Shadowed

The Order had abandoned both their camp attack and prison raid ideas. They had too little info, and the ideas were too risky. Harry had always hated Snape, but Ron hated him more than ever now. He blamed him for the Resistance’s inability to strike Voldemort’s army. Every time Harry talked to him, the conversation managed to turn into Ron ranting about Snape’s uselessness. Though it seemed cruel, Harry agreed with most of Ron’s statements. Snape hadn’t been delivering information of value for a while, besides warnings of new spells that the Death Eaters were developing. Those warnings weren’t much help when the Resistance hadn’t been in a skirmish in nearly a month. Every day seemed to bring more and more hopelessness into the air of Grimmauld Place.

When Ron wasn’t yelling at Snape, or reading a book about World War II desperately, he was shagging some girl in his bedroom. Harry often found himself wandering the halls aimlessly while he waited for whatever girl Ron had chosen to leave. Lately, it was usually Lavender who left, adjusting her blouse as she hurried down the hall. Sometimes, it was Padma, when she wasn’t helping to heal someone in the hospital ward. On rare occasions, and to Harry’s utter dismay, Romilda Vane sauntered from the bedroom with a slight smirk. She had realized that Harry was off the market, and had turned her attention towards Ron instead. Despite all of Harry’s warnings, Ron continued to sleep with her time and time again when Lavender or Padma were unavailable.

“What?” Ron said one evening, after Harry had been kicked out for two hours and was now giving him a look of questioning. “It’s not like I’m gonna marry her.”

It was one of those instances (it was, to no surprise, Lavender) and Harry was smoking in the drawing room with Dean and Seamus. They were leaning against each other, too relaxed from the nicotine to notice Harry’s gaze. He had noticed that they seemed close, almost as if they were more than friends. He didn’t ask. They didn’t tell. Everyone needed someone to love, or else, they would go insane in the environment of the war.

There was an uneven sound of wood hitting the floor as Moody walked in. He ignored Dean and Seamus, instead focusing on Harry.

“Order meeting. Now!” He barked. Harry noticed he clutched a wound scroll in his right hand. “Gather everyone.” With that, he limped towards the dining room.

After letting out a groan, Harry stood and made his way up to the hospital ward. There weren’t many injured to look after, due to the lack of battle. George was still in, but had plans to live with Arthur and Molly in their Aunt Muriel’s house when he was released. Lee was also bedridden. After waking up, the healers had learned that he was prone to seizures, could barely speak or move, and had little bodily control. They had plans to send him to St. Mungo’s as soon as possible. The Weasley twins were wrought with grief. Katie and Seamus had both healed (with some scarring), and were ready to get back to the battlefield.

Hermione was always in the hospital ward, and therefore, the easiest to locate. Harry informed her of the meeting, and then went on a quest to find the others. Surprisingly, none of the Order resided at Grimmauld Place besides Harry, Ron, Fred, George, and Hermione. If his memory served him right, they were scattered throughout safe houses. Sending multiple patronuses would’ve been the best way to communicate. The only problem; Harry couldn’t conjure a patronus. After Sirius and Dumbledore’s deaths so close to each other, he hadn’t been able to cast one for over a year. It took him hours of practice to get a single wisp of light out of his wand. Then, Luna had died, and the faint light of his patronus disappeared. Ron and Ginny were the only two who knew that he was unable to conjure one. When in battle with dementors nearby, they stayed close to him to protect him with their own.

Just minutes after leaving the hospital ward, Harry returned to talk to Hermione. She was administering medicine to a final patient when he walked in.

“Hermione,” he asked tentatively, “are you able to cast a patronus?”

She stacked a final bottle and closed the door. “Barely.” She admitted. “I’m only able to do it when I’m in desperate need of one. How come?”

“I need an Order member to cast a few and send them to the major safehouses. Moody wants an Order meeting now, and tasked me to gather everyone.”

Hermione raised her brows. “Now? Usually he tells everyone at least a day in advance before a meeting.” When Harry didn’t reply immediately, she continued. “Why don’t you just cast one?”

