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Breakfast that Saturday morning was as busy as always. As they were less pressed for time over the weekend, most students were taking their time to assemble in the Great Hall. The only table that looked almost fully occupied was Ravenclaw, who were most likely eager to get on with their day and begin studying. The Gryffindor, Hufflepuff and Slytherin tables were, at most, half full - their students more willing to meander their way down to breakfast.

Hermione, Harry and Neville arrived together, nearly a whole hour later than they normally would during the week. This was one of the rare times that the boys had the opportunity to wait for Hermione, rather than the other way round. It was not often that she indulged herself with a prolonged soak under a hot shower, but this morning she had decided to 'do herself up' as Lavender and Parvati would say.

Today, after all, was a special occasion. The first Defence Association meeting of the new school year. While she normally would settle for being simply presentable, this was an occasion that called for a bit more - especially as they had a fair number of new members looking to join. General consensus amongst the previous members was that Harry would continue in his capacity as their nominal leader, with the members of the so-called 'Ministry Crew' acting as his assistants.

Her idle musings over what Harry had planned for the evening DA class were abruptly derailed as she and her two companions stepped into the Great Hall. The sight which greeted them from the Gryffindor table brought her to a standstill and caused Neville to miss a step. Only Harry did not show any reaction.

"Am I imagining things, or is Ron actually studying?" she asked.

"Without having a big test the next day?" asked Neville.

"It's not so much studying as it is... mmm... research."

Hermione looked at Harry suspiciously. "Meaning?"

"Well, I might have let slip the fact that Colin is going to ask Ginny to Hogsmeade the weekend after Halloween. As a result; Ron might have decided to act the part of overprotective big brother, at which point he might have gone looking for something to make him even more intimidating than he already is," Harry explained as they resumed their course to their house table, where Ron was sitting. "Of course, that's just a theory."

"So, he's looking for a way to scare Colin off?" asked Neville, shaking his head. "Poor lad."

"Poor Ginny," corrected Hermione, "how can he do that to her?"

"Don't worry, I have something planned," Harry told them both.

The trio sat down next to Ron, who had his nose buried in a rather large book. They waited for several moments, but got no reaction from their red-haired friend. From the look of things, he was completely oblivious to their presence, so engrossed in his reading material that he had not even touched the plate of bacon, eggs and sausages piled in front of him.

Eventually Neville tried to catch his attention. "Hey, Ron."

Ron's reply was a mumbled, "Mmm."

"Talkative this morning, isn't he?" Neville observed wryly.

"Watch this," smirked Harry, turning to his best friend. "What're you reading?"

"Mmph."

"Must be very interesting, right?" he asked.

Ron nodded dumbly and turned a page. "Uh-huh."

Harry's grin was contagious, Hermione discovered, as he began to barrage Ron with question after question. "It's totally captured your attention, hasn't it?"

"Yeah."

"So you'd rather read that than eat breakfast with the rest of us?" asked Harry, eyeing Ron's untouched breakfast with a sneaky expression. Hermione immediately realized what he was planning to lead Ron into.

"Mmhm."

"Suit yourself," accepted Harry happily. He reached over and grabbed the plate of food, lifting it from Ron's side of the table and setting it down in place of his own breakfast. "Here, let me help you with this. I'll eat it for you."

Ron waved a hand vaguely and nodded, "Thanks."

Hermione exchanged a look with Neville, who was visibly struggling to keep a straight face. She had to admit, she knew how he felt. Who would have believed that Harry, or anyone else for that matter, would ever be able to steal Ron's breakfast out from under his nose without him noticing.

"While I'm at it, can I have your orange juice too?" Harry asked shortly after securing Ron's plate. He began to reach across the table before Ron even answered.

"Uh-huh."

"Thanks again," said Harry, snagging the drink with the same aplomb that he had the food. Setting the orange juice by Ron's former plate, he picked up his fork and speared a sausage. Lifting it up and waving it about in a vague manner, he spoke in an offhand manner, "Oh, by the way, I got a letter from Lucius Malfoy this morning, asking if I want to be adopted into the family. I'm thinking of saying yes."

Ron, still focused solely on the contents of the book he was reading, bobbed his head up and down and muttered, "Great."

Neville was going red in the face as he tried to repress his laughter and Hermione was giggling in a way that would have doubtless worried Ron more than Harry's supposed adoption. Again, it was only Harry that was not reacting to the redhead's token responses, save for a broad and mischievous grin that would have done the Weasley twins proud.

"Glad you agree, old friend. Your support means a lot to me."

"Mmhm."

Harry gave his friends a knowing look and a wink, before saying with perfect nonchalance, "Say, here comes Colin--"

"Where?!"

The reaction was immediate as Ron abruptly dropped the book he had been reading and began fumbling through his pockets. He looked frantically about for several seconds before managing to draw his wand, by which time he began to realize that Colin was nowhere to be seen.

Harry took a sip of his orange juice and nodded amiably to the befuddled Ron. He raised the glass up in a salute when Ron finally turned to face him. "Nice of you to join us for breakfast, old friend."

"Huh?"

Hermione could feel her mouth twitching as she struggled not to laugh. The confused expression on Ron's face was simply too much to ignore. He actually looked rather cute that way - something he would no doubt find rather insulting to hear.

"Now that we've got your attention," continued Harry, "Good morning, Ron."

"Morning, morning, yeah, uh..." Ron looked at the three sitting opposite him, becoming properly aware of their presence for the first time since their arrival. "When did you lot get here?"

"We just sat down," Hermione informed him, laughter threatening to bubble out.

"Really? I didn't notice."

This proved to be the last straw, as Hermione could not stifle a giggle at his reaction. This caused a chain reaction as Neville to burst into laughter. Hermione quickly followed him from giggles into full fledged laughter, which was the trigger that set Harry off. It did not help that Ron looked even more confused by their reaction.

"What? What're you laughing at?"

"N-nothing, Ron," she managed to choke out, "nothing at all."

"Come on, it can't be nothing," he insisted. "Tell me; what's the joke?"

"It's one of those, 'you had to be there' jokes," explained Neville, clutching his sides as he continued to chortle at Ron's cluelessness.

"Oh, okay," Ron accepted. Hermione guessed that he had decided it was easier to do that that continue asking. He tucked his wand back into a pocket and then looked down to see that his plate was missing. "Hey, where'd my breakfast go?"

Naturally this set Hermione, Harry and Neville off again.

"What?"

Unfortunately Ron's clueless expression only served to extend their mirth, which prompted Ron to grow increasingly flustered as his friends practically howled in laughter at his expense.

"Did you guys eat any of those sweets Fred and George sent?"

His attempt to explain their seemingly odd behaviour spurred their good humour on. Neville was almost out of breathe, his arms pressed tightly to his sides as he struggled not to fall from his seat. Hermione was slumped against Harry, her face buried in his shoulder as tears of laughter streamed down her cheeks.

"Come on, stop will you?" Ron pleaded anxiously, looking both worried and embarrassed. He cast a nervous glance around the Great Hall and complained, "People are looking at us funny!" When this did not produce any discernable results, aside from some more giggles on Hermione's part, he muttered under his breath, just loud enough for them to hear him. "They've gone barking mad."

Finally the laughter began to die down, much to Ron's obvious relief. It took several minutes, interspersed with the occasional bout of giggles, but eventually they returned their seats and resumed their breakfasts. With the spectacle apparently over, those students and teachers that had been watching the encounter, turned back to their attention to their own tables and continued their business as usual.

Business as usual, in the Ministry Crew's case, did not last long. Hermione had just finished piling several steaming rashers of bacon onto her plate when Ginny hurried into the hall. The red haired witch all but ran straight to them, a copy of the Daily Prophet in her hands.

Dropping into the seat next to Ron, she eagerly waved the newspaper in front of her. "Harry! You won't believe what's happened."

"Somehow I doubt that," was Harry's calm reply.

"What?" Ginny paused and looked across the table at him for a moment before recalling Harry's experience at the start of the summer, wherein he had gained 'memories' of everything that happened for the next twenty-two years. It was unlikely that anything appearing in the Prophet would be a surprise to him. "Oh, yes, of course."

"So what happened, Gin?" asked Hermione curiously.

"Someone tried to assassinate the Minister of Magic!" Ginny practically crowed, pushing aside a plate of sausages (despite Ron's muffled protest) and set the newspaper down for all to see.

"ATTEMPT ON MINISTER'S LIFE!" read the headline in big, bold print that took up nearly the entire top half of the page. Below the text was a picture of Fudge hurrying into the Ministry building, head down and one hand holding his bowler hat in place as he was jostled between what appeared to be four or more Aurors.

Ron stared with wide eyes and half a sausage sticking precariously out of his mouth. Biting down on the half that was in his mouth, letting the remainder fall to his place, he quickly chewed and swallowed before asking loudly, "What?!"

Neville leaned forward for a better look and asked, "Did they succeed?"

Hermione felt this was a bit of a stupid question, but didn't say anything. If the attempt had been successful then it wouldn't have been called an attempt, would it? And there certainly wouldn't have been a picture of the Ministry scurrying through the doors leading into the Ministry under, presumably armed, escort.

"No, but it was close!" Ginny answered.

"Pity."

"Harry!" exclaimed Hermione, looking at her best friend in disbelief.

"Well, it is," Harry protested defensively. He waved his knife at the newspaper and continued, "The man's a bumbling idiot that's causing more trouble than he's worth."

"Maybe so, but you really ought not say things like that in public."

"Why not?" he asked, looking a little annoyed. He viciously stabbed a sausage with his fork and grumbled, "He kept saying I was a raving loon all of last year, and nobody slapped him on the wrist for doing it in public."

"Harry--"

"Hold on a second, Nee, I just remembered something," he interrupted, snapping his fingers. Setting his knife and fork down on his plate, Harry took a short gulp from his glass of orange juice and then rose from his seat. "Be back in a minute."

Hermione exchanged puzzled looked with Ron, Ginny and Neville as he walked away in swift strides. The four watched as he made his way over to the Ravenclaw table, heading straight to a bob of... blue hair?

It took several seconds before she realized what she was looking at, but when she did, Hermione struggled to suppress a groan. It was Luna. And for some incomprehensible reason she had somehow dyed her hair blue. Not just any blue, no that would be far too simple. It was Blue, with a capital letter. A brilliant electric blue that seemed to almost glow in the dark. Considering it was morning, that was something of an accomplishment.

"Hey, Luna," she heard Harry greet the... eccentric Ravenclaw. Fortunately the ambient chatter in the Great Hall was fairly low this morning, allowing his voice to carry better. "Might I have a word?"

"Good morning, Harry," Luna returned, turning to regard him with a hazy smile. "What can I do for you?"

"This is for your own good, Doc," Harry informed her seriously. He then reached down and, to Hermione's horror, hoisted Luna into the air. Swinging her up and around he slung her unceremoniously over his shoulder, ignoring her startled squeak, and then proceeded to march back to the Gryffindor table. Fortunately Luna was wearing a pair of slacks this morning, rather than a dress or skirt.

Absolute silence dominated the Great Hall as everyone, student and teacher, watched in shocked amazement. Even the Slytherins failed to make any of the expected snide comments. Harry had been acting a little out of character over the past two weeks, but this was extreme even for him. The situation lasted until Luna apparently recovered from her surprise and said the first thing that came to mind.

"You have a nice arse, Harry."

She emphasised this remark by reaching down and giving the aforementioned arse a pinch. Harry froze in place, a blush rising to his cheeks. Hermione, even though she wasn't involved, felt her own cheeks grow warm for some reason - though she hoped to cover up this fact by adopting a disapproving glare in the general direction of Harry and his cargo.

