Replay

Replay

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Chapter Sixteen

Confrontation

""Who else knows about me?" Percy demanded.

Dolores Umbridge gazed up at Percy, her glazed-over pouchy toad's eyes revealing nothing of what might be going on in her head. "A lot. A lot of people know about you."

He breathed through his nose, frustrated. "And who else does your 'Master' know about? Who else?"

"Snape," she said automatically.

"You-Know-Who actually knows about him?" Percy said, appalled. "Did you--did you know this when you were teaching at Hogwarts?" He wondered whether it was possible that she had been the one to betray Snape to his former master.

She shook her head as though she were slightly dizzy. "I wish I'd known then. When Potter failed to tell me anything useful about Sirius Black after I gave him Veritaserum, I should have suspected that Snape had simply given me water or something equally harmless..."

"Why did you want to know about Sirius Black? He was a Death Eater," he added, wondering what she would say to this misinformation.

"Now, Weasley, you and I both know that he was not," she said dreamily. "After I nearly grabbed his head in the Gryffindor fire--and I heard Potter's voice in the background--I knew that he had some connection to Potter. Why should Potter be talking to the wizard who was supposed to be responsible for his parents being killed?" She seemed to be musing idly on this question. "And how did Black mysteriously dematerialise from Hogwarts two years ago when he was securely locked up with no wand?"

"But why did you want to know this?"

He wasn't certain, but he thought her eyes looked a little less glazed-over. "I knew that if someone who could escape from Azkaban by himself was helping Potter, as well as escaping from under the nose of the Ministry of Magic and an army of Dementors... Well, I knew that we had to eliminate that someone. I tried intercepting Potter's mail, as well as letters written to other students, should he ask Black to send him a message through someone else. Then, after Dumbledore slipped through our clutches, I finally gave Potter Veritaserum to ask him the former headmaster's whereabouts--as well as Black's.

"Unfortunately, after I had learned that Black held some importance to Potter but before I could do anything about it our Master had learned from another source that Sirius Black was the single most important person in the world to Potter. As I said, I hadn't had the opportunity to do anything truly useful for my Master before he disappeared fifteen years ago.... I did not know whether he knew where Black was, but I hoped that if I learned of his whereabouts I could use the strength of the Ministry to capture him. But he wouldn't stay in Ministry custody, oh no... I should have realised that Snape did not give me genuine Veritaserum to question Potter, that he was another one of Dumbledore's lackeys, like you... I knew that it was in the court records that he had been a spy just before my Master disappeared, but Lucius had told me that that was a mere ruse, to feed the Ministry misinformation. It was a ruse that served Snape well later, of course...."

"So who knows about me and about Snape?" he growled at her.

"A lot of people," she said, and he thought she might be smirking a little.

"A lot? Is that all you have to say?" It seemed to Percy that she was trying to fight the potion again; she had probably answered truthfully, but she had not answered in detail. And she had been babbling for quite some time about Sirius and Snape; she could have been out from under the potion's influence for a while, and he wouldn't have been able to tell through the swarm of banal information.

"Who knows?" Percy demanded, his wand in her face. "Names! I want names!" His voice shook; he wanted to know who would be coming after him, whose curse might finally end his life....

"Expelliarmus!"

Percy hit the floor hard, his wand slipping from his grasp as it flew to the wizard standing in the doorway, who caught it neatly. Cornelius Fudge's face was flushed with anger and he was flanked by two Aurors with their wands drawn. Percy remembered the fear that had led Fudge to take Dementors with him when he'd gone to see Barty Crouch, Jr., and it seemed that he feared for his life more than ever, to travel with Aurors everywhere he went.

"Weasley! What is the meaning of this?" Fudge demanded of him.

Percy didn't know where to start--but he decided that implicating Umbridge as a Death Eater was far preferable to admitting to having been spying on Fudge for Dumbledore during the previous year.

"Madam Umbridge accosted me but I managed to subdue her. She has admitted to being a Death Eater, sir!" he said, springing to his feet.

"Dolores Umbridge a Death Eater!" Fudge cried. "Preposterous! Don't you think I'd know whether someone that close to me was loyal to someone else?"

Percy very pointedly did not answer this question. He cleared his throat, saying, "She admitted to sending the Dementors after Potter last summer. Actually, my brother told me about that," he lied, as it was really Dumbledore who'd told him after he'd learned about it from Harry. "And she was present when You-Know-Who came back. In that graveyard."

Fudge gave him a half-smile, as of an indulgent uncle preparing to explain the truth about Father Christmas to a child who'd just barely become old enough to handle this. "Percy, Percy--Potter named everyone who was present. In that article that recently appeared in the Daily Prophet by that Skeeter woman...."

You mean the interview that most people ignored when it was in the Quibbler, Percy thought.

"He named as many people as he could see whose faces he knew or who was named by You-Know-Who himself. But Harry didn't know everyone there and You-Know-Who didn't talk to everyone there. Harry said that too. There were people he didn't address."

But Fudge was still smiling genially. "I know it is tempting to jump at the slightest sound and start hexing anyone nearby, Percy. Don't think I don't sympathise." Percy looked nervously at the Aurors. "I make certain that I have security with me at all times these days. But Dolores has nothing but the best interests of the Ministry at heart, don't you Dolores? See, of course she does," he said, answering his own question when Umbridge gave an eerie smile--which was probably from fighting the potion--and inclined her head slightly. "Dolores Umbridge a Death Eater?" he said again, laughing as though this was hilarious.

