Scattered

"Be careful, dear," he heard his mother say to Charlie, her eyes filled with tears and her fingers clutching his arm, just as she had his own only a moment ago. "Be careful."

"I will, Mum," Charlie dutifully repeated, as his brothers had before him.

They stood in the courtyard, a dozen or so of them plus their parents, Hamish and his wife. The sun was barely lifting over the horizon and torches were lit, flickering fiercely in the wind. Bill adjusted the cloak around his shoulder, over the unfamiliar Ministry robes they were all wearing, and checked his wand. He was ready.

They all were. Here on Liath Cuan dawn was just beginning, but in the halls of the Ministry day had begun, with witches and wizards bustling about their daily routines. Going on about their business with the shadow of evil hanging over them, still punching their time cards and turning in their reports, relieved to be alive... guilty to have been spared.

"Step forward," Harry said quietly, and they obeyed. He held out a shovel, beat-up and rusted, long enough, though, for everyone to reach out a hand and grasp it at once. "In five seconds," Harry said, and in his head, Bill began to count down.

5... 4.... 3... 2...

He glanced up at the last moment and saw, for the first time in his life, tears on his father's face.

* * * * *

Harry picked himself up off the wooden planks of the dock, grinning a thanks to Kingsley for the hand up. He'd traveled by Portkey for years, for months straight with Moody and Hagrid, searching for the horcruxes. But he'd never gotten any more graceful at it than he'd been the very first time... all those years ago, going to the World Cup. He remembered Cedric stepping down gracefully, like he could walk on air. He remembered being impressed. Envious. It was strange. He always remembered Cedric, even though there had been other losses, more personal losses, since. He always remembered that first blank look, those first empty eyes. Maybe because it had all started that day, and he wanted so badly to finish it.

He watched Ron dust off Hermione's cloak; she was wearing regular Muggle clothes beneath a warm coat, prepared for the hours to be spent on the chilly shore. Ron's hands lingered over her shoulders and he pulled her close, whispering something in her ear. Hermione nodded and, reaching up, pulled his mouth to hers. Harry turned, not wanting to watch.

"Alright, Harry?" Remus asked.

He looked around and nodded. "Let's move."

* * * * *

Ron buried his face in his wife's hair and breathed her in, closing his eyes. She squeezed his shoulders and moved back, firmly, turning away and joining Percy, McGonagall and Doge up on the grassy shore. They'd set up chairs and started a fire for the long wait. He watched her walk away, not looking back, knowing she couldn't say goodbye, just as she'd told him. He memorized her all over again before he turned away himself, joining the others.

No one looked quite like themselves anymore. While ordinary glamour spells would not work at the Ministry, because of wards, McGonagall had used a form of temporary transfiguration to modify their appearances. Casting so many advanced spells, all at once, had clearly tired their former professor; she was still powerful despite her years but there was only so much a witch her age could do without draining her resources. Ron knew she would not, now, have the strength to do much to help with the spell to call them home, if needed; they would have to rely on Percy and Hermione for that.

Bill, Charlie and Andrew were standing off to one side together, getting prepared for the Long-Distance Apparation each of them were about to do. Ron himself had gotten a few pointers from Hermione, and from Charlie, about focus and stamina: it wasn't as easy, going distances, as it was popping across the island or even to the next town over.

He approached them and put out his hand to Andrew, then to Charlie. Bill, last, clapped him on the shoulder, but none of them said anything. Nothing was left to be said. He stepped back and joined his team.

Charlie went first, followed by Andrew. Bill waited a moment and then, with a loud pop, he was away as well.

Ron turned to Harry. "How long do we wait?"

"Just a minute or two. No reason to wait longer."

He nodded.

They formed a loose circle, tense and quiet. Even Tonks was subdued, her features completely changed, her hair a dull mousy brown. "It's my natural hair," she'd admitted earlier, with a half-hearted roll of her eyes. "Dull enough to blend, I'm sure."