Harry recovered from Luna's observation by returning the favour and lightly smacking her arse, eliciting a squawk of protest. "So do you, luv, so d'you."

In short order Harry had returned to the Gryffindor table and deftly deposited Luna next to Ginny. After making sure she was steady on her feet, he crossed back to Hermione's side of the table and resumed his place by her side.

"You smack hard, Harry," Luna observed, ruefully rubbing her rear.

"You like it that way," he countered.

Luna seemed to consider that for a moment, shooting Harry an indecipherable look, and nodded. "Yes, I suppose I do."

"Take a seat, Doc," Harry said, gesturing at the empty place next to Ginny.

"Er, Harry, not that I'm complaining or anything," said Ron, who had completely abandoned his breakfast in favour of staring alternately at Harry and then Luna, "but why'd you carry Luna here?"

"I want her to have breakfast with us."

"We more or less gathered that much, Harry," Hermione sniped, unable to resist the surge of irrational jealous. She knew that Luna was the only one of those present, aside from Harry, who had survived all twenty-two years of the future Harry remembered. She had been worried that this might affect how he related to the Ravenclaw girl and now those doubts were beginning to rise to the surface. "What we want to know is why you invited her to breakfast."

"She's an interesting conversationalist."

"I am?"

"You have no idea," Harry chuckled, "Now sit down and start eating, Doc, we have a busy day ahead of us."

Luna finally demurred, sweeping her shocking blue hair back, and settled into place next to Ginny. Harry grinned and quickly heaped a small tower of bacon and pancakes onto her plate - apparently he knew what she liked for breakfast, much to Hermione's displeasure. He hadn't filled her plate when they had sat down, though to be fair he had been busy annexing Ron's breakfast at the time.

Picking up the copy of the Prophet that she had set down earlier, Ginny turned and displayed it to her newly arrived companion. "So, Luna, what d'you think about the assassination attempt on the Minister?"

"Poorly executed, from what my father says," Luna assessed, reaching for a jug of syrup which she proceeded to pour over her stack of pancakes.

"Excuse me?" asked Hermione, looking at her in disbelief.

Luna glanced up, the normally faraway expression gone and her blue eyes glinting like chips of artic ice. "A well executed assassination attempt would have been successful."

"I can't believe you just said that," Hermione shook her head and dropped her knife and fork to her plate. "You sound as if you're disappointed it failed."

"I am."

Even Ginny seemed alarmed by this admission and exclaimed, "What?!"

"Minister Fudge is incompetent," Luna explained, her voice never wavering. She could have been talking about the weather she was so calm. "Unless he is removed from office, the Ministry is unlikely to operate as efficiently as it could. Since he obviously refuses to stand down and let someone more competent replace him, forcibly removing him seems to be the simplest and fastest option available."

"That - that's a rather cold view to take, Luna," stammered Ginny. "I never thought you could be so ruthless."

"We're at war, in all but name, Ginny," Luna asserted, turning to look at her friend with possibly the most serious expression any of them had ever seen from her. "If the Minister has to be sacrificed to save a hundred lives, so be it."

"I can't agree with that," Hermione protested.

"Why not?" asked Luna, turning her attention to her. She arched an eyebrow, also dyed electric blue, and stated, "One of the lives saved could be your own. Or your parents. Or Ginny's."

Further conversation was not possible as Colin Creevey chose this moment to appear from behind Ginny and Luna. Completely oblivious to the mounting tension, not to mention the oddly eager expression on Ron's face, he launched himself to the fore with his usual cheer and enthusiasm.

"Hi, Harry!" he greeted with a beaming smile. His hero worship all but blinded him to Hermione and Neville's presence on either side of Harry. In contrast, he almost immediately noticed the red haired witch that he was almost leaning over. "Hi, Ginny."

Right then Ron jumped to his feet, waving his wand in front of his face. A moment later Ron's head exploded in crackling red and orange flames, the skin and flesh melting away to leave only a charred black skull.

"IF YOU TOUCH MY SISTER, I WILL MAKE YOU SUFFER!! YOUR LIFE WILL BECOME HELL ON EARTH!!" the newly appeared flaming demon skull head roared in a voice that echoed throughout the entire castle and caused the cutlery on the table to rattle. Ron bore down on the petrified fifth-year and demanded, "DO YOU UNDERSTAND WHAT I AM SAYING, CREEVEY!? DO YOU!?"

Colin reacted intelligently and fainted.

"Ron, you egotistical prat!" shouted Ginny, jumping to her feet and smacking her brother on the top of his head, ignoring the blazing fire that enveloped it. It was obviously a magical illusion, so she had no reason to fear being burned. "What the devil did you do that for?"

"He was coming on to you!" said Ron, defending his actions even as his voice and head returned to normal. The dancing red flames remained for a moment before dissipating, making it almost seem that his hair was alive.

Ginny stomped a foot and crossed her arms. "He was not!"

"Well, he would have!"

Hermione, who was watching with as much fascination as everyone else in the Great Hall, leaned close to Harry and asked in a soft whisper, "I gather this didn't happen originally?"

Harry smirked in response, "It might have. Who really knows?"

"Nice illusion, Ronald," complimented Luna, prodding Colin's unconscious form with her foot. "Good result."

"Yeah, it was, wasn't it?" grinned Ron, ignoring his sister's protestations to the contrary, and returned to his seat before digging into his much neglected breakfast.

"Wha? What happened?" groaned Colin, who was starting to come around. He raised himself up onto his elbows and looked blearily around, apparently confused as to how he had ended up on the floor.

"Something rather like this, Colin," explained Luna, drawing her wand from where it was tucked behind her ear. With an abbreviated wave she somehow managed to duplicate the same effect Ron had used only a minute ago. Blazing blue-white flames erupted around her head, which was quickly reduced to a charred skull that glared down at young wizard, who was now frozen in place with expression of terror on his face.

"LAY SO MUCH AS A FINGER ON GINNY AND YOU WILL SUFFER FOR ALL ETERNITY!!" she bellowed in a credible imitation of Ron's earlier earth shaking roar. "IS THAT PERFECTLY CLEAR, YOUNG MAN!?"

Colin once again reacted intelligently and fainted.

"Oh god, Luna," moaned Ginny, dropping her head into her hands, "not you too."

"He was going to come on to you," explained Luna, dissipating her Ravenclaw coloured version of the flaming demon skull head. Howls of laughter followed on her statement, mostly from Harry and Neville, who were almost falling out of their seats. Even Hermione, who was trying to be sympathetic to her friend's situation, could not keep all her giggles quiet.

Ron, who had paused in the consumption of his breakfast, looked at Luna with an uplifted expression and mumbled around a mouthful of scrambled egg, "I think I'm beginning to like that girl."

-oOo-

Albus Dumbledore nodded his thanks when the Minister's secretary, Miss Lemon, informed him that he could go right through. He had known her since the days she had studied at Hogwarts, through all her years as Cornelius Fudge's secretary and the years before that when she had served in a similar capacity for the previous Minister of Magic.

"Ah, Dumbledore, good of you to come," Fudge greeted him, rising up from behind his desk and coming round to give Dumbledore's hands an enthusiastic shake.

"Cornelius," he acknowledged, not for the first time wondering why he had to put up with this. "I trust you are well. Not too unsettled by yesterday's experience?"

"A bit rattled, I must confess," Fudge admitted, returning to his plush seat. He waved an accommodating hand at the almost equally plush chairs opposite him and offered, "Please, sit down."

"Thank you."

Dumbledore graciously settled into the chair on the right, trying not to groan as his aching bones protested the motion. While still quite spry for a wizard his age, he had to admit that he was not half as flexible as he had been even a decade earlier. Truth be told, he felt as though he had aged those ten years in the last year alone.

Fudge continued his blustering speech once Dumbledore had seated himself. "Yes, as I said; yesterday's incident was rather off putting, but isolated incidents like that are one of the perils one has to face when assuming such a role as that of Minister of Magic."

For several moments the aging headmaster considered changing the plan and simply killing the Minister outright. After all, would anyone really miss the man? He had been under more stress, mostly self imposed, in the last year than during the entirety of Voldemort's last reign of terror. He, albeit grudgingly, had to admit that removing Cornelius Fudge from the equation would cut that stress by half.

Sadly though, common sense prevailed and he decided to continue with the plan he and the Order had concocted shortly after hearing Harry's demand to have Fudge removed from office.

"And what of the other attempt on your life, on Thursday evening?" he asked, keeping his voice level and innocent while watching Fudge's expression closely. "Another isolated incident?"

"What?" Fudge started, looking at him in shock. "How do you know about that? I thought we'd managed to keep what happened quiet."

"You did, but I have my means."

"But how?"

"When you live as long as I have, Cornelius, you just know," Dumbledore demurred, not wanting to let on the real reason how he knew every single detail about both attempts on the Minister's life. "That and I can see the Auror's report on your desk in front of me."

"Ah, well, yes..." Fudge stammered, flushing red as he hurriedly grabbed the offending report and dropped it into the nearest available drawer. Clearing his throat and trying not to look as flustered as he no doubt felt, he continued, "I trust you will be discrete about Thursday's events."

"Of course," Dumbledore inclined his head.

"Good, good, I knew you would understand."

"Yes, we certainly wouldn't want the public knowing such things."

"Exactly!" Fudge exclaimed, sitting up straight and bobbing his head up and down. He looked every bit the pompous ass that Dumbledore knew him to be. "Why upset them unnecessarily?"

Dumbledore nodded in agreement, his host completely missing the sarcasm as he spoke. "Quite true. Heavens forbid they ever lose faith in the Ministry's ability to protect its own."

"So, Albus, what brings you to my office?" asked Fudge, lazily settling back in his chair. "Surely you are not that concerned about my safety, regardless of this morning's article in the Prophet."

"As a matter of fact, Cornelius, I fear your safety is the very reason I'm here," he responded with as much gravity as he could muster, which was considerable.

"What?" Fudge asked, sitting upright again.

"It has come to my attention that Lord Voldemort-- oh, for... really Cornelius, I am very much beginning to tire of how people are so utterly terrified to speak or hear his name," Dumbledore complained, his attempt to follow the script lost as his annoyance made itself clear.

"He is the greatest dark wizard in centuries! A healthy dose of fear is only fitting!" protested Fudge hotly.

"Voldemort," he paused to allow Fudge time to recover from the inevitable flinch, "may be a formidable dark lord, but he is still as human as the rest of us."

"He cheated death! How human is that?" Fudge immediately countered. He waved his arms about in emphasis, almost knocking a pile of parchment over as he did so. "You were there when he appeared in the Ministry three months ago - did that, that thing look human to you?"

Sighing in defeat and acknowledgement that this old argument was not getting anywhere, Dumbledore decided to conceded for the moment. This was not the reason he was here for. Gathering his calm and finding his centre, something any accomplished Occlumens could do, he adopted a reasonable and conciliatory tone of voice. "Whether he is human or not is irrelevant at the moment, Cornelius. We have far greater concerns to deal with."

"Yes, yes, quite true, quite true," Fudge agreed with a brisk nodding of his head. Dumbledore found himself stifling the small amount of annoyance that rose up at how often the Minister repeated himself. "So, what were we talking about before that disturbing topic?"

"It has come to my attention that the Dark Lord," he did not say Voldemort's name so as not to upset Fudge again, "is behind the recent assassination attempts."

Dumbledore took a small amount of satisfaction in watching the blood drain from Fudge's face as that statement sank in.

Fudge swallowed convulsively and whispered, "What?"

Nodding gravely, part of the act, Dumbledore confirmed the information he had just imparted. "My agents have reported that he wishes to bring about your death."

