The Viper’s Nest
“Runcorn,” one of the dark robed men greeted him as he made his way back into the communal office.
Not knowing his name, Harry nodded in recognition, reminding him that he’d perhaps not prepared as well as he should have to be among so many enemies.
Once more, he was acutely aware of the many posters of his face on the walls, but he would not be deterred. No, from what he’d learned, Luna had been brought into the Ministry of Magic some weeks prior, and he would find out where she was, one way or the other.
“I just wish they’d get rid of the dementors,” one of the men said to another. “They shouldn’t be in here not with us.”
Harry frowned as he busied himself with a stack of parchment that had been left on one of the nearby desks, shaking his head at the illegible handwriting.
Dementors.
From where he was, when he focused on doing so, he could feel the faint presence of the vile creatures on the very edge of his periphery.
“Well, you know Umbridge. She likes using them to frighten the people we drag in here.”
“Well, I don’t like it. Every time I have to take her a message, they’re there.”
“Beats being locked up in Azkaban with them,” the other snorted. “It was the worst six months of my life. There was no escape, and at any moment, they could’ve come in and finished me off. Rather this than that.”
The other man nodded.
“I suppose you’re right. I’d better take her some bloody tea.”
Harry took his leave of the department, knowing there was little else to glean from here. He had no idea where Umbridge’s office was, but it appeared the man he’d overheard could take him to the woman at the very least.
Still, he was not foolish enough to do so without preparing some security measures. Harry was taking no chances when it came to Umbridge. The woman was like a cockroach, after all; somehow able to continue to survive when she should be long dead.
The man he’d overheard discussing the woman emerged from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, levitating a tea set on a tray that wouldn’t have been out of place in Umbridge’s office, and Harry ensured he was concealed by a disillusionment charm as he followed, for what good it would eventually do.
Slipping into the elevator behind him, he felt it descend into the lower levels of the building, and it didn’t take much for him to realise exactly where they were going.
It was the same place he’d been the day he’d been put on trial for underage magic.
With a frown, knowing partly what was to come, he opted to change his course of action, flicking his wand towards the man he was tailing, causing him to trip.
“Shit, she is going to kill me!” he cursed as he stared at the broken fragments of porcelain.
With a wave of his wand, he repaired the set, breathing a sigh of relief, only to fall limply to the ground from Harry’s stunning spell. With a few more, the man was quickly bound and stuffed into a nearby supply cupboard, no worse for wear but missing a couple of hairs.
With a shake of his head, he continued on his way, following the ever-growing presence of the dementors.
Courtroom ten, the very same one he’d been tried in front of the entire Wizengamot, though when he entered this time, there were only nine to be seen; five men garbed in dark robes, three people sitting behind a large oak table, two of whom he recognised easily enough, and a lone woman, chained to a chair before them.
Floating above the room, kept at bay by a rather mediocre patronus was around half a dozen dementors, waiting for their opportunity to feed.
“Ah, Mumford, you brought our tea,” Umbridge said sweetly.
“Of course,” Harry replied, levitating the tray towards the trio, not failing to notice that the dementors were growing more restless.
“Oh, they do not like you, do they?” Umbridge said with a grin. “Maybe they recognise you from one of your many visits to the island whilst you awaited trial in your former life.”
Harry nodded.
“Former life,” he replied. “I’m a changed man, Madam Umbridge.”
“I am glad to hear it. Are you feeling well? You look a little peaky,” she added with a frown.
“It’s just the dementors, Madam Umbridge. They make me feel out of sorts.”
The woman’s smile widened.
“Yes, they do tend to have that effect on people, especially those who are guilty.”
“Not me, Madam Umbridge,” Harry said dismissively.
“I know, Mumford. Now, if there is nothing else…”
With no reason to stay, Harry made his way towards the door, pondering what he could do next. Outright attacking Umbridge here was not to his advantage, not with the dementors, Yaxley, another assailant, and dozens of others above him that would respond to any altercation within a matter of seconds.
No, he needed to think, but it appeared fate had other ideas for him.
Before he could reach the door, and alarm began sounding throughout the building, and everything within courtroom ten came to a standstill, only for the door in front of him to burst open.
“Yaxley! There’s a situation at St Mungo’s. The hospital is in lockdown, and our people are being prevented from entering!”
“Go!” Umbridge instructed, “and take her to the holding cells.”
