Harry's Point Of View:
As August wore on, the square of unkempt grass in the middle of Grimmauld Place shriveled in the sun until it was brittle and brown. The inhabitants of number twelve were never seen by anyone in the surrounding houses, and nor was number twelve itself. The muggles who lived in Grimmauld Place had long since accepted the amusing mistake in the numbering that had caused number eleven to sit beside number thirteen.
And yet the square was now attracting a trickle of visitors who seemed to find the anomaly most intriguing. Barely a day passed without one or two people arriving in Grimmauld Place with no other purpose, or so it seemed, than to lean against the railings facing numbers eleven and thirteen, watching the join between the two houses. 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 cloaks in this heat.
The watchers seemed to be gleaning little satisfaction from their vigil. Occasionally one of them started forward excitedly, as if they had seen something interesting at last, only to fall back looking disappointed.
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.
As evening drew in, bringing with it an unexpected gust of chilly rain for the first time in weeks, there occurred one of those inexplicable moments when they appeared to have seen something interesting.
The man with the twisted face pointed and his closest companion, a podgy, pallid man, started forward, but a moment later they had relaxed into their previous state of inactivity, looking frustrated and disappointed.
Meanwhile, inside number twelve, I had just entered the hall. I had nearly lost my balance as I Apparated onto the top step just outside the front door, and thought that the Death Eaters might have caught a glimpse of my momentarily exposed elbow.
Shutting the front door carefully behind me, I pulled off the Invisibility Cloak, draped it over my arm, and hurried along the gloomy hallway toward the door that led to the basement, a stolen copy of the Daily Prophet clutched in my hand.
My thoughts were constantly consumed with Rosabella. She was always there. Whether she be in the fore front of my mind or in the back, she was always there. She'd still be on the Hogwarts Express by now but not far from Hogwarts. I knew I would miss her a lot, but I don't think anyone could of predicted how much I would miss her.
The usual low whisper of "Severus Snape" greeted me, the chill wind swept me, and my tongue rolled up for a moment.
"I didn't kill you." I said, once it had unrolled, then held my breath as the dusty jinx - figure exploded.
I waited until I was halfway down the stairs to the kitchen, out of earshot of Mrs. Black and clear of the dust cloud, before calling,
"I've got news, and you won't like it."
The kitchen was almost unrecognizable. Every surface now shone. Copper pots and pans had been burnished to a rosy glow. The wooden tabletop gleamed. The goblets and plates already laid for dinner glinted in the light from a merrily blazing fire, on which a cauldron was simmering. Nothing in the room, however, was more dramatically different than the house - elf who now came hurrying toward me, dressed in a snowy-white towel, his ear hair as clean and fluffy as cotton wool, Regulus's locket bouncing on his thin chest.
"Shoes off, if you please, Master Harry, and hands washed before dinner." Kreacher croaked, seizing the Invisibility Cloak and slouching off to hang it on a hook on the wall, beside a number of old - fashioned robes that had been freshly laundered.
"What's happened?" Ron asked apprehensively.
Ron and Hermione had been pouring over a sheaf of scribbled notes and hand drawn maps that littered the end of the long kitchen table, but now they watched me as I strode toward them and threw down the newspaper on top of their scattered parchment.
A large picture of a familiar, hook - nosed, black - haired man stared up at us all, beneath a headline that read:
SEVERUS SNAPE CONFIRMED AS HOGWARTS HEADMASTER
"No!" Ron and Hermione said loudly.
Hermione was quickest. She snatched up the newspaper and began to read the accompanying story out loud.
"Severus Snape, long-standing Potions master at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and wizardry, was today appointed headmaster in the most important of several staffing changes at the ancient school. Following the resignation of the previous Muggle Studies teacher, Alecto Carrow will take over the post while her brother, Amycus, fills the position of Defense Against the Dark Arts professor."
" 'I welcome the opportunity to uphold our finest Wizarding traditions and values.'
