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Fred slowly opened his eyes, only to immediately realize it was a mistake. As soon as he moved his eyelids, he felt an excruciating pain engulf his entire face.

Greg, come over here, there's one that's alive. He heard a voice yelling in the distance.

Hortense, I am busy. Replied an angry man's voice.

But sir, I assure you that I saw it move.

Hortense, as you can see, I'm not busy, it was a polite way to tell you to leave.

Then a few seconds later, screams coming closer and closer were heard.

But let go of my ear, I remind you that I am your superior.

Stop acting like a child and do your job. I warn you, the next time you kill a patient, I'll let you deal with the paperwork.

Fred then felt a man lean over him eagerly. The breath on his face hurt him terribly. He just wanted him to move away. Then he felt the pain suddenly decrease.

Kid, if you see a light at the end of the hallway, don't go there, you might fall and break what's left of your nose!

By reflex, Fred smiled (and this time, he only felt a slight sting), then he jumped. The remark had made him think of his brother and immediately, he felt an immense emptiness.

Where is my brother?

Given the resemblance, I would say it's the big heap of meat beneath you. Ouch! But he's the one who killed him, not me. Greg protested after being violently hit on the shoulder by his assistant.

• Do you remember the kindness at work training?

• The one where I made the trainer cry?

• No, that's your psychiatrist, the kindness training is the one where you almost got strangled.

• Yes, I remember, I understand where you're coming from. Women lose their composure when they see me and become violent. Do you think I have Apollonian dysphasia?

• I assure you, in your case, the diagnosis is much simpler: you are an idiot.

But Fred did not listen to the reply of the idiot who had treated him. At the cost of an immense effort, he turned around and saw George's face frozen forever in a final smile. Without the paleness of his complexion and the strange angles of his arms, Fred could have believed he was sleeping peacefully. But from the moment he woke up, Fred knew that his brother had reserved his ultimate joke for him. George had died saving his life. The soft thing that had cushioned his fall was his brother's body.

Fred gently closed George's eyes and desperately searched for something funny to say. He knew that George would not have tolerated anything else for his last moments. But no matter what he did to hold them back, his face was covered in tears. The time for jokes was over. The time for sobs had just begun.

oOoOoOo

Fred barely noticed that he was being led to a makeshift tent camp and that what remained of his wizard's robe was taken from him before he was ordered tolie in a makeshift bed from which a nauseating smell rose. He only regained his senses when he accidentally saw his reflection in an instrument that the mediwizards had brought to try to prevent a bandaged patient in the bed next to his from vomiting (the smell seemed to come from him). Fred discovered that his face was half-charred. He had no more sorrow to devote to the loss of his appearance, but it gently brought him back to reality. He tried to get up, but upon seeing him, a nurse pinned him against the bed.

You must stay in bed. You don't seem to be affected by the curse, but your condition...

My parents were at the stadium, I have to go help them.

Young man, there is nothing you can do for them in your condition. The area is teeming with Muggle military in yellow suits, and wizards cannot access it. In any case, a curse envelops the place. Look at the state of the mediwizards who tried to go there, said the nurse, pointing to her neighbor whose bits of skin were starting to peel off.

Before Fred could understand what his words implied, the nurse forced him to drink a potion that made him drowsy. A terrifying question then seized him: How was he going to tell Ginny?

But the potion eventually became stronger, and he fell asleep without noticing that an extremely familiar rat was sneaking between the beds of the field hospital that had naturally set up near the stadium when the mediwizards realized that the number of dying people was far too many for St. Mungo's to accommodate.

Finally, that's what the medicomage Greg Housser believed as he rushed towards Edward Vogler's tent: the man who was tasked by St. Mungo's (and what was left of the ministry) with managing the camp.

Let me through, I need to see him immediately. I had a test done on the girl who gave him gonorrhea and she has AIDS. Ordered Greg Housser to the secretary who was trying to block his entry to the tent where Edward Vogler was working.

Dr. Housser, obviously. I should have guessed. Aren't you tired of being so pathetic? replied Edward Vogler as he came out of the tent with an angry look.

We are all pathetic. That's what makes life interesting.

What do you want now? I'm warning you, if you've come back to talk to me about your stupid Muggle radiation theory, no matter what Umbridge says, I'll kick you out of the camp. Only a curse can cause such damage to wizards. Muggles would never be capable of...

