A/N A thank you to those who reviewed last chapter…and a fair warning goes out that this chapter is quite intense and in parts, may be too much to handle…ala Stephen King, only better…enjoy!
Chapter XIV: Avenged
Confusion in the Ministry!
Monday, May 13.
Early reports are conflicting, but by all means, there is a tendency of a growing conflagration, set to erupt within the ministry within the next few days. As details come to light, this Prophet reporter has managed to uncover reports of an escaped prisoner, with valuable information pertaining to our very own Minister of Magic.
Ministry sources have urged that the leak is a mere groundless rumor, but they do not approve, nor deny its validity. The unexpected appointment of Harry Potter as head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department has surprised many, who have demanded explanation from one Mr. Ronald Weasley, head of the Auror Department and direct supervisor of aforementioned new appointee. Mr. Weasley has denied explanation for his decision; only revealing the change was imminent and necessary.
Asked if the accounts of the escaped prisoner are true, Mr. Weasley did not answer directly, saying he needed to confirm the case, before making a statement. In the meanwhile, the Ministry situation seems to remain in confusion and indecision, and the coverage of the event will be ongoing.
Harry perused the front page with diminishing interest. He knew the Prophet often searched for shock value, and many of the facts in the story were very possibly false, with the exception of his appointment; that part was true.
He put it down and sipped his coffee once more thoughtfully. The account of Twist escaping intrigued him, and a vague ill feeling arose within him as he considered the madman's last words as he was dragged off towards the dungeons. He thought he would have to ask Ron about it later.
That, however, proved to be an immediate, rather than a later resolution. Harry nearly upset his mug as he jumped, startled, as the front door crashed open, nearly flying off its hinges. Ron rushed in panting for breath, his eyes wide and worry contorting his features; it was quite an unsettling sight, as Harry whirled around to meet him.
"Harry!" he gasped. "Twist! He's gone!"
"W-what?" Harry's mind hurried to address what exactly Ron was talking about.
"The Prophet somehow found out about it," the redhead rejoined in one breath, "it's true; he's disappeared in thin air."
Harry couldn't think of how to respond. "How do you know?" he at last managed.
"I checked with all the guards," Ron answered in calmer tones. "They haven't seen him, and don't recall him being brought in either. There's no trace of the two I sent to escort him either."
"This is bad," Harry observed tensely. "Really bad."
"No doubt," Ron echoed him, looking down hard at the floorboards, as if they were guilty about the whole affair.
The commotion of Ron's entrance must have not proceeded unnoticed by the still sleeping occupants of the Burrow. Within minutes, Mrs. Weasley had rushed down, closely tailed by Ginny, and after her, Draco thundered down the stairs, in turn followed by Hermione.
"What happened!" Mrs. Weasley inquired loudly, looking around anxiously for the source of the noise.
"Just me, mum," Ron said quickly, attempting to calm her down.
"What happened?" Mrs. Weasley asked again anxiously, focusing intently on her son.
"Nothing to worry about," Harry put in quickly. "Just a small inconvenience."
"How small?" the Weasley matriarch had turned suspicious to the hasty answers.
"Read the front page of the Prophet," Ron directed her resignedly. "For once, it has its facts straight."
Draco, Ginny and Hermione observed the exchange with apprehension and interest, as Mrs. Weasley's eyes traveled over the paper, which was now in her hands. Finally, she looked up, and her face spelt the anger about to be unleashed on the two unsuspecting best friends.
"So, what you mean to tell me," She enunciated slowly, "is that this prisoner has the power to bring down the Ministry, and it is a small inconvenience."
Mr. Weasley was about to erupt, if not for Harry, who managed to interpose and check her response.
"Mrs. Weasley," he rebutted her forcefully, "Ron and I have a plan in case that happens. The next Minister is right in this room."
"What?" the three silent parties in the kitchen exclaimed in unison.
By now, Mr. Weasley had wondered down into the kitchen, looking in to see what the proceedings were about.
"Hermione," Harry said simply. "She'll take over the Minister's job."
Yet, the subject of his attention was aghast at the news. "Harry, are you sure all your wits are about?" Hermione asked him in wonderment, staring at her significant other with undisguised astonishment.
"Completely, Hermione," Harry said coolly. "I mean every word I say."
"But…but how!" she sputtered, as an array of confusing thoughts entered her head, searching for the purpose of the motivation on Harry's part.
"Here's how we figure it," Ron intervened, "Harry and I hold the two most important security offices - I'm head Auror, and he's the head of the Magical Law Enforcement Department - "
"Since when?" Draco asked loudly, cutting across Ron.
"Since I appointed him a few days ago," the latter replied forcefully, before he continued. "I have that power. Anyway, when the news spreads and the Minister falls, we'll nominate Hermione to the Wizengamot, and seek their approval."
