Harry Potter and the Simulacrum Seal

Chapter 08: Crossed Off

The Burrow was subdued that morning, silent except for the wide, loud yawns of its sleepless occupants. Dirty platters and plates from the previous night were scattered over every hard surface of the room, floor included, accompanied by empty bottles of Butterbeer and limp streamers.

Harry was sitting in Mr Weasley's favourite chair. He eyes drooped; as he had done every time that night when he had thought he might fall asleep, he turned to the second piece of parchment in the letter Voldemort had sent him, propped up between the lamp and an empty mug. The top of it sagged; Harry held it up with his thumb as he forced himself to read it again.

The second piece of parchment, written in blood like the first, had a short, disturbing title with a decorative swirling underline: Toys. Harry grimaced as he read on. Words of the deepest red, written with thin, spidery strokes, formed a clean list of anyone Harry had known was in the Order of the Phoenix, along with a few names of newer members Harry hadn't heard of at all. Voldemort, it seemed, knew more about the Order of the Phoenix than Harry, and Harry couldn't pretend that it didn't bother him. But that wasn't the worst; there were other names written there that were far more meaningful.

He shuddered, not for the first time, when he reached the name Hermione Granger. Ron's name was further down on the list in a clump with every other Weasley in the family (Percy included, oddly enough, which gave Harry a guilty tinge of satisfaction; Voldemort hadn't got it all right, at least). Seeing Ginny's name there was even more disturbing. Hadn't she been tormented enough?

They were just words, Harry knew, but this crossed the line between his battle with Voldemort and his comparatively normal day-to-day life, the one in which Ron and Hermione argued over whether Arithmancy or Quidditch was more important, and in which Mrs Weasley brought Harry brownies and pumpkin juice while he read Dark Arts books. It wasn't exactly surprising that Voldemort knew about Harry's friends, and Harry had long recognized the inherent danger to anyone who was friends with him, but this was different. Ron and Hermione had never been targeted directly; Death Eaters had attacked Ron earlier that month, but only to get to Harry himself. Neither of Harry's best friends had even seen Voldemort, yet they were being hunted by him because he was apparently too bloody cowardly to seek out Harry himself.

Thinking about it filled Harry with rage on top of his worry. Most of the Order hadn't seen Voldemort either, Harry supposed, but it still felt like cheating to toy with Harry's friends, no matter how irrational he knew the sentiment was. This was war, after all, and Voldemort wasn't above anything. What bothered Harry most was Voldemort's apparently complete control over exactly how their battle played out and who else got dragged in. Harry was always on the defensive, never the offensive. That's going to change, he thought determinedly.

Harry looked over at his friends; Ron's head was lolled back, his eyes closed, and Hermione was shielded from view except for the arm flung across Ron's chest. Neville had gone home only a couple hours before to talk to his grandmother; he had also been on the list, along with Luna Lovegood of all people, probably because they had both fought in the battle at the Department of Mysteries and during the Death Eater attack at Hogwarts that year. I'm sure he consulted Snape, too, thought Harry bitterly, grimacing at the parchment.

And then there was the strangest name of all: Elphias Doge, a third of the way down, was scratched out with a thin, bloody line. It was this that had caused the most uproar that night; Remus and Tonks had left very quickly to inform the Order and to check on Elphias. Tonks had returned later to report that Elphias wasn't in his home and they couldn't find his body (she had used the word hesitantly) anywhere. There weren't even signs of a struggle. There was still hope that he was in a Muggle bowling alley somewhere--he and Albus Dumbledore had bonded over their fondness for tenpin bowling, as it turned out--but that hope was slim considering the evidence before them.

Harry jolted in surprise when the parchment was snatched out of his line of sight. He looked up to see Ron standing over him disapprovingly. 'You've glared at this enough,' he said. 'Whenever you sit down for more than five minutes you go back to this stupid bloody letter. It's not going to say anything different than it did before.'

Harry rubbed his tired left eye with the back of his hand. 'I wish they had let me go with them. We could help.'

'Harry ...' began Hermione.

'We could,' insisted Harry. 'And we're adults now, I don't see why we shouldn't--'

'Because it's dumb,' replied Ron. He walked back over to Hermione with the paper still in his hand. 'We don't know where Doge would be. We couldn't be any help at all. Besides, they have enough Order members looking for him. It's not like it matters how long it takes before they find ...' He gulped. '... You know,' Ron finished, his expression glum.

