirling. He wanted to ask Hannah what it would mean if the numbers didn't drop again, but he reckoned the question would only make Ella more anxious. Instead he grasped her hand, and Ella spared him a nervous glance before refocusing on the beaker.

When it seemed like an eternity had passed and the silence was thick enough to cut, the potion within the beaker finally settled into the pale yellow color that Harry associated with test completion, peppering the air above it with golden sparks. Beside him, Ella inhaled sharply as Hannah reached over and touched the glass with her wand. Harry couldn't inhale. He couldn't seem to breathe at all past the tightness in his chest. Past the visions of his every horcrux and every dementor. It took everything he had to stay still. To wait.

Finally, Hannah looked up. She was smiling. "293."

Harry breathed again.

"Oh my god," Ella said, her voice shaky. "Merlin."

"A 41% drop," Hannah said, nodding. "It's very good."

"Fuck, I was terrified," Ella admitted. "Sorry."

Hannah laughed. "That's all right, perfectly understandable."

"So, it's good?" Harry asked, wrestling with his own relief. A 41% drop — that seemed good. "That's a good trend?"

"It's a great trend," Hannah confirmed. "The MTX is still working. We don't need to make any adjustments."

She stepped away, presumably to collect the methotrexate, and Ella turned to Harry, unable to suppress her grin. It was infectious. As light as his chest had suddenly become. He smiled right back at her.

"It's working!" Ella breathed. "Oh my god, I thought. I really…"

"I know," Harry said gently, touching his forehead to hers. The relief was overwhelming. Ella's hands were shaking and he gripped them tightly.

"I was sure I'd end up on real chemo," Ella said, still chattering nervously. "You know, the hard stuff."

"I know," he repeated. He kissed her cheek. "Me too," he added softly, and his voice cracked, the truth of that slicing through him. The hard stuff. She had almost. Almost… He didn't want to think about it. Couldn't bear to.

"I tried to cut out folate," Ella added as Hannah approached with the needle, turning to look at her. "From my food, I mean. Harry kept asking if we were on the carnivore diet." She laughed, the sound dancing with nervous energy, while Harry briefly thought back to all the steaks, briskets, and hams they'd eaten their way through last week. Not that he minded in the least.

Hannah frowned. "Why?"

"I read it might be interfering with the MTX," Ella explained, as Harry stepped out of the way to allow Hannah access. "In my support group. So I've been avoiding vegetables. No more salads. Just a lot of meat and egg whites and such."

"Oh you shouldn't do that," Hannah said, positioning the magical needle against Ella's skin. "Ella, you should eat what you want. That isn't going to make any difference, and a balanced diet is so important."

"But it went down, though," Ella said. Hannah withdrew the needle and vanished the empty vial, and Ella turned around, her eyes set. "I thought it might help, and the numbers went down."

"They would have gone down anyway." Hannah smiled. "If GTD could be cured by a folate-free carnivore diet, no one would need chemo. Right?"

"I suppose." Ella sounded a bit disappointed.

"Good," Hannah said. "See you Sunday, then."

"Sure, yes. Bye, Hannah," Ella said, smiling again, and she grabbed Harry's hand and pulled him out of the room.

"Floo?" he asked as they walked back to the waiting room.

"Or lunch out?" she countered. "Oh, do you need to get back?"

"Er—" He envisioned Robards face, and the records stacked not-so-neatly on his desk. "No, I can stay out a bit."

"Good. I'm starving. I swear, this morning I thought I'd never want to eat again."

Harry grinned. "What do you want, a nice steak?"

"Oh, shut it, Harry." She poked him lightly, the smile stretching across her face.

It was nice. Watching her, Harry realized that it had been a long time since he had genuinely seen her smile. At least with this kind of lightness. A bit of good news. They needed that.

"Actually, there's a new sushi place I've been eyeing," Ella was saying, bringing him back to the present. "Is that cool? I know you don't really like sushi, but I think they have—"

"Sushi sounds great," Harry said firmly, fully aware that he'd revert to the grapefruit-and-carrot diet if only it made Ella happy. "Lead the way."

"All right," she said, as he followed her out into the London streets, and the background blaring of car horns and traffic settled around them. "It's just up here, a couple blocks, if I recall..."

She considered the direction and hurried off, pulling on his hand as she led him firmly along the pavement. Past shop windows and passersby and the occasional blooming tree. Spring. It felt bright and optimistic. He slipped his other hand in his pocket and his fingers brushed the crumpled newspaper, its contents flashing through his memory. He pushed them aside. Later. Things were still a mess, but they would still be a mess when lunch was over.

[Well, that's nice, isn't it?] Riddle said conversationally. [Your wife has evaded death again, Harry. For now, anyway. You must be thrilled.]

Harry ignored him. Ella's hand was warm in his. He focused on that. On the way her fingers still trembled slightly. The feel of her skin against his palm.

[It is impressive, isn't it? The way you both continue to worm your way out of tight spots. Really, Harry. My friends could learn a few things from you.]

[Friends?] Harry couldn't help himself. [You haven't got any friends, Tom. You wouldn't know friendship if— Never mind. I'm not doing this with you.]

[Well, Rookwood certainly seems to be keeping you on your toes.] Riddle sounded amused. [I always did enjoy Augustus. A particularly ingenious wizard. Even as a first year. Bright-eyed. Clever. Cruel.]