"Approval?" Hermione was livid. "What on this earth possibly makes you think my passage is guaranteed?"
"The fact that the stability of the Ministry depends on the quick choice of a competent nominee," Ron answered. "And you're that person, Hermione."
"Why me?" she was still skeptical, looking at Harry and Ron with contempt for having arranged this without her knowledge.
"It makes sense," Ginny put in, and all heads turned in her direction. "Hermione, you're smart and capable. It was you that organized out DADA group back in my fourth year, and that went over pretty smoothly. I don't see why you can't be Minister of Magic."
"Ginny, there is a difference between organizing a secret society, and running an entire bloody country!" Hermione's tone was pitched with exasperation.
"Granger," Draco chimed in smugly, "look at it this way. Out of all of us, you have the most knowledge and brains. Among all the useless information between your ears, I'm sure you've read how the Wizarding government works…besides, you have those two goons supporting you, no?" he motioned a hand at Harry and Ron, and they both in turn glared at him.
Hermione noted he still addressed her by her maiden name, but she chose to dismiss it for now.
"You have a point," she replied quietly, and Draco's smirk only grew wider.
"So, what do you say?" Harry asked her, almost jovially.
"I'll think about it," was Hermione's neutral response, and without another word, she turned, departing back up the stairs towards her bedroom. In the meanwhile, Harry and Ron exchanged an uneasy glance, and prepared to depart for another workday at the Ministry.
"What can we arrange for Malfoy?" Harry asked him, once they were out of the house.
"An advisor to Hermione," Ron rejoined readily. "It is a cushy job."
"Hmm," Harry said slowly. "Maybe. By the way, I've had this other thought in my head for a while."
"About what?" Ron inquired.
"The Order of the Phoenix - that we reconvene it, because I have a feeling we may have a need of it yet in the near future…"
"The Order of the Phoenix?" Ron repeated wonderingly.
"Yes."
**
They moved stealthily along, casting around to assure unfriendly eyes did not see them. Twist was particularly bitter that evening, as his dismissal from the Ministry was a setback for his mistress; without an inconspicuous spy, their efforts would be made more difficult. And what's more, passed through his anguished mind, was what if those two Mudbloods had blabbed to that Weasley bugger?
He had detained them on purpose, to intimidate them into silence. If he weren't holding an official position in the Ministry at the time, he would have killed the wretched Mudbloods without hesitation.
Dolohov slunk in front of him as noiselessly as a shadow. Twist kept up close behind him, keeping a watch that they remained unnoticed.
"How much further?" he asked Antonin raggedly.
"Not far," came the silent reply.
Indeed, they had come under the lighted window of the apartment, where their targets had huddled together.
"What time do we have allotted?" Dolohov snapped in return.
"Fifteen minutes until the next Auror arrives," Twist said, checking his watch in the cloud of light that surrounded the window above them.
"No time to lose," Dolohov rejoined forcefully. "Come on!"
Only the cold stars of the night would bear witness to what would unfold. The business of murder, its implications, ruthlessness and efficiency, could make one shiver with fear and turn the mind into an incoherent, swirling sum of frightening thoughts.
The aforesaid conspirators moved swiftly about their horrid task. They broke into the main hallway of the building noiselessly, as magic afforded them such methods. Somewhere in the dark, dripping water broke the silence; its eerie echo sounded off the walls, adding to the intensity of the already palpable atmosphere.
Slowly, but surely, Twist and Dolohov mounted the stairs. By the moonlight streaming through a high window on the wall, midnight glinted on Twist's wristwatch. At length, careful not to arouse awareness of their presence, the two murderers stopped in front of the apartment's entrance.
"Alohomora," Dolohov whispered, and the lock clicked open. "How much time?" he asked Twist, before opening the door.
"Ten minutes," the latter answered, looking around for signs of anyone stirring in their domain.
The door creaked open on rusted hinges.
"Keep quiet, damn it," Twist sneered under his breath, as he followed Dolohov into the dwelling.
It was ominously quiet once they had entered. The front hallway was dark and somber, but at the end of it, light filled the room it opened up into.
Dolohov motioned to Twist to be quiet. With cat's feet, they proceeded towards the light. Strangely, its occupants produced no noise, if there were any, but upon closer investigation, they heard the rhythmic deep breaths of their sleeping victims.
They walked in the room, intending to finish their allotted task quickly and inconspicuously. Unfortunately, however, their intent was to be soured; as if alerted by an ethereal power, Emily's eyes shot open, and she bolted awake. Her gaze traveled wildly about the room, before finally settling on the intruders.
"Who are you!" she asked loudly and fearfully, instinctively drawing the covers closer to her. "Jane, wake up!"
