The Ransom of Albus Dumbledore

"On to the Sixth Task!" crowed Hermione as she burst out of the waiting room. "Where are you, James? Did you hear? Ms. Collins is going to drop her adoption petition and help Lu's father to recover."

James appeared in front of her. That's wonderful, Hermione.

"Didn't you hear our conversation? We found evidence... in Lu's lunch box. Oh, I'm so happy! I didn't even have to use magic--"

I'm sorry, Hermione, I got side-tracked again.

Hermione was strangely disappointed. She had never much cared what Sirius thought of her, but she respected James' sobriety and patience and found that she really craved his approval too. She pouted, "Wow, I guess it's a good thing the aunt didn't try to blast me for talking to Lu or that the inmates didn't stage an uprising while your back was turned or--"

You're right. I should have been there for you, just in case. But, there is something more important right now--

"Yes, I know. Saving Dumbledore. But let's not forget that it's yours truly who's sticking her neck out for him--"

It's not Dumbledore I'm thinking of. It's Sirius.

"What?"

Sirius has a favor to ask of us.

Hermione blinked.

James gestured at a bluish haze at the end of the corridor. It looked as if someone had been smoking there. The haze congealed into a ghostly figure: Sirius, looking woeful.

He can't speak to you--it's a condition of his testing--but he wants to thank you for what you did for Ovid Bragg. And... he would like you to help some of the ex-convicts on this ward.

"Why?"

It's one of the tests he has to undergo. He has to roam the land, looking for people to help, to prove that he's changed, that he really can sympathize with the sufferings of others.

"Sounds a bit like that fellow in A Christmas Carol."

Really? Oh, yes, I remember. Ebenezer Scrooge. Though Sirius more resembles Scrooge's happy-go-lucky nephew, than the old miser himself. Anyway, he stopped in here to get my advice about where to start looking and sensed that there are others here who have been convicted wrongly. It seems as though, as a former inmate himself, he has a special understanding of their situation. Every one of them has become a pariah to family and friends. That support system, so crucial to recovery, is denied them. He feels their pain deeply. Will you help them... and him? This is not a part of Dumbledore's tasks, Hermione. You can say no if you want."

"No--I mean--yes, I want to help."

They followed the shade of Sirius back through the waiting room, unnoticed by the receptionist, who was listening to an animated conversation between Modesty Collins and an attendant. They slid through the door to the ward, passed some cubicles where visitors were meeting with patients, and followed a long, straight flight of steps downward. There was a stream of water flowing beside them in a narrow stone trough. The water swirled against the grayish-blue stone and made a restless, rushing sound. It was troubling, that sound, but at least the water was not fetid like the air.

You need to know that this place is not well-kept. The rehabilitation of ex-convicts is not high on the Ministry's list of priorities.

"I gathered as much from the smell. I can't decide whether it reminds me more of a swamp or Crookshanks's litter pan."

It's the price the inmates pay for their perfidy.

"But apparently not all of them are guilty."

There was another set of doors at the bottom and a guard station set into the wall. A woman with iron gray hair so perfectly combed and flattened that it looked as if it had been painted on her scalp sat at the admitting desk behind a window. Her white robes were buttoned up to the top of her neck.

"And how can I help you today, young lady?" she simpered in a voice that reminded Hermione of Professor Umbridge. Her badge proclaimed her to be: AMY RECHIDD, HEAD NURSE.

Hermione sent a desperate brain-wave to James. What'll I do now?

Feel inside your left pocket, he whispered.

Hermione felt and pulled out a bright yellow card. She speed-read it:

ST. MUNGO'S HOSPITAL--VISITOR'S PASS

Date: 14 July 1997
Name: Hermione Granger
Department/Ward: Azkaban Recovery Unit
Purpose: To observe day-to-day activities. Visitor is a seventh-year student at Hogwarts who is considering apprenticing as a Healer.

The signature was an illegible scrawl. She slid the card though the opening in the glass.

Nurse Rechidd pursed her lips. "Hogwarts. Well, aren't we special?" She looked Hermione up and down. "I suppose it would be all right for you to visit the day room. But I'm afraid we don't have anyone available to show you around just now."

"That's all right. I can find my way, I'm sure."

"Oh, can you? I must warn you, the inmates can be--frightening at times."

"I'm well-versed in defensive spells."

