Order of the Phoenix
Reluctant Allies
By Ruskbyte
Chapter Fourteen
~ Reluctant Allies ~
Harry Potter was exceptionally pissed off when he returned to Hogwarts the following morning, stalking up the front stairs and almost blowing the massive oak doors off their hinges as he stormed
though them. He strode through the Entrance Hall, not noticing the one or two students that were staring at him with wide eyes. The doors leading into the Great Hall burst open before he'd even
reached them and he continued on without breaking stride.
His thoughts were such a whirlwind of disorganized, unfocused rage, that he completely failed to properly realize that he was back inside the castle and everyone in the room was gaping at him.
Harry had never been so angry in his life. Not even that time when he had blown up Aunt Marge like a helium balloon for insulting his parents.
Dumbledore had been right, he seethed. By the time he had Apparated into the blazing ruins of Hogsmeade, Voldemort and his Death Eaters had long since vanished. He had the knowledge of the most powerful witches and wizards in history at his finger tips, their experience and advice at instant beck and call, enough power to level a mountain without breaking a sweat...
Useless.
The word curdled in his mind, the thought accompanied by waves of power surging up and straining to escape. The four house tables rattled and shook unsteadily as he stomped down the centre of the hall, towards the staff table. He barely noticed.
It was not that Voldemort and his followers had escaped and got away that fuelled his anger. It was not that those who had ravaged Hogsmeade were free and unpunished, for Harry knew that one day they would all get what was coming to them. One day. All of them.
No, what was really bothering Harry was how utterly and supremely useless he felt.
Voldemort had struck the first blow in this war and Harry had been completely unprepared for it and completely unable to prevent it. And that failure to do something hurt more than anything.
Well, at least I won't be having nightmares about Cedric anymore, he thought darkly, At least, not just Cedric.
*You need to calm down, Harry.*
Calm? Calm?! Calm?!?! I am as calm as you will ever see me!
*That's reassuring.*
"Um, Harry?"
Harry snapped his head around, recognising Ginny's voice. She, Ron and Hermione were standing a few feet away at the Gryffindor table. All three had looks of concern on their faces, which did nothing to cool Harry down.
"What?!" he barked, his mood so foul not even Ginny would alleviate it. Thinking about it later he would be surprised that he failed to notice the entire Gryffindor table, behind his friends, leaping a foot into the air and crashing down with a calamitous bang. So for that matter did the Hufflepuff table, which was behind Harry.
Ginny blinked at his tone, but seemed to realize that he probably didn't mean it. Keeping her voice perfectly calm, in counterpoint to Harry's mounting frustration, she said, "Sorry to point this out, but you're standing three inches above the floor."
This time it was Harry that blinked, dropping his gaze down and discovering that it was true. He was hovering a full three or so inches in the air. He blinked again at this realization and decided that he must be even angrier than he had thought.
*I think you'd better calm down, Harry. Before you break the castle.*
Good idea. I've got enough to answer for already.
Closing his eyes and taking a deep breath, Harry tried to bring himself back down to earth. It was not easy, all things considered. His experiences in Hogsmeade that night would leave Harry to remember it as the worst night of his life, even worse than the night Voldemort had been resurrected.
Being unable to fight or kill anything, Harry had done the only thing he could do, try to minimize the damage and rescue any survivors. It had not taken him long to realize that there was frighteningly more of the former and only a pitiful few of the latter.
The deep breathing was helping, as was considering the incident from an analytical standpoint, so after a few seconds Harry could feel the stone floor of the hall beneath his boots. Opening his eyes, he saw that his friends were looking at him with relief, although he could still see a great amount of concern on their faces.
"Sorry," he apologised, raking a hand through his hair, "last night was not a good night for me. For anyone. I'm a bit... wound up."
For the first time since this debacle had begun Harry became aware of his physical condition. His dress robes were torn and burnt in places, indeed some parts were still smouldering, and there was such a thick layer of soot, ash, grime, dirt and even blood, that it was impossible to tell what their original colour had been. His almost white shirt was in just as bad a state, what could be seen of it was streaked black, brown, grey and red. The red was a particularly horrible sight in that it was clearly a bloody handprint, where one of the victims of the attack had grabbed hold of him.
