The Muggle-Born Registration Commission
Sunday, January 5th, 1997
Hermione Granger had ridden the Hogwarts Express alone before, but this year felt a lot different than Second. Even though she hadn’t known where her friends had been that year, therefore being rightly terrified, there was at least a clear understanding that it was wrong for Harry and Ron to be missing. Ginny had seemed scared, and even the twins were nervous, Percy downright panicking. And, if she closed her eyes, she could even remember clearly a boy with pointed features and pale hair stepping in, or, rather, sauntering, and freezing at the sight of the empty seats.
“Granger. Did Potty and Weasel finally ditch you?” Draco had taunted, to which she glared over at him determinedly.
“No, they probably just had the good sense to avoid you this year.”
His grin had flinched, and he had balled up his fists, glaring down at the Gryffindor girl. “We’ll see how well they do that. You don’t know what is coming, Granger. This year is going to be mine.” At present, Hermione had taken it as evidence later that he was the Heir of Slytherin. Turns out he was probably just being a prat or otherwise talking about being on the Quidditch team. Still, thinking back to it brought a small smile to her lips. They had been all too oblivious to the friendship they’d have years later.
Now Draco was far, far away, and Harry and Ron too, and Hermione was instead left sitting with Ginny and Neville, who were acting like nothing was wrong with her friends, instead discussing where Luna could be.
Hermione had never been the fondest of Luna, so wished, slightly, they’d quit talking and comfort her, tell her her boyfriend would get to the school safely, even if he had thrown himself into the heart of danger by volunteering to polyjuice into the Chosen One. It made her sick, because at least they knew where her friends were; Luna could very well be in a lot of danger, but there was no helping those awful thoughts…
“Hermione?” She jerked her head away from the window, looking around with wide eyes and finding Ginny leaned forward, having snapped her fingers in front of her face. “Are you okay?”
“Yeah, it’s just…” She sighed, rubbing her arms, which had just suddenly gotten a vicious chill.
“They’ll be fine,” Ginny reassured her as best she could, squeezing her hand. “They’ve got all the Order to get them here safely.”
“Besides, if You-Know-Who tries to get Harry, he’ll just do those golden flame-things again!” Neville exclaimed, pumping a fist in the air and Ginny nodded, fist bumping it as Hermione giggled.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right…” She still leaned her forehead against the window again, however, staring up at the sky and praying they’d stay safe.
Dinner was delicious as always, but slightly marred by the absence of her best friends. This wasn’t a problem; they said they’d be back past midnight so the cloak of darkness could hide their movement from Muggles.
What was a problem, however, was the next morning, when Hermione stared at her plate of eggs and bacon and began to feel sick to her stomach, because her friends were still nowhere in sight. The only thing that made it all better was that Ginny and Neville had at last left her alone to her thoughts to scour the Ravenclaw table for Luna. Still, that meant she was sitting on a barren bench, the phantom voice of Harry, Draco, and Ron in her ears.
Ron.
Anxiously, she looked over at the staff table. Snape, Hagrid, McGonagall, Professor Jones, and even Professor Burbage, the Muggle Studies teacher, were missing, leaving the Professors still there to look around at each other anxiously, talking in whispers. Slughorn had removed a handkerchief and was dabbing at his wet forehead. The entire atmosphere was one thick with tension too harsh to cut with even a knife, and despite all the whispers, Hermione felt as if the world was so quiet she could hear her own breath.
Hoots filled the air, and as the owls soared above the students’ heads, dropping letters and the mail, Hermione heard several gasps breaking through the tense air as people picked up the Daily Prophet, some instantly dropping it back down as if it had burned them. Hermione couldn’t blame them, as when she herself lifted it up she felt sick at the headline.
FUDGE OVERTHROWN!
PIUS THICKNESSE MADE NEW MINISTER OF MAGIC.
Then her eyes flicked down, and she felt her jaw drop to the floor.
CHARITY BURBAGE AND HESTIA JONES RESIGN; SEVERUS SNAPE TAKES OVER AS HOGWARTS HEADMASTER
“What rubbish is that?”
“Snape? Headmaster?”
“Where’s McGonagall?”
There was barely enough time for the students around Hermione to get these cries out before the doors to the Great Hall swung open suddenly, and everyone craned their necks, gasping as the batlike man himself strode forwards, pitch black cape flapping behind him as always. In his wake stood two people Hermione didn’t recognize, but didn’t like one bit by the way they were scowling coldly.
“Snape?” Slughorn had risen from his seat, holding up the Prophet and watching his colleague carefully. “What is this?”
“Exactly what it says, Professor.” He swept up behind the Headmaster’s podium, addressing them all with his usual sneer. “There has been a change to this school as of late, children. I am your new Headmaster, that is true. Professor McGonagall will continue to be your Transfiguration Professor in light of Ms. Jones’s absence. As for my class… Defense Against the Dark Arts is getting a… renovation, if you will.” He smirked and the two people behind him chuckled. “My friend Amycus Carrow will be teaching you the Dark Arts, while my friend Alecto Carrow will take up the position of Muggle Studies Professor.”
“But their Death Eater’s!” All eyes turned to the Slytherin table, where Pansy had risen out of her seat, jabbing a finger up at them. “They’ll only teach us how to kill Muggle-borns.”
Snape grinned. “That’s the idea.”
Several gasps rippled across the Hall. Colin Creevey wrapped his arm around his brother Dennis’s shoulders. Hermione herself felt a sharp shiver race down her spine. Where were her friends?
“By order of our new Minister of Magic, Mudbloods will no longer be taught at Hogwarts,” several shouts of anguish rose up at Snape’s use of the slur. He ignored them. “Instead, they will be brought forward here and now to be expelled. Students of age will be further sent to the Senior Undersecertary’s Court, and if determined to be the liars they are, given a punishment she sees fit.”
“Senior Undersecretary?” Lavender Brown repeated, turning in her seat and looking up and down at her fellow Gryffindors. “But isn’t that -”
“Can’t be. Fudge fired her, didn’t he?” Ginny pointed out, but Lavender shook her head.
“Fudge isn’t the Minister anymore, is he?”
“Oh no…” Parvati groaned and Hermione felt her blood run cold as the doors to the Great Hall swung open once more, a familiar short pink figure standing in its wake, clipboard already in hand.
Snape nodded, and Umbridge gave a truly evil grin, clearing her throat with her signature “Hem, hem,” then calling out above whispers of anguish, confusion, and fear, “Ackerley, Stewart!”
All eyes turned to the Third Year boy seated at the Ravenclaw table, turning pale and shifting in his seat as students around him began to slide away from him on the bench. The female behind Snape - Alecto - strode forward and raised her wand, taking aim at the small, frightened boy.
“Crucio!”
