The Heart of Gryffindor
by SJR0301
Part III - Chapter Twenty-Eight
Mists shrouded the rocky island on which the disappearing fortress lay. The fortress was hewn of black rock and was so rooted in the bedrock of the island that it seemed to have grown there naturally. North Sea sailors and fishermen regularly passed it by and never noted that the jagged black peaks of the island are man-made. Magic made, Hayden observed. He signaled for the captain to land the boat on a tiny spit of land. The captain, a short, squat goblin with pointy teeth and claw-like fingernails, slid the boat onto the rocky point. A grinding protest issued from the boat's ancient bow and far above, from inside the rocky fortress, an alarm sounded.
Ignoring the sound, Hayden applied a disillusionment charm to himself and his company of goblins and wizards. Any wizard looking for it would penetrate it quickly, but the initial illusion should suffice to buy them the time needed.
At his word, one of the goblins released his bow and an iron arrow buried its head in the side of the fortress carrying the hauling rope with it. They all took hold of the rope, and at his word, the rope rose in an instant. It was the work of only one more minute for Hayden to blow in the hidden side door through which the guards descended to reach the outside of the fortress in order to leave the island on their tri-annual week's leave. It was from one such guard that Hayden had forced the information of how to enter the fortress known as Azkaban.
The released Death Eaters were a fearsome lot. Six years of confinement in the worlds most notorious wizard prison had left its mark on even the hardest of the men. Even the smooth, refined Lucius Malfoy had lost the veneer that had allowed him to deceive the Minister of Magic and the wizarding public into believing he was a gentleman.
His pale blond hair had turned white and it hung down in long straggles nearly to his shoulders. Deep lines scored the formerly handsome face and the pale grey eyes were so full of malice that a strong man could hardly bear to look into them.
Hayden, however, was the descendant of kings and warriors. Malfoy would be his weapon for exacting vengeance on the one who had defeated his bid for power. The released Death Eaters now owed him their lives and their freedom and he would exact payment in their services toward his new empire. He smiled with satisfaction as he cloaked the boat in mists to shroud their escape from the island.
~~***~~
It seemed hard to believe that he had been at Hogwarts for two months already. Harry made his way toward Hogsmeade feeling both worried and frustrated by his lack of progress. He had talked to everyone on the staff that knew Mundungus Fletcher, and not one of them save Dumbledore had had any contact with him in years.
It was Dumbledore who explained how Dung had likely come to the Alliance's attention. Dumbledore had assigned Mundungus the task of infiltrating some of the fringe groups that surrounded the Death Eaters and the Alliance nearly seventeen years ago. Dung had made contact with or had already known some of the wizards who were small time criminals, very like Dung himself. Just as there had been Muggle criminals who had hung around the edges of those groups, so too had the wizards been attracted by the likelihood of a quiet profit.
Dumbledore's face had looked unutterably weary when he had told Harry all this. "He never had direct contact with Hayden," the elderly wizard had said, "and it has been nearly six years since Mundungus was involved in those activities. The truth is," he added with an uninterruptible glance at Harry, "I wanted to know more about him seventeen years ago because I knew that you were interested in him then."
That morning, knowing he would go down to London to report on his investigation whilst classes were out of session for the day, Harry had pressed Dumbledore for anything else the Headmaster could recollect.
Dumbledore had considered Harry with a troubled gaze, his light blue eyes clouded with worry. "I do not know Hayden well enough to guess what he will do," he answered, "but I think you ought to be very careful. Hayden will want to target you directly, Harry."
Harry shrugged. "I'm not worried about myself, Professor. I am concerned that he will go after others who are near me. And I'm not sure that my having taken this position was the wisest course as it places me here with the children. Hayden wouldn't be interested in Hogwarts at all if I weren't here."
"He was not a student here," Dumbledore replied. "I do not think he would easily penetrate Hogwarts' safeguards."
Harry did not disagree with that, but as he left the Professor's office, he could not help but notice how very thin and fragile Dumbledore was. Anxiety for the old wizard dogged him as he made his way to a sheltered place from which he could disapperated.
In London, Locherman appeared disconcerted by Harry's appearance at their briefing session on the case.
"I thought you were up at that school undercover," he said disapprovingly. This, despite the fact that Harry had made forays into London to report and to follow the case several times weekly since starting at Hogwarts in September.
"It's a day off for students and staff," Harry answered neutrally. He was determined not to let Locherman's antipathy get him thrown off the case.
"Well, have you learnt anything useful?" Locherman asked.
Harry shook his head. "I don't think any of the other teachers there know anything," he said calmly. "Perhaps I should find a reason to leave now so that I can work the case directly."
"That'd be a big help," Bentley said immediately. "We're understaffed as it is with all the immigration riots last week and elections coming up again next month."
Unfortunately, Bentley's support only made Locherman more stubborn. "I think we've sufficient staff for the moment," the Head answered putting Bentley in his place. "And we need to know why that last victim was targeted."
Afterwards, Harry had sat with Johnny and scanned through the masses of Internet posts made by Alliance sympathizers. "Just a lot of rot as usual," Harry noted.
"Yeah," Johnny agreed. He considered Harry closely and asked, "Have you had a chance to follow up on the Sword?"
It took a moment for Harry to remember what Johnny was talking about. "Arthur's sword, you mean?" He shook his head and said, "I haven't had time. You wouldn't believe how much work it is being a teacher. I have to do the job right as long as I'm there."
"Well, don't forget that Hayden is looking for that sword," Johnny pointed out. "He wouldn't have gone after the librarian if he wasn't still obsessed with it."
"I'll look in the library," Harry said. "I promise. But I'm more worried about why Hayden hasn't killed anyone in the past few weeks. It was one a week and now none for a few. What d' you suppose he's going to do next?"
Overcome by a feeling of discontent and still lingering anxiety, Harry decided to put off returning to Hogwarts until later that evening. Instead, he surprised Ginny in the garden, stopping every question with another kiss.
"They're fine," he said briefly when she asked about the children.
It wasn't until much later that he said, finally, "I miss being here at home with you."
"I thought you would like being back at Hogwarts," she responded. She laid a hand on his face and waited for him to answer.
"I do, in a way," he answered. "But it's not the same without you and Ron and Hermione. It's different being a teacher. And I can't just relax and enjoy teaching. I'm there for a different purpose, because a man we know was murdered."
She hesitated and then said, “You’re having nightmares again, aren’t you?”
“What makes you think that?” Harry countered.
“You have that look,” she said quietly.
“It’s just the usual,” he answered.
“No, it’s not,” she objected. “I can tell. You get all strained about the mouth and your eyes get this look.” Before he could contradict her, she added, “I know. I see the same thing in my own mirror some days.”
Chastened, he said, “I don’t have so many when I’m with you. The worst ones come when I’m alone.” He felt almost ashamed to admit to such weakness, but relieved all the same that he could admit to his worries. “They’re all mixed up, you know. Old stuff, flashbacks of Voldemort mixed in with … with dreams that it’s the children he’s got, instead of Sirius. They scare me witless.”
She paled and then said firmly, “That’s hardly surprising. Your old fears, mixed up with the worst of all. Mine are the same.”
They sat comfortably for a while in silence, and then Harry nerved himself up for the thing he’d been wondering for some time. “Do you mind,” he asked, “not working anymore?” He didn’t wait for her answer but rushed on. “You could do something if you wanted.”
“I’ve thought about it,” she answered. “But I don’t know that I would go back on the Job. I’d rather work for the Order.”
“The Order isn’t really operating any more,” Harry replied. However, the idea of the Order being revived was a source of hope. He had begun to feel weighed down, as though no matter how much he achieved, nothing ever changed for the better. True, he had defeated Voldemort. He had caught Hayden and sent him to jail. Yet evil persisted, like a giant spider that grew two new legs for each old one that was cut off. Now Hayden was out and Harry felt afraid as he rarely had most of the time even when Voldemort was alive. He could not think why and felt that he must be losing his nerve somehow.