"I'm sure you are. But you'll still have to sign a waiver." She waved her wand and produced a clipboard. A bright green quill detached itself from behind her left ear and began frantically scrawling something on it. When it finished, the pen reinserted itself into Nurse Rechidd's hair, and she handed the clipboard and another pen to Hermione.

Hermione read the paper that was attached to it. I fully understand the risks of entering this ward without an escort and will not hold the staff of St. Mungo's Azkaban Recovery Unit and Outpatient Mental Services responsible for anything that might happen to me while I am within its confines.

Hermione signed the sheet and asked in as calm a voice as she could manage, "Erm--what kind of 'anything' are we talking about here?"

Nurse Rechidd's eyes gleamed at her discomfort. "Oh, they have no weapons if you're worried about that. But some of them are quite strong--yes, quite strong. But it's more the nightmares--"

"Nightmares?"

"Yes, some visitors find it difficult to sleep at night once they've been here. They have no stomach for the harsh reality of mental illness. Most never return." She smiled, showing a set of perfect, very large teeth. "Was there anything in particular you'd like to see?"

Hermione gulped and glanced through a small window in the double doors next to the station. She could see Sirius hovering over a ragged mass, curled up on the floor.

"That person there. I'll start with him--or her--if I may." She pointed through the glass.

Nurse Rechidd looked through her own window into the ward and frowned. "What's he doing in there?" she muttered. She waved her wand, and both her door and the double doors opened. Hermione took that as a cue to enter. She found herself in a large shadowy room, minimally furnished. There were figures lounging on more of those plastic couches or leaning against walls or crouching and staring at the threadbare rug or pacing it in the gloom. Faint groans and grunting sounds came from somewhere behind the dingy walls.

She glanced back at the nurse, who was nudging the pile of rags with her foot. "Mr. Fletcher," she scolded, "are you still here? Best be off now, before the orderly mistakes you for one of the inmates--erm--patients."

"Uh... whah?"

Hermione goggled. It was Dung Fletcher. What's he doing here? she wondered. Did Harry have him arrested for stealing the Blacks' silver? He couldn't have served time in Azkaban since I last saw him, could he?

The disheveled old wizard sat up and looked about him. "Arr... must've dropped off. 'Ere, who's this?" He gazed at Hermione through rheumy eyes. "It's Miney... Miney... Gingold, ain' it?"

"It's Granger, Mr. Fletcher. Hermione Granger. What are you doing in this place?"

Nurse Rechidd looked doubtful. "Oh, you're acquainted with our traveling compost heap?" Then she added cheerfully, "Well, he can show you around then. He knows the place better than most." She turned, tittering at her little joke, and walked back to her station. The doors closed automatically behind her.

He got up gingerly and brushed at his robes, a useless gesture. "Miney Granger, what you doing 'ere? Last I 'erd you was storming the Ministry itself, roustin' Death-Eaters by the score."

"That's been a year ago--"

"Wisht I coulda been there. I'd a hexed 'em good. Say, don' tell me they collared you for that!"

"No, I'm just visiting. But you--why are you--?"

"Like you... just visitin'. Course..." he lowered his voice, "place like this 'ud make a decent hidey hole if you was on the lam er something." He straightened up, trying to look respectable. "Not that I am o' course. Just visitin' my ol' pal, Brutus... Brutus Mortlake." He gestured to a corner where a hulking fellow stood pressed against the wall and dropped his voice to a whisper. "Terrible thing they did to ol' Brutus. I brought 'im a little somepin' to cheer 'im up... you know... hair of the dog...." He opened his coat briefly. Hermione could see a pint bottle secreted in an inside pocket. It looked nearly empty. "But 'ee won' have none of it. Jes' stands there an' stares."

Hermione watched as the figure of Sirius drifted over behind the object of their scrutiny. He caught her eye and nodded his head. Apparently Brutus Mortlake was one of the people who needed to be helped. "What happened to him, Mr. Fletcher?"

"Arr... sent to Azkaban. For... you know... manslaughter!" This got an appropriately horrified reaction, so he hastened to add, "But he didn't mean to do it."

Hermione took Dung's arm and led him over to a couch. "Tell me about it, won't you?" she asked. They sat. The plastic crackled, and a smell of old urine wafted up about them.