Harry desperately wished he had a cigarette. He looked away, and fiddled with his fingers as he thought of an excuse.

Hermione’s eyes widened with realization. “How…” She cut herself off when she saw the expression on Harry’s face. “Um, I could certainly try, but I don’t think I’d be able to cast more than one or two. How many do you need?”

He counted quickly, making note that Fred was currently with Molly and Arthur, and that Minerva didn’t have to be notified since she rarely came to meetings anymore. “Eight.”

“I can’t possibly cast that many. I’m sorry, Harry. Surely Moody will if you ask him.”

“Yeah, but I don’t want to let him know that– that I can’t. He’ll find some way to blame me for it.”

Harry didn’t notice that George had sat up in his bed nearby. “I could do it.” He said. Both Harry and Hermione jumped at the unexpected voice. In George’s hand was his wand. Miraculously, it was still perfectly intact from when he had been hit with the necrosis curse. He must’ve noticed the look of doubt on Harry’s face, because he said, “I’ve always been able to cast them pretty well. Even,” his voice became slightly choked, “after Percy’s death, and this.” He gestured to his missing leg. “Now, if Fred were to die, I’m sure it’d be different, but I can definitely cast some.” He joked. Hermione opened her mouth to protest, but he cut her off. “‘Mione, don’t you start. Just because I’m in this ward doesn’t mean I’m useless.”

Harry gave him a slight smile. I’ll owe him for the rest of my life for this, he thought. George nodded in reply, and closed his eyes. After some silence, he muttered “Expecto Patronum.” A silver magpie shot from his wand, and whisked by Harry, ruffling his hair. He continued to cast seven more. When they had all disappeared down the hall en route to safe houses that contained Order members, he finally opened his eyes. They were glazed with tiredness. “That was harder than I thought it’d be.” He chuckled through a forced smile. “Well, have fun at the meeting, you two. If Kingsley opts to be a bitch, know that, if I had my leg somewhere, I’d whack him over the head with it.”

Hermione shook her head, but Harry noticed she was holding back a laugh. He grinned at George, hoping the Weasley brother understood just how much he had helped Harry.

Downstairs, it didn’t take long for Order members to start flooding in. Charlie, Mundungus, and Sturgis were the first, since they were all situated in the same safe house. When Fleur and Fred arrived, Harry decided to go and retrieve Ron. He had saved him for last, with the hopes that when the time came to get him, Lavender would be long gone.

The bedroom door was still shut when Harry went to it. A pit in his stomach began to grow. He made his way over to it, and knocked twice. There was no answer. “Erm,” he started, “there’s an Order meeting that’s been called. It’s urgent.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, he rushed downstairs, hoping that Ron had been reading and doing nothing else. His hopes were futile. While waiting in the drawing room for Ron, he saw Lavender walk downstairs. Her hair was in a messy ponytail, and she was hurriedly wiping off her sweat slicked forehead. A few minutes later, Ron came down. Besides his face being slightly pink, he looked perfectly fine. He had clearly cleaned himself up more than Lavender had bothered to.

His face was twisted into a scowl. “Did Moody and Kingsley really call a meeting now? Why the hell would they do that?”

Harry’s voice sounded apologetic. “I’m not really sure.”

Ron seemed to grow even more frustrated. “Pretty fuckin’ poor timing. God, if I didn’t hate Snape so much, Kingsley and Moody would be top of the list.”

Harry knew he didn’t mean that, and was simply upset, but didn’t interject. He and Ron took their usual seats near the head of the table, and waited for the meeting to start.

The scroll Moody had been holding was nowhere to be seen. Instead, there was a large sheet of parchment on the table in front of him. It was covered in messy writing that looked like a mix between cursive and print. From where he sat, it appeared almost illegible.

There was a noise from the back of Moody’s throat, signaling that the meeting was beginning. All whispers and small talk quieted. “We have obtained vital information on the prison near Cheshire. With this new knowledge, it’s possible to stage a rescue.”

