A/N: Welcome back all, to the fifth installment of my James S Potter series. I appreciate your patience regarding the delay in getting this posted, but I now have a few chapters up my sleeve, so expect a regular weekly update schedule from here on out.

If you're reading this and confused, then I suggest hitting up my author's page and starting the series from Book 1: James S Potter and the Heart of Hogwarts.

For those of you who know why you're here, I'll not keep you any longer, save to say we will pick up the story with our heroes putting the pieces back together after the horrors of last year. But first, just what did they let loose down in the Ministry...

'Are you sure you want me to start this?'

'It's three p.m. isn't it master…?'

'Boggins, sir. Name's Boggins.'

'Isn't it, Master Boggins.'

'Well yea, it is… But what if someone's still down there?'

Grumweldius Arctavius Plank blinked once. Then he blinked again. 'But… why?' he said, slowly. 'Why would somebody be down there? An announcement was made. Notice was given. Ample time was afforded. Why would anybody not comply?'

Boggins was staring back at him, wide-eyed. He was making a sort of 'uhhhh' sound that was fast becoming irritating.

'Well, they might have got stuck, see. Or maybe they is trying to wrap up some work real quick. I dunno, something like that.'

'But… but they were forewarned.'

'I know's that, sir. But it's the Department of Mysteries, see. Any sorts of thing could go wrong. If you can imagine it, it's probably happening. That's what me Da always said.'

Imagination? What was he talking about. 'You're not paid to think, Baggins, just seal it up.'

'It's Boggins, sir.'

'Whatever.' Ridiculous name, either way.

The steady, rhythmic thwack, thwack of Boggins' charmed hammer nailing the boards across the doorway was music to Plank's ears, and he allowed himself a brief moment of reflection upon his selection for this particular task.

Huh, a rhyme. How… frivolous.

The choosing was no doubt a highlight of his career. Temporary Chief Overseer of Permanent Department Closure.

The entire Ministry had been gossiping over what had taken place deep down in the Department of Mysteries. Revealing their true nature as little more than nattering schoolgirls, their days devoid of meaningful work and thus spent whiling away, chattering over bottomless cups of tea, and endless streams of pumpkin juice. Pah! What a ridiculous drink. Simple water was all any man needed, nothing more. Too much flavour would send a man loopy, now there was a fact Plank well knew.

And so the Minister for Magic – the Minster himself – had called upon none other than Grumweldius Arctavius Plank to ensure this task was carried out. And he was told in no uncertain terms that he mustn't gossip about it. Nor was he to enquire as to the why behind it. A pointless warning, surely. What good would that do? Plank's task was to seal up all ingress and egress into the Department of Ministries, beyond means of access, mundane or magical. What good would it do him to know why he was doing it? Did a hound ask why when it was called to heel? No, and so Plank's queries had been entirely practical in nature. Which materials should he use, which workers would he oversee, where exactly were all the entry points, again? He'd even congratulated himself on getting creative, and placing horizontal and vertical boards across the doorways, for added security.

Baggins – Boggins, sod him – was half-way through the horizontal variety when a sudden commotion preceded a wild-eyed wizard barrelling up the stair well that was being sealed, leaping through the partially-closed threshold and turning a frantic gaze on Plank. Frantic, yet also somehow accusatory, as if this man's predicament was somehow Plank's fault.

'What are you doing, you mad man?' The wizard was short, a little on the portly side, and was going bald at the top of his steely grey hair.

'Why, sealing the entrance,' Plank responded, matter-of-factly.

'You could have locked me in!'

Thwack, thwack, thwack. Plank turned his gaze from the man to the doorway, which Boggins had nearly finished sealing.

'Why, yes. I suppose I could have.'

'What- why- how could you- you're insane!'

Plank began feeling that he wasn't quite getting through to the rotund little man.

'Ample warning was giving. Time was allowed for evacuation. All employees were told. Frankly, it's a little irresponsible of you to leave it so late. I now find myself delayed.'

'Delayed? Delayed? You- you are upset? By Merlin, you cretin! If someone didn't disseminate the Recirculating Flux Aspecter then by the time that… the thing that's down there gets to it, it'd send us all up in flames.'

Plank just blinked. Boggins had stopped thwack-thwacking. The boards were up.

Mr. Portly – Plank refused to burden himself with knowledge of the man's actual name – threw up his hands in exasperation and stalked off, muttering all the while as if Plank had somehow done him a disservice. Plank just stared owlishly at his receding back before turning to set about layering the spells, charms, hexes and enchantments upon the door that would truly prevent anybody gaining entrance. Or, as the Minster had pointedly stated, ensure that nothing could get out.

'No, no, no, you can't! Stop this instant!'

A tall, spindly witch with frazzled blond hair, thick-rimmed glasses and a flowing purple robe bounded around the corner from whence Portly had just disappeared and lunged at poor old Boggins, latching on desperately to the collar of his shirt.

'Open that door this instant!' she wailed, shaking Boggins bodily.

Plank's left eye twitched.

'This is above my pay grade, sir,' Boggins noted, mid-shake.

Plank sighed. 'Very well. Mam, we were instructed to seal all access and egress into the Department of Mysteries. This door marks the last on our list. Nowhere in our instructions were we told to re-open any portals at the behest of a wailing witch.'

'B- but you must. My little Mittens is down there!'

'Your mittens? I'm sure you could conjure another pair.'

'No, you dolt. My Mittens! My darling pet Kneazle. I've had her since she was a babe. She's a part of the family. She's- she's more human than you! You can't leave her down there, she'll starve. What a horrible fate, wasting away, day after day, slowly… confused, in agony… oh, Mittens!'

The woman descended into a sort of half-wail, half-howl and Plank, unsure what else he could do, gave the top of her head an awkward little pat.

'Don't touch me, you cretin! You're going to kill Mittens, you're a murderer! She'll die, eaten by that… that thing that's down there. It will take her and destroy her and – poof! – just like that, she'll be gone.'

Plank furrowed his brow just slightly. 'Then you ought to at least be happy she won't need to starve.'

And with that, Plank turned around to face the barricaded door, leaving Boggins to handle the distressed witch, and channelling what was left of his focus into sealing off the Department of Mysteries – and thus keeping at bay the nightmare horrors that had been spawned within it – for good.