“It’s an idea,” he said slowly. Immediately, he wanted to take the words back. To say, it’s a good idea, but you shouldn’t be in it. He wanted his wife sheltered and safe as his children were.
“You’ll speak to Dumbledore about it?” she asked, and he knew that he would have to. Ginny would never let him coddle her or try to shield her from danger, and he was glad of it when the thought of her putting herself in danger didn’t paralyze him altogether.
~~***~~
I looked for Dad at the Halloween feast that night, but he wasn’t there. I tried to push aside my disappointment, but it was harder than usual. Here he was, at Hogwarts, a teacher, teaching classes five days a week, and yet I seemed to have less ability to get a response from him than when he was home working his regular job. Every other year, I would write him letters, and I would always get a letter back quite quickly, sometimes even the very next day. I knew he must be missing Mum, but I wanted to talk to him about a lot of things, especially about what I wanted to do after I graduated. If I didn’t do something soon, it would be too late for me to apply to any Universities or to arrange to take the necessary entrance exams. The other thing that worried me seemed both more and less urgent. It would have to wait, I supposed; but I was so anxious and irked that I actually contemplated writing him a letter, even though he was right here. I resolved that I would try to talk to him during his office hours the next day. Surely he could make time to talk to me then. I was a student too and just as deserving of a teacher’s time as any other.
The next morning, however, something happened that put all other thoughts out of my mind and everyone else's as well. The day was another fine one. Nothing about the clear blue sky and drifting swirls of golden and crimson leaves warned of the change to come. Perhaps a seer might have seen the change or scented it on the cool North wind as a bear scents winter coming and knows it's time to find a den in which to sleep.
I was sipping my tea and absently munching on a piece of toast as I reviewed my notes for Defense class. Dad had given us a load of notes after all, as he had, he said wryly, been reminded by Professor McGonagall that we would have to pass the written portion of our Newts as well as the practical. Just don't think, he had said, that you can ever defeat a dark wizard by writing an essay. The class had laughed, although uneasily, as they always did when Dad referred to actually fighting dark wizards.
A sound diverted my attention. It wasn't much and normally the kind of chatter that goes on at mealtimes never disturbs my concentration if I'm studying something. My unconscious must have noticed the difference in the noise and in the quality of emotion that underlay the noise. It started as a small sort of hiss and swelled to a nervous murmur and then to a loud chatter. I looked up and saw that the teachers had stopped eating and were huddled over a copy of the Daily Prophet. The expressions on their faces were of barely concealed horror. Students who took the paper were passing it from group to group and the sound swelled until Professor McGonagall said loudly, "Classes begin in five minutes. You will still receive detention if you are late."
"They can't get us here," someone said.
"Who knows what they can do," another said.
Then another voice said softly, "Maybe Dumbledore knew. Maybe that's why he brought in Professor - the Boy Who Lived. Maybe he knew."
Desperate now for the news, I was willing to risk detention for being late. I saw that Matilda had a copy of the paper and I slipped over to the Ravenclaw table and looked on over her head. The headlines were dramatic enough and explained everything:
Breakout From Azkaban and Minister of Magic Resigns.
It is with regret that the Ministry of Magic reports the breakout of a number of former Death Eaters. Unable to explain why security measures failed, the minister resigned. The Ministry has no information to offer the public on this incredible breach of security. The Ministry assures us that the Wizengamot will meet today to select a new Minister so that this grave and dangerous lapse in security may be mended immediately.
The escaped Death Eaters leered menacing out of their pictures and I could not help noticing the one that seemed the most horrible of all - Lucius Malfoy. His lined face and straggly hair was the frame for the most ferocious pair of eyes I had ever seen. I had to wonder if he was any relation to Narcissus and whether Narcissus knew him or had any contact with him.
The chatter continued unabated, albeit in whispers, as we waited for Dad to arrive for class. Our whispers were interrupted, not by Dad, but by Professor Snape.
"Where's the Professor?" Lionel Wood asked.
"That is not your concern," Professor Snape replied. "Suffice it to say that Professor Potter was required elsewhere for the moment."
The Professor lifted his wand, perhaps to place instructions on the board, but Matilda called out, "Is he going after them, then?"
I gawped at her, but no one else seemed to find her question surprising.
Professor Snape merely answered once again, "That is not your concern." Astonishingly, he was interrupted again, something that never happened in Professor Snape's class.
"They'll probably kill him if he catches up with them," Malfoy said nonchalantly.
"They will not!" Matilda exclaimed. "He's The Boy Who Lived. I expect he'll be catching them. I hope he does."
Professor Snape tried to cut this off, but the conversation couldn't be stopped.
"You and all the rest of the Mudbloods and half bloods will be crying soon," Parkinson answered.
"I won't cry," Matilda said fiercely. "They killed my father's entire family. I'll fight them myself if I have to."
"So will I," I cut in.
"No one here will be fighting anyone," Professor Snape said loudly. We all shut up, as the tone of his voice brooked no further interruptions. "You are all students, not agents of the Ministry. Now pay attention, if you don't want to be cleaning up dung the hard way for the rest of the month."
~~***~~
At ten minutes to one, all of the seats in the Wizengamot assembly chambers were completely filled with the exception of one, and that one was always empty. The forty-nine members of the Wizengamot talked to each other in hushed tones as though the escaped Death Eaters might hear them and kill them despite the fact that they were undoubtedly nowhere near London just now. Hermione looked again at the empty seat and wondered what Harry was doing just then.
The seat had been set-aside for him just after the news had come out that he had survived his last fight with Voldemort, but Harry had never attended the assembly. Hermione wasn’t sure whether it was because he didn’t want the attention he would surely receive, including articles written in the Daily prophet that misquoted him or worse, or whether he simply found the prospect of sitting through a bunch of speeches about the latest legislation too boring to endure. Perhaps it was the empty seat that encouraged so many wizards to continue to believe that Harry had really died and that the person who claimed to be Harry was actually an imposter.
She turned her attention back to the clock and waited for the hand to land precisely on the stroke of one before calling the meeting to order. Since the Minister had resigned, as Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Hermione found herself in the unenviable position of conducting this certain to be contentious emergency meeting. She unrolled the parchment containing the names of those who had applied to be Minister. There were only two who had had the temerity or the vanity to apply in these circumstances and at such short notice.
“The order of business today will be to elect the next minister of Magic,” Hermione announced. “I would point that under Regulation two thousand and twelve, when a Minister of Magic is appointed on an emergency basis, the appointment shall be an interim appointment for three months, in order that the wizarding public and the Wizengamot may assure themselves of the candidate’s qualifications. The procedure is as follows: each applicant will briefly speak to the assembly and make known his qualifications and his immediate and long-term goals for the wizard community. I will call on the applicants in alphabetical order to make their presentations.”
She took a short breath to let the information sink in. Not that most of the members weren’t familiar with the procedures. The average age of the Wizengamot had to be a hundred. She supposed that the reason the two candidates were so young was that no sensible person would want to take on the job under the present circumstances. “I call on Ernie Macmillan to make his presentation first.” Hermione kept her countenance neutral as she listened to Ernie’s speech.
“Friends, Witches and Wizards,” Ernie said, “I come to you at this grave moment of danger for our community, not out of vanity, but out of a sense of responsibility for our people and our laws. I have served in the Ministry for seventeen years, since graduation from Hogwarts. Many of you will think me bold or foolish to put myself forth as a candidate for Minister of Magic. I assure you, I am neither. I remember the days of You Know Who’s return to power. I fought in the final battle against him and his Death Eaters. I believe that one who has both the initiative to step forward and the commons sense to know that he must consult those that are wiser must take leadership at this crucial time. I pledge to you that I will lead the community with care, and diligence, and that I will defer to the advice of those who have saved us in our past trials. I thank you for this opportunity, as I believe that service to the community is the noblest job of all.”