Kingsley stepped forward first. He looked at Harry and nodded, once. Harry nodded back. With a pop, Kingsley was gone. Next were Remus and Tonks. Jamie went after them.

Ginny turned to Harry. Ron watched them, standing there frozen in time together. The air between them was charged, but Harry's expression did not change and his sister's eyes were unreadable. Neither one moved towards the other and finally Ginny looked away, gave her brother a weak smile, and Disapparated.

Ron took a deep breath. "Ready?"

Harry nodded. "Ready."

He wasn't as strong as she was. He looked back at her, once more, before he left.

* * * * *

Bill grunted as his brother's elbow nudged him in the ribs. "What?" he hissed.

Charlie kept walking until they were alone in the hallway. He tugged both Bill and Andrew over. "Don't forget to act natural," he said, eyeing them both. "Not like you're on a secret mission. Which we are, and we don't want everyone else to cotton on, right?"

Bill scowled but Charlie led the way off again, grinning.

They'd slipped past the security desk without notice, throwing themselves in the middle of a crowd of employees. Almost all had gone directly towards the elevators but they'd been prepared for that and swung around instead, heading towards the stairwell. They needed to reach the dungeons, two floors below, which had no elevator service and could only be reached through the Department of Mysteries. It wouldn't do to be seen getting off on that floor, Kingsley had cautioned them. Too suspicious. The stairs were the better choice.

There were any number of wizards and witches in the hallways, even in the stairwells, they discovered soon, and none of them seemed out of the ordinary. That very fact, however, was currently gnawing at Bill like a constant worry. Why had so little changed? Why did he still recognize these halls from the days when his father had worked here? Shouldn't they look different now that they were ruled by evil? Why did everyone they passed seem so normal, so calm? These people couldn't all be bad, couldn't all be Death Eaters or even supporters of Voldemort. Some of them had to be good. Why, then, didn't their faces reflect the fear they lived with, every day, under Voldemort's cruel reign? Were these people all under Imperius or some other spell? Had they forgotten the violence, the fear? Didn't they care?

Bill shook his head to banish those questions from his mind. Now wasn't the time.

The Department of Mysteries was quieter than the rest of the Ministry had been. As they walked, however, out of the corner of his eye Bill saw row upon row of empty shelves, cold steel gray, barren and abandoned. Those shelves, he remembered, had once held many the secrets of the wizarding world, the prophecies and cursed objects and magical charms, enchanted scrolls and spelled books. They had a larger collection at Gringotts, of course, at the warehouse in Madrid, one he'd had access to as a cursebreaker, one he'd added more than a few items to himself. A more impressive collection, certainly, with cleverer incantations and more useful, he guessed, spells. But here, these shelves...

As a little boy, he'd gone with his father, newly-appointed to the Muggle Artifacts Office, to the Ministry: "Take Your Young Witch or Wizard to Work Day". He'd had a blast. Dad had shown him off and shown him around, taking him on a grand tour of the building.

"What are all those, Dad? On all those shelves? I think I see a crystal ball."

"Several of them, I'm sure. Those are the treasures of the Ministry," his father had told him, a mischievous glint in his eye. "All of the mysteries in the world. The spells, the curses, the hexes, the potions and the prophecies. All right here, just a few floors below your dad's office." Bill remembered gaping at his father in awe. "We keep them safe here so that witches and wizards don't use them poorly and hurt themselves... or someone else. So we hold them in trust for the wizarding world and we study them, and learn from them, so that we can make things better for everyone."

But the shelves were empty. Voldemort and his followers had ransacked the Ministry, he knew, for any source of power or hint of prophecy. The Dark Lord wanted no more dire warnings, and so he silenced the prophets.

They reached a narrow hallway and followed it, single file, toward the door at its end. Bill ignored the slightly claustrophobic feeling of the walls close against him and hid his relief when he followed the other two through the door. Up ahead, they could see, was the elevator lobby.

