Once they were alone, the biting pain in Harry’s leg reminded him that he needed medical aid, and soon. But then Tonks began to speak, and Harry remained quiet, trying not to look like his leg felt as though it were in the jaws of a Blast-Ended Skrewt.
“What are we going to do?” Tonks was trembling and her voice shook. Sometime in the last five minutes, though Harry hadn’t noticed it, her bubblegum-pink spikes had turn thin and mousey; her hair hung limply around her now-pale face.
“We’ll sort it out, Tonks,” Mr Weasley said quickly. “Somehow or other, we’ll help him….”
“If that snooping, lying old lion they call Minister for Magic thinks he’s going to execute Remus Lupin, he’ll have the whole of the Order to reckon with first,” growled Moody, as Tonks merely turned away, rubbing her eyes fiercely with one hand.
“Not all of the Order,” she said, her voice slightly muffled. “Not all of them were completely happy about working with a werewolf…Sturgis wasn’t…and Diggle “”
“Tonks.” Mr Weasley stopped her from going any further. “Trust me; no matter what their views, Sturgis and Dedalus wouldn’t like to see Remus, er, sentenced. We’ll sort it out,” he repeated reassuringly, though he looked tired and troubled. “There will be ways….”
Tonks just sniffed wetly and gave a tiny nod, twisting her wedding ring round and round on her finger.
“Harry,” said Hermione suddenly, sounding alarmed. Mr Weasley and Moody turned around rapidly, concerned. “Oh, no, Harry...” Hermione looked terrified. Harry had only been half-following the conversation. His wound was burning and he felt light-headed and weak. Rather stupidly, he’d stretched his leg experimentally; the result had been alarmingly large black spots that swam before his eyes, and the voices around him turned into a confused roar. He had grabbed Hermione’s shoulder in an effort to stop himself falling.
“Harry, are you all right?” Mr Weasley’s concerned voice echoed rather oddly in Harry’s ears.
“Er,” said Harry thickly. “I’m….” The ground rocked before him as he swayed.
“St. Mungo’s,” said Moody immediately, gripping Harry’s arm and yanking him upright. “You up to Apparating?”
It was a stupid question; by that time Harry was incapable of even standing alone. The black spots swelled again, the pain below his knee spread; Harry saw only a confused blur of scared faces whirling before his eyes and a roar like rushing wind in his ears before he fell, as though down a long dark tunnel, into oblivion.
Harry woke to find himself in a very quiet, very white hospital ward. From the dim, fading light outside the window, it seemed to be early evening. The air in the ward was cool and fresh, and everything was gleamingly clean. Harry’s bedside was surrounded by bunches of flowers, chocolates, and cards. Silent Healers moved between the few, screened, beds and it was only when Harry reached out his arm for his glasses and tried to sit up that a white-robed woman came bustling over.
“Lie down,” the Healer told Harry sternly, pushing him back onto his pillows. “Your leg shouldn’t be moved for a while. How does it feel?”
Harry wasn’t exactly sure how it felt. It didn’t hurt any more, but it was heavy and rather numb. “It’s better,” he said cautiously.
“Excellent,” said the Healer, pulling back a corner of the covers to inspect the bandages. “We’re not sure what hit you, but it appears to have been some sort of curse that burnt away relatively slowly at the skin and flesh. We were able to prevent its spread to the rest of your body, and by our calculations it should be back to normal in about a week.”
“Good,” said Harry, relieved.
“Your friends will be glad to hear it.” She smiled at him.
“How long have I been here?” Harry almost dreaded the answer; time was becoming ever more valuable nowadays, and almost every morning brought news of another death.
“About four days,” said the Healer, replacing the bedclothes and patting them down meticulously. Harry’s heart sank; what could have happened in those four days? Most importantly, what was Lupin’s situation?
“You were in the ward for Burns and Stings for a short while, but you had to be moved,” continued the Healer, not noticing the anxiety in Harry’s face. “There were so many patients trying to get a glimpse of you that the Healers-in-charge had difficulties.” She shook her head. “You must get that all the time?”
Harry nodded ruefully, and she smiled again. “Well, now you’re in a specialist ward, for your privacy.”
“Thanks,” said Harry gratefully. “Er “ is it all right if I see my friends now?”