Harry felt his heart sink into his stomach, and he was torn on what he should do, but as Yaxley and the other judge hurried from the room along with the guards escorting their prisoner, he knew this was not an opportunity he could miss.
Locking the door behind those who’d departed, he watched as Umbridge began gathering up her parchment, unaware of the danger she was in.
Her being left alone with Harry with paltry few dementors to help her would soon become her worst nightmare, and yet, Harry knew he did not have time to linger.
He needed to get to St Mungo’s, and with that in mind, he stunned Umbridge and bound her, firing off a patronus as the dementors attempted to swarm him.
The warmth of the spell filled the room, and the creatures fled high towards the ceiling to avoid it, but Harry did not remain idle.
No, ensuring Umbridge was secured, he transfigured the woman into a cockroach and placed her into a jar before leaving the room.
With the ministry in a state of disarray, it wouldn’t be so difficult for him to navigate his way out, and he would be long gone before any realised what had happened.
Even so, questioning the woman would need to wait.
Fate may have done him a rare favour in making it easy to get her, but Harry did not doubt that was where his fortune would end.
Whatever was happening at St Mungo’s was now his priority, and a much more dangerous undertaking than what he’d faced here. However, it was the whereabouts of Luna that he could not rid the thought of.
If she hadn’t been taken to Azkaban with the others, just where was she?
(Break)
It was odd being out in the open.
Despite being within the invisibility cloak, it was the first time in a while that she’d felt vulnerable, but Hermione would not deny that it was nice to be outside of Grimmauld Place, even if the reason for being so would likely see her getting into trouble.
Nonetheless, Harry was right.
Ron could not be left in St Mungo’s, not when just a whisper of his presence would garner considerable attention from all the wrong people.
For several moments, she watched the comings and goings of the visitors. Some were Healers already in their robes, and others were undoubtedly patients, some sporting the strangest of ailments.
She even saw an ancient woman approaching the hidden entrance with what appeared to be the handle of a teapot as a nose.
Magicals truly were odd people even outside of the power they wielded. If anything, Hermione had deduced that some were more of a danger to themselves because of it than any muggle she’d ever met.
Neville and how inept he’d been during his earlier years at Hogwarts sprang to mind, as did Seamus Finnegan, and his proclivity towards exploding things during the simplest of tasks.
What she wouldn’t give to go back to such simpler times, well, not so simple. Nothing ever had been where Harry was concerned.
Before she could lose herself in the thoughts of everything that had transpired leading to the war, the arrival of two men garbed in dark robes caught her attention, and immediately, she got the impression they were up to no good.
With a deep frown creasing her brow, she followed them into St Mungo’s, being careful not to alert anyone to her presence.
The cloak was a most useful tool, one that Harry had put to great use since he’d received it during his first, even if it had gotten him into trouble on more occasions than she could count, but it was not infallible.
One wrong slip of the silky fabric would expose her to the world, and unfortunately for Hermione, being as close to Harry as she was, she’d become quite the recognisable figure, just like Ron.
“He was brought in several hours ago now and remains unconscious,” one of the Healers fearfully explained to the two men, gesturing for them to follow.
Hermione stuck close by them as they passed through a a set of double doors, her ears poised so that she didn’t miss anything.
“Is he alone?”
“No, no, his father and twin brothers are with him.”
“The little shits are here!” one of the men growled. “I’ll rip their bastards guts out and use them to strangle the bastards.”
“Be quiet, Simmons,” the other hissed. “We should send for the others.”
“Oh, no, these are ours,” Simmons protested but was seized by the back of his robes by his companion as he stalked forward.
“Don’t be so bloody stupid,” he huffed. “It will be three against one if we go in there. I’ll tell you what, you get Weasley Sr out of there by telling him he needs to sign some paperwork or something, and we can even the odds, but we send for the others first. He wil be furious if we let them get away.”
Simmons swallowed deeply.
Hermione did not need to guess who the ‘he’ was they were referring to.
“Fine,” Simmons agreed, “but I want them dealt with!”
“Oh, they will be,” the other man almost cooed. “We’ll make sure of it.”
Once more, Hermione found herself following the two men and the somewhat reluctant Healer through the corridors of St Mungo’s until they were shown into an office.
“I will bring him here,” the woman assured them, closing the door behind her as she left.
“Oh, I can’t wait to ring their necks,” Simmons said gleefully, rubbing his hands together.