No, I followed your advice and decided to be realistic. By the time you understand what radiation is, all the patients will be dead. That's why I gave them all iodine tablets and broad-spectrum antibacterial potions.

What did you do? You risk killing them.

Or to cure it, frankly, I don't know which is worse.

You deserve to be sent to rot in Azkaban.

People do not get what they deserve. They get... what they have. And no one can do anything about it!

This will not end here. Starting tomorrow, I will inform the management of St. Mungo's and secure your dismissal.

Why wait? You can see that I am dangerous and need to be stopped. While you're at it, take advantage of the Floo Network to transfer number 2 to St. Mungo's before proximity to the other irradiated patients makes him sterile. Not that it would be a great loss, but you know these teenagers, they are such Drama Queens.

Curses don't work like that and you know it.

Except that it's not a curse. So what do I have to do for you to request my transfer to St. Mungo's? Kiss your mother? I can't, I already did it yesterday.

Vogler sighed and with a wave of his wand soundproofed the tent then pointed it at Housser in a threatening manner. The latter remained unshakable and replied sarcastically:

I warn you, I'm very bad in bed. In any case, that's what your father said the day before yesterday.

We lost all contact with St. Mungo's an hour ago.

Pardon?

No one answers our calls by floo and all those who tried to go there never returned. That's the real reason why we stopped sending patients to St. Mungo's and had to set up this damn camp.

And you hadn't told me because....

Because I have no confidence in you.

That doesn't surprise me. I don't trust myself either. But I understand even less why you're telling me this now.

Because, as you predicted, the teams that went to look for survivors without the ridiculous outfits you stole from the Muggle soldiers were contaminated by the curse of You-Know-Who.

Which proves that I was right and that it is not a curse.

Which proves once again that you have connections with the Death Eaters. One of them told you how to protect yourself from the curse. Tell me what you know about the curse and the real way you used to counter it?

Tell me, at your place is stupidity natural or did you have to train to reach this level? For the last time, it's not a curse, but radiation. Ask any Muggle-born.

I don't see how non-medimagicians could have any relevant opinion on the nature of this curse!

Well, listen, cast the Cruciatus Curse on me if you want, but stop spouting so much stupidity, it's unbearable. It hurts too much. And I know a thing or two about pain. Ask my patients.

The two men faced off with their eyes. Finally, Edward Vogler declared

Alright, I will pretend to trust you. Anyway, nothing else has worked. If you can at least relieve their pain, it will be a big step. I don't want to know how you do it, nor where your information comes from, but I give you free rein to treat the patients.

Your lordship is too kind. Greg simply replied before leaving the tent as quickly as possible, determined to put as much distance as possible between himself and Vogler before he changed his mind.

But the latter caught up with him.

Wait for Dr. Housser. There is no need to tell you that nothing said here should leak.

DON'T WORRY, I WOULD NEVER SAY ANYTHING ABOUT YOUR HEMORRHOIDS. Shouted Housser as he left the tent.

oOoOoOo

Madam Minister, Potter is on Diagon Alley. He has unleashed a Fiendfyre that is ravaging the alley and killing everyone who tries to stop it. People are dying by the dozens, we must (...)

Madam, an army of Dementors is besieging St. Mungo's, (…)

Madam, the shortcut is more urgent, the fire is spreading, and the smoke cloud is already visible on the Muggle side.

Madam, we have not managed to stop the Muggle soldiers, they are arriving en masse at the stadium site and we have not been able to evacuate the wounded. You need to urgently contact the Muggle minister to ask him to recall his men and help us create an exclusion perimeter.

Madam, the employees who returned from the stadium started vomiting and (..)

What should we say to the families of the victims?

And if he attacks the ministry?

Stop, I am not a minister. Umbridge shouted to all those who, for an hour, had been besieging her undersecretary office where she was supposed to ensure a quiet duty while half the wizards in the country and three-quarters of the ministry employees attended the Quidditch World Cup final.

You are the highest-ranking officer.

The woman with the toad-like face continued to scream:

Ha!!!! But what do you want me to do? How do you expect us to hide such an explosion? How do you expect us to face it? Almost all our Aurors died in that cursed stadium. And most of our Obliviators are at St. Mungo's or in the Ministry hall vomiting blood due to an unknown curse. We have no idea how he managed to cast such a powerful explosion spell, when he will do it again, or the nature of the curse that is making everyone around sick. And half of the Ministry employees who weren't at the stadium are unreachable and have probably fled. There you go, I hope I've summed up the situation well because that's all I can do.