“I don’t see why not,” agreed the Healer amiably. “But not more than five at one time. Any more could disturb the other patients.” She inclined her head in the direction of one of the white-screened beds, from which sounds of quiet, erratic snoring came. She crossed the ward and went into the corridor. Harry raised his head again eagerly, and moments later, Ron, Ginny, and a very depressed-looking Hermione entered the room.
“All right, mate?” Ron looked extremely relieved.
“Yeah, not bad,” said Harry, motioning for them to sit down on his bed. “I woke up at last, then. You okay, Ginny?” The last time he had seen her she had been on the ground, being revived.
“Yeah, well, I was only knocked out,” she said, rolling her eyes. “Apparently it wasn’t even by a Death Eater; one of the Aurors misfired a curse; it blew off one of the tiles on the roof of the Three Broomsticks and whacked me over the head.”
“Nice one,” said Harry, grinning, as Ron snickered.
“I always get injured in stupid ways,” she muttered. “I twisted my ankle by falling down a step that time in the Department of Mysteries, now this….”
“I dunno why you’re complaining, myself,” Harry said in surprise. “I’d swap a twisted ankle and a bump on the head for my leg right now.”
“Oh, does it hurt badly?” whispered Hermione sympathetically. “You looked awful just before you passed out...”
Harry shook his head, wishing he hadn’t spoken. Hermione looked doleful enough as it was. “It doesn’t hurt any more, it just feels like I have a broomstick handle or something instead of a leg. Hermione, what’s worrying you? You look like someone’s died. Is there something I should know?”
Hermione nodded her head miserably, but seemed unable to say anything more, and Harry’s stomach clenched in familiar dread.
“Uh,” said Ron cautiously. “We didn’t come out too badly in the fight. An Auror died, apparently, but otherwise there’s less than a dozen in St Mungo’s being treated, and we got plenty of Death Eaters, so the public are pretty happy about that.”
“And so’s Scrimgeour, I’ll bet,” Harry put in. “Who was the Auror? Is that the bad news?” Harry was sorry the Auror had died, but “ though it made him feel guilty thinking it “ if it was nobody he knew personally, it made it easier.
“Dunno who he was,” shrugged Ron. “Some old guy. But don’t worry about, Harry, you always beat yourself up too much. And no, that wasn’t the bad news. McGonagall’s still missing,” he added, before Harry asked. “We hoped she’d turn up after the battle, but no luck. Nobody has any idea where she could be.”
The reason for Hermione’s gloom became clear, and Harry himself felt more than slightly panicky upon hearing the news. McGonagall was a capable witch, but she had been gone nearly four days “ and disappearing in the middle of battle like that...
“D’you reckon the Death Eaters “ took her or something?” he said, biting his lip as he gazed at them searchingly. Nobody answered him; Hermione now seemed close to tears and Ron and Ginny just looked at Harry helplessly.
“I know what happened to her,” croaked a voice suddenly from a bed across the room, making all three of them jump.
“Neville,” said Ron in surprise. “You’re awake too!”
“Neville’s here?” said Harry, confused.
“He’s been out of it, same as you,” said Ginny, getting off Harry’s bed to walk over to Neville’s.
“They put you two up here because you were both getting so much media attention,” Ron informed Harry. “People trying to take photographs, interview the Healers, that sort of thing.”
“Harry,” said Hermione suddenly. “Did “ did Neville just say he knows where Professor McGonagall is?” She looked as though she was coming out of a dream and Harry scratched his head. “Er “ I think so.”
Hermione was at Neville’s side in less than three seconds. “Where?” she shot at him. “Oh, you know where she is?”
“No,” said Neville, looking slightly alarmed at the intensity in Hermione’s words. Her eager face fell, and Hermione drooped visibly. “But I saw what happened to her,” Neville added hastily.
“What?”
“She was stunned, I think,” said Neville. “By some huge Death Eater. Then “ then he grabbed her arm and Disapparated with her….”
Hermione dropped onto Neville’s bed despairingly. “Oh, my god…what do they want with her?” she wailed.
“Shh!” Harry’s Healer was back. “You’ll disturb the other patients…oh! You’re awake, Mr Longbottom. How do you feel?”
“Was he badly injured?” Harry asked Ron in an undertone, while they watched the Healer fussing over Neville in a way that was distinctly Madame Pomfrey-like. Ginny helped her sort out the extensive range of brightly-coloured potions on her trolley and tip them into glasses for Neville to drink, but Hermione still seemed too shocked to do anything but sit on Neville’s bed with her face buried in her hands.
