Chapter Fifty: Whispers in the Wards

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The air hummed, almost electrically charged. An odd thing to say. He was in St. Mungo's, after all. Arguably one of the least electrically charged places this side of London. And yet, it was the undercurrent of magical energy that seemed to keep Harry's heart thrumming so sharply against the edge of his chest. The hum of Healers chatting in the background. The soft buzz of the monitoring orb.

The silence of Ella sleeping.

Infection.

The Healers had pulled Ella from him, barely leaving him with time to explain. She was blood-soaked and filthy, with a patchwork of bruises etched across her skin beneath the layers of dirt. So hot with fever, he could still feel the warmth long after they had taken her. He had stood, staring at the door through which they'd vanished, a crippling cold wrapping around him as Healers hurried past, lime robes swirling. And then Hannah was there, rushing through the hall.

"Harry." She had paused, rounding on him. "I've been called down. What's happened to Ella?"

He'd shaken his head, the entirety of it too vast, too enormous to explain. "She was hurt, Hannah. She's got a fever. They… they took her, and—"

"All right." She lightly gripped his shoulder. And she was gone. Hurrying away through the same swinging double doors through which Ella had vanished. The urgency in her steps more pressing than any other questions he could have answered. And he felt his heart drop, sink to his stomach. That was it. They had taken her, and he was done now. Done with the rushing. The running. And now, only the waiting remained.

And yet, his mind was rushing still; the last twenty-four hours swirling on repeat.

He didn't understand. Couldn't quite work out what had happened. He was sure that Siggy was somehow guilty. Ever since Robert had dropped the bombshell about the dead sister she had been pretending was alive, he'd felt it in his gut. She was a liar. She was hiding something. In the same way that he had been sure that the Sorcerer's Stone was in danger back in first year, he was just as sure that Siggy had taken Ella, though he couldn't imagine why. It hadn't mattered why. His gut feeling had been enough to stomp all over Daniyel's feelings. To show up at Siggy's flat and question her mum until they traced her the hell down. But then Ella and Siggy had stumbled from that house together, Voldemort behind them. Bloody Voldemort. And he had frozen. Merlin, he hadn't expected that.

Was he wrong after all? Like the time he had been wrong about Snape. Or about Sirius.

He didn't feel that he was wrong.

But then Voldemort had killed Siggy. Murdered her, like she was nothing. A spare more than an ally.

And then he was in that graveyard again. It all led back to the graveyard somehow. And now he was simply numb. With that cold voice whispering in his ear. Kill the spare. I am done playing games, Harry. Get on the altar.

You are all going to die. I will kill her. And I will kill them. And I will kill you.

The last bit, the most recent, had been Parseltongue, and it left him frozen with cold.

And Voldemort was gone. Again. But it was different now. No longer some distant threat he couldn't stick to a timeline. Voldemort was out there; Harry had seen him. Had heard the cold hiss of his threats. And he could no longer ignore the reality of it. No longer pretend that the end wasn't looming. It was a knowing in his bones. In his heartbeat, so frantic against his ribcage. A countdown of sorts.

He had to know she was all right. Before the end came. And yet he couldn't seem to move.

He reckoned he might have stood there for hours if the Healer had not appeared beside him. Hadn't taken him by the elbow, and led him somewhere deep into the hospital, down winding corridors packed with hurrying Healers. If he hadn't patched up whatever injuries Harry couldn't feel, and asked questions that he couldn't remember answering. And then, finally, he was left sitting beside her.

She was clean, the layers of dirt all magicked away, the bruises just a bit fainter now. Her face was relaxed in sleep. He could have almost believed that was all it was, if not for the monitoring orb pulsing softly above her. Or the potion glimmering in the tube that vanished into her arm.

Some potion Hannah was hoping would fix her. Heal her infection. Raise her terribly low blood counts. Replenish her magic. And what did any of it matter, because when he'd asked if she'd be all right, Hannah hadn't seemed to know how to answer.

How could that be?

He reached out, gently taking her hand. Squeezing it. A bit cooler, he thought. If they could just get the fever under control, maybe then—

"Harry."