Truthfully, Hermione was at a loss at what to do, but as she heard the approaching footsteps and voices of Mr Weasley and the Healer, she knew she would need to intervene.
Only a moment later, the door opened, and Arthur paused, frowning at the sight of the two men before a look of realisation formed across his tired features.
“Arthur Weasley, I’m arresting you…”
She’d not hesitated to act.
Banishing Simmons into the wall and following it up with a stunning spell to his companion had rendered them both incapable of responding, but that had only been the beginning.
She watched Fred and George leave Ron’s room to tend to whatever defences they could come up with between them before her gaze shifted to Ron.
He looked dreadful, pale, sweating and sickly, and certainly would not be waking up any time soon.
No, it would be up to her and Mr Weasley to get him out of here; no easy task when, in a matter of moments, they would be all but trapped within St Mungo’s.
“I should’ve known,” the man murmured. “I should’ve known they’d come for him. How do we get him out?”
“Is there anywhere we can use a portkey?”
Mr Weasley frowned.
“There is the arrivals centre. It is on the fifth floor, but with the hospital in lockdown, I doubt we’ll be able to activate a portkey or apparate.”
Hermione worried her lip as she pondered their predicament.
“Well, we can’t stay here. Everyone who works here knows he’s in here.”
Mr Weasley nodded and began casting a series of charms on Ron’s bed.
“It’s too dangerous to transfigure him into something else,” he mused aloud. “We will have to move him as he is.”
Hermione nodded.
“I’ll get back under the cloak and cover you,” she suggested.
Mr Weasley shook his head.
“Things should never have come to this. If only Albus could’ve…”
He broke off.
“Is Harry here?”
Hermione grimaced at the question.
“No, he went to the ministry.”
Mr Weasley shook his head.
“I can only imagine the trouble he will cause,” he sighed.
“I always find it is best not to think about it. Harry always finds a way to get things done.”
“Yes, he does,” Mr Weasley said fondly. “You know, despite everything, he has been a delight to have around over the years. Molly loved him as though he was one of ours, and you for that matter. Come on, you’d best get under that cloak. Ronald would be furious uf anything was to happen to you. He’s very protective of you and Harry.”
Hermione did as she was bid, and the man used his wand to guide his son’s bed out of the room whilst she remained vigilant, walking ahead of them to check around each corner, wincing as a loud explosion shook the building.
“I would bet my life on it that Fred and George are behind that,” Arthur sighed, though there was an undeniable hint of pride in his words.
“I wouldn’t take that bet,” Hermione snorted.
Somehow, she felt better knowing that the twins were the ones who’d opted to defend the hospital from any who arrived who wished them harm. Since she’d known them, they’d always been mischievous, and even outright vengeful towards those that wronged them, but they were equally some of the kindest, most considerate people she’d met.
What did trouble her, or should, at least, was that they’d change considerably since Mrs Weasley, Bill, and Ginny had been killed.
It was no longer pranks their enemies needed to fear, but a painful, miserable death courtesy of the twins, who would undoubtedly do whatever they deemed necessary to protect what was left of their family.
What they deemed to be necessary, most would balk at, but Hermione could not bring herself to have any sympathy for any who willingly chose to follow Voldemort.
No, if there were more people in Britain who possessed the same courage Harry did when he’d been only eleven years old and refused to join the Dark Lord, the man would have no support.
Still, that wasn’t so, and although it was indeed the cowards of magical Britain they mostly faced, they were significantly outnumbered and would be until a way was found to truly turn the tide of the war.
She shot a final glance towards Ron as another explosion rent the air, and he showed no signs that he would be waking soon, even if there was something of a little more colour to hi still pale cheeks.
No, he was in no fit state to do anything but rest, which meant that between her and Mr Weasley, they would need to find a way to get him out of here, and she sent a silent prayer that the arrivals centre would provide just that.
(Break)
Neither of them had slept, and the smell of blood from what had transpired in Hogsmeade still lingered around them, and yet, here they were, doing their utmost to ensure none could get to their younger brother in one of the few places he should be safe.
“We can’t trust anyone in this building, Fred. At least one of them informed the dark robes that Ron is here.”
Fred nodded his agreement as he emptied out his pockets and began tapping several of the items with his wand.
“Are you sure about this?” George asked. “We know that they’re volatile.”
“Whatever it takes to keep him safe, George.”
George nodded and peered into the waiting area.
The woman working behind the receptionist’s desk was being hounded by those who’d come hoping to receive treatment or visit a patient, and she seemed to have no answers to the questions she was being inundated with.
