45: Backlash
It wasn’t real. It couldn’t be.
It was a scene that would stay with Kingsley Shacklebolt for the rest of his life. Those dreadful few minutes, etched vividly upon his memory with startling clarity and tinged with stunned disbelief. He remembered Tonks’ bloodless face as she was flung backwards like a rag doll by an invisible blow, clattering limply to the floor in a flurry of limbs to lie motionless, unmoving. He remembered the contorted horror on Remus’ features as he crumpled from the Dementor’s grasp, his face marked with red stains from the dreadful Kiss he had suffered, his fingers digging into his scalp like claws as he curled, almost instinctively it seemed, into a shuddering, shivering, sobbing ball, oblivious to all around him. He remembered Hermione Granger’s scream of horror as her hands clamped across her mouth; he remembered Ron Weasley’s look of wide-eyed shock and Harry Potter’s disbelieving fury. He remembered the expression of rage on Mad-Eye Moody’s face as he roared with impotent anger.
And he remembered the Dementor. It wasn’t easy to forget.
For an instant, it was motionless, staring down at its shivering victim with the emotionless detachment that Kingsley had come to expect from its kind. And then, softly, almost unnoticeably, it began to tremble.
But Kingsley noticed when the shaking spread and grew, intensifying as it travelled from the hooded head down through the torso and out, one by one into the limbs, its long robe rippling and dancing with the force of its vibrations, its slimy hands flexing as it scratched and scrabbled almost desperately at the air. It reeled and almost seemed to stagger as it crumpled inwards on itself, clutching its hands against its chest, its terrible mouth keening silently in voiceless agony. With an odd ripple, purple steam began to stream out from its skin.
And then, it simply dissolved.
Its fingers contracted and then suddenly disintegrated into greyish-purple fragments that tumbled away to the floor. Dust erupted in plumes from the folds of its robe as its features, such as they were, contorted, its eyeless face ripping out a silent scream towards the heavens. And then, twisting and folding in on itself, its face flexed, shuddered and then crumbled away into dust.
The empty robe crumpled to the floor. The remains of its former inhabitant stirred softly in the air around it.
For a moment, Kingsley could only stare in bewildered disbelief, his mind, still struggling to comprehend the events of the past few moments, now stretched either further. What in the name of Merlin had just…
“Kingsley! Professor Moody!” Hermione’s anxious cry grabbed instant attention. “Tonks won’t wake up and she’s barely breathing! Help me, please!” Her voice filled with despair. “I don’t know what to do!”
Kingsley’s head snapped round to where the bushy haired girl was crouched at his fellow Auror’s side. In three strides he had reached them.
Images of the Department of Mysteries flashed before his eyes as he stared at Tonks, motionless and unconscious, slumped upon the floor. Dropping to his knees, he tested for a pulse and to his relief, it was there, a faint, weak flutter against his fingertips. Her chest was rising but only barely, her features wan and bloodless. Her eyes remained emphatically closed.
Hermione’s voice tuned in over his preoccupation. “…tried enervate but she didn’t even blink! Professor Lupin told us it was probably lethal to use the Imperius curse on a werewolf and she still…oh!” Her eyes widened with horror. “Professor Lupin! That Dementor, it…”
“Look out!”
He heard the terrible, echoing snarl but even as he wheeled around, wand half-raised, he knew it was too slow, too late as clawed fingers slashed towards his face and he stared into the terrible golden eyes of the feral figure lunging towards him…
“Stupefy!”
The spell struck his would-be assailant like a physical blow, flinging him backwards to slam with a sickening crash into the wall. He crumpled to the floor and did not rise.
Her wand still extended before her, Rebekah Goldstein stepped hurriedly out of the doorway where she had sheltered since the fight had begun. Her eyes fixed upon the figure she had just stunned with a mixture of pity, satisfaction and revulsion.
For a moment, Kingsley fought to breathe. Where the hell had that….
