Pettigrew's Daughter

For hours, Harry lay in darkness, seeing nothing, hearing nothing, but conscious the entire time. He knew he wasn't at Hogwarts, but he didn't know whether he was somewhere else or just inside his brain. Then the darkness was filtered with light. For several moments, Harry blinked as his eyes adjusted to the darkened surroundings. He was seated in some sort of chair that was elevated by several dirty stone steps from a concrete-looking floor. The walls seemed to be extremely old, fashioned from rock and carved with strange designs. Water dripped from the cavernous ceiling down the right wall, through a green slimy trail of moss and into a scum-layered puddle on the floor. That must have been the dripping sound he had heard. There were several tables set up directly opposite him, next to a huge, arched doorway. Several dark-robed individuals sat at the tables, moving slowly in an almost set pattern as they ate their food. Nobody spoke.

"Wormtail!" he heard himself screech in a slightly high-pitched voice.

A hunched figure separated itself from the shadows at the back of the room and shuffled toward the chair. Harry already knew who he was, but was slightly taken aback by the way in which he'd changed. Peter's skin was almost grey and dripped from his face in great wrinkles. His lustreless eyes were sunken deep into his skull and ringed with sagging flesh. Creases ran downward from the corners of his dry, cracked mouth and into a greasy stubbled beard. He was dressed in a faded black cloak which was stained by something slightly darker and had a patch of what looked like vomit on the chest panel. The cloak hung open over a grotty-looking white shirt that had turned grey with grime. The shirt was splattered with green-edged brown liquid. Harry knew the substance was blood without touching or smelling it. "Yes sir?" Peter wheezed. Harry thought his voice sounded like a radio that wasn't quite tuned to the right channel.

"It has been three weeks, Wormtail. What have you done?" Harry said, in a voice that wasn't his. Where was he? Who was he? He had a sinking feeling as the knowledge drifted into his brain. He must be in Voldemort's body. But how?

Peter bowed his head but said nothing.

"Nothing?" Harry snapped through Voldemort. "That's what I thought. Why are you still grieving for that woman? She was a traitor and a muggle-sympathiser. What is wrong with you?"

Peter's head rose so that his dull eyes focused on Harry. "She wasn't a traitor. She didn't betray us. She- She was on our side," he whispered, firmly. It was the first time that Harry had heard Wormtail speak without a whimper or an echo of subservience.

"Fool! She was a traitor! She betrayed you when she went off with Black, didn't she? It was only a matter of time before she did it again, only this time she'd be telling McGonagall all about you and about how you were taking her money and threatening her daughter. You can only keep a person immersed in fear for so long, Peter, before they decide to break free."

"She wasn't afraid of me," Wormtail said. "She-"

"Loved you? Of course she didn't. Stop weaving little fairy stories and face the truth. She was afraid of you. She thought that you would ruin that comfortable insulation of lies she had so skilfully built up about herself. So she told you everything you wanted to hear and let you do anything to her, just to keep you at bay. A few more weeks and you would have been wrapped around her little finger again. She would have owned you. She would have been the one in control. Then, when it got to that point, she would have taken you to the Ministry of Magic and had you arrested for murder. Sirius Black's name would have been cleared and she would have gone back to him. One... happy... little... family." Voldemort said in a brisk, rough voice.

"No-!" Peter exclaimed. His grief-worn face was contorted in a mixture of misery and anger. "She- She wasn't like that! She loved me! She didn't love him! She hated him! Even before he killed me, she hated him. He treated her like a piece of livestock, shuffling her off to Scotland as soon as she fell pregnant without even consulting her properly. He didn't treat her as an equal. He treated her like dirt! She knew, back then, that she'd made a huge mistake."

"And how would you know that? Is that what she told you? She was lying, Wormtail. She was buttering you up with lies, making you pliable to her cause, so that she could lull you into a false sense of security and then betray you. That is what she was like! So stop grieving for her and get on with life!" Harry waved his arm haphazardly to the side as if he was flinging Peter away.

It was a dismissal, but Peter did not see it that way. "No, she didn't tell me any of that. She never said a word about Padfoot," he spat. "I read it-"

"In the diary that I told you to destroy." Voldemort's voice was low and quiet. Harry could feel the air around him quiver with danger. "I shouldn't have to read your mind to check that you have followed orders, Wormtail. I only do that for Initiates... Where is it?"

"I want to keep it, please... Please..." Peter pleaded in a whimpering voice.

"What for? So Iris McGonagall can keep a hold on your heart from beyond the grave? I don't think so. Either get it for me, or I will take it from you by force." To illustrate, Voldemort snapped his clawed fingers and Peter doubled over in pain. Harry noticed that the people at the back of the room had stopped eating and were now watching, their glazed eyes shining in the darkness. Voldemort gave a triumphant chortle. "It's in your cloak pocket. Give it to me, now!"

Peter reluctantly withdrew a book from his cloak. Harry saw it pass into Voldemort's gnarled hands. It was very small, bound with red leather, with gold-edged pages and gold stylised roses stamped upon the cover. A gold-plated lock glistened from the edge of the pages. "The key's around your neck. I want that too." A tiny key on a fine gold chain was also handed over. Voldemort's hands burst into green flames and the diary was gone.

Peter shuddered as if an electric current had been passed through his body. His head dropped to his chest but he did not turn away.

"The rest of the plan is about to be implemented. An Initiate will remove the mudblood, Timothy Abberline, tonight. You know the rest." Voldemort took a hoarse, deep breath. "The serpents are hungry. Go and procure a muggle to feed them." Wormtail started to shuffle away without turning his back on Harry. Harry heard himself chuckle. "Oh, and Peter-"

"Yes, master?" Wormtail wheezed.

"Change your clothing. I am sick of seeing chunks of Iris McGonagall every time I look at you."

If Peter felt anything, it was not shown in his face. "Yes master," he replied.

Once again, the blackness took over. Harry was left in a void, wondering how he had gotten into Voldemort's head and worrying about whether this experience could be reciprocated. He felt very frightened, scared that either he was going crazy or that he had more in common with Voldemort than he thought. Why had it happened? Did Voldemort know that it had happened, or was Harry the only one aware? Would Harry be aware if Voldemort was in his head?

