Byron: September 2007 Archives

Chapter Fourteen: The Wizengamot

Friday morning announced itself with a tremendous thunderclap. A summer storm had pounced upon London in the wee morning hours, and lightning cracked the dawn before the sun could peek over the horizon.

Harry somberly stepped through his morning routine, the choppy night's rest insufficient for the coming day. It was the last Friday of the month, and as would become his custom, he was to meet over breakfast with Margaret Sedgwick before the Wizengamot convened at ten.

"Good morning, Harry." Margaret smiled as he entered the quiet café across from her law office. She had a plate of pastries and a steaming mug of tea ready for her client. "How was dinner with Minister Scrimgeour last night?"

He ignored her in favor of a few solitary moments with a jellied croissant.

She frowned and impatiently checked her watch. "Any last second questions? We've twenty minutes before the session opens."

"Not really," he grunted. "My plan is to smile politely at everyone without saying or doing anything. With any luck, everyone will think I'm boring and leave me alone."

She laughed gaily. "Good luck with that kiddo. I'm sure lots of boring people have their own statues on Diagon Alley."

Harry scowled at her, balling up his napkin and tossing it into the nearest refuse bin. "Let's go."

"Hold up a moment, grumpy." Margaret inspected his plum colored Wizengamot robe, tugging here and there so that it hung off his shoulders evenly. Next, she grabbed his hand. "Tisk, tisk," she mumbled. "You really ought to wear the other rings, too."

"One is enough," Harry answered curtly, tugging his fingers from her grasp.

"At least wear the Bonaccord ring," she pleaded. "I can understand your reluctance to wear."

"No."

---888---

Harry led the way into the Wizengamot chamber, pausing in an arch shaped doorway to gape at the opulent room. Shaped like a rectangular amphitheater, it was nearly the size of the Great Hall at Hogwarts.

"Don't gawk!" Margaret hissed, discreetly prodding him to the left and nudging him forward.

Harry slipped past an older gentleman holding a seat for his wife, and spotted a large throne-like chair with the name 'Potter' carved above a prowling lion. As he took his position on the throne, the lion gave a muted roar, which was fortunately swallowed up in the din of surrounding conversations.

Safely seated on his throne, behind an elegant desk, Harry unobtrusively examined the room. There were dozens of similar throne-like chairs, with names such as Bromfield, Leicester , and Morgan emblazoned above family crests on the backs of the thrones. Each throne was flanked by a pair of shorter, less ornate chairs, often occupied by wives, husbands, children, or the occasional over-coiffed solicitor.

The pattern of three chairs behind each desk repeated itself over and over throughout the chamber. Seven tiered rows, ten desks across. the product was space for seventy members in the Wizengamot, even if the body had shrunk over time.

Margaret slid into the chair on his left, and placed a leather portfolio on the desktop. "You have a visitor coming," she quietly warned him.

A wizard who looked vaguely familiar had spotted Harry, and was now making his way down the row.

"Good morning, Lord Potter," the man declared pretentiously, his voice loud enough to draw the attention of a half dozen surrounding Wizengamot members. "My name is Lord Alexander Smith. I believe you know my son Zacharias."

"Er, yes I do," Harry answered. "He's in my year at school."

Alexander grimaced, but continued to speak loudly. "Zacharias told me that you asked him to join 'Dumbledore's Army'. I was very proud to hear he worked with you to defeat He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named."

Harry struggled to keep a straight face; the declaration was wrong on so many levels. In fact, Harry could hardly stand Zacharias. Still, he smiled politely. "We were just trying to pass defense."

"Of course you were!" Alexander declared with a jovial laugh and a nudge in the ribs, as if the two shared some sort of inside joke. "Well, I look forward to working with you, Lord Potter."

"The same, Lord Smith," Harry answered as Alexander took his leave, only to be replaced by a half-dozen plum robed Wizengamot members, all eager to see and be seen with the Harry Potter.

"Morning, Lord Potter," Sherman Quirke brushed Harry's elbow as he sidled past the assembled throng, and settled into his own throne just to Harry's right; a raven's caw announcing his presence. Quirke's arrival drew away most of the crowd, and soon the raven-haired Vanquisher of Voldemort was left alone to watch the youthful blond - the Maestro of the Wizengamot.

"Ah, Miss Sedgwick, I thought I detected your foul odor," sneered a tall thin man with long yellow fingers. "Might I have a few moments with my client, or have you poisoned him too thoroughly already?"

Margaret smiled maliciously at the intruder, causing the blood-quill etched scar on the back of Harry's hand to burn ominously. " Lawrence ," she declared magnanimously. "Pleasant as always! I wasn't aware Mr. Potter had engaged your services."

The man smirked before turning to Harry. "Lawrence Ligby," he declared. "I believe you've been dodging my post for the better part of two months."

For his part, Harry managed not to betray his guilt. "I've been busy."

"I'm sure." Ligby laughed mirthlessly, before handing Harry a large folio and a small black velvet box. "A summary of the Black estate, and your ring," he murmured discreetly. "You'll need to swing by my office sometime so you can sack me properly."

Harry quickly concealed the box in the folds of his Wizengamot robe. "What makes you think that I'll fire you?"

Ligby's laugh was genuine this time as he turned to leave. "Long experience, Mr. Potter." He then eyed Margaret distastefully. "Not that you'll listen to me, but do be wary of your current counsel. She's a rat."

Harry rolled his eyes as Ligby departed. "A real winning personality, eh?" he asked Margaret.