“He was really lucky,” said Ron quietly, his face serious. “Bellatrix fired some kind of curse at him, that was apparently something like the one Hermione got hit by last year, you know? The one that put her in the hospital wing for weeks “”
“Yeah, I know,” said Harry impatiently. “So how come he was lucky?”
“Well, he did a Shield Charm, but it managed to get through the shield somehow “ I suppose it wasn’t strong enough “ and that sort of filtered it, made it less dangerous, but still, he was unconscious for ages.”
Harry whistled softly. “Yeah, we have been pretty lucky then. Ron “ do you know anything about Lupin? I don’t know what I’ve missed while I’ve been asleep.”
Ron fidgeted with a corner of Harry’s bedspread. “I “ I dunno much. We think there’s going to be a trial. Umbridge is all mixed up in it; she’s pushing for him to be executed and most people seem to agree with her. But I’m sure Mum and Dad are planning something with the rest of the Order. They won’t tell us what, but we walked in on a Order meeting yesterday accidentally “ well, sort of accidentally “ and they were definitely talking about him.”
Harry looked down at his covers, burning up with worry inside. But there was still another thing preying on his mind. “What about “ the necklace?” he said in a whisper, dreading the answer.
“We went to the Ministry straight away, all of us, to try to get it back,” said Ron, watching Harry carefully. “But it was no go. Don’t have a clue where it is, and nobody’s letting on.”
Harry gritted his teeth. “If only we hadn’t gone into the Three Broomsticks,” he muttered angrily. “I’m always messing up like this.”
“There’s “ there’s more, Harry,” said Ron slowly. He sounded nervous, and Harry looked up at him.
“Is it bad?” Harry was apprehensive. He wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer. Silently, Ron opened his bag, drew out a folded newspaper, and tossed it in front of Harry. Then he looked stubbornly at the floor. Harry opened the Daily Prophet slowly, dreading what he was going to learn.
It was dated the fifteenth of December; the day after the battle in Hogsmeade. Harry’s stomach lurched as he saw the picture on the front page. It was a gigantic, blown-up photograph of the necklace Horcrux, whose purple opals twinkled and glittered sinisterly at him. Beside were two smaller photographs; those of the Auror Dawlish and, to Harry’s mounting incredulity and horror, Percy Weasley.
FEAR NO MORE “ THE BOY WHO LIVED IS ON THE CASE!
Rumour has long had it that Harry Potter, who has faced You-Know-Who numerous times in his life, is the Chosen One who will free us from the tyranny of the Dark Lord and his supporters. And now, the Daily Prophet can exclusively reveal, he is already on the job! It is a difficult task that Harry faces; far harder than previously supposed. After much research, it has been discovered that You-Know-Who has divided his soul into a number of pieces (as yet unknown) and has concealed them inside certain objects hidden in various secret places. This explains You-Know-Who’s invincibility; while these objects survive and parts of his soul remain undamaged, he can not be slain. But fear not; we have a hero to save us all! It is the worthy Harry Potter’s daunting task to hunt out these objects, known as Horcruxes, and to destroy them. It is possible that this will weaken You-Know-Who, though our researchers in the Department of Mysteries have admitted they ‘don’t really know much about these Horcrux thingamajigs at all.’
Harry has done a very good job already “ we applaud him for his fantastic work. Already at least one Horcrux has been found (opal necklace, cursed: pictured) and we appeal for the support of every good witch and wizard in the country in this matter. There are still some pieces of You-Know-Who’s soul out there; we ask that any information you might have concerning them be delivered to the new Ministry Department set up for this purpose: the Department of Horcruxes. We are still trying to identify the precise nature of the remaining undiscovered Horcruxes.
The Prophet wishes to recognise the people who brought this truth to light: Ralph Dawlish and Percival Weasley. It is to our very great sorrow we report that Mr Weasley was killed while gathering this invaluable information; this fine wizard should be an example to us all. (Turn to pages 3 and 4)
“Harry, you’re ripping the page.” Ron sounded worried; Harry realised he was indeed clenching his fists while he held the paper, and it was beginning to tear. “Harry? Harry, there’s nothing we can do about it, we’ll just have to keep on go””
“‘We applaud him for his fantastic work,’” quoted Harry in a low and furious voice. “‘This fine wizard should be an example…’ Can you believe this?” he exploded, slamming the paper onto his bedcovers.