Percy didn't know what to do. He wasn't even certain now why he'd thought it was a good idea to try to contact Fudge at home; he probably would have received the same answer had he spoken to Fudge in the fire earlier. And he didn't know how to accuse Umbridge without blowing his own cover. He wasn't certain why he still needed a cover, as Fudge was acknowledging Voldemort's return now, but Dumbledore felt that there were people on both sides of the divide in the Ministry who should not know what Percy's real work had been during the previous year. Percy trusted his judgment, but now he wondered whether he'd been too hasty not to argue.

"Please untie Dolores," Fudge said laconically to the Aurors. "And give her back her wand," he added, nodding at the fake wand still sitting on Percy's desk. He turned to Umbridge. "I trust that you are uninjured, Dolores? Will it help if Percy takes a few days off, to get some rest?" He raised his eyebrows at Percy, clicking his tongue like his mother. "Not getting enough sleep, are we? Overwork can be a terrible strain on the mind. Eight hours a night, I always say." He walked to the desk and picked up the fake wand, putting his own down on the blotter. "This looks different, Dolores. Did you recently get a new one?"

Percy watched Umbridge closely while the Aurors waved their wands, making the bindings disappear from her arms and legs. She stood and walked to the desk, where Fudge was still examining the fake wand. Unfortunately, Percy did not have his own wand; Fudge had pocketed that after disarming him. And he realised a moment too late what she was going to do when she snatched up Fudge's own wand and pointed it at Percy, crying, "Stupefy!"

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

The Muggle man was lying perfectly still, his puppy nowhere to be seen. Harry turned back to Voldemort; he could feel the laughter starting to bubble up from within him, making his scar ache. He feared that he would begin to laugh maniacally again, as he had when Voldemort was so happy about the Death Eaters escaping from Azkaban. No, he thought, drawing his wand. I will not be your puppet again, I will not let you into my head. But even as he thought this he was dimly aware of another entity inside him; rage coursed through him at the intrusion and he cried out, "You'll regret that! Ex--"

"Protego!"

"--pelliarmus!" Harry finished, but the spell bounced harmlessly away from Voldemort, who had cast the shield charm on himself too swiftly for Harry to successfully disarm him. Why is he just shielding himself from me? Harry wondered. Why isn't he just trying to kill me, the way he killed that Muggle?

"Expelliarmus!" Dumbledore's voice roared, as though echoing Harry. But to his surprise, Dumbledore managed to do something Harry had never seen accomplished with this spell; the crackling light from his wand splintered into separate strands and suddenly the wands belonging to the Death Eaters who had accompanied Voldemort flew into the air and they all fell backwards onto the ground, including Severus Snape.

Voldemort was laughing again, the eerie sound echoing inside Harry's cranium; he held his mouth closed as tightly as he could, the temptation to start laughing himself almost overwhelming in its power. Never, at any previous time, had he wished so hard that he had succeeded in his Occlumency training and that Snape had continued to teach him....

Then he thought that the laughter had stopped, but looking up, Harry could see that Voldemort was smirking at his headmaster. "As usual, Dumbledore, your pedestrian methods fail to anticipate me." He turned to Harry. "I know your weakness now, Potter. You may think you have something I do not, but fear trumps everything, and I have at my disposal something you fear, the thing you fear most." He raised his wand and a flash of light emanated from it like a beacon.

The street immediately went dark, all of the lamps winking out simultaneously. A cold wind whipped the tree branches wildly; it seemed to be blowing from all directions at once. Sticks, leaves and rubbish were flying about and Harry had to squint and hold his left hand over the top of his glasses to avoid small things blowing into his eyes.

Then he heard it: an all-too-familiar rattling sound. He remembered hearing it in the alley where he and Dudley had been the previous summer and it occurred to him for the first time that it was a death rattle. It was louder than he'd ever heard it, except for one other time in his life, when he'd been on the shores of the lake at Hogwarts, having just narrowly escaped being killed by a werewolf....

The wind settled down a little and everyone, including Voldemort and the Death Eaters, looked up expectantly at the sky.

There were no stars.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Ron and Hermione sat in chairs on opposite sides of the kitchen fire while Ginny sat on the hearth rug, playing with Crookshanks using a butterbeer cork tied to a thread, waving it before his face so that he batted it out of his way with annoyance whenever she got too close with it. Hermione was reading, but Ginny could see that Ron was thinking very hard about something. Nonetheless, she was surprised when he began to speak heatedly, as though continuing a conversation they'd just been having.

"I know who it had to be!"

Ginny and Hermione frowned at him. "Who who had to be?" Ginny said, swinging the cork out of Crookshanks's reach again.

"Whoever opened the door! Kreacher, it had to be Kreacher! I'm sure of it!" His face was quite pink with excitement.

Ginny and Hermione looked at each other. "But Kreacher can probably pop in and out, like house elves do. He wouldn't need to bother with the door. And Kreacher isn't serving anyone in this house anymore, Ron," Hermione said reasonably.

Ginny was surprised and grateful that this hadn't launched Hermione into one of her house elf diatribes; being Hermione's friend had meant that she'd had an earful of this in the previous two years, and a secondary reason that she'd wanted a spot on the Quidditch team was to have a good reason for not having the time to knit elf hats. (She'd always been very bad at knitting; everything she attempted looked knobbly and misshapen, leading to snide criticisms from her brothers and exasperation from her mother.)