Andrew frowned. "We don't want to go that way, though, right?"

Charlie shook his head. "Not the elevators. Over here." He turned them about and pointed to another door, to the left of the one they'd just exited.

Bill nodded and clapped Andrew on the shoulder. "Just follow me," he said.

The second door was a simple opening leading to a flight of steps. They descended rapidly and at the bottom moved along another corridor. They had reached the dungeons.

Bill waved them over to an alcove and took a small glass vial from his pocket. The liquid within glowed a cool white. "It'll turn red, the closer we get to him," he told the others.

"Let's get started," Charlie said, nodding. Andrew did as well.

Bill tucked the vial into the palm of his hand, holding it up where he could see it, but also in such a way that he could quickly hide it from sight if they encountered anyone else.

Scanning the corridors, Bill was momentarily at a loss; he didn't known where to begin. There were quite a few doors, stout, heavy wooden things with no windows. They couldn't just open each one and hope to find George inside; hence the charmed vial with a drop of Fred's blood. But they still needed to be heading in the right direction for any change to occur, and there were too many choices.

A heavy, thudding noise to their right caused them all to jump. It was followed by a high, thin scream that left Bill's heart thumping wildly in his chest.

"George," Charlie whispered and started in the direction of the screaming.

"Stop!" Bill hissed. "We don't know--"

Charlie didn't listen and ran past Bill's outstretched hand.

Andrew looked at him, unsure.

Bill groaned. "We have to follow him."

They took off at a pelt, hoping against hope to catch up; Charlie was fast, though, and Bill knew he'd never get to him in time. He didn't want to yell and attract any more attention than their mad pursuit already might have -- and he also doubted Charlie would listen, in any case.

Stupid damn... Charlie! Bill thought, his mind racing. Not now! He pulled ahead of Andrew and just caught sight of Charlie turning a corner up ahead. The screams were getting louder. Bill pushed on, harder. "Oompf," he grunted, slamming into the solid wall of his brother's back. Behind him, Andrew skidded noiselessly to a halt. "What --"

Just then, Bill realized that the screaming had stopped.

Walking away from them at the end of the corridor were two large, hooded men. Bill couldn't see their faces but he knew the garb as Death Eater robes. One of the robed men bent down and cradled something in his arms; he was laughing as he stood. "This one didn't last long at all," he said to his companion.

"I didn't even get a turn," the other answered petulantly. "Next one's mine first."

"That's fair," the first man said agreeably enough. "Let's get this to the incinerator." He hefted his arms and jerked his head. "Go on, I'll need you to get the door for me." As he turned, Bill saw that it was a girl he carried. Her long hair was matted and dragged toward the floor; as the Death Eater hefted her up, balancing her more securely, her head tipped back. Her face was clear, unmarred by bruise or blood, and her eyes were open -- open and staring lifelessly past the man who carried her broken body.

Charlie gasped. Quickly, Bill grabbed him by the collar, tugging him back around the corner. They stayed that way, Charlie standing stiff in his grasp, Andrew poised just behind.

A door slammed and silence returned to the dungeons. Minutes passed before any of them moved until finally Bill released his hold on his brother. He shook out his hand, feeling the blood rush back into his white-knuckled joints, and leaned against the wall.

"Was it him?" Andrew asked finally, worried.

Charlie turned around and shook his head. "No. It was a girl. Dead. They killed her."

Andrew looked pale.

"Charlie, did you recognize either of them?" Bill asked. His younger brother gave him a blank look. "The guards, the Death Eaters. Could you identify either one of them?"

Charlie shook his head.

Bill sighed. "Let's get going again."

"Bill, I--"

"Charlie, you'll kill us all if you pull another stunt like that," Bill said, cutting him off. "And you'll kill George."

"I thought it was him."