He could tell from running his hands through his hair that it was matted and snarled with grime, ash and... other things. Naturally he couldn't see his face, but Harry was willing to bet that it was in a similar condition to his hands. They were covered in ash, grime and yet more blood, the sight reminding him of some of the things he had seen and done over the course of the night and early morning.
No wonder they all look so horrified, he thought darkly, trying unsuccessfully to suppress the shudder of revulsion wracking his lean frame.
*You smell as well. Very fire and brimstone.*
Everyone was staring at him with similar expressions, and Harry noticed with some wry amusement that almost everyone had backed nervously away from their tables. The Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs in particular seemed to be intent of standing. Briefly wondering if perhaps he should reassure them all that the tables would not be jumping around again, Harry turned back to his friends.
"We understand, Harry," said Ron, blue eyes wide and anxious.
"Not bloody likely," replied Harry, snapping involuntarily. He stopped immediately and rubbed at the bridge of his nose, an old habit from when he still wore glasses, and sighed a tired apology. "Sorry. I'm just... tired."
A gentle hand on his shoulder made him look up, almost smiling at the sight of Ginny's chocolate brown eyes only inches away. "It's all right, Harry," she told him, standing back and releasing her hold on him. "We do understand that you're... tired."
Harry grimaced and looked over her shoulder at Hermione, who was shifting from one foot to the other and back with great rapidity. She was obviously trying to hold herself back. Harry had seen her like this before when waiting eagerly to ask one of the professors a question. And he knew what this particular question was about.
Cat's out of the bag now.
*If you wanted to be discreet you should not have Apparated in front of the entire school.*
I was in a hurry.
"Ask your question, Hermione," he told the fidgeting girl, "before you pop."
"Harry... how did you do that, last night?" she finally asked, stepping forward and wringing her hands nervously together. Harry could feel the eyes and ear of everyone in the Great Hall focus on them, also wanting to hear his explanation. "Leave the school, I mean."
Ron glared at her. "How can you be worried about something like that at a time like this?"
Harry, not wanting to have to put up with one of their fights right then, answered before things could escalate. "If you have enough energy you can do just about anything."
"But- but- but, Harry!" Hermione protested, as he had known she would. She sputtered for a few moments and then continued, "Breaking through the anti-Apparition wards around Hogwarts... the energy requirements... they - they would be..."
"Nearly infinite," he finished for her dryly.
Hermione nodded her head decisively. "Precisely!"
She seemed quite happy that he had agreed so readily with her and vindicated her faith in the written lore of Hogwarts: A History. Harry smiled slyly as he looked at her and decided to let her down gently by way of explanation. "You'll find, Hermione," he told her, "that there's a big difference between nearly infinite and truly infinite."
Complete silence descended over the Great Hall as the meaning of his words sank in, and the looks he was receiving showed that most of them understood. He would have preferred to let slip that he was slightly more powerful than everyone had thought in private, but was simply too tired to give a right damn about it at the moment.
*Slightly more powerful?*
*Well, how would you describe it and still remain modest?*
*How about; 'I'm powerful, I'm strong, I'm cool, I'm a badass, blah, blah, blah...'*
I'm going to need therapy.
Harry shrugged off the chatter in his mind and then shrugged apologetically to a stunned-looking Hermione, a speechless Ron and a thoughtful Ginny. After fishing around for something to say he gave another shrug and explained, "My 'growth spurt' of magical abilities was somewhat more... extensive than I led Dumbledore to believe."
It was clear, just from the expressions on their faces, that even if the rest of Hogwarts was prepared to accept this explanation, Ron, Hermione and Ginny did not. The three of them knew him better than anyone and could tell when he was lying. It did not help, Harry mused, that he was not a very good liar. He had only managed to keep matters quiet this long by being evasive when he could and telling just enough of the truth when he couldn't that nobody questioned just how much he was leaving out.
No use crying over spilled milk, he decided.
Placing his hands along his spine and arching his back, Harry stretched out and half yawned as his muscles groaned and creaked, "I'm tired. I'm going to bed."