"Like committing murder and cutting off people's ears, I suppose! Snape, headmaster! Snape in Dumbledore's study – Merlin's pants!" Hermione shrieked, making both Ron and I jump. Hermione leapt up from the table and hurtled from the room, shouting as she went, "I'll be back in a minute!"
"'Merlin's pants'?" repeated Ron, looking amused. "She must be upset." Ron repeated, looking amused.
Ron pulled the newspaper toward him and perused the article about Snape.
"The other teachers won't stand for this, McGonagall and Flitwick and Sprout all know the truth, they know how Dumbledore died. They won't accept Snape as headmaster. And who are these Carrows?" Ron said.
"Death Eaters. There are pictures of them inside. They were at the top of the tower when Snape killed Dumbledore, so it's all friends together." I said and went on bitterly, drawing up a chair.
"I can't see that the other teachers have got any choice but to stay. If the Ministry and Voldemort are behind Snape, it'll be a choice between staying and teaching, or a nice few years in Azkaban – and that's if they're lucky. I reckon they'll stay to try and protect the students." I said.
"Ron –" I said and Ron looked at me as I struggled for words.
"I thought Ro would be safer at Hogwarts then with us but now she's at the school with Snape as Headmaster and Death Eaters teaching. This worse then I could of imagined. I think I made a stupid decision." I said my hand in my hair.
"Mate, it wasn't just you who made the decision. You both agreed. Ro wouldn't of let you force her to stay. If I've learned one thing about Ro in all the time I've known her, it's to never underestimate her. If you ask me, the Death Eaters are going to need protecting from her." Ron said and he smirked.
I couldn't help but laugh a little.
"Remember when she chased Umbridge in her animagus form? Best thing I've ever seen." Ron said and we both laughed at the memory.
Kreacher them came bustling to the table with a large curcen in his hands, and ladled out soup into pristine bowls, whistling between his teeth as he did so.
"Thanks, Kreacher," I said, flipping over the Prophet so as not to have to look at Snape's face.
"Well, at least we know exactly where Snape is now." I said and I began to spoon soup into his mouth.
The quality of Kreacher's cooking had improved dramatically ever since he had been given Regulus's locket: Today's French onion was as good as Harry had ever tasted.
"There are still a load of Death Eaters watching this house, 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 told Ron as we ate.
Ron glanced at his watch.
"I've been thinking about that all day. It left nearly six hours ago. Weird, not being on it, isn't it?" Ron said.
In my mind's eye I seemed to see the scarlet steam engine as Ron, Rosabella and I had once followed it by air, shimmering between fields and hills, a rippling scarlet caterpillar.
I was sure Rosabella, Ginny, Neville, and Luna were sitting together at this moment, perhaps wondering where Ron, Hermione and I were, or debating how best to undermine Snape's new regime.
"They nearly saw me coming back in just now, I landed badly on the top step, and the Cloak slipped." I said.
"I do that every time. Oh, here she is," Ron added, craning around in his seat to watch Hermione reentering the kitchen.
"And what in the name of Merlin's most baggy fronts was that about?" Ron said, amused.
"I remembered this." Hermione panted.
Hermione was carrying a large, framed picture, which she now lowered to the floor before seizing her small, beaded bag from the kitchen sideboard. Opening it, she proceeded to force the painting inside and despite the fact that it was patently too large to fit inside the tiny bag, within a few seconds it had vanished, like so much ease, into the bag's capacious depths.
"Phineas Nigellus." Hermione explained as she threw the bag onto the kitchen table with the usual sonorous, clanking crash.
"Sorry?" Ron said, but I understood. The painted image of Phineas Nigellus Black was able to travel between his portrait in Grimmauld Place and the one that hung in the headmaster's office at Hogwarts. The circular cower - top room where Snape was no doubt sitting right now, in triumphant possession of Dumbledore's collection of delicate, silver magical instruments, the stone Pensieve, the Sorting Hat and, unless it had been moved elsewhere, the sword of Gryffindor.
