After our argument, Hermione fixed Harry's face and had us both apologize to each other, like children. Later on in the night, Kreacher came back with Mundungus only to tell us that Dolores Umbridge stole it from him.
As August continued, more and more people began to stalk Grimmauld Place. The lurkers were never the same two days running, although they all seemed to share a dislike for normal clothing. Most of the Londoners who passed them were used to eccentric dressers and took little notice, though occasionally one of them might glance back, wondering why anyone would wear such long cloaks in this heat.
On the first day of September, there were more people lurking in the square than ever before. Half a dozen men in long cloaks stood silent and watchful, gazing as ever at houses eleven and thirteen, but the thing for which they were waiting still appeared elusive.
"I've got news and you won't like it," Harry walked into the kitchen where Ron, Hermione, and I were waiting as Kreacher cooked dinner.
"What's happened?" Ron asked apprehensively.
Harry threw a paper at Ron, Hermione and I looked over Ron's shoulder. A large picture of a familiar, hook-nosed, black-haired man stared up at them all, beneath a headline that read:
SEVERUS SNAPE CONFIRMED AS HOGWARTS HEADMASTER
"No!" said Ron and Hermione loudly. My heart dropped into my stomach at the news.
"Well, at least we know exactly where Snape is now," Harry shrugged.
Kreacher came over and placed a bowl of soup in front of us. Ever since Harry had been nice to him, Kreacher had been the best house-elf I've ever seen.
"There are still a load of Death Eaters watching the house," he told us as we ate, "more than usual. It's like they're hoping we'll march out carrying our school trunks and head off for the Hogwarts Express."
"I've been thinking about that all day. It left nearly six hours ago. Weird, not being on it, isn't it?" Ron said, glancing at his watch.
"I reckon our friends are alright, yeah? Ginny and Luna and Neville," I sighed. Maybe even Draco...
Harry, Ron, and Hermione only nodded in response, shoveling hot soup into their mouths to avoid answering the unknown question.
"So, Harry, what else happened today?" Hermione asked.
"Nothing," said Harry. "Watched the Ministry entrance for seven hours. No sign of her. Saw your dad, though, Ron. He looks fine."
Ron nodded his appreciation of this news.
"Dad always told us most Ministry people use the Floo Network to get to work," Ron said. "That's why we haven't seen Umbridge, she'd never walk, she'd think she's too important."
"And what about that funny old witch, little wizard, and the lanky wizard in the navy robes?" I asked.
"Oh yeah, the blokes from Magical Maintenance," said Ron.
"I s'pose," I nodded.
"I think we should do it tomorrow," said Harry all of a sudden.
Hermione stopped dead, her jaw hanging; Ron choked a little over his soup; I dropped my spoon back in my bowl.
"Tomorrow?" I echoed. "You aren't serious, Harry?"
"I am," said Harry. "I don't think we're going to be much better prepared than we are now even if we skulk around the Ministry entrance for another month. The longer we put it off, the farther away that locket could be. There's already a good chance Umbridge has chucked it away; the thing doesn't open."
"Unless," said Ron, "she's found a way of opening it and she's now possessed."
"Wouldn't make any difference to her, she was so evil in the first place," Harry shrugged.
"We know everything important," Harry went on, addressing me. "We know they've stopped Apparation in and out of the Ministry. We know only the most senior Ministry members are allowed to connect their homes to the Floo Network now because Ron heard those three Unspeakables complaining about it. And we know roughly where Umbridge's office is. . . we've got this."
"There are an awful lot of things that could go wrong," Hermione mumbled, "so much relies on chance..."
"That'll be true even if we spend another three months preparing," said Harry. "It's time to act."
"All right," said Ron slowly, "let's say we go for it tomorrow... I think it should just be me and Harry."
"Ronald, don't start that again!" I sighed. "I thought we'd settled this."