"And if it had been, you would have been right to run headlong into the scene? Alone? Are you mad?" Bill asked in an angry whisper. "We're lucky they didn't see you. Those were Death Eaters, not just regular guards. They'd have known we aren't supposed to be here. The idea was to try to get to George without alerting anyone to our presence, and without having to fight for our lives."

"I know." Charlie's jaw clenched. "I screwed up."

"You did." Bill took a deep breath. "I need you now, Charles. Keep yourself in check. I need you, and George needs you," he said. "Do you get that?"

"I know he does!" Charlie turned and hit his fist against the stone wall. Bill winced. "But whoever that girl was, she needed help too!" Charlie took a deep, shuddering breath and continued in a hoarse whisper. "She died while we listened! We could've saved her!"

"We were too late," Bill told him quietly. "You're right, she needed help. But we were too late."

Andrew took out his wand and reached for Charlie's bleeding and already-swollen hand. "Subsisto crudus," he said. "Curatio." The bleeding stopped. Charlie rotated his wrist and nodded his thanks.

Bill let out a deep breath. "Alright," he said. "Let's go."

They traced back the way they'd come, slowly, fanning out across the breadth of the hall. Bill stayed in the center, holding the charm out before him. Moving slowly, they crawled past the doors and halls they'd barely glimpsed before. Door after door, and one hall after another leading to only more doors... Bill fought down the panic that was beginning to seep into his veins. There were far more cells than they'd been led to believe; far more, he realized, than there had been... the dungeons had been magically enlarged, he realized, to accommodate the prisoners of war. With the Dementors gone, Azkaban's useless. They have to crowd them all in here. Charlie was right. There were people behind each of those doors, people needing their help. Bill wasn't immune to compassion. He felt as strongly as his brother, but... his mind always argued with his heart, when Charlie's would have stayed silent. They could never help all of these people and live to tell the tale, and not without endangering Harry's team and, by extension, the entire wizarding world. It wasn't an easy thing to accept, not with the image of the girl's empty eyes burned into his brain. But there was no other choice.

In the meantime, they had a brother to save.

The corridor branched off in two directions; Bill paused and with a shrug, headed down the right-hand hall.

"Anything?" Charlie asked, unable to see the charm from his angle.

The vial still gleamed white. "Nothing."

"Alright."

Bill stopped abruptly. "Wait." He held it up higher in the gloom; he could have sworn he'd seen something, but now it looked white again. He took a few long steps forward, and nothing... one more...

"It's changing," Andrew said wonderingly.

"It's changing!" Charlie echoed fervently. "Bill, come on." He jogged ahead but turned, not taking off this time, urging his brother forward. "This way!"

Bill held the vial out before him as he strode down the hall. It was pink now and swirling, darkening... they passed a few more doors, but still pink... he stood directly in front of the door on his right, and waited. Still pink. One door over and the same. Another... across the hall. Nothing. And the next. And the next. And...

At the sixth door, the gleaming liquid stopped swirling and darkened, thickened, to a deep blood red.

"Andy, help me with the door," Charlie said urgently. He pulled out his wand and Andrew did the same. "Alohomora!" Nothing happened. "Bill, get in here!"

Bill took a step back and raised his wand as well. "On three," he said. "One... two... three... Alohomora!"

The door sprang open with a loud crash; Charlie raced inside, Andrew right behind him, while Bill looked up and down the corridor, hoping against hope that the sound had not echoed throughout the dungeons, reaching a guard's ears.

"BILL!!" Charlie yelled, louder than the crash had been.

Bill spun into the cell, his heart pounding in his ears. "Is he -- "

"I don't know!" Charlie cried, dropping down to the man huddled on the cold, bare stone floor. There was little light, only the small amount trickling in from the torch-lit hallway.

"Lumos," Bill said.

Charlie moaned. "Oh, gods. Bill... what have they done to him?!"