"Snape could send Phineas Nigellus to look inside this house for him. But let him try it now, all Phineas Nigellus will be able to see is the inside of my handbag." Hermione explained to Ron as she resumed her seat.
"Good thinking!" Ron said, looking impressed.
"Thank you. So, Harry, what else happened today?" Hermione said with a smile as she pulled her soup towards her.
"Nothing. Watched the Ministry entrance for seven hours. No sign of her. Saw your dad though, Ron. He looks fine." I said.
Ron nodded his appreciation of this news. We had agreed that it was far too dangerous to try and communicate with Mr. Weasley while he walked in and out of the Ministry, because he was always surrounded by other Ministry workers. It was, however, reassuring to catch these glimpses of him, even if he did look very strained and anxious.
"Dad always told us most Ministry people use the Floo Network to get to work. That's why we haven't seen Umbridge, she'd never walk, she'd think she's too important." Ron said.
"And what about that funny old witch and that little wizard in the navy robes?" Hermione asked.
"Oh yeah, the bloke from Magical Maintenance." Ron said.
"How do you know he works for Magical Maintenance?" Hermione asked, her soupspoon suspended in midair.
"Dad said everyone from Magical Maintenance wears navy blue robes." Ron said
"But you never told us that!" Hermione said.
Hermione dropped her spoon and pulled toward her the sheaf of notes and maps that she and Ron had been examining when I had entered the kitchen.
"There's nothing in here about navy blue robes, nothing!" Hermione said, flipping feverishly through the pages.
"Well, does it really matter?" Ron asked.
"Ron, it all matters! If we're going to get into the Ministry and not give ourselves away when they're bound to be on the lookout for intruders, every little detail matters! We've been over and over this, I mean, what's the point of all these reconnaissance trips if you aren't even bothering to tell us –" Hermione said, fervently.
"Blimey, Hermione, I forget one little thing –" Ron said.
"You do realize, don't you, that there's probably no more dangerous place in the whole world for us to be right now than the Ministry of —" Hermione said in a shrill voice.
"I think we should do it tomorrow." I said.
Hermione stopped dead, her jaw hanging. Ron choked a little over his soup.
"Tomorrow? You aren't serious, Harry?" Hermione questioned.
"I am. 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." I said.
"Unless, she's found a way of opening it and she's now possessed." Ron said.
"Wouldn't make any difference to her, she was so evil in the first place." I shrugged.
Hermione was biting her lip, deep in thought.
"We know everything important. We know they've stopped Apparition 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 two Unspeakables complaining about it. And we know roughly where Umbridge's office is, because of what you heard the bearded bloke saying to his mate —" I went on, addressing Hermione.
"'I'll be up on level one, Dolores wants to see me,'" Hermione recited immediately.
"Exactly and we know you get in using those funny coins, or tokens, or whatever they are, because I saw that witch borrowing one from her friend –" I said.
"But we haven't got any!" Hermione exclaimed.
"If the plan works, we will have." I continued calmly.
"I don't know, Harry, I don't know . . . There are an awful lot of things that could go wrong, so much relies on chance . . ."Hermione said, uncertaintly.
"That'll be true even if we spend another three months preparing. It's time to act." I said.
I could tell from Ron's and Hermione's faces that they were scared. I was not particularly confident myself, this eould usually be the time Rosabella would crack a joke or come up with a solution to all the problems. But I was sure the time had come to put our plan into operation.
We had spent the previous four weeks taking it in turns to put on the Invisibility Cloak and spy on the official entrance to the Ministry, which Ron, thanks to Mr. Weasley, had known since childhood.
We had tailed Ministry workers on their way in, eavesdropped on their conversations, and learned by careful observation which of them could be relied upon to appear, alone, at the same time every day.
Occasionally there had been a chance to sneak a Daily Prophet out of somebody's briefcase. Slowly we had built up the sketchy maps and notes now stacked in front of Hermione.
"All right, let's say we go for it tomorrow . . . I think it should just be me and Harry." Ron said slowly.
"Oh, don't start that again. I thought we'd settled this." Hermione sighed.