"It's one thing hanging around the entrances under the Cloak, but this is different, Lottie." Ron jabbed a finger at a copy of the Daily Prophet dated ten days previously. "You're on the list of Muggleborns who didn't present themselves for interrogation and you, Hermione!"
"And you're supposed to be dying of spattergroit at the Burrow! If anyone shouldn't go, it's Harry, he's got a ten-thousand-Galleon price on his head —"
"Fine, I'll stay here," said Harry. "Let me know if you ever defeat Voldemort, won't you?"
"Harry," I wrinkled my nose, laughing at him.
"Well, if all four of us go we'll have to Disapparate separately," Ron was saying. "We can't all fit under the Cloak anymore."
"It's you and Harry that decided to grow another foot," I pointed my spoon at him. "Hermione and I seem to be lower to the ground every day!"
"Speak for yourself, Mini. I'm perfectly fine," Hermione smiled.
Dawn seemed to follow midnight with indecent haste. I found Hermione downstairs in the kitchen. She was being served coffee and hot rolls by Kreacher and wearing the slightly manic expression that I associated with exam review.
Hermione ended up Disapparating with Ron while I Disapparated with Harry into a tiny alleyway. It was deserted, except for a couple of large bins; the first Ministry workers did not usually appear here until at least eight o'clock.
"Right then," said Hermione, checking her watch. "She ought to be here in about five minutes. When I've Stunned her —"
"Hermione, we know," I said sternly. "And I thought we were supposed to open the door before she got here?"
Hermione squealed.
"I nearly forgot! Stand back —"
She pointed her wand at the padlocked and heavily graffitied fire door beside us, which burst open with a crash. Hermione pulled the door back toward her, to make it look as though it was still closed.
"And now," she said, turning back to face the other two in the alleyway, "we put on the Cloak again —"
"— and we wait," Ron finished, throwing it over Hermione's and my head like a blanket over a birdcage and rolling his eyes at Harry.
Little more than a minute later, there was a tiny pop and a little Ministry witch with flyaway grey hair Apparated feet from us. She barely had time to enjoy the unexpected warmth, however, before Hermione's silent Stunning Spell hit her in the chest and she toppled over.
"Nicely done, Hermione," said Ron, emerging from behind a bin beside the theatre door.
Together, Harry and Ron carried the little witch into the dark passageway that led backstage. Hermione plucked a few hairs from the witch's head and added them to a flask of muddy Polyjuice Potion she had taken from the silver clutch. Ron was rummaging through the little witch's handbag.
"She's Mafalda Hopkirk," he said, reading a small card that identified their victim as an assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office. "You'd better take this, Hermione, and here are the tokens."
Hermione drank the Polyjuice Potion, which was now a pleasant heliotrope colour, and within seconds stood before us, the double of Mafalda Hopkirk. As she removed Mafalda's spectacles and put them on, Harry checked his watch.
"We're running late, Mr Magical Maintenance will be here any second."
We hurried to close the door on the real Mafalda; Harry, Ron, and I threw the Invisibility Cloak over ourselves but Hermione remained in view, waiting. Seconds later there was another pop, and a small, ferrety-looking wizard appeared before them.
"Oh, hello, Mafalda."
Hermione walked with the little old wizard and gave him one of the Puking Pastilles; the effect was instantaneous. Hermione gave Ron his Polyjuice as the wizard Disapparated. Within minutes, Ron stood before us, as small and ferrety as the sick wizard, and wearing the navy blue robes that had been folded in his bag.
"Weird he wasn't wearing them today, wasn't it, seeing how much he wanted to go? Anyway, I'm Reg Cattermole, according to the label in the back."
"Now wait here," Hermione told Harry and me, as we were still under the Invisibility Cloak, "and we'll be back with some hairs for you two."
"We don't know who he is," Hermione said, passing Harry several curly black hairs, "but he's gone home with a dreadful nosebleed! Here, he's pretty tall, you'll need bigger robes. And for you—" Hermione handed me a short black hair, "—it's Jeanette Aswaldee, who's also gone home with a nosebleed."
