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Pretending to be unconscious was fun. In fact, I might not have done this, but there was a simple explanation for this act of mine - I was really exhausted in a couple of moments of such powerful witchcraft. I was mentally exhausted from the Protego Diabolica and the breakthrough under the Priori Incantatem dome. I also had to monitor every movement of the Death Eaters in order to react in time to their actions. I was lucky that those actions didn't follow, but it was a hell of a load on my mind.

So, with Rowena's help, I faked a loss of consciousness. Around chaos was happening on the basis of what happened. Fudge announced the winners with a twisted face, assuring everyone along the way that what happened on the screen was part of the show. I floated relaxed in the soft emptiness, almost unable to see what was happening "outside."

Soon I was safely sent to the hospital wing, and half an hour later, Potter was dragged in, drugged with potions. But it seemed that the consequences of the short-term use of the Cruciatus in the form of hyper-excitation of the nervous system did not allow him to fall asleep even under the potions, though the latter did a good job of soothing the boy's shock.

Pretty soon, the hospital wing began to fill with other wizards. The first to arrive, of course, were Molly and Bill Weasley. The matriarch of the redheaded family snuggled quietly by the Chosen One's bedside as he feigned sleep. "How so?" and "Poor boy" were the main messages of her lamentations. Bill was just pacing back and forth, all tense, but what exactly was tormenting his mind, I didn't know. A few minutes later, Professor Snape appeared, levitating a haggard Alastor Moody behind him in some rags instead of clothes. The old veteran looked awful, though without any external injuries, well, except those he already had, and he had lost a lot of weight.

Along with Madame Pomfrey, Snape arranged Moody on the far bed, which was immediately separated from the others by a white screen, and Madame Pomfrey began her healing magic. At least I suppose so, for nothing could be seen behind the screen. Speaking of not seeing. No one paid much attention to the black dog by Potter's bunk. historical

A few more minutes later, Andromeda and Nymphadora arrived. If the first remained aristocratic calm, which could be confused with indifference, the second in her "Pink and Purple" hypostasis and in a leathery-incomprehensible suit as if from a nuclear reactor in one place, could not calm down, fidgeting and accidentally knocked over a small table with potions. Such sacrilege in Madame Pomfrey's fiefdom immediately summoned her to the scene.

"And I have already forgotten what disasters come from your presence, Nymphadora," our healer sternly complained, and here's the thing "Nymphadora didn't even give a hint that she didn't like her name."

"Sorry, I'll fix it..." Nymphadora hurried to raise the table but almost broke a couple of miraculously survived bottles of potions.

"No, no, your help will cost the hospital wing a lot of money."

Madam Pomfrey herself restored order with a wave of her wand, and Nymphadora retreated, embarrassed by Molly's snort.

"How are the boys?" asked Andromeda.

"Max has mild mental exhaustion. Mr. Potter is recovering from the aftermath of the Cruciatus. Good thing the spell wasn't held on him for long, and there was no nerve damage from the overload."

"Ah, what a nightmare!" said Molly quietly, pressing her hands to her chest. Quietly, but there was a feeling that the voice of this red-haired lady was heard in the farthest and darkest corner of the castle.

Behind the door, the noise of the voices of three obviously arguing people grew and grew. This, of course, piqued the interest of those present, and soon the doors opened, letting Dumbledore, Fudge, and McGonagall in.

"And I say," an indignant Fudge frantically twirled his bowler hat in his hands. "That this is all an idiotic farce. And I'll find out who's to blame for this. And how did you let the madman who held Moody captive escape?"

"I think," the Headmaster spoke up, "this wizard fled as soon as he was convinced with the help of the screens that the plan was completely successful. And why did you need a Dementor?"

"I warned him that you wouldn't agree, Dumbledore!" McGonagall cut in sharply. "I told him that you would never allow a Dementor to cross the threshold of the castle, but-"

"My dear!" roared Fudge. "Since I am the Minister of Magic, I am the one who decides whether or not to take guards with me when a potentially dangerous psychopath is in the castle!..."