A number of wizards and witches applauded. Other whispered in their seats, though Hermione could not hear their comments. Ernie sat and mopped his brow with a handkerchief and Hermione called the only other applicant, Percy Weasley.
Percy stood up and cleared his throat. Hermione wished that the Wizengamot vote were secret like the Muggle elections were. That way no one would know if she chose Ernie over her own brother-in-law. She had an odd fancy that the elections in the Wizengamot must be among the oldest continuing elections in history. The stonewalls of the assembly were discolored with age and the wooden beams that supported the ceiling were black with age. The wooden benches glowed as though they had been coated with some expensive polish, but Hermione knew that they had been polished by the touch of hundreds of human hands over the centuries.
"I come to you in all humility," Percy said, "as the son of a former, very fine Minister. I will say that my father's tenure as Minister, though short, was one of the most difficult ever, and if he should choose to step up and take up the burden once more, I would gladly step aside." He paused, and Arthur said rather throatily, "Once you've laid down the mantle, you don't take it up again. Go on, son."
"My qualifications," Percy said, "I think you all know. I worked in the office of the Minister of Magic himself when You Know Who made his reappearance. I have direct experience with the management of the Ministry in emergency times. And I have survived the direct attack of You Know Who himself when he invaded the Ministry and attacked the Minister in the Hall of Records. I will not say this was anything but luck. But I will say that I believe I know what must be done in perilous times like these. I will bring on twenty new aurors and authorize aggressive action against the Death Eaters and any that join them. I will take effective measures to ensure that the Death Eaters do not find a platform to recruit new members. And I will, of course, consult with my father and Professor Dumbledore as is becoming to one new to the highest office. Like my friend Ernie, I have served the Ministry since I graduated Hogwarts. I will tell you that Ernie Macmillan is a deserving and hardworking man, as I well remember when I was Head boy and he was among those students in my House and in my charge. If you choose Ernie, rather than myself, I will work with him to the best of my ability for the cause that brings us here today. If you choose me, I will appoint Ernie to be my Senior Undersecretary. Either way, you can be assured you will have both of our services. I think you for your consideration and I pledge my best service to the Ministry and to the wizard community."
Percy sat again and another round of applause went round. Hermione concealed her annoyance. Percy was undoubtedly clever in certain respects. He had managed to appear humble and yet to make Ernie look so much younger and less experienced than himself. She wished again she could vote secretly. Unfortunately, she could neither vote secretly nor abstain. She hoped fervently that the Death Eaters would be caught quickly and she tried to ignore the queasiness in her stomach that came from the understanding that Ron and Harry were likely to be in the forefront of the fight and that both of them were certain targets for revenge.
"You have heard the words of the applicants," Hermione said, stilling the applause. "Are there any comments in support of either candidate?"
From the rear, a very elderly wizard whose back was so stooped he looked almost like a child with an old man's head stood. In a wheezy voice he said, "I think Dumbledore should be Minister. It's about time, Albus, that you quit hiding in that school and gave us the benefit of your wisdom."
Several voices cried out. "Yay for Dumbledore."
Dumbledore rose and said very calmly, "I thank you, Tiberius, but as all of you know, I am Headmaster of Hogwarts and I want no other place in the world. Whoever you choose, you can be sure he will have my support and advice upon request...and sometimes even when he doesn't ask for it." Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, but Hermione had the notion that the merriment was forced. Surely, she thought, he had been enjoying the reprieve from fighting Voldemort and the Death Eaters. She knew she had been. For six years they had all rested. For six years they had been allowed to feel safe and to grow complacent. She shook her head and looked at the next hand raised. She felt her mouth drop in shock. Somehow, in the middle of the assembly, without anyone noticing, one more member had arrived. The empty seat was no longer empty and it was Harry who stood to speak.
Hermione tried to keep her voice calm as she called on Harry. She felt like scolding him for showing off and she worried that he might have decided this was the time for some kind of stunt. However, as soon as he spoke, she mentally apologized. In fact, she stared at him as much as everyone else there who has had his notions about a person changed quite suddenly.
"Thank you," Harry said, "for giving me the chance to speak. At any other time, I would not have, but today I believe that our choice of Minister is absolutely crucial to the survival of the wizarding community, which I will go into in a minute. First, I want you to know that I have great regard for both Percy and Ernie. Percy is my brother-in-law and family. Ernie is a fine and loyal friend. They would both make fine Ministers." He paused and spoke directly to the two men, who had stood at Harry commendations, "I hope you forgive me for not supporting your candidacy. I think most of you here today are not aware of all of the circumstances that need to be considered in choosing our Minister."
Hermione felt herself frowning and she wondered just what could be more important than having a minister who could deal with the emergency of the escaped Death Eaters. One thing she was sure of, though, was that Harry would not nominate himself. She looked at Dumbledore and saw that he, alone, was unsurprised. Perhaps they had discussed this beforehand.
"It is true," Harry, said calmly, "that we have not faced so great a danger as a community since Voldemort returned to power." A collective shudder ran through the assembly at the mention of Voldemort's name. Harry ignored this and continued. "The Death Eaters are dangerous," he said, "but they are not the only danger. What most of you don't know is that the Death Eaters are allied with another group, a group that is accounted by the Muggles as one of the most dangerous terrorist groups in England and Europe, the Anglo Aryan Alliance. There are some who would not want me to tell you this, but I believe that in our community, such secrecy is the greatest danger of all."
Hermione would have interrupted him right there if they had been alone. You can't talk about this, she would have said. Your secrecy oath forbids this, she would have said.
"What do the Muggles have to do with us?" Percy asked. His countenance was closed, but Hermione knew that he would have felt Harry's rejections as a personal blow, not easily forgiven, if ever.
"Just this," Harry answered. "The highest officials in the Muggle government were aware at the end of Voldemort's insurgency that he was a wizard and that the attacks on the Muggles were being conducted by wizards. They came very near to ending the Statute of Secrecy on their own, by announcing to the general public what he was and that wizards really exist. If Voldemort had not been killed, it is certain that they would have."
Once again, a collective shudder surged through the assembly as Harry continued. "The Alliance, as I said, is a terrorist group whose aim is to take over the government of England and remove or kill anyone who is not of one hundred percent Anglo Saxon ancestry. It is a different version of the pure blood mania that Voldemort urged. The Alliance has already made numerous attempts on Muggle institutions, most of which have been thwarted."
"But what do we care about what the Muggles do to the Muggles?" someone asked from the audience.
"This isn't about what Muggles do to Muggles," Harry answered hotly, for the first time losing his calm. "This isn't about what wizards do to wizards either. This is about what Human beings do to other human beings. We are all humans, Muggles and wizards alike. But if you want a more personal reason for our concern, the fact is that the Alliance is led by a man named Eric Hayden, whose family were disciples of Grindelwald. He is a dark wizard and some of the top people in the Alliance are dark wizards and they are the ones responsible for the Death Eaters breakout yesterday!"
Harry paused to let this sensational news sink in and then continued. "Their goals are to take over England, as I said, and I mean to take over us all, Muggles and wizards and they have the Death Eaters on their side to assist. What is essential now if we as a community are to retain our secrecy and our ability to govern our own affairs here in England is to appoint a Minister of magic who can work directly with the Muggles at bringing the Alliance and the Death Eaters to justice? If we cannot cooperate, I can tell you that the Muggles will do as they see fit. And that may include announcing our presence to other Muggles, and inevitably if Hayden and the Death Eaters cannot be caught soon enough, taking away our independence and possibly legislating restrictions against the use of magic."
The assembly was absolutely quiet now. Hermione was horrified. She wondered how Harry knew so soon that the Alliance was behind the Death Eaters escape. Had he already visited Azkaban?
"Are we supposed to actually believe this?" Percy asked. "Wizards don't fool with Muggles. This makes no sense at all that this supposed wizard would be involved with Muggles."