Kids began to scream panickedly, some jumping to their feet, and others going as far as to bound towards the doors, though Umbridge, Amycus, and Snape all threw spells at them that froze them in their tracks, looking to be enjoying it far too much. Hermione remained frozen stiff, staring forward at the little boy twitching and convulsing on the floor, the Death Eater torturing him cackling on and on.
“Creevey, Colin!”
Now kids, instead of moving away, flung themselves protectively around the Fifth Year, who gulped as he watched Alecto turn her attention to the boy. Colin pushed himself off the bench and onto his arse, scrambling backwards, but froze as Amycus came and grabbed him from behind, snarling down at him with yellow teeth.
Seconds later he too was convulsing and screaming.
“Creevey, Dennis!”
Hermione stood, raising her wand and bellowing out, “Expelliarmus!”
Alecto’s wand rose into the air and clattered a few feet away from her. She glared over at the defiant Muggleborn, who glared back.
“And who are you, Missy?” She sneered, and Umbridge took a step forward, smiling her usual sweet as poisoned-honey way to the girl.
“This is Ms. Hermione Granger, the dirtiest blood we might have on our hands, Ms. Carrow.”
Hermione kept her scowl straight and wand pointed forwards.
“That’s right. I’m also the brightest witch of my age -”
“That’s true!” Neville, who had ducked under the table, emerged to pump a fist in the air and flinched when Amycus glared over at him, but, in an impressive show of bravery, otherwise managed to keep his arm stiff and straight, as firm as Hermione’s scowl and hold on her wand.
“ - Which means I’m not letting any of you hurt my friends.” She sucked in a deep breath. “Now let us go.”
The Carrow siblings glanced at each other, smirking evilly, and slowly Amycus removed his wand, raising and pointing its tip straight at Hermione’s heart.
“Hermione no!”
Ginny had only enough time to get those words out before the beam of red had made contact with the girl’s chest and she stumbled backwards onto the floor, screaming and writhing. Alecto strode over to pick up her wand, the Hufflepuff’s nearest to it quivering at her in fear as she sneered at them, and turned to walk around the table to the girl. The girl whose screams had turned so sharp and so shrill it was making the kids around her wince and cringe, some putting their heads down to block the screams, some ducking under tables, and some starting to stand to only be lowered by their fearful friends.
Who could blame them? Hermione had stood up, and now was a demonstration for them all to see; worthlessly screaming and howling as the Carrows encircled her, an example of the horrors that would come for students who didn’t obey to this new regime. Even the teachers were powerless, as any and all who rose from their seats were immediately halted by the line of Aurors that had just strode out of the sideroom door behind the staff table, flanking each Professor as if they were all criminals.
“Stop.” The sickly honey-sweet voice suddenly called out over the screams and the Carrows pulled back their wands, letting Hermione whimper and quiver, curling in on herself on the floor as Umbridge strode up to her, dipping down to grab her chin in one hand. “We don’t want her unable to come to trial, do we? Headmaster,” She rose, tapping her wand on her clipboard and floating it over into Snape’s hands. “Continue to round up the Mudbloods. I’ll be taking Ms. Granger to the Ministry myself.”
With a wave of her wand over Hermione’s limp body the girl rose into the air and followed Umbridge out of the Great Hall as she floated, suspended and worthless.
The students all faced Snape with apprehension and fear, for if even Hermione Granger could be dismissed in moments and taken to die, what hope did they have left? Still, a few key members of the Hogwarts Order of Defense were staring back at him and the Carrows defiantly, bravery in their hearts. Even if they had no chance they’d fight back, if only for Hermione. And Harry, Ron, and Draco, wherever they were.
“Entwistle, Kevin.”
The screams echoed on.
-*-*-*-
Monday, January 6th
The boys of the Quartet drove silently. They’d awoken and, after a lot of rumbling stomachs, determined they needed to find their way back to civilization if only to get some food. Harry, unfortunately, didn’t know the first thing about that ‘car police’ in the Muggle World, so was doing his best to drive peacefully. He knew it had something to do with camera’s checking the license plate number, so could only hope there weren’t any this far out in the countryside.
None of this was helped by the fact that within a couple of minutes they were driving past a car dealership, the first sign of civilization, which they all averted their gazes from guiltily.
“Hey, don’t these things have a radio?” Ron asked and Harry shrugged.
“Sure, but you aren’t gonna find Celestina Warbeck or -”
“Just try it!”
Rolling his eyes Harry spun the dial for what the instruction pamphlet he had briefly read which the car came with said was used for radio. The first channel was the news, coming in gravelly with a man’s voice, sounding distraught.
“- don’t know what to make of it, Susan. There’s blood all over the streets, and scorch marks too. Calling it the typical makes me sick but there can be no other word for it. We’ve seen this stuff before, afterall.”
“We understand, Gerald, but right outside of the Prime Minister’s office? It’s far from the ‘typical,’ as I see it.”
Harry flicked the radio off and the rest of the drive to the city was silent, until a sign appeared just outside of the building up ahead indicating they were entering ‘Cambridge, UK’ and Ron grinned.
“I’ve been here before! Dad took us to see one of the Muggles’ Art Museums here! A friend from work recommended it to him. Hey, maybe we -”
“Ron, I don’t think now is a good time to look at Muggle paintings,” Draco said, turning to frown at him, speaking up for the first time the whole ride when he had previously been gazing out the window morosely.
Harry turned to look at the back so he could give his best friend a hopeful smile, saying, “Maybe sometime.”
They continued to drive straight, not daring a turn, until they came upon a restaurant Harry said looked nice enough, and turned into an alley, climbing out and, when they were sure no one was watching, tapping the car so that it shrunk toy sized, but not before removing Harry’s rucksack and withdrawing some Muggle money out, zipping Prongs tight inside and out of sight as they stepped into the restaurant.
The atmosphere inside at eleven o’clock was quiet, so that the boys could walk right up to the waitress standing at the entrance and request a table for three, and she didn’t seem to blink at their strange clothes. After she left with their requests for coffee, Harry leaned forward and said,
“We should probably change after we eat,” he said and they nodded, Draco gesturing to the red lanterns hanging around them.
“Are all Muggle restaurants like this?” He asked and Harry snorted when he too took it all in.
“No, guess I just chose a Chinese food place. Sorry,” he shrugged and Draco raised his eyebrows.
“They have separate restaurants for cultures of food outside of the country?” He asked and Harry nodded.
“Well, sure.”
Draco grinned, leaned back in his seat and smirked over to Ron. “Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Ron nodded.
“Ghost food restaurant.” They said in unison and Harry rolled his eyes. And Draco called himself the most mature in the group…
An hour later they were all stuffed on noodles, dumplings, and rice, whether they particularly enjoyed it or not, and were leaving, choosing to walk for a while and discuss their next move that way, not daring to get into the car in broad daylight and get arrested this early in their hunt.
