Well of Shadows
Setting Tomorrow's Stage
By Ruskbyte
Chapter Twenty Eight
~ Setting Tomorrow's Stage ~
Ginny Weasley was, much to the amusement of everyone in the Gryffindor common room, yelling rather loudly at her boyfriend. This probably would not have drawn so much attention had she not been doing
so since almost the moment she had arrived after classes, nearly half an hour ago. Bets were already quietly circulating amongst the Gryffindors as to when the temperamental redhead would cease the
verbal abuse and progress to physical assault.
Harry Potter, the much lamented boyfriend of the redhead in question, was more-or-less ignoring the tirade and was instead concentrating on finishing his lesson plan for the following night's Practical Fighting Techniques special revision class. This was not an easy task to accomplish, particularly when taking into account the sheer volume of Ginny's shouting. If anything, the only Weasley girl had most certainly inherited her mother's capacity to shake the proverbial rafters.
"Harry certainly has balls," commented Ron, who had actually stopped focusing on the game of chess he was supposed to be playing, in favour of watching his baby sister rant on at Harry about how her O.W.L.s would be starting the next morning and how the entire thing was entirely Harry's fault.
"At least until Ginny rips them off," replied Hermione softly, also enjoying the spectacle but not to the point where she was ignoring her game against Ron.
"Fortune favours the bold," shrugged Ron as Ginny grabbed Harry by the front of his robes and began shaking him back and forth.
Hermione only noted dryly, "When it doesn't kill them."
Harry, who was in the process of prying himself free of Ginny's grasp, looked over at his friend and exclaimed, "Thanks for the support!"
"Pleasure's mine, Harry."
Ginny, who seemed somewhat put out by the fact that Harry was not focusing exclusively on her accusations, smacked him on the arm. "Pay attention when I'm yelling at you," she told him when his head turned back to her.
Harry arched an eyebrow. "I always pay attention to you, love. Especially when you're shouting."
"Hard not to," added Ron cheekily.
"Mmhm," agreed Hermione, reaching out with her right hand to shakily move her bishop from one end of the chessboard to the other. She grinned impishly at Ron and announced, "Check."
"What?"
Ginny, who was now also focusing on her friend and brother rather than solely Harry, pouted and folded her arms across her chest. "You're not taking me seriously. This is important."
"Of course, we're taking you seriously, Gin," said Harry, sliding his arm around Ginny's waist and leading her away from the fireplace towards the table where Ron and Hermione were sitting.
"Speak for yourself," Ron muttered as he scrutinised the chessboard in an attempt to work out just how exactly Hermione had managed to corner his king in the manner she had. The only person to ever beat him at chess was Harry - and then only because he had the assistance of some of the greatest strategists in history. There was no way the young wizard was about to let his girlfriend, as intelligent as she was, add her name to that very short list.
"It's just that you're overreacting, Ginny," said Hermione as Harry and Ginny sat down in the couch flanking the table where she and Ron were playing.
Ginny looked unhappily at her and rejoined, "That's a laugh coming from you. This time last year you were panicking so much you made Neville seem like a stoic by comparison."
"I did not!" protested Hermione half-heartedly.
"Actually..." began Ron, but trailed off at his girlfriend's pointed look, "never mind."
*She certainly has him well trained, doesn't she?* observed a bemused sounding Osiris.
Heracle's voice was equalled bemused as he asked, *And you're saying Isis doesn't have you equally under her thumb?*
*Er...*
"The point is, Gin," said Harry, pulling Ginny close to him and kissing her forehead, "you're worrying over nothing. You've studied all the work, you know your stuff and you're going to do brilliantly. You need to relax, before you work yourself into such a state that you'll do badly because you're not focused."
"That's easy for you to say," Ginny countered, but not with much conviction. "You managed to net ten O.W.L.s last year."
Harry rolled his eyes and shrugged. "I don't see how you can make a fuss about it. I got less than Hermione. She got fourteen."
"Two more than Percy," agreed Ron, who was in the process of launching a counterattack to Hermione's challenge. He looked across the chessboard and smiled at her, silently conveying his pride in her exceptional performance. It had been over three decades since a student had managed fourteen O.W.L.s.
"That's only because you take less classes than she does," said Ginny. "You dropped Divination last year, remember? And without Arithmancy or Ancient Runes..."
"You should've seen the look on ol' Trelawney's face when she found out, mate," declared Ron, sinking back into his chair and smiling wistfully at the memory.
Harry chuckled and said, "I wish we could've seen the look on Snape's face when he heard I'd got an Outstanding for Potions. That would've been a picture to keep."
Hermione, who was frowning at the chessboard --no longer holding the superior position she had managed to achieve while Ron was distracted-- said, "He shouldn't have really been too surprised. After all, you were doing brilliantly the entire year, thanks to the Order. The way you burst his little bubble during our first class should have made that perfectly obvious."
"Ah, Snape's a narrow sighted git," replied Ron, moving his one remaining knight to counter the move Hermione had just made. "If it weren't so big he probably wouldn't be able to see the tip of his own nose."
"Ron," protested Ginny, stifling a giggle, "you shouldn't be making remarks like that about our favourite professor."
"Yesterday you were the one who called him a--" began Ron, but was cut off when Ginny reached out and clamped her hand firmly over his mouth before he could finish.
"Let's forget that little scene, shall we?" she asked sweetly before disengaging Harry's arm from around her waist and standing up. She looked around the common room, noticing --now that her haranguing of Harry was over-- that most of the Gryffindors had departed for the Great Hall. "It's just about time for dinner. Want to head down now, or d'you want to finish your match first?"