He started towards the nearest exit, aware of the eyes following him, and in the case of his three best friends doing more than just follow him with their eyes. Normally he would be able to feel them behind him, their auras as familiar to him as their faces, but he was too tired for that. Besides, he could hear the footsteps quite clearly.
"How's life treating you, Potter?"
*It's the arsehole again.*
Harry drew to a halt just outside the Great Hall, Ginny, Ron and Hermione alongside him. Trying not lose his cool, Harry turned slowly to face the person who had spoken. Malfoy, with the ever present Crabbe and Goyle, was leaning against the wall, a sheath of paper in one hand.
"Like he caught me in bed with his only daughter," Harry said, unable to keep a sharp edge from creeping into his voice. Malfoy was looking exceptionally pleased with something, his grey eyes gleaming maliciously as he pushed off the wall. "Don't make me angry today, Malfoy," he warned through clenched teeth. "You may not survive the experience."
It was Hermione naturally that spoke up as the usual voice of reason, but this time her voice held a note of worry it seldom had before. "Malfoy, I think you'd better listen to him," she advised the Slytherin boy.
Save for a disdainful sneer, Malfoy ignored her and closed the distance between him and Harry, lifting up his hand so Harry could see what he was holding. It was a newspaper, he realized, the early addition of the Daily Prophet. The headlines made Malfoy's point more clearly than any word he could speak.
ATTACK IN HOGSMEADE!
OVER A HUNDRED DEAD!
"I'm fully aware of how many people are dead, Malfoy," Harry hissed venomously, lifting his hands up so that everyone could see the grime and blood coating them. "A good number of them died in my arms."
Malfoy's sneer broadened into an evil smile. "I hope they were all Mudbloods or Muggle lovers like that fool Dumbledore."
Can I kill him? Please?
*If it'll make you feel any better.*
"Okay," Harry declared, "I'm going to kill 'im."
His movements were a blur, although Harry had no trouble following what he was doing, and by the time his companions could react it was already over. He had started with a downward knife hand strike to Malfoy's collarbone, followed by a tight spin that ended with Harry standing behind the staggering Slytherin.
He grabbed Malfoy's right arm and with a sharp jerk and twist, swung the pale boy face first into the nearest wall. There was a sickening pop as Malfoy's shoulder dislocated, which merged with the loud cracks as his elbow, wrist, nose and jaw were broken all at once. Harry kept his left hand on the arm he was holding and snaked his right around Malfoy's throat and under his jaw.
*I was being sarcastic.*
Harry looked over his shoulder at Crabbe and Goyle, who were both watching in stupid amazement. The pair took on look at him, another at the gagging and bleeding Malfoy, before turning on a Knut and all but sprinting down the corridor. Harry turned his attention back to his victim, who was struggling weakly between him and the wall, which now had a large splattered smear of blood where Malfoy's face had impacted.
"It's official," he heard Ron breathe in a tone that suggested a mixture of amazement, fear and suppressed delight. "We've discovered something more dangerous than Ginny when she's pissed off."
"What's that?" asked Hermione, quietly.
Harry could not see it, but he could hear the smile. "Harry when he's pissed off.
The sharp click of booted footsteps on the stone floor drew everyone's attention to somebody coming down the corridor towards them. While Harry could not claim to recognise the magic auras of everyone at Hogwarts, this person was one he was eminently familiar with. Unfortunately.
This day just gets better and better.
"Finally decided to return have you, Potter?" Snape asked in an acid tone. His black robes were billowing as he came striding purposefully towards them. "It's about time as well, I've being waiting - What on earth are you doing?"
Snape came to an abrupt halt, not a yard away from where Harry had Malfoy pressed up against the wall. His sallow face was a picture of disbelief as a light blue folded note which he was carrying slipped from his fingers and fluttered to the floor.
"It's not what it looks like, Professor," Ginny tried to explain.
"I'm about to separate Malfoy's head from his body," declared Harry calmly. "It's a new kind of stress therapy I've invented. Want to try it?"
Never in all the years he had known the man had Harry seen the Potions Master look so utterly dumbstruck. He could not have achieved a similar effect if he had slapped Snape in the face with a freshly caught trout. For the first time Snape honestly seemed incapable to speaking, or in his case snapping, a coherent sentence.