"How do we know he can pop in and out?" Ron asked, standing and beginning to pace nervously, as though it helped him think. "The times he left this house--did anyone ever see him do it? Maybe he can get from room to room that way, but has to leave by the front door like everyone else because of the spells Dumbledore put on the place."

Ginny thought about this; it was plausible. She looked at Hermione, who seemed to be reserving judgment.

"And it's true that he's probably serving Malfoy's mum now, but that's my point," Ron went on. Since he was standing and the fire was well below his face now his eyes were thrown into shadow and the underside of his nose and chin were brightly illuminated. "What if Dumbledore doesn't have any spells that can be used to keep someone else's house elf out of Headquarters completely? Kreacher can't suddenly be excluded from the Fidelius Charm, as far as I know. He was already in on that, so there's nothing to be done about it. Luckily, he can't tell Mrs Malfoy about us here, as he's not the Secret Keeper. But I think he can still come and go as he pleases--especially if he's doing his mistress's bidding. Then he has to do whatever he's told or hurt himself. Not that Kreacher would ever disobey one of the Malfoys," he added with a sneer, and Ginny thought this was for Hermione's benefit; he seemed to be looking pointedly at her, but because of the shadows on his face it was hard to be certain. "Probably wets himself with joy every time Malfoy's mum gives him an order, the eviler the better," he added.

"You mean 'the more evil the better,'" Hermione corrected him.

"I meant what I said!" he snapped back with annoyance.

Hermione took a deep breath, making Ginny want to hold hers. "Now, I know you don't want to hear this, Ron, but Kreacher is only what the people he's served have made him, and as much as I hate to say it, that includes Sirius."

"Don't you say anything like that about Sirius!" Ron immediately shot back.

"Shut up, Hermione!" Ginny said quickly, overlapping Ron. She glared at her best friend, silently daring her to say something else against Sirius. Underage magic be damned, she thought, shaking, wishing her wand wasn't up in her bedroom.

Hermione gave them both a stricken look; it reminded Ginny of the expression Hermione had borne on her face when she'd tacitly agreed with Luna about Hagrid's teaching skills, and Ginny knew that Hermione knew she was treading on dangerous ground with them both. "I'm not trying to speak ill of the dead!" Her voice was verging slightly on a whine. "I'm not. I'm just saying--"

"So--you don't think it's possible for the Malfoys to send Kreacher here to spy on us?" Ron said, standing over Hermione now; she started to cower back into her chair but then looked annoyed with herself and sat forward again, looking up at him defiantly. "Someone we can't stop from entering the house?" he went on. "Someone who can as good as Apparate anywhere he wants while we're too young to do it and don't even have a working fire on the Floo network to make an escape if we need to?" Ron sat in his chair again, running his hand over his face. He looked worried; Ginny didn't like Ron looking worried when spiders and Quidditch were not involved.

What he said gave Ginny the shivers; she hadn't thought of this before. Looking at the dark, shadowy expanse of the kitchen beyond the cosy firelight she suddenly felt very young and vulnerable and wished that one of the adults had stayed behind, especially one of her parents. Flying off to the Ministry with her brother and four friends was one thing; being sitting ducks in a house they couldn't leave was quite another. And there were only three of them, plus they were all underage. Knowing that she could legally perform magic if her life depended upon it was little comfort; the possibility of it getting to that point was suddenly all too real and their experience trying to fight Death Eaters at the Ministry all too fresh in her memory.

"Escape? Escape from what?" Hermione said scornfully.

"From Kreacher!" Ron and Ginny said together; Ginny was surprised, even though there were times when she and Ron were in complete agreement, it always shocked her when those moments arrived.

Hermione snorted. "An attack from Kreacher? Are you mad?"

Ron stood up again, his ears an even brighter red than usual with the firelight behind him. His face was fully in shadow now. "When Dobby went to Harry's house he was working for the Malfoys, and he could have done anything he wanted to him. Did it ever occur to you that maybe house elves were originally enslaved because they're so powerful? If we didn't have these spells to control what they can do and make them punish themselves when they disobey, they might have killed every witch and wizard in Britain by now! You know your magical history--and I do, too, since you made me do revision night and day for the OWLs. We had all of those wars with the goblins because they're damn powerful, and the only reason they haven't slit our throats in our sleep is because we've got them in charge of the money, and they like gold and silver, so they're happy. For the moment. Who knows what could happen if they change their minds?

"And who do you think is most likely to own house elves?" he went on, not giving either girl a chance to respond. "People like us, like my mum and dad with his Muggle-related job at the Ministry and never being taken seriously by anyone? Or people like the Malfoys, people on You-Know-Who's side? Which means that I don't think I'll ever trust another house elf with the possible exception of Dobby. I mean--if I came across one at Hogwarts that I didn't know, how could I tell that it wasn't working for a Death Eater? We can't know, that's the long and the short of it. I don't trust Kreacher, I never did, and as far as I'm concerned it's his fault Sirius is dead, because of the way he misled Harry, and if you ever say one more thing to defend that little pustule I'll--I'll--" He looked at Hermione and took a deep breath. "I'll never speak to you again," he finished quietly.

Ginny had been making noises of agreement with Ron during his rather long speech, afraid to break in with her own opinion (in part because it wasn't far off Ron's, and he seemed to be doing quite well without her), but now she stared at him in shocked silence. Hermione stared at him as well.

