Harry Potter and the Warring of the Prophets

HARRY POTTER AND THE WARRING OF THE PROPHETS

A Sixth-Year Adventure

Chapter Three: All the Innocence in the World

Breakfast the next morning was a tense affair. No one ate much - at least, Harry knew that he himself had only eaten a piece of dry toast and a cup of black tea. As they ate, Dumbledore - who had tied his long silver hair back into a ponytail, shrunk his beard and mustache back to his chin, and was wearing jeans, a plaid shirt, and a baseball cap, making him look somewhat like a farmer - explained to them their task.

"Muggle rescue teams can't get too far into the building because there's still Garroting Gas lingering inside, so the Muggle ministry has agreed to allow us to finish the recovery. They've told the press that we're an American aid organization called 'Phoenix Rising.'

"What we're to do is get as deep into the building as we can to remove bodies. There have been no survivors yet, but if there are any people still living, we are permitted to use any means necessary to save them.

"Do you all understand?"

"Professor Dumbledore," Hermione said tentatively, "how are we going to survive in the Garroting Gas?"

Harry could almost see Hermione's thought resonating in her eyes: She had a hard enough time breathing oxygen, how would she ever breathe in traces of noxious gas?

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "A spell of my own invention. I will show you when the entire Order team is in place at King's Cross."

"How many of us are coming?" Charlie asked, pushing his half-eaten toast away.

Dumbledore looked disheartened for a moment. "Only twenty. The others felt that they wouldn't be of help, or else they're Aurors tracking Pritchard and Moon."

There was silence for a few minutes as everyone drank the last dregs of their tea.

Finally Mrs. Weasley spoke. "Kids, I think you all had better go upstairs and get dressed - as Muggles, remember."

Harry, like the four Weasleys, had taken to eating breakfast in his pajamas - it was summer vacation, after all, and they had all gotten lazy. Hermione, too, came to breakfast in her nightdress, but always wore a dressing gown as well (much to Ron's disappointment). Now she, along with Harry and the others, nodded wordlessly and headed upstairs.

Ron and Harry didn't speak as they changed into jeans and tee-shirts - Harry, a red-and-gold striped polo, and Ron, an orange shirt with the Chudley Cannons logo on the breast pocket.

Harry left the room as Ron unscrewed the cap of Professor Ichabod's again. He didn't want to watch.

When he reached the kitchen again, he felt distinctly surly - partially due to the Professor Ichabod's and partially due to all the grinning pictures of Sirius he had to pass on his way downstairs. He then wished he could turn back, as he had arrived just in time to watch Hermione take her medications: Mrs. Weasley was capping the large, pink bottle of Painkilling Potion and Hermione was sticking the mouthpiece of her Respiratory Rehabilitator in her mouth. It looked, for the most part, like a Muggle asthma inhaler, except that it was twice as large and a bright, poisonous purple. As she finished her second puff, she shuddered and gagged quietly.

"That's nasty," she wheezed, capping the mouthpiece and slipping the Rehabilitator into her bag.

Ginny, looking very pretty in a pair of fitted blue jeans and a body-hugging black tee-shirt, with her shiny red hair pulled back into a messy ponytail, gave Hermione a sympathetic smile and rubbed her arm sisterly. Hermione, dressed identically to Ginny (except that her tee-shirt was white, to make her tan appear even darker) gave the younger girl an equally sisterly smile as she lifted the strap of her red bag over her head. It was only then that Harry noticed that the girls had indeed performed the Hair Relaxing Charm on Hermione despite the dire situation at hand, because her hair was now as sleek as Ginny's and plaited into two low braids.

Ron stumbled down the stairs into the kitchen, his eyes distinctly unfocused, followed by Fred and George, who looked uncharacteristically somber.

Dumbledore reentered the kitchen with Lupin (dressed almost like Bill, in ripped jeans and an "Unforgivable Curses 1975 Reunion Tour" concert shirt).

"All right," he said, looking around. "Is everyone ready? Where's Severus?"

"I'm here, I'm here," Snape grumbled, striding into the kitchen, looking very awkward in a black dress shirt and pants. "We should go."

"Right," Dumbledore said briskly, setting two torn-up tennis shoes on the kitchen table. "Girls, the left shoe, boys to the right. Chop-chop! That's it... we're appearing in the restrooms in a fast food restaurant down the street from King's Cross. Ready? 3... 2... 1..."

Harry felt his navel jerk forward and Ron and Fred slammed into him on either side of him - the boys got a raw deal, Harry thought, as there were ten of them to one Portkey, and only four girls.