“Priority number one: Find Hermione.” Ron said and Draco nodded.
“She’s the only one of us who’s of age and can do magic without risking the Trace. We may have to sneak into Hogwarts… But we can do it with my Vanishing Cabinets. We’ll just need to find the Leaky Cauldron first.”
“What do you think, Harry?”
But Harry wasn’t listening. He was staring out down the street at the glint of light coming from the river peeking through two houses. Without a word, and drawn towards it by some unexplainable feeling, he bounded down the road, rounding a corner to a bridge overlooking the river and scouring the water for any signs of the light. He glimpsed it for a moment before it disappeared beneath the bridge - a creature on four legs. Without another thought, he was running down the bridge, ignoring the calls of his friends behind him and taking them only as a sign they were still with him.
He climbed over the gate and down through weeds and grass to the underside of the bridge as fast as he could, panting for air and staring wide eyed at a the four legged mist that dissipated before he could see what it was, other than confirming to himself it had to be a Patronus.
“Harry!” He felt Draco clap a hand on his shoulder from behind. “What’re you - Harry!”
He ran forwards, certain the Patronus wouldn’t leave without leaving something behind. Certain its misty blue eyes had locked with his for a reason.
Sure enough, right there, sitting on the sand in a dry spot where the lapping water Harry waded through didn’t touch it, was a piece of parchment, a news clipping beneath it.
Hungrily, he scoured the front page of the Daily Prophet, soon scowling and chucking it had his friends behind him in anger before reading the note.
Hermione isn’t safe. Being held at the Ministry. Spies everywhere.
“No, Draco,” Harry said, turning to face his horrorstuck friends reading the Daily Prophet’s headline and lifting the note for them to see as well. “I don’t think we’ll be finding Hermione anytime soon at Hogwarts.”
-*-*-*-
Sunday, January 12th
Hands pressed against the stone of an alleyway, Harry chanced a glance around the corner of the gray rock structure, hidden completely under his Invisibility Cloak, but still ever cautious as he watched wizard’s and witches alike in various colors of robes march down two sets of staircases to underground toilets; the main entrance to the Ministry of Magic, according to Ron and Draco.
Seeing his opportunity, he sprung forwards suddenly as a man in navy blue robes strode past, grabbing the copy of the Daily Prophet tucked into his briefcase out of his hand and running back into the shadows.
He dodged passing by Muggles, still hidden by the cloak, as he ran to the hotel he and his friends had booked, removing the cloak just outside of it and striding inside, attempting to look as normal as possible as he walked up the steps, a cross between a walk and a jog, pressing their keycard against the lock and stepping in.
Inside, Ron sat in his jumper and jeans on the top bunk of he and Harry’s beds, a series of maps of the Ministry sprawled across the blankets before him. Draco stood before the patch of once blank wall they had covered with notes for their plan to get into the building and save Hermione, titled Rescue Mission 2.0, and Prongs was immediately hopping of Harry’s bed to bark at him, Harry having to hurriedly shush him as he bent down and offered a treat out of his rucksack to shut him up.
He loved his crup dearly, but this hotel was the cheapest due to its no-pet policy. They couldn’t afford to get evicted now, with only a few coins of Muggle pounds left.
“What’s the haul today?” Ron asked, kicking his legs over the side of the bed, prepared to hop down, and Harry turned over and dropped the rest of the contents of his rucksack onto the bed, which, along with the copy of the Daily Prophet, included three stolen sandwiches, two stolen cups of coffee, and a bag of stolen dog biscuits for Prongs.
“Not much. The crowds were too thin this morning,” said Harry, handing Draco and Ron a sandwich and sitting down on his bed to eat his own.
“The coffee’s cold but -”
“It’s still something. I seriously think I’m dehydrating, Harry.” Ron hopped off the bed and downed the cold coffee in one chug while Draco came to sit beside Harry and read the Prophet.
Nothing big today, but, being a Saturday, they’d chosen to add a column for the list of the Muggle-borns being tried by the ‘Muggle-Born Registration Commission’ the next week, and sure enough, Hermione Granger was listed to be tried on January 13th.
“But that’s tomorrow!” Ron exclaimed, dropping the empty cup. “She’ll be dead by dawn!”
“Which means we have to do it tomorrow,” Harry proclaimed, standing and walking over to the notes spread across the wall, folding his arms and frowning determinedly at their plans. “We’re ready, aren’t we? We know she’ll be on Level 10 - that’s where the courtrooms are - we know if we want any chance at getting inside that trial we’ll have to Polyjuice into someone who works directly under the Minister, and we know how to identify them because they’re so important they don’t need uniforms.” he turned back around, throwing his arms up. “What’re we waiting for?”
Ron and Draco glanced at each other, and grinned. “Nothing,” said Ron. “If Hermione were here she’d say we’re being foolish, but considering this is to save her life… I think she’ll be pretty understanding enough.”
They both turned to Draco, who was frowning deeply at their loose, messy plan. With a deep inhale through his mouth, he raised his hands, palms up and said, “You’re right, Harry, ‘what’re we waiting for?’”
Harry beamed and the three sat down crisscross on the ground, Ron spreading his arms out, face alight in strategy mode.
“Alright, here’s the plan…”
-*-*-*-
Monday, January 13th
Hidden beneath the Invisibility Cloak, the three boys stood in the same alleyway they’d been spying from everyday for a week and watched carefully as wizards and witches passed in Auror uniforms, navy blue robes, pinstripes, all distinct uniforms. But they were looking for certain ones that stood out starkly against the rest.
It would have been very helpful to catch Tess, knowing she worked down on Level 10, but she’d been included on the Daily Prophet among the list of Muggle-borns who hadn’t admitted themselves for trial; she wouldn’t be caught anywhere near here.
Instead, a man strode past in neatly pressed black dress robes, Harry hissed ‘Now!’ at Ron, and he slid out from under the cloak to grab the man and yank him into the alleyway, clapping a hand over his mouth, Fred and George’s ‘Out-Like-A-Light’ Handkerchief pressed against his mouth. It was only when the man had properly passed out and was sprawled across the alley floor that Ron swore rather loudly, Draco shushing him, but none could blame him.
They’d accidentally just kidnapped and knocked out Percy.
“I thought your Aunt was torturing him,” Ron said, trying to keep his voice steady even though it was threatening to break with the relief of seeing his brother so intact and whole, and so familiar in his neatly pressed robes and combed and gelled ginger hair. Then again, there was also a sort of gaunt look about his face, that certainly didn’t come from tired nights with baby triplets.
“She was -”
“He’s Imperiused,” Harry determined, kneeling down in front of him and frowning. “He has to be.”
“Well, we’ve got him don’t we? And he’s a Court Scribe, he’ll have to be at Hermione’s trial,” with that Ron plucked three hairs off his head and dropped them into the potion, which turned a grass colored green.