Her Umbridge-like predatory smile had been replaced by an indifferent mask, laced with an echo of concern. " Lawrence is Lawrence ," she declared. "It's amazing he still has any clients."

Somewhere, a clock declared the hour, and from a bench behind the podium at the front of the chamber, Rufus Scrimgeour paused his conversation with Michael Glentworth. "I bring this summit to order," Scrimgeour growled loudly. "The Lords of the Wizengamot shall announce their presence so that a quorum might be reached."

In the front row, a husky black man rose from his throne. "Lord Abercrombie claims his right to rule and affirms his responsibility to protect his subjects."

The second throne, marked Armitage, was empty, but in the third, a familiar wizard stood. "Lord Ashburton claims his right to rule and affirms his responsibility to protect his subjects."

As Lord Stephen Baddock answered the roll call, Margaret nudged Harry in the ribs and whispered. "Ligby will surely have let slip the identity of the new Lord Black. You're next."

But Harry resolutely kept his seat, and Lady Celeste Blaisdale-Park announced herself next.

Margaret ruefully shook her head, as Harry also refused to stand for the Bonaccord seat, but Harry was too distracted to notice. "Lady Bones claims her right to rule and affirms her responsibility to protect her subjects."

Susan was the last Wizengamot member present in the front row, and the roll call moved on to the second. Despite often feeling ignorant of Wizarding culture, Harry was surprised to realize that he either knew or had read about most of the Wizengamot members.

In the second row alone, there was Sheldon Bromfield - owner of the Ballycastle Bats, Ridley Brown - Lavender's father, Charles Carrow - Voldemort's secret backer (according to Minister Scrimgeour, at least), and Roger Davies' father, Cicero Davies.

By the time that the roll call had progressed to the sixth row, Harry had counted seven Wizengamot members who were either students at Hogwarts (like Susan and Theodore Nott) or the parents of students he knew. In back of him were another three: Sherman Quirke, Alexander Smith, and Blaise Zabini's grandfather Adelbert, who was chatting amiably with Professor Slughorn.

When it was his turn, Harry stood and called out in a steady voice, "Lord Potter claims his right to rule and affirms his responsibility to protect his subjects."

Many heads in the chamber turned to look at Harry. It had been nearly eighteen years since the last Potter had answered a quorum call. In a body as small as the Wizengamot, the return of a family name was big news. The return of the Potter family, and its Gryffindor legacy, was even an even bigger occasion. And, the very fact that 'The Vanquisher of Voldemort' would be wielding the Potter ring would surely be front page news. Several Lords and their advisors began to clap for Harry, and soon most of the chamber was giving him a standing ovation.

Harry quickly sat down and blushed at the attention he was receiving. Whatever this body expected from him, he was frankly intimidated by the unfamiliar traditions and procedures of the Wizengamot. Fortunately for Harry, Sherman Quirke took compassion on him and announced in a loud voice, "Lord Quirke claims his right to rule and affirms his responsibility to protect his subjects."

The roll call continued until Lord Zabini recited the phrase that had been called out by thirty nine others.

Minister Scrimgeour stood again. "This summit of the Wizengamot is hereby called to order. The chair notes."

Harry tuned out the procedural motions and returned to examining the Wizengamot. One row in front of him sat Lord Carlton MacMillan. The man bore a strong resemblance to his son, Ernie, but there was no sense of the brash, even arrogant bearing his son had learned. The man's shoulders slumped deeply and his head hung low; even his robes seemed limp. Defeat simply radiated from the man.

In times past, Harry might have felt pity or compassion for his deceased classmate's father, but now he found an unfamiliar contempt. This chamber was awash in loss, but few members had succumbed. These were men and women of strength, pillars of the community. Weakness was not acceptable - grief perhaps, but not an all consuming surrender. Where was the formidable enemy Minister Scrimgeour had warned about?

---888---

Briefly, Harry turned his attention to the proceedings. A new wand tax was up for debate. It was one of the supplemental revenue options being considered as part of the DMLE funding legislation on the agenda that day.

"Enjoying your first session?" Sherman Quirke asked with a slight yawn.

Harry replied with an amused smirk.

"Peace is good. I'll gladly take the mundane over the recent upheaval," Quirke commented. " Most of us." He gestured to the room in general. (Harry imagined it was unlikely the man could speak if his hands were tied together.) "Most of us are quite grateful that Voldemort was defeated."

At the mention of Voldemort's name, Harry raised an eyebrow. Despite Voldemort's death, it was still customary to refer to him as 'He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.'

"Did you know," Quirke continued, "he was entitled to a seat in this chamber?"

"I did."

It was Quirke's turn to be surprised. "I don't mean to pry, but how did you know that?"

"The Headmaster and I made a point to learn as much about Riddle as we could."

"Prudent," Quirke agreed. "Voldemort concealed his past well. Few knew his real name was Riddle. Even fewer knew of his relationship to the Gaunts," Quirke motioned to the empty chair that actually belonged to Harry. "My family has feuded with them for centuries. When my grandfather learned that Merlope Gaunt was pregnant, he tried to ensure the child was never known to her family. I think he had hoped to intervene somehow, but he died before Riddle entered Hogwarts."

"He told you about this?" Harry asked.

"I'm not that old," Quirke laughed. "No, he kept journals. Three months ago, we were desperately searching for extra votes to break the gridlock in the Wizengamot. I was reviewing my grandfather's notes and found an entry about the lost Gaunt heir. I tracked down the lead and discovered Voldemort's true heritage."

"Not the kind of vote you were hoping for?" Harry smirked.

