Weep No More

On all days, even good days, the Ministry was a chaotic area. People running up and down the stairs, papers flying wildly about, owls being sent in and out, and even flobberworms were common occurrences. Some departments were more boring than others, but even the Section of Protection for the Endangered Plants had been visited by a plague of Billywigs before.

But ever since Dumbledore had reported three missing students and the Weasley family had reported young Percy, chaos had gone up a few notches. Seers from different parts of England had been brought in to see a rough location of the students' whereabouts, Aurors had been sent off to make sure He Who Must Not Be Named's followers weren't involved in any way, and every book had been checked for prophecies (which was far-fetched, but the Department of Future Happenings had asked for it).

"Who's next?" asked Chaucer, rather tiredly, as a Veela witness stepped out of his office.

Matilda made no comment about the lipstick stain on his collar, and instead passed him a brown file. "That's the scriber report, sir. We can't find them anywhere in England."

Chaucer rubbed his temples, and scanned the report briefly. "Expand the search, then. I want our scribers to try all over Europe."

"Yes, sir," Matilda said, as she hurried out of the office. She passed Roth, who looked quite pleased with himself.

"Roth?" Chaucer poured himself a glass of something yellow.

"We know how our missing persons went missing," Roth said, passing him a pink-coloured file. Chaucer raised an eyebrow, but Roth only shrugged. "A book was found in the room at Hog's Head. The book is of quite difficult spells, mostly for those doing an additional Potions and Charms lessons during their seventh-year, something neither student was. The book was opened on the antidote for the Marleese's Potion."

Chaucer's eyebrows went up so high, Roth thought they would jump off his face and squirm around on the floor.

"We've sent some men to question around Hogwarts, see if anyone noticed someone acting strange." Roth cleared his throat. "We've been asking our Potions geniuses, and most of them came to the same conclusions, sir."

"And what's that?" asked Chaucer.

"One of our four M.Ps were poisoned with the potion, and Mr. Weasley was asked to bring a suitable antidote, since he is the oldest one. They met somewhere where their professors wouldn't find them suspicious - Hog's Head - but someone pronounced the antidote wrong, and they ended up being transported somewhere else." Roth smiled grimly.

"I can't give the parents theories, Roth, I need facts. Pull everything together, and send me your theory on paper. Give me evidence for at least sixty percent of it. I need to give Dumbledore something for now. And, for Merlin's sake, track down those students!"

Roth nodded nervously and hurried out the door.

Chaucer opened the pink file, and started with a bit of heavy reading.

*

"I think I've got it, Matilda!" Roth exclaimed happily.

"Got what, sir?" Matilda asked, as she quickly wrote down some notes.

"Listen to me, would you, Matty? Oh, and write down everything I say." Roth sat down in front of her, ignoring the glares that were coming his way. "Ms. Parkinson was Marleese victim. Mr. Malfoy, seeing that his lover was out of the normal, asked Ms. Granger for help, since she happens to be the student with the highest marks in all her classes. After lots of research, Ms. Granger realizes Parkinson is dangerously infected with the potion, and tells Malfoy to ask Dumbledore for help, since Ms. Granger is apparently quite reliable on her professors. Malfoy doesn't want the professors to know, because they'll get in trouble for something or other. Granger, after much thinking, tells him she knows someone who might help them. A Head Boy who was a Hogwarts not too long ago."

"Mr. Weasley, sir?" interrupted Matilda, with a secretive smile.

"Yes!" Roth exclaimed. "So they meet up at Hog's Head, and Mr. Weasley brings the book. He starts to administer the antidote, but since he's never done this before, he gets the pronunciation all wrong, causing them to disappear." Roth's cheeks flushed red, and he seemed really pleased with himself.

"That's quite a good theory, except for something," Matilda said, handing him her notes. "The interrogators just floo-ed. Hermione Granger was administered with the potion. A first-year confessed it was Draco Malfoy who gave it to her."

"Oh, bollocks," cried Roth.

*

It had begun as a hunt, a game. An accusation, a quick warning, and then the run. A mess of clumsy feet, steps in all the wrong places, and doorknobs that didn't seem to want to turn.

Blood dripped to the floor as Pansy flung the door open. Percy and Draco, both helping Hermione to her feet, looked at her in surprise.

Hermione lifted her head to look at Pansy, and understood. "It's time, isn't it?" she asked.

Pansy nodded.

*

Pansy wasn't stupid, she really wasn't. She knew when people were talking about her behind her back. The way the villagers of Southbire whispered and looked over at her every minute or so was a dead give away. But she ignored them. She slowly ate her meat and potatoes, drank her juice, and pretended she was feasting in the Great Halls, laughing with Tracey and flirting with Blaise while Draco shook his head with a secretive smile just for her.

It was ten at night, but the Daily Token was still filled with people. A violin player - a young man with untidy hair and clothes - had been playing classical music for the past hour, and no one seemed to tire of him.

Helping herself to another bread roll, Pansy sneaked a quick glance at the whispering group. Andrew looked up at the same time, and their eyes met. He gave her an evil grin, and went back to whispering. Pansy shuddered. Something didn't feel right, and more than ever she wanted to go home.