“Bottom’s up,” Ron tipped back the Polyjuice and managed to swallow it easier this time, having used it only a week ago to become Harry, now morphing into an identical copy of his older brother, turning and beginning to remove and replace his clothes as Harry and Draco faced the street once more, still hidden by the cloak.
“That one,” Draco pointed forwards at a slim and gaunt looking man who had just popped up before them.
Harry obediently stepped forward and dragged the wizard into the alleyway as they had with Percy, the handkerchief over his mouth, and he dropped beside the ginger, out like a light as the branding suggested.
Harry plucked off a few hairs from the hiss head and dropped them in a second flask of Polyjuice, handing it off to Draco, who scowled at the copper colored substance.
“He’s Reginald Marchbanks,” Ron read off a sheet of parchments in his briefcase as Draco began the ritual of anyone drinking Polyjuice for the first time, weighing the pros and cons of the surely disgusting dosage. “He works as an Unspeakable. Why do you think he’ll get us into the trial?”
“‘Cause I saw him at mine,” Draco explained, kicking back the potion and grimacing as he swallowed it down. “He’s also on the Wizengamot.” Draco’s hair began to turn an ashy brown, his skin flattening and spreading like butter pulled over his bones. Harry, wincing at the display, turned back to the street to look for one last victim.
“Go,” Harry whispered as a wizard popped into view in front of them, and Ron strode forward, Draco ducking behind the garbage bins he had previously changed behind to do so himself with their most recent victims’ clothes. Adjusting his spectacles and doing his best Percy impression, Ron greeted the much taller man with a nod.
“Good morning, Weasley.” the man said, nodding sternly at the ginger. Harry wondered, idly, what it must feel like to Ron to be a good deal shorter, staring up at a much taller man.
“How are you today?”
“Busy, Weasley, very busy. Work strictly for your Minister. In fact, how about you tell him -”
“Busy, are you? Well then I’m sure you’d take a sweet!” Ron interrupted and the man blanched, looking wide eyed and stunned, scouring Percy’s face as if so a sign of why he was acting so strangely.
“I beg your pardon?”
Ron produced a Nosebleed Nougat from his pocket. “A sweet. Straight from my old - younger brother’s shop you know, I’m sure you’ve heard of it. This one should relieve any stress or anxiety.”
“Weasley I don’t think -”
“I insist! And I do outrank you, you know.” Harry snorted at the way Ron attempted to imitate Percy’s pompous attitude, but he did have to give him a little credit; it worked. The wizard took the candy and shoved it in his mouth.
“Happy?” He growled sarcastically then choked and pressed a hand over his nose as it promptly began to gush blood. “What in Merlin’s name did you give me?!”
“Oh! I must’ve mixed it up with a Nosebleed Nougat,” Ron slapped a hand against his forehead. “My mistake. Well the good news is you won’t have to go to work today and face all that busywork!”
“You madman!” The wizard shouted, so angry and in pain with the blood gushing so violently all over his robes and onto the street he didn’t notice as Harry crept up beneath the cloak behind him and tugged a few hairs out of head. “What did you do to me?!”
“I’m very sorry, Sir, but I don’t think you are in any shape to go to work. You must go to St Mungo’s at once! Take it as an order from your Minister!”
Looking very furious still as he did so, the wizard nodded and with a light pop was out of sight. Ron took a glance back at the alleyway for only a moment before continuing on with the plan and heading straight towards the underground restrooms everyone else was walking towards, removing a gold coin with the letters M.O.M. from his pocket.
Harry returned to the alley to see Draco headed out dressed entirely as Reginald Marchbanks. Hurriedly, he gulped down the Polyjuice Potion and dug into his rucksack to remove a set of Ministry robes that were the closest to what the man wore now, which they had stolen days prior. Then, he too emerged from behind the bins, picking up one of the tokens Draco had left behind for him, tucking the Invisibility Cloak into his briefcase, - they’d stolen enough briefcases and handbags from various wizards and witches in their spying for information that they could be used for their disguises now - and setting off towards the restrooms.
Down in the underground public toilet, Harry looked out over the crowd of wizards easily in search of Draco or Ron’s disguises, but found neither as he moved slowly through the crowd. Instead he watched carefully as the wizard’s inserted golden tokens into slots in the cubicles, opening them up and stepping in. Harry did the same, staring down at the toilet inside with apprehension.
He could hear flushing on either side of him and, horribly, realized the truth of what he was meant to do was he bent down and watched the pairs of feet on either side of him step up into the toilet bowl. Sucking in a deep breath, Harry did the same, but knew for certain he’d done the right thing in a moment as while it appeared like he was standing in water, his feet remained dry. So he reached up and pulled the chain, spinning like a top akin to traveling by floo powder down a short chute. As logic would have it, he emerged a second later out of a fireplace into the Ministry of Magic, stepping out more specifically into the Atrium he and his friends had broken into months ago, complete with the statue of the woman with its grating voice greeting him.
However, the Atrium seemed darker than it had months before, and the golden fountain that had once been the shining centerpiece to the hall, casting its light onto every surface, had been replaced with a black marble structure of a witch and wizard sitting in high backed thrones. Harry stepped closer and saw that engraved in foot-high letters at the base of the statue were the words:
MAGIC IS MIGHT
Harry grimaced at the sight of it, but was removed from his revoir by a sudden heavy blow to the back of his legs and he turned to see a wizard had just appeared out of the fireplace behind him.
“Out of the way, can’t y - oh, sorry, Runcorn!” The wizard scrambled away and Harry frowned after him, heading slowly over towards the statue, hoping that the center of the hall would be a good point to look around for his friends. As he walked, more wizards and witches alike ran away from him. Clearly this man, Runcorn, was intimidating.
“Psst!” Harry looked around and saw Percy Weasley gesturing him forwards, a tall, thin, and gaunt looking man standing just a foot behind him. Harry hurried over, and the group walked ever slowly around the statue, trying to appear like they were doing business and not whispering.
“Lovely sight, isn’t it,” Draco nodded up at the statue and they all winced. Harry idly thought on what Dumbledore might think if he lived to see this abomination.
“What are they?” Harry looked closer at the thrones at which Ron was gesturing, and felt sick. They were humans. Hundred upon hundreds, literally, as they all were piled on top of each other, naked bodies. Men, women, and children, with ugly, twisted faces that reminded him horribly of drama masks.
“Muggles,” the three boys whispered and, swallowing down bile in their throats, turned with the flow of the crowd to find an empty lift down the hall. They had just stepped into a good and clear one, releasing breaths they didn’t notice they were holding, when a hand pressed between the closing doors and a thin man squeezed into the lift with them.