He turned. There was no surprise left in him. No feeling.

They stood in the doorway. Dark shadows, hovering on the threshold. Death, he thought stupidly. Come to take her. And for a second, the vision made his blood cold. But then the light shifted, the shadows fading. Just his friends. Dusty and bedraggled. Their faces pale and grim beneath the dirt that surely caked his own skin, too. He could see his own misery shimmering in their eyes.

"How is she?" Hermione asked softly, glancing at Ella's sleeping form as she stepped into the room. Behind her, Daniyel looked on the edge of tears, his eyes red and swollen.

Harry drew in a shaky breath. "She's alive." His voice was strangled, as if whatever was squeezing his chest had crawled up. Lodged itself in his throat.

Hermione came to stand beside him, silent. Her warm hand squeezed his shoulder. He trembled.

"Harry?" she asked, very softly.

He glanced away, not daring to look at them. Nor at Ella. He had to tell them. They deserved to know. But he… couldn't.

"We've got to track him down," he said instead. "We've gotta find him. We've gotta—"

"Mate, is she all right?" Ron approached the bed. Harry felt more than saw Ron's eyes land on him.

"No." He barely recognized the voice as his own. The strange, choked whisper.

"Harry. What is it?" Hermione's hand was still on his shoulder. His eyes burned and he turned away.

"She's hurt," he choked out finally, when the silence grew too tense. His voice was so low, he wasn't sure they could even hear. "Ill. They can sort that. But there's something… something wrong with her magic. It's depleted. And Hannah isn't… isn't sure"— he swallowed heavily, paused —"when she'll wake up."

Silence fell, thick and oppressive. Swaddling them all, until even the background sounds of St. Mungo's seemed to vanish. All he could hear now was the panicked beat of his heart. It whispered, if. Not when. He hadn't said it. Hannah hadn't said it either.

"Depleted?" Daniyel's shaky voice reached him across some ravine. "How?"

Harry let his eyes drift to Ella. To her still face, deathly pale despite the fever still burning through her.

"They said she must've used a lot of magic at once. A big burst. Or— or someone took it." He shuddered. Tried not to think about Voldemort siphoning off Ella's magic like he had stolen Siggy's life, leaving the empty shell of her body behind. His eyes, suddenly blurry, traced Ella's still form on the bed.

"She should replenish it," he whispered, when no one else spoke. "We always do when we use magic." His voice cracked and he let it fade, gathering his next words. Letting them sit on his trembling lips.

He didn't get to say them.

"We do," Hermione said firmly, and her hand squeezed his shoulder. The surety in her voice was unquestionable. Unwavering. "Harry, we always do. Magic is woven into the fabric of this world. It's in the air we breathe. Even now, she's breathing it. Absorbing it."

He drew in a shaky breath and lowered his head, tearing his eyes away from Ella. The words he had been nursing slipped away. He tried to hold on to them, but couldn't quite grasp the edges anymore.

Merlin, he couldn't say it.

"It wasn't Voldemort," Daniyel said, his shaky voice cutting the silence. "He didn't steal her magic. It's… it's my fault."

Surprised, Harry lifted his eyes sharply to meet Daniyel's, which looked troubled. Guilty.

"We were trapped under the rubble from the house. My wand was broken, I couldn't do a thing. She used wandless magic. Got us out."

He felt a strange mix of emotions at that. Relief. Sadness. Pride. "She hasn't used wandless magic in years," he whispered, blinking the tears from his eyes. "I didn't reckon she could anymore."

"I didn't either." Daniyel looked at Ella's pale face. "She saved us."

Harry's stomach clenched slightly. He reached out, grasping Ella's warm hand with his own. Her fingers were limp. They didn't react when he clutched at them. And he couldn't stop them — the things that Hannah had said — from running though his head. That Ella was weak. So weak, she wasn't replenishing the magic. At least not yet. That her magical reserves were so low, Hannah couldn't sense them at all.

Couldn't sense her at all.

Was she even in there anymore?

No, he couldn't say it.

It would make it real. Shatter the last bit of his hope.

What if the Ella he knew was waiting for him elsewhere?