'They might not even find him at all,' said Hermione sadly. 'It wouldn't be the first time.'

The trio lapsed into silence after that. Soon they heard more bustling from the kitchen; Mrs Weasley made metallic clangs as she cooked Mr Weasley breakfast, Mr Weasley loudly flipped the pages of the Daily Prophet, and they talked to each other, though the words couldn't be made out by Harry's dull senses. Harry was beginning to doze off to the comforting household sounds when Ron said, 'We need to take our Apparition test soon.'

Harry opened his eyes abruptly. 'That's true,' he said. 'When do you want to do it?'

'I dunno,' replied Ron. 'Sometime.'

'Yeah.'

More silence followed. 'Maybe Monday?' Ron said eventually.

'Sure,' replied Harry.

'D'you suppose I'll pass this time?'

'Sure.'

That was the end of it. Harry closed his eyes again; he wasn't going to sleep, but they were too sore to keep open anymore. Behind closed eyelids, he thought about how being seventeen didn't seem any better than being sixteen so far. Harry could do magic now, but it wasn't helping anyone. What could he do to fix things? The letter Voldemort had sent him screamed that Voldemort was taunting Harry, that Voldemort wanted to call Harry out, and with the danger Harry's friends were in, Harry would have liked nothing better than to face him, Horcruxes or no Horcruxes, but Voldemort hadn't left a return address. And what would I do? Harry thought with a sense of hopelessness. I couldn't even defeat Snape. How can I stop Voldemort? Harry wasn't stupid; he knew that if Dumbledore hadn't managed to kill Voldemort in all these years, he didn't have much of a chance while Voldemort could hear Harry's thoughts with Legilimency as well as every spell he cast. Some of the books Harry had been given by Remus went into detail about Occlumency, and others gave tips for casting non-verbal spells. But the only thing Harry had been capable of practicing without magic was the mental relaxation Snape had insisted upon when Harry had been studying under him, and Harry was too suspicious of Snape to fully believe that it was a good idea. Harry knew he had to work for this victory, and he needed the Horcruxes to be destroyed if it was to be a real victory at all. But what consolation would that be to those who died in the meantime?

'Ron! Ginny! Harry! Hermione!' called Mrs Weasley from the kitchen. Ron and Hermione perked up; Harry left his musings feeling no better than when he had entered them.

Walking into the kitchen with Ron and Hermione, he caught a glimpse of four owls taking off through the window. Ginny was already at the table ripping into her letter. 'They're from Hogwarts,' she said. Mr Weasley looked up from his coffee with interest.

Harry opened the letter addressed to him and read it:

HOGWARTS SCHOOL OF WITCHCRAFT AND WIZARDRY

Headmistress: Minerva McGonagall

(Association of Transfiguration Fellowship Award for Excellence, Order of Merlin, Third Class)

Dear Mr Potter,

We are sorry to inform you that Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry will be closed for the 1997-1998 school year. Possibilities for alternative educational arrangements will be forthcoming.

Yours sincerely,

Filius Flitwick

Deputy Headmaster

'I can't believe it,' said Ron, staring at his letter blankly.

Hermione sighed. 'It's not that surprising.' She still looked crestfallen, however.

'What is it?' asked Mr Weasley with interest.

'Hogwarts isn't going to be open this year, Dad,' said Ginny. She folded her letter and placed it on the table calmly; she didn't seem upset by the news.

'Hogwarts, closed?' said Mrs Weasley, her eyes widening in surprise. 'That's impossible! Let me see!' She grabbed Ron's letter out of his hands and read it. 'No ... but it says something about alternative educational arrangements? Where else is there to send children to school?'

Four more owls flew through the window, dropping off a second letter to each of Harry, Hermione, Ron, and Ginny before taking off again. Harry tore the Ministry of Magic seal off and read through it.

Hogwarts Board of Governors

7 Main Street

Manningtree, Essex

Mr Potter,

Due to the recent decision to close Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for the upcoming school year, the Hogwarts Board of Governors has instituted a program to send students abroad to receive a wizarding education.