Breathing a resigned sigh, Hermione rose to her feet and nodded. "Let's go. I don't know how he did it," she said, waving at the chessboard, "but Ron's snatched a victory from the jaws of defeat yet again."
Ron grinned and looked to Harry. "Good teachers, I guess."
***
The journey from Gryffindor tower to the Great Hall was a relaxed one which seemed to pass in almost no time at all. Harry and Hermione led the way, quietly discussing Hermione's strategy during her chess match with Ron. Apparently Sun Tzu and several other members of the Order were quite impressed by her performance. Ron and Ginny brought up the rear of the quartet. Ginny was trying to tease Ron about the near miss wherein Hermione had checked his king. Ron, whose mind had a tendency to leap from one topic to another with mercurial speed --one side-effect of the coma he had been in earlier that year-- was discussing, mostly to himself, the merits of using olive oil when cooking.
Ginny, who had most certainly not inherited her mother's abilities in the kitchen --her culinary disasters were legendary in the Weasley household, each attempt become progressively indigestible, much to Molly's chagrin-- wisely refrained from commenting.
Arriving at the Great Hall, which was still filling up, the four students took their customary places at the Gryffindor table. Harry and Ginny immediately began to help themselves to the lasagne, while Hermione decided on shepherd's pie. Ron, who had changed topics once again and was now muttering something about an oscillation overthruster, piled his plate with lamb chops and mash.
They had barely begun to tuck in, Ron with his normal excessive enthusiasm, when the stern form of Professor McGonagall strode up to the table. She had stood up from the staff table and had begun making her way to where they were sitting the moment they had entered the hall. Harry set his knife and fork down when she approached and looked up with polite curiosity, waiting for her to speak.
"Mister Potter," she addressed him in a quiet voice, "the headmaster would like a word with you and Miss Weasley in his office after dinner."
"Ah, yes Professor," he responded, somewhat surprised by the request.
As McGonagall returned to the staff table, after nodding briefly, Harry looked to where Dumbledore was sitting, chatting cheerfully to Professor Sinistra. The only absentees amongst the staff were Hagrid (whom Harry knew was preparing some "magnificent" beast for the fifth-years upcoming O.W.L.), Trelawney (who seldom came down from her tower anyway) and Snape (which was something of a plus as far as Harry was concerned - in that the potion master's absence aided his digestion).
After waiting a minute to catch Dumbledore's eye, Harry shot the headmaster a curious glance. Dumbledore barely acknowledged him beyond a fractional nod, clearly meaning that everything would be explained in his office.
Ginny leaned close to him and whispered, just loud enough for Ron and Hermione to hear as well, "What d'you think this is about?"
"Haven't a clue."
"Do you think, maybe, it's about You-Know-Who?" asked Ron.
Harry shrugged and resumed eating his lasagne. "I can't rightly say," he mumbled around a mouthful. "It's as likely as anything else, I suppose."
Rather surprisingly they were able to continue their quiet discussion for some time before they, or anybody else for that matter, realized that visitors had arrived at Hogwarts and entered the Great Hall. This might have had something to do with the fact that, for the first time in a long while, the doors leading from the Entrance Hall to the Great Hall were not closed. As such, the unexpected visitors arrived without any fanfare (normally the loud clang of the doors swinging open served as such) to announce their presence.
This was why everyone was taken rather by surprise when one visitor raised his wand over his head and fired a spray of sparks and flares into the air, accompanied by a loud ringing tone that was vaguely reminiscent of a Muggle police siren. Suffice to say the display was sufficient to catch everyone's attention and focus their eyes on the two figures standing in the middle of the hall.
"May I have your attention," declared the shorter of the two, who was the one that had not raised his wand. He was a rather inconspicuous looking character, without anything in particular to set him apart in a crowd. His bearing, however, was distinctly authoritive but underlaid with a deep seated arrogance - the bearing of a man who was smugly convinced of his own superiority, who was used to having people do as he said, when he said and how he said, and who was not troubled when he had to step over (or on top of as it were) someone else in order to get what he wanted.
"Ah," said Dumbledore, effectively drawing attention away from the two visiting wizards and to the staff table, where the headmaster had risen to his feet. "Mister Krendler and Mister Coffey, I was not informed that you would be joining us for dinner tonight."
"We're not," replied the taller of the pair in a curt and no nonsense voice.
*Polite pair, aren't they?* Beowulf asked sarcastically.
*Must be bureaucrats,* decided Heracles.
~From the Ministry?~ asked Ginny. ~What could they possibly want?~
Harry was watching expectantly. We're about to find out.
The shorter wizard drew himself up pompously and, not bothering to acknowledge Dumbledore, reached into his puce coloured robes to pull out an official looking piece of parchment. With the exaggerated movements of an actor on stage, one who knows that all eyes are on him, he lifted the parchment up and began to read in a tone as pompous as his stance.
"By official Ministry decree," he stated, "I, Director of Public Safety, Paul Krendler, am hereby charged with the task of placing one Harry James Potter under arrest. For the crimes of treason, hearsay, gross public slander, undermining Ministry authority and disturbing the peace, the accused to be taken into immediate custody by the Auror division stationed at Hogwarts. Once detained he is to be transported to a high security holding cell at the Ministry where he will await trial and sentencing. Signed, Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge and Under-Secretary Dolores Umbridge."
The silence that descended over the Great Hall was so complete that it would have been possible to hear a pin drop halfway around the world. Everyone, from the students to the professors to the Aurors, was staring at Krendler in combined disbelief and incomprehension. Even the Slytherins, most of whom would normally be cheering by now, seemed to be simply too dumbfounded by the sheer audacity of this proclamation to do anything more than gape and stare.