Ella turned down a side street and Harry refocused on her, pushing Riddle's incessant chatter to the back of his mind. This street was a bit emptier and somewhat more floral. They walked past a couple more shops, a bar, and a deli. Up ahead, he could see the lush green of a rooftop garden spilling over the side of the brick apartment complex that housed it. The pavement across the road opposite was fenced off, scaffolding stretching along the side of a half-constructed building.

"I know we're not out of the woods yet," Ella said, and he glanced at her. "I know it can still stop working anytime, and we have a million other things that are awful."

"But it's still a win," Harry said firmly. "Today it's a win. And we needed one."

"Yeah." She nodded. "We really did."

"And I reckon—"

[Potter,] Riddle hissed abruptly from his right, [would you please move?]

Harry started, briefly wondering how Riddle could manage a word like 'please' while being such a bloody prick, and why couldn't he just get lost already. And then his eyes widened, his hand reaching for his wand as a horrible grinding creak tore abruptly through the air and panicked screams erupted.

There was metal, glinting, feet away. Speeding straight at him, as if he were a magnet, pulling it close. A lifting hook.

The crane across the way was falling.

Crashing down through the construction zone in a cloud of dust. The scaffolding crumpling beneath it.

He reacted, his hand closing around Ella's arm as a burst of wind-like energy exploded from his wand with a roar. The force of it flung them back, Ella crashing against him, and they went tumbling to the ground. There was a bang, his elbow colliding painfully with the pavement. Sending a jolt down his arm. A startled gasp from Ella in his ear before a shattering crash sounded from above, drowning out her voice. Shards of glass rained down, slicing into his arms like a hundred tiny knives.

"P-Protego!" he coughed, choking on dust. His mouth was stinging, the taste of iron overwhelming. The air was cloaked with swirling dust and he could barely see, though he could feel the glass continuing to crash against his shield charm. Each impact straining the spell. And then the ground shook, the tremors notable even within his protective bubble, and his ears were filled with the sounds of crashing metal and muted screams.

He blinked dust and blood out of his eyes and sought out Ella, who lay still beside him. She was covered in a coating of glass shards, her eyes wide as they locked in on his.

"You all right?" he asked, forcing the words out past the stinging numbness in his mouth. He could barely hear them.

"I…" she gasped, before dissolving into a coughing fit. He reached for her, and she pushed up on her bare forearms, which were bloody. "I'm fine."

His hands were bloody too.

She extracted her wand, crouching there for a moment with it pressed against the glass-strewn pavement as she coughed again. Harry clambered to his feet, his eyes darting across the scene as the dust cleared.

The crane lay splayed across the road, cracks running across the asphalt beneath its twisted metal frame. Its tip was buried in the sunken roof of a parked sedan, feet away. The car alarm blaring. The lifting hook wasn't visible, lost somewhere in the wreckage of the shop window beside them. And there were people. A dozen of them, at least. In orange construction vests and suits and flowery dresses, shell-shocked and covered in dust. Crouching on the ground. Stumbling through the broken remains of the alley. He lowered his wand, releasing the shield charm, and the crying screams and blaring car alarm grew ten times louder, assaulting his ears. The air was thick with dusty smoke.

He whispered a spell, propelling his patronus forward into the smog. The air tasted acrid on his tongue.

"Go," Ella gasped as she clambered to her feet. "Help them."

There was a man across the road, struggling to extract himself from beneath a piece of collapsed scaffolding. Ella pushed weakly at his arm.

"I'm fine," she coughed.

Crying screams drifted out from the shattered shop window. He couldn't see inside. It was a gaping black hole. Just darkness. He raised his wand.

Something flashed in the corner of his eye. Something… a thread of brown…. He whirled.

"Ella!"

She was on the ground again, her face screwed up in a grimace. Her hand was clenched to her side. He dropped down beside her as she moved it away. Her fingers were bright red. Dripping. A large shard of glass clattered to the pavement, its edges scarlet.

She looked at him. Her eyes wide. Fear pooling in them again, deeper than it had that morning. The blackness of her pupils widening as the color bled from her face.

"Confervo!" Harry hissed, his stomach twisting as he jabbed his wand at the gash in her side. Ella's head tipped forward, her forehead brushing his arm. "Confervo Volnus!" His wand tip was red. He repeated the spell, directing it, molding it. Slowly. Carefully. Her hand dropped to the ground.

He pulled her against him, magicking the blood away. Searching out the wound. But the skin beneath had knit together.

"El!" he said firmly. "Ella!" But she simply lay there, unmoving. Harry cursed, stumbling to his feet again as he lifted her off the glass-strewn ground. The crying moans still drifted out from the shattered window. He hesitated, his fingers gripping tightly at his wand, the weight of her heavy in his arms.

He'd healed a hundred wounds deeper than that one. Had he not done it properly?

There was a sudden flash of blue flame and he whirled to see a silver lion appear on the pavement, blindingly bright in the haze. It pawed at the littered ground, opening its jaws to speak. And its roar was that of Robards.

"Muggle authorities notified and en route. Fire and Rescue Services will handle. Do not interfere."

And yes, sirens swirled in the distance; their wails growing steadily louder, blending with horns and screeching tires, until they all but drowned out the panicked voices that still echoed around him.

Harry pulled Ella's unconscious form tight against him and turned on the spot; stepping into the compressing darkness that twisted and whirled, that pulled and pushed and shifted; reforming, slowly, into the greenish haze of St. Mungo's.