All three immediately felt their hearts sink to the bottom of their chests as they stared at the back of his straw colored head. At the finely pressed burgundy robes and the little badge on his chest, announcing his name and position to the entire world as if he wasn’t a known criminal:
Bartemius Crouch
Muggle-born Registration Commission
Suddenly, and to Harry’s horror, Crouch Jr turned and smiled slyly up at him, displaying his yellowing teeth.
“Clever job with Cresswell, Runcorn. I’ll be sure to put in a good word with Little Miss Pink about a promotion.” He winked, and the group could only dream of what he possibly meant. “After today, of course. We’ve got a hard workload ahead. Guess who we’re trying today?” He stretched his arms out before him, cracking his knuckles so casually that Harry caught Draco glaring at him with a want to kill. “The Granger girl. Merlin, I’ve been waiting for this. Trust me, Runcorn, we’ll make sure to make her hurt for all her Mudblood crimes.”
Now it was Ron’s turn to glare holes into the back of the Death Eater’s head. Harry, carefully, so as not to be noticed by Crouch, placed a hand on his shoulder to calm him.
A pleasant voice Harry remembered hearing when they’d broken into the Ministry the first time announced, “Level 9, Department of Mysteries, incorporating all Unspeakable Offices and the stairs to Level 10.”
The golden gate slid open and Crouch stepped out, turning and nodding to Harry. “You’ll best want to stay out of this one, Runcorn. It’s some crackpot who tried to forge his family tree to connect him to the Malfoy’s.” He barked a laugh. “Bad choice if you ask me; Been turning out a bunch of blood traitor’s, they are. Make sure you don’t miss Granger’s, though, sure to be a treat.” He winked as the gates slowly closed and the lift rose upwards.
“That git,” Ron growled, releasing his hold on the bar beside him he’d been using to ground himself. “That utter piece of shit. How’s he even allowed in here?”
“You-Know-Who’s in control of the Ministry, Ron,” Draco said as calmly as he could. Harry saw his hands were still gripping the bar tight. “Remember?”
The group fell silent. They needed to continue the plan plainly as if Crouch had never arrived. There was no use in changing it for one Death Eater. They had to focus solely on getting down to the Courtrooms again and freeing Hermione, any familiar face that showed itself be damned.
“Level One, Minister for Magic and Support Staff.”
The golden gate slid open, and all three of them gasped.
Three people stood in front of them, but their eyes were immediately drawn to the third, in deep conversation with a long-haired wizard in magnificent robes; A squat, toad-like witch wearing a velvet bow in her short brown hair and clutching a clipboard to her chest.
“Oh, hello Albert! Good morning, Percy, Travers sent you, did he?” Dolores Umbridge said, to which Ron managed to gulp quite forcefully and squeak out, “Yep,” instantly wincing at the un-Percy word. Umbridge didn’t seem to notice, however, instead, turning to the wizard beside her.
“Well he’ll do well, don’t you think, Minister? Barty’s already down there waiting, I want to start straight away,” she looked down at her clipboard. “Twenty-four today, dear Merlin… And the Granger girl!” They all felt sick at the all too familiar gleeful malice that crossed the woman’s face for a moment before she strode straight into the lift, along with the other wizard waiting outside. “We’ll go straight down, Percy, you’ll find everything you need in the courtroom. Oh, Albert, aren’t you getting out?”
Harry startled then, clearing his throat, nodded and said, “Yes, of course.”
As the gates shut behind him, he turned and saw Ron and Draco standing on either side of Umbridge, sinking out of sight, both looking absolutely terrified.
He released a deep sigh once they were out of sight, shaking his head. First Crouch Jr and now Umbridge… And they had thought, so naively, they’d get through this espionage mission smoothly. Well it didn’t matter, they had to keep a cool head anyway. That’s what Hermione would do, afterall. So if he could just turn and meander around so it wouldn’t look suspicious if he hopped on the nearest lift down to Level 9 -
“What brings you here, Runcorn?”
He startled, and turned to lock eyes with who he assumed to be the new Minister of Magic, peering at him through shadowed glinting eyes, like a crab hiding beneath a rock.
“Needed a quick word with,” Harry hesitated then settled firmly on saying, “Percy there said he was up on level one.” He gestured to the lift but the Minister’s gaze remained fixed onto him.
“Ah,” Pius Thicknesse said. “Has he been caught having contact with an Undesirable?”
Harry hadn’t a clue what that meant, but quickly shook his head. “No, no, nothing like that.”
“Ah, well. It’s only a matter of time. If you ask me, the blood traitors are as bad as the Mudbloods. Good day, Runcorn.”
“Good day, Minister.”
Harry frowned as he watched Thicknesse march away, then pulled the Invisibility Cloak out of his briefcase, threw it over himself, and turned to set off along the corridor in search of another lift. As he walked he passed gleaming wooden door after gleaming wooden door, mocking him with their power. He saw Percy’s name, he saw Thicknesse’s. He thought idly, what had happened to Fudge. Had they killed him?
The image of the squat man with a gleaming, still quite new mustache and receding hair lying dead on the floor of his office was not one Harry liked to see, but the mere thought of it was what truly drew him to the new Minister’s door, which he cautiously opened, holding his breath as he stepped inside.
If he hadn’t just spoken to the man himself, he’d still believe Fudge was the Minister with how this office appeared. The walls were all papered emerald and layed with moving paintings or photographs with his face inside, alongside other people Harry didn’t recognize. Except for one photo, propped on his desk so that everyday when Fudge set himself down he’d know doubt see it; the Hogwarts Order of Defense standing beside him at the press conference last June when he’d declared war on Lord Voldemort.
Harry couldn’t explain the sour sort of taste looking at all these happy memories brought to his mouth, but he knew he didn’t want to linger. He could recognize scorch marks here and there, signs of a struggle or fight, but nothing that told him Fudge had died here. With one last look, lingering for a moment on a peculiar painting of a frog-like man in a powdered wig, whose eyes had seemed to follow his every movement inside the office, Harry closed the door firmly (but quietly) and crept back down the hallway to the nearest lift.
He sighed and shook off his cloak as the lift began to sink downwards, and settled on pressing against the back of it, making no noise or movement as wizards and witches poured in on every level, only to nod his head when one greeted him with a, “Good morning, Runcorn!” or “Hello, Albert!” They didn’t have any time to waste anymore, even when Mr. Weasley stepped inside, and the temptation to reach out and talk to him, to beg and ask that he take his family and hide was so strong Harry almost lost it right then. They had to stay focused, for Hermione’s sake.
The lift stopped and announced, ““Level 9, Department of Mysteries, incorporating all Unspeakable Offices and the stairs to Level 10.” and Harry stepped out, pushing past Unspeakables boarding without a care for politeness this time, as he cast his gaze around the familiar dark, torch-lit surroundings of the Department of Mysteries. Hurriedly, he threw the Invisibility Cloak back over his shoulders, and carefully made his way to the doorway to his left he recalled hid a set of stairs to the court chambers through which he’d gone with the Weasley’s and Draco for the latter’s trial over the summer.