"Now, who wants to come with me to check on whether anyone is still in the house?" He pulled out his wand. "I don't care if I break the law to do it, frankly. And I'd like to see the Ministry try to find me here anyway."

Ginny swallowed. "My wand is in our bedroom. We'll have to go there first."

The pair of them looked expectantly at Hermione, who looked both hurt and rebellious. She tried looking pleadingly at Ron, but he turned away from her and started walking toward the stairs.

When she turned her pleading eyes to Ginny, Ginny felt sorry for her, but not too sorry. "I'm afraid I feel the same way Ron does, Hermione," she said in clipped tones. "Kreacher as good as killed Sirius. And because of him we all went to the Ministry. You could be dead now too, because of what he did. And he still adores Bellatrix Lestrange, who actually killed Sirius. Don't tell me Kreacher doesn't have free will, because he did everything in his power to defy Sirius's wishes while he was in this house and went running off to the Black family member of his choice as soon as he had the chance. I shall do a dance on the day I learn that he has died," she said, her voice very hard. Then she turned on her heel and followed Ron up the stairs.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

It was difficult to see the first Dementor descend from the starless sky, but as it was followed by a second and a third and a fourth it seemed suddenly that the air above them was simply swarming with Dementors, black against black, but a different sort of black. The black of the sky was the absence of light; the black of the Dementors was the tangible presence of despair. The wind continued to whip the trees and Harry heard voices in his mind, but different voices than he'd ever heard before when in close proximity to Dementors....

"Where has Sirius gone? Kreacher, has he gone to the Department of Mysteries?"

"Master does not tell poor Kreacher where he is going."

"But you know! Don't you? You know where he is!"

Cackling.

"Master will not come back from the Department of Mysteries! Kreacher and his mistress are alone again!"

Harry tried to clear his mind, tried to see what was going on around him, but instead he sank to his knees, a cold hopelessness slicing through him as the voices continued....

"You need more persuasion? Very well--take the smallest one. Let him watch while we torture the little girl. I'll do it."

He took a deep breath and tried to concentrate; pulling himself up by the handle on the car door, he tried to focus his eyes....

"Whaddever you do, Harry, don'd gib it to him!"

He swallowed and it felt like ice water was flowing down his throat. He could dimly see that someone was casting a spell at Voldemort, but he couldn't open his eyes enough to see who it was.

"Hermione! Hermione, wake up..."

"Whaddid he do to her?"

"I dunno..."

The death rattles were growing louder and Harry felt colder than ever. He tried to think happy thoughts, he tried as hard as he'd ever done, but too much had happened, Sirius was gone, Tilda loved him but didn't want to ruin her life by being with him, he was doomed to kill Voldemort or be killed by him; there was no good left, nothing to look forward to....

"Ginny? What happened?"

"I think her ankle's broken, I heard something crack. Four of them chased us into a dark room full of planets; it was a very odd place, some of the time we were just floating in the dark..."

After hearing her voice in his head Harry found himself thinking Luna. He remembered things Tilda had said about her, about her being a trusting person. He remembered offering to help her look for her things at the end of the term and the fact that she could see the Thestrals and didn't think he was mad...

Harry was standing upright again, blindly pointing his wand in front of him. Hermione was all right, he remembered. The Dementors had "helped" him to remember the bad, but not the good. Neville found her pulse and then carried her so she wouldn't be left behind. Ginny's ankle was broken, but Madam Pomfrey healed her later. Neville's nose is all right again and he'll get a new wand....

Feeling a little clearer in his mind, he hoped that the Dementors wouldn't be able to draw on these good thoughts. He could see now by the light of various wizards' crackling spells that it was Moody who was attacking Voldemort; the old Auror didn't seem to be affected by the Dementors, but then Voldemort didn't seem to be affected either. Moody was not, however, doing as well as Dumbledore had done at the Ministry. When a potentially fatal curse was heading toward him he Disapparated just in the nick of time. Each time he reappeared he looked more exhausted. Voldemort looked merely annoyed with Moody rather than challenged; Harry hoped Moody could continue to keep him occupied. He needed to think about trying to keep his head clear so he could conjure a Patronus, not worry about what Voldemort was going to do.

In the eerie spell-light he saw that Tonks and the Auror who'd tried to arrest Dumbledore were both huddled on the ground, evidently not successfully fighting the effect of the Dementors; someone else was there, too, leaning against a tree as though she would be on the ground had it not been there. He couldn't tell who it was. Lupin and Dumbledore were crying, "Expecto Patronum!" with their wands pointed heavenward. A jolt of pain shot through Harry's scar and he didn't see whether they produced corporeal Patronuses to chase away the Dementors; however, when he managed to open his eyes very slightly, he didn't see anything but silver mist dissipating.

The Death Eaters in the foetal position were clearly not unaffected by the Dementors but Voldemort seemed unconcerned about them as he duelled with Moody. Then, to Harry's horror, a Dementor was hovering over one of the Death Eaters and the scaly, decomposing hand removed the Death Eater's mask and took down his hood, releasing a fall of pale blond hair that was one of the only bright spots in the unnaturally dark night.