Harry was awoken by the clamour of footsteps and a lot of shouting as a two people burst through the doors to... the Hospital Wing. It took him a moment to register where he was and what was happening. He gave up and decided to observe the men. He rolled over and placed his glasses on as discreetly as possible, watching the men with half-hidden eyes. One was a short fat man with grey curly hair that he wore about his shoulders. The other was a very dapper looking man with a crew-cut and a green bow-tie. A white-covered stretcher hovered in the air between them. A very small person lay on the stretcher, but Harry could not tell who, since the view of his or her head was obscured by the men. "Madam Pomfrey!" the fat man shouted. He approached Harry, the small eyes in his plump face gleaming like raisins, "Surry- Surry to disturb your sleep. D'you know where Madam Pomfrey is?"

Before Harry could answer, Madam Pomfrey dashed into the ward. She looked as though she'd dressed in a hurry, her cardigan was buttoned up crookedly and her nurse's cap was lopsided. Her hair had been bunched quickly into a bun and sat to one side of her head. "Robert Stuart, Benjamin McGooligan!" the nurse exclaimed. "What are you doing here?" Her eyes wandered to the body which the man with the bow-tie was attempting to man-handle onto a bed. "That's Vesta... What happened?"

"Vesta?" the grey-haired man queried.

"Her name's Vesta von Strauss," Madam Pomfrey snapped as she approached the victim. "What happened to her?"

"There was a death last night in 'Ogsmeade. We found 'er nearby," the man explained. "Can you do sumthing for 'er? We'll- They'll need to ask 'er some questions... The Aurors, y'know, they'll be by later to talk t' 'er, like."

"A murder?" Pomfrey said. Harry looked past her at a very small woman lying on the bed. She had very straight, slightly reddish, blonde hair. Her skin was chalk white from her face to her limbs, as if the colour had been sapped away by some sort of curse. Her hands were clenched about a thin, wheat-coloured wand. The grip looked so tight that Harry was surprised that the wand hadn't snapped.

"Who was the victim?" the nurse asked as she ran a hand across the patient's neck.

The man with the bow-tie muttered something inaudible to Harry.

"What-? No... Tell me you're joking," the nurse said. "It can't be..." her voice faltered and she suddenly changed the subject."And Vesta... was with him...?"

"We found 'er jist around the corner from 'is body, at the end of an alleyway. She must've seen the attack and run for 'er life," the fat man said.

The other man added, "Dr Watson checked her over and said she's stable, but we need her awake. Can you do anything for her? She's the only witness we've got."

Madam Pomfrey's voice sounded incredulous. "Dr Prunella Watson is not a healer. She deconstructs the human body like some sort of muggle butcher. She wouldn't know what she was talking about-"

"Does it matter?" the cropped headed man asked, straightening his bow-tie with long, thin fingers. Harry noticed that his eyes were two different colours, one blue and one brown. His eyes were the only things out of place in his whole ensemble.

"It doesn't," the fat man said. "Now please, can ya do sumthin' for 'er or shall we go find some udder 'ealer?"

"I- I've got something that might work." Madam Pomfrey glided across the room to her medicine cabinet, returning a few seconds later with a tall blue bottle three-quarters filled with a thick black liquid. She held the woman's mouth open and gently administered a dose from a pewter spoon that hung from the neck of the bottle. Instantly the patient's features began to contort as she gagged at what must have been foul-tasting medicine.

"Where... am I?" Harry heard the woman wheeze. She glanced wildly about the room, her cat-like eyes flitting like butterflies across every surface. For a moment, her eyes rested on Harry. She stared at him, as if trying to recognise him, then when she seemed to realise she didn't know him, she started to scream. "Where's Tim? Is he all right? Oh, please... Where is he? Where is Timothy?" She must have known the answer before it was spoken, because she began to cry. "He's dead isn't he? No... No... Please, he has to be all right... I'm all right. Where is he? No, he's dead. He's dead... No..."

"Can we call a family member, your Mum p'haps?" the short man asked. "Jist to keep you company while they do the questioning, y'know, a bit of moral support, like."

"My parents are dead," Vesta von Strauss whispered. "Like- Like Tim..."

"Surely there must be someone, some family member we can get in touch with? Or maybe a friend or a flatmate... Who do you live wiv?"

Vesta sniffed loudly, as if she was trying to vacuum air into her brain. Her head shivered on its narrow neck as she gazed about the men. Her eyes ran freely with tears. "I live with my aunt and uncle," she whimpered. "Y- You can tell them where I am, only please... please don't tell that I was out with Timothy... they'll- they'll kick me out. I've got nowhere else to go... I- I rely on them. They- I'm- I'm employed as my uncle's secretary."

"Wot's the problem with you and Tim, don't they like 'im or somethin'? Who are these people?" the man with grey curls looked confused.

Vesta started to sob again. "My aunt's name is Narcissa... Narcissa Malfoy. She's- she's my mother's sister. Please... Timothy's dead... Don't tell them I was there... I can't believe he's dead... I was only staying there until I could inherit my parent's estate. Then we would have had enough money to buy a house together and get- get married..." She rolled over and covered her face with a pillow. The wand in her hand dropped to the floor with a clink, the sound all but drowned out by Vesta's sobbing. Harry watched as it rolled toward him and came to rest under his bed. Nobody else seemed to notice. Vesta's muffled voice could be heard shrieking through the pillow, "They just don't- didn't understand... They never understand anything!"

"Un'erstand wot?" the short man asked. "Do Lucius and Narcissa 'ave a problem with Mr Abberline?"

The victim lifted her livid face from the pillow. A snarl lit her reddened face. For an instant, Harry was reminded of Draco Malfoy, but then that moment was gone and Vesta's face had returned to tears. "Th- They are very... They don't like... m-muggleborns. They call them... m-mud- I can't say it, it's too disgusting-"

"Mudbloods?" the other man offered.

A look of extreme distaste crossed Vesta's face. "Yes... that's what they call them and worse... They- they think that they're superior to everyone else because there's no muggle blood in their veins," her voice suddenly became urgent, "Please! You can't tell them I was with Timothy... He was muggleborn... I loved him, though... You can't tell them! Please, don't-" Her voice broke and she began to sob. Madam Pomfrey placed a comforting arm around the thin shoulder, only to be pushed away.

"Love, they'll read about it in the papers. Innit better that you tell 'em yourself?"

The girl suddenly changed her mind. "I don't care! Tim is dead. I don't care what they think anymore! Go ahead and tell them then! I don't care!" Vesta sob-shouted, her shrill voice echoing through the building.

"Vesta, it's all right-" Madam Pomfrey began.