Quirke grinned broadly. "I didn't fancy that particular conversation. I'm afraid I may have forgotten to send him an owl. Too, late now, I suppose."

---888---

The Wizengamot chamber was sparsely populated as the Minister gaveled open the afternoon session of debate, and a woman named Florence Piccoli began a well rehearsed presentation on the benefits of the DMLE proposal.

"She's amazingly intelligent," observed a silver haired version of Barty Crouch Sr. "Fluent in five languages. Took over the ICW posting in Bern after Headmaster Dumbledore died."

Harry startled at the comment. "Lord Carrow, is it?" Like most of the Wizengamot members, the man had wandered away from his throne to chat during the debate.

Carrow frowned slightly. "My reputation precedes me?" He asked dubiously.

"Erm, well sort of. But honestly, I'm trying to learn everyone's name." Harry gestured to a cheat sheet that Margaret had made for him.

This earned a smile. "Charles Carrow, Lord Potter. I'm pleased to meet you. I'll have to apologize since I only know you by reputation - one that I'm sure is both fair and completely accurate."

Harry laughed, drawing glances from around the chamber. "Does that make us best friends now?" he asked dryly.

"If you want," Carrow answered with an amused smirk. "So, what do you think of this bill?"

On his periphery, Harry noticed that several conversations paused, hoping to eavesdrop on his answer. "I haven't made up my mind yet. It seems like a good idea though."

Carrow silently listened as Piccoli explained a chart showing the relative strength of various Auror departments in the ICW member countries. Britain 's Ministry was the worst in Europe . "The bill is a typical Scrimgeour ploy," Carrow commented. "He takes something with broad public approval, and then tacks on a dozen questionable amendments. If he can't pass it, he complains to the media - and the people at home wonder what's wrong that we can't even agree to increased DMLE funding."

Harry was curious. "So, what are the questionable amendments?"

Carrow flipped through a copy of the proposed bill. "The whole transportation subsection is insidious. Everything is aimed at forcing transportation through Ministry controlled channels. For instance, he's removing the grandfather provision for flying carpets. It'll make it illegal to own one in Britain , even if it's been in your family for generations."

"Aren't they illegal already?"

Carrow shook his head. "The Ministry tries to give that impression, but it's only a half truth. They managed to ban new carpet sales almost two decades ago, but the old carpets are still legal. For many families, it's the only affordable transportation they have left. You get rid of the carpets, and everyone has to use the Floo system or the Knight Bus. both of which the Ministry tracks, and both of which are relatively expensive."

"You could Apparate," Harry offered, "or use a broom."

Carrow shook his head. "Apparation is beyond the skill level of many people, and brooms are both dangerous and expensive. Besides, the Ministry tracks them both."

"The Ministry tracks brooms?"

Carrow was surprised at this question. "Of course! They don't teach that at Hogwarts any longer? A broom is little more than a highly polished specialized wand. They have to be registered, just like any other magical foci."

"Makes sense," Harry muttered. "That explains why I can't fly my aunt's kitchen broom."

"It's amazing what passes for a magical education now days," Carrow answered snidely.

"Hey!" Harry was lost in thought. "So the bristles are the wand core?"

"On the lower end models," Carrow answered. "More expensive brooms embed the core in the broom shaft - regardless; anything with a registered wand core can be tracked by the Ministry."

"And what's so wrong with that?"

Carrow's eyes bulged. "I'm amazed to be having this conversation with you - Of all the people. Well, maybe your reputation is even less accurate than I had imagined. I'd heard a story from Delores Umbridge," he made a distasteful face, "about you blowing up your aunt once."

"What was she telling that for?" Harry demanded.

"I believe she was trying to convince me to send you to Azkaban for fending off a few dementors. Anyhow, after you ran away and took the Knight bus. Who was waiting for you at the Leaky Cauldron?"

"Fudge." Harry's top lip curled.

"As I recall, the political climate was faring well for you at that time. Suppose it had happened two years later after Riddle's reemergence. Would you still have been pleased to see the Minister?"

Harry connected the dots. "He tracked me on the Knight Bus, didn't he?"

"And that, Lord Potter, is why it's dangerous to let the Ministry track everyone's movements." Carrow's eyes narrowed dangerously and he whispered very low so only Harry could hear him. "Imagine if Riddle had managed to overtake the Ministry. How long would you have lasted with him tracing your every move?"

---888---

At first, Harry thought that Lady Ariana Kirkpatrick was a bit bizarre. She was, to his knowledge, the only Wizengamot member who did not sit in the center throne at her desk. Instead, she passed the time in the chair to the right of her throne knitting things. She had started the morning with a scarf, had moved on to mittens after lunch, and was now working on a matching sweater. (She was much faster than Hermione.) But, by the time that Lord Tiberius Ogden finished arguing against a two Galleon increase in the Crup registration fee, Harry was pretty sure Lady Kirkpatrick was the most sane person there.

And so, to preserve his own sanity, Harry wandered from his throne toward the front row. "Good evening, Lady Bones."

Susan glanced up from a crossword puzzle and smiled happily. "Good evening to you too, Lord Potter. Enjoying your first session?" she teased.

He pointed at her book of crossword puzzles. "No one warned me. I've actually had to listen to the debates."

Susan sniggered. "Well, we're almost done." She indicated the large clock at the back of the chamber. "Debate ends at six. We should be out the door by six thirty ."

This was welcome news to Harry, who sat down in the seat to the right of the Bonaccord throne. It would be time to vote in about five minutes.

"Harry!" she whispered in surprise, quickly glancing around the chamber while clearing her day bag off the chair to her left. "Don't sit there."