"You see, me an' Brutus an' 'is wife--we was havin' coupla drinks at the Cauldron one night...."

"The Leaky Cauldron?"

"Right, an' when we left, we was jumped by a gang of wiz-kids... "

"Whiz kids?"

"You know.... Choovenile dee-linquents. They wear Muggle jeans, ride souped-up power-sweeps... uh... brooms... They hang around bars tryin' to bully decent, law-abidin' folk. Some say they're part of You-Know-Who's narsties.... Well, this gang drops out of the sky, takes us by surprise an' Accio-s all our wands--like that! Nen they start takin' the jewelry an' money right off us. One of 'em... big, rangy kid... their leader, they say... does a Blast Spell right over our 'eds... like a kind of warning. Nen they hops their brooms. But ol' Brutus--'ee was a wrestler back in his palmier days... 'ee grabs a-holt o' the big kid... to try an' drag 'im off 'is sweep. The kid drops 'is own wand and manages to take off anyways. Brutus scoops up the wand an' takes aim, and there's this 'orrible flash, an' the kid screams an' gets tangled in these wires 'angin' across the street. Nen 'ee drops down in the road... fried like an oyster. They give Brutus ten years fer that... said it was excessive use of force. 'Ee never recovered from the Dementors. An' now, since 'ees out, that gang's threatening 'is fambly... revenge an' all that you know. 'Is wife don't dare try to visit 'im."

"How horrible," breathed Hermione, peering into the gloom to get a good look at Brutus Mortlake. He was quite large, not Hagrid-sized, but big enough. His face was lined deeply with sadness. "But if we could find proof that he didn't do it--the gang might leave them alone."

"I fink they're mad 'cause Brutus got the feller in the back. It's against their code of honour, y'see--an' these gangs got memories as long as a Pygmy Puff's tongue. But Brutus... 'ee did hex 'im.... I seen it.... Had to testify even. Felt rotten about it. But all that time Brutus said 'ee was innercent.... 'ee never did no spell at all. But the Aurors did one o' them Priory Ink and Dado hexes on the wand."

"You mean Prior incantato?"

"Right-ee-oh! An' there it was... a Blasting Spell."

"But you said the leader had fired off a Blasting Spell as a warning, just before they all took off. Couldn't that have been the one the Aurors detected?"

"Yeh, but if Brutus didn't do one too... how'd the kid get fried?"

"You said he got tangled in some overhead wires. Were they... possibly... telephone wires?"

"Yeh, Brutey's lawyer tried to make something out of that... like maybe the kid strangled on 'em, and it weren't the blast what kilt 'im at all."

"You mean the possibility of electrocution never came up at the trial?"

"What? That thing where eckle-trickity passes through yer, and you drop down dead? Nah, couldn't be that; there wasn't no lightning in the air at all."

"I don't mean lightning. I mean electricity from the phone wires!"

"But everybody knows them wires is 'armless. Why birds even sit on 'em wiv never so much as a spark. Nah, that ain't the answer."

"But it could be! If you only touch one of the wires you're okay, but if you touch two at the same time, the potential difference causes a terrific surge of voltage to pass through your body. It's lethal in most cases."

"You mean the wires really killed the kid? Not Brutey?"

"I believe so, and if you just get someone at the Ministry--say Arthur Weasley--to look it up in any Muggle physics text, they can clear him."

"I'll do that, Miss. Right now. Arthur and me is thick as thieves... you know... what wiv being in the Order an' all." He stood up and shook Hermione's hand, then looked down at his shoes. "Uh... but maybe... do you think you could write all that stuff down? About the eck-lec-tiks and all. I'm not sure he'd believe... I mean... I'm not sure I could explain it as good as you...."

"Of course." She got out a pen and notepad and expalined the situation as clearly as she could. "That's got it, I think," she said handing the note to the grateful old fellow.

He hurried off to the Ministry, leaving Hermione alone there. She looked around the ward. She didn't feel so afraid now. Inmates, both men and women, shuffled about aimlessly, or sat, twitching and glaring at nothing in particular. There were no windows that she could see but several doors at the far end of the room, one of which was ajar. Bright light streamed through the crack, and it was at this opening that the shade of Sirius suddenly appeared. He beckoned to her. She followed cautiously, not wanting to disturb the patients more than necessary. The twitchers seemed to be getting more agitated, and she could hear little sighs or sobs from others she could not see.