As the Dementor lowered his hood and then brought its mouth closer to Lucius Malfoy's, Harry saw that Snape was now trying to conjure a Patronus himself, but he produced only a misty, insubstantial cloud of smoke. Or so Harry thought at first; almost immediately he found that he was wrong when the smoke abruptly unfurled and revealed itself to be a thick, ropy snake. It went after another Dementor he had not noticed before; this one was leaning over yet another Death Eater, whose mask had also come off, revealing him to be Rodolphus Lestrange.

Harry sank to his knees again, suddenly full of doubt. Is Snape on our side or isn't he? Why is he trying to save Death Eaters? He felt Voldemort's presence in his mind again, felt the hysterical laughter start to bubble up inside him; he pressed his left hand to his scar, willing the pain to go away, as he pointed his wand skyward and croaked, "Expecto Patronum!"

A wisp of white fog drifted lazily from his wand. The laughter in his head grew louder.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Percy lifted his head groggily; he didn't know where he was at first, but after a few moments he realised that he was in Fudge's office. The Minister and Umbridge were standing near the fire speaking to someone's head there, but Percy couldn't see who it was.

"Yes, quite, quite unfortunate. Weasley seems to have cracked under the stress of the job. So, how quickly can you get a Healer here to look at him? I would have known about his condition sooner, but I was called away to Azkaban."

Percy couldn't hear the person who was in the fire, just some indistinct words that were muffled by the crackling of the flames and the fuzziness of Percy's brain. When he thought Umbridge was turning toward him he quickly closed his eyes again, then opened them very slightly, so he could look through his eyelashes but appear to be unconscious still.

Umbridge smiled in his direction with a sinister leer and Percy felt a panic race through him. Bloody hell. They're going to put me in St Mungo's with the people who've gone around the bend.

But then, giving this some serious thought, he decided that that was perhaps not a bad idea. Because of Umbridge's presence it would be far harder to escape from the Ministry than from St Mungo's and he didn't relish the idea of hexing the Minister for Magic, no matter how much of a pillock he really thought Fudge was.

He groaned melodramatically and tried to appear to be having trouble sitting up. This got their attention, as intended, and Fudge came striding over to him, clucking like a mother hen.

"There, there, Percy my lad! You'll be right as rain in no time. A few days rest in St Mungo's will relieve you of that stress, and then Dolores suggested a lovely holiday by the seaside, doesn't that sound nice? I take it you've never been...."

"Sounds nice," Percy agreed in a feeble voice, nodding. "Been to Egypt...loads of sand...not the same, though..." He coughed a bit, not for dramatic effect but because his throat still hurt from when Umbridge had put the Cruciatus Curse on him earlier.

"Ah, right! That trip to Egypt your family won a few years back. Not the same thing indeed!" he chuckled. "Now then, you'll find the trip to St Mungo's far more relaxing if you're not awake for it..."

And before Percy could do anything about it, the Minister had put a sleeping charm on him. When he awoke he was in a hospital bed and someone distressingly familiar was leaning over him. His vacant smile did not extend to his bright blue eyes and his wavy blond hair seemed to be moving slightly in a perpetual breeze. He wore a long lilac dressing gown and was peering into Percy's face at very close range so that Percy could have read by his dazzling white teeth if he'd wanted to.

"Oh, hello! You're awake now, I see!" he crowed. "Care to help me with my fan mail?" The wizard took a peacock-feather quill from the pocket of his dressing gown. "There's always loads of it. Can you do joined-up writing? I find that helps it go quickest. I'm Gilderoy Lockhart, as you probably know. Since I'm so famous, I mean. Who are you?"

Percy answered slowly; he knew that Lockhart's memory had been destroyed by Ron's broken wand three years earlier. And that he'd deserved it.

"Percy Weasley. You were my Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher in my sixth year," he said levelly, moving his eyes about to try to determine what sort of exits were available from this ward.

"Was I? So, what are you doing to keep busy these days? Using everything I taught you, I expect?" he asked eagerly, still brandishing the quill.

"Oh, you know. The usual," Percy said carelessly. "Spying on the Minister for Magic. Being an International Man of Mystery...."

"Oh, jolly good! It's a lucky thing you had me for a teacher, eh?" Lockhart responded, clearly quite pleased with himself.

"Er, you could say that," Percy said, not very happy with what he saw. The exit seemed to be at one end of the ward only, he didn't have a wand that he could see, and his clothes had been taken and replaced by an annoyingly brief hospital smock in a revolting shade of green. He didn't seem to have been given a dressing gown to cover this up. I've got to get out of here, he thought, trying to work out how he was going to steal a wand from a Healer.

The loo. That's it. I'll ask directions to the loo.

Not listening to Lockhart prattle on about his fan mail, he got out of the bed and padded to the double doors leading out of the ward; there were small round windows set into the doors but he couldn't see anyone in the corridor on the other side. As he was about to push them open, Lockhart said loudly, "Oh, you can't leave. The last time I did that, they became very annoyed with me."

He sounded very strict suddenly and Percy wondered how strong he was under the soft lilac fabric; he was as tall as Lockhart but thinner, and he didn't know whether Lockhart's feeblemindedness meant that he'd hurt someone without provocation and with no regard for how much damage he might do to them. Hand-to-hand wrestling with a madman was not something Percy had planned on.

He wanted a wand and he wanted it now.

Unfortunately, when he tried pushing the doors open, he found that they were locked. "Erm," he said so Lockhart, "how exactly did you leave last time?"

Lockhart looked like he was trying very hard to remember. "No idea. But there were a lot of sparkly decorations about. Tinsel. That sort of thing..."