Bewildered, Harry slid over into the offered seat and was rewarded by the welcoming aroma of her Augurey perfume. "What?"

She continued searching the chamber for unwanted attention. Finding none, she whispered, "It's a faux pas to sit uninvited at another family's table. There are more charms and jinxes on these seats than you can shake a stick at."

His chest was already itching furiously, and he scratched it warily. "Itching hex, you think?"

She shrugged, offering a coy smile. "I've never actually sat there. Tried a couple of times when I was younger, but couldn't actually overcome the aversion charm."

Harry's chest was now a sea of blazing prickles, but he managed to stop scratching it, hoping not to worsen his predicament. "So. Er, do you think the bill will pass?"

Susan gave him a wry smile and faintly shook her head. "Not unless the Minister agrees to strip the transportation subsection. We've debated this same bill half a dozen times in its various forms. The only controversial part left is transportation. and I think the Minister would rather have a good headline than get rid of the remaining magical carpets."

"What if he doesn't cut the transportation provisions?"

Intrigued by the question, she reached for a battered notebook and flipped to a page near the end. "Assuming no one changes their votes, it would fail by," she glanced up and her brow furrowed as she started searching for faces to match the names in her notes. "Dumbledore, Valerio, Wetherby, and Code versus Churchill. That's five less nays and one less yay. Depending on your vote." she looked at him questioningly. "Four votes short if you vote nay, and um, two votes short if you support it?"

Harry was busily counting names on his fingers. "Five fewer nays. That's because Lady Code isn't here and she has two votes?"

"Right. Her husband died last year. She's one of a handful of Wizengamot members with multiple votes."

Harry studiously examined his chest, rather than looking at her. The monster inflaming his chest would not let up. "This itching hex is a right bugger," he muttered, giving into the temptation to start scratching it again as the clock chimed six.

Like a band of excited school children, the Wizengamot members began migrating back toward their seats as the Minister called for a vote on the new wand tax. As Harry stood, he nervously addressed Susan. "Er. I was wondering. Do you have any plans for afterward? I'm really hungry and. Well, it would be nice if you wanted to grab a bite with me."

"Um." she toyed with her plait. "That would be fun. Do you want to go back to The Baying Mare ? I'm really craving their pulled-pork."

Harry laughed. "Sounds good to me." As he walked back to his throne, the itching on his chest faded.

---888---

Harry was saying goodbye to Margaret after the last vote when Susan arrived - Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott in tow.

"I hope you don't mind, but I invited Teddy and Blaise, too."

"Er. of course not," Harry stammered trying to hide his disappointment. "Hey guys," he greeted them sourly. "Ready to get out of here?"

Blaise smirked at Harry, but followed along as the four trooped toward the Apparation point. " The Baying Mare ? Everyone know where that is?" He looked doubtfully at Harry, who shrugged and disappeared with a crack. "Of course he won't mind, Susan," Blaise mocked.

Susan was blushing madly. "Well, I'm sorry. I just didn't figure he meant it as a date. I mean why wouldn't he just declare his intentions?"

Theodore rolled his eyes. "Don't let the plum robe fool you. He hasn't a clue - may as well be a Muggle!"

She thought this over. "Maybe you guys shouldn't come, then."

Blaise fixed her with an evil smile. "Potter said he didn't mind." With that, Blaise Disapparated.

"Come on, Suzie," Theodore encouraged. "You'll have fun tonight, just relax."

---888---

The Baying Mare was packed that Friday night, but the foursome had been seated before Harry realized that other newly arrived patrons were placing their names on a waiting list. At first, there was a palpable tension between Harry and the Slytherins, but a round of mead, and Susan's idle banter seemed to break the ice.

"So, Blaise," she asked, "how's Tracey doing?"

"She's well," he answered. "I got an owl from her yesterday. They're on holiday in Majorca , and Rex is keeping her parents busy, so she's free to enjoy herself."

Theodore laughed. "Guess what Rex did."

"Harry, do you know Rex, Tracey's younger brother?" Susan interrupted. Harry shook his head; he barely knew Tracey Davis, much less her brother.

"Tracey and Rex are my cousins," Theodore explained. "He'll be a third year Ravenclaw. He's a right pain in the ass, and always getting in trouble. Last week, in the middle of the day, he flew his broom right over the Muggle town they were staying in. The Ministry had to send about fifteen Obliviators."

Blaise just scowled. "If I did that, my Grandfather would see to it that I didn't sit down for the next month."

"Rex's father, Jefferson, grounded him from Hogsmeade for the school year." Theodore observed, evidently feeling like that was enough of a punishment.

"He's lucky he didn't get expelled," Harry commented. Susan and Theodore nodded in agreement.

"What's the difference between that and flying an enchanted car to school?" Blaise challenged.

Harry shrugged. "Not much, really. Ron and I were lucky there. Snape tried to expel us, but McGonagall intervened."

"Hmmf," Blaise grunted. "She's so frigid in class you'd think she's made of ice. but my Grandfather says she's actually pretty kind. What's she like, really?"

"She's tough but fair, for the most part," Harry answered. "She's always guarded around students, but she does a good job of looking out for her house."

"Will she be a good Headmistress?" Theodore asked.

"Yeah, I think so. She's getting a lot of pressure from the Board to improve the academics." Harry looked at Susan and Blaise pointedly. "So what does the Board think of her?"

"Grandpapa's disappointed with enrollment," Susan offered, "but he's not blaming McGonagall. In fact, earlier this week he said that enrollment would be half of what it is now if she weren't there. She spent all summer calling on families to get them to send their kids to Hogwarts."