Hermione kept her mouth shut be digging her nails into her hand. Otherwise, she would have pulled out her wand and hexed the obnoxious man herself and no matter that he was her brother-in-law, too. Harry, however, answered the underlying charge.
"If you will recall," he said silkily, "for a whole year the Ministry thought I was lying about Voldemort having returned. I was not lying then and I am not lying now, when I say the danger is great."
He swept the room, making eye contact with each and every witch and wizard there, and Hermione knew there were not many who could comfortably sustain that penetrating green gaze. Those who had previously believed the Harry standing there might be an imposter were disagreeably informed then; merely by the sheer strength of that glare that this was the genuine article. More than one shivered once his gaze left theirs and she wondered whether Harry had actually gained any information about the loyalties of the wizards just by that look.
"I have gone on too long," He said, "but I think we need to be clear on why this matters. My point is this. My regard for both candidates is great; but neither will serve now because neither has the ability to deal with the Muggles in the way that is needed at this time. And I know you both took Muggles Studies at Hogwarts. I know you both got Os on your Newts in the subject. But that is useless beside the knowledge and understanding of Muggle society that is needed now. What we need is someone who is loyal, dedicated, clever and who doesn't need a class to understand what Muggles are about."
"You, then?" someone called from the audience.
The look on Harry's face was transparently horrified. "Certainly not." He said feelingly.
"Course not," the wheezy voice said. Hermione squinted and saw that it was Algernon Longbottom, Neville's ancient uncle. "You'll be needed to fight them dastards in person. We can't be having The Boy Who Lived cooped up in political meetings and signing parchments and listening to us idiots here wrangling on about nothings."
The tension broke and a few people laughed. Dumbledore was not one of them, though. His ancient face looked terribly frail as though he felt the weight of everyone of his years and for the first time Hermione believed that the danger was truly great.
"Exactly," Harry said. "So I nominate the person best suited to do the job. The person who is the most brilliant, bravest, sensible person I know. A person who has stood against the Death Eaters since our very first year at Hogwarts. A person who has worked at the Ministry and whom everyone agrees is one of the finest at the job. A person whom I would trust with my life. A person who knows Muggles because her family are Muggles - Hermione Granger Weasley."
Hermione could only gawp at Harry.
Hermione wasn't sure how to react. She wanted to shake Harry for dropping this on her without so much as a word of warning. She wanted to know if he had talked to Ron about it and what Ron thought. She didn't get a chance to say anything, however, as another voice, an excessively sweet voice, spoke from the back of the assembly.
"Perhaps you would be so kind as to prove to the Wizengamot that you really are Harry Potter before we go voting on the nomination of a possible imposter? And perhaps you would then explain how you survived the Killing Curse when hundreds of people saw you - oh, sorry, saw Harry Potter die?"
Hermione felt fury rush through her at the sight of Dolores Umbridge attempting to poison Harry's reputation once more. She lifted her wand and was almost on the verge of jinxing the foul toad when she saw Harry shake his head, though whether at her or simply at the attack, she wasn't sure. The entire assembly gawped and stared at Harry. Though they had been sure of his identity only moments before, Umbridge's words had raised their doubts once more.
Hermione spoke as calmly as she was able, though she was afraid that her voice must have sounded hoarse and shaky. "I can vouch for Harry," she said coolly. "I don't mind if you vote me out as a candidate since I did not apply. But I do mind very much when anybody questions Harry's reputation or honesty. I was there. I was a witness. I saw Harry defeat Lord Voldemort. And I saw him wake from the coma into which he fell after being struck by the Curse." She stared fiercely out at the assembly and was tempted more than a little to transform into her Animagus form and bite Dolores Umbridge.
Her words caused another stir in the audience. She was quite prepared to throw her support behind Ernie, except that Harry made a gesture that silenced her and everyone else. From beneath the cloak he had worn, he drew out his sword, the Sword of Gryffindor, and lit it without a word. Its crimson-gold fire shed a bright light inside the rather dim, old chamber and she could only stare at him in astonishment. He quenched the fire just as quickly, and then turned the blade upside down and drove it into stone ledge that supported the row of benches in front of him, just as he had seventeen years ago when a recalcitrant minister had nearly refused to give Sirius his name.
"I give you my word, wizard's word, upon this Sword, upon the Sword of Godric Gryffindor, that I am who I say I am."
Harry pulled the Sword smoothly out and said coolly, "Anyone here who wants to prove otherwise is free to prove it on this Sword."
No one, of course, in his right mind would have taken that challenge, not even Dolores Umbridge.
"Right, then," Harry said. "Now that we've got that much clear, can we return to the proper business of this meeting?" He scanned the room and added, "And if it makes everyone felt better, I'll leave, so no one can say that I influenced the selection improperly." He said this was all the appropriate gravity, except that his last words ended on a sneeze.
Feeling entirely aggravated, Hermione said dryly, "That's a good idea. And you might want to put on dry clothes while you're at it, before you catch your death. Or at least do a spell to dry yourself off."
Harry looked thoroughly irritated himself and quite tired all of a sudden. "Yeah, well, I didn't have time for that or I'd have missed the assembly." He sneezed again and said more to himself than anyone else, "Bloody North Sea." After which, he disapperated again without a sound.
Hermione looked at Dumbledore and saw that his gaze had lightened. He gave an almost imperceptible nod, from which she drew the courage to speak.
"That was most unexpected," she said and the assembly all looked at her, some with approval, others with hostility, others with simple curiosity. She lifted her chin and continued, "I can hardly run the assembly if I am to be a candidate myself. So I will ask Professor Dumbledore, as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot to take over these proceedings."
"So you intend to try for it," Percy said with resentment. "Does Ron know about this? Did you cook this up between you and him and Harry?"
Arthur stood at that, but Professor Dumbledore gestured for him to sit. "I think we all saw from Mrs. Weasley's expression that she was just as surprised as the rest of us were."
"That's a bit unfair," Ernie said abruptly. This was the first time he had spoken since Harry's appearance and Hermione hoped that he would not be as angry with her as Percy clearly was. Percy, as imperceptive as ever, had no clue how much his actions were destroying his chance of winning.
Dumbledore said quietly, "I agree. Though I should like to hear your reasoning on this Mr. Macmillan."
Ernie shrugged and looked almost abashed at being addressed directly by Dumbledore. "It's simple," he answered. "I know that Ron Weasley left to go to Azkaban with a group Aurors almost immediately that we heard about the breakout. He wouldn't have had time to consult with anybody."
Hermione nearly pointed out that this was wrong. Harry had obviously been to Azkaban too; he had come to the meeting right from there, she was certain. She was more surprised when Ernie added, "I won't pretend that being Minister of Magic isn't one of my lifetime ambitions. But I don't believe that Harry lied to us about the present danger to our world and to our whole way of life. I went to school with Harry Potter and I can tell you, he doesn't lie about important things. And I agree that Hermione Granger-Weasley would make a fine Minister, perhaps the best Minister in these circumstances. So I will withdraw my application and support her because I believe that special knowledge and special courage will be very important if we are to survive."
Ernie bowed to the assembly and then to Percy. Hermione could not help but note the difference in those two bows. His bow to the assembly was one of respect; his bow to Percy, the salute of a wizard embarking upon a duel. When he turned to leave, she cried, "Wait!" and when he turned back, she said, "It takes a great deal of courage to put yourself forward as a leader under such circumstances, Ernie. It takes more courage to withdraw, because you believe it is right. If I might propose another solution, I think the assembly might like another alternative."
She looked to Professor Dumbledore, who raised his eyebrows and nodded after a moment. "I would propose," Hermione, said, "that rather than appoint me as Minister of Magic, you should appoint me as a Special Liaison to the Muggles. If I'm not mistaken, Minister Weasley held that post before he was appointed Minister of Magic. I should be very happy to support Ernie Macmillan as the Minister of Magic because I believe he has the interest of the wizard community at heart. His willingness to withdraw is ample proof of that."