Christmas, Percy thought. Must have been a slip-up. Not often repeated, he assumed. He looked through the window in the door again; there was a long corridor and then another set of double doors, also with small round windows. Beyond that he could see people passing by, but he didn't see how he was going to get out before nicking a wand from someone.

Just then Lockhart tapped him on the shoulder, making him jump. "So, then. Joined-up writing? Can you do it?"

Percy looked about desperately; on the wall nearest what he assumed was Lockhart's bed there was a gallery of Lockhart photographs, all smiling and waving at Percy with the same vacant expression as the real Lockhart. Farther along a rather furry woman was licking her furry hand; when she suddenly let out a bark, Percy jumped again. At the end of the ward some curtains had been drawn around the beds. Percy hated to think what was wrong with the people there.

Then Percy saw a Healer open the far doors and start walking purposefully toward the doors where he stood; she was rather short and plump, like his mother, and had a kind face. He rushed back to his bed, which was opposite Lockhart's.

He heard the Healer say, "Alohomora."

The door opened for her and, hoping she wouldn't have a chance to lock it again, Percy immediately sat up in his bed and said, "Oh, good! I was hoping a Healer would come soon. Can you tell me where I am?"

He noticed that she did not use a locking charm on the door before striding over to him; he didn't know whether she usually did this or trusted the patients not to run off while she was there, but if locking the door was her usual practise he'd successfully distracted her. She walked to his bedside and looked kindly at him, speaking very slowly, as though he might be feeble-minded. "You are in St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and In--"

"No," he interrupted her, trying to work out how to sound as sane as possible. Suddenly this seemed quite difficult, since she was clearly convinced he had a mental problem of some sort. He also didn't think it boded well that he was in the same ward with Lockhart and the dog-woman. "I meant--what ward am I in? I'm Junior Assistant to the Minister; he felt I would benefit from some rest, but I don't understand why I'm in this particular ward...."

She looked surprised now, but he didn't know why. There were too many reasons to choose from. "Rest? Your own dear mother brought you in--said you'd been tortured with Cruciatus by a Death Eater and that she'd be surprised if you were ever sensible again."

Well, she was half right, Percy thought. He shuddered at the thought of Umbridge masquerading as his mother. "So you didn't speak to the Minister at all?"

She looked at him like he was delusional now and he wished he hadn't mentioned Fudge; if someone didn't know that he really did work for the Minister it could sound like he was harbouring grandiose delusions.

"The Minister for Magic?" she said, raising her eyebrows sceptically.

"Never mind," he said, knowing he'd ruined his chances of being taken seriously now. "But--the name of this ward again--?"

"You're in the Janus Thickey Ward for long-term residents," she informed him gently. He nodded, hoping he could still salvage the situation.

"Perhaps she thought it would be best for me to be here, where it's more peaceful," he said. Certainly after talking to him this witch couldn't still believe that he was damaged from suffering Cruciatus? He wouldn't want to repeat it, but his throat was more damaged than his mind as far as he was concerned.

Suddenly, a clatter came from behind the curtains at the end of the ward. The Healer drew her lips into a line and strode over to them; her facial expression was at odds, however, with her bright tone of voice. "Frank! Alice! How are we this evening? Behaving ourselves, I hope--?"

As soon as she'd gone round the curtains Percy took a chance and bolted toward the double doors; Lockhart was staring at him but did not say anything (for once). When he reached the other set of double doors leading to the busier corridor, he pushed them open, finding himself in a cool, high corridor where a few Healers were passing by with clipboards hugged to their chests, looking very busy. A rather young-looking apprentice Healer looked up when he appeared before her; the witch seemed rather alarmed at seeing Percy emerge from this ward. She looked a little familiar to him; he thought she might have been a couple of years ahead of him in school.

She said the same thing Lockhart had: "You can't leave!"

He tried to calm her. "No, no, of course. I wasn't going to. I just--I need to go to the loo in the worst way. I've just arrived and don't know where to go... Our toilet is backed up," he added, pointing over his shoulder, realising that they probably wouldn't keep the residents of the ward locked up with no way to relieve themselves. "One of the others tried to, erm, flush something they shouldn't..."

He stood very close to her as he spoke, his smile as charming as he could make it, and she looked at him quizzically. "Don't I know you? Aren't you Percy Weasley? Whatever happened?" She pointed at the signpost for the ward. He was grateful that she looked away from him of her own accord; it gave him his opportunity....

"Oh, I'm not as bad as all that. They're rather full-up elsewhere. Just a bit of job-related stress. Some rest and relaxation. I'll be right as rain in no time. But the loo--" Once again he hoped he sounded sane enough that she wouldn't raise the alarm. He would not make the mistake of mentioning the Minister again.

"Oh, right, right. Sorry," she said, looking back at him again. "Second door on your right, along there," she said, pointing. "Tell you what," she went on, eyeing him suspiciously, "I'll wait right here for you. I'll be able to see you go in and come back out and we'll make certain you return to where you're supposed to be, all right?"

Percy nodded. "Of course. I understand. Thanks for the directions."

She nodded and smiled. Percy walked to the door she had indicated, trying to move his arms as naturally as he could considering that he was holding her wand tightly against his right inner forearm and his heart was beating at twice its usual rate. When he reached the bathroom he immediately locked the door against any other intruders, quickly ascertained that there was no one else in the bathroom, then raised the pilfered wand and Apparated to his flat.