"Enrollment will bounce back," Blaise declared dismissively. "It's the Minister's fault for trying to close the bloody school, many of the students committed elsewhere because of the uncertainty. My Grandfather's more concerned about the staffing decisions. He said she did well with an overhaul of the faculty. but he voted against the new defense professor. They still can't attract any decent candidates."

"Who's teaching defense this year?" Theodore asked.

"A hit-wizard named Hannibal Mason," Blaise answered with a scowl. "He was a seventh year Ravenclaw when we were firsties."

"That bastard's teaching us?" Theodore blurted out, laughing. "He's a complete ponce! Gave me my first detention just for exploring a bit - said Hogwarts was dangerous at night. That pansy was more scared than I was."

"What were you doing out after curfew as a first year?" Susan asked. "I didn't sneak out until third year."

The boys found this hilarious. "Come on, Susan," Harry cried. "I was sneaking off to Hogsmeade by then."

"Hogsmeade?" Theodore was impressed. "It took us until fifth year to figure out the secret passage to the greenhouses. Even then, it was fifty-fifty if Sprout was around."

Blaise scowled. "Of course, if we had an invisibility cloak, I'm sure we would have been tromping around Hogsmeade by third year."

"You know about my cloak?" Harry stammered.

It was everyone else's chance to laugh. "The whole school knows about that cloak," Blaise sneered.

"Play nice, Blaise," Susan admonished him as if he were three. "It was more of an urban myth until Draco broke Harry's nose last year."

"Urban myth, my ass," Blaise muttered, but did not offer a prior confirmed sighting. "The point is it's easier to sneak around if you're invisible."

Harry wasn't going to argue. Besides, he was trying to think of a way to probe into the heretofore unknown passageway without letting on that he hadn't yet learned of its existence. He settled on misdirection. "Which greenhouse passage do you use, the one by Delusional Delilah?"

Blaise' eyebrows shot up in surprise. "No, it's the one by - well, I'll show you at school. if you show me the entrance by Delilah."

"Er, sure," Harry agreed. Blaise had called his bluff, and unfortunately there was no passage by Delilah's portrait. He'd either have to take the hit to his pride, or show Blaise the tunnel into Honeydukes cellar. It sure didn't seem like a fair trade.

"Probably the one by the Hufflepuff common room," Susan volunteered, coyly ignoring Blaise and Theodore's murderous glares. "You know, Glenda the Gardener."

"Oh yeah, that one." Harry gamely pretended to have forgotten about it, while furiously trying to figure out how the Marauders could have possibly missed a secret passageway in one of the schools busiest corridors. "I don't care for it. It's tough to get in and out unnoticed."

"That's true," Theodore admitted, "but the Hufflepuffs are all in their common room after curfew, so it's easier then."

Susan shrugged good-naturedly. "The extra sleep helps our disposition. At least we're not as crotchety as the rest of you insomniacs."

The four teens laughed easily as an enormous platter of pulled-pork sandwiches arrived. Between bites, the boys boasted of their nocturnal exploits around the castle. The best story was Blaise, who had charmed a suit of armor to follow Filch around like a town crier, announcing the caretaker's presence, and warning the squib's targets.

---888---

After saying goodbye to Susan, Harry Apparated to a park near Fleischer's Place and walked the short distance to the Grangers' home. All of the lights were turned down, save the parlor where the flickering colors of the television painted the windows with blotches of red and blue.

"Oh! Hello, Harry. Come on in," Dan Granger greeted him. "What brings you by?"

"Well, I'm leaving for school this weekend and I wanted to visit before heading back. Sorry I didn't call ahead."

"Not a problem, Harry." Emma happily shut off the television. "Tea?"

"Sure." Harry followed the Grangers into the kitchen where Emma was just beginning to boil water. "Want me to speed that up a bit?"

"That's alright," Dan frowned. "I think we prefer to do it. a little more traditionally."

"Of course," Harry stowed his wand in the back pocket of his denims. "So. Er. how's the practice doing?"

"Quite well." Dan relaxed and began preparing the tea service. "We bought a retiring dentist's practice last week. That should keep us busy for a while." He continued talking business until the tea was ready and they had moved back to the sitting room. Emma would interject subdued comments here and there, but was primarily content to listen. After the subject of dentistry was thoroughly exhausted, Dan inquired about Harry's summer.

"It's been alright. I've been at my godfather's old place most of the time. There's a ton of work to do. everything from new bath towels to repairing plaster." He told them about his trip to France and mentioned his new plans to play Quidditch.

"Sounds safer than hunting dark wizards," Emma commented.

Dan and Harry both tensed. They'd been avoiding the subject of magic. "More enjoyable, at least," Harry replied.

"I'm glad to hear that. I want you to be safe," she answered with misty eyes. "It just seems like you've done your fair share."

Dan placed a protective arm around his wife. "Have things settled down among the Purebloods?"

"Mostly," Harry answered, "but I don't think that issue will ever really go away. There is something I need to ask you though." He set his tea down. "The Ministry caught the woman who. Er. the woman that left Hermione here. She obviously broke a few laws and could go to jail. Do you want me to press charges on your behalf?"

Emma inhaled sharply, a greedy gleam flashed in her eyes. "How long?"

"Maybe as much as three months."

Emma's expression fell. "Only?"

"Well." Harry shifted uncomfortably.

"This person, what did they have against Hermione?" Dan asked.

"I doubt it was Hermione in particular, more like misplaced anger, I think. Her brother was killed earlier this year."