As he carefully trodded down the steps to the bottom level of the Ministry he thought hard on what the actual plan to get Hermione out was, trying to recall the wall plastered with papers in their apartment.
He remembered that they all included the three of them being down here, and knew Ron would be, acting as the record-keeper, but he hadn’t a clue where Draco was and couldn’t rely on him to show up -
Then he saw him, just as he stepped over the stairs and turned into a long hall lined with people sat on benches, weeping. On one of those benches sat a very worried looking thin man with a gaunt face and brown hair. Harry recalled Draco’s disguise, and couldn’t help but smile with relief.
“Psst!” He whispered in the man’s ear, then quickly grabbed his hand to calm him. “It’s me.”
“Harry,” Draco whispered back. “Ron’s still in there. I got off at the Department of Mysteries; Umbridge thinks I’m still in the Time Chamber.”
“Where’s Hermione?” It was all that mattered right now.
Carefully, Draco lifted a hand and pointed a finger, and Harry followed it to a girl seated on the bench nearest the courtroom, bent over with her head in her hands so that her bushy head of hair curtained her entire face, but her slim body was still able to be seen, her robes hanging over her caramel skin like elephant skin.
“Hermione…” Harry whispered softly, the sight of her so vulnerable shattering his heart. Then, he gave a violent shiver, and winced, whispering to Draco, “What’s with the cold?”
It had been getting colder but now, the cold was almost overwhelming, tearing at his lungs and filling him with a sense of despair and loneliness, and looking at the people weeping hopelessly around him didn’t help. He had a terrible idea of what it could be and, sure enough, Draco was pointed up at the ceiling now, and he followed his gaze to see at least a hundred Dementors soaring up above them, tall, black-hooded figures, their ragged breathing reaching their ears even feet below.
And they only grew in number as you moved further along the dark passage, reaching their biggest clump around Hermione. Occasionally, one would swoop down to float just above her head, and she’d shiver violently.
Now Harry’s worry for Fudge’s fate increased tenfold; where had he been keeping the Dementor’s after removing them from Azkaban, anyway? What had this ‘Muggle-born Registration Commision’ done to get them back? Harry honestly wouldn’t put anything past Umbridge.
“C’mon,” He whispered to Draco as the doors to the courtroom flew inward and the latest Muggle-born victim got dragged forwards, screaming that she was indeed related to the Selwyn’s, as Crouch Jr had mocked.
Tucking the cloak around Draco Harry moved forwards along the dark passageway. The boys tried their best to remain steadfast and brave, stepping forward down the passageway cautiously and biting their tongues to hold back protest at the scream of the woman as she was dragged away, or shouts when Crouch Jr pranced out of the dungeon, spotted Hermione and grinned maliciously.
She howled horribly as he grabbed his by the wrists and pushed her through the doors, but just before they slammed shut behind the pair the boys managed to sneak through, the clang of the doors echoing dully against the wide chamber they now found themselves in.
“Next - Hermione Granger,” the boys looked up, and saw that this chamber was similar to the courtroom Harry had seen Barty Crouch Jr himself sentenced in. Cold and demeaning, and nothing like the calmer atmosphere of Draco’s trial, where Fudge had greeted him with a soft smile.
Instead, Crouch Jr shoved Hermione cruelly down into the center chair that immediately sprung up with iron shackles, binding her there, where she was forced to raise her head and meet Umbridge’s gaze, all eyes in a sallow, sunken face, completely bloodless.
The ceiling, high and mighty, was filled with hundreds of Dementors, casting a freezing aura upon all inside, except for the high, raised platform to which Hermione now faced, where behind a balustrade sat Umbridge, Crouch Jr climbing the steps to sit beside her, and Ron staring white-faced down at his girlfriend, horrified. Back and forth before these three paced a silvery cat. A Patronus, Harry deduced, meant to ward off the Dementors from the evil accusers.
“You are Hermione Jean Granger?” Umbridge asked in her voice like poisoned honey.
Hermione spoke in a voice wispy and dry, betraying the fact that she’d probably not had anything to eat or drink all week, or at least hardly enough to survive on. “Yes.”
Harry and Draco crept forward carefully across the polished floors, scaling the steps to the platform where Ron sat but never removing their eyes from their friend.
“Daughter of Eric and Annette Granger?”
“Yes.” Hermione said, voice slightly firmer this time as she attempted to straighten up as much as she could under the shackles and face Umbridge with her head high. Harry couldn’t help but smile at her bravery.
The boys knelt behind Ron’s seat, unable to sit and keep both covered by the Cloak. As Umbridge raised her voice to confirm Hermione's age and birth Harry leaned forwards and whispered into Ron’s ear; “We’re behind you.”
As expected, Ron sprang upwards from surprise in his seat and Draco had to grab his shoulder and force him back down, but both this movement and the brief appearance of Draco’s hand suspended in mid air wasn’t noticed by Umbridge or Crouch Jr, but rather Hermione, who briefly flicked her eyes over to it in surprise.
“Ms. Granger,” Umbridge’s voice briefly turned commanding and with a flick of his wand Crouch Jr sent a spark of red down to the poor witch, who recoiled with a shriek when it zapped her on the neck. Wincing, she turned her head back to face Umbridge.
“A wand was taken from you upon your arrival at the Ministry. Ten-and-three-quarter inches, vine, dragon heartstring core. Do you recognize the description?”
“Yes,” Hermione nodded, slowly starting to look more resolute and strong. “That’s my wand -”
“Could you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took that wand?” Umbridge spoke out over her coldly, and Hermione scowled her down bravely.
“I didn’t take it from anyone. I got it from Ollivander’s when I was eleven, just like everyone else, because I am a witch.”
“No you are not!” Yawning as he did so, Crouch Jr flicked his wand and sent another several red jets of light down to Hermione, zapping her cruelly while Umbridge continued to berate her, speaking over her screams. “Wands only choose witches or wizards. You are no witch, Ms. Granger.”
Hermione slumped over when the light finally faded and the boys were horrified to hear that she was sniffling.
“C'mon, Hermione,” Ron whispered, fists clenched around the quill with which he was supposed to be recording all of this. “Get up.”
“Mr. Weasley?” He startled, dropping the quill and turning to face Umbridge with a frightened stare as she held out one of her thick fingered hands. “Would you please pass me the questionnaire Ms. Granger filled out yesterday?”
His hands shook as he flipped through documents before finally handing over the sheet in question, and Harry and Draco kept their gazes fixed on Hermione, who had taken this moments distraction as an opportunity to look back up at who she thought to be Percy Weasley, surely looking for suspicious signs. Without thinking, Harry slipped his hand out from under the Cloak and waved it, to which her eyes widened a fraction and she gave a small gasp. Thankfully, this time neither Umbridge nor Crouch Jr noticed.