“I know,” said Ron ruefully. “Mum would usually be thrilled if one of us made the front page, but she refused to talk to any of us for about two days after she saw Percy in this….”
Harry barely heard him. “They’ve wrecked everything!” he said angrily. “Dumbledore wanted it all kept secret for a reason…he wasn’t bothered about making the damn public know that I’m ‘already on the job’! How long will it take for Voldemort to find out?”
Ron bravely ignored the name. “Er,” he said cautiously. “We think he already knows. There was a mass Muggle killing the day the Prophet came out, and it wasn’t like he was trying to blackmail Scrimgeour or anything. It was just random...”
“He was angry, so he took it out on Muggles,” said Harry.
“Yeah, that’s what we figured,” Ron agreed.
Harry threw the Daily Prophet onto the floor bad-temperedly; seconds later, Hermione and Ginny were beside him.
“Ron showed it to you?” said Ginny worriedly. “Oh God, Harry, we couldn’t believe it either…it was Dawlish, he told them everything.”
“Yes, Dawlish!” spat Harry, enraged. “He’ll regret this “ I’m going to kill him!” He pushed the covers away and began to pull himself awkwardly out of bed.
“Harry,” said Hermione, looking at him with alarm. “What are you “ you’re not supposed to “ when you said ‘kill’, you didn’t really mean “”
“Why, Harry, old bean!”
Fred and George had burst into the ward, beaming. Hermione looked relieved. Harry gazed at them confusedly, half out of bed and his mind still full of thoughts about what exactly he was going to do to Dawlish when he found him.
“Thought we’d see if you were back from the dead yet,” said George.
“Mum’ll be happy.”
“You-Know-Who won’t.”
“Hey, George “ I think we’re interrupting something.”
“I think we are, Fred. Going somewhere, Harry?”
Harry pushed himself into a standing position, balancing himself precariously on his bandaged leg. “Yes, I am,” he said firmly. “I’m going to the Ministry to murder an Auror.”
Fred and George exchanged glances.
“Ron,” said Fred in a stage whisper. “Did he get hit by a Confundus Charm, too?”
“The Aurors are on our side,” George told Harry kindly. “It’s the Death Eaters you want.”
“Not this time,” said Harry, reaching for some robes to put on over his pyjamas. “I’m going to strangle Dawlish for leaking our secrets to the Press “ you have no idea what damage that could’ve caused “ and I also want to see that old toad Umbridge and tell her where to stick her “”
“Harry!” The Healer was back, looking shocked. “Just what do you think you’re doing? Get back into bed this instant, you’re not doing your leg any good at all. Have you lot been exciting him?” she enquired angrily of Ron, Hermione, Ginny, and the twins as she pushed Harry back onto his bed. “Maybe you should leave. Go on, get out!” She brandished a huge bunch of extremely ugly, bright orange flowers at them, and they fled.
“These are yours,” said the Healer curtly, plonking the flowers into a vase. They honked and blew a raspberry at him. “Just arrived from someone called Loony or Lupa or something.”
“Luna,” corrected Harry automatically. “Healer, I really have to go “ there’s something important I’ve got to do “”
“You’re not going anywhere,” said the Healer firmly. “Now, I’m going for my dinner, and I don’t want to have any funny business going on behind my back. Drink this.” She pushed a flask of purple potion at him.
“What is it?” said Harry irritably. “Do I need it?”
“Sleeping Potion, you need to calm your nerves. Drink.”
Scowling, Harry emptied the potion into his mouth and lay back down.
“Good boy,” smiled the Healer. “Sweet dreams.”
Harry waited till she had left the ward, then sat up, pulled the nearest bunch of flowers “ Luna’s honking orange ones, which protested loudly “ towards him, and spat the potion into its vase. He had no intention of going to sleep. As quickly as he could, Harry got back out of bed, put his robes back on and hobbled towards the door.
“Good luck, Harry.” Neville was grinning. He’d seen what Harry had done.
“Thanks, Neville,” said Harry. “Don’t tell her where I’ve gone, okay?”
“’Course I won’t. Do you realise you put those Honking Daffodils to sleep?” Neville said, nodding towards the vase. Harry glanced over his shoulder. The orange flowers were indeed snoozing “ and snoring gently “ from the effect of the Sleeping Potion.
“Oh, yeah…whoops. Well, at least they won’t keep you awake,” said Harry. “I’ll see you later…I need to find the others.”
Harry exited the ward, pulling the door quietly shut behind him.