Percy changed into proper clothes again very quickly and then propped a letter on his desk for his parents and siblings, something he always did when he knew he was about to do something risky for Dumbledore. It usually sat in the top drawer, tucked in the back, but he'd felt it necessary to take it out more than once during the previous year and leave it propped against the inkwell; he was always glad to return home and put it away again. As he drew it out he thought, as he always did, It's nothing, I'm sure. This is just a precaution....

With another look around the small, neat flat, he waved the wand.

~ ~ ~ ~ ~

Harry knelt beside the car, still attempting to conjure a Patronus but feeling like he was going to black out from the sheer number of Dementors. He could hear laughter both with his ears and in his aching head as Voldemort continued to duel Moody. He had to try again, he just had to. The Dementors had to be stopped, Voldemort had to be stopped...

He half-heartedly pointed his wand aloft, crying, "Expecto Patronum!" His voice sounded strange to him and he felt another jolt of pain sear through his scar, making him press his left hand to his head in agony. I'll never conjure a Patronus this way, he thought through the pain. The last time he'd been confronted with Dementors he hadn't been fighting off Voldemort in his mind, nor the time before that. It seemed that Voldemort might have finally found the way to beat him....

But to his surprise, his Patronus leapt forward and galloped through the air, the same beautiful silver stag Harry had last conjured for his Defence Against the Dark Arts examination. It was charging the myriad Dementors, scattering them. And then he heard the incantation cried by two people to his right; this time he saw Lupin's Patronus shoot toward the Dementors, a large ghostly wolf galloping through the sky, accompanying the stag. It was immediately joined by Dumbledore's Patronus. Harry grinned when he saw it, suddenly feeling happy enough to conjure another Patronus, and another and another...

A silver phoenix flew circles around the wolf and stag, and between the three of them they finally succeeding in scattering the army of Dementors to the winds. Voldemort jerked his head up from Moody for a moment, disbelief etched in his inhuman features. This gave Moody a moment's respite, but then he looked in Harry's direction, his eyes widening in shock for no reason Harry could understand. Why did he look like that?

Unfortunately, Voldemort was only briefly distracted by the departure of the Dementors; the second that Moody looked away from him his curse hit the old Auror, who went over with a thud.

"Noooo!" Harry cried, scrambling onto the car's bonnet. Suddenly too many things seemed to be happening too quickly for him to take them all in. Percy Weasley was there, running forward from behind him. Was that who Moody had been looking at? he wondered. Harry felt a hot surge of anger and hatred toward Ron's older brother such as he had never felt for him before, even when he was eagerly writing down everything that occurred in Dumbledore's office when the DA finally came to light.

Dumbledore glared at Percy, crying out, "Did the Minister send you?" Harry didn't think he sounded upset, though. "How many more are coming?" Then Harry realised that he thought Percy would be in the vanguard of a group of reinforcements, of more Aurors.

"It's no good, sir! She knows! She cursed me and then told Fudge I was mad. I was taken to St Mungo's..." Percy turned to Snape. "Which means he knows about you, too!" Then he pointed at Rodolphus Lestrange. "And probably you, as well!"

Harry was very confused now. What on earth was Percy talking about? Maybe he was mad. Snape's eyes widened, however, at Percy's news, and before Harry knew what was happening, his teacher and Rodolphus Lestrange had both disappeared, causing Voldemort to start throwing curses around in a furor. Harry jumped down to the ground on the street side of the car, ready to stun Percy if need be and use the car as a shield, should Percy try to curse him back. Despite Dumbledore's greeting and Percy's news, Harry wasn't convinced that he could be trusted.

"Avada--" Harry jerked his head up, seeing too late that Voldemort was pointing his wand at him.

"Wingardium Leviosa!"

Harry fell back as Tilda's car rose into the air.

"--Kedavra!"

Voldemort hadn't been as quick as the person who had levitated the car; it didn't sound like Dumbledore. He thought it might be Lupin. The car was crackling all over with green light as Voldemort's curse hit it; the levitation spell didn't hold once this happened and the car dropped out of the air, landing with a crash, making Harry fall back still more, scrambling out of the way hastily.

"Put your Invisibility Cloak on, Harry!"

He looked around in confusion for a moment, but then ducked behind the car and quickly did as he was told. Another cry made him look up; Percy was bound, magical ropes holding his arms to his side, his wand still clutched in his fist. A masked Death Eater strode over to him while Dumbledore took up Moody's part, duelling with Voldemort again, very much as they had at the Ministry.

Harry looked back at Percy, but both he and the Death Eater who'd been approaching him were gone. A moment later, a stray curse from the duel between Voldemort and Dumbledore hit the ground close to where he'd seen Tilda lying stunned. His heart in his throat, Harry scrambled around the car so he could make sure she was all right; maybe he could hide her under the Cloak with him....

But to his horror, Tilda was no longer lying in the driveway. She had vanished; the ground was smoking where the curse had hit it and there was a small crater. He felt unable to breathe. He went down on his knees in his cloak, staring at the smoking hole in the ground, oblivious to the battle still going on.

"Tilda--?" he whispered with a croak in his voice. And Snape--had he Apparated? Or had he been utterly destroyed as well? And what of Percy? And Moody?

Harry's head hurt, and for once it wasn't because of his scar. It's all my fault. Even Moody, who wouldn't have been here.... Percy distracted him, but it was pointless to be angry with Percy when he might be dead as well...