Dan thought this over. "It's the blood thing again, isn't it? Her brother was killed by a Muggleborn and this was some sort of revenge?"

"Not exactly," Harry answered. "Her brother died because he was visiting a Muggleborn friend when the Death Eaters attacked all the Muggleborns."

"That doesn't justify it!" Emma seethed.

"What do you think, Harry?" Dan asked.

"What she did was inexcusable. I'm sure of that," Harry stated. "It's just complicated and I don't trust myself to make a decision for the right reasons. You know what I mean?"

"Not really," Dan replied. "I think it would help if you explained why it's complicated."

"I hate to admit this," Harry cringed, "but there are political consequences, and I don't think those should factor in. I'm trying to take all these pros and cons and put them together. and I feel like I'm basing the decision on the wrong things."

Dan leaned back into the sofa. "Okay, restricting ourselves to what you've told us - this person broke the law. It doesn't sound like she had a very good reason to do what she did. and so it seems like we can choose to forgive her or not. Has she expressed any remorse?"

"I don't know."

Emma balled her fists. "If she were sorry, she would have apologized by now! She can't expect forgiveness if she doesn't ask."

Dan gently stroked Emma's hair. "I think you have our opinion then, Harry." He stood, clearly signaling his intentions.

"Thank you. Er, I should probably get going." Harry fished in his pocket and retrieved a dog-eared business card. "If you want to write, you can send post to Margaret. She'll get it to me at school."

Emma came over and gave him a long hug. "Don't make yourself scarce, Harry" she pleaded in a shaky voice. "You're always welcome here." She began to cry, but hid her tears by taking the tea service back to the kitchen

"Do you have time for a stroll around the neighborhood before you go?" Dan requested.

"Sure."

"Hon, I'll be back in a bit," Dan called out as he reached for a light jacket off the coat rack. They were out the door a hundred meters by the time either spoke. "Thanks for coming by tonight, Harry. It might not seem like it, but Emma and I are extremely grateful to hear anything from your world."

Harry was surprised by this. "I'd think it would be painful."

"It is, but a little pain is better than feeling like Hermione was forgotten the second she died. You know, you and Professor McGonagall are the only contact we've had with magic folk since her death?"

"McGonagall's been visiting you?"

"She came once before Hermione's funeral. If it weren't for you both, all we would have known was a body on the kitchen table. It's so isolating to feel like your daughter disappeared without a trace. We just want to feel that she didn't die in vain."

"I can't help you there," Harry replied sullenly. "This whole war was pointless."

"All war tends to be," Dan answered, before lapsing into silence.

"You don't agree with your wife, do you?" Harry ventured after a time.

"I'm not sure," Dan mused, "but it doesn't matter. On some things, a couple has to stand together. She feels strongly, so I'll support her, even if I have misgivings."

"What if you both feel strongly?"

Dan laughed lightheartedly. "Then you have to weigh which is more important, your opinion or your relationship."

"I'm glad you think she should be prosecuted," Harry said. "I agree, but I don't really trust my judgment anymore."

"Why not? Has it failed you yet?"

"I don't know," Harry answered truthfully. "I don't know anything anymore. Ever since the battle, I've felt so weird, so different. The only thing I seem to care about anymore is me."

"I highly doubt that," Dan scoffed. "You wouldn't be here if that was true." He clapped Harry on the shoulder. "You still haven't explained why the decision is so complicated."

Harry sighed. "Did Hermione ever mention a guy named Ernie? He was a classmate of ours."

"No," Dan answered hesitantly.

"The woman who did it was Eileen MacMillan, Ernie's sister. We knew her from Hogwarts. and she didn't seem the type. So there's that. and her father is a member of the Wizengamot."

Dan snorted. "And that's important why?"

Harry shrank back. "I don't think it should matter at all," he said angrily. "But the Minister thinks it's better to just drop the matter instead of creating an enemy."

Dan stopped walking and grabbed Harry gently by the shoulders. "Harry! Do you think that should make a difference?"

"No."

"Then why are you worried about what the Minister thinks? Don't substitute his judgment for yours."

"You're right," Harry conceded. "It's just that I'm pretty good at screwing up these sorts of things. If I press charges, I'm afraid of what else will happen because of it. People want to read into my every action; nothing I do is taken at face value. Earlier this summer, the Minister and Professor McGonagall had a spat over the school, so when I enrolled in Hogwarts, they write in the paper that I'm doing it to undermine the Minister."

"Were you?"

"No! That's just it!"

"Did the Minister think you were?"

Harry replayed his dinner with Scrimgeour the night before, trying to detect any missed nuances. "I don't think so. He keeps asking me to support his agenda because he thinks I'm influential, but no one in the Wizengamot seemed to care how I voted today."

They had arrived at the park. Dan clasped his hand. "Maybe you're too worried about what other people think about you," he offered. "Sounds like it doesn't matter as much as you think. You'll be a lot happier as your own man."

---
Author's Note: I recently re-read (the now complete) Reign of Power by Fayr Warning. I am simply astounded at how much that story has influenced my own. In this chapter, above all others, it's only fair to mention this again.

Author's Recognition: Thanks to the AFC crew for their input. Nukular Winter, JBern, and IP82 did a good job of telling me my first try wasn't good enough, and I think the rework made this much better. This chapter is pre grammar beta. I'll repost once the comma errors and dependent clauses are cleaned up.

Initial Post: 25 September 2007
Last Updated: 25 September 2007

Chapter Thirteen: Complex Loyalties

Later that afternoon, Harry lay stretched across the sofa, his nose buried in a book, when the smoldering embers flared to life in the hearth.