"Beautiful," I grimaced. Taking the hair from Hermione, I put it in the Polyjuice and threw it back. After the painful transformation was complete, I dressed in my battered robes.
"Take one of Mafalda's tokens," Hermione passed one to Harry and me, "and let's go, it's nearly nine."
We stepped out of the alleyway together. Fifty yards along the crowded pavement there were spiked black railings flanking two flights of steps, one labelled gentlemen, the other ladies.
After flushing ourselves down the toilets, Hermione and I sauntered out of the bathroom into the Atrium. A gigantic statue of black stone dominated the scene. It was rather frightening, this vast sculpture of a witch and a wizard sitting on ornately carved thrones, looking down at the Ministry workers toppling out of fireplaces below them. Engraved in foot-high letters at the base of the statue were the words Magic is Might.
Looking across the Atrium, I see the tall lanky man and the short little wizard, Harry and Ron.
"Psst!" Hermione called them over.
"You got in all right, then?" I whispered to Harry.
"No, he's still stuck in the bog," said Ron.
"Oh, very funny... It's horrible, isn't it?" I said to Harry, who was staring up at the statue. "Have you seen what they're sitting on? Muggles."
We joined the stream of witches and wizards moving toward the golden gates at the end of the hall, looking around as secretly as possible, but there was no sign of the distinctive figure of Dolores Umbridge. We had barely joined the nearest one when a voice said, "Cattermole!"
The four of us looked around: My stomach dropped. One of the Death Eaters who had been at Hogwarts was striding toward us. The Ministry workers beside us fell silent, their eyes downcast. Someone in the crowd around the lifts called sycophantically, "Morning, Yaxley!"
Yaxley ignored them.
"I requested somebody from Magical Maintenance to sort out my office, Cattermole. It's still raining in there."
Ron looked around as though hoping somebody else would intervene, but nobody spoke.
"Raining... in your office? That's — that's not good, is it?" Ron gave a nervous laugh.
Yaxley's eyes widened.
"You think it's funny, Cattermole, do you?"
A pair of witches broke away from the queue for the lift and bustled off.
"No," said Ron, "no, of course —"
"You realize that I am on my way downstairs to interrogate your wife, Cattermole? In fact, I'm quite surprised you're not down there holding her hand while she waits. Already given her up as a bad job, have you? Probably wise. Be sure and marry a pureblood next time," Yaxley said sourly. "Attend to my office, Cattermole, and if it is not completely dry within an hour, your wife's Blood Status will be in even graver doubt than it is now."
With a nod and unpleasant smile to Harry, who was evidently expected to appreciate this treatment of Cattermole, Yaxley swept away toward another lift. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I entered ours, but nobody followed us: It was as if we were infectious. The grilles shut with a clang and the lift began to move upward.
"What am I going to do?" Ron asked the three of us at once; he looked stricken. "If I don't turn up, my wife will be imprisoned. Bad the kids— if we have them — how will I support them? I'm an Unspeakable! What am I going to do?"
"Ronald," I said softly, "you don't have a wife."
Ron's face looked dumbstruck at the realization. Boys. Hermione told Ron of all the incantations he could use to fix the raining while Harry and I awkwardly looked around.
"Level one, Minister of Magic and Support Staff."
The golden grilles slid apart again and Hermione and I gasped. Four people stood before us, two of them deep in conversation: A longhaired wizard wearing magnificent robes of black and gold, and a squat, toadlike witch wearing a velvet bow in her short hair and clutching a clipboard to her chest.
"Ah, Mafalda!" Umbridge noticed Hermione. "Travers sent you, did he?"
"Y-yes," squeaked Hermione.