"It's one thing hanging around the entrances under the Cloak, but this is different. Hermione," Ron said and then jabbed a finger at a copy of the Daily Prophet dated ten days previously.
"You're on the list of Muggle - borns who didn't present themselves for interrogation!" Ron said.
We had recognised many names on the list.
Edward Tonks (Ro's uncle)
Dean Thomas
Justin Flinch - Fletchly
Colin Creevey
Dennis Creevey
"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 –" Hermione said.
"Fine, I'll stay here. Let me know if you ever defeat Voldemort, won't you?" Harry said.
As Ron and Hermione laughed, pain shot through the scar on my forehead. My hand jumped to it. I saw Hermione's eyes narrow, and he tried to pass off the movement by brushing his hair out of his eyes.
"Well, if all three of us go we'll have to Disapparate separately. We can't all fit under the Cloak anymore." Ron said.
My scar was becoming more and more painful. I stood up. At once, Kreacher hurried forward.
"Master has not finished his soup, would master prefer the savory stew, or else the treacle tart to which Master is so partial?" Kreacher asked.
"Thanks, Kreacher, but I'll be back in a minute – er – bathroom." I said.
Aware that Hermione was watching me suspiciously, I hurried up the stairs to the hall and then to the first landing, where I dashed into the bathroom and bolted the door again. Grunting with pain, I slumped over the black basin with its taps in the form of open-mouthed serpents and closed my eyes . . .
I was gliding along a twilit street. The buildings on either side of me had high, timbered gables. They looked like gingerbread houses. I approached one of them, then saw the whiteness of my own long - fingered hand against the door. I knocked. I felt a mounting excitement . . .
The door opened. A laughing woman stood there. Her face fell as she looked into my face. Humor gone, terror replacing it . . .
"Gregorovitch?" said a high, cold voice.
She shook her head. She was trying to close the door. A white hand held it steady, prevented her shutting him out . . .
"I want Gregorovitch." The hight cold voice said again.
"Er wohnt hier nicht mehr! He no live here! He no live here! I know him not!" She cried, shaking her head.
Abandoning the attempt to close the door, she began to back away down the dark hall, and I followed, gliding toward her, and my long - fingered hand had drawn my wand.
"Where is he?" Said a cold high voice.
"Das weiszlig; ich nicht! He move! I know not, I know not!" She sobbed.
I raised my hand. She screamed. Two young children came running into the hall. She tried to shield them with her arms. There was a flash of green light –
"Harry! HARRY!"
I opened my eyes. I had sunk to the floor. Hermione was pounding on the door again.
"Harry, open up!" Hermione demanded.
I had shouted out, I knew it. I got up and unbolted the door. Hermione toppled inside at once, regained her balance, and looked around suspiciously. Ron was right behind her, looking unnerved as he pointed his wand into the corners of the chilly bathroom.
"What were you doing?" Hermione asked sternly.
"What d'you think I was doing?" Harry asked with feeble bravado.
"You were yelling your head off!" Ron said.
"Oh yeah . . . I must've dozed off or –"
"Harry, please don't insult our intelligence. We know your scar hurt downstairs, and you're white as a sheet." Hermione said, taking deep breaths.
I sat down on the edge of the bath.
"Fine. I've just seen Voldemort murdering a woman. By now he's probably killed her whole family. And he didn't need to. It was Cedric all over again, they were just there . . ." I said.
"Harry, you aren't supposed to let this happen anymore! Dumbledore wanted you to use Occlumency! HE thought the connection was dangerous – Voldemort can use it, Harry! What good is it to watch him kill and torture, how can it help?" Hermione cried, her voice echoing through the bathroom.
"Because it means I know what he's doing." I said.
"So you're not even going to try to shut him out?" Hermione said, her disapproval clear.
"Hermione, I can't. You know I'm lousy at Occlumency. I never got the hang of it." I said.
"You never really tried! You had Ro to keep them away before but she can't do it this time, Harry! I don't get it, Harry – do you like having this special connection or relationship or what – whatever –" Hermione said hotly but she faltered under the look I gave her as I stood up.