"But, but why? Why me? What would he gain by killing me?" asked Fudge, the panic already beginning to rise as he stared at Dumbledore with wide eyes.

"Apparently he hopes that killing you will produce something of a power struggle within the Ministry, allowing him an opportunity to seize power," Dumbledore suggested, making sure to present an aura of unswayable calm to contrast against the Minister's sudden turmoil. "At the very least, it will destabilize any efforts against his second rise to power."

"This... this... but..." Fudge trailed off, shaking his head in disbelief. He swallowed again before taking a deep and steadying breath before asking, "Are you sure?"

"Fairly." Dumbledore resisted the urge to smirk. Considering who it was that had organised the attacks, it would have been rather hard for him not to be certain about it. "I find it rather an odd coincidence that you find yourself the target of two assassination attempts in less than a week when prior to now, you have never once experienced anything of the sort."

"You... you could be right."

The two sat in silence for several minutes as Fudge mulled over this revelation. Dumbledore spent the time mentally cataloguing the various pairs of socks he had. His attention returned to the Minister as Fudge began to shift in place. Watching closely he was surprised to see him nodding thoughtfully.

"It does make sense, doesn't it?" Fudge asked rhetorically. He pulled nervously on his lower lip as he continued, "I can't believe I didn't realize it before now, though I did suspect... It's not surprising really, considering the importance of the position I hold."

Outwardly Dumbledore was the picture of serene agreement, but mentally he was repeatedly banging his head on the desktop in front of him. He should not have been surprised, he supposed, but he had not thought Fudge's capacity for self delusion would be so completely without bounds.

Having begun to shake himself free of his earlier discomfort, Fudge gestured at the silver tea set sitting to one side of his desk. "Tea? Crumpet?" he offered.

"Just tea, thank you," Dumbledore accepted, the sinking feeling that he would have to go to plan B settling into the pit of his stomach. He had hoped it wouldn't come to this. It was far too risky for his liking.

"You take it with honey, am I right?" asked Fudge.

"Indeed. You have a good memory," Dumbledore complimented.

"Naturally," Fudge smirked, almost literally swelling with pride, "it's one of the requirements for the job. A necessity, really. One of the many abilities that no doubt cause the Dark Lord to consider me a threat to his schemes."

Taking the offered cup of tea, Dumbledore watched patiently as Fudge settled his own cup down and reached across to take one of the dozen odd crumpets sitting next to the teapot. His voice dry enough to make a Muggle martini, Dumbledore commented, "I had a feeling you would think that."

"But of course," Fudge readily agreed. "Great minds think alike, after all."

"How true."

Dumbledore silently considered the fact that he and the Minister thought nothing alike. Thankfully. The man's ego was on par with his ability to delude himself.

Fudge sipped from his tea and asked, "You realize what this means of course?"

"Please, enlighten me."

"I shall not bow down before him. I shall not yield!" Fudge exclaimed, smacking the top of his desk for emphasis. "Here I am and here I remain!"

Mentally cursing Fudge's mule-like stubborn streak and pride, Dumbledore kept the grimace from his face and tried to look moderately impressed by the Minister's statement. "That's a very... determined stance for you to take, Cornelius."

Fudge nodded authoritively. "Of course! I'm the Minister of Magic, not some low-level clerk that caves in at the slightest hint of a threat."

"The voters will undoubtedly be impressed by you dedication," Dumbledore supplied, having a sneaking suspicion to the real reason for the Minister's determination to weather what was to come.

"I certainly hope so, it's elections next year," Fudge agreed, taking another sip of his tea. He settled the cup down and regarded Dumbledore intently. He honestly believed what he was saying. "The people, witches and wizards everywhere, need to know that they can rely on me to look after their interests in such matters. If the Minister of Magic can't make a stand, who can?"

"Commendable."

"We need to send a message to the Dark Lord, Dumbledore. Show him that we're willing to oppose his machinations," Fudge declared, picking up his tea and taking another sip. Keeping the cup in his hand he thoughtfully mused, "Perhaps a press conference..."

"I think that's a terrible idea," Dumbledore deadpanned.

"Oh? Why do you say that?" asked Fudge, curiously.

"The Dark Lord does not appreciate defiance of any sort," warned Dumbledore sternly. "If you oppose him publicly, he will redouble his efforts to have you dealt with."

"Perhaps, but now that I know his plan, I can make preparations," Fudge argued. He picked up the crumpet he had selected earlier and held it up to take a bite. "Increased security, more Aurors in my entourage..."

Dumbledore immediately leapt into action, jumping up from his seat with all the energy and speed his aged body could muster. Stretching across the Minister's desk, he swung his hand and knocked the crumpet away from Fudge's mouth, sending it flying across the office.

The action, so abrupt and unexpected, startled the Minister even more than the supposed revelation that it was Voldemort seeking to assassinate him. Jerking back, Fudge upset his teacup, which spilled into his lap, causing him to jump to his feet and gasp as the hot liquid scalded his crotch and thighs.

"Dammit, Dumbledore, what did you do that for?!" he bellowed angrily, swabbing at his soaked trousers with a handkerchief he drew from his suit pocket. He glared across the desk and demanded, "What the hell are you playing at?!"

"I am playing at saving your life, Cornelius, that's what!" Dumbledore snapped, the adrenalin from his rushed movements causing him to momentarily lose his normally collected aura. His statement brought Fudge to a halt and left the Minister staring at him in surprise, his dripping trousers forgotten.

"Ex - excuse me?

Dumbledore motioned at the fallen crumpet, now located on the other side of the Minister's office, and then at the others still on the tray. His explanation was succinct. "Poison."

Once again the blood drained from Fudge's face. "P-poison?!"

Drawing his wand from within his robes, Dumbledore waved it over the tray of crumpets. He made especially sure to speak the incantation out loud, so that Fudge would know what he was doing. After the crumpets began to glow a soft, but bloody red, he lowered his wand and allowed the spell to dissipate.

"Very devious. You're lucky I was here, otherwise..."

"But, but poison? In a crumpet?" asked Fudge, apparently having trouble believing it.

Dumbledore shook his head and indicated the empty cup that had fallen to the floor near Fudge's feet. "No, not just the crumpets, but in the tea as well."

Fudge's eyes grew so wide with alarm that they threatened to almost pop out of their sockets as he stared at Dumbledore in horror. "The tea! But we've already--"

"Calm yourself, Cornelius, there's nothing to worry about," Dumbledore skilfully interrupted, not want to have to deal with a completely panicked Minister. "Well, besides the obvious, of course."

"Nothing to worry about!" Fudge shouted, "We could both be dying this very moment!"

"Not unless we eat one of the crumpets," he said calmly, hoping to forestall Fudge's imminent panic attack. He already had a slight headache from all the yelling. Fortunately, the comment was enough to slow Fudge's mounting tirade.

"The crumpets? I don't understand."

This was something Dumbledore did not find very surprising. If fact, he wasn't too sure that Fudge would understand even after he tried to explain. Still, he supposed he had better get to it, before the Minister started losing what little calm he had.

"A binary poison, Cornelius," he started, moving back to his chair and slumping tiredly in it. "Two elements, both of which are perfectly harmless on their own. It's only lethal when they are combined..."

"By drinking the tea and eating a crumpet!" Fudge exclaimed, smacking a fist into a hand as he made the connection.

"Precisely," confirmed Dumbledore.

"But how?" asked Fudge, visibly puzzled. For a moment the headmaster thought he was referring to how the poison worked and was preparing himself for a lengthy explanation, when Fudge continued, "My secretary always brews my tea herself - and I can't picture her as a Death Eater."

"No, I too doubt it was Miss Lemon that applied the poison, but that would not be hard to get around," Dumbledore immediately agreed. He did not, after all, want to falsely implicate an innocent bystander in this scheme. "Your fondness for crumpets with your morning tea is well remarked upon, Cornelius. You are, in fact, the only person on this floor that has them on a regular basis. As is the fact that you always use the same tea set."

"It was my grandmother's."

"Something not too difficult to find out," he continued, accepting the slight interruption with a deferring nod of his head. "Doubtless the poison was applied to the teapot, or possibly the teacups, sometime during the night. Lacing the crumpets would have been just as easy."

"The butter!" exclaimed Fudge, once again smacking his fist into his open palm. He stepped around the desk so that he was standing by Dumbledore and excitedly explained, "I always have fresh butter with my crumpets - they could have added the poison to that at the same time when they poisoned the tea!"

"In all likelihood."

Fudge returned to his side of the desk and slumped into his chair, his tea drenched trousers completely forgotten. He was frowning heavily as he regarded his grandmother's tea set and the tray of crumpets. "This... this was a close one."

"No doubt there will be even closer ones, Cornelius," Dumbledore advised, trying to stress the fact that Fudge's life was on the line. He hoped this might be enough to dissuade the Minister from his planned stance of open defiance.

"You think so?" asked Fudge, tugging on his lower lip as he considered it.

"Voldemort is not know for giving up, Cornelius," Dumbledore reminded him. The fact that the Dark Lord had nothing to do with this was not important, only that Fudge believed so. That the Minister was so preoccupied that he did not even flinch at the mention of Voldemort's name, was hopefully a good sign. "He will try again. As often as necessary, until he succeeds."

"Well..." Fudge licked his lips nervously before leaning forward and placing his palms flat against the top of his desk. His eyes held an almost admirable determination and an unexpected bravery as he nodded decisively. "Well... let him try."

Either that or he was just to proudly stupid to know better. Dumbledore found himself silently cursing this turn of events and wondering if just maybe it was time to retire.

-oOo-

Harry was both surprised and relieved as he took in the sight of the Room of Requirements. He was surprised, because he had not thought the room could make itself as large as it had, nearly as big as the Great Hall. He was relieved, because right now he really needed the room to be that size, if only so that everyone could have enough room to practice in.

It was half an hour after dinner and the first DA meeting of the school year was about to begin. They had gathered in the Room of Requirements, coming in groups of twos and threes and sometimes more.

There were a good many more people than there had been the last year, nearly thirty in all. The increased attendance had come about through an idea he had proposed the previous week. All the newcomers had been brought by previous members, chosen because they were trusted. Naturally there were no Slytherins present and, despite the Sorting Hat's wishes to the contrary, Harry doubted there ever would be.

"Quite a turn out," he observed from where he was standing near the door of the room, he and his friends gathered in a loose group to greet the various newcomers as they arrived.

"You sound surprised," commented Hermione.

"There weren't this many the first time."

"I wonder why," pondered Neville, who was looking over the small mob of witches and wizards that had gathered here for instruction.

Luna, whose hair was still as electrically blue as it had been at breakfast and who had been talking in a hushed voice with Ginny, spoke up, "No doubt due to Harry's influences on the timeline."

Ron looked at her in confusion and asked, "What d'you mean?"

"My knowing things about the future has changed the present," explained Harry.

"If last year was anything to go by, you probably weren't very eager to continue the DA this year," said Ginny, nodding in understanding.

"Only this time you were," added Hermione.

"And you asked people to bring friends," summed up Neville.

"Yeah, you're right about that," Harry agreed, still gazing over the crowd. Despite the fact that he had known there would be more, he was still a bit surprised by how many students had decided to join up. "First time round, it was the same crowd from last year."

"What about Cho Chang?" Luna suddenly asked, making a show of looking around for the Ravenclaw Seeker and this year's head girl. "I don't see her anywhere."

"Good thing too," declared Ron staunchly. He folded his arms across his chest, a scowl marring his brow as he grumbled dangerously, "If she was here, I'd toss her out on her arse."

Hermione turned to the redhead and pointed an angry finger at him as she admonished, "Ron! She's the head girl!"