Professor Dumbledore, of course, was never one to let things go the easy way. "And would you agree to serve in the same post if Percy Weasley were elected?"
She nodded, knowing it was the only right answer.
~~***~~
Before going on to Headquarters and his meeting with Locherman, Harry took Hermione's advice and stopped home to shower and change. He wanted to put off meeting with the Head as long as possible, even though he knew he should have been there already. He was hugely disappointed that Ginny wasn't there, but he consoled himself with a hot butterbeer and a bacon sandwich, which he downed in a few gulps as he looked for a clean Muggle suit to wear to the office. He thought that he ought to have stayed to ensure that Hermione got elected, but he had been afraid, too, that if he waited too long before speaking to Locherman that the Muggles fears would start them on an unstoppable course. Keeping in mind the need for care, he apparated into an empty bathroom stall. The less magic he did just now, the better their chances were of staving off trouble.
He made it into the emergency meeting only a few minutes late wishing that the former Minister of Magic had at least waited to tell the Muggles the news of the breakout before resigning and leaving the Ministry in chaos. Locherman's cold glance told him that he would be read a lecture for his tardiness. It also told him that the Head was still ignorant of the true nature of the emergency. Harry caught Bones' eye and saw that Bones did know and was prepared to pull them both out of the meeting on a pretext if needed. He shook his head as subtly as he could. The longer they could keep things running, as they had been, the better.
"So," Locherman said, "why is the breakout of a few men from some remote Northern prison of interest to the Security Services?"
"These men were among the Lord of Death's terror gang," Bentley answered briefly. When Locherman did not appear to recall who that was, Bentley prompted him. "You know, that fellow that blew in the window at Harrods and attacked the Royal family."
"And how did you know about this?" Locherman asked.
Bones cut in before Bentley could go further. "I had word from my old boss at the Yard. They consider this a major threat, sir."
Locherman nodded stiffly then and said, "Well, I want your full report on these people and your assessment of their present capacity for trouble. Do they have any weapons or means of carrying out an attack? They've been in prison for, how many years? Can they get back in operation immediately or will they lie low until they think the pressure's off to catch them?"
Harry judged it was time to say something. He did not want Locherman underestimating the threat anymore than he wanted the Head to know who the Death Eaters really were. "They are an immediate threat," he said quietly.
Bones looked at him anxiously, but he plowed on. "Their escape was planned and executed by Hayden and the Alliance. It's why the Alliance went quiet for those few weeks. They were planning this."
Locherman's eyebrows rose and he looked as though he smelled a very unpleasant odor. "That sounds like a rather crazy conspiracy theory, Potter. I suppose you're tired of being cooped up in that school and want a piece of this action instead."
Harry bit his tongue to keep from saying something that would offend Locherman further. Fortunately, Johnny interrupted. "It's not crazy, sir. This lot, Lucius Malfoy and his friends, were meeting with Hayden years ago. They were working together after the Lord of Death was killed to try to put his criminal empire back together again, sir. And Hayden already had started the change that made the Alliance into a true terrorist group rather than a nuisance political party."
Locherman turned his attention back to Harry. "How do you know that Hayden helped them? Or is that just guesswork?"
Harry forced himself to keep his tone as level as Locherman's and his face even blander and more neutral. "I had a friend keeping an eye on that lot. I got wind of it early this morning, almost as soon as the breakout occurred. I checked it out and came straight here as soon as I knew the information was good."
"One of your snitches?" Locherman asked.
Harry nodded. Not that Ron could be considered a snitch by any definition; but it would do as an explanation for his inside information.
"Do we have any idea where they went?" Locherman asked. Almost his first sensible question of the day, Harry thought.
Harry shook his head. He could make a few guesses. The aurors, he knew, were already checking out a number of places including the Malfoy's Wiltshire manor and their London townhouse.
He let his thoughts wander as Locherman blustered his way through the rest of the meeting, giving orders to Bentley and Bones, both of whom knew so much more about the Job than Locherman did. His thoughts were rudely interrupted, however, when Locherman spoke to him again.
"And by the way, Potter, as long as you're here, you're to report to take your physical. You're the only one in the Department who still hasn't done so." Locherman barely missed smiling as he added, "You'll be off-duty if you can't pass. And this is the full test, like everyone else had - including full defense and weapons preparedness after your medical."
"Now?" Harry said. He couldn't help the annoyed protest. He needed to talk to Bones and then to get back to Hogwarts to see Dumbledore.
"Yes, now," Locherman answered. He waited, poised to pounce on any further protest by Harry. Harry could see he would have to comply or he'd be in trouble just for insubordination. For one instant, it passed through his head that he could quit right then and there, or that if he were insubordinate, Locherman could put him on suspension and he could do, as he liked, what he thought was needed. Bentley stirred as if he would intercede, and Harry was reminded that his actions could bring about the very thing they were all trying to prevent.
He said simply, "Yes, sir," and stalked off to the medical department to have his blood pressure taken, his heart checked, blood work done to check for drugs, and a stress test. As usual, the medic told him he could stand to put on a few pounds, but his heart was sound and he looked no older than your average teenager.
He endured this with as much patience as possible and then took his certification from the doctor down to the basement-training center. The training area took up a full two floors and was located down in the area that was completely underground and shielded by lead filled concrete walls. The underground area was part of an emergency retreat system and it connected to a series of tunnels to that led to the Houses of Parliament, Number 10 Downing Street, and the Queen's palace.
Harry stopped to change into sweats for the training session and arrived at the firing range to find Locherman there already talking to his old training instructor, Worthington. Harry smiled at him and went forward to shake his hand. Worthington was a good deal grayer than he had been, but he was still muscular and fit and his grip still crushing. "Still too skinny," Worthington said.
Locherman pounced on this, Worthington's annual greeting, and said, "He does look a bit weak, doesn't he?"
Worthington immediately looked alarmed, but Harry simply shrugged and answered, "I've always been skinny." He added innocently, "It's a good thing as I don't have to diet to stay fit."
Locherman turned pink at this gibe, though he could hardly accuse Harry of being rude, or of suggesting that Locherman could do with a bit of physical training himself. Which was what Harry had meant to imply, of course. Harry grinned again at Worthington the moment Locherman turned his back and Worthington rolled his eyes.
"Choose a gun and target," Worthington said, "and let's see whether you're in practice, then."
***
Bones watched Harry with anxiety. He hoped that Harry had kept in training well enough to pass the physical as he was sure that Locherman was looking for any way he could to fault Harry’s performance. And if Locherman decided to suspend Harry or to send him down for re-training, it would seriously hamper their efforts against Malfoy; not to mention that the newly re-elected Prime Minister would be extremely unhappy.
The Prime Minister’s party had been out of office for the last five years. The Opposition had gotten in on economic issues and on the political fall-out of their entry into the European Union. The Prime Minister had stayed on the backbench, patiently prophesying doom because the Opposition had failed to keep the country’s security level where it was needed.
There had been cuts in funding to many departments, and especially to the Security Services. Bones was surprised that Department Seven had not been cut, but he had an inkling that the Queen had instructed the last Prime Minister to put that one back in the budget and had thrown a royal hissy fit when the Prime Minister got stubborn. Not that would have made that much of a difference to Bones. He would have transferred back to the Yard and Masters, now the Chief Commissioner, would jump at the chance to have Harry transferred to a special task force under his direct supervision instead of having to borrow him on occasion from Security Services.
But given Locherman’s antipathy for Harry, the real problem was going to be keeping Harry in without Locherman finding out wizards, because Bones had a feeling that this Prime Minister would fire Locherman if Locherman tried to fire Harry. That wouldn’t be so bad if Bones weren’t certain that Locherman would retaliate by revealing all. And he was sure that even if there were another major Alliance attack or attempted attack, the Prime Minister and his cabinet would be out in days if Locherman revealed the nature and extent of the ongoing cover up.
