"Well, that's my cue to leave," I said, turning to look for my wand. I was going to apparate out of here, and never step foot in this hideout again—or at least, for as long as Pansy was appearing in and out of here.

"What's she doing here?" Parkinson snarled, pulling out her wand stepping towards me. Malfoy stepped in between us, holding out an arm.

"Don't, Pansy," he drawled. "No fighting. I have a headache."

I scoffed. He'd spent almost a half an hour rummaging through the contents of my brain, and he was the one with a headache!

"We can't trust her," Pansy snarled. "She'll go back to Potter and tell him every—"

"She won't," Malfoy said, turning to look at me. "She won't if she knows what's good for her."

"Why do you trust her all of a sudden?" Parkinson cried out in frustration, nearly stomping her foot. "She's never been on our side, and you know that—"

I could she was getting on his last nerve. Malfoy reached out towards me, grabbed my left arm, and pulled up my sleeve.

"Hey—" I said, alarmed, as he revealed the twisting black skull and snake on my arm.

Pansy stared at it, taken aback. Then, she looked at me.

"Oh."

"Now will you shut up?" Malfoy grumbled, running a hand through his pale hair. "Come on," he said, motioning towards me. "You need to leave."

"Gladly."

As we walked out the door, Malfoy looked over his shoulder.

"Parkinson," he called. "Try not to break any more wands while I'm gone. Or wrists," he added.

I smirked.

⚡⚡⚡

I disapparated back in front of Grimmauld Place, letting myself inside.

". . . Snitches. They're never touched by bare skin until the Seeker captures it. Even the wizard who fabricated it wears gloves. That way, if there's a dispute, the Snitch can identify who first touched it," Hermione's voice came through the hall.

"You mean it remembers me?" Harry asked. I stepped into the living room.

"When Scrimgeour first gave it toyou, I thought it might open at your touch—that Dumbledore had hidden something in it." The wood creaked under my step, and all three heads turned to me. Ron stopped fiddling with the antenna on the radio.

"Where were you?" he asked. "Did you find Mundungus?"

"You've been gone two days!"

Had it been that long? Crap, I had totally forgotten about Mundungus. My heart started to race as I tried to come up with an excuse.

"I couldn't find him. I went to Knockturn Alley, Diagon Alley . . . I didn't want to come back until I found him, but then I ran into death eaters. I had to hide," I explained, "and I couldn't return because if they found your location through me—"

Suddenly, there was a crash in the hall.

"Let go of me—"

There was another crash in the kitchen, and the four of us jumped to our feet, running towards the sound. As I skid into the kitchen, a small, wet creature fell tumbled across the floor, bumping into the wall. As it looked up at Harry, I immediately realized who it was.

"Dobby?" Harry asked, confirming my suspicions. "What are you doing here?"

"Harry Potter!" he said cheerfully. A movement in the corner of my eye caused me to turn, and suddenly, Kreacher appeared out of thin air, crashing onto—

Mundungus Fletcher.

"When you didn't show up," Harry said to me, "we sent Kreacher looking for him . . . and you."

"As requested, Kreacher has returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher!"

"Dobby has also returned with the thief Mundungus Fletcher!" Dobby announced proudly.

"What are you playing at—setting a pair of bleedin' 'ouse-elves on me!" Mundungus cried in alarm.

"Dobby was only trying to help! Dobby saw Kreacher in Diagon Alley, which Dobby thought was curious. And then Dobby heard Kreacher mention Harry Potter's name, which Dobby thought was very curious. And then Dobby saw that Kreacher was talking to the thief Mundungus Fletcher, which Dobby thought was very, very—"

"I'm no thief, you foul little git. I'm a purveyer of rare and wondrous objects—"

"You're a thief, Dung. Everyone knows it," Ron scowled. Dobby smiled.

"Master Weasley! So good to see you again!" Dobby greeted Ron. Ron nodded, eyeing the bright red shoes on Dobby's feet.

"Wicked trainers," he commented. I smiled.