When finally his feet slammed into the grimy linoleum of a bathroom, he toppled over - the only people left standing were Moody, Dumbledore, and Snape. Once the rest of them had disentangled themselves and stood, they met the girls - who looked much less battered - and walked down the street, approaching the station, in front of which four Order members waited with...

"Neville!" Hermione said in surprise, "He's helping?"

"He really wanted to be of use," Dumbledore explained, "And we need as many hands as we can get."

Hermione nodded, swallowing as her eyes lit upon the front of King's Cross station. The entire façade was quartered off with yellow Caution tape, and police vans, ambulances, and news trucks were stationed all around the doors. A man in tattered plaid slacks and a gray shirt was deep in conversation with a policeman at the main entrance, but looked up as they approached.

"You guys the volunteers from Phoenix Rising?" he called, looking at them gratefully.

"Yep," Dumbledore called back, in a perfect American accent, "All twenty of us. We're so sorry."

The man nodded, looking exhausted. He stuck his hand out as he came up to Dumbledore. They shook hands, and then the man whispered, "Thank you so much for coming. We just can't keep losing volunteers. I guess you guys have some kind of... magic... that will keep you safe?"

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. What do you need us to do?"

"Just recover as many bodies as you can - put them into bags and get them to the front entrance, we'll take care of them from there. And if you find anyone alive - "

"We will do everything in our power to save them," Dumbledore assured him. "Can I take my lot inside?"

The gray-shirted man nodded and the nineteen Order members followed Dumbledore into the front lobby.

"Now," Dumbledore said, very seriously, "please open your mouths."

Somewhat confused, they all did, and Dumbledore, one by one, depressed their tongues and said, "Pulmonus Permeablae!"

As soon as Amos Diggory, the last in line, had closed his mouth, Dumbledore announced, "You will now be able to breathe safely anywhere in the building. Pulmonus Permeablae is a spell I invented which allows the recipient to breathe any gas or liquid as if it were oxygen. In essence, you can now breathe anything and still survive. Even you, Miss Granger," he added quietly. "Now, we are going to split into pairs. Tonks, Severus, and Minerva, you will remain here with me to receive bodies. Alastor, you and Filius - " he gestured towards Professor Flitwick - "Will be in charge of the nearest terminal on the right. Bill, Arabella, you will be responsible for the nearest left terminal."

Two by two, Dumbledore sent them off. Harry ended up with Ginny, and the two of them cautiously made their way into the farthest terminal away from the lobby, deep into the bowels of King's Cross.

The stench of death was overwhelming.

Tears sprung into Harry's eyes and Ginny gagged, then gasped, "Wait..."

She fumbled for her wand, then pointed it at Harry and croaked, "Olfactiem!"

The smell was gone. Harry quickly muttered his thanks and reciprocated the spell on Ginny, who was somewhat green.

"Thanks," Ginny breathed, her voice breaking. "Now where are we going?"

"A little further on, I think," Harry murmured, "I think I see..." he trailed off, unable to bring himself to say 'a pile of bodies.' "On the floor... over there..."

Ginny nodded and they continued toward the dark train terminal.

"This must be where they blasted the gas," Ginny whispered, barely audibly, more to herself than Harry, it seemed. "That wall is all crumbled..."

Harry noticed that Ginny did not mention the knee-deep field of human beings or the destroyed train - split into halves as if it was paper torn by hand - spilling more bodies into the terminal by tenfold.

"Well..." he whispered, "I guess - it's time to - to start..."

Ginny nodded. She grabbed Harry's hand, squeezed it tightly for a minute, then, taking a deep breath, waded away from him to the other side of the terminal, closest to the train.

Silence pressed suffocatingly upon Harry as he began digging through the pile, gingerly lifting each person into a blue bag and zipping it up to send via spell to the front lobby. Harry counted them unwillingly in his mind.

1... 2... 3...

A young woman with long, dark hair in a pretty black dress with a diamond ring on her left hand.

17, 18...

A wrinkled old gentleman in a pair of tweed slacks and a vest, clutching a copy of Charles Dickens' Great Expectations.

32, 33... 34... 35...

Suddenly the sound of an immense, dry sob forced Harry from his task. He looked hurriedly over at Ginny.

She stood several feet away, her face contorted into a look of pain beyond feeling and grief beyond tears, her shining red hair falling out of its tie and into her eyes.

She held a baby in her arms.

"Ginny..." Harry whispered, slowly approaching her.

Ginny cradled the baby close to her chest, her face working uncontrollably as she stared into the angelic, bluish face.

"Ginny?" Harry whispered again, putting a hand to her shoulder.