Vesta sat up. She bumped her head on the shelf above the bed, but didn't seem to care. "No, it's not all right. Timothy is dead! Why aren't I dead? Why couldn't Sirius Black kill me too? Why'd he just have to take Tim away from me like that?"

"Sirius Black?" the dapper man asked, a look of horror highlighting his otherwise dull features.

"Yeah, if you're looking for who killed Timothy, it was Sirius Black. I saw him do it!" Vesta screamed, clawing at her white face until it was streaked with red relief lines. "He- He turned into a dog after he did it, but when he saw me he turned back into a man and came after me. He had this horrible snarled expression on his face like he'd enjoyed the killing. I couldn't- I wasn't fast enough- I could have caught him- I could have stopped him- I could have saved Timothy- but I was too scared, so I ran away and tried to hide. But he came after me and I could do nothing... Nothing!" She gripped her head with both hands and began to rock backwards and forwards, the tears turning her scratched face red and shiny like a lobster. "If- If I'd done something Tim would still be alive... but I was too scared... too bloody scared..."

"Wot's this about a dog?" the fat man with long grey hair asked.

"Sirius Black turned into a dog! He's a dog! Don't you see? Don't you understand? He's a bloody animagus! That's why you've never caught him!" Vesta shrieked. She hit her head repeatedly against the bedpost as the sobs became roars. "He killed Tim! Why can't you catch him, now? Search everywhere until you've found him... Please, get justice for Timothy... I was too scared to do anything... I was too scared..." The bracelets on her arms jingled like wind chimes as she tried to stand. Instead she fell in a heap with a jangling bump and lay in a quivering mess beside the bed. Slowly she rolled herself up in a cocoon-like position and lay still. "I want to die," she whimpered to herself more than anybody else.

Madam Pomfrey turned to Harry. He had no time to remove his glasses or pretend to be asleep. "Ah, Harry," the nurse said, as if she had only just realised that he was there. "I see you're feeling better... Perhaps you would like to...?"

"Leave?" Harry suggested, his mind swimming with ideas. He wanted to hear what Vesta von Strauss had to say about Sirius. She had to be lying... unless... he didn't want to think about it. Why would Sirius do something like that? Maybe he was there after all - he'd found the body and she had just misunderstood. If that was true, then who had cursed her? Had she just fainted, not been cursed at all? Or was Vesta von Strauss the Initiate sent by Voldemort to kill Timothy Abberline? She certainly had the right connections, she was Lucius Malfoy's niece. But she seemed so frightened about what the Malfoys thought of her, that Harry was almost certain she was telling the truth. Maybe somebody had messed with her head and implanted false memories in her mind. That had to be it. Then there was his own mind to worry about. Could Voldemort be in his head right now, just as Harry had been in his?

"Yes," the nurse replied. She turned back to the shivering lump that was Vesta von Strauss, adding only, "Your clothing's on the chair beside the bed."

Harry pulled the curtains that separated his bed from the rest of the room shut and slowly dressed. He could hear Vesta sobbing from the floor, her bracelets jangling slowly like a knell. He didn't believe that she was knowingly lying about what had happened in Hogsmeade. She did not have the glassy-eyed fanatical stare of one of Voldemort's followers, nor did he see the tell-tale Dark Mark on her naked arms.

Harry remembered Timothy Abberline, the handsome blonde-haired man that had been investigating Morgiana's mother's murder. He had liked him instantly. Harry had not realised that Abberline had been muggleborn, was that why he had been killed? Or was there another reason? Had Abberline discovered something about the murder of Iris McGonagall? Had he been too close to the truth for comfort? Now nobody would ever know. Morgiana would continue to believe that Sirius had murdered her father and mother.

He wasted some more time by pulling the Hospital Wing bed together. He folded the borrowed pyjamas he had been wearing and placed them tidily on the pillow. Nobody seemed to notice as opened the curtains. Madam Pomfrey was trying to make Vesta get back onto the bed whilst the two Ministry of Magic men were speaking in low whispers. Harry caught snippets of conversation as he walked to the door.

"I'm gonna 'ave t'go an' tell Professor Dumbledore that she's 'ere," the fat man said. He waggled his plump index finger at that the other man. "You will 'ave to stay 'ere an' wait for them bloody Aurors to arrive an' talk to 'er. Don't tell 'er nuttin', they'll wan' 'er memory fresh, like."

The man rolled his two-tone eyes. "I know Bob," he said. "I didn't start doing this job yesterday, you know."

"Good," Bob Stuart replied. "Then you know wot you're about... Where are those Aurors? They should've been at the crime scene when we arrived-"

"Who is doing the case?" the man that Harry presumed was Ben McGooligan asked. "I thought that this was Mad Eye's time slot. He's usually pretty reliable."

"'E is," Bob agreed, "But 'e's got Fudge's little princess as an understudy at that momen'. She's trouble."

"Tabitha Fudge?" McGooligan scoffed.

"Yeah," Bob said.

Harry heard no more of the conversation as the door slammed behind him. He was in a hurry to get back to the Gryffindor Common Room and speak to Ron and Hermione. He didn't see the two people before he ran into them with a bump. It was enough to substantially wind him, but not to knock anybody over. "Sorry-" he began, before he had looked too hard. Then he recognised the crooked figure with the strange, swivelling eye. "Mad Eye Moody," he said, slowly.

"Harry," Moody said, wheezing as he caught his breath. "It's nice to see you again." The pretty blonde woman beside him scowled and folded her pink-encased arms across her low-cut blouse.

"It's good to see you too," Harry replied, acutely aware of the woman's presence. He would not be able to say anything else to Mad Eye while she was there.

Moody seemed to follow his thought pattern. "This is my new assistant, Tabitha Fudge. Tabitha, why don't you go in and see if the witness is awake-"

Tabitha did not move from the spot where she stood. Instead, she straightened up and pushed her jaw out. Harry noticed for the first time that her eyes were wet with tears. Perhaps she was mourning Timothy Abberline or maybe she had gotten in trouble for being late. When she spoke, her voice did not convey the feelings that were expressed in her eyes. "Are you not going to introduce me to your friend, sir?" she asked, her voice sharp but firm.

"Oh." Moody said. "Tabitha, this is Harry Potter."