No. Oh no. Please don’t let it have been…
Heart leaden, he allowed himself to follow Rebekah’s gaze and felt himself release a breath he was barely aware he’d been holding.
Dolph Greymoor, Count Adolphus Mingan-Moritz, Death Eater, werewolf and expert caster of the Imperius Curse lay silent, his clawed fingers splayed out beside him, his golden eyes now closed and his human soul emphatically lost. All that remained now was wolf.
“Keep her comfortable. Call me if she worsens.” With what he hoped was a reassuring pat of the shoulder, Kingsley rose hurriedly from Hermione’s side and walked over to where the pale and almost unnaturally still form of Rebekah Goldstein was standing, staring blindly. She glanced up at the Auror’s approach, her chin still shaking slightly. “I had a feeling that was coming,” she stated softly, almost clinically as, with her flick of her wand she bound the feral remains of her tormentor in strong ropes. “From the moment he was Kissed, I knew his human soul was gone and what that meant.” She took a deep breath, her lips tightening into a tight line. “I was tempted to use a stronger spell,” she added quietly. “Perhaps even an Unforgivable. But somehow I prefer the irony of leaving him to live like this. A fortified cell on Level Six will do for him nicely.”
A sudden cold chill darted through Kingsley’s heart as his eyes snapped down to where Remus still lay, shivering in a ball on the floor. Mad-Eye, who had apparently just sealed the last of the Dementors back inside their chamber, was crouched beside him, wand hovering in a manner that combined watching over a friend with the guarding of a deadly threat.
The question seemed horrendous. But it had to be asked.
“What about Remus?” he said softly, almost fearfully. “Will he be the same?”
Moody’s electric eye rolled, his expression dark and grim. “Just what I was wondering. Do we lock Lupin up or take him to hospital?”
Kingsley felt a ripple of disquiet at Moody’s bluntness, but it was undeniably to the point. He turned to Rebekah. “You’re the expert. Can you tell whether he’s still in there?” he asked sharply.
Rebekah shook her head slightly as she tore herself away from her contemplation of Dolph the feral and dropped hurriedly to her knees at Remus’ side. Her eyes intense, she touched her fingertips gently against her shuddering cousin, before reaching down to examine his proliferation of wounds. Immediately her lips tightened as she drew in a sharp breath; muttering a quick sedation spell, she and Moody caught Remus as his body dropped limply and lowered him carefully to the floor. Only then did she respond to Kingsley’s question.
“Hard to say,” she responded, her tone soft but extremely direct. “Under any other circumstances, I’d say turning feral was inevitable but throw an Imperius curse into the mix and who knows? It depends how well the spell worked, the degree of separation between the wolf mind and the human and even then…” Her eyes rose and met Kingsley’s, rich with uncertainty and doubt. “I don’t know,” she stated frankly. “But whatever’s left inside his head, these physical injuries are life threatening. We need to get him to St Mungo’s. Now.”
“And Tonks too.” Kingsley’s voice was grim as he rose rapidly to his feet. “Alastor, I’ll go fetch the others; you have Tonks and Lupin ready to move when I get back. We’ll have to carry them past the wards so let’s be as quick as we can. We’ll send the kids back to Hogwarts as soon as…”
“Wait!” It was Harry, rushing forward with his wand grasped in his hand. “What about Wormtail? He did all this and you’re just going to let him get away?”
Kingsley grimaced. In all the shock of the past few moments, he had almost forgotten Peter Pettigrew and his cowardly flight. “I’ll brief the teams that stay behind to search for him,” he exclaimed, rather more sharply than he had intended. “They can…”
“But we’re the closest! He can’t have got far, he…”
Kingsley decided to put a quick end to the debate. “Believe me, Harry, it galls me as much as it does you. But Remus and Tonks are critical and getting them help has to be first priority. There isn’t time to…”
“I’ll stay behind!” A cocktail of desperation, fury and concern swirled over Harry’s features. “I’ll find him! I can’t just run back to school, I have to do something! Professor Lupin and Tonks would want him caught! They’d…”
Helplessness. Such a painful emotion. But satisfying as Harry’s solution would be, Dumbledore would have his head if he let the boy run off after a Death Eater alone…
“No.” He firmed his resolve as Harry’s expression contorted with frustration. “You three stay with Moody. He’ll be reporting to Dumbledore and he can take you back to Hogwarts at the same time. I’m sorry, Harry. It’s the best I can do.”