“Was this retrieved by Severus? I thought his intelligence was limited to potions and dark curses.” Remus said, venom hidden in his tone.

“It was retrieved from a snatcher interrogation.” Moody replied. Remus nodded, unsurprised. His eyes, along with Ron, Charlie, and Harry’s, all turned to look at Snape menacingly.

Ron crossed his arms and leaned back. “Okay then. On with it.” He said impatiently.

Moody’s brow furrowed, but he didn’t let Ron’s words anger him. “We have a rough map of the facility, along with details on security and interior conditions. Inside, there are approximately 47 prisoners, based on a recent file. No experiments are being conducted inside; those are limited to a few curse development divisions around England. This is simply made up of holding cells. The only physical harm being brought upon the prisoners is interrogation, mainly the cruciatus. No one inside should have permanent damage.

There are three floors, but only the upper two have cells, and only the top level is above ground. The ground floor is where the entrance is, and consists of mainly guards. The top two floors are arranged with two rows of fifteen cells each, adding up to sixty in total. The elevator leading to the ground floor is guarded in three areas: where it starts above ground, where it ends below ground, and inside. Two guards are in each position. Approximately twenty are inside, besides the ones at the elevator. The more dangerous prisoners, which would be members of the Resistance, are hidden behind metal doors fit with wards and protective enchantments at the end of the hall on the top floor. The building itself is also magically protected above ground, with anti-apparition wards stretching for thirty feet on each side. It’s indestructible from the outside, but not from the inside. Underground, there are few protective spells, since the Death Eaters don’t expect any threats to make it past the elevator. The elevator can hold approximately twelve people.

If we can make it down to the ground floor, we could attack and escape before they have a chance to summon more Death Eaters. The only problem is, how do we get through to the elevator?”

For once, the Order was silent. Harry felt a twinge of excitement in his chest. They had information. They hadn’t had that much detailed information in months. For so long, they had been thriving on hints derived from snatchers and Snape, and would piece the hints together until they felt they had enough information to attack. Sometimes, it worked. Other times, like the Norfolk prison, it didn’t. As Harry looked around, he realized he wasn’t the only one feeling hopeful. This news brought long awaited optimism into the walls of Grimmauld Place.

Harry was first to speak, while the others absorbed the lengthy speech. “Well, could we send Snape to take out the guards at the top entrance of the elevator? He could also get rid of the ones inside it. No one would suspect him. We could go in waves. The first wave could take out the guards, and cover the second wave, which could go inside and rescue the prisoners.”

Kingsley immediately shut down his idea. “No. We are not risking Severus.”

“But-”

“I know your opinions on him. That doesn’t change the fact that he’s a vital member of the Order. If a single guard who saw him survived, it would put the entire Order at risk. That’s simply not worth it.”

Frustrated, Harry let out a huff. Ron glanced over at him sympathetically. There was no noise as the wizards and witches thought of a possible plan. Even Ron looked stumped. Voldemort was clever, having built it in the middle of open fields. There was no way to have the element of surprise on their side. They could apparate to the outside of the anti-apparition wards covering the prison, but then they would have to hurry and take out the guards outside the elevator before they could gather more.

When Fleur spoke, it seemed she had reached the same conclusion. “I think ze only way to possibly get inside is to apparate right outside of the wards, and stun ze Death Eaters guarding the elevator doors.”

“While we’re dealing with the guards outside, Harry and someone else could sneak into the elevator under the Invisibility Cloak and knock out the guards inside somehow.” Dedalus said with a shrug.

Ron rested his mouth atop his closed fist, while his thumb tapped at his cheek. He opened his mouth and inhaled, drawing the room's attention to him. “That could work. Two of us go in and sprint across the thirty feet of wards to knock out the guards before they can alert the ones inside the elevator. While we duel those guards, Harry and whoever else go into the elevator and deal with those guards, and once the four Death Eaters are taken out, we could go in waves, like Harry said, down to the prison entrance. While one group duels the guards, the other group could rescue everyone inside. Also, once someone arrives at the top floor, they could blast a hole in the wall to make an easier escape route, since it’s level with the ground.”