Tabitha held out a stiff, white hand. She had long purple nails that scratched Harry's hand as she gripped it. "You are Harry Potter?" Her tearful aqua eyes now shone with disdain and her pink-painted mouth was curled in a menacing smile. "I have heard so much about you." The words were not in themselves threatening, but the way she said them was. "Papa says that you are a liar," she spat. With that, she withdrew her cold hand and pushed her way into the Hospital Wing, leaving Harry standing speechless.

Mad Eye Moody looked embarrassed. "Ignore her, she is a constant embarrassment to the Ministry of Magic. She's as shallow as a puddle and as mad as a meat-axe."

"Oh," Harry said. It was all he could think of to say. "Is she related to Minister Fudge?"

"His daughter," Moody explained. "Which means that everybody has to put up with her... You just came out of the Hospital Wing. What were you doing there?"

"I was sick," Harry replied. He didn't elaborate further.

"Did you see the girl that was brought in?"

"Yes," Harry said. "She's awake. Her name's Vesta von Strauss." Suddenly something else spilled out. "She says Sirius killed Timothy Abberline and then came after her. She knows he is an animagus."

Moody's voice was quiet. "Do you think that she's lying?"

Harry took a deep breath. "No, not exactly... At least not on purpose... I don't think..."

"Then you think Padfoot did kill Abberline?"

"No!" Harry exclaimed before he could stop himself. "No- err... No. I think-" How could he voice his impressions? "I think that somebody's done something to her memory."

The door behind him opened and Tabitha Fudge stuck her overly painted face out. "Sir, would you hurry up? She's awake."

"It looks like I'm going to be here for a few days," Moody told Harry as he went over to the door. "I'll catch up with you later, okay?"

"Certainly," was all Harry could reply.

***

Harry tried to find Sirius first, looked everywhere and found nothing. In desperation he decided to go back to his dormitory. The common room was deserted when he got there. He should have realised that everybody would be in the dining hall. Harry wasn't hungry and he knew he couldn't discuss what he wanted to there, so he thought that he'd go up to his room and get ready for school. He had to think of a way to get back into the Hospital Wing and listen to Vesta von Strauss again. He had to discover the truth.

As he climbed the stairs up to the dormitories, he realised that he wasn't alone. He heard a muffled giggle and the sound of a book being paged through. The staircase wound around in a corkscrew so that he could not see anything in front of him. He felt very conscious of the pit-pat sound his feet made on the carpet and the rhythmic thudding of his heart. It almost seemed as though he was intruding on someone.

As he rounded the corner, he saw the girl. She had long dark hair that fell down her back in a cascade of dark chocolate ringlets. He knew who she was instantly but could do nothing but stand and watch. She was half turned away from him, holding a thick book in her hands. The book was crushed against her chest by the body of boy that she was kissing. Harry knew him too. For what was barely a few seconds, but seemed like an age, Harry watched, rooted to the spot. He felt guilty that he was witnessing this scene but at the same time felt angry that he had to witness it. Why couldn't they have found somewhere a little more discreet? He was also slightly jealous. It wasn't that he wanted to be the boy kissing Morgiana, nor was it that he felt that no-one should kiss her. It was just that, well, he wanted that sort of closeness and was envious of those that had it. He longed to push past them to the dormitory or to turn around and leave. But he couldn't. Any movement would draw attention to his inability to deal with the situation.

Fred Weasley became aware of Harry's presence first. He suddenly pushed Morgiana away, his skin colourising to the same shade as his hair. He smiled sheepishly and put his hands in his pockets. "Harry... you're feeling better then?"

Morgiana swivelled around, dropping the book she was holding with a thud. "Hi..." she said slowly. "We were just-"

It was an awkward situation. "I get the picture," Harry replied quickly. "I'll just go up to the dormitory, okay?" He tried to push past the pair but Morgiana caught his arm.

"You don't have to go because of us," she exclaimed.

"No, I- Have you seen Hermione and Ron?" Harry felt his glasses mist up with embarrassment.

"They'll be at breakfast," Fred said.

"Is everything all right, Harry? You gave everybody a big shock yesterday... Did Madam Pomfrey say you could leave the Hospital Wing?" Morgiana asked, incredulously. In her own experience, Madam Pomfrey had been extremely cautious about the treatment of students with unknown ailments.

"I'm fine," Harry said. He wondered whether he should tell Morgiana about the death of Timothy Abberline. It seemed cruel to destroy the happiness that he saw radiate from her body. There would be plenty of time to tell her later. 'Besides', he justified to himself, 'even Dumbledore doesn't know yet.' Another thought struck him. Professor Dumbledore knew about almost everything that happened in his school. He was probably already aware of this event. The Ministry men had not exactly been quiet.

"Are you sure?" Fred asked.

"I'm absolutely fine," Harry reaffirmed.

The silence that followed was broken by Morgiana. "Is there a quidditch practise tonight? 'Cos if there is, I can't come and watch," she directed her dark flashing eyes at Fred, "'Cos I've got a detention from Snape. Normally, they're after tea, but he felt the need to give it to me straight after school," she huffed. "As long as its not scrubbing bedpans again... I hate bedpans."

Harry was slow to reply as Morgiana's words sunk in. A detention from Snape, scrubbing bedpans. That would get him into the Hospital Wing to speak to Vesta von Strauss. Normally, he didn't have to do anything to get a detention in that particular Professor's class, but he had no control over what the detention was. Bedpan duty was usually allocated when Snape was in a foul mood. Harry would have to be as obnoxious as possible. He suddenly realised that both Morgiana and Fred were staring at him, waiting for an answer. "No," he said slowly. "The practise is tomorrow morning before school. Bright and early."

Fred swore under his breath. "I thought we'd gotten over that when Wood left. Why can't we have the practise tomorrow evening?"

"I've got a detention then," Harry said, planning ahead.

***

There was no time to warn Hermione and Ron of his intentions before Potions, which was the first class of the morning. Nor was there any time to find Padfoot and ask if he knew anything about what had happened in Hogsmeade. Harry knew that Padfoot would hate it, but secretly he hoped that Dumbledore would send him away from Hogwarts, at least for a time while the Ministry of Magic was sniffing around. Vesta's allegations were very serious, whether bred from her own warped mind or the mind of another. If the intention was to blow Padfoot's cover, it had worked extremely well. Unless they were stupider than Harry thought, the Ministry would believe her. A few men in the Ministry knew the truth about Sirius, including Moody, but they would be unable to do anything unless they wanted to lose their jobs. Thinking of Arthur Weasley, Harry realised that for some people, this wasn't an option. It was better that they stayed and did the best they could.

