At that same moment, the twins burst into the kitchen. "Mum, Dad! Bill and Charlie just sped off on their brooms to look for Percy--"
Molly Weasley made a horrible noise, then, a noise halfway between mourning and hysteria.
"I'm sorry, boys," said Arthur in a rough voice, raising his head, pulling Molly in a little closer. "The clock, you see."
Fred, or maybe George, gulped. The other twin raised a fist to his mouth and bit it, and then they were both pushing past everyone to go into the hallway and see for themselves.
"Can't be," Harry heard one of them say, a hushed conversation following.
"They'll be killed!" Molly wailed, sniffling. "And for no reason! Percy's already gone!"
"Now, now," said Arthur, patting her back once again. "If confirmed reports were coming in, it means others are on site by this time. The worst is over. And a curse-breaker and a dragon-tamer, Molly mine. Our boys will be just fine."
"Not all our b- b- boys--"
Draco appeared in the kitchen, Ron and Hermione close behind him. "Severus," he said, sounding like remaining calm was a strain he could hardly bear. "Good, Harry found you, I see--"
"Mum? Have you heard from Percy, then?" asked Ron. It didn't take him two seconds to put it all together, though. His father's stricken face. His mother's tears. The twin's muttering. Ron looked into the hallway to check the clock, which Harry thought was probably instinctual for somebody raised with one of those around.
Ron went pale for a second, and then his face flushed red. "That prat, that absolute prat! Why couldn't he come to the party like he was asked, eh? I wrote him twice! I practically begged, and all he could talk about was his effing important job. Well, fat lot of good it's done him now--" Ron's voice broke, but he went on, still furious. "Why'd he have to insist he had to work, eh? Stupid prat, got himself killed--"
"Oh, hush, Ron," sobbed Molly, breaking away from her husband just enough to hold an arm out. "I know you're angry but . . . just hush."
Hermione bit her lip, and then gave Ron a gentle push toward his mother.
Ron glared at her, but then he stumbled across the room and fell against his parents. Molly folded him into the hug, and started sobbing harder, her whole body shaking with the force of her grief. "Where's Ginny, then?" she asked through her sobs, her voice rising as other thoughts occurred to her. "Somebody will have to tell Ginny! Oh, Merlin, tell me she hasn't tried to follow her brothers to the Ministry!"
"I'll go and look for her," said Harry.
Snape's glare down at him was positively feral. "You will do no such thing!" Letting go of Harry, he stalked to the door, cast Sonorus on himself, and called out her name. She appeared just a moment later, as though she'd merely been standing around the corner of the house, an impression which was confirmed by what she had to say.
"It's not true," she said, crossing her arms. "I don't care about the stupid clock. You know it's been wrong before. There was that time it said I was at school when I was standing right there! And the way Dad's hand used to spin around backwards every third Tuesday. And--"
"Oh, sweetie. Come here," said Molly, opening her arms wide.
"No!" Ginny stomped a foot so hard that the floorboard under Harry vibrated. "I'm fine, Mum. Percy's fine! You'll see--"
She ran past Harry and pounded up the stairs to her room, her hair streaming out behind her. Harry made a convulsive move as though to go after her, but changed his mind when Hermione gave a shake of her head.
Molly started to detach herself from Ron, but stopped when the twins came back in.
"We'll go up," said Fred, forced cheer in his voice. Or at least, Harry thought it was Fred.
As the twins ambled up the stairs after her, Ron made a noise of disgust. "They'll tell her brainless jokes until she turns green and pukes," he snarled. "Like that's what Ginny needs just now--"
"Oh, hush, Ron," moaned Molly, folding him into an embrace again, with her husband hugging the both of them. Ron squirmed, but then he let himself be hugged.
Looking at the three of them, Harry felt like he'd swallowed hot coals, or maybe one of Snape's vials of strong acid. His throat hurt, all the way down, and hiss stomach felt like it was filled with fire. He was getting dizzy from the sensation, and the room around him went fuzzy as he stared, the edges of everything starting to blur, just like it would if he were crying.
But he wasn't crying. He couldn't, because what good would that do? He was just thinking that it was all so unfair, and that life really couldn't be so horrible. Could it? The entire Ministry, destroyed, just like that? Percy, dead, when the moment before his hand had pointed to"Work," as though life would go on as it always had?
But then, Harry had seen death come swift and merciless before.
The whole world could change in one instant; he knew that. It had happened when a baby had defeated Voldemort, and then again, years afterwards, when Voldemort had resurrected himself using that same child's blood.
And now, the world had changed again, Harry thought, a dawning sense of horror sweeping through him. He'd been expecting this for a long time, but still, some part of him had never really thought it would happen.
But it had, and there was no turning back from it. The war had begun.
------------------------------------------------------
The four of them ended up gripping a ribbon Dumbledore had enchanted the moment before with Portus.
Harry staggered as he fell out of the whirl that was Portkey travel, but he managed to keep on his feet. Not so Dudley, who was fairly flung out of the spell. He ended up careening on his arse across the floor, only stopping when his head collided with a bookshelf, knocking several volumes off the shelves.
Snape would normally scowl about that sort of thing, Harry knew, but instead, he offered a hand to help Dudley up, and got him seated safely on a couch. "Draco, if you would see to a healing spell," he murmured in a distracted voice.
"I can--"
"No, you can't," Draco interrupted. "I've seen your lexicon and you haven't covered those yet."
Draco was right, of course, but Harry still insisted on using a damp flannel to clean the gash on Dudley's scalp, and not just because he wanted to do something to help. He also thought that Dudley would find all-magical healing a little bit daunting.
Draco gave Harry an impatient look, but then, he just waited until Harry stepped away, and then waved his wand over the wound to close it.
In the meantime, Snape had been down the hall to his bedroom. When he returned, he spoke briefly to the Floo. After a glass of pumpkin juice sparkled into existence on the coffee table, Snape drew out a vial of pale blue fluid from his robes, and in full view of everyone, tipped it into the dark orange liquid. "A sleeping draught," he said, motioning for Dudley to drink the juice. "Magical healing is notoriously draining. It would be best for everyone if you drank that and got some rest."
Draco had a dead-pan look on his face, like he was deliberately hiding his thoughts. Harry couldn't manage the same. What was Snape on about? Healing a little scratch like Dudley had got wouldn't be draining!
Dudley was staring at the glass, his expression doubtful. "No offence, Professor Snape. I know you teach Potions and I'm sure you know what you're doing, but I didn't like that pumpkin stuff much--"
"Harry, if you'd be so kind," said Snape, his voice as smooth as cream.
Harry almost scoffed, but then he caught the expression in his father's eyes. Do this, it said. Now.
Well, fine. Snape wouldn't hurt Dudley, that much was sure. "Go on, Dudley, drink up," Harry urged, crushing down the impulse to turn to his father and ask what he thought he was doing. "You'll want to wake up tomorrow feeling fine, not with your head . . . uh, still throbbing with . . . uh, reciprocal magic."