Ron matched her disapproving gaze with a defiant one of his own and countered, "She also brought that little snitch into the club last year. What was her name? Marie?"

"Close enough," said Ginny, easing her way between the two.

Hoping to help head off one of the almost inevitable fights that occurred whenever Hermione and Ron got going, Neville pointed at his risk and asked, "I think it's about time, don't you, Harry?"

"Yeah," Harry agreed, slightly disappointed that he wouldn't get a chance to watch his friends have one of their spats. The feedback from his future 'memories' always left him feeling happily nostalgic whenever they did. Besides which, Hermione seldom looked better than when she was worked up. Glancing down at his gleaming titanium wristwatch, he confirmed that half an hour had passed since the close of dinner. "Time to get started."

Reluctantly, but knowing he had to, Harry separated from the rest of the Ministry Crew and began to make his way to the 'front' of the Room of Requirements. The room, unlike the Great Hall, was perfectly square, so none of the side was distinguished from the others, but the end opposite the entrance had had been declared the nominal 'front' of the room.

As he walked, quietly slipping between the scattered groups of students, he could overhear snatches of conversation as he passed by.

"So, how did you get involved in all this?" he heard one Ravenclaw ask another.

"Lovegood," came the reply, spoken with a weary resignation.

"Ouch," winced the first Ravenclaw and patted the second on the shoulder.

Harry almost paused to ask how Luna had talked the poor girl, whose name he thought was Lydia, in coming to the meeting. He was sure, knowing Luna, that it would no doubt prove highly amusing. In the end, however, he continued forward with nothing more than a slight pause to indicate that he had been eavesdropping.

Reaching the front of the room, he pulled out his wand and fired some bright red and gold sparks into the air. A few loud bangs, rather reminiscent of Muggle guns being fired, completed the effect and ensured that he caught everyone's full attention.

"Can everyone settle down, please?," he requested as all heads turned in his direction and an excited rush of whispers spread across the room. "We're ready to begin."

Slowly a quiet, but still excited, hush fell over the students, who had crowded around where he was standing. The only ones not pressing towards him were the Ministry Crew, as well as one or two of the older students, especially those who had been in the group the previous year.

Staring at the veritable sea of eager faces waiting for him to do something, Harry found himself wondering why he hadn't tried to talk Hermione into doing this part. He hated having the attention of so many people focused on him like this, despite the fact that he seemed destined to live his entire life in the spotlight.

"Welcome to the first DA lesson of the year," he began, trying to project his voice so that everyone could hear him and hoping that he did not sound as reluctant as he felt. With a fake smile plastered on his face he matched eyes with several old members of the DA as he spoke, "To those who were with us before; welcome back." Keeping his mask in place, he made a point of then gazing over those faces which had not been here before. "To everyone joining us for the first time; glad you could be here."

Surprisingly enough his opening statement was greeted with a loud and enthusiastic applause, which caused him to glance at his friends, seeking guidance. He did not consider himself a natural leader and nor did his future self. It was a burden he would be happy to do without.

Unfortunately his friends in the Ministry Crew seemed to think he actually knew what he was doing, and merely responded to his glance with gestures of encouragement. Hermione smiled happily at him and nodded her approval of his speech. Ron was grinning broad enough to show his molars, giving him a thumbs up, while Luna settled for an exaggerated wink.

With no help coming from that quarter, Harry decided to do the gracious thing. He would ignore the applause, which was already tapering off, and carry on as if nothing had happened.

"For those of you who are new, I'm going to explain a few things before we begin," he continued, reaching down to dig around in his trouser pocket. Finding what he was looking for he pulled it out and held it up above his head so that everyone could see. "Each member of the DA has a fake Galleon, courtesy of Hermione, which we use to pass on the date and time of the next meeting. It's a lot easier than posting notices or relying on word of mouth."

"More discrete as well," piped an older Ravenclaw he didn't recognise.

"That too," he readily agreed, glad that they didn't expect him to do all the talking. Returning the fake Galleon to its pocket, he carried on, "Anyway, Hermione's going to be taking a list of all our new members during class and will make your Galleons before the next lesson."

"Actually, Harry, I have an idea about that."

"Oh?" Harry looked at Hermione in surprise when she spoke up. She had not mentioned anything to him earlier, so he was curious to hear what she had planned.

"I don't think we should be using Galleons," she said.

"Why not?" asked Ron, looking at her with a combination of confusion and frustration. "I like having a Galleon on me, even if I can't ever use it."

Hermione huffed and adopted the stance Harry immediately recognised as the one she used whenever getting ready to deliver a lecture of some sort. "Galleons aren't the most convenient thing to carry around all the time. If it's not actually in your pocket, chances are you're going to miss any messages that come through."

"But it gets hot when there's a message," protested Neville.

"Which isn't much use if you're not holding it," countered Terry Boot, who was nodding thoughtfully, along with several other Ravenclaws standing around him. "Hermione's right about that."

Hermione smiled, happy at the quick acceptance of the point she had made, and then elaborated her plans. "I was thinking of making something we could always have on us. A necklace maybe."

Ron glared at her, crossing his arms and scowling, "I am not going to wear a necklace!"

Luna put a calming hand on Ron's shoulder, preventing him from getting too excited over the idea. It was something she and Ginny had been doing on a regular basis since the start of term. "Calm down, Ronald. I'm sure we can think of something."

"Maybe a bracelet or a ring?" suggested Neville helpfully.

"It would have to be discrete too, otherwise people might notice," put in Susan Bones. "I mean, if all of us started wearing the same kind of jewellery..."

"We can discuss it later," Harry declared, causing everyone to focus on him once again. He did not really want to be the one leading the night's discussion, but felt that they should be talking about matters slightly more important than how they would keep in touch with each other. After all, Umbridge's reign of terror and incompetence was over, so the need for secrecy was somewhat superfluous.

"Now, originally we formed the DA as a study group to combat that cow Umbridge and her idiot book and theory only teaching method," he said, giving a short history of the group for anyone who hadn't been told it already. He noticed most of the students quietly grumbling at the mention of Umbridge's name. He then moved on to address one of the concerns that had been brought up about running the DA this year. "Our new Defence professor; Smythe-White, will certainly be better than Umbridge. But, as the saying goes, practice makes perfect."

Most of the Gryffindors were nodded in perfect agreement, as well as a few of the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. Whether they were agreeing that Smythe-White could not possibly be worse than Umbridge, or agreeing that practice did indeed make perfect, he could not tell.

"Umbridge didn't teach us anything--"

"Yeah, she did - that the Ministry are a bunch of twits!" shouted someone in the back of the crowd, eliciting a few laughs and calls of agreement.

"--and I have a feeling Smythe-White is going to be concentrating mostly on defensive magic," Harry continued, ignoring the slight interruption.

"What's wrong with that?"

"A good offence is often the best defence," Harry answered with complete sincerity. This was something he believed in more than anything else. After all, if you spent all your time defending yourself instead of fighting back, you were unlikely to turn the battle around in your favour.

"The idea I'm proposing is that the best way to survive a fight is to know how to fight. You don't need to be good at it. I don't expect you to give the Aurors a run for their Galleons. I don't expect each of you to bring down a dozen Death Eaters without breaking a sweat. I don't expect anything so unrealistic."

Feeling restless, Harry began to pace back and forth. Fortunately the room was large enough to provide him with a nice, large stretch to pace around on.

"I don't expect you to help me save the world, though I'd appreciate the help," he told his audience, not really watching to gauge their reactions. "What I'm aiming for is giving you enough of a chance to save your skins when the shit hits the fan. Knowing what to do in a fight is the first step in surviving that fight."

"You want us to run away?" someone asked incredulously.

"Sometimes that's the best option," he replied, not pausing in his pacing. He stopped and swivelled on a heel, beginning the return journey to where he had started from. "If a dozen Death Eaters are trying to kill you, standing your ground and trying to fight back is only going to get you killed. The first thing you need to know about fighting is choosing which fights to take part in - when to fight and when not to fight."

"But what if you're not alone? What if they're after your friends as well?"

"Yeah, should you still run then?"

This time Harry did pause, actually coming to a complete halt as he considered it. His attention was entirely focused on the patch of carpet just in front of his left foot. Considering the carpet, or at least appearing to, his mind's eye brought back images of the future, of Dumbledore telling him that attempting to rescue Hermione from the deprivations of the Death Eaters would have been too great a risk.

Yet despite the hatred he held for those words, despite the pain they had caused him, he understood the necessity of it. Decisions like that were not taken lightly, nor made easily, nor forgotten during the night. It was hypocritical of him to judge Dumbledore for deciding to leave Hermione to her fate. He knew this because, at one point or another in the twenty-two years to come, he had made that same decision himself.

His hands impulsively clenched into tight fists, his fingernails digging deeply into his palms. Clenching his jaw and steeling himself against the turbulent emotions caused by this topic, he looked up and stared blankly ahead. He could vaguely make out that the assembled students were watching him closely, obviously confused by his reaction and waiting for an answer.

"Sometimes..." he began, the words almost sticking in his throat, "Sometimes you need to know when to cut your losses. You have to be able to assess a situation and realize that nothing you do will help - that trying will only endanger your own life. Better one of you makes it out alive than none of you."

A sombre silence greeted his proclamation. Harry finally turned his attention to see that he was being regarded with a variety of expressions, ranging from understanding, to shock, to horror and a whole gamut of other emotions. Deliberately avoiding looking in the direction of the Ministry Crew, he waited for someone to say something.

"Would you really do that?" asked one young Hufflepuff witch.

Harry did not answer for a long time. He did not know what his answer would be. When he did finally speak, the word was all but whispered and only those closest to him had a chance to hear it.

"No."

He stood tall and looked out at his fellow students, a determined expression settling over his face as he decided that this time, he would not accept a compromise.

"I live by a simple rule; everybody comes home or nobody comes home," he stated calmly, remembering how his future self would one day say something similar. This time he intended to keep to his word. His voice was steady, starting out quiet and soft, slowly rising in volume and intensity as he spoke. "I'll die before I leave anyone behind. If they're too injured to walk or run on their own feet, then I'll carry them myself. If they're captured, then I'll move the heavens and the earth itself with my bare hands in order to rescue them. No one is expendable! No one is an acceptable loss!"

It took a moment before Harry realized exactly what he had just said, not to mention how he had said it. Hoping that he had not just made a complete ass of himself, he looked at the crowd of students that were watching him avidly. To his surprise, they were exchanging glances and apparently nodding in approval of his words.

He almost cussed at the realization that he had probably just undone his earlier words of caution with the little speech he had just given. He could already see the looks of determination settling in place on one face after another. Most would not hold onto this resolution for very long, but it was disturbing to know that they might try.

Harry knew, more than any of them, how greatly outmatched they were in relation to Voldemort and his Death Eaters. It was a lesson he had learnt most painfully and at great cost that night the Department of Mysteries. Regardless of what his friends told him and his acceptance of it, some small part of him still blamed himself for Sirius' death. He did not want more guilt weighing on his shoulder, should anyone else be hurt, or worse, as a result of his fight with Voldemort.

A glance at his friends in the Ministry Crew was enough to make him forget chiding himself. Only they knew the true meaning behind his word, how much they meant to him. Hermione more than the others, thanks to their budding relationship and the few conversations they had surrounding it.

Giving a brief smile to let her, and the others, know that he was okay, he cleared his throat and spoke up in a brisk voice designed to capture everyone's attention. "Enough of all the depressing stuff," he declared once all eyes were focused on him again, "You came here to learn something, so let's get cracking."