“Two of them are in there. They’re waiting for reinforcements, and to see if we try to leave.”
Fred took his place at the small window to take in the scene.
Both had become adept at spotting the ministry stooges from their efforts to breach the shop defences, and even more so with the Death Eaters who’d skulk around Diagon and Knockturn Alleys as though they owned them.
“Two of them, and more will be here soon,” he agreed.
“WEASLEYS! I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE, YOU BASTARDS! COME OUT, NOW!”
“Well, he doesn’t seem very happy with us, George. Do we know a man with a missing hand and walks with a limp?”
“Sounds like a distinctive fellow.”
“He’s ugly too, uglier than Percy.”
George frowned as he looked into the waiting area once more.
“Bloody hell, he doesn’t learn, does he? It’s the same prat who tried to put his hand through the old letterbox at the shop. He came back two days later without it and tried to kick the door through.”
“What a prat,” Fred sighed, tapping on the glass and offering the man a wave.
“THERE THEY ARE!”
Without thought, he charged towards the door they were behind, ignoring the warning of the others who’d arrived with him, and drove his shoulder into the wood.
Unbeknownst to the eager man, Fred had been casting several spells in anticipation of the collision and were it not for the severity of the situation they found themselves in, the outcome would’ve been as satisfying as it was humorous.
Instead of crashing through the door as he’d evidently suspected, he bounced off and skidded across the floor in the direction he’d come from. Unfortunately, that was not the end of the matter for the man.
The bout of vomiting that followed was violent, but much less so than the explosion that erupted soon after.
“Merlin, what was that?” George asked.
Fred shook his head.
“That wasn’t me.”
An odd smell filled the air, and the smoke pouring off the now lifeless man was acrid, causing the shocked bystanders in the waiting room to cough from the fumes.
“Potions,” George snorted. “The idiot didn’t store his potions properly.”
Fred shook his head.
If there was one thing they’d learned over the years through their experiments, it was that potions and even separate ingredients were incredibly volatile if not stored correctly.
The fool now lying dead in the waiting room in St Mungo’s had finally gotten that lesson in life, though it had come a little too late for him and two of his companions who’d been caught up in the explosion.
Not that there wasn’t others to take their place, and as George caught a glimpse of the entrance through fading smoke, there was just that on ethe other side.
Dozens of them garbed in dark robes, all of them here with the intention of taking almost all of what remained of his family.
“Fred…”
“I see them, George,” his brother said gravely. “I see them.”
With merely a nod towards one another, they readied themselves for what was to come and come it did in a flurry of spells which sent those within the waiting area fleeing or collapsing to the ground if they could not avoid the barrage.
Those in the dark robes were so intent on getting to them that they didn’t care about causing collateral damage. Even so, Fred and George wouldn’t make it so easy, and as another spell smashed against the door causing the entire building to shake, they did not doubt that Voldemort’s followers were of a similar mind.
By now, those who’d not fallen to the spellfire had managed to escape the through the front entrance, meaning that there was no need for them to hesitate or hold back any longer.
“Ready, Fred?” George asked, taking hold of the door handle.
“Ready, George,” his sibling confirmed.
Tugging the door open, George used it as cover as Fred hurled a handful of what he’d removed from his pocket into the waiting area before both ducked and covered their ears.
The explosion that had come before paled in comparison to this one, and both twins were sent sliding down the corridor, treated to the sound of their screaming targets who would not be so fortunate to only escape with minor injuries from the blast.
“More will come,” Fred wheezed as he pushed himself to his feet.
“And we will be ready for them.”
(Break)
Quite the crowd had gathered at the front of St Mungo’s, drawn in by the commotion, and Harry could already see that considerable damage had been done in the foyer.
“GET BACK! YOU GET BACK!”
Riddle’s men had arrived in force, and dozens of them surrounded the front of the hospital, discussing amongst themselves how best to proceed.
Oh, Harry did not doubt that they would’ve wished to handle the situation just a little quieter but given that Fred and George were in the building, that would never have been.
Still, it did not take someone as intelligent as Hermione to understand the gravity of the situation.
Harry could feel the protections that had fallen into place around the building, and they were exceptional. It would take hours to weave his way through them subtly, and with how many members of the public had gathered, it was inevitable many of them would be injured or killed if caught in a crossfire.