“‘Parents professions: dentists.’” Crouch threw back his head and began to laugh harder and harder, cruelly and maliciously, as Umbridge read off each Muggle-like answer on the questionnaire, Hermione trying to cut in around her speech and failing.
“‘Marital status: dating Ronald Weasley.’” Umbridge turned her nose up at this answer and addressed the girl below once more, eyes narrowed to deadly slits. “The Weasley’s are a well-known Pureblood family, Ms. Granger. It sounds, almost, as if you are trying to further dirty the blood of magical people. This could call for the highest of offenses if you don’t comply -”
“Ron loves me!” Hermione shrieked out suddenly, gripping the armrests of the chair and leaning herself as far forward as she could against the shackles. “I’m not charming him or anything. His family knows I’m a witch because it’s the truth!”
“Then his family,” Umbridge grinned a quite toadlike smile indeed, and Harry’s heart sank as he realized she’d fallen for her trap hook, line, and sinker. “Are blood traitors, Ms. Granger.”
“Which are just as bad as a Mudblood in my book,” Crouch Jr said, smirking.
“No.” Hermione’s voice lost all its strength in an instant, immediately breaking at the thought of Ron hurting the way she had been. “No please, no you can’t!”
“Admit to your lies,” Crouch Jr said, leaning forward to stare her down maliciously. “And we won’t lay a finger on him.”
“Percy,” Horrifically, Hermione now looked up to face who she thought was Percy Weasley, leaning forward as far as she could once more, eyes pleading. “Please, you have to be listening to this! Think of your family, Percy!”
Crouch Jr stood fully up, now, pointing his wand down at Hermione and shouting out, “Crucio!” Within seconds she had begun to scream and thrash against the shackles, convulsing with pain and terror.
That was it. Not one of the boys could keep up their cover for a moment more.
It happened as if in slow motion; Umbridge raised her chin and opened her mouth with a cruel smirk tilting up her lips, no doubt about to open her mouth and berate Hermione once more, but she crumpled forward in seconds from Ron’s stunning spell as her forehead smacked against the edge of the balustrade. At the same time, the silver cat vanished and ice-cold air hit them all too suddenly. Crouch Jr spun around wildly but was met with a quick fist to his face by Ron. Meanwhile Draco threw off the Invisibility Cloak without preamble to dash towards Umbridge, shuffling through her handbag and looking every which way for Hermione’s wand while Harry raised his wand high when the Dementors began to glide down towards Hermione, the Patronus no longer stopping them.
But not for long.
“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” A large, majestic stag burst from the tip of Harry’s wand and galloped in the air, rising to meet the Dementors, who recoiled from Hermione instantly, giving Ron time to practically throw himself down the stairs and run to her.
She sat limp, hunched over, and shaking from the too recent effects of the torture curse, and immediately Ron began to get to work at the shackles, yelling out “Diffindo!” But nothing happened.
“How do I get these chains off?” He called up to his friends, but only Harry addressed him, Draco having ducked under the seats in search of a box or something, anything, that could hold a wand. “I dunno… Er…” He thought of Hestia Jones’s arm lying severed in the snow. “Sectumsempra!” he called, pointing his wand down at the shackles and sure enough they broke at the right spot so that Ron could gently wiggle Hermione out of them. Harry, taking one last cautious look up at the Dementor’s, ran down the steps to meet them, turning to call for Draco to come down.
“I can’t find it!”
“Forget my wand,” Hermione choked out, her voice cracking. “I can get another. We have to go.” She paused, looking up into the face of Percy and gently resting a hand on his cheek. “You aren’t Percy, are you?”
Ron gave a watery smile. “Hey, ‘Mione.”
“Ron!” She threw her arms around him, and he breathed a sigh of relief into his hair, and for a moment, Harry let them be just that, them, if only to give Draco enough time to run down the steps to their level. Once he reached them, however, he turned and caught Ron’s eye, jerking his head to the doors.
Gently, Ron pressed his lips to Hermione’s forehead then smoothly picked her up off her feet carrying her bridal style to the doors. It was a testament to the truly weak state the bright witch was in that she didn’t so much as protest.
“Alright, ready your wands for Patronuses,” Harry said, placing his hand on the door and turning back to make sure his friends were ready. Draco was looking up at the ceiling nervously.
“Harry… I never learned how to cast one, remember?” Harry’s heart sank, and he stretched out a hand, Draco stepping forward to take it as he squeezed it comfortingly.
“You’ll be alright.” He reassured him. “Ron and I can take care of it.”
With that he turned and swung open the doors, and the stag galloped ahead of them, soaring into the air towards the Dementors. Ron stepped forward with his own arm outstretched, repeated, “Expecto patronum!” three times, and on the third, his silver terrier soared out of the wand and into the sky alongside stag.
Below, the Muggle-borns, with tear tracks in their cheeks, stared up at the display with wonder, only some taking notice of Harry, managing to rip their gazes from the scene, when he called out over the room.
“It’s been decided that you should all go home and go into hiding with your families. Go abroad if you can. Just get well away from the Ministry. That’s the - er - new official position. Now, if you’ll just follow the Patronuses, you’ll be able to leave the Atrium.”
The group had to split, but ten fit in each lift and the Quartet split so that Ron went to the left with his dog Patronus, Hermione still nestled neatly in his arms, and Harry and Draco went right with the stag. It was this ride up to the Atrium that left Harry stumped on what they’d be greeted with, how absurd they looked. Thankfully, Draco, ever the Slytherin, was the one ahead of these matters, pushing his way to the front of the crowd to face them.
“Hi! I’m er… Reginald Marchbanks,” Harry nodded as an indication that that was indeed his name under Polyjuice. “I work in the Department of Mysteries so er… I’m good at keeping secrets, let’s say! With my er, secret keeping intuition I suggest that you all pretend we’re er… escorting you to Azkaban!”
A long pause, then a man a few feet away from Draco raised one eyebrow and deadpanned, “What?”
With a sigh Harry stepped forward and turned to face the crowd too. They didn’t have much time before the lift reached the Atrium, so they had to make this quick. “Which of you lot has got wands?”
About half raised their hands.
“Okay, all of you who haven’t got wand need to attach yourself to somebody who has. We’ll need to be fast before they stop us. Come on.”
“Level eight,” came the witch’s cool voice, “Atrium.”
He turned around, the gates of the lift parted, and they stepped out into the tight crowd of wizards and witches doing their business. It didn’t appear any more unusual than an hour ago, which Harry took as a sign of no one noticing their break in - good.