Harry selected a Glock and loaded it perfectly competently. Without any flourishes, he lifted the gun and shot at the target, not in the classic position, but one handed, with his body turned to the side. Each shot landed exactly where it was meant to go: head and heart in immediate succession. Had the target been a live body, the person would have been dead at the first shot. Locherman looked minutely surprised and then disappointed. Harry continued onto the next part of the shooting test, a simulation which involved shooting at multiple moving targets while defending civilians. It was a difficult test, as Bones knew. Harry hit every target, however, and not one of the civilians.
Worthington said, “Good job, Potter. You’ve been practicing.”
Harry surrendered his gun without comment and closed his mouth on whatever comment he had been going to make. After a barely perceptible glance at Locherman, he stripped off the gloves he had worn for the shooting simulation and strode along to the next training area. This was a huge open space which contained mats, gymnastic equipment, and all sorts of simulated exercise sections, including rope climbing on one wall, and rock climbing on another. Racks of other kinds of weapons were stored in closets and off to the side.
This part of the test was for close combat, unarmed against opponents who were also unarmed or armed with weapons other than guns. In a far corner, Austin was lifting weights. The big man was one of their best officers. Determined and professional and he took his physical training very seriously. Locherman spotted him and looked happy again.
“Austin,” he called out and motioned for him to join the others.
Austin put away the weights and came over. He greeted Locherman respectfully enough with a quiet, “Sir,” but Bones knew that Austin did not think much of the new Head. He had wanted Bentley to be the next Head and had told everyone so during the time that the appointments were being made. As it happened, Bentley had been placed as Deputy Head when the present party was in, before the Opposition had gotten in five years before. It was the Opposition who had appointed Locherman, but the newly elected Prime Minister had enough on his plate and probably would not make a replacement appointment unless there was reason to do so. Bones wondered if he could prompt the process along by a nudge to Masters about the Alliance murders.
Locherman gestured to Harry, usurping Worthington’s authority as head of Physical Training and said, “Potter is having his physical. I’d like you to assist with his close combat testing.”
Bones nearly snorted. Austin, of course, was close to half a foot taller than Harry and outweighed him considerably. Harry looked unsurprised and entirely inscrutable. He gave Austin a sudden smile, however, and said; “I heard you took in the dock-side gang last week.”
Austin smiled back at Harry and said, “Yeah. It was a bit tricky. They’d enough plastique in there to blow up Buckingham Palace.”
Harry tipped his head and gestured at the mat to Austin. “Might as well get it over with, then. I’ve got to get back on assignment before the evening’s out.”
Austin’s smile faded slightly. “Sorry, mate. I’ve got an appointment with a snitch I don’t want to miss.” He turned back to Locherman, “I expect one of the others will be glad to help. This could be important information and I don’t want to miss it.”
He didn’t wait for Locherman’s, “Okay, then. But I want a report when you get back.”
Locherman looked put out. His plan to match Harry with an opponent he must lose to was not working out. He also did not know that Austin, like a few of the other remaining officers who had trained with Harry and knew what he was, would rather wrestle a cobra than fight against their favorite wizard.
Predictably, being deprived of Austin’s services, Locherman would summon Carter to test Harry instead. Carter was still considerably taller and everyone knew he was probably the officer with the best close combat skills in the Service. Carter looked like he would like to refuse as well, but Harry forestalled that. “Let’s get this over with,” he said coolly.
Carter shrugged and joined Harry on the mat. They squared off, facing each other, and Bones was reminded of the courtesy wizards give to each when they duel when Harry saluted Carter with a brief motion.
Worthington must have been remembering Harry’s poor performance in training as he commented to Locherman, “Don’t forget that the officer doesn’t have to defeat his opponent to pass his physical. He only has to show that he is in proper form and training.”
“I don’t see how one can be in proper training if one can’t defeat a single opponent,” Locherman commented.
“That’s why it’s my duty to certify the officers,” Worthington answered. “No one wins every bout, not even the best. I have to judge from their performance whether the skill and fitness level are sufficient for active duty, sir.”
Locherman nodded. Bones thought he would likely override Worthington’s assessment if Harry did not win. Carter clearly thought so too. Harry, however, appeared unconcerned. He stood perfectly relaxed as though he were awaiting a dinner engagement rather than a physical attack. When he nodded at Carter once more, though, Bones thought he spotted a glint in the bright green eyes that revealed his anger at Locherman’s ploys.
Poor Carter, he thought, was stuck between having to perform adequately, which meant flattening Harry, or assisting in his friend’s suspension. Nevertheless, his first pass at Harry was made with uncanny speed. He took Harry to the mat and the two rolled over twice before Harry managed to separate himself by moving unexpectedly in the opposite direction. They were both on their feet instantaneously, like dancers performing a set piece. Carter closed in again and forced Harry to his knees, but once again, Harry turned the tables by turning Carter’s momentum against him. He rolled down to the floor and used a foot as a lever to throw Carter off.
The two men faced off a third time, and Bones could have sworn that Harry was grinning just a little. This time, when Carter attacked, Harry did not give way or move until the last possible instant. Then he swerved to the side in a bullfighter’s slide, and struck Carter between the shoulder blades. It wasn’t a hard blow, but it took advantage of Carter’s speed, so that the taller man stumbled. Harry pounced and forced Carter to the ground. He let go quickly and stepped off the mat to signal that he wanted the bout to end for the moment.
”That’s good,” Worthington said quickly.
“I agree,” Carter said from the floor. “And if you don’t mind, I’ve got some leads I’d like to follow up.” He did not look at all annoyed that Harry had just pinned him and Bones supposed that he had deliberately put just enough effort into his attacks to persuade Worthington and Locherman that he was genuinely trying to test Harry while reserving quite a bit of his strength and skill to make Harry look good enough to pass.
“Not so fast. We’re not done with practice yet.”
Bones stared and so did everyone else as it was Harry who said this, not Locherman. Locherman looked at him open mouthed. Perhaps he had been about to say the same thing. Bones, however, could not imagine why Harry would want to extend the test.
“Practice?” Carter asked. “What else would you want to practice? You’re just supposed to go through the basic unarmed moves.”
“Yeah,” Harry retorted, “and a lot of good that’ll do against Malfoy and Hayden. Neither of them will come after us empty handed.” He stalked over to the far end of the room and drew a sword out of a rack that had stood there virtually untouched for seventeen years. It had been added to the defense equipment after the Death Eaters had shown up at the Training Compound, but Bones could not recall anyone actually practicing with them. As far as he knew, even Harry had not used a sword in seventeen years: not since he had shattered the great stone cauldron Malfoy had been using as part of the dark spell to bring back Riddle’s spirit.
Harry pulled out a second sword and tossed it hilt first to Carter. Carter caught it, but looked seriously unhappy. “I don’t see the point, Harry.”
“Yes, you do,” Harry answered. “You’re the one who keeps reminding me about Hayden’s obsession with Arthur’s sword. And Hayden knows you personally helped bring him in last time.” He looked at Bones and said, “You, too. You ought to be properly prepared as well.” The green eyes were brilliant and Bones understood that Harry had made some elemental calculation during the time he had taken the initial tests. Locherman and his animosity were now irrelevant and the only thing that mattered now was justice. The expression on Harry’s face was as he had seen it on two occasions: inhuman and remote as an angel out to do the work of heaven.
Locherman frankly gawped as Harry moved to engage Carter in the first bout.
Later, Edgar woke in a sweat. The old nightmare had haunted him for the first time in some years. It was always the same: the pitiless eyes of he Who Must Not Be Named marked him for death. The green light of the Curse illumined the night as his family fell, one by one, and he could only hide helplessly in the shadows. And always the question remained. Would they have died if he had been inside and fought? Common sense told him that he must have died too.
He felt almost angry with Harry for forcing him to learn something new. He had used his magic very little in the last few years despite being a member of the Order of the Phoenix. He had used it not at all during the long years between his escape from the Death Eaters and his return to the magic world. Now Harry wanted Bones to learn how to defend himself with a sword and he found, oddly, that he would have preferred to be left where he was.