Inside the room, a fetid miasma assailed her nostrils. She felt faint, but the sight of Sirius, now smiling hopefully, strengthened her. Before her loomed a great tank full of cloudy, brownish water, and off to her right was a sunken pool filled with what looked and smelled like swamp mud. Sirius was hovering over the tank. Inside it, she could make out the form of a woman, wearing only a bra and panties and floating listlessly. Her graying hair floated about her head like seaweed. Apparently she was alive and breathing because every so often, she would blink or an arm would twitch. Hermione looked closer and saw a slit in each side of her neck. Every few seconds a clutch of little bubbles burst out of them.

"What are you doing in here?" a voice behind her demanded.

Hermione whirled about and saw a stern-looking man in a white lab-coat with a badge that read: Phlegyas Sticks, Chief Neurohealer. Behind him, two other wizards in green scrubs--orderlies she guessed--were dragging into the room a squat, hairy, nearly naked inmate who was struggling against them.

Hermione averted her eyes. "I'm visiting. I wanted to see--" She turned back to the tank. "--her."

"Ah, Selleca Prod, our burglar-ette. You a relative?"

"No, a friend."

"Well, you can't talk to her now, she's in treatment. So you'll have to come back another time, Miss..."

"Granger. Erm... I thought that the Waffling Water Cure had been proven not only not helpful, but in fact detrimental in most cases of severe depression."

"Are you a Healer, Miss Granger?"

"No."

"A psychomagist or an expert in Legilimency perhaps?"

"No, but--"

"Then I think you should leave such decisions to your betters. In any case, she can't drown. An infusion of gillyweed takes care of that."

He turned to the group behind him. The inmate was writhing about, gnashing his teeth and struggling against the grip of his beefy attendants. Healer Sticks growled, "Malacoda, Malebranch, lower Mr. Silver into the bath. He'll need several hours of steeping."

Hermione was horrified. The Transmogrifian Mudpack was, if anything, worse than the Water Cure, but she bit her lip and watched as they Stunned Silver and pushed him into the pool of churning filth. The disturbance caused other bodies to rise briefly to the surface. The stench sickened her, but she managed to ask, "Could I see Madam Prod's belongings? I want buy her some things, but I don't know what she needs."

At Healer Sticks' nod, one of the orderlies led her back to the day room and pointed to a line of scarred and dented lockers. Selleca Prod's name was etched raggedly on one. Hermione rummaged through the clothing, glanced at a small album containing pictures of family pets--cats mostly. A yellowed news clipping fell out of it.

9 Aug 1992: On the night of August third, Selleca Prod, feline enthusiast and former president of the local Muggle SPCA, was caught breaking into a Muggle house by Aurors acting on a tip from the Improper Use of Magic Office.

Prod at first claimed to be visiting someone she'd met at the All-England Cat and Kneazle Show the day before. The woman, a Squib named Arabella Figg, remembered meeting Madam Prod but claimed she had had no visitors that night. Confronted with this fact, Prod changed her story and said she was actually in the neighborhood examining a new strain of catmint in the local park and planned to surprise Miss Figg with a visit. On her way across the development in the dark, Madam Prod claims to have heard a strange noise and saw a large, shadowy object hovering in the air next to a window in the upper storey of a house. Fearing a return of Death Eater attacks, she raced over to alert the occupants. Finding the doors locked, she used an Alohomora to get inside. It was this spell that was detected by the IUMO.

"We've been watching that house for some time," said Ministry official Mafalda Hopkirk. "Had a call about some underage magic there just a few says before." Although she declined to go further into the reasons for the surveillance, it is known that a student wizard lives in the area.

Prod further alleged that once inside, she noticed a storage-closet door open under the stairway and some gold strewn about the floor. She followed a trail of Galleons and odd bits of clothing up the stairs, picking them up as she went. She entered a bedroom, where she saw three Muggles in pajamas staring out the window. As everyone looked safe, she tiptoed back down the stairs. She claimed she didn't want to alarm them further, dressed as she was in wizarding robes. She was apprehended outside the door still clutching the loot by Aurors, sent to investigate by the IUMO.

The wizard boy who lives there was contacted at his school and questioned discreetly about the incident, though not told of the reason for the interview. An official stated that "the poor chap has enough to be going on with without being told that his dear relatives have been endangered." The boy, in fact, denied knowing anything of the forced entry into his own bedroom.