I like him better this way. Think I could make it permanent?
*Not without significant behavioural modifications.*
Snape finally found his voice, and his coherency, and bellowed at the top of his lungs, "Let him go this instant!"
Harry considered refusing for a moment. The prospect of decapitating Malfoy was tempting and right now he needed to relieve the stress. But after a moment, a very long moment, he decided that it would be less than appropriate. He was a Prefect after all, not that he had had much to do besides choose the password to Gryffindor Tower every so often.
Reluctantly--it was very tempting--Harry released Malfoy from his hold. Ignoring the way his fellow Prefect collapsed in a bloody heap, and ignoring Snape at the same time, Harry turned his attention downwards.
"Is that for me?" he asked, stooping to pick up the note Snape had dropped. It was addressed to him, and he immediately recognised the handwriting as belonging to Dumbledore. Breaking the wax seal and unfolding the note, he read the few words that were there.
Well, there goes my chances of getting some rest right away.
"I'm expected in Professor Dumbledore's office," he told Ginny, Ron and Hermione, who had been nervously watching the exchange. The three of them shared a worried look at this, one was only summoned to Dumbledore's office in dire circumstances. Snape, however, seemed delighted.
"Perfect timing for your expulsion."
"Unfortunately, that will not be on the agenda," replied Harry, ignoring Snape's sneer, and handed the letter to the scowling professor so that he too could read what was written.
"Minister Fudge is here."
***
Albus Dumbledore was not a man who angered quickly, primarily because he had great reserves of patience and because he very seldom needed to. Today, however, he was faced with something that was greatly trying his aforementioned patience and the situation regarding Voldemort and his resurrection could very easily be considered dire need.
Besides which, Cornelius Fudge was an absolute and complete idiot.
The Minister for Magic was also an exceptionally stubborn man, and had been so even when he was one of Dumbledore's students when he was younger. Indeed he was so remarkably stubborn that his classmates, and even some of the teachers of the time, had nicknamed him "mule" by way of reference.
I should have expected he would only get worse with age, mused the headmaster.
On a good day, and in better times, Dumbledore would have found Fudge's mule-like stubbornness to not accept the blindingly obvious as somewhat amusing. But the better times had ended six months ago when Peter Pettigrew returned his master to a semblance of life. And after the events of last night, today was certainly anything but good.
"Allow me to extend my congratulations, Cornelius," he rumbled, an inkling of his mounting frustration with the rotund Minister beginning to show in his voice and his words. "You have the singularly most closed-off mind that I have ever had the misfortune of encountering."
Before Fudge had time to begin looking insulted, if he ever worked it out, a muffled snort of amusement by the doorway drew their attention. Standing at the entrance to his office were Harry and Professor Snape, the former of which was smirking wryly while the latter alternately scowled at first the boy beside him and then at the recalcitrant Minister.
"Ah, Severus," he greeted, "I see you were able to deliver my message to Mr Potter."
Harry, looking exceptionally dirty save where he had apparently cast a very hurried cleaning charm on his face and hands, brushed passed Snape and stepped inside. "Sorry to keep you waiting, Albus," he said, fatigue weighing down his words. "I only just got back from the village."
Dumbledore nodded gravely. "Is it as bad as the reports?"
Raking his hands through his messy hair, Harry sighed volcanically. "Worse. I'd guess we're looking at between two and three hundred dead at the final count. The entire village resembles a battlefield, like something out of World War Two."
"Do not let it prey on you mind, Harry," he comforted, sensing the self-recrimination the boy was wallowing in. "This attack came as a complete surprise to all of us. We had no warning."
Harry was literally seething and raked his hands through his hair again. His entire posture spoke volumes of frustration that exceeded even Dumbledore's at the moment. Without warning the young man whirled at Snape with a vengeance, "Dammit, man, you're supposed to be the bloody spy. Why the hell didn't you know Voldemort was going to do this?"