"Good, you'll do perfectly well," Umbridge spoke to the wizard in black and gold. "That's that problem solved, Minister, if Mafalda can be spared for record-keeping we shall be able to start straight away." She consulted her clipboard. "Ten people today and one of them the wife of a Ministry employee! Tut, tut... even here, in the heart of the Ministry! We'll go straight down, Mafalda, you'll find everything you need in the courtroom. Good morning, Albert, aren't you getting out?"
"Yes, of course," said Harry in Runcorn's deep voice.
Harry stepped out of the lift, leaving Hermione and me to face the doom of Umbridge.
"And you are?" she said to me.
My voice got lost at the fear of being found. My fingers twitched towards my wand as Hermione answered, "Jeanette Aswaldee. Travers said I could bring an assistant to help me. She's very shy, pardon her."
My hand dropped as Umbridge nodded and proceeded to ignore me.
"Now, Mafalda," Umbridge continued to speak to Hermione about how to present herself in front of the trial room.
The ride up to the main floor was nerve-wracking. With Umbridge's and Hermione's folders and papers in my hands, I couldn't do much but hum which happened to annoy Umbridge. Hermione gave Umbridge short answers, not elaborating on her answers and mainly nodding. Every few seconds, Hermione would give me a desperate look for help, as if I could do anything.
"Come, come," Umbridge said as we walked through the Atrium and down towards the dungeon where the trials were held.
Walking into the interrogation room, multiple prosecutors— some of which I recognized as Death Eaters— sat in the raised platform seating. Umbridge tried to tell me to wait outside, but Hermione denied her request and beckoned me to follow.
At the front of the high-raised platforms, a bright-silver, long-haired cat prowled up and down, up and down the length of the platforms to, as I figured out, keep us protected from the Dementors' despair. The Patronus cat had to belong to Umbridge.
There were four trials before Mary Cattermole was presented; Ron's (as Mr Cattermole) supposed wife.
"Next— Mary Cattermole," called Umbridge.
A small woman stood up; she was trembling from head to foot. Her dark hair was smoothed back into a bun and she wore long, plain robes. Her face was completely bloodless. As she passed the dementors, she gave an involuntary shudder.
I watched the trial in fear and awe; it was terrifying. My mind raced with horrible thoughts and I was so preoccupied I nearly wet myself when a disembodied voice said "I'm behind you" into my ear. Instantly, I knew it was Harry, but it had still scared me.
Umbridge laughed a soft girlish laugh, at something she had said, that made me want to attack her. She leaned forward over the barrier, the better to observe her victim, and something gold swung forward too and dangled over the void: The locket.
Hermione had seen it as well; she let out a little squeak, but Umbridge and Yaxley, still intent upon their prey, were deaf to everything else.
"That's it," Harry's disembodied voice whispered in our ears.
"No," said Umbridge, "no, I don't think so, Mrs Cattermole. Wands only choose witches or wizards. You are not a witch. I have your responses to the questionnaire that was sent to you here— Mafalda, pass them to me."
I fumbled in a pile of documents balanced on my lap, finally withdrawing a sheaf of parchment with Mrs Cattermole's name on it, and handed it to Hermione for Umbridge.
"That's— that's pretty, Dolores," Hermione said, pointing at the pendant gleaming in the ruffled folds of Umbridge's blouse.
"What?" snapped Umbridge, glancing down. "Oh yes— an old family heirloom," she said, patting the locket lying on her large bosom. "The S stands for Selwyn... I am related to the Selwyns... Indeed, there are few pureblood families to whom I am not related... A pity," she continued in a louder voice, flicking through Mrs Cattermole's questionnaire, "that the same cannot be said for you. 'Parents' professions: greengrocers.' "
Yaxley laughed jeeringly. Below, the fluffy silver cat patrolled up and down, and the dementors stood waiting in the corners.
It was Umbridge's lie that brought the blood surging into my brain and obliterated my sense of caution— that the locket she had taken as a bribe from a petty criminal was being used to bolster her own pureblood credentials. Out of nowhere, I see Harry's hand pop out from under the Invisibility Cloak with his wand drawn, and said, "Stupefy!"