More silence. Then, Kingsley said, “That should work.”

The first time Kingsley had approved one of Ron’s plans, he had run to Harry and Hermione to tell them the news. He had been so excited. Over the next day, a smile seemed permanent. Then, the plan had been carried out, and Molly had nearly been killed by a harpy. The childlike light in Ron’s eyes had been quickly extinguished, and hadn’t returned since.

Even as Kingsley nodded at this plan, Ron didn’t react. He just sat silently, probably wondering how many lives his plan would cost the Resistance.

By the end of the meeting, they had drafted a chart of who was going on the mission. A group of ten, including Harry and Ron, would go in first to hold off the guards. Another wave would then sneak past them and free the prisoners inside. It would be risky, but the risk seemed worth it in the long run. The date was set. The Resistance had a few days to gather the fighting wizards and witches, and prepare for the rescue.

Grimmauld Place was full of energy in the following few days. There were more insomniacs than ever, crowding the drawing room with smoke and depressing conversations. Harry was rarely ever in his room, due to it being occupied by Ron or Fred most of the time. Instead, he sought out Ginny. They would lie next to each other at night in her bed. She fell asleep fairly quickly, and he would synch his breathing to hers. While she slept, he would run his fingers through her silky hair and whisper his doubts about the war. How, if this rescue wasn’t a success, the Resistance would be well on their way to losing to Voldemort's armies. He would talk about his nightmares. He would cry about Sirius and Dumbledore, Percy and Colin. Cedric, whose death had started this whole thing. When his tears had dried, he would simply close his eyes and breathe in the faint scent of her shampoo. Hibiscus, she had said it was.

He was glad she was never listening to what he said, late at night. But sometimes, he admitted to himself, he wished she secretly were.

The day arrived, with bright skies of blue. It seemed like good weather to go swimming in. Maybe, if the mission ended well, Kingsley and Moody would let him out during the day to go to a nearby pool. Had Minerva talked to them? He hadn’t heard anything about it. That could wait until later, he reminded himself. This rescue could be the beginning of turning the tide of the war. It had to work.

Twenty witches and wizards all gathered in the entryway of Grimmauld Place, wands at the ready. Harry had his invisibility cloak on, except for the hood, so that his face was visible. Neville, Harry’s assigned partner, was also partially under the cloak. Usually, each member of the Resistance had the same partner at every skirmish. Ron was Harry’s. Except, Ron had been adamant about wanting to be one of the first to run across the field, since he was one of the fastest the Order had. He was temporarily paired with Dean.

For the plan to work, the timing had to be precise. When Kingsley arrived, he went back over everything again, just to make sure the idea was clear. First, Ron, Dean, Harry, and Neville would apparate to the edge of the anti-apparition wards. Thirty seconds later, the first group of six (ten, counting the first four) would apparate, and the group would go below ground together. Ten seconds after the first group, the second group would follow, and get inside the prison. If any group was a mere thirty seconds off, it could cost the entire mission.

Harry wasn’t as nervous as he should’ve been. He had smoked through a pack during the night, and had taken a shot of Charlie’s firewhisky (when he had temporarily left the room). The usual sickness in his stomach pre-mission was replaced with nothing. He didn’t feel a thing, except slightly dazed. The world around him seemed to be moving in slow motion. Shit, I should’ve tried to sleep, Harry thought with regret. The combination of alcohol, nicotine, and exhaustion could quite possibly get him killed.

“Harry? Are you all right?” Neville asked. His face was full of concern. Harry realized with great horror that he had been leaning his entire body on Neville’s side.

“Oh, yes. I’m quite well.” He stuttered.

Neville swallowed nervously, and nodded, though Harry got the impression that he didn’t buy it.

The worries over his physical condition didn’t last long, since a few minutes later, Moody and Kingsley gave Ron the signal to apparate to the field. Moody’s final words seemed to slur into one as Ron and Neville each squeezed Harry’s hand and an uncomfortable tightening sensation consumed Harry. The room in front of them vanished with a blink.