How long would it be before the Ministry realised that Professor Dumbledore had recently acquired a large black male dog? In hindsight, Harry saw the foolishness of the decision that had allowed Padfoot to come to Hogwarts. Peter would have told the Death-Eaters all about the illegal animagi. With his own knowledge, Harry knew that some of those Death-Eaters had quite influential positions in and around the Ministry of Magic, including the Malfoys. They would make this experience as difficult as possible for Dumbledore. Harry pictured the drab cloaked dementors on every sidewalk once more, maybe even on every corridor within the school. Dumbledore would never allow it, but this time he wouldn't have a choice. The Ministry of Magic would make his decisions for him.

Harry sat at the back of the classroom, ignoring jibes from certain Slytherins whilst he watched Hermione and Morgiana unload their bags, several desks in front of him. Morgiana was whispering something in the other girl's ear and they were both giggling as though they'd come in contact with a laughing curse. His attention turned to Ron, who was seated next to him. How was he going to pull this off? He wanted to warn Ron about what he was about to do, but couldn't risk somebody else overhearing.

Professor Snape was late arriving. He had dressed himself in his usual black robes, but the normal cloaking of superiority that made him the subject of every non-Slytherin First Year's nightmare seemed to be marred. 'He knows!' Harry realised with a jolt as the teacher strode to his desk, a troubled look piercing his brow. There seemed almost no possibility that Snape would allocate him the particular detention he wanted if he knew that Vest von Strauss was in the Hospital Wing. 'Still,' Harry thought to himself, 'There's no harm in trying.'

Snape announced to the packed classroom that the day's work would consist of a practical experiment. That suited Harry fine. Surely if he spilled a few potions here and there or managed to drop the cauldron he'd earn some sort of detention. Then all he'd have to do was top these mishaps off with a bit of backchat and he'd probably wind up scrubbing bedpans for the rest of the week. It seemed like a leap of faith, but Harry could think of no other way of explaining why he was in the Hospital Wing to anyone. He couldn't go and visit Vesta at night. After the experience she had just had she would probably scream the building down. He would face quite a few uncomfortable questions from frantic teachers while he tried to explain why he was there.

He was casually flicking his wand, wondering what to do when he realised that Ron was speaking to him. "What..?" he asked, slowly.

"Are you sure you're feeling better, Harry?" Ron said again. "You didn't hear a word I just said, mate."

Snape directed a glare at the two boys from his vantage point next to a group of Slytherins. "Potter, Weasley. Talking is not going to mix your Agrimony Solution."

"Sorry, Professor," Ron said quickly. "So what happened in the Hospital Wing?" he hissed to Harry.

"Something," Harry whispered back. "I'll tell you later." Now was the time to act, while Snape was nearby and obviously already annoyed with him. He teased the cauldron with his wand, watching as the thick yellow liquid darted up like a live thing toward his hand. He pulled back hurriedly, then recalled something Hermione had told him once whilst doing Potions homework. Agrimony Solution, a mixture of the otherwise harmless herb and several other concoctions, was used, among other things, for dissolving iron and iron compounds. But where would he find something to dissolve? His eyes searched the room but found nothing until he looked at the desk in front of him. 'The nails,' he thought to himself. He knew that muggle nails often contained iron, although most were galvanised or zinc coated. Would that affect the potion? And were magic nails the same? Was this desk, this bench, even held together with nails? He felt around below the table top to check and was disgusted to find what he hoped was a gob of chewing gum in contact with his hand. There was no time to wipe his hand. He had to keep searching.

"What are you doing?" Ron murmured under his breath as he added a hefty pinch of some sort of ground root to the bubbling cauldron.

Harry couldn't explain. "Are these desks nailed together?"

"Prob'ly," Ron said, louder than he had intended. He received a piercing look from Professor Snape for his troubles. He added another pinch of root, this time waiting for the answering hiss from the cauldron before he spoke again. "Why?"

"It doesn't matter," Harry whispered. The Agrimony Solution had to cool for several hours before it was ready to be used. Would it work now? There was no time to think. He heaved the table forwards at the same time as he pushed his stool backwards. Nasty yellowish liquid slopped down the sides of the cauldron, filling the air with steam as it came in contact with the flames. Harry grimaced as the air was filled with a smell similar to burning hair. For what seemed like an age but was actually only a few milliseconds, the potion oozed across the table until it reached the edges and slipped to the floor. In his haste to get away, Ron managed to knock his own stool over. The properties of Agrimony Solution took over - what hadn't worked on the nails in the table worked on the legs of the stool. Like a living thing, the thick yellow muck rose from the ground and enveloped the stool legs, until only brittle, wire-like sticks remained. Purple flames burst from nowhere and devoured what was left, disappearing only when nothing remained. The rest of the spilt potion solidified then turned to a dandruff-like ash.

The entire class was staring as Snape levelled himself with Harry. "That was a very dangerous and stupid thing to do, Potter," the teacher said, forcibly. His lined face was very pale. "Do you know how much damage you could have caused? As it is, Weasley will be paying for a new stool."

As Professor Snape paused, Harry heard an audible snigger from Draco Malfoy's direction. "It looks like Weasley's wet himself." A few people laughed nervously. Harry turned to his friend, who was shakily bringing himself to his feet, a look of utter confusion on his face. At Draco's comment, his expression changed to that of a snarl.

Snape ignored the comment. "This is an example of why we use pewter cauldrons for this experiment. Potter, perhaps you could explain why we don't use iron-alloyed cauldrons, as this was undoubtedly the principal you were relying on when you purposely spilt the Agrimony Solution."

"Agrimony Solution eats iron," Harry said.

"Very good. Now perhaps you'd also like to tell the class the other uses of Agrimony Solution, or, better yet, perhaps you would like to write a three thousand word essay on the properties of Agrimony Solution, the herb Agrimony and its uses by both muggles and wizards throughout history, to hand in tomorrow, perhaps?" Snape's voice was dangerously low. Harry braced himself for the shouting that he knew would follow. "Yes, and perhaps Mr Weasley would like to write an essay also, but this time on the dangers of falling out of one's stool during Potions class." The Slytherins sniggered. Ron turned a deeper shade of red. "And Miss Granger and Miss Pettigrew would perhaps like to scrub a few bedpans for their trouble."