*Oh-kay...*
Krendler lowered the decree and returned it to its place within his puce business robes. He looked around the hall, a smugly confident smirk worthy of any Slytherin twisting his lips, and finally settled his narrow gaze on where Harry was sitting. The smirk grew broader until his teeth, small and sharp looking, became visible. Without bothering to look in the direction of the small table set to one side near the main doors, for any off duty Aurors that were dining with the students, he ordered, "Idaho, you know what to do."
"Yes, I suppose I do," agreed Duncan Idaho, who was in charge of the Auror division stationed at the school. The dark haired wizard, dressed in his usual black with green trimmed robes, slowly rose to his feet. All eyes in the Great Hall shifted from either Harry (who was watching the proceedings with remarkable calm) or Krendler (who seemed almost predatory in his anticipation) to Idaho, whose face seemed to be chiselled from stone.
Harry, who had until now been coolly evaluating Krendler and Coffey, turned his eyes to Idaho. The head Auror was standing at his place at the Auror's table, his eyes hooded in shadow but sparkling black as they focused on Harry. One corner of his mouth curled down in a grimace of distaste for the task set for him and his men. He glanced to his friend Gurney Halleck, who had been sitting next to him, and then returned his gaze to Harry.
"Aurors," Idaho spoke, his voice ringing clear and precise throughout the hall, "dismissed."
Moving as one, timed so precisely it seemed as if they had rehearsed it, the dozen or so Aurors that were sitting at their table put down their utensils and set aside their unfinished meals. Still maintaining that almost unnatural synchronization, they stood up en mass and began to exit the Great Hall without so much as a backwards glance at the dumbstruck Director Krendler.
"What?"
"I'm sorry, Director," explained Idaho laconically as he too made his way to the wide-open doors leading out of the hall, "but my men and I are off duty at the moment."
"Aye. In other words," agreed Halleck, his scarred face twisted in an unattractive smile as he followed a step behind his superior, "find someone else to do Fudge's dirty work."
"But, but, but it's an official Ministry decree!" protested Krendler. "You can't simply refuse to carry it out!"
His objections were completely ignored by the Aurors who calmly filed out of the Great Hall, moving in groups of threes and fours. From what Harry could make out from his position at the Gryffindor table, most of them had satisfied smiles on their faces or were nodding their heads as they talked quietly to their companions.
*Superb,* gloated Beowulf. *All your efforts to befriend the Aurors is paying off, Harry.*
~And paying off handsomely too~ agreed Ginny, smiling at Harry.
"Idaho!" Krendler bellowed as the last couple of Aurors slipped out, "I'll have your commissions for this! Your wands too! You can join Potter in Azkaban!"
"Please, Director Krendler," interrupted Dumbledore, who was standing and looking at the two intruders with a hint of disapproval, "there's no need to shout."
"Shut up, you senile old fool!" barked Krendler, whirling to face the headmaster. His hands were clenched into tight fists at his sides as he ground out through clenched teeth, "This is no concern of yours! This is official Ministry business."
Dumbledore drew himself up and glared across the length of the Great Hall, his eyes glittering dangerously over the rims of his glasses. His voice, though not raised so much as a single notch in volume, sounded like rumbling thunder. "As headmaster of Hogwarts, Mister Potter's safety falls under my jurisdiction."
"Your jurisdiction is irrelevant," countered Coffey, speaking up. "Potter is under arrest."
Professor McGonagall rose to her feet with a huff, looking positively livid. Her lips were drawn into such a thin line that they had almost vanished from sight. She was clearly preparing to start bellowing her indignation at the two Ministry wizards, but was restrained by Dumbledore's hand on her shoulder.
The headmaster did not look at her, keeping his burning gaze fixed on Krendler, but shook his head a fraction. "Minerva, please remain calm."
"Albus..." she protested tightly, but backed down and contented herself to glare daggers at Krendler from Dumbledore's side.
Dumbledore inclined his head a little in Krendler's direction. "I would advise you, Director, not to antago--"
"I won't tell you again, Dumbledore," interrupted Krendler, cutting the air in front of him with a sharp motion of his hand, "this is none of your business."
"I have made it my business," Dumbledore informed him, an aura of restrained power beginning to gather around him as a warning.
"Forget about it being your business, Headmaster," declared Harry, rising to his feet and drawing everyone's attention away from Dumbledore and Krendler. He hid a smile, certain that were Snape present he would be muttering something about how Harry could not resist being the centre of attention. He smiled ruefully and remarked, "Everyone seems to have forgotten to ask my opinion about all this."
Krendler snorted indignantly and sneered, "Don't make me laugh. Your opinion is as worthless as his is. As an underage wizard you have no choice in the matter. The decision is made. You are under arrest!"
Before Harry could say anything, he felt movement at his side and saw Ginny pushing herself to her feet and glaring at Krendler in a manner not unlike her mother, Molly. His girlfriend set both hands on her hips and asked, "Oh really?"
"Don't be a fool, Potter," Krendler said, more or less ignoring Ginny. "If you try to hide behind your friends..."
Harry shook his head and corrected, "I never hide behind my friends, sir. I stand up front with them by my sides."
Krendler leaned forward, as if trying to intimidate Harry, and threatened, "If they try to cause trouble I'll be forced to deal with them as well."
That was a mistake, decided Harry, knowing his friends. He just made them angry.
There was a loud scraping sound from behind Harry and Ginny as Ron, who was sitting opposite them, pushed his dinner plate out of the way before jumping angrily to his feet. His wand was in his hand, but not yet pointed at anyone, as he sent a glare towards Krendler that matched Ginny's almost identically.
"Please, try."