He went on to explain that he planned for this meeting to be used mostly for evaluation purposes. From this he would decided how to structure following meetings, grouping people of similar skill and ability together. This had not been necessary last year, with the DA being as small as it had been. Now it had more than trebled in size, including not only more people, but a good number of younger students as well.

Grouping second and third year students with sixth and seventh years would simply not work. Harry might have managed to learn and master the Patronus Charm in his third year, but with all due modesty, he had to admit he was better at things like that than most other wizards. He could not expect the younger members to do the same.

After having everyone split up into groups of five or six, he then assigned the original members of the DA to work in pairs with each group. They were to start off by talking, finding out what the newcomers knew or thought they knew. From there they would proceed onto the more practical aspect, the groups having mock duels amongst themselves as the more experienced members supervised.

Only Harry did not have a partner or a specific group. Instead he wandered from one group to another, looking to gain a more general idea of the DA's overall abilities.

It did not take long to organise and, to his surprise, everything went quite smoothly. He spent most of the first half of the session with those groups made up from younger students, the few second and third-years that had braved joining.

This time was used making sure they didn't feel out of place, or as if they were intruding, in a club made up mostly of older students. He also gave short summaries of what he planned to teach them; everything from simple Summoning Charms to the far more daunting Patronus.

"Harry, do we really need to know the Patronus Charm?"

"Hopefully not, but it's better to know it and not need it than need it and not know it," he answered the second-year Gryffindor witch that had posed the question.

"Dementors are just as dangerous as Death Eaters, Keegan," added Neville. "Maybe even more so."

"What d'you mean?" asked a third-year Ravenclaw boy.

"A Dementor's mere presence can be enough to render you helpless," answered Ginny, who was partnering Neville as this group's supervisors.

"Ginny's right," Harry elaborated, seeing that the younger student's weren't quite following. "You can dodge or block curses and hexes. You can't dodge the feelings Dementors make when they're nearby."

A bright flash of violet light to one side, accompanied by a crack like thunder, brought the discussion to an abrupt halt. Harry turned to the source of the disturbance and quickly identified it as the group of fourth and fifth-years than Ron and Luna had been assigned to. Somehow he had a feeling he knew what had just happened.

"Harry!" cried one of the students, sounding a little panicked.

Harry walked over to where the group was standing, Ginny trailing behind him. He could tell that Luna was doing all right, as her blue hair was rather hard to miss. It was Ron's mop of red that he could not spot. The reason for this became apparent when he joined the small circle of students clustered around Ron's prone body.

Ginny gave an alarmed gasp and dropped to her knees by her brother's side. "Ron?"

Harry looked around for and explanation and asked, "What happened?"

"Luna," chorused six voices as their fingers pointed at the blue-haired witch.

"Nice shot, Doc," Harry complimented wryly.

"Thank you," Luna acknowledged in a sing-song voice, stepping up and kneeling down so that she was pressing against Ginny's back. She leaned over and bopped Ron on the head, attempting to rouse him.

"I think she killed him," muttered someone.

Luna looked up and gave a brilliant smile that was at the same time somewhat smug and satisfied. Her voice lost is sing-song quality and assumed an almost seductive purr as she placed both hands on Ginny's slender shoulders. "One down, five to go."

Harry looked at her, understanding the meaning behind her words. He had started things this morning, when he had carried Luna across the hall to join them for breakfast. He had suspected, after the revelations of what was to come, that she would decide to be aggressive in her pursuit. Though he had not thought she would declare war on all six of the Weasley brothers.

A low groan from the floor signalled Ron's return to consciousness. Pushing up on his elbows, he looked around with a slightly dazed expression and shook his head as if to clear out the cobwebs. "What hit me?" he asked, before he spotted Luna peering at him from behind Ginny. "Oh yeah, you did," he groaned and slumped back to the floor. "I think I have a concussion."

"Here, let me," offered Luna, drawing her wand from where it was tucked behind her ear and levelling it in Ron's general direction. The eager gleam in her normally faraway eyes was impossible for anyone to miss.

"NO!" exclaimed Ron, apparently having enough of his wits still about him to realize that Luna's help would most likely prove to be anything but.

"I might be able to help," Luna protested, pouting slightly.

"That's what scares me," he grumbled, staggering to his feet.

"All right, all right," Harry announced, grabbing his friend by the elbow to steady him as the redhead was swaying about somewhat drunkenly. Whatever Luna had hit him with, it certainly packed a punch. "Ron, come with me. You can swap with Ginny."

Dragging Ron away from Luna, who was grinning madly, Harry motioned for Ginny to remain where she was and take her brother's place as Luna's partner. Approaching the group he had been with earlier, who had all been avidly watching the encounter, Harry handed Ron to Neville with a cautionary note not to lay him out cold.

Keegan turned to Ron, who was leaning heavily on Neville, and asked, "Is she always like that?"

"Don't encourage her. It only makes it worse," grumbled Ron.

"She's just... committed," Neville offered by way of explanation as Harry departed.

"She ought to be committed... to St. Mungo's!" Ron countered unhappily.

Harry was still chuckling over the exchange when Hermione stole up alongside him and gave him a sharp nudge in the ribs with an elbow. "You knew Luna was going to do that," she accused quietly, the mirth dancing in her eyes belaying the sternness of her words. "Which is why you partnered her with Ron."

Ducking his head low, he confessed, "Guilty as charged, Nee."

"That wasn't very nice."

"No," he grinned, "but you have to admit; it was funny."

-oOo-

Remus Lupin was wondering what great evil he had done in his life to deserve the punishment currently being forced upon him. Doubtless, if his expression were anything to go by, Professor Snape, who was sitting in the seat next to him, was asking much the same question.

Gathering in the main study of number twelve Grimmauld Place, the varied members of the Order of the Phoenix were ready to begin the weekly meeting. Remus and Snape had been the next to last to arrive and were unable to find anywhere to sit other than right next to each other. It would be a good night if they managed to make it through the meeting without ending up at each other's throats, albeit verbally rather than physically.

They were waiting, however, for the only unaccounted member to arrive before the meeting could begin. They had been waiting nearly ten minutes and still no sign of her. Her partner, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had already been waiting when Remus arrived, so he had to wonder what was keeping her.

A moment later Tonks stumbled into the room, almost tripping over her own feet in her hurry to enter.

"Sorry I'm late!" she apologised breathlessly.

"Don't worry, we're used to it," excused Snape with a snide drawl. His scornful expression changed into one of outrage when Tonks gave the side table next to him a solid bump as she hurried by, upsetting his cup of tea and spilling its contents into his lap. Roaring with indignation he jumped to his feet and swatted at the scalding liquid, shouting as he did so. "Clumsy trollop!"

"Sorry! Sorry! I'm so, so sorry!" apologised Tonks profusely, holding her hands up in defence as the Potions Master gave her a glare that could have melted stone. "It was an accident! I swear."

Remus, however, had the feeling that she had deliberately knocked the table, using her normal clumsiness as an excuse to get the man back for his earlier comment.

Snape bared his teeth in a silent snarl as he used his wand to clean up the mess and dry his robes and trousers, grumbling under his breath as he returned to his seat. "Even more annoying than that mangy cousin of yours."

"I swear, it was an accident, Sev," Tonks repeated, finding a perch on the armrest of Remus' chair, seeing as no other seats were available.

Eyeing her with a disdain usually reserved for things that had crawled about inside sewerage drains, Snape heaved a long suffering sigh at the nickname and asked, "You live to torment me don't you, Black?"

Tonks levelled a flat stare at Snape, visibly annoyed at being referred to by the name of her mother's family. "No, not really Sev," she replied in a perky voice that belied her narrow expression, "that's just a... positive side effect of our relationship."

Turning away before Snape could reply, Tonks surveyed the room for the first time. She paused upon catching sight of Dumbledore, who was pacing impatiently back and forth in front of the fireplace. Leaning close to Remus, who had been quietly gloating over Snape's aggrieved expression, she asked, "What's bothering the boss? He's going to wear a hole in the carpet at this rate."

"Look closer," piped George Weasley, who was sitting on Remus' other side.

"He already has," finished Fred, with a grin.

"He's been like this since we arrived," added Kingsley in a deep rumble.

Tonks blinked and asked, "How did you get here ahead of me?"

Kingsley just chuckled by way of reply, leaving Tonks to huff indignantly at being left out of the loop. Before she could press the issue, Dumbledore stopped pacing. It was such an abrupt movement, or lack thereof, that all eyes immediately locked on the aged headmaster, without him even requiring to speak a word.

"Nymphadora," Dumbledore began, sinking slowly into the chair that had been left open for him, "You have something interesting to impart?"

"It's not my fault I'm late this time," Tonks started, pausing to give Snape an offended look. She leaned forward, her hair cycling from neat auburn to long blonde curls and finally settling on a short, unruly black mop that would not have seemed out of place on Harry's head. "Madam Bones had all the Aurors called in for a meeting about some new security procedures they want to implement in the Ministry building."

"So our latest ruse worked?" asked Arthur Weasley, sitting by his wife Molly, who was absently knitting something while she attended the meeting.

"Yes," confirmed Kingsley, settling back in his chair and folding his hands in his lap. He inclined his head, the light shining on his bald scalp, and added, "Minister Fudge was rather... insistent... about it."

"Worried, is he?" rasped Mad-Eye Moody, sipping from his silver hip flask.

Professor McGonagall, sitting to Dumbledore's right, primly said, "I should hope so, considering the trouble we went to."

Remus nodded in agreement. "Arranging these mock assassination attempts was not easy."

"I don't know whether to feel bad for almost killing him," said Tonks, leaning back and draping an arm along the back of Remus' chair, "or good for performing what amounts to a public service."

Oddly enough there were quite a few nods and murmurs of agreement, Mundungus Fletcher being the most vocal of the lot.

"Three attempts on his life in as many days," mused Arthur, "He ought to be nervous."

"Do you think he might step down soon, headmaster?" asked Molly, pausing in her knitting for the first time. From the look of it, she was about halfway through one of her famous Weasley sweaters. It was probably for either Harry or Hermione if the large letter H on the front was any indication.

"Unfortunately, no," Dumbledore answered somewhat curtly.

"What? But why ever not?"

Dumbledore sighed and seemed to sink further into his chair as he answered, "It would appear that Cornelius has decided to make a stand against Voldemort."

Groans of annoyances and disappointed greeted this admission from all corners, save Snape, who settled for an irritated sneer.

"Wonderful time for him to discover his backbone," commented Bill Weasley, dropping the thick sheath of parchment he had been holding on to the side table next to him.

"Any idea why he would do such a thing?" asked McGonagall.

"It's elections next year."

"Oh--"

"--joy," chimed the Weasley twins, dropping their heads into their hands.

"Bloody idiot," snorted Tonks, crossing her arms and almost slipping from her perch as she attempted to lean back. She grabbed hold of Remus' shoulder in a bid to retain her balance.

A loud thump from Moody's direction, he had stomped his wooden foot on the floor, drew their attention to the grizzled old Auror. His scarred face was twisted in a horrible scowl that matched anything Snape could manage as he thumped his armrest with a fist, "Then we'll just have to try again."

George looked at him incredulously and asked, "How many times do we have to almost kill him--"

"--before he catches on to the idea that we want him out of office?" finished Fred.

"Hopefully not too many," answered Arthur, also looking displeased at the news. He turned to look at a tattered calendar pinned to one wall of the study. "We don't have that much time left."

"A month--"

"--and a half."

Remus frowned and muttered, "Then it'll be Harry's turn."

Tonks looked worriedly at him and asked, "You don't really think Harry could kill Fudge, do you, Remus?"

"Quite the contrary, Tonks," he replied, "I think Harry could easily kill Fudge if he thought the situation called for it."