Nothing was going to plan, Harry thought, as Morgiana's face lit with an angry sneer. Like the rest of the class, she and Hermione had turned to watch the proceedings with mouths agape. Hermione gripped the angry girl's shoulder with white knuckled hands and whispered something in her ear. Harry knew that it was no use. "That's not fair!" Morgiana shouted, possibly louder that she had intended. "We didn't do anything wrong, we sitting all the way over here! How could we have done anything?"

"You were whispering something when you came into class. You and Potter have obviously planned this to disrupt the lesson, Pettigrew."

"I didn't plan anything!" Morgiana snapped, her brown eyes lit with electricity. "W- We weren't talking about interrupting your precious lesson. Why would I want to do that? I already have three essays to write for you and another detention after school-"

"Well if you weren't talking about that, what were you talking about? Go, on spit it out, girl." Snape left Harry's side and strode toward Morgiana. The students seated in his path hurriedly moved, fear highlighting their features.

"Nothing," Morgiana said, hastily.

"If it was nothing, why didn't you say it out loud?" The look on the teacher's face read, 'You're-lying-and-I-know-it'.

Things were moving further and further out of Harry's control. "Because it's none of anybody else's business, that's why," Morgiana snapped. She stood up and began to pack her books into her bag.

"Where are you going?"

"Do you think I'm gonna put up with this for the rest of the year? I'm telling you right now that I'm not going to. I'm not doing your stupid essays or your stupid detentions and I'm not coming to your stupid class again. I'll study for my OWL by myself and I'll pass with flying colours without your help, which by the way is useless. The students are all too scared of you to ask any questions. Half the time Hermione ends up running around behind your back to fix things up just so they don't get into trouble." Morgiana flung her back over her back dramatically and met Snape's eyes with a glare. She turned away from him and began to walk to the door.

"Fifty points from Gryffindor if you leave," Professor Snape said in a choking voice. Harry guessed that this was one of the first times a student had walked out on one of his classes.

"Like I care," Morgiana spat as she flung the door open.

"A hundred then!" the teacher roared.

Harry gulped. One hundred points from Gryffindor would effectively cripple their chances of gaining the house cup at the end of the year. Snape was relying on peer pressure to bring Morgiana back under his power. If she left now, she would be hated by everybody.

"Good!" Morgiana screamed. "Take someone's fault out on everybody else like you always do, Professor, and blame me for it! I don't care!" she paused to stare at the teacher with a look of utter revulsion before slamming the door behind her. The tapping of her feet in the corridor could be heard in the silent classroom.

"Potter, Weasley and Granger," Snape barked in a hoarse voice. "Will see me after class to discuss their detentions."

Harry dropped his face as his friends turned to stare at him. This was his entire fault.

***

As soon as they were out of the Potions classroom, Ron and Hermione turned on Harry. "You did that on purpose," Ron hissed. "Why the hell would you do that?"

"What's going on Harry?" Hermione asked. Her voice sounded less angry than Ron's, but the small hand that pinched his wrist was hard and cruel.

"You got us all into trouble!" Ron accused. "We're getting detentions for something you did on purpose! I saw you push the table, Harry! Now Snape's gonna write to my parents and ask them for money for a new stool. That's gonna go down like a lead balloon. And I've got to write some stupid essay and Hermione's got to scrub bedpans. What's the matter with you? Did the turn you have yesterday mess with your head or something?"

"I can explain-" Harry began. "I need to get into the Hospital Wing-"

"Why? You've just been in there," Hermione said, tightening the grip on Harry's wrist as if she expected him to run away.

"There's a girl in there-"

"So?" Ron's ears were beginning to turn red, a sure sign that he was growing angry.

"I had to get the detention to get in there, didn't I?" Harry explained.

The reddening of Ron's ears grew more intense. "We got detentions just so you could chat up some girl in the Hospital Wing! Couldn't you just pull a sicky to get back in-"

"Madam Pomfrey got rid of me as soon as she could. She doesn't want anyone in there-"

"It's not Cho Chang, is it?" Hermione asked, quietly. She let go of Harry's wrist and positioned herself between him and Ron.

For a moment, Ron looked puzzled. "What about Cho Chang?"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "The girl in the Hospital Wing. It's not her that you want to see, is it Harry? I heard she hasn't been taking-"

"You got us a detention so that you could go and see Cho Chang-!" Ron exploded.

Hermione jumped. "Ron, keep your voice down- Harry, I don't think that that's the right way to get a date-"

"Of course it's not the right way, Hermione. He got us in trouble!"

Harry took a deep breath. He could see that Hermione was about to say something very cutting to Ron and that Ron would do the same thing in return. The anger they felt towards him would be aimed at each other. The result would be that neither of them would talk to each other and he'd end up as the go-between. "Both of you shut up-" he interrupted as Hermione muttered something. "I'll explain. You know Timothy Abberline-"

Ron regarded Harry with raised eyebrows. "Timothy's a guy, Harry-"

"I know that, Ron. He was investigating Morgiana's mother's murder-"

It was Hermione's turn to interrupt. "You said 'was', Harry. Does that mean he's been removed from the case?"

"He's dead," Harry said, bluntly. "He was murdered last night in Hogsmeade-"

"Poor Morgiana. She quite liked him..." Hermione whispered to herself. Her voice became sharper as she met Harry's eyes. "Do they know who did it? What's this got to do with the girl in the Hospital Wing?"

"She was Timothy's girlfriend. She saw him die and narrowly missed getting killed herself-"

"So she's the Ministry of Magic's witness." Ron said.

"Yes, but-" the words suddenly roared out of his mouth at the speed of a train, "She-says-it-was-Sirius-that-killed-him-"

"He wouldn't-" Ron began.

"I know that!" Harry snapped.

"She must be lying-" Hermione said. "She has to be-"

"She knows he's an animagi-"

"How?" Ron asked.

Harry felt confused. How could he make them see what he felt. "I don't know! She said she saw Sirius turn into a dog after killing Timothy-"

"She must be lying." Hermione reaffirmed.

"Why would she lie? She's only letting the real killer get away. Why would she want to do that?" Ron asked, a puzzled expression lighting his face. He scratched his head as if trying to dig the solution out of his brain. Flakes of dandruff scattered themselves in the air around him. Harry took a step back but Hermione wasn't so lucky. The salting of dead white cells were very visible against her black robes.

Hermione caught Ron's arm to stop him scratching his head. He flinched at her touch then stared at her. "But don't you see, she has to be lying, Ron. Sirius wouldn't kill Timothy Abberline-" she said.