Besides, because of how Riddle had spun his image, Harry was public enemy number one, and he could not be certain how many would or wouldn’t turn against him here.
He muttered a curse under his breath as he weighed up his options.
He did not know enough about St Mungo’s that he was confident of a hidden entrance of sorts, and there was no way he would be able to apparate within the walls.
He wasn’t even certain any portkey he’d create would work as intended, which meant that he either watched and waited, or he found another way.
His first thought was to perhaps reach the roof, but the protections were acting as a dome over them. However, he realised that they did not extend below the hospital.
Nodding to himself, he began looking for a drain or manhole cover and found one in the alleyway opposite the building where he’d arrived only a few moments prior.
“That is disgusting,” he murmured as he lifted the lid, his nose wrinkling at the pungent scent wafting upwards.
With a shake of his head, he cast a series of charms before lowering himself in, hoping that this would indeed prove to be a way into St Mungo’s.
If it wasn’t, then the alternative would undoubtedly be considerably less subtle than sneaking in through the sewers to get his friends out of there.
(Break)
He found it to be rather incredible how a building that had been so busy only moments prior could seemingly empty in the space of just a minute or so.
Not that Arthur could blame the Healers, other staff, and members of the public for making themselves scarce, not when St Mungo’s should be among the safest of places in the magical community, and it now found itself targeted by the most unpleasant members of society.
Voldemort’s depravity, however, knew no bounds.
Arthur had learned that himself when his son, wife, and daughter were murdered on what should’ve been a sacred celebration.
Even among the staunchest of purebloods, weddings were sacrosanct, and the Dark Lord had defiled that.
Truthfully, Arthur knew he should’ve known better than to allow the ceremony to go ahead, a guilt he now lived with every day of his life.
He would not see that burden added to.
Although St Mungo’s should be a safe place for all to receive any treatment they needed, nowhere could be considered such, not whilst Voldemort continued his rise to power.
“No, no, no!” he despaired as they finally reached the arrivals centre.
Desperately, he fumbled with his wand in a bid to unlock the door separating them from freedom, but it would not budge. The protections were incredibly extensive, and not for the first time, Artur wished that Bill was here.
He would know what to do.
“It’s alright, Mr Weasley,” Hermione comforted. “We will find another way.”
He chuckled humourlessly and dragged a hand through his hair, doing his utmost not to lose his composure ay more than he already had.
His gaze fell onto the unconscious form of his son, and he took a deep breath.
Now was not the time to give into his frustration, not when Ron needed him.
Another series of explosions pulled him from his thoughts, and he nodded, his wand snapping towards a running woman who burst into the corridor. Her eyes widened fearfully, and she held her hands up.
“Please, I’m just a nurse…”
“Do you know any other way out of here?” Hermione asked gently. “We’re not going to hurt you, but we need to get him to safety.”
“T-the director’s office. It is the evacuation point for emergencies,” she explained. “That is where I’m going now. You’ll be able to use a portkey in there, but it is a one-way system.”
Arthur breathed a sigh of relief as he took the woman by the shoulders.
“Thank you,” he said gratefully. “Can you take us there?”
She nodded and began leading the way, and Arthur guided Ron’s bed in her wake with Hermione walking beside them, both with their wands in hand.
Much to his relief, the woman came to a halt after only hurrying down a few corridors in front of a large oak door.
“This is the director’s office,” she explained, opening the door with a series of taps from her wand, and it opened with a loud click. “Quickly, get him inside, the door must be locked before the protections will allow you to use the portkey.”
Arthur did so, and the nurse screamed before collapsing in the doorway behind him, followed by the sound of crashing footsteps hurrying towards them.
Hermione immediately sprang into action, her wand a blur as she began hurling spells towards those who’d found them, and Arthur leaned down to where the bleeding nurse was clutching at a wound on her side.
It was deep, and the blood was flowing freely, staining her white robes a disturbing crimson.
“My wand,” she groaned, gesturing to the length of wood that had fallen from her grasp.
Arthur retrieved and handed it to her, and she pushed herself into a sitting position, wincing as a masculine scream sounded from within the hallway.
“I need to see it.”
Arthur nodded and tore the robes, allowing the nurse to access the wound.
She was already pale from the blood loss, and she shook her head.
“It’s cursed. I won’t be able to stop it myself.”
“There will be a healer waiting for us when we leave,” Arthur explained, “but we need to get out of here!”
The nurse nodded.
