Disclaimer: Harry Potter, Albus Dumbledore, Severus Snape, Minerva McGonagall, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Draco Malfoy, and all these other people are characters belonging to J.K. Rowling. I claim no rights to them, their surroundings, or their situations. Much to my sorrow.

--- 17 Dumbledore: The Fortunate Ones

Seated comfortably by the fire in the sitting room which he had appropriated as his office, Dumbledore listened patiently as Cornelius Fudge embellished and expanded upon a tirade that had already gone on for a good quarter-hour, with no sign of letting up. Standing next to him, nursing a glass of fine Muggle Scotch, Arthur Weasley smiled slightly, regarding the Minister's disembodied head with an air of long-suffering bemusement.

"...preposterous, absolutely preposterous! Never in my life have I heard such an inspired load of rubbish. If you two believe for one moment that just because you've managed to prove me wrong on a few occasions--there, you see, I'm man enough to admit it--but if you think I am going to let you get away with foisting this sort of unadulterated rot off on the Ministry, well, you've bloody well got another thing coming! I..."

Cornelius really does have an uncommon talent for bluster, Dumbledore thought fondly as he picked through a small sweet dish on the end table next to him. Pity he wasn't born a Muggle; he could have had a most distinguished career in Parliament.

He waited until the overwrought official paused for breath, eyes bulging nearly out of their sockets in indignation, and interjected mildly, "Very well then, Cornelius. If you find our proposal unacceptable, then I regret to inform you that I must tender my resignation."

"Too bloody right it's unacceptable--er, what's that? Resignation?" Fudge paused and paled slightly, his eyes flickering from Dumbledore to Arthur and back, suddenly apprehensive.

"Quite. I am no longer prepared to continue as Headmaster of Hogwarts--or whatever the new school is to be named--unless it is under the terms that I have already proposed."

"B-but, Albus. At a time like this? We're in the middle of a war, man, and you've just demolished one of our greatest strategic assets! Over my vehement objections, I might add! You can't be serious!"

"Oh, indeed I can," Dumbledore, lacing his fingers together and smiling with utter sincerity. Not so very long before, Fudge had tried to remove him from the Headmaster's position; a folly which had ended in unmitigated disaster. Albus was not a vindictive man, but he did take a certain satisfaction in the Minister's discomfiture now.

"I am well past the usual age of retirement, as you've so often seen fit to remind me," he went on. "The cold does get into my bones these days...I've begun to think a change to a warmer climate might be in order."

"I understand Cyprus is lovely this time of year," Arthur inserted helpfully.

Fudge's face had turned an intriguing shade of purple. "B-b-but!--"

"Oh, and since the matter has come up, Cornelius," Dumbledore leaned over to pick up a neat stack of documents that rested on the floor beside his chair, "I ought perhaps to mention that in consideration of this matter, I have also been granted leave to present to you the resignations of Minerva McGonagall; Filius Flitwick; Rolanda Hooch; Pomona Sprout; Sibyll Trelawney; Poppy Pomfrey..." He thumbed through the papers as he cheerfully read off each name. So far he'd got perhaps halfway through the stack.

"All right, ALL RIGHT!" Fudge shrieked, a plume of sparks leaping up to swirl madly around his head.

Arthur tsked and picked up the hearth-brush, sweeping a few flaming motes safely out of the way. "Now, do keep your hair on, Cornelius, there's no need for such a kerfuffle. It's really only a formality, and you know it."

If looks were spells, Arthur Weasley would have been petrified on the spot. "It's blackmail, that's what it is," Fudge said icily.

"In principle, perhaps, but quite legal in practice. Any teacher or administrator at Hogwarts is at liberty to terminate his or her contract at any time, without notice and for whatever reason--up to and including the Headmaster." Dumbledore quoted the passage almost verbatim.

"A provision which you got written into the standard contract, as I recall," Fudge growled. "Very well then, you leave me no real choice. I'll draw up the paperwork and owl it to you in the morning. I hope you're happy, Dumbledore; you do realise you've just put the final nail in the coffin of my career."

"On the contrary, Cornelius, I believe you are far more likely to retain your position, once it becomes known that you voluntarily turned the matter over to Arthur. You lost control of the situation long ago, and it was entirely your own fault." Dumbledore spoke with regret, but it was only the truth.

"Well you've jolly well managed to convince practically every wizard alive that that's so, haven't you!" Fudge fumed.

Albus sighed. "Cornelius, it has been a great pleasure to speak to you again, but I am an old man and it has been a most exhausting day. Good afternoon to you..."

The Floo connection sputtered out, snuffing out Fudge's seething countenance without further ado.