The thought sliced through him, physically unbearable. He clenched his hands, until his nails dug painfully into his palms. He couldn't stomach that. The thought of Ella waiting beyond the veil.

Waiting for him to… to give his life? To Voldemort?

He tried to hold still. To keep from shaking.

If she was gone… If there was nothing left anymore…

"Harry, there's something we need to tell you," Hermione said, "if you're up for it," and he didn't like the undertone in her voice. He glanced up in spite of himself. They looked worn, the lot of them. Weary.

"What?" he said finally, when she made no move to explain. A million thoughts swirled through his head, each crowding the other out. "Is it Voldemort?" His voice was a bare whisper. "Has he attacked somewhere else?"

"No." Hermione glanced at the others, drew in a breath. Her brown eyes locked on his. "Harry, we think we've sorted it out. How Siggy brought him back."

Siggy brought him back. He filed that away, the proof no longer validating. No longer even relevant.

"You're not going to like it." Hermione's eyes grew shadowed. "She used the Travel Stone. At least we think so."

Harry stared at her, trying to process that. The sentence didn't make sense. It was like Hermione had taken words that didn't belong and strung them together. "What?"

Hermione reached into her pocket and drew out a yellow Stone. He stared at it numbly; at the way the sunny color seemed to glow against her palm.

"And the official one's yellow."

His mind was reeling. He couldn't seem to speak. Ella's voice echoed in his head. He could still see her smiling, glowing with the pride of her achievements.

"Ministry doesn't actually know about the others. You know how they are, they want to impose all sorts of regulations, and that's fine."

It wasn't fine.

"For everyone else, of course."

"She broke into Mysteries to get it," Hermione said, and there was something in her voice. Fear maybe. He could barely make it out for the bitterness surging in his heart. Those regulations. What did they matter, when someone could just break it all down. Kill. Destroy. Just to get what they wanted.

Until even the sweet memory of Ella smiling with pride was a travesty.

"She's been to Muggle London, Harry," Hermione finished. "She's been reading the books. And there was a live horcrux in her bag."

"The tiara? Did you destroy—" His his heart clenched at the thought.

"Not the tiara," Hermione said quickly.

"What the hell are you saying?" He fought to keep his voice under control. "D'you mean there's another one? Did he make—"

"No." She shook her head, her eyes wide. As if pleading with him to understand. "Listen to me, Harry. All the horcruxes are gone. Destroyed." He tried not to feel that. Tried to push all his hurt and fear and anger into a box from which they couldn't cloud his judgment. Tried to ignore the voice whispering, You're the only one left…

"It was the ring," Hermione explained. "And you know, Dumbledore already… I mean, it wasn't the one Ella has. It was another. Identical, but alive."

He stared, his mind swirling. He thought of Dumbledore, burnt. Blackened. That ugly ring on his finger.

Hermione glanced at the others, seeming to steel herself. "We think she used the Stone, Harry. Got the ring from another world. And used it to revive the other horcruxes. It… makes sense."

"Bloody hell." He was on his feet. He had no recollection of rising. All that time they had spent chasing Rookwood, and the whole time it had been Siggy? Breaking into the Ministry. Killing all those people. Right under their noses. He was pacing; he couldn't sit still with the revelation. "She did everything. She's responsible." Ella was laying here, unconscious. Unwakeable. All Siggy's fault.

And then another thought dawned on him. An awful bloody thought.

"Is that how she knew about the horcruxes?" he shot at Hermione. "From the books?"

"Probably," she whispered.

Behind her, Daniyel stood still as a statue. Harry couldn't bear to look at him. To meet his eyes. He turned sharply away, and his gaze landed on another shape, silhouetted in the doorway. He froze, something cold gripping his stomach. His surprise must have shown on his face, and Ron, Hermione, Daniyel, and Robert all whirled to stare at the new arrival. They stood frozen for a long moment. Then they shifted, clearing a path. Leaving the way open for Gawain Robards to step into the room.

He did so, slowly. His steps precise and deliberate, as if each one was sizing them up. He wasn't smiling.