“Harry? Would you mind if I came through?”

He glanced up and offered a broad smile. “Sure Professor. How are you?”

“Well enough.” McGonagall dusted off her cloak before taking her customary seat across from him. “What are you reading?”

He held up the book so she could see it. “It’s called ‘Snitching and Snatching: How to Break Wind with the Best, and Leave Others Panting in Your Wake,’ it was actually written by my great-great-grandfather.”

McGonagall allowed a rare smile to part her lips. “You seem relaxed.”

“I had a great holiday.”

She feigned surprise. “Oh really? I didn’t even know you’d left. You certainly didn’t mention you were going away.”

Harry gave her a boyish smile, the kind that had gotten him out of detention when he was twelve. “Sorry, Professor… It was kind of a spur of the moment thing. I was really mad at the Minister, and I… I just left.”

“Next time, you should tell someone,” she admonished. “Perhaps maybe even your house-elf.”

“I told Fred,” Harry offered, trying to squelch the growing resentment that yet another person felt entitled to his whereabouts.

“Fred Weasley?” she hissed.

“Uh huh.”

Her pupils narrowed dangerously. “Those two both swore they didn’t know where you were!”

“I asked him not to tell,” stated Harry.

“Well, at least you’re safe,” she relented. “So, do you want to tell me where you went?”

Harry forgot his frustration and spent the next fifteen minutes excitedly telling her about Bonaccord Manor – the regulation sized Quidditch pitch, the bust of Pierre Bonaccord, the Quidditch pitch, the small lake, the Quidditch pitch, the hiking trail, and yes – the Quidditch pitch. With a triumphant smile, Harry announced, “I’ve decided I want to play professionally.”

McGonagall didn’t seem surprised by the revelation, but neither did she share in his enthusiasm. “Are you sure, Harry? You won’t be able to train as an Auror if you’re playing.”

He welcomed her objection with a snort. “That’s the last thing I want right now – I’d have to work for Scrimgeour.” He fished around on a side table for a moment before producing a dinner invitation. “He’s roped me into a dinner on Thursday night so he can make one last pitch to me before the Wizengamot meeting. I could never escape him if I were an Auror… it’d be a complete disaster.”

She hid her disappointment well, but not entirely. “What about after he leaves office?”

“I’ve thought about it,” Harry admitted. “I just don’t think I want to be an Auror anymore. You’ve got to make a lot of sacrifices… and I’m just tired of... I don’t want… It’s too…”

“I understand you’re hurting,” she said gently. “And, I know you’ll love playing Quidditch for a few years, but eventually you might change your mind. If you finish school –”

Harry raised his hands in surrender, a grin sprouting from his somber mood. “I’ll save you the lecture, Professor.” He flipped to the end of his book and pulled a folded piece of parchment from between the pages. “I’d like to enroll in Hogwarts this term.”

“I knew I’d eventually wear you down.” Her triumphant smirk disappeared as she studied the sheet with an appraising eye. “This is one of the lightest course loads in your class.”

He nodded. “It’s the minimum I need to qualify for the Auror program. But I’m concentrating my efforts on Quidditch this year.”

“Very well, then.” She tucked the parchment into her robe. “May I ask a tremendous favor? You’re welcome to say no.”

“Er, what do you need?”

“I was hoping to announce your decision to The Daily Prophet. It would reassure some reluctant parents.”

Harry was not surprised at the request, but he still frowned at the prospect of voluntarily appearing in the paper. Yet, for all of Fred’s talk about ‘angles,’ McGonagall was still being honest with him. “How about a deal?” he replied. “I’ll grant them an interview if I can come up to the school and use the Quidditch pitch whenever I want.”

She shook her head. “You’re welcome to use the pitch anytime, Harry. But it’s not quid pro quo. I’m not going to push you into it, if you’re averse to the idea.”

Harry rubbed the bridge of his nose. It would have been easier if she’d just accepted his deal. He knew he could lie to himself and say that he’d granted an interview so he could use the pitch, but now she was forcing him to choose between his privacy and her request. “How many people will sign-up if I make an announcement?”

“Perhaps twenty students,” McGonagall answered, already knowing he would grant her the favor.

---888---

“So what’s his excuse now?” Parvati Patil yelled jabbing her finger at that morning’s Prophet. “He’s been using Harry as an excuse all summer, and now that Harry’s going back, he just wants to ignore it?”

Mrs. Patil, hands on her hips, glared at her daughter. “Do not raise your voice at me, young lady! Your father has his reasons. It’s his decision.”

“But, it’s not my fault!” Parvati seethed. “We’re seventeen. If Padma has to choose between father and Anthony, she’ll choose Anthony.”

Tears welled in the corner of Mrs. Patil’s eyes. “She wouldn’t do that. Padma’s a good girl.”

“Neither of you have even met Anthony,” Parvati shot back. “If his name was Gupta instead of Goldstein, we’d be picking a wedding date!”

“Well it’s not!”

“Tell him, mother! Hogwarts starts in one week, and I’m going with Padma! He can change his mind or lose two daughters.”

---888---

As Parvati Patil slammed the door on her mother, Harry Potter doubled over, wheezing for breath. He’d just finished running a lap around Hogwarts’ grounds, and was now contemplating life as a couch potato.

The Quidditch books had unanimously suggested that running was the best way to build endurance, so Harry was determined to learn how. Sure, he’d spent a childhood outrunning Dudley and his gang, but that required sprinting a few hundred meters until his fat cousin gave up. Distance running was apparently different. It required a sustainable pace… and breathing… the part Harry was currently struggling with. At least he was done for the morning, he thought with relief. Now he could get on with the enjoyable part of training.

