ꜱᴇʀᴘᴇɴᴛɪɴᴇ ꜱᴇʀɪᴇꜱ | ᴛᴏᴍɪᴏɴᴇ

Whispers from the Past, ch. 29

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

Harmony kept her head down and mouth shut as she blended in to the growing crowd of Menkar workers and audience members. If she didn't know any better, she would have thought everyone was attending a national quidditch match. People cheered, sang, drank, danced. Children ran in between their legs and cloaks. Barters sold merchandise and goods along the side of the road on the way to the asylum. Only the sight of the armed Ministry and Menkar workers scrutinizing everyone like vultures reminded Harmony of the seriousness of the situation.

Menkar wizard asylum was a cold grey building with spires on the roof sticking up to the sky like jagged teeth. Small windows lined the walls in an orderly fashion, one for each prison-like room. Harmony looked up at the many windows imagining Voldemort was behind one of them gazing down at her.

They were checked by guards again before passing the tall iron gates and entering into the courtyard. Audience members were guided to the center of the courtyard where seats, tables, and a stage was set up. It was still early afternoon and already the seating area was half full. Harmony scanned her gaze over the scene; if she was successful, then these seats, these tables, that stage will all have been set up for nothing. All these people will have come for nothing, only be present for the announcement that Voldemort had once again eluded them. Harmony tried desperately to bury the fact that what she was about to commit was horribly wrong. Voldemort's memory was gone. He was not the man he once was. Everyone deserves a chance...And her child. Her child will need their father.

There was no time to let the news of her pregnancy thoroughly sink in. If there was time, she would have wondered something like Would I make a good mother? or Will it be a boy or a girl? But deep within she knew she didn't want to think about those things at the moment, not when she was so uncertain of her future. What if she didn't survive this undertaking? Then she didn't want to think about the life that would die inside her as well.

She was lucky to have her Menkar work mates. Without them she would have walked around Menkar like an idiot. All workers took a back entrance where they gathered to hold a meeting and be assigned their daily job. They were given directions to check on their usual patients-which she did with a partner-and when that was through, Harmony was given kitchen duty. It was simple; speaking wasn't much of a necessity so she was safe from inspection. In the kitchen, she was forced to cook simple meals, which she served to the massive crowds waiting in the courtyard. The cook, a burly middle-aged woman, tossed her an apron and immediately set her to work. She was pouring pumpkin juice when she felt it again: that tingling sensation all over her body, making her hairs stand on end. Discreetly, she slipped into a broom closet and took another gulp of her potion. Three gulps gone, only two left. She needed to figure out her plan and quick.

Soon enough, she did learn one thing. Listening to talk among the Menkar workers in the kitchen, they spoke something about a Level Six. Like "Level Six is going to get it tonight," or "Good riddance to Level Six." It didn't take much to realize that they were talking about Voldemort. He had a whole floor of the asylum to himself for security reasons. His presence must have unsettled the other patients. The mention of Voldemort made Harmony's heart beat in her throat and she swallowed it back.

Harmony finally found the chance to go to Voldemort just before she drank her last gulp of Polyjuice potion. She had been holding the vial to her lips, holding it there as though it were the poison to bring her death.

This was it. If she didn't figure out a plan and act in the next hour, she would be discovered and join Voldemort at the execution stage in front of the world. Then from behind the broom closet door, she heard two kitchen workers speaking frantically.

"But do I have to," whined a young woman not much older than she.

An older woman answered severely, "You're not the only one who is weary to be around Level Six, Steph. Somebody has to deliver his food."