Snape was so livid at being on the receiving end of Harry's outburst that his normally sallow skin was almost a normal rosy pink. His teeth ground audibly together and his reply came grated through a clenched jaw. "The Dark Lord does not fully trust me, Potter. Apparently I've saved your life once too often! He and the others are not convinced of my loyalty."
"What are you waiting for then? Convince him!" insisted Harry, making expressive gestures with his hands as he faced down his professor. Considering his normally restrained manner of speech, this was an even further indication of how upset Harry was.
"The best way for me to convince Lord Voldemort of my loyalty would be to throw you off the top of the Astronomy Tower!" Snape replied waspishly, teeth bared.
"I'll keep that in mind," growled Harry, staring into the other's eyes.
Dumbledore watched the exchange of harsh words with almost a trace of amusement. After the last hour spent trying to convince Fudge to accept the Voldemort had returned, this by-play between the two was a welcome relief. The Minister, he noticed out the corner of his eye, seemed quite put out by the interruption and also a tad nervous.
Harry ran a hand through his hair again--it was becoming practically a nervous tic--and heaved a deep sigh before declaring, "I need a drink."
"Perhaps some tea would sooth all our nerves," suggested Dumbledore, conjuring up a silver platter and a tea set.
"I was hoping for something stronger," admitted Harry, but was already pouring the steaming liquid into the cups and handing them out.
While Harry was pouring the tea, Fudge finally found his voice and resumed his bleating refusals to admit Voldemort had returned.
"Really Dumbledore, you're going too far!" he protested pompously. "You-Know-Who is not back and will never be back! This is just an isolated incident! Some dissident warlocks trying to frighten us!"
"Off hand, I'd say they've succeeded," commented Harry, handing first Dumbledore and then Fudge a cup of steaming tea. "A lot of people died last night Minister. The Dark Mark has risen into the skies of England once again."
"Your failure to accept Voldemort's return bloodies your hands as much as the Death Eaters that were involved in the attack," snarled Snape, standing by the fireplace.
Fudge took a sip of his tea and returned Snape's glare, albeit not as fiercely. He took another sip and then wagged a finger at Dumbledore. "Don't try and lay the blame on me! Oh no, Albus! Don't for a moment think I'm going to believe the ramblings of this vagabond delinquent of yours. I don't think so."
Harry had moved to the window looking out over the lake. Staring outside, seemingly lost in thought, he said, "It doesn't matter what you think anymore, Minister. Voldemort is back, whether you admit it or not, you cannot change the fact."
"Really?" sneered the small man, his teacup rattling against the saucer. He picked it up and took long sip, his expression clearly speaking his thoughts about Harry's credibility.
"Really," Harry agreed, sipping at his own cup of tea. "And you'll be telling the Daily Prophet exactly that this afternoon. You will make sure that tomorrow's edition of the paper gives full details about last night's attack. You will publicly acknowledge that Voldemort has returned. You will begin implementing plans to counter the threat of his Death Eaters, making particular note to protect Muggle-borns and half-bloods, starting with the deployment of a full division of Aurors as additional security for Hogwarts."
Sensible suggestions, but he will never comply.
Fudge was glaring viciously at the black haired boy, who was looking out the window with his back to them all. He took another large sip of his drink and then asked in a snide voice, "And what, exactly, makes you think I'd do all that, Mr Potter?"
After a moment's thought Harry turned to face them, his eyes strangely subdued. "Because I asked nicely and, if you want to save innocent lives, you will do it."
Fudge finished his tea with a gulp and set the cup down on Dumbledore's desk, snorting at what he perceived as Harry's naivety.
So stubborn.
"And if you don't do exactly what I tell you to; you'll be dead within a month."
Not even Dumbledore had seen that coming and Fudge had most certainly not. Snape, who had been leaning against the wall by the fire was so startled by Harry's perfectly calm pronouncement that he slipped to one side and almost fell flat on his face. Harry for his part suddenly had a gleam in his eyes that Dumbledore found entirely fascinating.
Fudge looked at Harry through narrowed eyes and asked, in what for him was a dangerous voice, "Are you threatening to kill me, Potter?"
"I'm not making a threat, Minister," replied Harry, calmly sipping his tea, "and I'm not the one who's going to kill you. If anything is going to kill you it will be the poison I put in your tea that you just finished."