There was a flash of red light; Umbridge crumpled and her forehead hit the edge of the balustrade: Mrs Cattermole's papers slid off her lap onto the floor and, down below, the prowling silver cat vanished. Ice-cold air hit us like an oncoming wind: Yaxley, confused, looked around for the source of the trouble and saw Harry's disembodied hand and wand pointing at him. He tried to draw his own wand, but too late: "Stupefy!"
Yaxley slid to the ground to lie curled on the floor.
"Harry!"
"Hermione, if you think I was going to sit here and let her pretend —"
"No, Harry, Mrs Cattermole!" I shouted.
Whether because the Patronus had vanished or because they sensed that their masters were no longer in control, they seemed to have abandoned restraint. Mrs Cattermole let out a terrible scream of fear as a slimy, scabbed hand grasped her chin and forced her face back.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"
The silver stag soared from the tip of Harry's wand and leapt toward the dementors, which fell back and melted into the dark shadows again. The stag's light, more powerful and more warming than the cat's protection, filled the whole dungeon as it cantered around and around the room.
"Get the Horcrux," Harry told me.
Harry ran back down the steps and I jumped over the top platform, then back down to the one I was on to slip the necklace off Umbridge's thick neck.
"Got it!" I sang and placed it in my pocket.
"Charlotte, duplicate the necklace!" Hermione shouted at me, causing me to groan. I looked up at her, but she was already running down the stairs.
"Hermione, how do I get rid of these chains?" I heard Harry ask.
I shook my head and pulled out my wand and the Horcrux, "Geminio!"
"Let's see... Relashio!"
The chains clicked and withdrew into the arms of the chair. I ran down the steps towards Harry and Hermione, and a frightened Mrs Cattermole.
"I don't understand," she whispered.
"Hi, you don't know me and this is very confusing but you have to listen: You have to come with us. Go home, grab your children, and get out—"
"Get out of the country if you've got to. Disguise yourselves and run. You've seen how it is, you won't get anything like a fair hearing here," Harry finished for me.
"Harry," I looked up at him, "how are we going to get out of here with all those dementors outside the door?"
"Patronuses," said Harry, pointing his wand at his own: The stag slowed and walked, still gleaming brightly, toward the door. "As many as we can muster; do yours, Lottie. You too, Hermione!"
"I've never done it—"
"Learn fast; happy thoughts, strong intentions, circle hand movements. Go!"
I look at Hermione who is also struggling to do it.
"It's the only spell she ever has trouble with," Harry told a completely bemused Mrs Cattermole. "Bit unfortunate, really... Come on, Hermione... Lottie, you too!"
"Expecto patronum!"
A silver otter burst from the end of Hermione's wand and swam gracefully through the air to join the stag.
"Charlotte!" Harry urged.
Panic fluttered through my chest and I tried to think of all the happy moments I had while trying to conjure my Patronus.
Seeing Harry, Hermione, and the Weasleys for the first time on the platform; nope.
Walking through the platform; nope.
Reading Harry Potter books; nope.
"Charlotte, we have to go before they wake up!" Hermione said hastily.
Finding my birth parents; nope.
Kissing Draco; no, but a small spark came out of my wand.
Closing my eyes, I focused on the memory of Draco telling me he loved me. With a large circular motion, I aimed for Hermione's and Harry's Patronuses, "Expecto patronum!"
A beautiful glittering deerhound flew out of my wand and ran through the air to join the silver otter and stag.
"Finally! C'mon," said Harry, pulling along Mrs Cattermole with Hermione and me following them.
When the Patronuses glided out of the dungeon there were cries of shock from the people waiting outside.
"It's been decided that you should all go home and go into hiding with your families," Harry told the waiting Muggleborns, who were dazzled by the light of the Patronuses and still cowering slightly. "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 from the Atrium."