"And right now, he believes the situation calls for it," confirmed Dumbledore.

"You can't honestly mean that, Albus!" protested Molly.

"I'm afraid I do, Molly," Dumbledore sighed, sinking, if possible, even further in his plush chair. He shook his head and continued, "Harry was absolute in his assertion that Cornelius be removed from his post as Minister of Magic. If we fail to accomplish this, he most certainly will. And I doubt we would be able to stop him."

"Preposterous!" objected Snape. "Potter stands as much of a chance of killing the Minister as he does of acting responsibly for once!"

"I do not doubt his resolve in this matter, Severus."

"Whatever his resolve, headmaster, the fact remains; Potter is nothing more than a schoolboy, one with average grades and an inflated ego," said Snape, his words snapped out hard and sharp. "How does he hope to get within a mile of Fudge without every Auror between Hogwarts and London seeing him coming?"

Dumbledore peered over the rims of his half-moon glasses and calmly asked, "Have you forgotten the events of this summer, and the Sorting Feast, so easily?"

Remus noted that Snape was barely able to prevent himself from wincing. Everyone present had heard how Harry's Doppelganger had thrown the Potions Master across the Great Hall during the Sorting Ceremony. They had also heard how Harry had somehow blown Snape clear across his potions dungeon, breaking three of his ribs in the process, without drawing his wand, or even touching him.

Still, the spy pressed on and asked, "What does his running away have to do with anything?"

It was Harry's head of house, Professor McGonagall, that answered. Her lips were pursed as she spoke, "Harry has changed greatly over the summer."

"Which brings us to the next subject I want to address," said Dumbledore, picking up where she left off. He turned to face his colleague and asked, "Minerva? What do you have to note about Harry's behaviour?"

"It's quite disturbing, Albus," she replied after a moment to collect herself.

"He's not causing trouble in class is he?" asked Molly, her knitting abandoned.

"No, quite the opposite in fact," McGonagall said, a hint of surprise and a tiny smidgeon of pride in her voice. She shook her head and elaborated, "If I didn't know better, I'd say he was Miss Granger's long lost twin. His concentration and focus is frighteningly single-minded."

Snape snorted in disbelief, receiving a number of glares in return. Naturally he ignored them, though Remus wondered if he would be able to ignore any of the several dozen curses that came to mind.

Ignoring Snape's non-vocal commentary, McGonagall continued, "The two assignments he's handed in so far... they're of a quality that even Hermione would have difficulty matching. Sharp, concise and to the point. Only..."

"Only what, Minerva?" asked Remus as the professor trailed off uncertainly.

"You know how assignments are structured, Remus. The students are expected to give practical examples concerning the topic of discussion," she began to explain.

"That's standard for all classes," agreed Snape, with what could almost have passed as faint interest in his voice and posture.

McGonagall waited until Remus gave a nod of understanding and then continued, "All of Harry's examples are of a decidedly... aggressive... nature."

There were several long moments of puzzled silence before Arthur spoke up, "I'm not sure I follow you."

"Do you remember the principles of conservation of momentum versus displacement of mass?" McGonagall asked in what everyone present recognised as her lecturing voice.

"Just that the speed and direction of an object is not affected when it's transfigured," answered Molly, surprising those people that did not know her well. Despite her occupation as a housewife, something she was quite proud of, Molly was very skilled at Transfiguration.

"Simply put," McGonagall acknowledged, "but essentially correct."

By now Dumbledore was leaning back in his seat, hands steepled in front of him. He had a look of extreme attentiveness on his face. "I gather Harry's example was somewhat different for the norm."

McGonagall shook her head again and sighed, "That is putting it mildly, Albus."

The brief explanation that followed, wherein the professor quoted from Harry's assignment, left Remus wondering if he should be proud of the lad, or worried. In the end he settled for a bit of both, especially as McGonagall went on to mention the practical application that Harry had given as an example.

The concept was not a new one, having been used by witches and wizards in battle for centuries. It was something that made sense when you thought about it, though most people never did. Harry's application of the principle, however, was decidedly brutal - designed to cause the maximum of damage to anyone it was applied against. Not how your average sixth-year was supposed to think.

"Well, nobody can say the lad wouldn't be resourceful in a fight," decided Moody, seemingly pleased by the news. He had been obviously disappointed when he heard Harry no longer wanted to be an Auror. This seemed to make up for it in some way.

"I rather expected as much," said Dumbledore, tiredly. "Filius and Rhys have mentioned much the same."

"Rhys? As in Rhys Smythe-White?" asked Kingsley, looking surprised.

"Yes, he is this year's Defence Against the Dark Arts professor," confirmed Dumbledore.

"You sneaky bastard."

"Kingsley! Such language," protested Molly.

"Smythe-White was an Auror field Healer, Molly," Kingsley explained, though looking a little embarrassed at being chided by the Weasley matriarch. He gave Dumbledore a narrow look and added, "Albus must be using him to assess Harry's mental state."

Remus looked askance at the headmaster, "Please say you told Harry about this beforehand."

"Unfortunately not," Dumbledore admitted. He heaved a massive sigh and let his hands drop to his sides. "Worse yet, he somehow found out before term even began."

"Really Albus," said Molly, giving him a disapproving scowl.

"About time someone tried to set the boy right," muttered Snape.

Dumbledore must have heard the Potions Master's quiet remark, for he rounded on the man with a furious expression and barked, "Severus!"

A startled silence filled the room. Nobody could remember the headmaster having ever been so short before. Very few in the Order had ever seen him in anything approaching a bad mood, so this outburst was very unsettling.

Dumbledore closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose in a visible attempt to collect himself. Not for the few time in recent years, Remus found himself noticing just how tired the old wizard looked.

"My original concern was that Harry would need help following on Sirius' death and subsequent events at the Ministry," Dumbledore began to explain after regaining his normal calm air. "I did not intend to withhold the true nature of Rhys' occupation from him, but felt that it would be beneficial to give him some time to open up before explaining."

"And we know how well that approach worked last year," observed Remus, a tad sarcastically.

"Sadly yes," admitted Dumbledore. He sighed again and ruefully shook his head. "It appears that old dogs, such as myself, have difficulty learning new tricks."

"I'm curious how he knew what you had planned," commented Moody, his fake eye twirling about merrily.

Dumbledore actually shrugged as he said, "That I cannot even begin to speculate upon."

Bill appeared uneasy with such an admission and prompted, "Surely you must have some idea."

"I'm afraid that the 'new' Harry is an enigma, even to myself."

"Have you tried legilimency?" suggested Snape in that smooth, oily tone of voice that was so uniquely Slytherin.

"How could you possibly suggest such a thing?!" cried Molly, jerking upright and glaring at Snape with all the fury of a mother protecting her child. That Harry was not of her own blood was of no importance to her. "To invade the boy's mind without--"

Snape interrupted, "Letting him keep secrets from us in a fit of childish pique is not--"

"His occlumency is flawless."

Snape broke off abruptly and turned to stare at Dumbledore with an expression that could only be compared to that of a fish. Remus would have found it very entertaining, had he not been focused on the headmaster as well. His mouth opened and closed several times, not producing a sound, before he blurted out, "What?"

Dumbledore nodded in confirmation, "I am completely unable to enter Harry's mind."

"Impossible! The boy was utterly useless at the subject!"

"Possibly because you tuition was sorely lacking, Severus!" snapped Dumbledore, apparently not in possession of his much remarked upon patience. He closed his eyes and took a short breath to calm himself. Opening his eyes and continuing as if his brief lapse had never happened, he elaborated, "Apparently he found someone more willing and able to teach him during the summer. I would now rate his skill as equal to that of a grand master in the art."

"Then we should force-feed him Veritaserum--"

Remus jumped to his feet, snarling, "Absolutely not, you miserable--"

He was not the only one, as almost everyone present rounded on the Potions Master for making such a suggestion. The only ones that remained seated were Dumbledore, Professor McGonagall, Moody and Mundungus.

Snape weathered the barrage of protests by shouting his own trite beliefs in return. It seemed that violence was imminent, especially when Remus noted that the twins had drawn their wands, when Dumbledore rose from his chair.

"Enough!"

The full weight of the headmaster's magic must have been backing his displeasure, for silence fell faster than an executioner's axe.

Dumbledore stood before them, radiating enough sheer power to leave Remus' throat dry, looking as if he were sorely tempted to hex them to oblivion and back. He was glaring at them from over the rims of his glasses, his eyes narrowed in annoyance.

"Will you all please sit down and shut up!"

Everyone sat down so quickly, practically scrabbling into their seats, that it was almost funny to see. Clearly their leader was not in a good mood.

Dumbledore remained where he was watching over them, as if waiting to see if they were going to dare speak up. A long minute of uncomfortable silence filled the room before he nodded in tired approval.

"Good. Now," he turned to regard Snape, "Severus, I find your attitude towards Harry Potter to be needlessly aggressive, not to mention adversarial. I had hoped that someone in your situation, with your experiences, would be able to handle it in a more mature manner. Clearly I was mistaken."

"Albus--"

"No more excuses, Severus!" Dumbledore cut him off with an angry gesture. "Harry Potter is just that - Harry, not James. So will you kindly lay your grievances with his father to rest and get on with your life!"

"But he--"

"Damn it, I am tired of your excuses - and so, for that matter, is Harry!" Dumbledore snapped, clearly at the end of his rope when it came to Snape's baseless dislike for Harry. "He's already informed me, quite candidly, that while he does not consider you an enemy, he does not consider you an ally. If you do not make an effort to stay out of his way and stop this childish antagonism, that status will change. And not for the better."

Snape folded his arms across his chest and sneered, "What's the worst he could do? Throw a temper tantrum?"

Dumbledore levelled him a steady gaze and stated seriously, "He will label you an enemy and then deal with you in the same way he deals with all his enemies."

"And that is?"

"He will kill you."

"Harry wouldn't..." Molly began to protest, trailing off uncertainly.

"A year ago, I would have agreed with you," said Dumbledore, backing away from Snape and returning to his seat. "Now, I am not so sure. He told me so himself."

The silence that followed was an ominous one. It was Kingsley that finally broke it, clearing his throat as he leaned forward and asked, "Not to disparage him in any way, but do you really think he would do that, sir?"

Remus answered before Dumbledore, "He would."

"You seem rather certain of that, Remus," observed the headmaster.

"Remember what I told you about our meeting in the Room of Requirements?"

"Ah, yes," agreed Dumbledore, settling back into his chair.

"What?" asked Tonks, prodding Remus' shoulder expectantly.

Sighing heavily, Remus rose to his feet, almost upset Tonks from her perch, and began to pace much Dumbledore had been doing earlier. It took a while for him to collect his thoughts before he began. "You know how Harry was raised by those Muggles?"

Tonks nodded uncertainly, "Yes."

"No, you don't."

"What do you mean, Remus?" asked Arthur.

"They locked him in a cupboard for ten years, Arthur," Remus said, locking eyes with the wizard who's family had practically become Harry's own. "It wasn't until he received his Hogwarts letter that they gave him his own room."

"Dear Lord!" exclaimed Molly, lifting a hand to her mouth.

McGonagall rounded on Dumbledore, her features livid, and spoke in clear accusation. "I told you, Albus, I told you!"

Dumbledore sank his head into his hands, unwilling or unable to reply.

"Now think about it, just think about it," continued Remus once the mutterings had died down. He held up a finger as he made his point. "A boy raised by people, if you can call them that, who literally hated him for no reason beyond the fact that he had been born. Shown no love, affection or even simple friendship for the first decade of his life."