In a single movement, Ginny pushed the dead infant into Harry's arms, turned away from him, and vomited.

Harry tried not to look at the baby as he zipped it into its bag while Ginny continued retching. He tried not to notice its wispy brown curls or the bunny embroidered onto its pale yellow romper suit.

He tried not to notice how cold it seemed.

Once he finally managed to tear his eyes away from the tiny blue bag, floating gently away towards the lobby, Harry turned his attention to Ginny.

Wordlessly he began to rub her back, and brushed her hair out of her face. After ten minutes, she finally stood upright, wiping her mouth on the back of her hand.

Harry, leaving one hand on the small of her back, pointed his wand at a nearby sink faucet - disfigured from the blast - and murmured, "Portus."

Ginny looked up at him questioningly.

"Go home. I can do this myself, you don't need to - it's my f - it's my job."

Ginny nodded, her eyes unreadable, then picked up the Portkey. Within seconds, she had vanished.

With prickling eyes, Harry again began carefully extricating people from the rubble.

78, 79... 80...

* * *

Harry was the last person aiding the recovery to leave King's Cross; it was a quarter past eleven before Dumbledore Apparated at his side, laid a hand on Harry's arm, and told him that it was high time to go.

Together they took a briefcase handle back to Number 12. When they arrived - dirty, grimy, and haunted - in the kitchen, they found it dark, with a note on the table, which Dumbledore picked up.

"It looks as if everyone else has gone to bed," he said softly to Harry, "You, too, may retire."

Still numb, Harry shook Dumbledore's outstretched hand and they parted ways, Harry trudging toward to the stairs and Dumbledore, towards his quarters off the Magic-Free Room.

Sirius' grinning face seemed to leer at Harry from every picture lining the walls.

Harry felt glad that everyone else was asleep. In dreams, the 10,247 people at King's Cross could be alive. At least for all the others, the worlds could be right in their sleep...

Except, Harry realized, that not everyone was asleep. As he reached the second floor landing he saw a small redheaded figure in a nightdress cowering by the doorjamb of the bathroom, her back turned to him, shaking.

"Ginny?" Harry whispered, tip-toeing towards her, lit wand guiding the

way.

Ginny's magnificent red head snapped up and she turned to look at Harry, tears streaming down her face.

"Harry - " she choked, her volume and pitch rising. "Harry - !"

"Shh," Harry whispered urgently, "You'll wake everyone up. Come on."

He motioned for her to follow him back downstairs, but Ginny merely doubled over, sobbing.

"Ginny, please, you'll wake everyone!" Harry begged, then, seeing that Ginny was crippled with grief, gently picked her up - as he had so many others that day - and carried her down the stairs and into the Magic-Free room, where he sank down onto the sofa, Ginny still clasping him tightly.

"Harry - " she gasped again, "I saw - Harry!"

She sounded panicked; she clutched at him frantically as though afraid Harry, too, would suddenly become blue and still like the baby.

"I know," Harry said consolingly, stroking Ginny's tangled hair. "I know..."

"I hate him!" Ginny bawled, sounding strangled. "I hate him! I - Professor Dumbledore!"

Harry looked in the direction of Ginny's gaze and saw that Dumbledore was indeed standing in the doorway in a cobalt blue dressing gown, his beard returned to its normal majestic length. Harry felt a blaze of anger - entirely his own - as he looked into Dumbledore's calm, old face. How could he have sent them to King's Cross? How could he have allowed them to see what they had seen?

"Ginevra," Dumbledore sighed, sounding, for once, his immense age. "I am sorrier than you could know. Please, tell me what you feel."

Ginny's usually-gentle brown eyes held fire and ice. "It was - she was - he killed a baby! And I - I held it! I held it, and it was cold. And stiff. And silent. Babies aren't supposed to be that way!"

Tears had begun to obscure her words, and sniffed before continuing. "Babies are supposed to be warm, and soft, and - and he killed... innocence... and hope... and... and love. Because that's what babies are, they're innocence, and hope, and love.

"How could he do that?

"And... I feel like he's going to kill all of the hope and love and innocence in the world. That's what he wants. He... he killed a baby."

Dumbledore crossed to the sofa and sat down on the end of it, facing Harry and Ginny. "That is what he wants, Ginevra, you are correct. But he will not succeed."

Ginny burrowed closer to Harry and he tightened his arms around her instinctively. "How can you be so sure of that?" she whispered, tears still falling from her eyes.

Dumbledore's ancient, tired eyes smiled. "Because you are sitting in the arms of one baby that Lord Voldemort could not kill. As long as Harry is alive... so will be love, innocence, and - most especially - hope."