"Like it? Would you like it?" I said quietly.
"I – no – I'm sorry, Harry. I just didn't mean –" Hermione said.
"I hate it, I hate the fact that he can get inside me, that I have to watch him when he's most dangerous. But I'm going to use it." I said determinedly.
"Dumbledore —" Hermione started to argue.
"Forget Dumbledore. This is my choice, nobody else's. I want to know why he's after Gregorovitch." I said.
"Who?" Hermione asked.
"He's a foreign wandmaker. He made Krum's wand and Krum reckons he's brilliant." I said.
"But according to you. Voldemort's got Ollivander locked up somewhere. If he's already got a wandmaker, what does he need another one for?" Ron said.
"Maybe he agrees with Krum, maybe he thinks Gregorovitch is better . . . or else he thinks Gregorovitch will be able to explain what my wand did when he was chasing me, because Ollivander didn't know." I said.
I glanced into the cracked, dusty mirror and saw Ron and Hermione exchanging skeptical looks behind my back.
"Harry, you keep talking about what your wand did, but you made it happen! Why are you so determined not to take responsibility for your own power?" Hermione said.
"Because I know it wasn't me! And so does Voldemort, Hermione! We both know what really happened!" I said angrily.
We glared at each other. I started to miss Rosabella even more, if that was even possible. She always believed me. Always had faith in me. She was the only one to side with me at the start of last year when we suspected Draco of being a Death Eater. Turns out we were right. It felt like there was a massive hole in my chest and every time I thought about her it just got bigger and bigger.
I knew that I had not convinced Hermione and that she was marshaling counterarguments, against both my theory on my wand and the fact that I was permitting myself to see into Voldemort's mind. To my relief, Ron intervened.
"Drop it. It's up to him. And if we're going to the Ministry tomorrow, don't you reckon we should go over the plan?" Ron advised her.
Reluctantly, Ron and I could tell, Hermione let the matter rest, though I was quite sure she would attack again at the first opportunity. In the meantime, we returned to the basement kitchen, where Kreacher served us all stew and treacle tart.
We did not get to bed until late that night, after spending hours going over and over our plan until we could recite it, word perfect, to each other. I, who was now sleeping in Sirius's room, lay in bed with my wandlight trained on the old photograph of my father, Sirius, Lupin, and Pettigrew, and muttered the plan to myself for another ten minutes. As I extinguished my wand, however, I was thinking not of Polyjuice Potion, Puking Pastilles, or the navy blue robes of Magical Maintenance. I thought of Rosabella.
Wondering what she did for the start of year prank. How much trouble she got in. It wouldn't surprise me if she was already expelled.
Then my thoughts trailed over to Gregorovitch the wandmaker, and how long he could hope to remain hidden while Voldemort sought him so determinedly.
Dawn seemed to follow midnight with indecent haste.
"You look terrible." was Ron's greeting as he entered the room to wake Harry.
"Not for long." I said, yawning.
We 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 acknowledge our presence with a nervous nod.
"Robes, Polyjuice Potion. . . Invisibility Cloak . . .Decoy Detonators. . .You should each take a couple just in case. . .Puking Pastilles, Nosebleed Norgat, Extendable Ears . . ." Hermione said under her breath as she poked around her beaded bag.
We gulped down our breakfast, then set off upstairs. Kreacher bowing us out and promising to have a steak - and - kidney pie ready for us when we returned.
"Bless him, and when you think I used to fantasize about cutting off his head and sticking it on the wall." Ron said fondly.
We made our way onto the front step with immense caution. We could see a couple of puffy - eyed Death Eaters watching the house from across the misty square.
Hermione Disapparated with Ron first, then came back for me.
After the usual brief spell of darkness and near suffocation, I found himself in the tiny alleyway where the first phase of our plan was scheduled to take place. It was as yet 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, she ought to be here in about five minutes. When I've Stunned her –" Hermione said, checking her watch.