Holy shit!
This time Snape did slip and fell on his arse with a loud thump. Fudge dropped his bowler hat, which he had just picked up, and turned a very uncomplimentary shade of green. Dumbledore gazed at Harry in open astonishment for a moment before looking with concern at his own tea cup.
The Boy Who Lived apparently saw where Dumbledore was looking and figured out his thoughts on the matter. Normally getting a read on what Dumbledore was thinking was exceptionally difficult, something he prided himself on, but these circumstances were unlike most others. "Don't worry, Headmaster," Harry assured him, "Minister Fudge's tea was the only cup I laced."
"P-poison?!" stuttered Fudge, his face now a sickly paste colour, "This- this is an outrage! I- I- I- I'll have your head for this, Potter! You won't get away with this!"
"I've already got away with it," said Harry, continuing to peaceably sip his tea as though they were discussing the weather rather than matters of cloak and dagger. "The moment you drank from that cup you lost any choice in the matter. Entirely."
Fudge turned to Dumbledore, then Snape, with budging eyes and a desperate expression. "I'm the Minister for Magic! I can get the best medi-wizards and potion brewers in the world-"
Harry interrupted sharply. "Have you ever heard of Set's Bride?"
Dumbledore certainly had not, and apparently neither had Fudge, but from his reaction it was clear that Snape knew what Harry was talking about. "But that potion's a myth! A legend!"
"I am a legend. Who better to make it?"
"Indeed. But what exactly is this Set's Bride, Harry?" asked Dumbledore, settling back in his chair with interest. This meeting with Fudge was no longer as frustrating as it had been.
Snape had begun pacing about, his black robes whipping around him. "It's an ancient Egyptian poison used thousands of years ago by the pharaohs. It gave the brewer complete control of anyone that it was used on."
Dumbledore was thoroughly alarmed by this news and for good reason; the implications were more than a little alarming. Fudge seemed to understand something similar and spoke out his thoughts about the subject, expecting that he had just found a way out of his predicament.
"Like the Imperius Curse!" he shouted at Harry with a gleam in his eye. "I'll have you in Azkaban before sunset for this!"
"Hardly, I think," replied Harry, draining his tea. "Set's Bride does not control the mind. Professor Snape's explanation was somewhat lacking in detail. You see, people who have been poisoned with Set's Bride must do everything the poisoner tells them, because if they don't he, or she, won't continue making the poison for them."
Ah, so that is how it works. Quite ingenious. I wish I had thought of it.
Fudge was not as intellectually keen as Dumbledore and required further explanation. "What are you babbling about? Why on earth would I want more poison?"
"Because if you don't you will be dead in thirty three days," explained Harry. "The poison is perfectly harmless and aside from a headache or two you won't even know you've drank it. You see, Set's Bride only kills when it is flushed out of your system, which takes thirty three days. If you don't take another dose of it before then, it will kill you. Quite painfully too."
"Headaches, dizziness, cramps, stomach pains, difficulty breathing and then you die," listed Snape in a dry voice, appearing to actually be enjoying himself. "From what few records and documents exist it takes about six hours."
"Eight actually," corrected Harry, pouring himself another cuppa. "But the first two are very mild, so don't really count I suppose."
Fudge had became a pale green once more and had dropped limbless into the nearest chair, hand clutched to his chest. "B-but- but- there must be an antidote!" he breathed raggedly, looking at Snape for an answer.
Snape's eyes narrowed and he looked at Harry with what could almost be interpreted as respect. "Yes, but that's the beauty of the poison. Both it and the antidote require eleven drops of blood and a tear from the poisoner in their brewing ingredients. The catch is that they all have to be supplied willingly - you can't force someone to make the poison or the antidote. If you try, you'll be dead before you finish swallowing."
"Which means, Minister." Harry laid it out bare before the man. "You will do everything I say, how I say and when I say. I'm the only person alive who knows exactly how to brew Set's Bride. If you value your life, you'd best get cracking."
Fudge was rubbing at his temple with a hand, obviously feeling the onset of a headache, from either the situation or the poison Dumbledore could not tell. Still, it presented the perfect opportunity to spur the man on.