"Yes, please do," agreed Hermione, also standing up from her place next to Ron. Her wand was also in her hand, but like Ron's also held loosely at her side.
The Director glared at the four students with what could only be described as loathing. He muttered something, undoubtedly profane, under his breath before jerking his head towards them and ordering, "Coffey."
"Your friend may be an Auror, Director Krendler, but it's four against one," cautioned Harry as Coffey shifted in preparation to attack. Harry did not have his wand, having loaned it to Ginny for the remainder of the school year, but it was simple enough to call the Order's power to him, quickly matching and then exceeding Dumbledore's powerful aura. He shook his head as he looked into Coffey's eyes. "I strongly suggest you rethink this."
Coffey matched Harry's gaze for a long minute, the tension between the two growing and growing with each passing heartbeat. Sweat began to bead on the Auror's forehead and his entire body seemed to be straining against an invisible pressure. Coffey shook his head to clear the sweat which had dripped into his eyes and tried to return Harry's stare, but found himself unable to. Harry appeared perfectly composed in every aspect, looking as if he were entirely willing to keep the staring match going for the rest of the night and the whole of the following day.
Finally, when it seemed that something would have to give, the silent confrontation came to an abrupt end. Coffey, sucking in a deep breath to steady himself, took two steps back so that he was standing just behind Krendler, clearly preferring to leave Harry in the Director's hands.
Krendler, whose confident expression had slowly dwindled away, looked positively aghast as he found himself facing down Harry and his friends completely without support. His position was about to become even less tenable as Dumbledore, who had come out from behind the staff table, calmly made his way towards the Gryffindor table. The power radiating off Harry at the moment was prodigious. Combined with Dumbledore's crackling air of authority it would have sent any intelligent person scrambling for cover.
"Dammit all, this is an official Ministry decree!" Krendler cried in one last desperate attempt to tilt the balance back into his favour. He spun around to encompass the entire hall as he made his offer. "By the authority vested in me by the Minister of Magic himself, I will hand over a substantial reward to anyone who will assist in bringing this - this criminal into Ministry custody!"
*He has got to be joking.*
*Either that or he is a greater fool that we first thought.*
~Probably the latter, Miko~ Ginny decided.
Harry raised his eyebrows incredulously at Krendler's statement. By now Dumbledore had arrived and was standing at Harry's right shoulder. With Ginny at his left shoulder, Ron and Hermione immediately behind him on the other side of the table (not to mention the rest of Gryffindor), Harry did not believe anybody present would actually think they could accomplish something.
"I will."
Those two words would have silenced the hall, had it not already been as quiet as a cemetery. Everyone turned or craned their heads to look at the source of the voice which had called out. It had come from the other side of the hall from the Gryffindor table, where a slender figure had risen to her feet at the Slytherin table. An explosion of whispers and murmurs, a good number of them furious and indignant, erupted from the students as Blaise Zabini began walking to where a now smiling Krendler stood.
Harry felt as if a leaden weight had settled in his stomach as he watched the beautiful blonde witch approach. Out of all the Slytherins, a dozen or so of which he had come to respect, Blaise was the only one he considered as something of a friend. She had silently supported him through their fourth year, regularly visited him when he was in the Hospital Wing and had even kept quiet about the meetings with his godfather, Sirius, that she had once walked in on. He had believed her to be fiercely loyal to her friends and probably the only witch who could challenge Hermione for the position of Headgirl the next school year. She even had a sense of humour which rivalled that of the twins.
To have her turn against him like this was a telling blow, one which almost caused the aura he was radiating to falter and fade away. It was only thanks to the Order that he was able to maintain it, though not as prominently as before. He was more concerned with the struggle he faced in trying to keep the dismay and feelings of betrayal growing inside him from showing themselves on his features.
"I'll help you take Potter into custody, Director Krendler," Blaise announced in a clear voice as she sashayed over to them. She smiled, perhaps a tad condescendingly at Krendler. "I will even personally hand him over to you."
"Finally. Someone with some sense in their heads," Krendler crowed with obvious delight. Though he did not move the Director gave the impression that he would be rubbing his hands together in glee if he did.
"Unfortunately," Blaise continued, "there's one little detail we have to clear up first."
"About the reward? Of course, I--"
Blaise, who was now standing right in front of Harry, almost toe-to-toe with him, snorted in a very unladylike fashion. She chuckled under her breath and shook her head, not bothering to look back at Krendler. Looking into Harry's eyes, her own sparkling a brilliant blue that was laden with both mischief and determination, she flicked her wrist in a familiar and well practised motion.
"The only way I'm ever going to let you sink your bureaucrat's claws into Harry," she said, turning around to reveal that she had drawn her wand and was now aiming it at a spot directly between Krendler's eyes, "is if you can get through me first."
If Blaise's first announcement had effectively silenced the Great Hall, this one pretty much dealt it a death blow. Everyone stared at the grim (but still smirking) Slytherin in either awed disbelief or total incomprehension. Harry, who had been unknowingly holding his breath, released a quiet sigh and found himself grinning. He glanced at Ginny, who was staring at Blaise with an uplifted expression, and then at Dumbledore, whose blue eyes were twinkling merrily. Krendler, for his part, seemed to be imitating a fish flopping about on dry land.
*I think I like this girl,* observed Osiris gleefully.
Like her? asked Harry, staring at Blaise with delight. If I didn't already have Ginny, I'd be tempted to fall in love with her right now.
~Go ahead~ offered Ginny, ~I just might join you.~
*Yeh'll have to expand yer bed in that case,* Loki leered suggestively, never one to pass up an opportunity. *Or, better still, leave it as it is. The more crowded it is the more easily you'll be able to 'cuddle'.*
Loki...