"Oh, well done, Albus, very well done indeed!" Arthur seized Dumbledore's hand and pumped it enthusiastically, grinning from ear to ear. "I never thought I'd live to see that barmy old windbag get his comeuppance. Brilliant job, absolutely brilliant..."

The Headmaster smiled at his friend and returned his handclasp warmly. "Thank you, Arthur, but I could scarcely have done it without you, or without the support of my staff. Congratulations on your promotion."

"Yes, well, we should wait on that until the paperwork arrives, don't you think? I don't think I'll quite believe our friend Cornelius, until I'm actually holding it in my hands." Arthur frowned slightly. "He's done everything he could to hold me back at the Ministry, and he's always thought you were out to take his job. He won't sign off on something like this if he can find a way out of it."

Dumbledore nodded. "Indeed. But unless I have seriously misjudged the situation, the only ways out that he might find would put him in worse predicaments than you and I just have. I believe he is intelligent enough to realise that."

"Agreed. It's a shame, really." Arthur shook his head. "He wasn't such a bad sort until all this messy business with You-Know-Who broke out..."

"There are those who find their greatest strength in times of trouble, and those who find that their strength deserts them. The tragedy, in Cornelius' case, is that he is so willing to endanger others by turning a blind eye to his own shortcomings."

Just then there came several heavy THUDS at the door, and Arthur jumped slightly. Dumbledore merely smiled, calling out, "Yes, come in, Hagrid..."

The door opened to admit the groundkeeper (who was forced to bend low and angle his shoulders a bit to make it through the doorway,) accompanied by a bedraggled and rather nervous Draco Malfoy, huddled in a tatty brown woolen blanket.

"Afternoon, Professor Dumbledore, sir--Mr. Weasley." Hagrid nodded respectfully. "We were jus' wonderin' if we might have a word with yeh, Professor, if it wouldn' be a great bother."

"Not at all, Hagrid. We've just finished. Please, come in, sit down." A second chair sat opposite his own; the Headmaster took out his wand and conjured a third, scaled substantially larger than the originals. "Arthur, would you excuse us? I believe Minerva will be looking for me; please let her know that I will be occupied for a bit longer."

Arthur Weasley had long since ceased to question how the old wizard knew these things. "Happy to, Albus." With a pleasant smile at Hagrid and a far more neutral nod to Draco, he exited the room, shutting the door gently behind him.

When his visitors had seated themselves, Dumbledore eyed Draco curiously. This was a first, on several counts; he could not recall the youth either visiting him voluntarily, keeping company with Hagrid, or appearing in public such a shambles before. Whatever the young Slytherin had on his mind, it must be a weighty matter indeed.

"Mr. Malfoy, you are in quite a state. If I were to hazard a guess, I'd say you had lost an argument with a dyspeptic salamander. Here, one moment..."

Eyeballing the boy for a moment and using his wand as a rough measure, he conjured a soft, lightweight sweater of an appropriate size and handed it over. Draco mumbled his thanks and pulled it over his head. Lime green suited him very well, Dumbledore thought with satisfaction.

"Now. To what do I owe the honour of this most unexpected visit?"

---

Perhaps half an hour later, as they watched Draco walk out the door with a slightly stunned expression, clutching the scroll tube he'd just been given to his chest as though it were a lifeline (which, in a sense, perhaps it was,) Dumbledore reached up well over his head to rest a hand on Hagrid's massive shoulder. Well, upper arm, at any rate.

"My friend, you have many kind and noble deeds to your name. But to befriend that boy, after everything he has done to you--and to his classmates, whom I know you hold so dear--that was the act of a truly generous heart. I would not have expected it even of you. Well done."

Hagrid blushed deeply, and made a dismissive gesture. "Aye, well...he's been a righ' little prat, can' deny it. But young'uns believe wha' their folks tell 'em growin' up, aye? Even if it's so much codswallop, 'til they learn better. An' maybe tha' one's finally startin' to learn."

"Perhaps he is. But that is not why you took him in, is it?" The Headmaster smiled knowingly.

Hagrid cleared his throat, shrugging diffidently. "Er, well...no. Maybe not righ' at first...see, I'd jus' made a pot o' tea, an' then there he was at the door, lookin' all lost an' scairt...an' skinny as he is, an' with tha' hair, well, he put me in min' of a wee unicorn that'd los' its mum, almos'. Couldn' very well turn him away, now could I?"

Draco Malfoy would be mortified beyond imagining to hear himself compared to a lost baby unicorn, Dumbledore thought, but then, even a unicorn foal can be dangerous if mishandled.

And that, he reflected, was but one reason why those who held only scorn for Hagrid--and his habit of befriending perilous creatures considered by most to be better left alone--were so very wrong.

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