"Feeling a headache coming on, Cornelius?" he asked.
The blood drained from Fudge's face and he shot to his feet, just in time for Harry to calmly pass him his bowler hat. "If tomorrow's Daily Prophet meets with our approval, we'll send you an owl informing you when you can come back for another dose of death. Good day, Minister."
Fudge's mouth was working, opening and closing rapidly, but no words came out. He clutched his hat so tightly Dumbledore feared the fabric would soon rend. The man was clearly at his wits' end and was swaying unsteadily on his feet.
"I suggest you leave now, Cornelius," he told the Minister, "I hope you don't mind if we do not see you out, but I believe you know the way."
"Y-y-yes. Yes, I-I'll be off." Fudge swallowed and hurried out the office, "I-I need to set up a meeting with the press. R-right away."
The office door slammed shut and Dumbledore, Snape and Harry waited in silence, listening until his footsteps on the stairwell faded away. When they could no longer hear him, the two adults turned to Harry, who was looking after the departed Minister with a bemused smile. Neither could find anything to say and they remained that way for several minutes.
"You should have been in Slytherin!" blurted Snape, sounding appalled by idea.
"The Sorting Hat suggested it," replied Harry, raising an eyebrow.
Dumbledore shook his head, both amused and concerned at his young friend's actions. "I'll admit this was an aid to our cause, Harry," he said gravely, "but poisoning the Minister..."
Harry looked at him strangely. "What poison? Just a little applied psychology, a small wandless headache charm on the tea and some carefully generated paranoia. Nothing more."
"A bluff?"
Dumbledore almost fell out of his plush seat at this revelation. Snape dropped into one like a stone, and both men gave the grime-covered boy an amazed look. Harry grinned impishly at them.
"A bluff?" repeated Snape, looking dumbstruck.
Harry shrugged. "Set's Bride takes two hundred and twenty two hours, twenty two minutes and twenty two seconds to brew. Since I don't have any on hand, making Fudge think I did seemed like a viable option."
"A bluff," repeated Snape, amazed.
"And a very clever one at that," confirmed Dumbledore, smiling benevolently at Harry. "We don't even need to really poison the Minister. Once he has made an official press release confirming Voldemort's return, the public will be able to keep him in line for us. After making a statement such as that he cannot simply retract it."
Harry smirked and nodded. "Piece of cake."
Before they could continue to discuss the virtues and merits of tricking the Minister of Magic into thinking he had been poisoned, the door to the office burst open. Remus Lupin pushed his way inside at almost a dead run, breathing heavily and his face red with exertion.
"Remus? What is it?" asked Dumbledore, rising behind his desk.
Lupin took a deep breath before answering, "Azkaban..."
***
"I wish Harry were back."
Ginny looked at her brother, sitting on the couch with Hermione. The bushy haired girl gave him a pat on the knee and said in a comforting voice, "He'll be here soon, Ron."
Ron shook his head sadly. "I've really missed him since Halloween. I hardly got a chance to talk properly with him yesterday."
"Don't worry, Ron," assured Hermione, patting his knee again, "as soon as he's finished talking with Dumbledore he'll be back. We can get a proper explanation then."
"That's not it," protested Ron. "I'm not talking about Apparating on Hogwarts grounds."
Hermione looked slightly put off, Ginny noted with amusement. After all, Harry had accomplished something consider impossible last night. Once Hermione got into full research mode, like she was now, it was almost equally impossible to distract her.
"Don't get me wrong, Mione. You're a great friend, and I don't know how I would've survived the last couple of months without you to talk to but," Ron wavered and waved his hands about. "It's just... well, I can talk to Harry about... well... guy stuff. I can't do that with you."
"Guy stuff?" asked Hermione, sounding surprised. Her eyes narrowed at the implied challenge that she wouldn’t be up to such a task, "I can do that."
"Ha, ha. No."
Hermione scowled and insisted, "I can! Come on, try me."
Ron looked at her uncertainly. "You sure you want to try?"
"Of course," Hermione asserted, folding her arms across her chest and glaring at him.