"Hermione, we know. And I thought we were supposed to open the door before she got here?" Ron said sternly.
Hermione squealed.
"I nearly forgot! Stand back –" Hermione said and she pointed her wand at the padlocked and heavily graffitied fire door beside us, which burst open with a crash.
The dark corridor behind it led, as we knew from our careful scouting trips, into an empty theater. Hermione pulled the door back toward her, to make it look as though it was still closed.
"And now, we put on the Cloak again –" Hermione said turning back to face Ron and I.
"– and we wait." Ron finished, throwing it over Hermione's head like a blanket over a birdcage and rolling his eyes at me.
Little more than a minute later, there was a tiny pop and a little Ministry witch with flyaway gray hair Apparated feet from us, blinking a little in the sudden brightness. The sun had just come out from behind a cloud. 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." Ron said, emerging behind a bin beside the theater door as I took off the Invisibility Cloak.
Together we 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 beaded bag. Ron was rummaging through the little witch's handbag.
"She's Mafalda Hopkirk." Ron said, reading a small card that identified our victim as an assistant in the Improper Use of Magic Office.
"You'd better take this, Hermione, and here are the tokens." Ron said and he passed her several small golden coins, all embossed with the letters M.O.M. which he had taken from the witch's purse.
Hermione drank the Polyjuice Potion, which was now a pleasant heliotrope color, and within seconds stood before them, the double of Mafalda Hopkirk. As she removed Mafalda's spectacles and put them on, I checked his watch.
"We're running late, Mr. Magical Maintenance will be here any second." I said.
We hurried to close the door on the real Mafalda. 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." He said.
"Hello! How are you today?" Hermione said in a quavery voice.
"Not so good, actually." replied the little wizard, who looked thoroughly downcast.
As Hermione and the wizard headed for the main road, Ron and I crept along behind them.
"I'm sorry to hear you're under the weather." Hermione said, talking firmly over the little wizard and he tried to expound upon his problems.
It was essential to stop him from reaching the street.
"Here, have a sweet." Hermione offered.
"Eh? Oh, no thanks –" the little wizard said
"I insist!" Hermione said aggressively, shaking the bag of pastilles in his face. Looking rather alarmed, the little wizard took one.
The effect was instantaneous. The moment the pastille touched his tongue, the little wizard started vomiting so hard that he did not even notice as Hermione yanked a handful of hairs from the top of his head.
"Oh dear! Perhaps you'd better take the day off!" Hermione said, as he splattered the alley with sick.
"No – no! I must – today – must go –"
He choked and retched, trying to continue on his way despite being unable to walk straight.
"But that's just silly! You can't go to work in this state – I think you ought to go to St. Mungo's and get them to sort you out." Hermione said alarmed.
The wizard had collapsed, heaving, onto all fours, still trying to crawl toward the main street.
"You simply can't go to work like this!" Hermione cried.
At last he seemed to accept the truth of her words. Using a reposed Hermione to claw his way back into a standing position, he turned on the spot and vanished, leaving nothing behind but the bag Ron had snatched from his hand as he went and some flying chunks of vomit.
"Urgh. It would have made much less mess to Stun him too." Hermione said, holding up the skirt of her robe to avoid the puddles of sick.
"Yeah, but I still think a whole pile of unconscious bodies would have drawn more attention. Keen on his job, though, isn't he? Chuck us the hair and the potion, then." Ron said, emerging from under the cloak holding the wizard's bag.
Within two minutes, Ron stood before them, 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." Ron said.
"Now wait here, and we'll be back with some hairs for you." Hermione told me, I was still under the Invisibility Cloak.
I had to wait ten minutes, but it seemed much longer to me, skulking alone in the sick - splattered alleyway beside the door concealing the Stunned Mafalda. Finally Ron and Hermione reappeared.
"We don't know who he is, but he's gone home with a dreadful nosebleed! Here, he's pretty tall, you'll need bigger robes . . ." Hermione said, passing Harry several curly black hairs.