The Durtsey family, to whom the house belongs, refused to be questioned. Officials did ascertain from a search of the grounds that the break-in was effected by some kind of Pulling Charm, which wrenched a set of protective bars off the upstairs window.

Prod has been charged with breaking-and-entering, using magic in a restricted zone, and making up a ludicrous story to cover her crime. If convicted, she could receive up to five years in Azkaban.

Hermione's mouth hung open briefly. She remembered what Ron had told her about breaking Harry out of "that prison in Little Whinging" at the start of second year in an enchanted car. At the time, she had been upset about it as she had also heard that they had crashed that selfsame car into the Whomping Willow at the start of school. She had given both boys quite an earful over it.

She whispered to Sirius: "I think I've got the solution. Someone will have to question Harry and Ron... and Fred and George too about what really happened on the ninth of August, 1992. Hmm... perhaps if Mr. Weasley shows up, he can help us with this case too."

Sirius smiled. At that moment, the main door opened and in walked the nurse, followed by Dung Fletcher and Arthur Weasley. Behind them trailed another couple, a small man Hermione recognized vaguely and a woman who looked very like him, except that her face was deadly pale. He was wearing a purple velvet hat and grass-green robes. The woman, dressed in gray, clutched his arm; her head was curled into her chest, as if she was trying desperately to retreat, not only from their current destination, but from life itself. Sirius floated behind her, pointing at her and nodding his head gently.

"... we're always happy to have a member of the Ministry visit," Nurse Rechidd trilled nervously. "I'll be happy to get the Head Healer for you if you like."

"That won't be necessary, Nurse, thanks," said Mr. Weasley, inclining his head to her. Nurse Rechidd gave a little yelp and hurried off to the room that held the water tank and the mud pool, closing it firmly behind her. Arthur Weasley stared after her a moment before noticing Hermione. "Oh, there you are, my dear. Dung told me about your theory. I must say it sounds most exciting. Imagine a Muggle contrivance that can actually harm a wizard."

"It would have meant thousands of volts of electricity traveled through his body, Mr. Weasley. Enough to kill an elephant."

"Thrilling! I shall let the Wizengamot know and--"

"I don't think that's the most important thing, sir. Really, an article in The Prophet would be best. That gang needs to know that their leader's death was an accident so they'll stop harassing Mr. Mortlake's family. Then they'll be able to visit him again, and everything will be all right."

"Excellent idea, Hermione. I have a few connections on the newspaper staff. By the way, Molly's been wondering when you're going to come and help us get ready for the wedding. We'd be pleased to have you."

"I'd love to, really. How's Ron?"

"Oh, fine, fine. He's not entirely happy having to Scourgify the whole house, though I told him it's excellent practice for NEWTS."

Hermione laughed, then turned serious. "Mr. Weasley, you don't happen to the know the folks who came in with you, do you?" The odd couple had passed them and were seated on a couch. The man had taken off his hat and was twirling it nervously. The woman looked utterly terrified.

"As a matter of fact, I do. That's Dedalus Diggle, an Order member, and his--erm--unfortunate sister Delia."

"Oh yes, I recognize him now. Would you mind introducing us?"

"Not at all." They marched over to the little man, and Mr. Weasley proffered his hand. "Dedalus, how are you?"

Mr. Diggle came out of his self-induced trance and mumbled, "Oh... ah... hello, Arthur.... How's the family? Got your invitation.... Not sure we can make it though.... Give my best to... Bill and his intended, will you?"

Hermione remembered Dedalus Diggle as a very friendly fellow, who always had an impish grin on his face. But this Diggle was sober, almost curt. No doubt his sister was the cause of his reserve. She looked to be eaten up inside by some secret horror.

She put out her own hand. "I'm Hermione Granger, Mr. Diggle."

A faint glint showed in his eyes as he shook her hand. "Granger... ah, yes... you're a friend of Harry Potter's, aren't you?"

"That's right. Mr. Diggle, I hope you won't mind my asking, but why have you brought your sister to this awf-- this place?"

He stared at her, and for a moment, Hermione thought he might just tell her to mind her own business. Which he has a perfect right to do, she scolded herself.