This couldn't go on. It had to end. And he was going to be the one to end it. He saw a Death Eater going after Tonks and the Auror, so he pointed his wand under the Cloak and stunned the man. This allowed Lupin to stun another one and shield Tonks from being struck by what looked like the Cruciatus Curse. Someone cried ,"Expelliarmus!" and the disarmed Death Eater's wand went flying through the air.

"Accio wand!" a familiar woman's voice cried, retrieving the fallen wand. Harry wanted to laugh, seeing now that the witch he hadn't recognised before was his head of house. Professor McGonagall pointed her wand at the disarmed Death Eater now. "That was Alastor Moody's wand!" she cried, clearly outraged. "And you are not to touch it!"

Two of the Death Eaters decided to go for her at the same time, but suddenly McGonagall was gone and a small tabby cat was leaping at the face of the taller Death Eater, clinging to his mask. He roared when the cat's claws sank into his chest. Tonks, Lupin and the Auror had successfully subdued the other Death Eaters and were removing their masks McGonagall appeared to have her Death Eater under control so Harry turned back to Voldemort and Dumbledore. The moment he did Voldemort aimed a curse at Dumbledore, who Disapparated. He thought. Somehow it didn't look quite right. And he didn't immediately reappear.

He threw off the Invisibility Cloak, glaring at Voldemort, brandishing his wand in one hand and his Cloak in the other. "Where is he? What did you do with him?" he demanded. Voldemort reared back his head and laughed; the laughter cut painfully through Harry's head and he cried out, holding his hand to his scar again and sinking to his knees, his eyes closed in agony.

"Tom Riddle!" a strange voice cried, both hollow and yet somehow sibilant. Voldemort turned to face him but seemed to be looking beyond Harry for the source of the voice. "I said Tom Riddle!" the voice cried again, this time sounding like it was on the far side of Mrs Figg's garden.

The stars had reappeared in the sky with the departure of the Dementors and the street lamps were aglow again; Voldemort's complexion was coming very close to matching the red of his inhuman eyes.

"Show yourself!" he hissed "Who speaks?" He looked to his left, to his right, he turned around, his robes whipping about his legs.

"The time is not yet ripe. Potter is yet a child and you are destined to meet as equals. Do not attempt to thwart fate. You shall meet and you shall battle. But that is for the future...." It sounded oddly to Harry like a snake's hiss and yet also not unlike the strange voice in which Trelawney had prophesied Wormtail's return to Voldemort. He didn't know what to think. "Tom Riddle!" the voice hissed again, sounding like it was coming from Tilda's roof now. "Begone! You shall confront your enemy when the time is ripe."

To Harry's surprise, Voldemort seemed to take this very much to heart, which seemed strange to him. Why should this voice convince him to leave Harry alone for now? Was the person speaking making another Prophecy? Had Dumbledore brought Trelawney to Surrey?

"Come!" he cried to his Death Eaters, even though many of them were not in any condition to obey. He didn't seem to care; when Voldemort suddenly Disapparated only two of his Death Eaters also vanished. Harry hoped the rest would be locked up for the remainder of their lives.

Suddenly, Dumbledore was beside him, putting his hand on his shoulder. "Are you all right, Harry?"

He nodded, looking baffled. "Who was that? Where did you go? Can--can you throw your voice? You know--do ventriloquism? I mean with magic."

"Let us simply be grateful that we can get you out of here safely--without anyone else being injured," he said, which Harry didn't really think was an answer to his questions. They both looked toward the fallen Moody and Harry felt like he was going to be sick. Alastor Moody. Dead. Snape, possibly dead. And Tilda, oh god, Tilda. Because of me. And that Muggle man, too, he remembered.

It seemed that Dumbledore had read his mind. "Harry. Moody knew--he always knew--the risks of his work. He lived a very, very long time and sustained a number of injuries before--well--" Dumbledore's mouth was drawn into a line. Minerva McGonagall returned to her human form and looked grimly down at Moody's body.

"I'll see to him, Professor Dumbledore. You worry about Potter." But she wouldn't look at Harry and he felt worse than he ever had. Why was Dumbledore only talking about Moody? What about Snape? And what had Percy been talking about?

He looked at where Tilda had been again, unable to believe that she was gone. It was unreal, completely unreal. He had slipped into her house to hide and had ended up getting her killed. He was as good as a murderer. It wasn't just Cedric Diggory and Sirius whose deaths were on his head now. So many others....

"Here, Harry," Dumbledore was saying quietly to him. "We'll clear up the mess here," he said, as though 'the mess' were the broken silver instruments in his office, or something similar, rather than loss of human life. Harry suddenly hated him a great deal, and not because Voldemort was looking through his eyes at the headmaster of Hogwarts. Harry hated that Dumbledore seemed to think that there were losses that could be considered 'acceptable.' He'd heard the prime minister or president of some war-torn country talk about that on the news: 'acceptable losses.' How were any losses ever acceptable in war? Isn't that why you were fighting the war in the first place?

But most of all he hated that he was the one who was really responsible for these deaths. It was all his fault.

He had no time to consider this further, however; Dumbledore dropped into his hand something that looked like a phoenix feather. The moment that it touched his skin he felt a tug behind his navel, and then he was whirling away in a maelstrom of dark and light, unseen winds buffeting him violently, until he finally landed with a thump in the dingy front hall of number twelve, Grimmauld Place.

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