Hermione pulled out a set of the old robes Kreacher had laundered for us, and I retired to take the potion and change.
Once the painful transformation was complete he was more than six feet tall and, from what I could tell from his well-muscled arms, powerfully built. He also had a beard. Stowing the Invisibility Cloak and my glasses inside my new robes, I rejoined the Ron and Hermione.
"Blimey, that's scary." Ron said, looking up at Harry, who now towered over him.
"Take one of Mafalda's tokens, and let's go, it's nearly nine." Hermione told me.
We stepped out of the alleyway together. Fifty yards along the crowded pavement there were spiked black railings flanking two flights of stairs, one labeled GENTLEMEN, the other LADIES.
"See you in a moment, then." Hermione said nervously, and she tottered off down the steps to LADIES. Ron and I joined a number of oddly dressed men descending into what appeared to be an ordinary underground public toilet, tiled in grimy black and white.
"Morning, Reg!" called another wizard in navy blue robes as he let himself into a cubicle by inserting his golden token into a slot in the door.
"Blooming pain in the bum, this, eh? Forcing us all to get to work this way! Who are they expecting to turn up, Harry Potter?" He said and the wizard roared with laughter at his own wit.
Ron gave a forced chuckle.
"Yeah, stupid, isn't it?" Ron said.
And Ron and I let outselves into adjoining cubicles.
To my left and right came the sound of flushing. I crouched down and peered through the gap at the bottom of the cubicle, just in time to see a pair of booted feet climbing into the toilet next door. I looked left and saw Ron blinking at me.
"We have to flush ourselves in?" Ron whispered.
"Looks like it." I whispered back and my voice came out deep and gravelly.
We both stood up. Feeling exceptionally foolish, I clambered into the toilet.
I knew at once that I had done the right thing. Though I appeared to be standing in water, my shoes, feet, and robes remained quite dry. I reached up, pulled the chain, and next moment had zoomed down a short chute, emerging out of a fireplace into the Ministry of Magic.
I got up clumsily. There was a lot more of my body than I was accustomed to. The great Atrium seemed darker than I remembered it.
Previously a golden fountain had filled the center of the hall, casting shimmering spots of light over the polished wooden floor and walls. Now 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.
I received a heavy blow on the back of the legs. Another wizard had just flown out of the fireplace behind him.
"Out of the way, can't y – oh, sorry, Runcorn." The wizard said and, clearly frightened, the balding wizard hurried away.
Apparently the man who I was impersonating, Runcorn, was intimidating.
"Psst!" said a voice, and I looked around to see a whispy little witch and the ferrety wizard from Magical Maintenance gesturing to me from over beside the statue. I hastened to join them.
"You got in all right, then?" Hermione whispered to me.
"No, he's still stuck in the hog." Ron said.
"Oh, very funny . . . It's horrible, isn't it?. Have you seen what they're sitting on?" Hermione said to me, who was staring up at the statue.
I looked more closely and realized that what I had thought were decoratively carved thrones were actually mounds of carved humans. Hundreds and hundreds of naked bodies. Men, women, and children, all with rather stupid, ugly faces, twisted and pressed together to support the weight of the handsomely robed wizards.
"Muggles. In their rightful place. Come on, let's get going." Hermione whispered.
We joined the stream of witches and wizards moving toward the golden gates at the end of the hall, looking around as surreptitiously as possible, but there was no sign of the distinctive figure of Dolores Umbridge. We passed through the gates and into a smaller hall, where queues were forming in front of twenty golden grilles housing as many lifts. We had barely joined the nearest one when a voice said,
"Cattermole!"
Welooked around. My stomach turned over. One of the Death Eaters who had witnessed Dumbledore's death was striding towards us. The Ministry workers beside us fell silent, their eyes downcast. I could feel fear rippling through them.
The man's scowling, slightly brutish face was somehow at odds with his magnificent, sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread. 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." Yaxley said.
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 said and gave a nervous laugh.
Yaxley's eyes widened.
"You think it's funny, Cattermole, do you?" Yaxley said dangerously.