Harry opened his mouth but Kingsley could spare no more time for his protests. Turning sharply on his heel, he rushed back into the passageway and called out in such of help.
* * *
In contrast to what had passed before, Kingsley found that the next few hours blurred indiscriminately into a fog of vague images. He could just about recall arriving at St Mungo’s for it had been then that a horde of figures in lime-coloured robes had descended upon them, sweeping Tonks away rapidly to the Spell Damage wards on fourth floor and Remus to the Creature-Induced Injuries wards of the first. He recalled flashes of the determined faces of Rebekah Goldstein and Hestia Jones as they rushed away with the two casualties, promising news as soon as they had it, and the pale face of Remus’ school friend Felisha as she appeared beside him, eyes filled with horror and concern.
And then it seemed he had simply sat beside the Institute researcher with his head in his hands, waiting in stagnant, unmemorable silence for news that never seemed to come.
It wasn’t until perhaps three hours later that the world drifted back into focus. It began with the arrival of Bill Weasley.
“Kingsley!” At the sound of his name, the Auror glanced up to find the tall redhead striding towards him, his robes somewhat battered and tainted slightly with what looked disconcertingly like blood. His hair was dishevelled, his features tight and his body language speaking eloquently of exhaustion as he dropped wearily into the empty chair on Kingsley’s other side. He sighed deeply.
“I thought you’d want to know,” he said, his voice a tired murmur. “The Institute’s secured. Once the rest of the Aurors showed up, what resistance was left crumbled pretty quickly. Valerian Gibbon made a bit of a fuss when we finally let him out of that chamber Harry stuffed him and his friends in but he’s off to Azkaban as we speak and good riddance to him. As for that werewolf Death Eater, Adolphus…” He shrugged slightly. “Aylward and Falconer took him off our hands. He’s been remanded in the custody of the Institute and locked up in a high security cell on the top floor. Best place for him really.”
Kingsley wiped a weary hand across his brow. To his left he observed in passing that Felisha had fallen asleep. “Pettigrew?” he inquired, more in hope than expectation.
Inevitably, Bill shook his head. “We’re still looking,” he remarked with resignation. “But nothing so far.”
Kingsley sighed deeply, fighting a flood of regret. They’d been so close. Bloody Pettigrew, how did he always manage to sneak away so well? And with such chaos in his wake?
But the Auror was in no mood dwell upon such thoughts. “And the werewolves?”
Bill’s face darkened as he touched his bloodstained robes gingerly. “We lost two,” he reported tiredly. “According to Falconer, their names were Solomon Baines and Thor Wilding. Baines was a borderline feral by the sound of it; he made no attempt to live like a human and moved with a group who called themselves the Pack. And Wilding…” He pulled a face. “Much as I hate to say it, in his case it looks like death was a blessing. He’d got hold of a Death Eater somehow and ripped him half to shreds before he lost hold and turned on himself. The frustration of being caged after tasting blood seems to have driven him into a frenzy and by the time moonset came, he was too weak to survive the change back to human.” He gestured to his robes. “It was messy in there.”
Kingsley winced uncomfortably. “And the others?”
“They’re all pretty scratched up.” Bill’s eyes drifted towards the ceiling. “About five of them were serious enough to be transferred here “ I’ve just come from their ward. The rest are being treated on site by the Institute staff and the Aurors.” For a moment, the tall young man was silent. But then, tentatively, almost fearfully, he spoke once more.
“Moody told me what happened to Tonks and Remus before he headed off to Hogwarts,” he stated quietly. “Has there been any news on how they are yet?”