"Listen," Mundungus said, raising his hands in surrender, "I panicked that night, all right? I never volunteered to die for you, mate. Can I help it if Mad-Eye fell off his broom—"

"Stop lying!" Hermione yelled, cutting him off. Hermione moved toward Mundungus, but Ron reached out, taking her by the shoulders, eyeing Mundungus warningly.

"Piece of advice. Let's not rehash old times. Got it . . . mate?" Ron said, warily.

"When you turned this place over—don't deny it—you found alocket, am I right?" Harry asked, pointing his wand at the thief.

"Why? Was it valuable?" Fletcher asked, eyes flicking nervously between the four of us.

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "You've still got it." There was accusation in her voice.

"No," I shook my head, crossing my arms over my chest. "He's worried he should have gotten more money for it."

"Wouldn't be difficult, would it? Bleedin' gave it away, din' I? There I was, pitching me wares in Diagon Alley when some ministry hag comes up and asks to see my license. Says she's of a mind to lock me up and would've, too, she hadn't taken a fancy to that locket."

"Who was she? This witch?" Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Well, she's right there, in't she? Bleedin' bow an' all." Mundungus walked to the table, pointing at a yellowed Prophet on top of a nearby stack, where a woman with the face of a toad blinked from the front page. It was headlined: DOLORES UMBRIDGE.

I groaned.

⚡⚡⚡

"We're going to have to break in to get that locket from her," Harry said, tapping his fingers on his knees as we sat in the living room. Mundungus and the house elves were gone, leaving just the four of us again. Hermione sat tensely, her shoulders bunched up, and Ron looked as if he were about to puke.

"This is Umbridge we're talking about," I said quietly, a shiver running up my spine. We all looked at Harry, who rubbed the back of his hand absentmindedly.

I must not tell lies.

A reminder of her cruelty.

"We obviously can't break in like this," Hermione said, gesturing towards her body. "I'll brew some polyjuice potion, and we can go in as people who actually work at the Ministry of Magic."

"Good idea," Ron nodded. "Let's come up with a plan so we don't get lost. The Ministry is quite big."

And that's what they did. The next day, they knocked out four people with a few sleeping spells, and Hermione took pieces of their hair to complete the polyjuice potion.

Hermione become Mafalda Hopkirk, Ron became Reg Cattermole, Harry turned into Albert Runcorn, and I, Rose Karasu.

I ran a hand through my new red hair, liking the feel of it, as we checked in. As cool metal touched my scalp, I realized I still had Malfoy's crest ring on. I pulled it off, slipping it in my pocket. 

We had our ID's prepared as we stepped into the toilets. Ron and Harry separated from us, going to the men's toilets, leaving Hermione and I together.

I glanced at Hermione—well, Mafalda—and she shrugged. I watched as she walked into the stall, shutting the door behind her, and did the same. As I closed the door behind me, I came face to face with . . .

A toilet.

Confused, I stared at it.

"Psst!" a voice called. I looked up to see the face of Mafalda Hopkirk looking down at me. "You have to flush yourself!"

"I—what?"

"Flush yourself!"

Her face disappeared, and moments later, I heard the sound of the toilet flushing.

"Ew."

Gingerly, I stepped into the toilet, the water sloshing into my heels. I nearly gagged. Someone knocked at the door.

"Hurry up! I'm late for work."

I rolled my eyes, and flushed the toilet, and then, I was being transported. In a split second I was coughed out of a fireplace, green fire surrounding me as I stepped onto the ebony floors of the Ministry of Magic. I cleared my throat, straightened myself, and looked around for any signs of Mafalda, Reg, or Albert.

"Mornin', Rose!" a pudgy old woman, greeted, and I nodded in return.

Albert appeared behind her, and as she was out of hearing, I hissed, "Harry! Where are Ron and Hermione?"

"They were right behind me seconds ago."

"Well, keep walking," I said, ushering him forward. We walked past a statue of people trying to raise up a stone block, only to get crushing under it.

I swallowed.

"Are those . . ."