"I know that-" Harry interrupted, even though the comment had been aimed at Ron. "I think that somebody implanted the memory into her head on purpose. She was never intended to be a victim, only the messenger to the Ministry of Magic."

"Why make it look like Sirius was the murderer?" Ron started to scratch his head again, but stopped when Hermione shook her head at him.

Hermione hit a point that Harry hadn't thought of. "Implicating Sirius puts the Ministry of Magic in a tight position - they have to be shown to act on this murder, since Timothy was an Auror. It makes them look stupid for not catching Sirius. After all, he's been on the run for nearly three years-"

"It was Hogsmeade, you said wasn't it?" Ron asked Harry in an excited voice

"Yeah..."

"Whoever it is wants to bring the Dementors back to Hogsmeade, maybe even search the school-" the red-haired boy explained with a spark in his eye.

Hermione ended Ron's sentence. "So someone in the Ministry could have done it, so they could get rid of Dumbledore."

Now they were going too far. Harry knew that it couldn't possibly have been a Ministry person that had killed Timothy Abberline... unless that person worked for Voldemort. "No- Voldemort said he'd sent an Initiate to do it-"

"Voldemort!" Hermione said in a surprised voice. Ron flinched. "How does he fit into it?"

"Yesterday... It must've been when I passed out. I had this weird dream like a vision or something and I saw Voldemort talking to Peter. He said there was an Initiate that was going to remove Abberline-" Harry tried not to tell them too much. There would be plenty of time later, after he'd spoken to Professor Dumbledore and Sirius. Vesta von Strauss would not be staying in the Hospital Wing forever. They had to see her as soon as possible.

"What's an Initiate?" Ron asked.

"I don't know-"

Hermione cut-off Harry's faltering explanation, "Don't you two read? An Initiate is one of the junior Death-Eaters-"

"A newbie, then." Ron said.

"If you want to put it like that, yes." Hermione rolled her eyes. "But why send an Initiate to kill someone and implant the memory of Sirius doing it in someone's brain? Surely it requires more experience..."

"Maybe Voldemort initiates them by sending them to kill people." Harry said, practically. It was the only answer he could think of.

"What's the girl's name?" queried Ron.

"Vesta von Strauss."

"Vesta von Strauss!" Ron repeated.

"What?" Hermione asked. She brushed the dandruff off her robes and stared at Ron.

Ron wrinkled his nose. "She's a Malfoy. She probably killed him herself and lied about it."

"You're wrong," Harry said. "She's not a Malfoy - she's Narcissa Malfoy's niece, so she's from whatever that branch of the family's called. Anyway, I don't think she killed him."

"Why not?" Ron asked. "Is she pretty or something?"

"No," Harry snapped, blushing slightly. He secretly thought that the golden-haired Vesta von Strauss was very pretty. "She was too upset about it-"

"Could just be guilt or second thoughts." Hermione replied.

"No- She kept repeating 'I was too scared to do anything'. She was really distraught. She believes what happened is her fault. Besides, she had one of those backless, armless tops on and there was no dark mark on her arm." Harry blushed again, remembering the milky limbs.

"Maybe she covered it up with cosmetics." Hermione said. " Or maybe she hasn't been given it yet."

Harry ended the conversation, feeling the heat rise to his face. Ron was looking at him with a strange expression on his face, an expression that said 'You-fancy-her'. "I just don't think she killed Timothy Abberline. We've got to get to class."

Hermione walked between the two boys with a business-like air. She carried several books on her right arm and the rest in a small black back pack. "So," she addressed them. "If Harry does my detention, I'll write both your essays. I'll add a few spelling mistakes so Snape thinks that you wrote them and I can probably forge your handwriting. Quite a good deal, I think. You both get off quite lightly. Yours is on Agrimony, isn't it, Harry?"

"Yes," Harry said with relief. He had had no idea how he was going to write the essay and had felt quite put-out that Hermione would be the one interviewing Vesta. "Ron, I'll write to your parents and send money for a new stool."

"Thanks, mate," Ron replied with a smile. He had the best deal - no essay at all.

"What's yours on, Ron?" Hermione asked.

"The dangers of falling off your stool during Potions class." Ron grimaced. "Harry, you're not going to get away with it that easily."

Harry was alarmed. "What do you mean?"

Ron grinned. "I'm kidding, Harry."

***

After tea, Harry approached the Hospital Wing. He doubted that Snape had actually taken the time to tell Madam Pomfrey exactly who was coming to clean the bedpans and was hoping he was correct. He carried with him Hermione's detention slip just in case.

There was no sign of life as he swung open the wooden door to the ward. He was greeted by a small halo of light emitted from the base of Vesta's bed where a man sat reading in a chair. Vesta was asleep, covered to the neck by white sheets. The other beds were empty.

As he came closer, Harry recognised the man as Ben McGooligan, one of the Ministry men that had brought Vesta von Strauss to the Hospital Wing that morning. He was a thin man with very short dark hair and a very average face, except for his eyes which were two different colours. One was blue and the other was brown. He seemed to be immersed in a copy of the Daily Prophet and made small growling sounds in his throat as he read. When he heard footsteps, he looked up, his two-toned eyes set in a glare. "What are you doing here?" he snapped.

"I... arr..." Harry began. "I- I've got a detention scrubbing bedpans."

"Oh," McGooligan replied. "Well you can get on with it, then. If you want to see Madam Pomfrey, she's in the..." he waved his hand dismissively and went back to reading.

"Harry!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed as he approached the little cubicle at the back of the ward that she called an office. "What are you doing here?"

"I've got a detention from Professor Snape," Harry said. He produced the detention slip to show her.

Madam Pomfrey's eyes rose. "You just can't seem to stay away from this place, can you Harry?"

"No," Harry replied. "So where do you want me to start?"

The nurse led him to a long steel sink set on the west wall. Harry saw a stack of what looked to be clean bedpans. "I put a cleaning spell on them yesterday," Madam Pomfrey explained. "So you don't have to worry about removing any urine or chunky. What they do need is a good scrub with a disinfecting potion." She produced a large glass bottle from nowhere and handed it to Harry. The yellow liquid contained within was nearly all gone. "Now, a little goes a very long way..." the nurse was saying as Harry smelt the bottle. It smelt heavily of the chlorine bleach that Aunt Petunia used for cleaning. "Be careful not to get it on your clothing because it will leech the colour away. Perhaps you should take your cloak off." Harry obediently placed his cloak on one of the empty beds and rolled his sleeves up. "And I'm sorry," the nurse shook her head. "But I'm under strict instructions not to let you use your wand. You might not have done it before, but you've got to scrub them like a muggle. Okay?"