As he spoke, Remus noticed that Fred and George were looking particularly sombre. This did not surprise him, seeing as, out of the entire Order, the twins had spent more time with Harry than any of the others. They had been to school with him for five years, well, four and a half actually. Out of everyone in the Order, they were closest to the Boy-Who-Lived.

"As I see it, one of two things could happen," he went on, still pacing back and forth, taking a small amount of please in seeing how it annoyed Snape each time he passed by. He paused just as he was passing Dumbledore and quietly said, "First, it could break him."

"Harry is not broken! I won't accept that!" shouted Molly, jumping to her feet. It was only the intervention of her husband, Arthur, that stopped her from marching across the room to where Remus was standing and letting him have it.

"I never said he was, Molly, but you have to admit the possibility that it might have happened if he wasn't as strong as he is," said Remus, holding up his hands in appeasement.

"And the second possibility?" asked Moody

"Second... it made him hard as steel."

"But he's just a young boy!" Molly protested, struggling against Arthur and Bill's attempts to return her to her seat.

Moody sat and considered Remus' words before finally nodding in agreement. He turned to Molly, who was huffing unhappily, and held up a clenched fist as he spoke. "Steel covered in velvet, woman, that's what he is."

Seeing that Moody had caught Molly's attention, and that she was once again in her chair, Arthur returned to his own seat and asked, "So... you're saying he was always like this?"

"How couldn't he be, after the way he was raised?" countered Remus with a sweeping gesture. He resumed his pacing and scowled unhappily at the thought. "He merely hid it so that we never noticed."

"And what makes you an expert on Potter's inner self, Lupin?" asked Snape in his usual snide tones, although sound slightly more subdued than he had earlier.

"I know what it's like to present a happy face to the world," Remus answered curtly.

Tonks, having slipped into his vacated seat, shook her head and protested softly, "That's different, Remus."

Remus looked at her and asked, "Is it?"

"It just doesn't seem possible that he could have hidden this from us," commented McGonagall in obvious disbelief. "To change his manner so completely..."

"We all wear masks, Minerva. We wear them to show people what we think they want to see. And people are all too ready to accept what they see at face value, which is why they are fooled so easily... and sometimes, we even manage to fool ourselves."

The sombre silence from earlier returned as everyone sat back and obviously re-evaluated what they thought they knew about Harry. With the exception of Snape, who was merely scowling as he always did, nobody seemed pleased with what they were learning.

Clearing his throat to draw their attention, Dumbledore sat up straight and spoke, "Regardless, we have just more than a month and a half to remove Cornelius from office before Harry does so himself. Doubtless in a more permanent manner than we would like."

"It won't be easy if he's decided to entrench himself," observed Bill.

"We'll just have to up the stakes then," said Kingsley, who had been the mind behind the second so-called assassination attempt.

"What happens if we accidentally kill him?" asked Tonks, shifting to the side as Remus came to reclaim his seat. Seeing as she did not give the seat up, he took her place on the armrest.

"That would be bad," said Fred.

George thoughtfully added, "Could be good, as well."

Fred regarded his twin for a moment before bobbing his head in agreement. "Depends on your point of view."

"Perhaps we can bring about some kind of internal pressure?" suggested McGonagall as she picked up her, until now untouched, cup of tea and took a sip.

"Possible, I suppose," mused Arthur thoughtfully, running a hand through his thinning hair. He had been the one that laced the Minister's teapot with the first half of the binary poison that had been this morning's attempt at scaring Fudge from office.

"Best leave me out of that," grumbled Moody.

Molly looked at him and asked, "Why's that, Alastor?"

Moody gave what either an ugly grin or a disgusted sneer (it was hard to tell) and replied, "I've never liked any of this political intrigue and infighting. I learned how to do it, of course, and was pretty good at it in my time. But it's been years and I'm a bit rusty..."

"Oil yourself then."

"You must be tired, Albus," laughed Moody, turning to the headmaster. "Your jokes are worse than usual. Too sarcastic."

"What about Potter? What do we do about him?" asked Snape, apparently having not learned his lesson and still obsessing over Harry.

Dumbledore stared at the spy for several moments, probably wondering if it were worth speaking to him about his attitude again. In the end he simply replied, "I think it would be best to leave him be for the moment."

"Are you sure that's wise?" Snape insisted. "Giving him free reign to cause even more trouble than he normally does?"

"I doubt we could do much to stop him without getting in his way," Dumbledore declared wryly. He shook his head in disappointment, most like with himself. "His trust in us, in me, has taken a severe blow recently. Perhaps it is time we put our trust in him and his friends."

"I only hope this doesn't prove to be a mistake," grumbled Snape as he finally let the matter drop. As he leaned back in his chair, Remus heard him mutter, "He's up to something. I know he is."

"Perhaps he is," Remus readily agreed, "I think, however, that he's more apt to be up to something that would cause problems for the Dark Lord, rather than us."

Snape glared hatefully and hissed, "You seem to be forgetting who my other employer is."

It was now that Tonks joined in, speaking in a teasing tone of voice that was usually reserved by adults for when they conversed with small children. "Don't tell me that big, bad Sev is afraid of little ol' Harry."

"Potter is incapable of staying out of trouble," Snape complained, "I don't want to be dragged into any with him."

"I'm sure Harry knows what he's doing," said Arthur, who had also been listening.

Remus leaned close to Tonks and whispered, "I wish I knew what he was doing,"

-oOo-

"I have absolutely no idea what I'm doing."

The judicious use of a Silencing Charm prevented Harry's announcement from disturbing the slumbering forms of the other boys in the sixth-year dormitory. He usually stayed up another hour or two after his friends finally turned in, using the time to work on the various projects he had under development.

Since he still had not broken himself of the habit of talking to Father out loud, rather than silently, he used the Silencing Charm to stop his late night ramblings from disturbing Ron, Neville and the others. For that matter, he also did not want to risk anyone overhearing some of his more... dangerous... plans.

Like this one.

Spread out on the bed in front of him, was a partially dismantled nuclear weapon.

Naturally Harry was a tad leery when it came to playing around with the bloody thing. Accidentally reducing Hogwarts and the surrounding countryside into a radioactive crater, was something he hoped to avoid. And speaking of radioactive...

"If I start glowing in the dark..." he trailed of ominously.

Father, gently bobbing up and down on the opposite side of the bomb casing, responded in its usual manner. It's reassurances did little to ease Harry's mind.

"Hope you're right about that," he muttered, thinking about some of the Saturday and Sunday morning cartoons he had sometimes seen Dudley watching. "I do not want to become something out of a comic book."

Not bothering to comment on that possibility, Father simply directed him back to the task at hand.

Harry nodded, conceding the point, and leaned in close to the waiting bomb. He searched for the small removable panel Father had instructed him to open and finally found it. Just to be safe about it, he asked for confirmation and pointed it out, asking, "This one, right?"

The reply he received caused him to freeze in place. Swallowing nervously at the close call, Harry cautiously backed his hand away. "Right. Don't touch. Got it." He then focused on the correct panel, which was to the immediate left of the one he planned to avoid in the future. "The other one then."

Selecting the appropriate screwdriver from the set hovering near his right knee, courtesy of Father's GM fields, he began to remove the screws holding the panel in place. The first was quickly removed and he smoothly moved onto the second, which proved to be screwed in tighter than the first and he had to strain before it started to turn.

"Are you sure this thing will work?" he asked as he started on the third screw. "It's a great plan on paper, but unlike everything else we've put together, nobody in the future was crazy enough to make one of these. Not even Luna."

Father replied, sounding somewhat aggrieved at the idea that anybody would doubt its abilities. If there was one thing the Gatekeeper had gained in its sudden sentience, it was an ego. So far, to Harry's relief, that ego was proving to be well earned, as Father had yet to steer him wrong. For the most part.

"I don't like the idea of completely theoretical," he countered, explaining his reasons for doubting the reliability of particular plan. "Okay, I've got the panel off. What's next?"

He listened intently as Father guided him through the required task, step by step. It was nerve wracking work, but Harry's hands were steady in their movements. While following the Gatekeeper's instructions, he wistfully commented, "It's a pity we can't open a Gate from here and drop these off on Voldemort's lap."

This was the crux of the matter. Voldemort was practically immortal. True, having a nuclear bomb go off in his face would vaporise his body (not to mention everything else for several miles) but it would not be enough to destroy the Dark Lord's essence.

The nuclear explosion would only reduce Voldemort to little more than a wraith, much as he had been after that fateful Halloween night that changed Harry's life. This, Harry felt, was unacceptable. Which was why he and Father were altering the bombs into something a little more useful.

"Okay, it's done," he said with relief. "Time to close her up."

The first in many steps to change the nature of the weapons was finished. Harry put the panel back in it proper place and began screwing it down. He glanced to his left, where the second bomb he had acquired over the summer lay. Unlike the one he was currently working on, it was fully assembled and as yet untouched.

"I think I'll do the other bomb tomorrow night, I'm a bit shaky after doing this one," he decided, finishing up with the panel and returning the screwdriver the set he had taken it from. As he began to slide the outer casing back in place, he asked, "You sure you can override all this?"

This was the other problem facing him. Even after the modifications were complete, the bombs would have to be delivered personally. This was because the only way to arm and detonate the weapons was by using a combination of gravity and electromagnetic fields to bypass the various security measures - which they had not been able to obtain.

While Father could easily open a Gate to any location on the planet using those same fields, the truth of the matter was that the fields had a range of only ten metres. Harry had considered the possibility of having Father arm the bombs and then send them through a Gate. That idea proved unfeasible when Father revealed that it had to be in constant contact with the bombs until the counter hit zero, otherwise the built-in safeguards would abort the detonation.

In other words, Harry would have to be at ground zero when the bombs went off.

Father, again sounding a little offended by his doubts, assured Harry that it could easily override such simple technology. Of course, compared to Father's space/energy matrix, every piece of technology on the planet was primitive.

"You better," Harry demanded, "because without the arming codes and other stuff, the only way I could use these to hurt Voldemort is if I hit him over the head with them."

The comment that followed was crude, crass and entirely in fitting with Father's character.

"Ha ha ha. Very funny," responded Harry. Having finished closing the bomb's casing, he signalled for Father to lift it off the bed and shift it back into its subspace storage pocket. Without comment the second bomb was raised and removed from sight in identical fashion.

Harry yawned deeply, reaching his arms above his head and stretching out with a groan. "I'm beat. Anything else you want to discuss before I pass out?"

Not expecting a proper reply, Harry was caught by surprise when Father replied. He looked at the drifting black sphere opposite him, listening to what it had to say. Once Father had finished there was a minute of silence, as Harry sat and tried to process what he had just heard. Finally, an eyebrow arched up almost to his hairline.

"You're kidding."

The black sphere shivered indignantly and Father loudly asserted that it was not, in fact, kidding. Harry winced at the volume of Father's mental yelling, which threatened to set off a headache, if not a migraine.

Once the Gatekeeper fell silent, Harry settled back against his pillows and stared up at the canopy above his bed, considering the idea. It would be easy to pull off, he knew. After all, considering the fact that he had managed to steal a pair of nuclear weapons without anyone being the wiser, this new idea was a piece of cake.

"But once we have it, what will we do with it?" he asked, dropping his gaze back to Father. "It's a little large to store in subspace, don't you think?"

Father staunchly declared that it was perfectly able to store the item in question.

"Father, we're not talking about a few drone units here, we're talking about something that must weigh over ten tonnes!"

Once again Father insisted that it could do it. It went on to give a short lecture on how the only energy expended in shifting objects into subspace was during the actual shift. Once that was done, the object would remain in place indefinitely, waiting until Father shifted it back into normal space. And since Father currently had energy to spare, having siphoned off a week's worth of geothermal energy... well.