The schools participating in the program are Beauxbatons Academy of Magic and Durmstrang Institute. We intend to divide students in an approximately equal manner; however, you are asked to indicate which school you would prefer in your reply, should you decide to participate in the program. Preference will be given to sending siblings to the same school unless otherwise specified. Those students who were expecting to take their O.W.L.s or N.E.W.T.s in the upcoming year are encouraged to visit the headquarters of the Wizarding Examinations Authority upon their return for private testing.

We expect your owl by no later than 15 August.

Cordially yours,

A list of board members followed. Harry had no intention of taking them up on the offer, though he did think it a good one. Mrs Weasley, who had read Ron's letter over his shoulder, replied, 'Oh, wonderful! This is better than Hogwarts reopening, I think!'

'What is it, dear?' asked Mr Weasley.

'They're being sent abroad to be educated,' said Mrs Weasley, excitement creeping into her voice. 'We have connections in France now, so I'm sure Ginny and Ron and Harry and Hermione will be well taken care of at Beauxbatons.'

'We might get sent to Durmstrang,' Ginny reminded her pointedly, frowning, 'or we might be separated.'

'Nonsense! I'm sure that if you all specify Beauxbatons ...'

Harry looked at Mr Weasley, who was looking down at his paper, his expression unreadable. 'Molly,' he said, his throat dry, 'I think we ought to discuss this.'

'There is nothing to discuss,' said Mrs Weasley sharply. 'This is the only way for them to get an education, Arthur, and they'll be away from England! What more could we hope for?'

'I believe you are forgetting that three of the people in this room have a choice about whether or not to go.'

Molly's mouth widened into a large "O". 'Arthur!' she said, sounding scandalized.

Mr Weasley stood up; he looked very tired. 'Ron and I already discussed it, and--'

'How could you have already discussed it?' Mrs Weasley protested, glaring at her husband. 'The letters just arrived!'

'I spoke with Ron about his general plans for the upcoming year, and he, Harry, and Hermione do not intend to return to school,' said Mr Weasley. Raising his voice to speak over his wife, he added, 'They gave good reasons, though I don't necessarily agree on every point. I'm not happy about it either, but they're adults now.'

Mrs Weasley's face was a deep red, and she was snarling. 'A fine time this is to tell me! You've had weeks to confide in me! How could you drop it in my lap at a time like this?'

'I rather thought Ron would do it himself,' said Mr Weasley, sending Ron a mildly scolding look. Ron went red, looking very uncomfortable. He shuffled away from his mother, but there didn't seem much point to Harry because all the ire of her glare was being directed at Mr Weasley. Harry didn't think that was fair, but he also wasn't sure that it was his business to interrupt. Hermione looked equally torn.

'I don't accept it!' Mrs Weasley said. 'As long as they're living under my roof--'

At this, Harry had to speak up. 'Mrs Weasley, if at any point you want me to leave, I will. I'm sure Hermione and Ron feel the same way. We can stay somewhere else if we're not wanted here,' he added, thinking without pleasure of Grimmauld Place. He knew Mrs Weasley only wanted the best for them, but he wasn't going to be swayed.

Mrs Weasley turned on him. 'I didn't mean ...' She stopped talking as her eyes met Harry's determined ones.

'But I do,' said Harry firmly. 'I'm not changing my mind on this, and neither are Hermione and Ron.'

'We're not, Mum,' echoed Ron, finally saying his peace. 'You're a great mum and all, and I know you're only going on about it because you care, but there comes a time in life when a fellow has to make choices, even if his mum doesn't like them much. You don't want Harry getting killed, do you? Hermione and I have to look out for him and help him out. We'd be awful best friends if we didn't.'

Mr Weasley looked at Ron with a twinkle in his eye and the beginnings of a smile; even Mrs Weasley was quiet for several moments.

'I ... I don't know what to say ... how to change your minds ...' Mrs Weasley looked at them plaintively. 'Please, Ron ... Harry ...'

'Molly,' said Mr Weasley, not unkindly. 'We've raised good children, haven't we?'

There was a look shared between the two parents then; Harry wasn't entirely sure what it was, but it felt private.

'I'm not going either,' said Ginny.

'You're fifteen, Ginny,' said Mr Weasley. He pried his eyes away from his wife's reluctantly to look at his daughter, his eyebrows raised. 'You aren't yet of age to make your own decisions about things like this. You're going and that's that.'