“Stay here,” Harry whispered to the group of terrified Muggle-born and sidestepped over to the second group that was just walking out, led by Ron. He placed a hand on his friend’s shoulder and guided him behind the crowd, whispering, “You have to put Hermione down now, carrying her looks too, well…”
“I can’t Harry,” Ron whispered back, and there was only sternness in his gaze; he wasn’t kidding. “She fell asleep.” He looked down and, sure enough, Hermione’s eyes had fallen sometime between nestling her head into the crook of her boyfriend’s neck and the ride up to the Atrium. He sighed, and glanced around before removing the Cloak from his briefcase and tucking it neatly, like a blanket, only covering her head and tangled mess of hair too, around her.
He jerked his head over to the fireplaces. “Let’s go.”
Led by Harry and Draco, with Ron hidden in the center so his suspended arms holding supposedly nothing wouldn’t be seen, the group of convicted Muggle-borns made their way across the Atrium floor, getting many strange looks from all whom they passed, but otherwise managing to look as normal and comfortable as possible.
“What’s up, Albert?” Until halfway across the room, that is, when a balding wizard stopped Harry, looking slightly perturbed. Clearly he found something strange about the display but didn’t want to alarm the intimidating figure of Albert Runcorn.
“This lot needs to leave. Straight shot to Azkaban,” Harry explaid, with as much authority in his voice as possible. He felt a brush of Draco’s hand, and, maybe just by how well he knew his own boyfriend, he didn’t have to wonder what that motion meant, leaning down to the wizard’s face and saying, in a lower, more threatening voice this time, “Would you like me to have your family tree examined, like I had Dirk Cresswell’s?”
The balding wizard’s jaw fell and his eyes widened as he instantly backed away. “Sorry! I didn’t mean nothing, Albert, but I thought… I thought they were in for questioning and…”
“They were, and they were deemed guilty. Their blood’s the dirtiest I’ve ever seen,” said Harry, his intimidating voice booming quite loudly around the hall. “Now are you questioning my direct order’s?” He leaned closer, raising a finger into the man’s face.
He gulped. “No, sir.”
“Good,” He rose and started off towards the fireplaces again. They reached them, and, due to Harry’s display, no one else in the Atrium said a word or stopped to stare as one after the other, the Muggle-borns stepped into the flames. They were almost finished, down to just the last five people, when a voice surely the opposite of one any of the Quartet ever wanted to hear again called out over the Atrium.
“STOP THEM!” Harry, Ron, and Draco all reared their heads, eyes wide with horror as Barty Crouch Jr shoved people aside, pushing through the crowd. Harry felt other eyes on him and turned to see the balding wizard lifting his wand. Three of the five Muggle-borns left rose their own, the other two cowering behind them.
Without really thinking it through, Harry wheeled back his fist and punished the balding wizard in the face, knocking him cold, and calling over to Crouch Jr, who had come to halt, removing his wand, “This man’s trying to free Muggle-born’s!”
Immediately, wizard’s and witches around the balding wizard raised their hands and shouted support or protests into Crouch Jr’s ears, while he gritted his teeth in a sneer, persistently raising his wand to Harry.
“I don’t have time for this,” he pointed over at Ron. “You. I think you and I need to have a little chat with the Dark Lord.”
Ron paled. So Percy had been under the Imperius curse.
Crouch Jr smirked, gesturing with his wand towards the ginger’s elevated arms. “What’re you holding, anyway?”
Ron looked down at the invisible Hermione in his arms, rolled his head, releasing a soft, “What the hell?” before retrieving his wand from his robes and pointing around the invisible unconscious witch he was carrying, bellowing, “Stupefy!”
Harry spun around as Ron and Crouch Jr began an angry duel, wizards and witches around them stopping and gawking, unsure of who was the intruder. He pointed a finger at the group of equally scared looking Muggle-borns, then the fireplaces. “Go!” he shouted and grabbed Draco’s hand, heading towards the nearest one himself and calling out to Ron, “Come on, we have to move!”
Wincing, Ron threw up a shield against Crouch Jr’s latest spell and dived into the flames just as Harry and Draco stepped in, hopefully still holding Hermione close.
Once they’d spun out of the toilets and crammed into a cubicle, the Invisibility Cloak slipped off her in the movement but they all saw that Hermione was still safe with them. Hurriedly, Harry picked up the cloak and shoved it in his briefcase, shoving open the stall door.
“Let’s go!”
They bounded out towards the exit, scaling the steps out of the underground bathroom, when Hermione, being dragged along by Ron, let out a shriek just as Harry, at the front, grabbed the door handle. The group spun around and saw Crouch Jr had emerged from a separate cubicle, gripping Hermione’s foot. Ron managed to grab her by the shoulders and yank her backwards, so that when he disappeared with a pop, he took only one of her ballet flats with him.
Without another word, all understanding the stakes now, the group spun around and continued running full force for the street, where they stepped out into the nearly blinding sunlight after being underground so long. Hermione certainly had to shield her eyes as they kept dragging her forwards to the back alley where Harry’s rucksack still sat waiting. He slung it over his shoulder and whistled, Prongs sprinting out of a turned over trash can and onto his knees, barking like mad.
“Yeah, yeah, I know buddy, but we don’t have time for pets or kisses. I’ll get you treats later but now -”
He trailed off, and once more, he seemed, for a moment, to see everything around him through slow motion.
He saw Percy Weasley, the real one, rising from beneath the shreds of garbage they’d hidden him with and reaching forward to grab Harry by the wrist, nothing of his usual self in his eyes, only malice of a mindless imperiused wizard. Briefly, Harry recalled an image of Barty Crouch Sr, sallow skinned and empty like a shell of a human. Then, he felt Ron’s hand on his shoulder, turned his head to see he was pointing down the street at Crouch Jr bounding towards him, yelling something though Harry couldn’t hear; his very world felt fuzzy suddenly.
He felt Draco squeezing his hand, mindlessly wrapping his own fingers around his crup’s collar, then the world became a sudden, very fast blur of color.
They were Apparating, but it didn’t feel natural or normal at all. This wasn’t side-along-apparition - none of the Quartet were willing.
He heard yelling all around him, but now it didn’t feel just fuzzy but warped and distorted. The colors too. Bright, then black. Light, then dark. Ginger hair, bushy hair, ginger hair, blonde hair, was that his own hair?
Someone was still holding his wrist. Through the tightness of his lungs and pounding of his head, making him feel as if he was suffocating, Harry dimly realized the man holding on wasn’t supposed to be, and with all the strength his could muster yanked his wrist back, keeping his fingers tight around a leather band caught there.
He heard a lot of screaming all at once one last time, and maybe he was screaming too. He wouldn’t know, all he felt was that he was slipping into the darkness, the last thing he made sure to do was squeeze the hand of the person he was still holding on to him tightly, understanding it was the right thing to do.