We managed to get up the stone steps without being intercepted, but as we approached the lifts I could see Harry's inner battle, and I understood. If we emerged into the Atrium with a silver stag, an otter, and a deerhound soaring alongside it, and twenty or so people, half of them accused Muggleborns, we would attract a lot of unwanted attention.
"Reg!" screamed Mrs Cattermole, and she threw herself into Ron's arms. "Runcorn let me out, he attacked Umbridge and Yaxley, and he's told all of us to leave the country, I think we'd better do it, Reg, I really do, let's hurry home and fetch the children and— why are you so wet?"
"Water," muttered Ron, disengaging himself. "Harry, they know there are intruders inside the Ministry, something about a hole in Umbridge's office door, I reckon we've got five minutes if that —"
Hermione's Patronus vanished with a pop as she turned a horrorstruck face to me and Harry.
"Harry, if we're trapped here —!"
"We won't be if we move fast," said Harry. He addressed the silent group behind us, who were all gawping at him. "Who's got wands?"
About half of them raised their hands.
"Okay, all of you who haven't got wands need to attach yourself to somebody who has. We'll need to be fast before they stop us. Come on."
The Atrium was full of people moving from fireplace to fireplace, sealing them off.
"Harry!" I squeaked. "What are we going to —?"
"STOP!" Harry thundered, and the powerful voice of Runcorn echoed through the Atrium: The wizards sealing the fireplaces froze. "Follow me," he whispered to the group of terrified Muggleborns, who moved forward in a huddle, shepherded by Ron, Hermione, and me.
"What's up, Albert?" said the same balding wizard who had followed Harry out of the fireplace earlier. He looked nervous.
"This lot need to leave before you seal the exits," said Harry with all the authority he could muster.
"We've been told to seal all exits and not let anyone —"
"Are you contradicting me?" Harry blustered. My heart raced at the power in his voice. "Their blood is pure. Purer than many of yours, I daresay. Off you go," he boomed to the Muggleborns, who scurried forward into the fireplaces and began to vanish in pairs. The Ministry wizards hung back, some looking confused, others scared and resentful. Then:
"Mary!"
Mrs Cattermole looked over her shoulder. The real Reg Cattermole, no longer vomiting but pale and wan, had just come running out of a lift.
"R-Reg?" She looked from her husband to Ron, who swore loudly.
The balding wizard gaped, his head turning ludicrously from one Reg Cattermole to the other.
"Hey— what's going on? What is this?"
"Seal the exit! SEAL IT!"
Yaxley had burst out of another lift and was running toward the group beside the fireplaces, into which all of the Muggleborns but Mr. Cattermole had now vanished.
"He's been helping Muggleborns escape, Yaxley!" Harry shouted.
Ron grabbed Mrs Cattermole, pulled her into the still-open fireplace, and disappeared. Harry saw Yaxley's head turn, saw an inkling of the truth dawn in that brutish face.
"Come on!" Harry shouted at me and Hermione; he grabbed our hands and we jumped into the fireplace together as Yaxley's curse sailed over my head. We spun for a few seconds before shooting up out of a toilet into a cubicle. Harry flung open the door; Ron was standing there beside the sinks, still wrestling with Mrs. Cattermole.
"Reg, I don't understand —"
"Let go, I'm not your husband, you've got to go home!"
There was a noise in the cubicle behind us; I looked around; Yaxley had just appeared.
"WE GOTTA GO!" I yelled. Harry seemed to catch my drift and grabbed onto Ron's and Hermione's hand, while I grabbed onto Hermione's. Harry turned on the spot and we were gone, but it didn't feel right. I couldn't breathe or see, all I felt was Harry's and Hermione's hand in mine.
As soon as I saw the door of twelve Grimmauld Place, it disappeared with a shot of pain, a scream, and a flash of purple light; Hermione's grip got tighter on me.