As the lift rattled away again, I shivered slightly, looking toward the distant black door that marked the entrance to the Department of Mysteries. Bad memories.
Harry and I set off, our destination not the black door, but the doorway I remembered on the left-hand side, which opened onto the flight of stairs down to the court chambers. My mind grappled with possibilities as we crept down them: We still had a couple of Decoy Detonators, but perhaps it would be better to simply knock on the courtroom door, enter as Runcorn's assistance, and ask for a quick word with Mafalda? Of course, I did not know whether Runcorn was sufficiently important to get away with this, and even if we managed it, Hermione's non-reappearance might trigger a search before we were clear of the Ministry.
Lost in thought, I did not immediately register the unnatural chill that was creeping over me, but Harry did. Harry's brisk walk slowed down and I did too; then it hit me. It was becoming colder and colder with every step we took: A cold that reached right down into my throat and tore at my lungs. And then I felt that stealing sense of despair, of hopelessness, filling him, expanding inside me: Dementors.
And as we reached the foot of the stairs and turned to the right I saw a dreadful scene. The dark passage outside the courtrooms was packed with tall, black-hooded figures, their faces completely hidden, their ragged breathing the only sound in the place. The petrified Muggleborns brought in for questioning sat huddled and shivering on hard wooden benches. Most of them were hiding their faces in their hands, perhaps in an instinctive attempt to shield themselves from the dementors' greedy mouths. Some were accompanied by families, others sat alone. The dementors were gliding up and down in front of them, and the cold, and the hopelessness, and the despair of the place laid themselves upon me like a curse...
Fight it, I told myself, but I knew that we could not conjure a Patronus here without revealing ourselves instantly. Close together, Harry and I moved forward as silently as we could, and with every step we took numbness seemed to steal over my brain, but I forced myself to think of Hermione and of Ron, who needed us.
Moving through the towering black figures was terrifying: The eyeless faces hidden beneath their hoods turned as we passed, and I felt sure that they sensed us, sensed, perhaps, a human presence that still had some hope, some resilience...
And then, abruptly and shockingly amid the frozen silence, one of the dungeon doors on the left of the corridor was flung open and screams echoed out of it.
"No, no, I'm half-blood, I'm half-blood, I tell you! My father was a wizard, he was, look him up, Arkie Alderton, he's a well-known broomstick designer, look him up, I tell you— get your hands off me, get your hands off —"
"This is your final warning," said Umbridge's soft voice, magically magnified so that it sounded clearly over the man's desperate screams. "If you struggle, you will be subjected to the Dementor's Kiss."
The man's screams subsided, but dry sobs echoed through the corridor.
"Take him away," said Umbridge.
Two dementors appeared in the doorway of the courtroom, their rotting, scabbed hands clutching the upper arms of a wizard who appeared to be fainting. They glided away down the corridor with him, and the darkness they trailed behind them swallowed him from sight.
"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, I saw her shudder.
Harry and I gave each other a look and quickly followed Mrs. Cattermole into the courtroom.
There were more dementors in here, casting their freezing aura over the place; they stood like faceless sentinels in the corners farthest from the high, raised platform. Here, behind a balustrade, sat Umbridge, with Yaxley on one side of her, and Hermione, quite as white-faced as Mrs. Cattermole, on the other. At the foot of the platform, a bright-silver, long-haired cat prowled up and down, up and down, and I realized that it was there to protect the prosecutors from the despair that emanated from the dementors: That was for the accused to feel, not the accusers.
"Sit down," said Umbridge in her soft, silky voice.
Mrs. Cattermole stumbled to the single seat in the middle of the floor beneath the raised platform. The moment she had sat down, chains clinked out of the arms of the chair and bound her there.
"You are Mary Elizabeth Cattermole?" asked Umbridge.
Mrs. Cattermole gave a single, shaky nod.
"Married to Reginald Cattermole of the Magical Maintenance Department?"
Mrs. Cattermole burst into tears.
"I don't know where he is, he was supposed to meet me here!"
Umbridge ignored her.
"Mother to Maisie, Ellie, and Alfred Cattermole?"
Mrs. Cattermole sobbed harder than ever.
"They're frightened, they think I might not come home —"
"Spare us," spat Yaxley. "The brats of Mudbloods do not stir our sympathies."
Mrs. Cattermole's sobs masked our footsteps as we made our way carefully toward the steps that led up to the raised platform. The moment we had passed the place where the Patronus cat patrolled, I felt the change in temperature: It was warm and comfortable here. The Patronus, I was sure, was Umbridge's, and it glowed brightly because she was so happy here, in her element, upholding the twisted laws she had helped to write. Slowly and very carefully we edged his way along the platform behind Umbridge, Yaxley, and Hermione, taking a seat behind the latter. Then Umbridge raised her voice to address Mrs. Cattermole, and I seized the chance.