"Bluddie righ'!" exclaimed Moira Mackay fervently, breaking the silence. The feisty third-year jumped out of her seat and, since she was one of the shortest people there, actually leapt up onto the table - kicking a bowl of potato salad aside in the process. In a manner not unlike a cowboy (which Harry had occasionally seen on television at the Dursleys from time to time) she reached into her robes in what looked like a passable cross draw and promptly had a wand in each hand, both aimed at Krendler. "Harry's nae goin' anywuir wuil we kin stan' b'tween him an' th' likes o' ye!"
Krendler looked very much like a man who had just had the proverbial rug pulled out from beneath his feet. Probably some of the stone floor as well. He looked around stammering incoherently, before trying to compose himself. Sucking in a shuddering breath he pointed an accusing finger at the group standing by (and in Moira's case, on) the Gryffindor table. "Now listen here--"
"No - you listen, Director Krendler," interrupted Cho Chang, who stepped up from her seat at the Ravenclaw table. Only after Krendler had turned to look at her did she raise her arm and reveal that she too had drawn her wand. She looked at him, her dark eyes glittering severely in the torchlight. "Hogwarts students know when and how to protect their own - especially when the Ministry of Magic doesn't."
As if taking their cue from Cho and Moira, more students began to rise - all with their wands drawn and all those wands aimed at a single point. Director Krendler. The Gryffindors were quick to take up the call, rising up almost as one and without a single exception. The Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs also produced large numbers of challengers to the Ministry Decree, although a few of the students seemed inclined (if their grins were any indication) to remain in their seats and enjoy the spectacle. Much to everyone's surprise Blaise was not the only Slytherin to rise to Harry's defence. There were not many of them --a fifth, perhaps a quarter of the house at the most-- but it was clear that even the Slytherins were willing to stand alongside the Boy-Who-Lived.
Krendler was looking about in bewilderment. "Now just a damn minute--"
"This will not be necessary," interrupted a familiar voice coming from the doorway leading into the Entrance Hall. There --flanked by all the Aurors that had previously exited the Great Hall, rather than follow the Director's orders-- was standing none other than Arthur Weasley.
~Dad?~ asked Ginny in silent amazement, staring at her father with wide eyes.
What's he doing here? Harry asked, puzzled. Fudge can't have sent him to arrest me as well, could he?
Ginny frowned at Harry, ~I should bloody well hope not!~
Arthur had an eager gleam in his blue eyes as he calmly spoke. "Krendler."
"Weasley," growled Krendler, having whirled about to face the other wizard. His disdain was clearly visible as he sneered unpleasantly at Arthur and asked, "What are you doing here? This has nothing to do with your department. You should be out taming biting doorknobs and putting out fire-breathing teapots."
Rather than becoming upset at these words, Arthur bobbed his head back and forth in a noncommittal nod as he stated, "Perhaps, perhaps not. In either case, I was the one chosen for this job."
Krendler was about to speak, clearly intending to tell Arthur and those accompanying him that they had no jurisdiction or authority in the matter at hand (or some such nonsense) when Arthur effectively cut him by reaching into his somewhat shabby indigo robes. With a flourish he produced a slip of parchment that he held up high over his head for all to see.
"This," he declared authoritatively, "this is an edict passed down by the Wizengamot, granting Harry Potter amnesty--"
"Amnesty!" exclaimed Krendler.
"Amnesty," Arthur repeated, a faint smile curling his lips, "until such time as the Wizengamot, in an open public hearing, have concluded their deliberations regarding the charges of gross negligence, conspiracy and treason that have been passed against newly suspended Minister of Magic Fudge and his hired underlings. One of which, I happen to believe, is you, Krendler."
*Ho ho,* chortled Alexander. *Dumbledore is one sly old wizard, that's for sure.*
~You think he arranged this?~ asked Ginny.
*Who else?*
*Either that or this is just an incredible coincidence.*
Harry gave a mental snort. I don't believe in coincidence.
The voices were smug as they chimed, *Precisely.*
"What? But, but I - I was..." Krendler was stuttering almost incoherently as he frantically looked from one Auror to another was they began filing back into the Great Hall, taking up positions along the four house tables. "This has to be some sort of a mistake..."
"Oh, it's no mistake, lad," declared a very smug looking Alastor Moody, who stepped out from behind Arthur once all of the Aurors had passed. His scarred face was twisted into an ugly parody of a grin as he confirmed, "It's a fact, signed and stamped unanimously by the Wizengamot."
Arthur, now sporting his own small smile of satisfaction, politely asked, "Duncan, would you be so kind as to place those two men under arrest?"
Idaho, who was standing not far from Krendler and Coffey with several of his best lieutenants, grinned with relish and nodded. "With pleasure, Arthur."
For some reason (Harry could hazard a guess why) not one of the students watching lowered their wands until only after Idaho and half a dozen Aurors had crowded around the two Ministry wizards and begun leading them away. Coffey, as Harry had expected, followed his fellow Aurors lead with no complaint or resistance - keeping his cool and holding his head high. Krendler, to no one's surprise, reacted in completely the opposite fashion. It took the combined efforts of Gurney Halleck and three others to physically restrain the man before Idaho simply lost patience with the matter and proceeded to stun Krendler into submission.
"Sorry for the disturbance," apologised Arthur, with a grin to Harry, Hermione and his two children, as the Aurors dragged Krendler's limp form out of the Great Hall. He waved happily at the assembled students and told them all, "Please enjoy the rest of your meal."
"Mister Weasley certainly has good timing," commented Harry to anyone that was listening as the doors slowly swung shut behind the departing wizards.