Passing a hand through her hair nervously, she closed her eyes and started humming to herself. All she needed was to calm down a bit. The paranoia was leaking out her ears. If she acted edgy around these Muggles, they'd know something was up. None of them were stupid, and they hunted witches for a living.

Pansy almost jumped out of her chair when someone placed their hand on her shoulder. She quickly turned around, trying to place her face in the cold mask she used everyday. "Andrew," she spat, gracefully slinking out of her chair, "what do you want?"

Andrew's hand slid down from her shoulder to her arm. Then he pinched her painfully.

Pansy let out a shriek that, in her opinion after, would have made a banshee proud. "Why the bloody hell did you do that for?" she demanded, nursing the bruised arm angrily.

Andrew smirked evilly. "You're on trial, witch."

Pansy gaped for a moment, until she realised that the trout look was quite passé. "I'm on what?" she demanded, secretly pleading for someone - even Weasley - to come down and save her.

"We know what you are," Roget said, standing up, a silver dagger in his hand. &lquo;You've bewitched those you come with, making them think you're a group of witch-hunters. You think your looks and act fool everyone, but we know what you are. You're the Devil's spawn, and we're here to make sure that your kind die."

Pansy started backing up, hoping she'd make it up the stairs. Die! She was going to die by filthy Muggle hands. "You've gone mad," she said, but her voice was barely above a whisper.

Andrew quickly grasped her wrist, tightening dangerously. He pulled her towards him, and drew out a knife that Pansy had seen in various books before, but could not remember what it was for. She bit her lip, drawing blood, when the blade pressed against her wrist. Blood started flowing from the wound, and Pansy felt about to faint.

"Stop it!" she pleaded.

Andrew's mouth hovered inches from his ear when he whispered, "Run, witch. We'll give you five minutes to hide, and then we're coming after you." He threw her roughly against the stairs.

Tripping over her own feet and the steps, Pansy banged her already bruised wrist against the wall. She winced, but didn't say anything. Looking up at Andrew's amused smile, Roget's glare, and the eyes of everyone else, she scrambled to her feet, and started to run up the stairs.

The violin music had kept playing during the whole time, but now it stopped.

The games had begun.

*

Pansy nodded, to weak to answer Hermione's question properly, and flung herself into Draco's arms, tears already trailing down her face. Draco grabbed her tightly, and looked over at Percy in fear.

"What happened?" Percy demanded, not noticing that Hermione had gone to lock the door.

"They know!" sobbed Pansy, as Draco tried to soothe her. "They think I've got you all under a bloody spell. They've given me five minutes to run."

Percy bit his lip and looked around the room. They didn't have any other escape except downstairs, but Roget and the rest were already there. Five minutes was too little time to come up with a plan.

"I'm not letting her die," Draco hissed. "I made a promise for Granger, now you pay me back and make sure Pansy stays alive."

Percy was taken back that Draco thought he would allow Pansy to die. Hermione looked at Draco curiously.

"Out the window," she said, hurrying over and opening the window. "You can lower yourself to the second ledge and jump. You won't get hurt if you bend your knees. Careful with your head!"

Draco looked at her, but all his doubts were temporarily pushed away as he hurried Pansy. "I'll go down first," he told Percy, "and then you pass her to me. I'll help her." He looked at Hermione and sighed. "Next is Granger, and then you."

"Just hurry!" Percy said.

Draco hurried out the window.

"Do you have your wand?" Hermione asked Percy, as he helped Pansy climb out.

Percy nodded. "In my back pocket, why?"

"We might need it." Hermione slid out the window with ease. "See you down!"

Percy waited until he heard Hermione hit the ground, and then followed. How the bugger had they gotten themselves in this mess?

It was still raining and the grass was wet. Thunder sounded in the distance, and Pansy had stopped crying.

"Where now?" asked Draco. "We don't know how big Southbire could be."

"We need to get out of the village. The entrance is somewhere over there," Hermione said, pointing towards the distance. "The four of us together won't make it. We need to split up."

"I'm not letting Pansy go alone," Draco said firmly.

Hermione bit her lip. They didn't have much time for Draco's stubbornness. "Percy," she ordered, "go with Pansy. Take the back alleys." She silenced Draco's objection. "Malfoy, you come with me. We'll take the back way."

"Where do we meet up?" Percy asked, already grabbing hold of Pansy.

"When you reach the entrance of Southbire, go north for fifteen minutes, and then turn left and just go as far as you can. We should meet up at some point or other."

Percy understood her unsaid words: Keep going if we don't meet. Just get to Dublin and get Dumbledore!

A quick nod from everyone and they were off.

*

"It's happened, sir."

"What? It's too early! Our Seers said it'd be another day. The Ministry isn't ready for this."

"Should I send my men in, sir?"

"No! We need to make sure she's the one we're looking for. If she dies, it's not our problem. We cannot meddle in this affair."

"But, sir -"

"I said no!"

"Shall I keep an eye on them then?"

"Yes, yes, but if you dare get yourself involved, I'll make sure you never find another job in this country!"