He let his eyes roam across the lot of them: dirty, disheveled, bloodied. At Ella, laying still in the bed. And then his gaze, blazing with something akin to anger, settled on Harry.

"Potter. We're going to have a talk."

"Sir." Harry managed a nod, eyeing his boss. Had he heard? He didn't have the brainpower to sort out how to proceed if so. He really didn't. "What are you—"

"Doing here?" Robards's eyes narrowed. "I sincerely hope, for your sake, Potter, that isn't what you were planning to say."

Harry reckoned it was then best to not say anything. Robards sighed.

"Your wife turns up in St. Mungo's with suspicious injuries hours after you reported her missing, and you reckoned I wouldn't come?"

"St. Mungo's contacted you," Harry realized. Of course they had. After he'd made the report last night, every Healing facility would have been put on alert. Any admission of someone even resembling Ella would have sent off instant red flags.

"Damn right they did," Robards snapped, his eyes blazing. "The bigger question is why haven't you?" His eyes swept the room.

"I— I did," Harry said firmly. "We filed a report." He regretted it already.

"With Law Enforcement. Not with me." Robards was frowning.

"It was late." The whole conversation felt stupid. Pointless. Ella lay behind him, still as stone. And here they were debating semantics, while out in the world the shadow of Voldemort loomed. It made Harry's head throb with pain, almost unbearable. "I followed protocol."

"All right," Robards said, raising a hand to halt him. As if he could see the turmoil warring across Harry's face. "I'm not going to question why you suddenly decided to follow protocol, Harry. What I'd really like to know is what the hell happened here. And what it has to do with…" He paused, his voice dropping so low they nearly had to lean in to hear. "Horcruxes."

Harry's stomach sank. He shot a glance at the others, who looked worried. Robards did not miss this.

"I see." Robards glanced briefly over his shoulder, seemingly scrutinizing Ron, Daniyel, Hermione, and Robert. "Interesting. Disappointing."

Before Harry could reply, Robards withdrew his wand from the pocket of his robes. Harry inadvertently flinched back, but Robards merely gave him a look and aimed it at the door. It banged shut with a cold finality that echoed somewhere in Harry's empty chest. A deep, resounding gong. He swallowed. Robards turned, facing him again, and folded his arms across his chest.

"Here's what's going to happen," he said, his steely gaze on Harry. "You are going to tell me everything that you've been hiding, and I do mean everything. Or I will be sacking you, Potter. Make no mistake. And"— he glanced back again —"the same goes for you, Weasley, and you, Bluelake. And I promise, that will be the least of your problems. And no," his eyes blazed, "I don't care if this appears insensitive. I am sorry Ella's been hurt. But it turns out I can't trust you. Any of you. And while we're on that topic, Granger, I will be speaking to the Minister personally about your involvement in whatever this is." He paused, glancing at Robert. "And I'm not sure yet, what I will do regarding you, Unspeakable Murphie, but believe me, you won't like it. Are we clear?"

"Sir—" Ron began.

"Weasley." Robards gave him a level look. "Is there anything you'd like to contribute?"

"We didn't know what we were walking into," Ron said. "Sir."

"Somehow, I find that hard to believe." Robards turned back to Harry, not giving Ron a chance to elaborate. "Go on, Potter. Explain. Now."

Harry drew in a slightly shaky breath, his mind speeding through possibilities. What could he tell Robards to appease him. Surely, there was something.

"Sir, it's nothing," he began. "Really, it's—"

"Not a good start, Potter." Robards looked, if possible, angrier.

"Ella was taken," Harry said then, because he couldn't seem to settle on anything but the truth. On something at least rooted in truth. Behind Robards, the others watched him in silence. Hermione's hands twisted anxiously together. "It was one of her students. We… we found her address. Tracked them down."

"I see." Robards considered that for a careful moment, his expression rather grim. "And what does she have to do with horcruxes?"

And Harry all but bit his tongue to keep from screaming everything.

Robard's eyes narrowed at his silence. "Who is the student?"