The latter, sleeping curled up on another chair, blearily opened her eyes. "Wuzzgoinon?" she asked drowsily, but once her own gaze met the intruders, all signs of tiredness vanished from her countenance.
"What's going on?" she stared wide-eyed at Dolohov and Twist, fear quickly taking over her senses.
"Death is at the door," Dolohov sneered quietly, a maniacal leer on his face that distorted his features.
"We can do it the easy way, or the hard way," Twist added with an ugly smile of his own; despite his height never reaching above Dolohov's shoulder, he still presented a formidable challenge.
"Why are you here?" Emily inquired hurriedly, her mind a constant flurry of schemes to escape, each more wild and feeble than the last.
It is that desperation, which a victim feels, when he or she knows the end is near; when the desire and will to live are so strong, yet one can do nothing about it, but anguish in their final moments upon the earth. The breath grows shallow, and the heart quickens; perspiration forms on the forehead, and the victim gazes rapturously at her assailant, the senses sharpened, and the feeling of life more vivid in her veins than any other time, but becoming more resigned and desperate as time moves on…
"To kill you, why else," Twist smiled grotesquely. "Your purpose is here."
"Don't speak to me about purpose!" Emily shouted, and she leaped off the bed, rushing at the intruders.
Dolohov's cold laugh echoed around the room, as he flicked his wand, and Emily was sent flying into the opposite wall. She impacted hard, and fell in a heap on the floor, sobbing quietly, as the unendurable pain ripped through her body.
"You're not worthy, Mudblood," Dolohov sneered with disgust, before raising his wand again.
"Crucio!"
Jane openly cried, shivering uncontrollably at the overpowering sight; inhuman screams issued from Emily, as she writhed, engulfed in the searing pain of the Cruciatus Curse, applied repeatedly by Dolohov, whose countenance had become twisted, frightening…his eyes glinted with darkness from the torturous pleasure the proceedings were eliciting from him…
"LET ME DIE! LET ME DIE!" Emily shouted at the top of her lungs, weak, exhausted from the pain, as the last shreds of strength were drawn from her frail figure.
"Twist?" Dolohov turned to him.
The second of the Death Eaters grinned maniacally in his own way, and raised his wand to administer the deadly unforgivable curse.
"Avada Kedavra," he said clearly, and the green light shot with blinding speed at Emily, who watched it approach with a detached gaze.
She could not feel anything anymore. She was above pain and suffering; death would be a welcome respite. Only mere moments remained…
The curse sailed over her head, and impacted the wall behind her, producing a resounding crash that temporarily startled her overwrought mind back into action.
"You imbecile," she heard Dolohov admonish Twist. "You missed!"
"Please, spare us," Jane pleaded from the opposite corner, where she had huddled, incapable of bearing to watch the exchange.
"That won't happen," Dolohov said sternly. "You must die," and he raised his wand to administer the killing curse; the bright green light glinted at the end of his wand.
"Put it down," came a quiet, stern voice from the shadows in the hallway, yet it was still loud enough to be heard.
"Shut up, you shite," Dolohov muttered to Twist.
"I didn't say anything," the latter replied.
Harry Potter appeared in the light, his eyes looking on murderously at Dolohov and Twist. The knuckles on his right hand had turned white from gripping his own wand.
"I said, put it down," he commanded once again in a low voice.
Antonin only nodded, but that was not an expression of his consent. Immediately, Twist pointed his wand at Harry and the words Avada Kedavra started to form on his lips, but unfortunately for him, the newcomer was faster.
"Reducto!" Harry muttered under his breath, and a powerful white beam thundered through the air, hitting Twist directly in the chest; yet, he did not fly back. A hideous wound was opened where the curse had struck, and torrents of blood gushed freely from it. Burned skin and flesh were evident around the rim of the wound…
Twist looked on wonderingly, inexplicably confused. He collapsed on his knees, and swayed for a few seconds; a look of acceptance came into his eyes, and for the briefest of moments, seemed almost peaceful; then, as Death finally captured his soul, his figure keeled over and fell, face down, with a thud on the wooden floor. Jane screamed, wringing her hands, and shivering convulsively. Emily had fainted, and thankfully, did not bear witness to the grisly demise of Twist.
"Potter," Dolohov said dismissively, "what a pleasant surprise."
"Cut the shite, Antonin," Harry replied fiercely. "You're next."
"Am I?" Dolohov still kept his dismissive air. "Potter, you are no match for me. Have you not realized this yet?"
"Shall we find out whether that claim is true?" Harry challenged him, staring in Dolohov's eyes with unbridled malice.
"If you'd want me to kill you again," the latter answered with an ugly leer, "let's."
"Kill me again?" Harry asked, in spite of himself. "You're more twisted than I thought."