It was to Ginny's credit, Harry thought, that she didn't argue further. She knew when she was beaten. And perhaps, if she saw the exhaustion in Mr Weasley's eyes that Harry did, she didn't want to add to his troubles.

'Yes, Daddy,' she whispered.

Mr Weasley leaned over and pecked her on the forehead; then he squeezed her shoulders. 'That's my girl. There will be plenty of time to grow up.' He sighed. 'I'm off to work.'

'Take care,' said Ginny quietly. She was looking down at her lap in resignation.

'See you tonight, Arthur. You won't be late again?' asked Mrs Weasley anxiously.

'No, I don't think so. Business has been slow in my office lately--comparatively.' He kissed his wife on the cheek, then softly on the lips. 'See you tonight.'

Arthur Weasley opened the back door and walked out; the door closed with a clatter in his wake.

***

Harry wanted more than ever to practice the spells in the books Remus had given him, but Hermione gently--and correctly--pointed out that none of them were fit to be casting dangerous new spells on each other that day. 'It would be best not to cause the Order even more trouble. We don't want to end up in St Mungo's,' she said as she collapsed onto the couch. 'We'll be no worse off for practicing the spells tomorrow.'

'When's our first lesson going to be?' asked Ron, stifling a yawn.

'Remus didn't say.'

'It certainly won't be today,' said Hermione. 'Thank goodness.'

'Maybe we should all go upstairs and get a few hours of sleep like Ginny,' suggested Ron. 'You look exhausted, Harry.'

Harry hadn't looked at himself in a mirror that day, but he didn't doubt that he looked as tired as he felt. 'I guess there's nothing for us to do for now,' said Harry unhappily. Then he felt a sudden burst of indignation. 'No, this is stupid. I'm supposed to be helping people. We should be looking for R.A.B.!' He sat up straighter in his chair and tried not to slump back into it.

Ron closed his eyes. 'What's the point? We're not going to have any brilliant ideas today. We're tired.'

'I'm going to bed,' Hermione declared. She stood up and looked at the boys. 'A few hours will do wonders for all of us.'

'Great, Voldemort can go off murdering people while we get cosy.' Harry grumbled. Then he shook his head. '... Sorry, I know I'm being an arse.'

'You're just tired,' said Hermione kindly. 'It's been a stressful night.'

'I'm going up,' Ron said. He moved to stand beside Hermione. 'You coming, Harry?'

Harry struggled with the decision a moment. 'No, I think I'll stay here. Remus said he might come back.'

Harry's friends looked at him worriedly. 'If you're sure ...' said Hermione.

'I'll be okay.'

'See you later then, I guess,' said Ron, not sounding happy.

As soon as Ron and Hermione's backs were turned, Harry's eyes drooped. He struggled with them, but found himself curling up in the chair and closing his eyes against his will. I'll just think about R.A.B. while I rest my eyes a little ...

***

Harry's eyes snapped open. He tensed; his limbs weren't where he remembered putting them. He pushed himself up on his elbow. There was a blanket on top of him and a pillow underneath his head; the scratchy fabric of the Weasley's couch was making him itch where his bare skin touched it. Slowly and groggily, Harry threw off the blanket and pushed himself up into a sitting position. He rubbed his eyes. How long had he been asleep? Glancing at the clock in the corner, he saw it was only 10:23, around an hour and a half since Hermione and Ron had left. I haven't wasted too much time, then.

He stood up; Harry's legs felt like they hadn't moved for days. I'm tired, Harry realized; it was the first time the thought had taken up so much space in his head that day, and it would have been enough to make him curl back up under the blanket had he not caught sight of the letter again. It lay face down on the table where Ron had left it, and Harry's hand moved to grab it before his reasoning faculties could stop it. It's the same bloody thing as before, his brain managed to grumble before Harry flipped the parchment around. The little finger of his right hand brushed back and forth idly against the edge of the paper as he looked down the near-memorized list again.

'What?' he whispered. His brow crinkled as he stared at the name Kingsley Shacklebolt on the parchment. Unlike before, the same sort of thin red line that had crossed off Elphias Doge's name now crossed off Kingsley's as well. Harry's throat went dry.

The parchment was obviously magical, so Harry didn't bother wasting time wondering how Kingsley's name had come to be crossed out. Instead he walked quickly up the stairs until he reached Hermione's room, which was closer to the ground floor than Ron's. He knocked on the door loudly.