"Yes indeed," Dumbledore amiably agreed. "We were most fortuitous when young Percival learnt of the Minister's plans to have you taken into custody. The situation might have become rather grim had we not been able to plan accordingly."
"Might have?" repeated Ginny incredulously. She looked at the headmaster narrowly and informed him in no uncertain terms, "Respectfully, sir, it would have become very grim if Fudge and his idiots had tried to take Harry away."
"I don't doubt that for a second, Virginia," replied Dumbledore, smiling benevolently. He looked over to Harry before making his way back to his seat at the staff table. "I expect to see you in my office immediately after dinner, Harry."
Harry nodded in acknowledgement and replied softly, "We'll be there."
He was about to turn to Blaise, who had tucked her wand back up the sleeve of her robe, when two hulking shadows appeared before them. The Gryffindors, who might have been willing to allow Blaise safe access to their table, were less than willing to allow Crabbe and Goyle to stray as close and promptly reached for their wands again. Waving them off, mostly because he knew that neither of the pair posed much in the way of a threat, Harry watched quietly as the two Slytherin wizards stood before Blaise.
"What d'you think you were doing?" asked Goyle, glowering at Blaise.
"Standing by the people I trust, Gar," Blaise answered coolly, meeting Goyle's accusing glare without so much as a flicker. Goyle's scowl deepened at the use of his nickname, which had first been thought up by Fred and George shortly after the two Slytherins had first come to Hogwarts.
Crabbe, who was glowering in identical fashion to Goyle, crossed his arms over his barrel chest and stated, as though it were not perfectly obvious, "They're Gryffindors."
Hermione rolled her eyes and quipped, "My, but they're sharp tonight."
It took several seconds but eventually the derision in Hermione's voice must have become apparent to Crabbe, as he swivelled to turn his glare towards her. He uncrossed his arms and began to reach for his wand, but froze when he noticed that both she and Ron still had their wands drawn and loosely pointed in the general direction of the two Slytherins.
"Where were you two when they handed out the brains?" asked Blaise rhetorically as Crabbe stood back and tried not to look as though he had backed down.
"Obviously not wherever you were," Crabbe retorted dumbly.
"Promise me something, Vinnie," Blaise implored, after rolling her eyes and shaking her head in resignation. "Never breed."
Goyle, who had been watching closely, furrowed his brow in confusion. "Er..."
Blaise sighed, clearly resigned to the fact that the two wizards were thicker than bricks and not likely to ever evolve beyond that. She looked at Harry and shook her head again before shooing her housemates away. "Just go back to the dormitories and practice your singing."
Oddly enough neither of the one-time bodyguards to Draco Malfoy resisted her orders. With only a token grumble and vaguely scathing glare Crabbe and Goyle wandered off in the general direction of the Slytherin table, thus leaving Blaise in the company of the Gryffindors.
"Singing?" asked Ron, watching at they sat themselves down and began gathering enough food to rival even his own near legendary appetite.
"Don't ask. You'll sleep better not knowing," replied Blaise.
She was about to leave, to rejoin her housemates, when Harry reached out and caught her elbow. Blaise looked back at him, raising an eyebrow in query. He looked at her, making sure to use his best solemn expression as he intoned, "Zabini."
Blaise raised her other eyebrow level with the first and asked, "Yes, Potter?"
Harry smiled broadly and beckoned with one hand for her to join them. The Gryffindors, clearly understanding his meaning, shifted aside enough to make a place for her at the table as Harry said, "I'm very glad to have you as a friend."
She looked at him for a second, eyebrows almost cresting her hairline in surprise, before returning his smile with a grin of her own. Bowing her head in thanks and settling down in the seat he was offering, she concluded, "With luck we'll live to be old friends."
***
Severus Snape would much rather have been in the Great Hall, finishing his dinner, than where he was at the moment. It was not the fact that Fudge's bumbling attempt at arresting Potter, which Dumbledore had learnt of before hand, should have been taking place right about then that made the potions master want to be back at Hogwarts. Though the sight would doubtless have been a gratifying one, it was more the fact that Snape would rather have been anywhere than in the Dark Lord's presence.
I am a spy, and a good one, he thought with only a smidgeon of pride, but nothing is without its risks. And venturing into this snake's lair is a venture far riskier than any other.
Also, for a man that spent a great deal of time in the dungeons, Snape was fastidious in the extreme. Though potions tended to get rather messy at times, particularly when Longbottom was melting his latest cauldron, Snape understood and appreciated that keeping a work area clean and spotless greatly reduced any chances of a mishap.
Which was why Snape regarded his current surroundings with a sneer of repulsion, thankfully hidden beneath the skull-like Death Eater mask he wore, that would have caused the more timid Hufflepuff first-years to wet themselves.
His sneer intensified further as he once again surreptitiously looked around and evaluated the chamber he stood in. He did not know where Voldemort had summoned him to this time, the Dark Mark on his arm still throbbed slightly, but it was a dank and mildew infested place.
No doubt the Gryffindors, and most of the other students other than my Slytherins, would think me perfectly at home here.
The stone walls were stained black in places from water, or blood, and crumbling slightly in others. Weak torches flickered in their holders, some of them dangling precariously, and cast dark and ominous shadows all round. The other assembled Death Eaters, several dozen of them, waited patiently (or pretended to) along the sides of the chamber - leaving the centre of the room open for whatever black magicks Voldemort had planned.
The twin pentagrams, apparently drawn on the floor with blood, did not bode well.
"The potion, Severus."
"My Lord," Snape responded crisply, not letting on for a moment that his thoughts had been focused upon something other than the Dark Lord. He stepped away from the other Death Eaters and took four paces forward before settling down on one knee. "As you requested. Enough for two dozen doses."