"Her name was Siggy." And this time it wasn't Harry who answered. Daniyel's voice shook slightly as he spoke her name. He sounded awful, his words completely flat. And yet he forced them out, as if they were clawing their way out of him. "Siggy Len. We were seeing each other." He paused, considering Robards, who had turned to look at him. "Turns out she was the one who attacked Mysteries."

"Merlin," Robards hissed. He raised a hand to his face, pressing the palm against his eyes. He considered them for a long moment. "I don't even know what to say. Circe. Where did this happen? Where is she?"

"Up near Ashbourne," Hermione said, stepping forward, "in the midlands. She's… she's still there. It's a secluded area, but there may be Muggles nearby. It would be best to secure the scene before…" She swallowed in a way that looked painful and withdrew a bit of wrinkled parchment from her pocket. "I have it here. The location." Her hand shook slightly.

Harry recognized the parchment. It was the same one Siggy's mum had handed over that morning when they had shown up unceremoniously at her door, before the sun had fully risen. He still remembered the confused look on her face as she considered Daniyel's question, pulling her robe tighter to ward off the early morning chill.

"Siggy? I thought she was with you."

"She's been so happy ever since she's started seeing you. So very happy."

It felt like another lifetime now.

Robards took the parchment, his brow furrowing as he scanned the neat cursive. He carefully folded it up and slipped it in his pocket before raising his eyes. He made no move to leave. "What happened during the confrontation?"

And there it was. The dreaded question. The one Harry had no idea how to answer.

Robards raised his hands in exasperation at their silence. "Bloody hell, Potter." He glanced around, sizing them all up. "Don't imagine that I am unsympathetic. I am. But I have a civilian in hospital. Your wife," he added sharply, and Harry's stomach clenched again, until he could barely breathe at all. "A crime scene abandoned by off-duty Aurors and a dead student who's supposedly a terrorist. So I understand this is difficult. But somebody needs to start talking. Now. Who killed her?"

The words sliced through Harry, leaving him icy cold. Behind Robards, he saw Daniyel's trembling hands clenching into fists, before he spoke softly.

"A Dark wizard."

Robards' eyes narrowed. "Which Dark wizard?"

"It was Voldemort," Hermione said abruptly, from where she had stood in silence. Harry's breath caught in his throat. He couldn't seem to swallow. There was a gasp echoing in the room, and he wasn't sure who had made it. Robards? Himself? Both? But Hermione just kept going. "We can't bury our heads in the sand anymore." She glanced up, her eyes glowing in that way only Hermione had, which usually left him terrified. "Don't you see?" She turned to Robards. "It was Voldemort. The horcruxes were Voldemort's. Siggy resurrected him. And he murdered her."

Robards's mouth actually dropped open. For a full moment, Hermione's words seemed to render him entirely speechless. Harry's heart thrummed too loudly in the silence.

Finally, Robards fixed Hermione with a grim stare. "Have you lost your mind? Voldemort is dead."

Hermione didn't dignify him with an answer. Instead, her eyes met Harry's. "Tell him."

"Hermione, I don't—"

"Harry, it's time." She held his gaze, her own unflinching. The tension stretched across the room. "He'll know soon enough anyway."

"What is this?" Robards cut in, and for the first time since barging into the ward, he sounded unsure. Almost afraid.

"Voldemort is out there," Hermione pressed on, her eyes trembling slightly. "He's going to rally. And then he's going to attack. Something. Someone." She glanced between them, sizing up everyone in the room. "We still have a chance to stop him. But we've got to work together. We've got to tell him, Harry. We'll regret it otherwise. People will die." She drew in a shuddering breath. "We can't let that happen."

Harry clenched his teeth at that, glancing away. Tell him. He didn't know where to start. Or what the hell to say. Where did it even begin? With Siggy?

With Ella?

No, the roots ran deeper than that. All the way back to the Union, and to Dumbledore, and the horcruxes he had left behind. The seeds Voldemort had sowed; growing into terrors even Ariella had not foreseen.

He took a steadying breath and finally looked up to meet their eyes. Robards was watching him, expression unflinching.

"She's right, sir," Harry said, and his voice was oddly steady. "It all goes back to Voldemort."