A few moments later, a bleary-eyed Hermione peered out at Harry. 'What is it?' she asked, her voice cracking.

'Kingsley's dead,' said Harry. He held the parchment up, and her hands grabbed it.

'His name's crossed out,' said Hermione plainly.

'Exactly,' Harry replied gravely. 'The parchment's enchanted.'

Hermione became more alert as she caught up with what he was saying. 'Where's Ron? Have you told him yet? And what about Mrs Weasley?'

'Who's dead?' Harry heard Ginny call from inside the room. Soon she, too, was at the door. Hermione passed her the parchment.

'Oh,' whispered Ginny, stricken. 'I ... I liked Kingsley.'

Harry swallowed. 'So did I. We've got to find out where he is.'

'What difference does it make now?' Hermione said, her face plaintive. 'You said ... you said we were sitting around doing nothing while Voldemort's ... while he's off ...'

'We don't know it was Voldemort,' said Ginny, 'and it's not as though Kingsley couldn't take care of himself. He was an Auror.'

'Maybe we're taking this too seriously,' said Hermione in a rush. 'Maybe the parchment is wrong, maybe Voldemort is trying to lure Harry into a trap again ...'

Harry smiled sadly at her; he didn't like it that Hermione was so upset, and he supposed that the parchment could be lying, but his instincts were telling him otherwise. 'I ... I don't think I'm wrong. Why would Voldemort want us to think Kingsley's dead? It's not as though we can do anything about it now, like you said. It's not the same as with Sirius.'

Hermione didn't reply, but Harry could tell from her sombre expression that she believed him. 'Let's go tell Ron now, okay?' said Harry.

Hermione nodded. Soon Ron and Mrs Weasley had been shown the altered parchment. 'Do you know where Kingsley might be, Mrs Weasley?' Harry asked her down in the kitchen.

Mrs Weasley shook her head. Her eyes glittered with unshed tears, a few more making their way down her cheeks. The murder of two Order members in one day was not at all common, Harry realized, especially with one of the deceased being such a skilled Auror. 'I know he doesn't work in the Ministry offices now because Arthur said the Minister had given him a special assignment,' said Mrs Weasley, 'but I'm not sure of the details--'

They were all startled by a pounding knock at the back door. Mrs Weasley went to get it; 'It's Bill,' she said.

She opened the door and he strode in quickly; his face was red and shining with sweat. He stared at them, bewildered to see so many people crowded into the kitchen so late in the morning, but didn't comment. 'There's been an attack at the Ministry,' he said, wiping his brow.

Everyone looked at Mrs Weasley; her eyes widened into saucers, and one of her trembling hands reached up to touch lightly upon her lips. Her eyes sought reassurance from Bill. 'Arthur?' she asked softly, the question clear. Her head whipped around to look at the family clock that she took with her everywhere; Mr Weasley's hand was pointing firmly at 'work', unlike all the others, whose hands were pointing at 'mortal peril'. Though they let out a collective breath of relief, Harry still wondered what that could mean. How was Mr Weasley safer now than they were?

'I don't know where dad is, Mum,' Bill said, looking much calmer than when he had burst in, 'but the Dark Mark is over the building.' Mrs Weasley let out a sharp cry of dismay as Bill continued. 'St Mungo's says that everyone is being evacuated floor by floor from the bottom up. Dad's on the second floor, so it'll take a while for him to be let out.'

'I thought Kingsley wasn't at Ministry headquarters, Mum,' said Ron. 'Not that his murder would've had to take place there!' he affixed hastily upon seeing his mother's expression.

'Kingsley's dead?' Bill said loudly in surprise. 'How?'

'We don't know, but his name's crossed off on the list of people Harry got from Voldemort,' explained Ginny, holding up the letter.

Bill took it and stared around the spot where Kingsley's name was with dismay. 'He works at the Ministry though, doesn't he, Kingsley?' Bill looked back at the clock to reassure himself.

'Yes, but he goes somewhere else during the day,' said Mrs Weasley.

'Dad's fine, right?' Ron cut in. 'His hand says he's at work; he's not even in danger at all!'

'If he were injured, that's where the clock would be pointing,' Mrs Weasley said confidently, nodding over to it. Sure enough, Harry looked at it again and noticed the word 'injured' on the face.