“Then you’ll need to help me up. The door must be locked, and only I’m the only one here who knows how!”
Arthur pulled her to her feet, and she whimpered in pain, was unsteady, and the blood continued to pour from her wound.
“Hermione!”
Ducking beneath a salvo of spells that had been sent towards her, she slammed the door shut, and the nurse immediately set to work in locking it, tapping the wood in an intricate pattern, and all but collapsing in Arthur’s arms when she was done.
“Take hold of Ron,” he instructed, doing his utmost to keep the nurse upright as he retrieved his portkey, all the while the door to the office was being bombarded with a plethora of spells as the Dark Lord’s followers attempted to get to them.”
“Harry is here,” Hermione whispered.
“He is?”
She nodded, shuddering at a sudden wave of cold magic that washed over the room.
Somehow, Arthur felt it to be a sense of relief, and as he activated his portkey to transport them out of St Mungo’s, he knew that Fred and George would be in the best of hands with Harry having arrived.
Time and again, the young man had proven himself the best of allies to his family, and Arthur did not doubt he would do so again.
(Break)
“Do you think they got him out?” George asked as he and Fred continued to do their utmost to keep those garbed in dark robes out of St Mungo’s.
“Let’s bloody hope so,” his brother murmured. “We can’t keep this up forever.”
They couldn’t.
Despite the success they’d had thus far, neither could deny that their efforts were taking their toll on them, and if anything, Voldemort’s followers were only becoming more determined to the breakthrough.
It was inevitable that it would happen sooner rather than later, but until they received confirmation that Ron and their father were safe, they would not concede an inch.
“Do you remember when we tricked Ron into eating gnome shit?”
Fred laughed uproariously at the memory.
“You told him it would make him taller.”
“That was you, Fred. I told him it would make him rich.”
“Oh, yeah. He really was a gullible prat.”
“But he never told Mum about that.”
“Or about the time you accidentally slipped him the diarrhoea solution.”
“That was meant for Percy. Ron was on the toilet for three days.”
George grinned and ducked as a piece of the wall above him was dislodged from a violent spell.
“He’s never been so bad, really,” Fred sighed. “He can be a git at times, but he’s alright.”
George nodded his agreement as he looked out into the waiting area once more. He could no longer even count how many were out there, and for a while now, they’d been able to offer no offence.
Idly, he wondered if this was how it had been for their twin uncles in their final moments. From what their mother had told them about Gideon and Fabian Prewett, they had put up an exceptional fight against the odds before they’d been killed.
“I bet Mum would kick our arses if she was here now.”
“That she would, Fred,” George agreed.
“She’d kick all of your bloody arses, but she’d be proud of you.”
“Harry! How the hell did you get in here?”
He was quite the sight for sore eyes, and for the first time since they’d taken up their positions, George felt as though they might just make it out of here. Over the years, Harry had managed to escape what most would dem to be the impossible, and here he stood.
“You don’t want to know,” the young man grumbled, and George grimaced.
“Merlin, you smell like shit.”
“Actual shit,” Fred added.
“So would you if you were traipsing through the sewers. Besides, you’ll be smelling just like me soon enough, unless you can think of another way out of here.”
George shared a look of dismay with his brother.
“We can’t move until we know Ron and the others are out. Did you know Hermione is here?”
Harry nodded as he looked through the window towards the gathered ministry forces.
“I did. I told her to get you all-out. I had a feeling it wasn’t safe.”
“You were bloody right,” Fred grumbled. “It won’t take them much longer to get through.”
Harry frowned as he began adding his own spells to the door, and even to the ceiling and floor.
“It would be easier if we could just blast our way through them,” he grumbled, turning sharply as an ethereal otter appeared before them.
“We got him out, but we have an injured nurse with us at the Burrow. Harry, we need your healer.”
All three breathed a collective sigh of relief, and Harry sent a patronus in return, a grin cresting his lips as he checked his watch.
“What is it?” George asked.
“Let’s just say they’ll be shifting their attention soon enough. Come on, there’s no need for us to stick around. I’d hold your breath if I was you. It’s not going to be a nice journey back.”
George shared a look with his sibling, and the two of them shrugged before following Harry as he led them to safety, both indescribably grateful that Hermione and their father had gotten Ron out of St Mungo’s.
Even so, they both knew he was not out of the woods yet. His injuries were extensive, and there was still no promise that he hadn’t been infected with lycanthropy.