Even Carter had resisted learning this new form of defense and Carter was normally a die-hard defenseman. Bones understood that Carter did not want to be pushed into a new world either. In fact, it was even stranger territory for the younger man, as he had never learned magic at all. Not that Harry had done or mentioned magic in front of Locherman.
He had disarmed Carter in a few strokes and then had insisted that both Carter and Edgar begin from the beginning. They had started with simple lunges and parries and Harry had made them promise that they would practice daily until he could slip away from Hogwarts for another lesson. Edgar had kept and eye on Locherman to see how he was taking the whole thing. Locherman had been so distracted by the spectacle of Harry's swordsmanship, by the dazzle of the cat-like brilliance with which he moved and fought, that he had actually forgotten his original intent - to see Harry fail his physical. Harry had forgotten as well.
The sword lesson had not been the worst. That had come afterwards. At the end of the lesson, Harry had dragged Bones and Carter to a nearby pub and unleashed his other plans.
"Swords aren't enough," he had said.
"Of course, they're not," Carter had retorted. "We'll need tanks and machine guns to deal with this lot."
Harry had rolled his eyes and answered, "Forget that. That's okay for their Muggle gangs. The problem is getting you fit to defend yourself from the Death Eaters and from Hayden."
"I plan on shooting everyone of them I can," Carter responded. "And besides, I think I'm insulted when you start talking about Muggles."
That had been Harry's cue to lose his patience. Not that he had shouted or even looked angry. He hadn't. He had paid the bill and dragged Carter into the Leaky Cauldron and from there into Diagon Alley so fast that Carter had not known what had hit him. From there they had gone to Ollivander’s and Carter had walked out with a wand looking so shell-shocked that Bones would have laughed if Harry's expression hadn't been so forbidding that Bones was almost frightened by his intensity.
"You are going to learn to defend yourselves," Harry had said.
"You're crazy," Carter had answered. He had the look of a man who has seen himself in the mirror for the first time in his life. He looked hunted and scared, which was a terrible thing as Carter was a man who was scared of nothing. Except, apparently, himself and his own talent. But Bones had felt exactly the same.
***
Johnny stared at the wand and considered simply fleeing from the dusty dim emporium. The old, old man with the pale eyes spooked him as did everything that he'd seen since entering this new world. Or rather old one. He felt as though he had traveled into some other time in some other dimension. A voice in his head, the voice of his father perhaps, told him that this was all nonsense, part of his mamma’s charm and eccentricity. Another voice told him this was real and if he once touched the wand nothing would ever be the same again.
He glanced at Harry and saw no relenting there. The green eyes were intent and intense and he understood that although he could turn away from this, he would lose something more important than a lifetime of illusions: respect, regard, and trust.
He reached out and picked up the wand, but nothing happened. "Give it a wave," the old man said as though Johnny were a child and not a man grown.
He waved the wand and a feeling of relief washed over him - and disappointment. Nothing had happened. He shrugged nonchalantly and looked at Harry as if to say, I told you so. Harry, however, looked unsurprised and merely turned to the old man. The old man clucked and said, "Not to worry. Try another."
Feeling sure now that nothing would happen, Johnny blithely picked up the next one and gave it a nice wave, like a conductor signaling to the first violinist to get going, and he nearly fled again. Light exploded out of the wand and blew a hole in the old wooden counter.
The old man looked unperturbed at this destruction. He merely waved a wand of his own and the hole in the counter disappeared in an instant. Johnny tried a variety of wands. One actually made a whistling noise as though it could speak and disliked him. After the tenth or so, he found his voice and said, "This is a waste of time."
Before he could finish, the old man said in tones of deepest offense, "Well, if you prefer some other wand maker - but I can't imagine that any of the others will have a more suitable one."
Johnny opened his mouth to say there wasn't a suitable one as he wasn't a wizard, but Harry stamped heavily on his toe and said, "Not at all, Mr. Ollivander. Everyone knows your wands are the best."
The old man looked mollified and brought out another box. "Another tricky customer, eh, Mr. Potter. You were rather tricky yourself."
Harry smiled then, a small smile and looked at Johnny expectantly. With a sigh, then, and more to make his friend happy and mollify the offended old man, he waved the wand again. This time, a feeling of warmth ran from the wand through his hand and a shower of blue sparks issued from the wand's tip.
"Very good," the old man said. "That'll be one galleon, please."
Harry tossed a gold coin on the counter before Johnny could protest.
Dark had fallen while they were in the wand maker’s shop and although they were in the midst of London where ordinarily the stars could hardly be seen, the sky was full of them as though they stood in an empty country moor. A chill shivered run through him as Harry nudged him back down the Alley and ushered him through the hidden exit and into the mundane Muggle world once more.
"We'll set up a practice schedule," Harry said calmly. He glanced left and right and disappeared silently as a ghost.
~~***~~
Dad was back in class the next day just as if nothing had happened and he made no mention of the escaped Death Eaters. There was nothing in the Daily Prophet either about where the escapees might be. Instead, the paper was taken up with articles on security and a huge front-page article on the election of the new Minister of Magic. Impatient at the lack of news about the Death Eaters, I simply glanced at the paper and never bothered to read the articles. What I really wanted was to talk to Dad. Class, however, intervened.
Class was the one thing that was different. When Dad walked in, the first words out his mouth were ones we had not heard all year. "Wands away please."
There were several loud groans of disappointment and Malfoy said in a whisper, "Just when we need to learn more, we stop really practicing."
I thought this was really rich as Malfoy assuredly wanted to learn the Dark Arts for real and not defense against them. Dad's answer was direct. "Defense, Mr. Malfoy," he said icily, "means more than just waving a wand. Success at defense means you survived, not that you know lots of spells."
Malfoy shut up and everyone else stared, as this was the first time Dad had referred, even obliquely, to his own extraordinary survival. With a flick of his wand, the empty center of the classroom floor was covered with mats of the kind Muggles use for practicing gymnastics. Like everyone else, I found this puzzling.
"As of next class," Dad said, "you will not wear your regular school robes for this class. You will wear jeans or sweats in which you can move easily. This part of the class is about physical conditioning and developing your ducking reflexes."
"Ducking?" someone said incredulously. "You mean running away?"
We all understood what that question meant, too. So did Dad.
"Oh, yes," he answered. “ Unless you're incredibly stupid, you'll know that there are times when the only thing that will save your life is to duck and run. If you are faced with thirty Death Eaters all by yourself, trust me, you need to duck and run."
Everyone gawped, and Dad made himself plainer. "Sometimes you escape because you're just plain lucky." He made us work at falling and ducking and rolling the entire morning. I could tell that everyone thought he was a bit mad except for Matilda Bones. She took to the lessons with imperturbably calm and what looked like already acquired skill. Her blue cat's eyes gleamed with delight when Dad praised her and for a moment I felt a lurch of utter envy.
"You were really good at that," I said afterwards.
"It's her Muggle background," Malfoy sneered.
I drew my wand without thinking as every word he said had come to grate on me, but Matilda stayed me with a hand on mine. "That's right," she said coolly. "Karate lessons are dead useful. My Mum's a black belt and I'll be trying for my brown belt this summer."
Dad came out of the class in time to hear the last part. He smiled and said, "You look just like your Mum, too."
Matilda looked flustered and even more so when Dad added, "She's the scariest woman I know after Professor McGonagall."
"A Muggle?" someone said in the background; probably Malfoy.
"Erm ... not exactly a Muggle," Dad answered. "Not according to the Grey Lady."
Even Matilda was surprised and you'd think she'd know everything about her own Mum. "The Gray Lady?" she echoed.
"She talks to the ghosts at your grandparents' house and they talk to your Great-great Aunt Matilda." Dad grinned. "Your Dad told me that."
We had patrol duty that night and I kept glancing at Matilda and trying to decide whether to talk to her about Dad and everything. She seemed to have forgotten the morning's events and went about checking the corridors with the greatest attention as if she thought the Death Eaters might show up and attacks us any moment.