"Muggles. In there . . . 'rightful place,'" Hermione's voice completed. "This is disgusting . . ." She looked absolutely horrified.

"Hermione, we have to keep moving," I said, gently pulling her. "When did you say the Polyjuice Potion wears off?"

The face of Mafalda looked up at me slowly. "I didn't."

The four of us looked at each other, and I swallowed thickly, glancing around.

"There," Ron pointed. "The lift."

We hurried towards it, slipping inside quickly. As I was about to breathe a sigh of relief, glad to have a moment away from all the other witches and wizards, a hand slid in, holding the door open.

"Cattermole," a man with white hair sneered, no kindness in his voice. He looked strangely familiar . . .

"Uh . . ." Harry and Ron exchanged glances, and I was betting everything that they had forgotten which one of them was Cattermole.

I made a face at Ron. He's talking to you! Ron suddenly stood straighter.

"Yes, I'm Cattermole. Reg Cattermole," he quickly added.

"I know," the man said, raising an eyebrow. Yaxley. He was one of the Death Eater's I'd always seen with Voldemort. "It's still raining in my office. Two days now."

"Really? Have you tried an umbrella?" Yaxley eyed Ron curiously, then leaned forward menacingly.

You do realize I'm on my way downstairs, don't you, Cattermole?"

"Downstairs . . . ?" Ron asked, gulping.

"To interrogate your wife! If my wife's blood status were in doubt and the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement needed a job doing, I think I'd make it a priority. You've got one hour." Yaxley glanced at me, and my stomach sank. Did he recognize me? Was the potion wearing off?

"You," he pointed.

I inhaled deeply.

"Rose, keep an eye on him," he said, pointing to Ron/Cattermole. "He's a slippery one, he is. Might run away with his wife."

"You're right," I said with a nod, "I'll make sure he's at the questioning. Bye, now." I waved Yaxley away, pressing the buttons so the door would shut. As it slid closed, ridding Yaxley's face from our sights, we breathed a sigh of relief.

"It's really true, isn't it?" I said, holding a hand over my heart. "Voldemort really has taken over?"

"They're checking everyone's blood statuses," Hermione nodded sickly. "They're weeding out the . . ."

Mudbloods.

The silent word hung heavily in the air.

As the lift went down, suddenly, Ron jumped up.

"Oh my God. What am I going to do? My wife's all alone downstairs!"

"Ron," Harry said, with alarming gentleness (which I realized he must've done out of severe annoyance), "you don't have a wife."

Ron seemed to relax against the wall. "Oh. Right."

"We'll go with you," I offered, but he shook his head.

"No, that's mad. You three find Umbridge. I'll be fine. But how do I stop it raining?"

Try Finite Incantatem. Of course, if something's gone wrong with an Atmospheric Charm—" There was no time for Hermione to complete her sentence, because the automated voice in the lift cut her off.

"Level Two. Department of Magical Law Enforcement, including Wizengamot Administration Services, Auror Headquarters and Improper Use of Magic Department."

"This is you, Ron," I said as the doors opened, looking at Cattermole. "Good luck."

"And to you," he said, glancing between the three of us, a slight shake in his voice. "You'll need it." He turned to Hermione, stepping out. "Finite Incantatem, okay. And if that doesn't work . . . ?"

But before she could respond, the golden grilles of the lift closed and we were swept away.

"I don't like him being on his own down there," Hermione said, wringing her hands out of nervousness.

"Ron's been coming here since he was two years old. It's us you should be worrying about," Harry responded.

Hermione frowned. "You really have horrible teeth, you know that."

"Level One. Minister of Magic and Support Staff."

Harry leaned in towards us, talking quickly, "I say if we don't locate Umbridge within the hour, we go find Ron and come back another day. Deal?" Hermione and I nodded. I could tell she wanted out of here as much as I did. We leaned away from each other, waiting for the doors to open.

The grilles clanged open again.

Standing next to a long-haired wizard, her neck enwrapped in a fuzzy pink scarf, stood none other than Dolores Umbridge.

I internally groaned.

What perfect timing.