Mr Weasley, at least, was fine, but what about everyone else in the Ministry building? Something had happened there. 'Is there any way we could help?' Harry asked, thinking it was stupid for them to be standing around wondering what had happened when they could go find out. 'We could help the Ministry evacuate ...'

'I don't think it's possible,' said Bill, sounding resigned. 'I'm frustrated about not being able to do anything, myself, but the fireplaces into the Ministry have been shut off, so we can't even get inside.'

'What about the visitor's entrance?' asked Hermione.

Bill glowered at the floor. 'There are Muggles swarming the building, I heard, and not an Obliviator in sight; they're all trapped on the third floor. It's awfully hard for the Muggles to ignore a giant Dark Mark in the sky in the middle of London. We could never get in unnoticed that way.'

'I'm guessing Apparition is out of the question?' said Harry gloomily.

'The Ministry has wards against that sort of thing,' replied Bill.

'I suppose we'll just have to wait until Arthur gets home.' Mrs Weasley didn't sound too happy about it.

'But what if the Death Eater who sent the mark up is still hanging around the building?' said Ron, sounding grim.

'Look!' said Ginny, her eyes fixed on the clock. Every head in the room swivelled toward it again; they watched as the longest hand, Mr Weasley's, moved to point to the word 'hospital'.

'Why would Dad be at St Mungo's?' said Ron immediately, frowning.

Harry was equally perplexed; if Mr Weasley wasn't injured, or dead, why would he be at the hospital? Maybe he's just helping out, bringing people in from the Ministry who were hurt. That made sense enough.

'They can't very well stop me from going in if my husband's there!' said Mrs Weasley determinedly, already reaching for an old cloak hanging on a nail by the back door. 'I'm going!'

'You're not the only one!' said Ron.

'I'd like to go,' said Hermione quietly, her face pale. 'I know I'm not family--'

'Of course you are!' Ginny replied emphatically. 'You and Harry both! We're all going! You're not staying here alone.'

Hermione and Harry both smiled appreciatively. Without further ado, they departed.

***

'Out of the way, out of the way!'

'Another one for spell damage!'

'If you're not bleeding internally, come back later!'

St Mungo's was as much a madhouse as a narrow hall at Hogwarts a minute before the start of class, and more. Hospital staff in lime-green robes dotted the reception area, which was full to bursting with Ministry employees, some injured, most not.

'For the last time, sod off!' shouted a tiny witch in a squeaky voice to a gaggle of intruders close to Harry and the others. 'If you're not injured, you have to go! We're too full to have people loitering 'round! Shoo!' She waved them off, and the disgruntled Ministry workers--who, upon closer inspection, had cameras hanging around their necks and quills in their hands, and so were likely not Ministry employees at all--scattered, each moving to lurk in his own corner.

'State your names and business! Quick!' The same very short, bony witch looked up at them with her arms crossed and her foot tapping.

Mrs Weasley cleared her throat. 'My name is Molly Weasley; my husband is here somewhere. I don't know if he's been checked in--'

'Family can stay, rest have to leave,' she said coldly. 'I'll check the records, follow me.'

The tiny witch walked away at a quick pace, and the Weasleys struggled to keep up as they moved through the crowd. Harry lagged behind with Hermione at first, wondering if they ought to leave, but a subtle tug from Ginny was all that was needed to remind Harry that he was wanted there.

The reception desk was crowded with people yelling at several clearly overwrought receptionists, each trying to answer demands one at a time and failing to hear a single one clearly over the din. 'Stay here,' said the tiny witch loudly as they approached the desk, not even bothering to look back at them. Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys immediately stopped moving as ordered; the witch continued on past the crowd to a door that led behind the desk. Once she was through it, Harry watched as she disappeared completely behind another door; he stood there with the others, directionless.

'Move aside!' a wizard yelled loudly, his voice magically magnified. Harry couldn't tell where the voice was coming from and wondered if they were the ones who ought to be moving; the people to Harry's left were squeezing toward him, however, so he wasn't in the way. He couldn't see what was happening, but the crowd became very quiet as the wizard passed through. Harry heard whispers of a poor young witch with horrendously blackened, twisted limbs. What could have happened? Harry wondered. He turned to talk to Ron about it, but Ron and Mrs Weasley were watching the tiny, bossy witch moving toward them again.