Harry nodded in concession to the point, scratching the back of his neck as he thought about it. "Well, it would certainly scare the stuffing out of any Death Eaters," he admitted, rather liking the idea. He could almost picture the expression on their faces. Something else occurred to him, as he recalled his original plans, and he asked, "Won't the plasma rifles render its presence redundant?"

Father replied by mentioning that it was only the two of them, so to speak, against Voldemort and all his Death Eaters. As such they could use all the help they could find, borrow or steal.

Mulling over the concept for a minute or two, Harry had to admit that the idea was beginning to grow on him.

"Don't they have guns as well as the cannon?" he asked, thinking about it. "Maybe we could convert those, or replace them with plasma rifles."

Thoughts of a similar nature must have been going through Father's mind, because a moment later, Father made a counter suggestion. Although the scale was somewhat grander.

"Replace the cannon? With what?"

A small, multifaceted crystal, about the size of a gobstone, phased into view and smoothly glided in front of him. Harry watched as a holographic projection shimmered into view above the crystal, first showing a series of schematics and then a rotating three dimensional model.

"An ion cannon?" Harry asked, after reading the text accompanying the construct hanging in the air. He looked at the Gatekeeper in puzzlement, not having heard the term before. He could guess at its purpose though, especially considering its name. He narrowed his eyes suspiciously and asked, "Is this another of Luna's theoretical models?"

Father elaborated, spending several minutes explaining the nature and workings of the ion cannon. It became quite enthusiastic in its impromptu sales pitch, going so far as bringing up the weapon's energy output and projected damage figures.

Harry nodded thoughtfully, wondering why Father hadn't brought it up sooner. It seemed almost as good an option as the phased plasma rifles. True, its rate of fire was much lower, but it made up for that in sheer firepower. "Hmm. Not bad," he finally decided, "but I think, if we go through with this, that sticking with the original cannon would be better. We could use some explosives to go with the energy weapons."

The projection crystal shifted back into subspace as the Father's sphere dipped low. Harry knew the artificial intelligence well enough to tell that it was moping a bit.

"Don't sulk. It was a good idea, we're just splitting it into two parts," he said, hoping to cheer the Gatekeeper up. He grinned as an idea occurred to me. "We'll see about building some independent ion cannon platforms, similar to what we have planned for the pulse rifles Fred and George are going to deliver."

Asking a question, the despondent Gatekeeper bobbed to and fro uncertainly.

"I don't know. Ten? Ten's a nice, round number."

Father seemed to like that idea, seeing as the sphere rose up high again.

"So, which army base do you think we could steal a tank from?"

-oOo-

It was a dark and stormy night. The perfect time, Voldemort felt, for a meeting of his Death Eaters. He sat in what he privately referred to as his throne room. Or perhaps, audience chamber would be a better description.

The room was impressively large, the largest in the building, nearly half the size of Hogwarts' Great Hall. Voldemort supposed he could have held the meeting someplace else, but did not feel the need to stray too far from his current lair.

Reaching out with his senses, those attuned to the flows of magic, he could feel the arrival of his servants outside, waiting for him to grant them entrance. It was not easy to separate their auras from the surrounding magic, his lair was even older than Hogwarts and its magic deeply entrenched in the very stones themselves. But Voldemort was skilled enough to count all twelve of those he had summoned.

"Enter."

The doors at the far end of the chamber swung inwards, activated by his command. The ancient iron hinges were completely silent, magicked to never wear down. He thought it a pity that, since a spine-chilling screech as the doors opened would have added nicely to the room's sinister atmosphere.

He remained in place as his Death Eaters quietly entered, not deigning to turn and face them. As they approached, stopping at a respectful distance, he remained perfectly still and watched their flickering shadows play across the stone wall in front of him. There were only six torches lighting the room, barely enough to allow a person to navigate about.

Once the Death Eaters were in place, they dropped to their knees, waiting for him to speak. The only sound in the chamber that of the torches crackling He did not. And so they waited.

This was a favourite game that Voldemort played. He had great patience, when he needed it, and his time as a disembodied spirit had only increased his patience. Should any of his followers move before he gave them leave, then they would pay for their insolence in the currency of pain. All of those present were old hands at this game and knew the rules, having learnt them during their early years of service.

An hour passed, before Voldemort moved.

"My loyal followers," he said, turning to face them. He gestured for them to get to their feet. "I have been expecting you. Rise. Tell me what you have learned."

The Death Eaters stood, several betraying the pain of cramped muscles. Voldemort watched closely, but none dared step out of place. Instead they bore the pain in silence, knowing that any breech of etiquette would only bring even greater pain.

Voldemort's eyes, which seemed to glow in the shadows, glided over the twelve witches and wizards standing in front of him. He finally settled on the one nearest the middle of the half-circle.

"Lucius."

The wizard in question stepped forward and bowed in deference. "My Lord."

"What has your son to report?"

"Peculiar happenings at Hogwarts, my Lord," Lucius informed him in his usual smooth and cultured tones. "Involving Harry Potter."

"Oh?"

Lucius nodded in confirmation and continued, "The details are still unclear, but it appears that Potter has been acting rather strangely since returning to Hogwarts."

This was something of interest and Voldemort asked, "Strangely? How so?"

"From what Draco says, he's been very aggressive in all his dealings with the Slytherins, as well as the staff. He apparently put Snape in the Hospital Wing shortly after declaring that he no longer wished to take Potions as a subject."

"He dropped out of Advanced Potions?" Voldemort asked sharply.

"Yes, my Lord," Lucius nodded again. "The only classes he is currently taking are Charms, Transfiguration, Defence Against the Dark Arts and Care of Magical Creatures."

Voldemort turned to one side, presenting his profile to his servants. He thought about this news, wondering why the boy that had constantly thwarted him in the past, would do such a thing. He knew, from what Severus Snape had reported, that Potter saw himself as a future Auror. With such a limited subject choice, that would not be possible. Why?

Then the answer came to him. He recalled all that he knew of the boy, knowledge compiled over the years that Potter had come to Hogwarts.

"So... he prepares to fight me, does he?" he muttered to himself, wondering what to make of it. He turned back to Lucius and asked, "Anything else?"

"By all accounts he has taken an interest in his mudblood friend; Granger," Lucius reported distastefully. "He even went so far as to threaten Draco while defending her."

"Interesting," Voldemort agreed. "How much of an interest?"

"He has been seen, on several occasions, greeting her in rather intimate embraces."

"So, little Harry has a girlfriend. That will prove useful in the future," he decided, thinking that Potter's infatuation with his friend would be the perfect means to an end. Shelving that idea for later, once the meeting was over and he had returned to his private chambers, Voldemort asked, "Anything else?"

"A suggestion by my son--"

Voldemort immediately interrupted, his voice soft, sibilant and overflowing with danger. While not opposed to receiving suggestions from his servants, he would be a fool to not, the dark lord did not want them to think they were indispensable.

"The boy dares to presume he can offer me advice?"

"N-no, my Lord, never," stammered Lucius, bowing low and visibly trembling. Even the most loyal of Voldemort's servants had felt a taste of his capriciousness and none desired to repeat the experience. Fear was the best means of ensuring loyalty, after all.

With a waver in his voice, Lucius said, "It is more an observation than anything else."

"Hmm," Voldemort hummed, eyeing his quivering servant for a long minute. Letting the man sweat it out. Finally he decided to prompt him on. "Well?"

"Draco believes that if we were to take the Granger girl, then Potter would doubtless try and rescue her, much as he did with Black."

"A good point, but lacking in scope."

"My Lord?"

"While I certainly want Potter to fall into my hands, I'd much prefer to teach him a lesson before then. A painful one," Voldemort explained. Normally he would have punished Lucius for daring to ask such a question. "The mudblood might prove useful in that regard."

"She is not unattractive. For a mudblood," Lucius offered.

"I shall consider it."

Dismissing Lucius, who stepped back into place, Voldemort proceeded to question the other Death Eaters. All of those reporting to him tonight had children currently attending Hogwarts. Children with orders to pass on anything they thought might be of importance.

"Are you certain of that, Nott?" he asked, when something quite surprising was brought up. He was surprised and annoyed that Lucius had not mentioned it. Apparently Draco was not a reliable source of information. "He managed to transport himself directly into the Great Hall?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Could it have been a Portkey of some sort?" Voldemort asked, thinking of the only possibility he knew of that could explain Potter's arrival at the start of term.

"If it was, my Lord, then it is not any kind of Portkey I've heard of," Nott answered. "My son described it as a large, shimmering ball of energy that Potter stepped through. A portal of some sort, by the sound of it."

"A portal? Hmm," Voldemort paused to consider this. Portals were ancient magic, a lost art. Complex and difficult to create, they had not been seen in since the age of the Founders. Even Voldemort, powerful as he was, did not have the knowledge or the means to create a portal. "Continue."

The next four Death Eaters had nothing new to report, only repeating what Nott had passed on. There were a few minor differences, but nothing noteworthy. All agreed that Potter had appeared out of a ball of something, probably energy of some sort, bearing various items that none of the Slytherins could identify.

The seventh Death Eater to report was Aloysius Parkinson, whose daughter, Pansy, had something interesting to impart. Again, Voldemort found himself wondering how it was that nobody else had reported this item beforehand. Perhaps using children was not the best way of gathering information from Hogwarts.

"An illusion? How could that manage to fool anyone for more than a second?" he asked, checking to see if perhaps this was merely a flight of fancy on the Parkinson girl's behalf. If it was, then Aloysius would be the one to be punished for it, seeing as she was his daughter.

"Apparently, my Lord, this illusion not only spoke and interacted with the other students, but was solid as well," Aloysius reported steadily, obviously certain of his words.

"Solid?" asked Voldemort, surprised.

"Yes," confirmed Aloysius. He glanced towards Lucius, in all likelihood a smug look beneath his mask, and added, "It managed to break Draco Malfoy's wrist while guarding the Granger girl."

"A corporeal illusion. I had no idea Potter was strong enough to cast such a thing," Voldemort muttered to himself. "And the Granger girl again. Interesting."

Casting illusions was an easy task, provided you had enough skill to envision it clearly enough. It was putting enough power behind the illusion to make it solid that was no easy task. Indeed, only one wizard in twenty could manage it and even then only for a short while. That Potter could do so, and maintain the illusion for several hours --at a distance-- was disquieting.

The reports that followed did not contain anything else of import. Having gleaned all he could from them, which wasn't as much as he had hoped for, Voldemort dismissed them. He briefly considered punishing them for failing to bring him anything particularly useful, but decided to wait for the next full meeting.

As they filed out of the audience chamber, Voldemort turned away and considered the shadows playing across the back wall, calling for one of them to remain. This was the only Death Eater who had not been called upon to speak, having no connections at Hogwarts. He was here for a different purpose.

"Things do not proceed as I had foreseen," he muttered, mostly to himself, but just loudly enough for his cringing servant to hear him.

Yes, this particular Death Eater did not have any contacts to make at the school, but he did possess several talents that Voldemort could find a use for.

"I need to know what is really going on inside Hogwarts, not these incomplete second and third-hand reports," Voldemort declared, rounding to face the cowering figure that all but prostrated itself before him. "You will assist me in this matter."

Visibly suppressing the urge to gibber in terror, the man stuttered, "H-how, m-my Lord?"

"There are two kinds of people in this world; those I have a use for and those I do not."

Voldemort smiled wickedly, a sight that caused the man at his feet to shiver in fear. When the Dark Lord smiled, it was more often than not a bad thing.

"Congratulations, Wormtail, you have become useful to me again."

TBC...  

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