A pair of witches broke away from the queue for the lift and bustled off.
"No, no, of course –" Ron said.
"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 sneered.
Hermione had let out a little squeak of horror. Yaxley looked at her. She coughed feebly and turned away.
"I – I –" Ron stammered.
"But if my wife were accused of being a Mudblood, – not that any woman I married would ever be mistaken for such filth – and the Head of Department of Magical Law Enforcement needed a job doing, I would make it my priority to do this job, Cattermole. Do you understand me?" Yaxley threatened.
"Yaxley, relax will you." We heard a familiar joking voice.
Standing next to Yaxley was none other the Jacob Black.
He was standing next to Yaxley. Though Jacob had a joking demeanour, he glared at Yaxley with loathing.
"I'm sure Mr Cattermole meant no disrespect and he'll have your office fixed in no time." Jason Black said, appearing on Yaxley's other side, also glaring at Yaxley with loathing.
"But he can't very well fix it if you hold him up any longer." Jacob said.
Yaxley straightened himself up and glared distastefully at Jacob and Jason.
"Then attend to it, Cattermole, and if my office is not completely dry within an hour, your wife's Blood Status will be in even greater doubt than it is now." Yaxley threatened.
The golden grille before us clattered open. With a nod and unpleasant smile to me, who was evidently expected to appreciate this treatment of Cattermole, Yaxley swept away toward another lift.
Jason patted Ron on the back.
"Listen, Reg, we're sorry. We didn't expect the rain we started in Yaxley's office to cause problems for you." Jason said apologetically.
"Use Finite Incantatem. It will get rid of it no problem. Sorry again. We'll do whatever we can for your wife but I'm not sure what more we can do." Jacob said solemnly.
"What are you guys doing here? Aren't you desired by Death Eaters?" Ron said.
"Heard about that, did you?" Jason said smiling kindly.
"Well, Bellatrix has fallen out of favour so intill she redeems herself she's not allowed to pursue us and if she fails again then the Death Eaters will probably be given the Order to kill us. Ah, well, keeps us on out toes, right, Jay?" Jacob said casually.
"Oh, it's so exciting." Jason said rolling his eyes and the twins laughed.
They said goodbye but Jason and Jacob glared at me as they walked off to a lift.
The temptation to tell them was so overwhelming.
Ron, Hermione and I entered our lift, 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? If I don't turn up, my wife . . . I mean, Cattermole's wife –" Ron asked us, looking stricken.
"We'll come with you, we should stick together –" I began, but Ron shook his head feverishly.
"That's mental, we haven't got much time. You two find Umbridge, I'll go and sort out Yaxley's office." Ron said
A disembodied female voice said, "Level four, Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, incorporating Beast, Being, and Spirit Divisions, Goblin Liaison Office, and Pest Advisory Bureau," and the grilles slid open again, admitting a couple of wizards and several pale violet paper airplanes that fluttered around the lamp in the ceiling of the lift.
"Morning, Albert." said a bushily whiskered man, smiling at me.
I glanced over at Ron and Hermione as the lift creaked upward once more. Hermione was now whispering frantic instructions to Ron. The wizard leaned toward Harry, leering, and muttering
"Dirk Cresswell, eh? From Goblin Liaison? Nice one, Albert. I'm pretty confident I'll get his job now!" The bushily whiskered man said and he winked.
I smiled back, hoping that this would suffice. The lift stopped. The grilles opened once more.
"Level two, Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including the Improper Use of Magic Office, Auror Headquarters, and Wizengamot Administration Services." said the disembodied witch's voice.
I saw Hermione give Ron a little push and he hurried out of the lift, followed by the other wizards, leaving Hermione and I alone.
"Actually, Harry, I think I'd better go after him, I don't think he knows what he's doing and if he gets caught the whole thing –" Hermione said very fast the moment the golden door had closed.
"Level one, Minister of Magic and Support Staff."
The golden grilles slid apart again and Hermione gasped. Four people stood before them, two of them deep in conversation. A long - haired 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.