“Exactly what I would like to know.” In spite of himself, Kingsley started sharply at the sudden but quiet intrusion of a very familiar voice; glancing up he found himself staring into the sad blue eyes of Albus Dumbledore. The old headmaster’s expression was a mask of grim melancholy and sincere concern.
It was with weary regret that Kingsley forced himself to shake his head. “Hestia and Professor Goldstein from the Institute went with the healers,” he explained, his voice heavy with tiredness and half-suppressed frustration. “They promised us news when they had it. But we’ve heard nothing yet.”
Dumbledore’s eyes flickered behind his half moon spectacles. “I shall make enquires,” he declared quietly. “But first “ has anyone thought to contact Reynard Lupin or Ted and Andromeda Tonks?”
Kingsley closed his eyes with quiet despair. “I haven’t… I should have thought…”
“Understandable.” A sweep of Dumbledore’s hand brushed Kingsley’s words of self-degradation away. “I shall see to it.” His wrinkled features tightened. “Though I cannot say it is a task I shall cherish.”
Bill sighed as well. “I can’t say I’m much looking forward to telling mum about this either. Especially when she finds out what Ron’s been up to…”
“Speaking of which…” Dumbledore rubbed one hand thoughtfully against his bearded chin. “If you could direct me towards Harry and his friends, I would be most grateful. I think it’s time I took them back to school.”
It took a moment for the headmaster’s words to sink in. “Wait.” Kingsley’s eyes widened as yet another cold chill gripped him. “You mean they aren’t back at Hogwarts already? Didn’t Mad-Eye bring them?”
Apprehension touched Dumbledore’s features instantly. “Alastor came to me over an hour ago,” he said, his voice rich with sudden concern. “But he told me that Harry, Ron and Hermione had insisted on coming to St Mungo’s with you.”
Kingsley slowly began to shake his head as the chill spread to his bones like an arctic wind. “They didn’t. In fact…” In one swift motion, he came to his feet. “I haven’t seen them since leaving the Institute. I told them to go with Moody and…” He dropped his face suddenly into one hand. “I never told Mad-Eye. Sweet Merlin, I was so preoccupied, I forgot. And he assumed they would come with me…”
Bill’s freckled face had turned white. “But then where…”
Kingsley closed his eyes. “Right before we left, Harry wanted to go after Pettigrew. I told him no. He didn’t take it well.”
Even as Dumbledore’s eyes widened, Bill was already three steps towards the door.
“I’ll go straight back to the Institute!” he exclaimed back over his shoulder. “It’s flooded with Aurors, someone must have seen them…oof!”
“Ow!” Caught by surprise as he rounded the corner, Avin Falconer ricocheted back from his impact with the hurtling Bill to slam against the wall. Only quick reactions kept Bill from tumbling too. The two men stared at each other for an instant.
“Mate, I’m sorry,” Bill exclaimed in a rush. “But I’ve got to run, my brother’s…”
“A tall redhead with freckles?” Avin remarked with an almost studied casualness. “Hangs out with a bushy-haired girl and the Boy-Who-Lived?”
Bill’s hands grasped the security guard’s shoulders instantly. “You’ve seen them? Where?”
A smile flickered across Avin’s face. “As it happens, just behind me. Take a look.”
Kingsley followed the young man’s gesture and promptly stared.
And then, in spite of the trauma of the hours just past, he burst out into laughter.
Harry, Ron and Hermione stood clustered together, their features still dust-stained, their skin streaked with sweat. But Ron and Hermione were tentatively smiling and Harry’s expression was one of outright triumph as he lifted the object clasped in his hands for all before to see.
It was a makeshift cage, apparently transfigured in a hurry out of a fragment of iron grating. And caught within its confines, squeaking as it bounced and jerked in twitchy, frantic desperation, was a fat, balding rat with a single silver paw.
Peter Pettigrew, it seemed, had finally been cornered.