'Follow me!' said the witch, not pausing in her stride as she brushed past them. Her rapt audience fell in line; they jostled their way through the crowd and ended up at the elevator. The witch tapped it with her wand and the door opened.

Immediately a half dozen other people, almost all with cameras, turned toward them and made a beeline for the elevator. The tiny witch grabbed Mrs Weasley's, Bill's, Ron's, Ginny's, Hermione's, and finally Harry's arm in a bruising grip and shunted each through. She pointed her wand at the others trying to get in with a humourless expression on her face. She backed into the elevator; the door closed on the disappointed faces of the reporters. The witch pressed the button for the fourth floor, Spell Damage, and turned to them as the elevator started moving.

'You're lucky I found you,' she said, sounding far friendlier now that they were alone with her, though still not smiling remotely. 'You might have been in line for hours. Someone from the Ministry was recently dispatched to your home to inform you about your husband. He is your husband, yes?'

With all the knowledge she had gleaned from her special clock, Mrs Weasley hadn't looked overly concerned when they had first entered St Mungo's. They had all thought Mr Weasley would be among those Ministry officials making inquiries about the injured to inform their families, not one of the ones being informed about, and Mrs Weasley was no different. But the witch's words, too kind to signal anything good, caused Mrs Weasley's face to collapse; the muscles in her jaw twitched and her arms shook as she nodded. 'What ... what happened?' Mrs Weasley asked hoarsely.

The elevator door opened; they were at their stop. The witch waited until they had all exited the elevator before leaving herself. Her eyes never left Mrs Weasley.

A shiver went down Harry's spine. Something was very wrong.

The witch opened her mouth, and for the first time looked as stunned as the receptionists being bellowed at downstairs. Her mouth shut again, as though her courage to speak had failed her. 'Would you please follow me?' she said quietly. She turned away before they could answer or ask questions and walked, slower than before, down the hall. After maybe half a minute of walking, she stopped abruptly, and Mrs Weasley almost crashed into her in her daze. The witch turned around, and sounding kinder than she had yet, asked softly, 'Do any of you know what a Legilimens is?'

She did not sound as if she thought any of them would, and her mouth was opening to speak again before Hermione said, before Harry could, 'A mind reader.' Hermione did not go on as was her wont; no one wanted to hear anything except what the tiny witch had to say.

'Yes,' said the witch. 'I don't know if you want me to continue ... in front of the children ...?' She looked at Mrs Weasley questioningly; Mrs Weasley bit her lip, and nodded shakily again. At first, the witch looked unsure of how to continue. 'There are ... there are ways to use such abilities ... if the Legilimens is uncommonly skilled ... to ... to tear the mind apart ...'

One name immediately sprang to mind, but Harry almost discounted it. Would Voldemort really have the nerve to walk right into the Ministry of Magic? He had been reluctant enough about entering the Department of Mysteries in Harry's fifth year to lure Harry there so Harry could get the Prophecy without Voldemort having to go further than the Atrium. But that was when Dumbledore was alive, realized Harry.

The witch glanced toward one of the doors nearby. It took Harry a moment to recognize the plaque on the door, but when he did his heart was racked by an icy shudder. He looked at Ron, and from the shock in his eyes knew that he recognized it too. They continued a few steps more down the hall until they reached ward 49, the Janus Thickey ward, the place where Gilderoy Lockhart had been shut up after losing his mind ... the place where Neville's parents had spent the last sixteen years ...

The witch tapped her wand on the door, and the locked clicked open. Time had never seemed slower to Harry than it did while she pushed the door open. 'I'll leave you here,' the witch said gently. 'The Healer-in-Charge is with your husband now.' She looked in and said, 'Healer? The victim's wife and family are here.' The word victim stuck uncomfortably in Harry's mind.

'Send them in,' the Healer replied from within. Mrs Weasley took a deep, choked breath before stepping across the threshold. Harry, too, tried to steel himself for the worst before he went in.