But then a rueful smile came over his face, and he shook his head. "Oh how I wish I didn't have to. But, you see, ever since her reputation was ruined, Deelie's spirits have gone from bad to worse. I've tried everything I can think of to cheer her up: weekly fireworks displays, trips abroad, parties, games, pranks.... She tried to end it all last week--with a self-inflicted Blaster." He brightened. "The Healers think a bit of the Water Cure will help."

"Not the Waffling Water Cure!" Hermione cried.

"Why, yes, I believe that's the name. I brought her in here a week ago, and they diagnosed her as deeply depressed. Healer Sticks says either the Water Cure or the Transmogrifian Mudpack should snap her out of it."

"What's that about, Hermione?" asked Arthur Weasley.

"I know 'bout that Mudpack thingie," said Dung with a shudder. "They've used it on Brutey Mortlake, more'n once. It always makes 'im worse 'n' before."

Hermione grimaced. "That sounds about right. They're both antediluvian methods of treating mental illness, long since shown to be ineffective at best."

Arthur rubbed his chin. "Hmmm... I've heard nasty rumors about this place."

"About the hospital?"

"Oh no. Just this ward. There was supposed to be an investigation some months ago, but it got quashed. The Aurors are just too busy investigating You-Know-Who's mischief. Well, Dedalus, I'm not going to try to pour water on your hopes, but I think you should listen to this young lady. She knows an awful lot about just about everything."

Hermione blushed at the compliment and shook her head.

"Oh, now don't deny it, Hermione. Ron's been telling me about all the times you've helped him and Harry with your knowledge. He's very impressed--and grateful."

"Really?"

"Really. I do believe he's got a bit of a soft spot for you. But say, Hermione, do you think we can help Delia Diggle here? As I understand it, she's been sick a long time, hasn't she, Ded? Last time I saw her she was working at Flourish and Blotts--about five years ago, I believe."

Dedalus stopped twirling his cap. "That's where it all started, Arthur. You may remember, she was a trusted member of the Gringotts staff for years."

"I do. The only witch or wizard of our generation to be trusted as a teller for the main vault."

"And it was a hard-won trust, I can tell you. But she left them after twenty-five years of faithful service to care for her husband who had incurred an incurable, deadly hex from an Egyptian tomb. He was a Curse-Breaker for Gringotts, you know."

"No, I didn't know." Hermione saw a frown crease Mr. Weasley's brow. Was it possible that Bill had never told his mother and father about the risks of his job?

"She took a part time position at the bookstore in Diagon Alley. She just loves to read, you know. Well, one day the owner, Mr. Blott, had an emergency. It was an important day because Gilderoy Lockheart was going to be in to sign copies of his latest book, and also school would be starting soon, and sales were booming. Delia convinced Mr. Blott that he should leave her in charge with just an assistant to help. But he made her take Polyjuice Potion so that she would look like a man too. Somehow he didn't think all those adoring female fans of Lockheart's would take a witch seriously if she had to get tough with them. There was a bit of a set-to during the signing--probably people cutting in line--but nothing really dangerous. She got knocked about a bit, trying to break it up, hit her head and was out for a few minutes. But the assistant, Mr. Blott's nephew, said everything was fine. Otherwise, the day seemed to go normally."

Hermione listened carefully. This story, like the one she read about Selleca Prod, sounded familiar, in fact, almost déjà vu.

Diggle continued, his voice rising. "Now, Mr. Blott uses an Automatic Inventory Charm on his store every night. When he returned from his emergency, he totaled up the assets and compared them against sales. It turned out that six sets of Lockheart's books could not be accounted for, and numerous other school texts were missing. The total amounted to over five hundred Galleons. My sister was disgraced. Never in all her years at Gringotts had a single coin gone missing on her watch, but now, she stood alone, virtually accused of embezzlement. She resigned under a cloud of suspicion, and it was rumored that she had been canned by the goblins for a similar crime. She's puzzled over it endlessly, but to no avail. Her reputation, as she saw it, was ruined."

"You're not much like your sister, are you, Mr. Diggle?" observed Hermione.

"No, not at all. Delia's always been the responsible one, looking out for me. I just can't seem to be serious about anything. But now I have to be--for her sake."

"Mr. Weasley," Hermione murmured. "Does this story ring a bell with you? I think we were there that day--" She looked at Ron's father. He seemed dumbstruck.