Andrew stepped past and knelt down as well. Carefully, slowly, he turned George on his back, cradling his head as he did so.

George. Bill stared at the ruined man lying on the floor. His face was cut, bruised and beaten, scarred; his clothes hung on his gaunt frame and his skin was like chalk. His hair was almost entirely gone, only ragged patches remaining. His eyes, still closed, were sunken pits in his ravaged face. There was nothing left of the boy he'd been, nothing at all.

"Is he alive?" Bill heard himself ask.

Andrew didn't look up; he was busy with his wand, murmuring quick incantations. Taking a small bottle from his pocket, he unscrewed the cap and poured several drops into George's mouth. "He's alive," he said finally. "But unconscious. We've got to get him home, now."

Bill nodded and pulled from his pocket a medallion hanging from a long chain. He knelt beside his brother and draped it carefully over his shorn head, around his neck. His fingers brushed against the too-cold clammy skin and he shuddered.

Beside him, Charlie had out his medallion and his wand pointed to the surface. "Send Andrew with him," Bill said. He watched his own charm as the letters glowed brightly and shifted, changing into the two names. There was a brief moment of stillness and then, with a silent flash of light, both Andrew and George were simply gone.

* * * * *

Bill stumbled slightly as he felt the sandy ground appear abruptly beneath his feet. His arms windmilled out and he lunged, trying to balance himself, but he felt disoriented, groggy... he fell with a hard thud, his legs sprawled out beneath him.

"It's okay," Charlie said, bending over him. "I'll help you up."

He shook his head and regretted it; it felt as if a thousand nails were driving into his skull. "What the hell?"

"You're just disoriented," Charlie said. "It happens."

"Not to me," Bill grumbled. "I never have trouble Apparating. I was fine on the way there."

Percy came over to them and offered Bill some water; he took it and drink thirstily. "It's the adrenaline," Percy told his older brothers calmly. "Not the travel. It's the adrenaline rushing through your body. And all of your muscles releasing the tension. Sit down. You'll be okay in a minute."

Bill took the proffered folding chair and nodded his thanks when Percy took his cup to get him a refill. He saw McGonagall tending to the fire, and behind her, Hermione, though he couldn't see her face. He turned to Charlie. "Where's George?"

"Mum and Dad got him and Andrew to the island right away," he said. "It's okay." He ran his hands through his hair and took a deep breath. "Just rest here for a bit. They'll send a signal when they're ready to bring us over as well."

Bill wiped the sweat from his face; the headache was beginning to recede but his body felt weak, his legs like heavy logs. He wasn't going anywhere any time soon. "Why aren't you a wreck, too?" he asked Charlie.

Charlie smiled ruefully. "Because, big brother, I let my emotions out, remember? No matter if it's the worst possible time for it, I never hesitate. But you hold everything inside, until you can crash... because you know you have to." He paused. "I really am sorry about letting you down in there."

Bill shook his head. "You didn't. Not when it mattered."

Percy came back with water for both of them and Bill sipped slowly this time, feeling better. McGonagall moved aside and he looked over at Hermione, wanting to thank her for bringing George and Andrew home. But she was staring blankly into the fire, her thoughts, he knew, hundreds of miles away.

* * * * *

Hermione pressed her fingers to her eyelids, trying to push away the pain and the exhaustion. The spell had been harder than she'd feared, taken more of her energy than she'd planned... and that was only for two, for poor, weak and beaten George and for Andrew. Bill and Charlie had Apparated back, and possibly some of the other team would be able to do so as well. But not if they needed her.

Minerva had reassured her in hushed tones. She'd pointed out that Hermione's and Percy's emotional connection to Andrew was thin, and even their ties to George had been forcibly lessened by separation. She reminded Hermione that it was emotion that gave the spell its strength; love, to be precise. And that the ones she loved most were still out there, and might need her the most -- but that she would have, for them, the most to give.

Hermione straightened her shoulders and hoped it would be enough.