"Yes, Potter. The first time you died…I had that honour," Dolohov admitted quietly, whispering his words in a chilling tone. "And after I'm through with you, I'll dispose of these two Mudbloods here," he added mockingly.
"You'll dispose of no one," Harry rejoined forcefully. "You're nothing but the refuse, the scum of society…the lowest dregs of the worst."
"Fine words, Potter," Dolohov said hatefully. "Let them be your last!"
"Expelliarmus!" Harry opened the duel, sending his trademark combat spell at his opponent; Dolohov easily placed a shield, deflecting the spell towards the ceiling.
"I did not expect better," Dolohov taunted him. "Crucio!"
The curse aimed straight at Harry, but it presented no difficulty for him. He produced his own shield, absorbing the curse with ease.
"Neither did I," he countered. "You'll leave them alone. Aegis Ludi!"
A beam of orange light issued from Harry's wand. It sped towards Dolohov, who managed, just in time, to place a shield in front of him. A loud bang echoed, as the two spells collided, and the shield disappeared with the dissipation of Harry's spell. For the first time, the barest hint of fear flitted in Dolohov's eyes…
"Do you still want to tango?" Harry asked him in a deadly whisper.
Antonin's jaw hardened, but he was no fool. With the dexterity of a seasoned fighter, he shot a Killing Curse at Emily's sprawled figure, while simultaneously apparating away to avoid being hit by Harry.
"Go to Hell, Potter," he echoed, as he at last disappeared with a crack.
Harry had no time to heed Dolohov's condemnation. Acting on impulse, he levitated a chair from the wreckage the room had turned into, and moved it to meet the oncoming curse; in the resulting clash, the chair turned to splinters, showering Harry, Jane and Emily. He shielded the room from the wood bits, but it was infinitely better than meeting Avada Kedavra close up and personal.
With a sigh, Harry sat down on the battered sofa, as the stuffing floated about him. He thought for a few minutes, holding his head in his hands. From the corner of the room, Jane's sobs suddenly brought him back to reality. Standing up quickly, he rushed forward to attend to the shaken woman.
"Come on," he encouraged her quietly. "It's safe now. You're safe."
"Emily, Emily," Jane muttered over and over, casting a frenzied gaze at her friend.
"She'll be all right, don't worry," Harry embraced her, continuing to stream forth comforting words.
Eventually, Jane calmed down enough, and her exhaustion finally manifested itself. She looked at Harry, about to say something, but then her eyes dropped, and slumber overtook her. Harry, being as considerate as he always was, laid her down on the couch, and turned to the more injured of the two.
Kicking Twist's body aside, he kneeled next to Emily. She was in a rather bad state. When Dolohov threw her against the wall, which Harry assumed, seeing the traces of blood against the wall, and the bloody wound in the back of her head, the impact had also been cause for several broken ribs.
Harry was afraid of moving her, for fear of making her condition worse. He needed to assess the damage done to her further, before taking any steps. He noted the bruises on her legs from the fall, and thought that perhaps her ankle might have been twisted as she landed. What shocked him most, however, was the misshapen injury at her side. With a wave of his wand, he vanished the shirt from her upper body, and saw, aghast, the extent of the injury; on the right side, right up to her breast, a neat line, indicating where the ribs were broken; thankfully, the skin had not been punctured, but the lungs were another matter… Dolohov's curse was meant to kill, and it was a whole wonder she had survived, as indicated by her shallow breathing.
At that instance, the Auror, discharged specifically for protection, showed up at the door. He took in the sight, Twist's mangled body lying at his feet, Jane sleeping on the couch, and Harry, kneeling over the half-naked form of Emily.
"What happened here?" his voice was hollow, as he railed from the shocking scene.
Harry whirled around, a look of simultaneous relief and anger on his face.
"Where were you?" he thundered. "These two were almost killed, right under your nose!"
"I was with Mr. Ron Weasley; he called me for a spying mission tonight, and he was really insistent about it. He said someone else had already been dispatched."
"Polyjuice," Harry muttered under his breath, before turning back to the young Auror. "Do as I say. Go to Ottery St. Catchpole, and find Draco Malfoy; tell him to find Madam Pomfrey, and bring her to this flat as soon as possible. Be as expedient as possible. It's a matter of life and death!"
Impressed by the gravity of the situation, the young Auror rashly assented his duty to perform what was assigned to him, and doubling back out of the apartment, Harry saw him run past the window outside, and apparate to his destination.
What could he do? Another war seemed imminent…watching uneasily, as Emily's chest rose and fell shallowly, he prayed help would arrive soon, because he could not bear another innocent death at the hands of evil…
A/N Right, so this is chapter 14 done…reviews are welcome, and in the meanwhile, we'll see whether she lives or dies, as the Order of the Phoenix re-convenes and another conflict is waged…buckle in for the long haul, because this story is just getting started…
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