It seemed that she was more than capable of thinking two things at once, though. She stopped in an empty corridor on the third floor and said, "You're a bit distracted, Sirius."
I looked at her and the words came out that I had meant never to utter. "Don't go getting a crush on my Dad," I said.
Her cat's eyes widened and her champagne colored hair glimmered in the torchlight. "He's perfectly wonderful," she answered, "and really gorgeous, too."
"Well, he's mad about my Mum," I said stiffly.
She giggled suddenly and said, "You're not jealous?"
I glared at her and said, "Jealous of what? I just wouldn't like to see you acting like the rest of those idiots."
"Don't worry," she said. The amusement still lingered but along with that was a look I was getting accustomed to when people spoke of my Dad: awe. "I think he's amazing, but he's also terrifying."
"That's ridiculous, too," I said hotly.
"He defeated He Who Must Not Be Named," she said softly. "My Dad saw it. He said there's never been anything like it in the history of magic."
By unspoken consent, we continued our patrol, moving methodically through the Castle's corridors in search of the unknown. It was quite late and it seemed that the other students were all in bed. It was at such times as these that I almost felt the Castle itself was alive. There was a feeling of awareness, of breathing and that prickling sensation that accompanied the presence of magic, of life. I stopped to absorb the feel of it as people who enjoy being out in a storm stop to feel the whip of the wind and the charge of electricity that pervades the air.
Matilda stopped and looked at me questioningly. "I like you a lot, Sirius," she said, continuing our conversation as though no time had intervened.
The tingling presence of magic increased, and I bent to kiss her. The moment was brief as a chill made its presence known. Seemingly out of nowhere, Professor Dumbledore had appeared. His eyes were focused on some inner thought and he did not seem to see us. In the dark, his form shimmered oddly. We jumped apart thinking he would read us a lecture or take points off as we were ignoring our duties. Instead, he passed right by, soundlessly passing down a corridor of empty classrooms. Seized by curiosity, I followed, intending to ask the Headmaster if something were wrong.
A door to one of the classrooms stood ajar and a faint bead of light illumined the corridor. The Headmaster slid through the door and I followed. Behind me, Matilda followed as well. I exclaimed aloud as the light came from my Dad's wand. He stood in front of a tall mirror which had words carved into its ancient frame. Turning from the mirror, in which the light broke to cause a strange multitude of reflections and refractions, Dad drew in a breath as he saw Professor Dumbledore.
"It's too soon," he said. "You can't go now."
The Professor disappeared as silently as he had appeared. Dad made a wordless exclamation, a curse or perhaps a prayer, and ran out without a word to us. We followed behind and I am ashamed to say that we had a hard time keeping close to him even though we were young and he was not. We almost missed the entry to the revolving stairs that take one up to the headmaster’s office. Not content with the upward movement of the moving stairs, Dad raced up the stairs and we followed after. He pushed through the door to the Headmaster’s office without knocking and I’ve never been sure whether the door had been open already or whether the door opened for him.
Though we had seen the Headmaster on another floor altogether just moments ago, Dumbledore was seated in the chair behind his beautiful carved desk.
“Professor?” Dad said. He reached out to touch the Headmaster’s face and wrist, and though he is the Boy Who Lived, the greatest hero of modern wizard history, his hand trembled and his face was icy pale.
The Professor’s eyes were open and he was utterly still. Another sound made its way into our consciousness, a keening, cry that made one want to weep. The sound came from the stand on which Dumbledore’s pet phoenix usually perched. The crimson bird was on his stand, but a green glowing cage of light surrounded him and within the cage, his right wing drooped and his black eyes were filled with pain. Dad looked up at the sound and his face altered to horror and rage.
Even as Fawkes cried, Professor McGonagall and Professor Snape came in. Other voices babbled from the portraits that lined the walls of the office, portraits which were slashed, and some of which dripped blood; very likely Fawkes’ blood as they must have been slashed by the same knife that had nearly sliced off his wing.
Dad seemed to notice us finally. “Get Madam Pomfrey,” he snapped.
We all jumped, however, as a breath of a voice spoke behind him. “Wait,” Professor Dumbledore said.
Dad turned back and said urgently, “Don’t speak, Professor!”
Dumbledore’s breath rasped in his throat and he said with great difficulty, “No help for me, now, Harry. You must free Fawkes, quickly.”
“Hang on, then,” Dad answered Dumbledore.
Snape and McGonagall both looked as though they would interfere, but at a fierce look from Dad, they both stilled. He pointed his wand at the prison of light that caged the injured bird. A crimson fire poured out of the wand and sliced through the cage of light as though the bands were nothing more than Muggle rope. The green light flared and sizzled and then disappeared and the bird gave one more keening cry and burst into flames.
“Who would have done such a thing?” Dad asked.
He turned back to Dumbledore and again reached out for his wrist. Dumbledore did not answer, and I did not speak, though I knew who would have if he could. Not knowing whether such a thing were possible, I stayed silent certain that everyone there would think me mad or hopelessly prejudiced. I could not take it in: the Headmaster’s bird was dead and it seemed he would die any moment as well.
Dad said again, “Go get Madam Pomfrey! Hurry!”
This time Matilda did go. I would have gone too only Professor Dumbledore spoke again.
“Harry,” he said softly, so softly one could hardly hear.
“Don’t try to talk,” Dad said. He looked suddenly quite lost and terrified, the same as I did, I suppose and everyone.
“You, of all people, should know not to grieve,” Dumbledore whispered. “Listen,” he said painfully, before Dad could speak again. “Hogwarts must have a new Headmaster. From each to the next, the charge is given, and so I give mine to you, Harry.”
Both Snape and McGonagall moved again. McGonagall nodded, but Professor Snape looked taken aback and then almost angry.
“No,” Dad answered. “You’ll be all right if you just hang on and don’t talk. You are the Headmaster. I’m not even a teacher, not really.”
A tiny smile lifted the corner of the old man’s lips. “You were the youngest teacher ever and one of the best Defense teachers we’ve ever had, even when you were fifteen.” He drew in another painful breath and Dad shook his head in protest. The Professor continued, “You are Heir of Gryffindor and in these perilous times it will take great courage to save our school and to guide us through the coming storms. This office will open only to you, the teachers shall obey you and the school shall follow you.” He paused and we all thought he would die right then. “I have loved you as a father loves a son. All that I have, I give to you,” he whispered.
Dad was utterly still. Crystal tears slipped down his cheeks unregarded and dropped on the Professor's hands. "You have been my father in every way that mattered," he said. "You are needed still," he added painfully, "and most of all by me. I know nothing without you."
"You flew free, and far beyond me long ago," Professor Dumbledore replied. Oddly, his voice seemed to have strengthened and he turned his clear regard on me.
"Sirius Albus Neville," he said softly, "you were named for me. You have a gift for seeing the truth of things, and not just the facts. Make sure you do not cast that gift aside when it matters most. Remember!"
I was astonished that he should speak to me so and moved by my father's tears and by the great man's regard. "I will," I promised.
Matilda arrived with Madam Pomfrey who immediately waved her wand over the Headmaster's chest. "I told you you've been doing too much," she scolded. The Headmaster, however, smiled and closed his eyes and made no reply.
"Is he gone then?" Professor McGonagall asked shakily.
Madam Pomfrey frowned and said, "No. His heart is weak and it looks as though he may have had a stroke, but ..."
She passed her wand over him again, and shook her head. "It's a miracle he's not dead yet."
Dad reached down and lifted up the old man and carried him out and he would take help from no one though we all reached out to assist. He paused only for a moment as a tiny cheep sounded from the ashes of Fawkes' nest. A little bald chick's head poked out from the ashes and Dad said to the little bird as though it could understand him perfectly, "I'll be right back Fawkes, as soon as I get the Professor settled in the hospital wing."