Harry smiled. He had had enough practise of scrubbing while living with his Aunt and Uncle. "Sure."

Madam Pomfrey set the tap running and left Harry to scrub the bedpans. After about half an hour of scrubbing, Harry heard the hinged squeal of the door being opened. In the mirror set above the sink, he saw two people enter the room. They were both reasonably tall and blonde haired, dressed in well-cut robes of sombre black. Harry had recognised them from prior experience as Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy.

Lucius had long nose and square jaw. His lips were set in a cruel line. His eyes (though Harry couldn't see them from a distance) were a very pale tone and were bordered by sharply arched eyebrows. He carried a black cane for effect rather than use, topped with a glistening silver serpent's head. His wife, Narcissa, wore the same haughty expression on her face as he did. Her pointed chin and angled eyes were traits she shared with Vesta. With a gulp, Harry realised that if he stripped twenty years from Narcissa's face and dyed her hair copper, she and Vesta could pass as sisters. The family resemblance was uncanny and a little disturbing. In her be-gloved hands, Narcissa carried a shabby cardboard shoebox.

Ben McGooligan folded his paper hurriedly and sat on it. He rubbed his long fingers together then ran them through what little hair he had. Harry noticed that his back grew and extra two inches as he straightened up to meet the Malfoys. "Good evening sir, madam," he said in an enriched voice. He held out his hand to be shaken. "I take it that you have come to see your niece." For some reason lost to Harry, McGooligan placed extra emphasis on the word 'niece.'

Lucius Malfoy ignored the outstretched hand with a look of distaste. "Yes, McGooligan?"

"A disgraceful thing she did, isn't it, sir?" Ben McGooligan asked. "Out with a mudblood like that. And she was from such a good family too. In my opinion-"

"Yes, well, we didn't ask for your opinion," Narcissa Malfoy interrupted. "We came here to see the girl."

"Perhaps we could have some privacy," Lucius offered.

Ben McGooligan got to his feet in a hurry. "Of course, sir. I'll wait outside, shall I?" He slyly added in an undertone, "You can do whatever you like with her now, the Ministry's finished with her." He winked and straightened his green bowtie. Then he picked up his newspaper. In a few effortless strides he was out the door.

"I hate him," Narcissa commented. "He's such a sycophant. He tries to flatter you by saying what you want to hear, but everything he says is hot-air. He would never put any of it into practise."

"I agree, the man's a fool," Lucius said. "But he's no danger to us. He'll let us get this over and done with without a single interruption." He turned to Vesta's sleeping form and ripped the bedclothes off with one gloved hand. "Wake up, wench!" he snapped.

For a moment, the girl (now dressed in a pair of Hospital Wing pyjamas) stared at her uncle as if he was mad. Reality seemed to sink in and Vesta gave a little scream and curled up in a ball. Harry saw that her green eyes were filled with terror.

"Aren't you going to say good evening to your Aunt and Uncle?" Narcissa mocked from the end of the bed.

Malfoy grabbed a handful of Vesta's coppery locks and dragged her into a seated position. "Say good evening," he hissed into her ear.

"Good evening," Vesta whimpered, her face blanched white with fear. She shivered as she stared at her Aunt, a pleading look on her face. Narcissa's expression remained stonily emotionless.

Lucius released her hair and stared at his gloves. "I'll have to burn these now that they've touched a muggle-lover like you."

Harry slowly let the bedpan he was holding sink into the water with as little sound as possible. He tiptoed away from the basin and across the Hospital Wing. Narcissa and Lucius were so preoccupied by what they were doing that they didn't notice him. If Vesta did, she didn't make a sound. The room was quiet. As Harry reached the door to Madam Pomfrey's office, he heard Narcissa shriek in a hysterical voice, "You have defiled my family's blood just by letting a mudblood touch you!"

The anger in Vesta's reply was reminiscent of her attitude that morning. She had decided to fight back. "Do you think that's all I let him do-?!"

Crack! A sound like an apple being dropped onto concrete rang out, followed by a piercing scream from Vesta. Harry's eyes met Madam Pomfrey's as the door to the office swung open. "Who's doing that?" the nurse hissed.

"The Malfoys," Harry whispered in reply.

Madam Pomfrey pulled her wand from a belt at her waist and pushed past Harry. Harry heard her gasp as she reached Vesta's bedside. Harry soon found out why when he reached her side. Vesta's pretty face was a mess. Her nose had been crushed by something, and blood ran in gouts from her nostrils. She was trying to protect her head as the next blow fell from Lucius Malfoy's cane onto her hands, which flared a bright ugly red but did break. The strike on her nose must have been a lucky blow.

"You-" Madam Pomfrey began. "I demand that you leave the Hospital Wing immediately. I can't have you abusing my patients like this."

"You will not demand anything, Nurse," Lucius replied coldly as he levelled the cane at Madam Pomfrey's throat. "She is not your patient. I am not abusing her. She is being disciplined for a matter that is none of your concern. Leave us." He waved the cane at the door.

"Discipline!" Madam Pomfrey exclaimed. "Is that what you call it, now. Discipline? You have shattered her nose!"

"Oh, get off your high horse, woman," Lucius snapped and pushed the cane further into the nurse's throat. "Either you leave or I'll make you. McGooligan!" he shouted.

Ben McGooligan's bored face appeared round the corner of the door. "Yes, sir?"

"The nurse and the boy are being a nuisance," Narcissa said, pouting her lips slightly. "Can you take them outside and make sure they don't come back until we're finished?"

"Certainly, madam." McGooligan's face lit with malicious glee. He stepped into the room, ignoring the whimpering girl on the bed, and gripped the arms of Harry and Madam Pomfrey. "Do you want me to rough them up a bit as well?"

"No, just take them outside," Lucius commanded.

"Okay, off we go." Under Ben McGooligan's rough guidance, the two were transported away.

Once outside, Madam Pomfrey whispered in Harry's ear, "Go and get Professor Dumbledore. I'll wait here and see if I can tend to my patient."

"Where do you think you're going?" McGooligan drawled as Harry rushed past. Harry ignored him.