Ron bit his bottom lip, gnawing uneasily at the flesh. He looked around the common room, checking to see if anyone could overhear. Then he looked at Ginny, who shrugged, and then turned back to Hermione, who was waiting impatiently. Ron sighed and propped his chin in a hand, seeming lost in thought for a moment, almost daydreaming.
Finally he looked at the waiting girl beside him and asked in a perfectly bland, yet earnest voice, "Hermione's got great tits, don't you think?"
Ginny coughed and stared at her brother incredulously, amazed that Ron had actually said that to the girl everyone knew he had a severe crush on. Hermione sat perfectly still, her face amazing Ginny by cycling through an amazingly wide variety of blushes of varying intensity.
Who knew a person could turn so many different shades of red?
"Ooooh-kay," Hermione finally said, her face now almost the exact same red as Ron's hair, "back to the matter at hand."
She shot to her feet, as if launched from a cannon, and hurried across the common room and ran up the stairs leading to the girl's dormitories. As she disappeared from sight, closely watched the entire time by Ron, he commented absently, "You know, you have to admire her. Barking mad some times, but when she sets her mind on something..."
"It's not her mind you're admiring," replied Ginny with a smirk.
Ron thought about it for a moment before nodding, "True."
Less than a minute passed when Hermione came bounding back down the stairs, a truly massive book floating in the air behind her. Ginny recognised it immediately as the book Harry had been seen reading every now and again since they'd returned from school. He too, despite his greatly improved physique, used Levitation Charms whilst reading it.
Hermione, studiously avoiding Ron's twinkling blue eyes, swung the book around as she reached them and dropped it heavily on the study table they were sitting near. The wooden table groaned loudly in protest, its legs creaking ominously. There was a series of loud cracks, reminding Ginny of when Harry had broken several of Malfoy's bones a few hours earlier. Then, with a puff of sawdust, the legs snapped and the table crashed to the floor with a loud bang.
"Holy shit!" exclaimed Ron, jumping back.
"Um... oops?" supplied Hermione, looking with an uncertain expression at the table on the floor, the massive book resting on its collapsed top.
Ron stared at her. "You broke the table. You broke the bloody table!"
Hermione replied in a squeaky voice, "I didn't mean to!"
"What is that thing, anyway?" asked Ron, crouching down to look.
"It's a book, dear brother," Ginny supplied, unable to resist the tease.
He looked up at her in exasperation. "I know that. I meant, what book is it?"
"Harry gave it to me for Christmas," said Hermione, brushing a thick layer of dust off the cover and showing them the title.
Every Spell, Curse, Hex and Charm Ever Written, Spoken and Otherwise
From the Beginning of Time Through Till Next Week Tuesday
By the Order of the Phoenix
"The Order of the Phoenix?" Ginny read aloud, her voice slightly higher pitched than usual.
Hermione nodded. "I don't know who they are. There's nothing in the index about them."
Ginny frowned at the book, which the other girl now had floating in the air at about waist height. She couldn't be sure, but she was willing to bet her allowance for the year that this was the same mysterious Order of the Phoenix Harry had inducted her into at the beginning of the school year.
"Harry's got a lot of explanations to give," she muttered, drawing a curious glance from Hermione, who was now trying to repair the broken table.
"And you'll get them."
Harry was pulling himself through the portrait hole, exceptionally troubled, even more so than he had in the Great Hall after returning from Hogwarts. Ron and Hermione were by his side almost before he had fully entered the common room.
"But not right away," he continued. "There're things I have to do first. I'll explain everything to everyone involved when school starts again. After the first PFT class of the new term."
"Why the wait?" asked Hermione.
Harry looked at her and crossed over to the couch she and Ron had been sitting on earlier. "The shit has hit the fan. Dumbledore's called all of his 'agents' together for a meeting to discuss the situation and prepare for it."
"Fan?" asked Ron, failing to understand.
"It's a Muggle thing," Ginny supplied, watching as Harry sank down onto the couch, "What is it, Harry? From the look on your face I know it's more than the attack on Hogsmeade."
"The Dementors have abandoned Azkaban. They've sided with Voldemort."
TBC...