Reaching into his pocket Snape withdrew a tiny crystal vial --no bigger than his small finger-- and offered it to Voldemort without looking up. It took all his self-discipline not to dash the vial on the floor, shattering it and its contents. He could not grasp Dumbledore's intentions in letting him brew this potion for Voldemort to use. Then it was too late, as the Dark Lord plucked the proffered vial from his hand.
"So little, yet requiring so much time to complete," Voldemort commented, holding the vial up to the unsteady torchlight. He inspected the iridescent fluid within for a long time, checking that it matched the description given in the ancient tome in which he had learnt of the potion and its uses. Finally satisfied with the quality of the potion, Voldemort nodded and waved for Snape to rejoin the Death Eater ranks. "You have done well, Severus. I am pleased."
"Thank you, Master," Snape replied, rising up and moving away - careful not to turn his back towards Voldemort.
Now that Snape could see more than just the hem of Voldemort's robes, he carefully considered the Dark Lord as he seemed to glide into place between the two bloody pentagrams. Voldemort seemed thinner, if possible, than when last Snape had seen him a month before. Of course, it was hard to tell underneath the robes. What he could tell, quite easily by comparison, was that Voldemort's face and hands were bleached so pale that at first glance the Dark Lord looked the very image of the Grim Reaper. Snape was willing to bet that every inch of Voldemort's skin was equally white - like porcelain. His skeletal face was further marred by a fine tracery of blue and black veins which radiated out from his temples and up from beneath the neck of his robes. Only his narrow red eyes remained as Snape remembered; gleaming in the subdued light and lit by some inner fire.
"The ranks of my Death Eaters have suffered greatly these past few months," Voldemort spoke softly, his voice hinting at his displeasure. He held the vial before him, where all the Death Eaters could clearly see it and told them, "Now with the aid of this Tantalus Potion and my own genius, I shall regain the services of my most trusted and valued followers."
This was news that Snape would rather not have heard, though some part of him sat up in intellectual curiosity. He had no way to be sure, but hearing this seemed to confirm his suspicions - which he had told Dumbledore of shortly after being handed this assignment.
"Wormtail," called Voldemort expectantly. Everyone waited anxiously, but the Dark Lord's servant did not make a prompt appearance. Voldemort repeated himself, baring his teeth and snapping, "Wormtail!"
"Mmh-mhm-muh-mas-s-s-ster."
Snape had not seen Peter Pettigrew since the night of the Valentine's attack on Hogwarts, nearly three months before. His first thought now was, Voldemort was not pleased with you, was he, Pettigrew? It's a miracle you're still alive, unlike Macnair. Perhaps being kept like this is part of your punishment.
Pettigrew shuffled into the room, perhaps the most pathetic sight any of those present had ever seen. He was hunched over, bent almost double, and scuffed his feet against the floor as if he were a sickly old man fifty years past his prime. Clutched to his chest was the gruesomely scarred stump of his right hand, which he had sacrificed as part of the ritual to resurrect Voldemort two years ago. At the time the Dark Lord had gifted him with a gleaming silver hand as a replacement, in many ways more effective than a wand, but now it seemed that Voldemort had rescinded his gift as part of Pettigrew's punishment for failing to kill Ginny Weasley during the Valentine's attack.
It was only when Pettigrew stumbled out of the passageway he arrived through and into the light that Snape caught a good enough view of him to clearly see the other marks of Voldemort's displeasure. The left side of Pettigrew's face was slack and immobile, looking as if his skin had partially melted like a wax figurine. This, Snape recognised, was a sign of what the Muggle's called a stroke - a common outcome of being tortured under the Cruciatus Curse for a long period of time, but with enough breaks to prevent the onset of madness.
Better to have died, thought Snape, sternly holding back a shudder.
Voldemort waited impatiently, looking as if he were about to start tapping his foot while he waited, as Pettigrew approached. The stooped little man came up to the Dark Lord as if he were drawing ever closer to a particularly venomous serpent --which in a way he was-- and held out his remaining hand in offering.
Taking charge of the two plain, but very complex, bronze circlets which Pettigrew had brought him, Voldemort hissed angrily. "Do not keep me waiting again, you miserable little rodent."
Pettigrew cringed and tried to stutter out an apology. "S-s-s-s-sorr-r-ryy, Mmh-mhm-muh-ma--"
His attempt was cut off abruptly as Voldemort lifted up his free hand, wand held in it, and snapped, "Crucio!"
The cries of pain with escaped Pettigrew's throat, through a spray of saliva, barely seemed to be human. Pettigrew collapsed to the floor in a boneless heap, twisting and churning about in ways that contrasted sharply with his earlier infirm movements. Voldemort, his eyes narrowed to fine slits, finally released the curse.
"Get out," he ordered Pettigrew, not bothering to wait for the man to catch his breath. When Pettigrew did not immediately rise and leave, he yelled an angry, "Now!"
It was a measure of his terror and desperation that Pettigrew was able to force his tortured body into motion. Stumbling up onto his feet he fled the chamber as if being chased by the very hounds that guarded the gate to Hades. Considering the company, that probably wasn't far off.
"I do not suffer fools or failures," Voldemort commented as Pettigrew disappeared into the darkness of the nearest passageway. His voice was deceptively calm, a signal that those around him should tread even more carefully than usual. "Remember that."
"Yes, my lord!" chorused the Death Eaters, including Snape.
"At the same time, however, I never forget those who serve me faithfully and truly," the Dark Lord continued, now sounding perhaps a trifle reflective. He raised the small vial Snape had delivered in one hand and the two metal bands in the other. His next order was a simple one, "Bring her to me."