(Break)
The Ministry of Magic was in utter chaos.
With the sighting of the Weasley within St Mungo’s and dealing with the aftermath of the werewolf attack in Hogsmeade, there was barely a person to spare.
Nonetheless, Dolores had insisted on continuing on with the trials when Corban’s time would’ve been better served leading his department.
Now, with whatever was happening at St Mungo’s unfolding, he’d been granted the opportunity to do just that.
“Wiggins, what do we know?”
“The Weasleys are in there, sir, but they’re not coming quietly. Simmons and Pottle were the first to and managed to get in.”
“And?” Corban pressed when the man broke off awkwardly.
“They’ve not been seen or heard from since.”
“Fools,” Corban huffed irritably.
“They know we’re there, sir,” Wiggins continued. “They’ve blocked the entrance, and several people have been injured already. The others in Hogsmeade have already been told to return so that you can brief them before sending them to St Mungo’s.”
At least one thing had been gotten right.
“I don’t care what you have to do, Wiggins, find a way in! Where’s Runcorn?”
“I think he is at the hospital, sir.”
“You think?”
“Well, I haven’t seen him personally, but where else would he be?”
Corban dismissed him with a wave of his hand, only to be interrupted again only a moment later by a dishevelled Donald Mumford.
“S-sir,” the man sputtered. “I think something is wrong in courtroom ten.”
“Something wrong?”
“Well, I woke up in a cupboard, sir, and well, you need to see it for yourself.”
“Stupid boy,” Corban muttered as he followed Mumford, pausing only briefly to address the confused men and women arriving back from Hogsmeade where they’d been stationed since the attack the previous night. “I will return shortly,” he assured them before continuing on his way.
He frowned at the lack of coldness he could feel in the corridors leading towards the courtroom he’d left only moments prior, and as he opened the door, it was to be greeted by the sight of a blindingly bright patronus keeping the dementors at bay, and no sign of Dolores anywhere.
“Potter!”
The thestral was his, and knowing the young man had been in the Ministry of Magic itself was not the revelation he’d expected or welcomed.
What had he been doing here?
Corban did not know, but he would not risk it without good reason. No, Potter was not as foolish as most others believed him to be, which meant that something in the building was sorely amiss.
“What happened, Mumford?”
The pale man shook his head.
“I left to bring the tea, and I tripped, well, I think I did. The next thing I knew, I woke up in a cupboard.”
“So, you did not bring the tea.”
“No, sir.”
That meant that it was Potter who’d been within the room with them, and he could only thank his lucky stars that the tea had been left untouched.
With a few waves of his wand over the tray resting on the table, he, much to his surprise, quickly deduced that it had not been poisoned, so, what had Potter been doing here.
It was a most troubling question, and one he would need to discuss with Umbridge, but for now, he needed to get the rest of his team to St Mungo’s. With that in mind, he began making his way back towards the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, not looking forward to the impending conversation with the Dark Lord.
The man would be furious that Potter had been here.
“Alright, settle down. I’m sure you will have heard by now that we have a credible sighting of the Weasleys being within St Mungo’s. We already have a team there, and you will join them to ensure…”
He broke off as the doors locked audibly behind him and all the lights within the department were extinguished.
“What is happening?”
“What is that smell?”
“Be quiet!” Corban snapped, his wand already in hand.
He did not know what was happening, but the room suddenly grew warm and his vision began to swim. Only a moment later, he seemingly found himself standing in a large graveyard where the warmth had shifted to a most unpleasant coldness that seemed to seep into his very bones.”
“Your time is over, Corban. It is time for your soul to be mine. My chosen has chosen you.”
The voice was like no other he’d ever heard, barely audible with how low the tone was, and yet, it instilled a fear within him that Corban could not be rid of.
“Who are you?” he demanded to know.
“The end of all.”
Squinting, Corban was certain he could see something moving among the gravestones, edging closer and closer towards him. Somehow, he managed to find his feet and began to run as quickly as his legs would carry him, only to falter as a cloaked figure materialised in front of him.
“NO!” he pleaded as it reached out a skeletal hand, but he received no response in reply.
With nowhere else to run, he could only look on in horror as the hand sunk into his chest, and upon it doing so, it felt as though his very essence was plucked within him.
Corban collapsed to the ground, unable to move, unable to speak, but his thoughts remained his own as did the coldness that spread throughout him causing a perpetual feeling of misery he could do nothing to rid himself of.