Madam Umbridge?

Sorry, I cracked for a few minutes. Umbridge immediately recovered. After catching her breath and fixing her hair, she continued:

But I will not go down in history books as the minister who gave in to a 14-year-old half-blood. Or whatever he might be. Perkins, send a message to all the ministry retirees. Tell them they are mobilized and must get to Hogwarts as soon as possible. Mafalda, send a letter to McGonagall to inform her that we have found Dumbledore gravely injured. Make it politely clear that if she wants to retrieve him, she must let us requisition the castle. Juliette, go set a Fiendfyre in the Department of Mysteries. I want everything destroyed in 30 minutes. Just take the most important research reports. Steven, do the same in the records of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. We cannot let him get his hands on the addresses of those half-human beasts. That filthy race will betray us immediately. Everyone else, organize the relocation of all our men and equipment to Hogwarts. You have three hours.

Are we abandoning the ministry?

Do you see another solution? How do you expect us to defend it with the few troops we have left? Would you perhaps prefer to wait here for him to come and massacre us all?

And the side road? Asked an employee.

And Saint Mungo's? Asked another.

For the moment, we are doing nothing. We are retreating into a fortress from where we will plan a counter-offensive with the help of our foreign partners, replied Umbridge.

They will never help us. You know well that the witch communities have a principle of not getting involved in the internal affairs of others. Especially when they have nothing to gain from it.

The situation has changed. Send an urgent letter to Geneva to convene an extraordinary meeting of the International Confederation of Wizards. They will need to intervene at least to ensure the maintenance of the magical secrecy on our behalf. Also, send a Muggle-born Auror to protect the Muggle Prime Minister and explain to him what is happening. Choose carefully, as he will need to fulfill his role and advise the Muggle Prime Minister, even if communications are cut off with the rest of the ministry.

Madam, apart from those securing your office, we have no more Aurors. All of them died in the stadium or while trying to protect St. Mungo's or in ...

Send a retiree or a trainee Auror. Or the cousin of an Auror who works in another department, but manage to find me someone capable of casting an Expelliarmus. Otherwise, you will go yourself.

He swallowed. A few hours earlier, he was the head of the maintenance team for the Obliviators' office, and he preferred to enjoy his express promotion within the protective walls of Hogwarts. (Author's note: in plain terms, he was a janitor in a police station and now, he is the Minister of the Interior)

Yes Madam. Are you aware that losing access to the side path also means losing access to our vaults at Gringotts? We will no longer be able to pay salaries or our suppliers.

We have no choice but to trust these filthy creatures to keep our gold safe during our absence. For once, their cursed obsession with banking secrecy and deposit respect can be useful. Meanwhile, to pay our foreign suppliers, we will request a line of credit secured by the contents of our vaults in London from the foreign branches of Gringotts. They will demand an exorbitant interest, but we have no choice. As for salaries and internal suppliers, we will force them to accept zero-interest promissory notes. Those who refuse will forgo our protection in case of a Potter attack.

OooOoOo

To Madam Umbridge

I urge you to reconsider my request for sanctions against the mediwizard Greg Housser. The list attached to this letter is only a sample of the many acts of insubordination he committed in less than a day.

Moreover, given the circumstances, a mediwizard with a long history of collusion with the enemy should not be allowed to approach such a sensitive site. Do I need to remind you of the identity of the patient we are hosting in our secure unit?

Knowing your remarkable appetite for order, I have no doubt that after becoming aware of his unclassifiable behavior, you will reconsider your decision to keep him in his position. Otherwise, I would be forced to resign.

Director Edward Volger

Head of the Crisis Management Department of the Ministry

OooOoOo

Mr. Edward Volger

I need a stroke of the pen to make a department head and 20 years to get a doctor like Housser. He stays, you leave.

PS: Never tell me what to do again.

Shade

Minister of Magic

oOoOoOo

Author's note: Greg Housser and his lines are, of course, inspired by Dr. House. However, according to legend, Umbridge's line (in her letter) comes from Napoleon.

Editor's note: And this is the second time I've appreciated Umbridge in my entire life. The first being in the monstrous saga of Hermione's adventures by Link9.