"Yes, I think we were. I--Hermione--is it possible? I know that Hagrid weighed in and broke up that fight between me and Lucius, but did we really leave without paying? All those books--" He counted on his fingers. "Harry, Ron, you, Percy, the twins, and Ginny--but that makes seven sets, not six."

"But Lockheart gave Harry a free set, remember? And he gave them to Ginny."

"That's right." He turned to Dedalus. "I'm so sorry, Ded. I believe it may be my fault that those books went missing. You see, we were all in the store that day, and I--erm--got into a fight with Lucius Malfoy--"

"Not surprising," said Diggle.

"--and Hagrid--you know him--the Hogwarts Groundskeeper--big fellow--got between us and chivvied us all out of the store. The young assistant didn't dare ask us to pay, I believe he was that scared. Don't suppose he's ever seen a half-giant before."

"Quite understandable under the circumstances. But why didn't he admit what happened to Mr. Blott?"

"You know kids, Ded. He was probably terribly embarrassed at having made such a huge error. And I, hothead that I am, never remembered to come back and pay for everything. Molly was too angry at me to notice either."

"Could you have afforded it, Mr. Weasley?" Hermione murmured gently.

"No, of course not. We were actually planning to just get one set of Lockheart's books and have the children share. But now, with my new job, I'm happy to say I will be able to make things right--especially if Fred and George chip in for their own set. Come on, Ded, and bring your sister. We're going to Flourish and Blotts right now."

They were halfway to the door, when Dung stopped them. "Wha' about Brutey?"

"Bring him along," said Arthur. "I'm sure Nurse Rechidd will give me custody for a short time. She seemed rather uncomfortable having a Ministry official here in the first place. We'll stop in at the Prophet offices and you can tell your story--"

Hermione called after him as he strode to the exit. "There's someone else we have to rescue from this place, Mr. Weasley--"

"Who's that?"

"Madam Selleca Prod." Hermione told them all the poor cat-lover's story.

"Oh my," said Arthur. "I'll get Ron and the twins to 'fess up at the Ministry. That'll get her a pardon. Where is she?"

Hermione led him to the room which held the hated so-called 'cures'. It was locked, but Arthur opened it easily with an Alohomora. Behind it they discovered Nurse Rechidd and Healer Sticks, hastily dressing a damp looking witch, Madam Prod. The gill-slits in her neck had disappeared, and she looked conscious, if a bit glazed over. Behind her, several very muddy, smelly men were being cursorily cleaned and clothed by the attendants.

"Madam Prod," said Arthur in his most authoritative voice, "come with me." Sticks and Rechidd just stood there, their mouths hanging open. "And you two," he thundered, "had better clean this place up if you don't want my office coming down on you with all the force of Ministry justice."

He stood aside to allow the other inmates to exit with some dignity, then offered Madam Prod his arm, escorted her through, and shut the door behind him.

Arthur did another Opening Charm on the main door and ushered his charges out into the hallway. "Is that everybody?"

Hermione saw Sirius hovering over them all, beaming and nodding furiously. "Yes," she said.

"Good. We're going to Apparate to the bookstore now, Hermione, then the news office, then the Ministry. Thanks to you, all these folks will have their lives returned to them. Come with us, won't you?"

"I can't just now, but if you need someone to explain about the electricity, I'll try to--"

"That's all right. As your note said, any Muggle Fizzicks text will explain it." Arthur put his arm about Madam Prod, and Dung and Dedalus did the same for their charges, although Dung could only manage a fistful of his large friend's sleeve. They all Apparated out, and Hermione smiled.

Her smile changed to a frown as she heard a rumbling and whooshing sound behind her. She turned in time to see the stream of water in the trough that ran parallel to the stairs swelling up into a churning, frothing mini-tsunami. At the bottom, it overflowed in a series of powerful waves, which pummeled and demolished the wall next to the guard's station. She watched in awe as it drenched Healer Sticks and Nurse Rechidd and the two attendants and carried them into the sunken pool. Its force shattered the water tank and scoured the pool of filth. A large hole opened in the opposite wall, and the slimy muck was washed through it, leaving three wizards and one witch--smelly, soggy, and indignant--in its center.

She turned away, chuckling to herself, and saw Sirius and James, sitting on the stairs together, the light of mischief managed in their eyes.