"We're behind you," I whispered into Hermione's hair.
Hermione jumped so violently she nearly overturned the bottle of ink with which she was supposed to be recording the interview, but both Umbridge and Yaxley were concentrating upon Mrs. Cattermole, and this went unnoticed.
"A wand was taken from you upon your arrival at the Ministry today, Mrs. Cattermole," Umbridge was saying. "Eight-and-three-quarter inches, cherry, unicorn-hair core. Do you recognize that description?"
Mrs. Cattermole nodded, mopping her eyes on her sleeve.
"Could you please tell us from which witch or wizard you took that wand?"
"T-took?" sobbed Mrs. Cattermole. "I didn't t-take it from anybody. I b-bought it when I was eleven years old. It— it— it— chose me."
She cried harder than ever.
Umbridge laughed a soft girlish laugh 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.
"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."
Umbridge held out a small hand: She looked so toadlike at that moment that I was quite surprised not to see webs between the stubby fingers. Hermione's hands were shaking with shock. She fumbled in a pile of documents balanced on the chair beside her, finally withdrawing a sheaf of parchment with Mrs. Cattermole's name on it.
"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. Looking at Harry, I mouthed "Stupefy" and he nodded.
We raised our wands, not even troubling to keep it concealed beneath the Invisibility Cloak, 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. Yaxley followed suit and slid to the ground to lie curled on the floor.
"Harry! Maisey!"
"Hermione, if you think I was going to sit here and let her pretend —"
"Maisey, Mrs. Cattermole!"
I whirled around, the Cloak falling off me: down below, the dementors had moved out of their corners; they were gliding toward the woman chained to the chair: 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 doe soared from the tip of my wand and leaped towards the dementors, which fell back and melted into the dark shadows again. The doe'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 Hermione.
Harry and I ran down the stairs, Harry stuffing the Invisibility Cloak back into his bag, and we approached Mrs. Cattermole.
"You?" she whispered, gazing into his face. "But— but Reg said you were the one who submitted my name for questioning!"
"Did I?" muttered Harry, tugging at the chains binding her arms. "Well, I've had a change of heart. Diffindo!"
Nothing happened.
"Maisey, how do I get rid of these chains?"
"Uh, Relashio!" I pointed at the chains holding Mrs. Cattermole. The chains clinked and withdrew into the arms of the chair. Mrs. Cattermole looked just as frightened as ever before.
"I don't understand," she whispered.
"EXPECTO PATRONUM!" Harry shouted and the silver stag trotted to meet my doe in the air.
"Ma'am, you're going to leave here with us," I said, pulling her to her feet. "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," said Hermione, "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 with the doe. "As many as we can muster; do yours, Hermione."
"Expec — Expecto patronum," said Hermione. Nothing happened.
"It's the only spell she ever has trouble with," I told a completely bemused Mrs. Cattermole. "Bit unfortunate, really... Come on, Hermione!"
"Expecto patronum!"
A silver otter burst from the end of Hermione's wand and swam gracefully through the air to join the pair of deer.
"Finally! C'mon," said Harry, pulling along Mrs. Cattermole with Hermione and I following them.
When the Patronuses glided out of the dungeon there were cries of shock from the people waiting outside. I looked around; the dementors were falling back on both sides of them, melding into the darkness, scattering before the silver creatures.
"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 innerbattle, and I understood. If we emerged into the Atrium with the silver stag, doe, and otter soaring alongside us, and twenty or so people, half of them accused Muggleborns, he could not help feeling that they would attract unwanted attention. He had just reached this unwelcome conclusion when the lift clanged to a halt in front of us.
"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."
We managed to cram ourselves into two lifts. Harry's and my Patronuses stood guard before the golden grilles as they shut and the lifts began to rise.
"Level eight," said the witch's cool voice, "Atrium."
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 forcefulness in his voice. "Would you like me to have your family tree examined, like I had Dirk Cresswell's?"
"Sorry!" gasped the balding wizard, backing away. "I didn't mean nothing, Albert, but I thought... I thought they were in for questioning and —"
"Their blood is pure," said Harry, and his deep voice echoed impressively through the hall. "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.
Instead of only holding Hermione, something else was attached to me as we Disapparated. Darkness engulfed me, along with a weird sensation fell over me, something felt wrong. I couldn't breathe or see, I felt like I was drowning.
Landing at the entryway of number twelve Grimmauld Place, a scream left my chest. Ripping my hand out of his grip, I pointed my wand at him and non verbally cast "Relashio" which caused him to fall on the ground of the entry way. Quickly, I turned on the spot and tightened my grip on Hermione's arm.