A trio of Death Eaters separated from the main group and disappeared down a side passage. It took them several minutes, which Snape spent speculating over what would happen next, but they finally returned. The one in the lead was followed a Muggle woman, in reasonable health and not too ragged clothes, which he controlled by means of the Imperius Curse. Without any further instruction he guided the woman to the pentagram at Voldemort's right side, where he bound her in place with a combination of charms that left her aware but unable to move from the kneeling position he had set her down in.
The last two Death Eaters arrived not long after that, supporting another figure between them. Leading their charge to the pentagram on Voldemort's left, they quickly but carefully placed her --it was obviously a woman-- in an identical position to the Muggle woman. She, however, was not bothering to look around her in the futile hope finding a way out. Instead she swayed in place, as if slightly drunk, and hummed tunelessly beneath the veil of long, stringy hair that fell over her head and kept her face hidden from view.
Having finished their assigned task the three Death Eaters swiftly returned to their places, leaving Voldemort standing in the centre of the room with two bound and completely helpless woman. Not what most of them had been expecting earlier that evening to say the least.
"Ah. The most vicious, most cunning, most cruel, most faithful of my servants," Voldemort announced, reaching out to stroke at the tangled black hair of the woman in the left pentacle. He spoke as if reminiscing about a favourite pet. "Azkaban was not kind to you, I fear."
Snape felt his heart skip a beat at those words.
Voldemort stepped into the pentacle and grabbed the woman by the scruff of her neck, forcing her head back. Using his thumb to unstopper the vial of Tantalus Potion, he carefully brought it to her lips, which were parted only a fraction so that she could breathe, and measured out three drops - no more. Resealing the vial and returning it to a pocket in his robes, Voldemort then placed one of the headbands on the woman's head. He then, a little roughly, repeated the procedure on the Muggle woman trapped in the other pentagram. Returning to his place between the two women, Voldemort drew his wand.
"Bindus Mentalus!"
A thin tendril of silvery light emerged from the tip of his wand and snaked through the air towards the Muggle woman. Darting forwards, as if it were a predator, it connected with the bronze headband she was wearing. The light grew thicker and a silvery halo surrounded the Muggle was she writhed in blind terror. Voldemort, his eyes narrowed in concentration, twisted and pulled the tendril of light towards the other woman, who seemed completely oblivious to what was happening around her.
Nudging the light closer he gave a deft flick of his wand and cut the shimmering tendril loose. The now free end immediately slithered forward, clearly guided by some unseen force, until it connected with the other woman's headband. Voldemort was not idle during this, indeed it was a sight to see as he wove his magicks in the air surrounding the twisting strand of light that now connected the two women. This was a reminder to all present that the Dark Lord had earned his reputation as a great and powerful sorcerer with due cause.
Without warning, startling quite a few of the less staid Death Eaters, both women threw back their heads and shrieked in what at first sounded like unadulterated agony. Snape, who was one of the few that had not flinched at the sound, was quick to note the difference between the two cries. The Muggle woman was screaming not in pain, but combined terror and denial - as if something more precious to her than anything else were being stolen. The witch, something the other woman had to be, was screaming in something that approached elation... or release.
Almost as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. With exhausted sighs both women slumped down, held upright only by the charms restraining them in place within the pentagrams. Not bothering with the Muggle, for she was less than nothing to him, Voldemort turned to the woman he had proclaimed as his favourite Death Eater and released her magical bonds.
"Welcome back," he greeted with satisfaction, "Bellatrix Lestrange."
"M - m - my Lord?" rasped the kneeling woman, her voice hoarse and rough from lack of use over many years. She looked up, through the tangled snares of the hair which obscured her face, and gazed around her in apparent confusion. "Where? What has - what has happened to me?"
"I have set you free, Bellatrix," Voldemort told her. "Free of both Azkaban and the prison of your own mind. Free to join me at my side once more."
"Azkaban..." Bellatrix's breath caught as she whispered the word, the memories clearly beginning to return to her. Unable to support herself she toppled to one side, shivering uncontrollably where she lay.
Voldemort, a thin smile still on his lips, turned to the watching Death Eaters and motioned at the same three which had brought Bellatrix and the Muggle into the chamber. "Take her to the rooms set aside for her and then bring in the next one."
The trio hurried forward, two kneeling down to help a trembling Bellatrix to her feet. The third released the Muggle woman from the charms he had place on her earlier. Now, however, instead of searching for a way out, the Muggle stared at him with blank, uncomprehending eyes - much the same way Bellatrix had reacted when being brought in.
Dumbledore is not going to be pleased, Snape concluded, as the Death Eaters led the two women out of the chamber.
Voldemort, on the other hand, was delighted. He returned to his place between the two pentacles and practically crowed with pleasure over his success. He looked over his assembled Death Eaters and announced haughtily, "Soon the Wizarding World will learn an inescapable truth, one which they have forgotten over the long years of my exile."
Snape repressed a shudder of despair, and another of revulsion, as the three Death Eaters that had led Bellatrix and her sacrificial Muggle out returned. As before, one was leading a Muggle under the Imperius Curse and the other two were gently escorting another of the freed, but until now irreparably damaged, Azkaban inmates.
"I can be driven back, driven away, driven to the very point of death itself and left dangling on its cusp, but I can never be defeated," Voldemort said, a malicious grin stretching his near lipless mouth and baring his small, sharp teeth. "No matter what they may try, no matter what they may hope, no matter what they may believe... I will always find a way."
Severus could not help but shudder at the tone of the Dark Lord's voice.
"Always."
TBC...