Mr Weasley was in a white-sheeted hospital bed, propped up in a sitting position by a couple of pillows. He was as pale as everything else in the room, which was odd enough in and of itself for such a lively man. The Healer, a tall Arab man, stepped up to them before Harry could ascertain anything more about Mr Weasley's condition; his eyes immediately swept to Harry and Hermione, as they clearly weren't family. He looked as though he were about to protest, but when his eyes swept over the scar on Harry's forehead, he seemed to think better of it. The Healer turned back to Mrs Weasley, who was trying to look around the Healer to get a better view of her husband. 'Mrs Weasley,' the Healer said, catching her eye again. 'I am Healer Sina, the Healer-in-Charge. I have been examining your husband.'

'A pleasure to meet you,' Mrs Weasley said automatically, without inflection, extending her hand. He shook it. 'Please, what's happened to my husband? It isn't anything too serious, I hope.'

'Mum ...' Ron choked out. Harry turned to look at him; he was as pale as Mr Weasley. 'Mum, this is ...' Ron turned to look at the place where Lockhart had been before, and where he still stayed, if the posters of himself with every inch of them signed were any indication. Harry took note of a figure with a sheet pulled over itself shifting on the bed there.

'This is the Janus Thickey ward, Mrs Weasley,' said the Healer, continuing from where Ron left off. 'It is reserved for patients who have undergone severe spell damage that affects the mind.'

'Yes, the witch outside told me Arthur was ... hurt with Legitimantcy, was it?' said Mrs Weasley. 'But surely he'll recover, Obliviation has been known to ...'

The Healer looked at her sadly. 'I'm very sorry, Mrs Weasley, but I'm afraid this is not like Obliviation damage at all.' The Healer glanced over to Lockhart briefly. 'Obliviation damage can be partially or fully recovered from in most cases. It is concentrated only on making the target forget; the memories themselves are usually still present, but their connections to the rest of the mind have been severed. It is possible to rebuild such connections ... slowly ... but Legilimancy damage destroys the mind itself ...'

Mrs Weasley pushed past the Healer and rushed to Mr Weasley's bedside. 'Oh, Arthur!' Harry heard her cry. 'Arthur!'

The Healer moved, and Harry saw Mrs Weasley shaking her husband by the shoulders; he was giving all the response of a rag doll. As Healer Sina pulled the sobbing Mrs Weasley back, Ron brushed past Harry, moving to the other side of the bed. Harry watched Ron stare into Mr Weasley's eyes. Ginny and Bill joined him; they, too, apparently saw no sign of recognition in their father. Hermione grabbed Harry's hand tightly, and Harry squeezed it in reassurance. Maybe they were family, of a sort, but Harry knew he and Hermione couldn't possibly understand the emotions playing behind Ron's blank, blinking stare, or the depth of anguish present in Mrs Weasley's tears. Harry saw Ginny's mouth move, but couldn't hear what she said; Bill grabbed her and pulled her into a tight hug as tears trailed down his own scarred cheeks.

Harry took a step forward, then another. No one but Hermione seemed aware of him. Harry pulled his hand completely out of Hermione's grip and took another step. He walked past Mrs Weasley, who was sobbing and trying to say something unintelligible to the Healer, and moved to the side of the bed opposite Ron and his siblings. Ron looked up at Harry as he stopped in the spot directly opposite Ron; Ron's mouth was slightly open, his arms hanging at his sides, his eyes hopeless. It was hard to look away, but Harry did, his stare moving instead to rest on Mr Weasley.

For a moment, Harry saw the same vegetative, slack-jawed, undirected stare that had caused Ron to look so broken, but the moment was brief. Upon sight of Harry, Mr Weasley's jaw almost immediately snapped shut; his lips stretched into a curled, evil smile. But it was his eyes that made the greatest transformation; the blank stare changed to a vicious, focused one, eyes dancing with embers of red. Harry felt only a brief, sharp burn from his scar before his vision turned to one of complete darkness, as though he had closed his eyes without knowing it, only none of his other senses seemed to be working either. Not even his brain was working normally; he felt no panic, no pain.

It seemed like a long time to Harry before a dim light began to filter into the dark. Soon after, Harry recognized that he was sitting down, his arms splayed and resting on the armrests of a wide, high-backed chair. He heard the flickering motions of torches around him, and tasted dampness in the air. He was still, as though he were awaking from a long, medicated sleep and his mind could not yet think to move his limbs. An unmistakable voice, high-pitched for a man's and filled with hate, fell upon his ears.

'The mannequin awakens,' said Voldemort.