“Accio Firebolt.”

---888---

A few hours later, Harry showered in the changing rooms before heading down the path toward Hagrid’s hut. Fang was dozing in the grass, but bounded over as Harry approached.

In the doorway, Hagrid wiped his brow with an enormous handkerchief. “Harry! I was hoping you’d stop by. Want a cuppa?”

“I’d love one,” Harry answered, stepping out of the sun and into Hagrid’s darkened hut. It was a disaster. “Hagrid, what’s with all the boxes?”

“It’s nothin’,” Hagrid muttered. “Just getting some stuff ready for Professor Grubby.”

“Why does she need,” Harry pointed at one of the boxes, “a picture of your Dad?”

“Oh, tha’.” Hagrid plucked the photo from the box and made a show of putting it back on the barren mantle. “Didn’t mean ta put tha’ in there.”

“Hagrid, what’s going on?” Harry asked, finding a familiar pink umbrella in another box. “You’re moving, aren’t you?”

The half-giant froze. “Can’t keep nothin’ from you… never really could,” he lamented. “It’s just not the same without… without Dumbledore.” Hagrid moaned, splashing tea into two large mugs. Clumsily, he extracted a flask from his moleskin coat and poured a healthy dose of amber liquid into his tea. “Great man, Dumbledore. He knew how to treat people right. Best Headmaster Hogwarts ever had. Know what I mean?”

“I miss him too –”

“He didn’t go ‘round tellin’ people how things ought to be – just let us do our jobs. But Minerva – she can’t let things be.” Hagrid stumbled over to one of the boxes and thrust a rolled parchment at Harry.

---
Dear Mr. Hagrid,

Following the recent death of our beloved Headmaster Albus Dumbledore, the Board of Governors has undertaken an intensive review of the school’s performance. We were dismayed to find that over the past decade exam scores have declined in every subject taught at our fine institution. To better serve our students, the Board has reviewed the resumes, evaluations, and relevant test scores for our entire teaching staff.

Effective immediately, it is now required that all professors have a NEWT level certification in the subjects they teach. Since you do not have this qualification, and the Board did not feel that your students’ test scores merited an exemption, we will not ask you to return in your capacity as Professor for the Care of Magical Creatures.

If you so choose, we would like to retain your services as Gamekeeper and Keeper of Keys. If you remain at the school in this capacity, you may continue to live in the Gamekeeper’s residence. Your pay and retirement benefits will remain at their current level.

We would like to thank you for your many years of service at Hogwarts. If you should wish to discuss this decision with me, I would be happy to answer your questions.

Gratefully Yours,
Lord Seth Ashburton, Chairman of Hogwarts’ Board of Governors
---

“That’s a kick in the nuts,” Harry muttered. “But, they want you back as Gamekeeper. Are you sure you want to leave? I’ll really miss you.”

“Minerva don’t want Grawp on the grounds either,” Hagrid complained, ignoring Harry’s plea. “She says he’s not safe around children. Load of hogwash, I tell ya. He’s no more dangerous than Aragog… and he never hurt a student.”

Harry knew better than to argue with Hagrid over the deceased Acromantula. “But Hogwarts is your home… your family.”

“I’m not stayin’ if Minerva’s gonna be Headmistress. She don’t know abou’ loyalty,” Hagrid complained. “She’s gettin’ rid of everyone she don’t like. Me, Argus, Sibyll, even Professor Binns. She’s taken everything away from me. First Aragog, then Dumbledore, now Grawp! It ain’t home if you’re not welcome, and it ain’t family if they don’t want you.”

Harry shook his head in frustration. “Hagrid, none of that is Professor McGonagall’s fault – certainly not Aragog or Dumbledore. And, the letter says the Board won’t let you teach…” Harry reached into his pocket and showed the Leoforte ring to the half-giant. “I control a couple of votes on the Board. I could probably get you reinstated.”

Hagrid patted Harry on the back hard enough to send the LeoForte ring flying across the hut. “That’s mighty kind of ya Harry, but I don’t want to stay!” Hagrid protested, despite suspiciously damp cheeks. “The Board’s just rubber stampin’ Minerva’s recommendations. They always vote how they’re told.”

Harry retrieved the ring with a silent summoning charm. “It can’t really be Professor McGonagall. You were in the Order together.”

“Loyalty don’t matter to her,” Hagrid lamented. “Old Minerva’s never liked me. She always complained about me to Dumbledore. Now she’s gonna run the school her way, forgettin’ about all the hard work I done. She can’t get rid of me fast enough.”

“But, she’s not pushing you out, Hagrid! The letter says that they want you back as Gamekeeper.”

Hagrid laughed, spilling his tea. “Bless you, Harry… but tha’s not how it works. When someone says you ain’t good enough, they don’t want you around anymore.”

Harry sipped his tea in surrender. “Then what are you going to do now?”

“Grawp and me are going to France.” Hagrid smiled genuinely. “Olympe offered me a job, and there’s a Giant reservation for Grawp.”

“Will you be a Professor?”

“No, she’s already got one, but her old Gamekeeper couldn’t handle the Abraxans.”

---888---

The following morning, Harry anxiously paced while waiting for the sitting room hearth to flare. “Hello, Professor,” he said coldly.

McGonagall sighed upon hearing the staccato greeting. “Good morning, Harry,” she returned, albeit without the hostility.

“So, I visited Hagrid yesterday.”

“And he shared his news with you?”

Harry crossed his arms. “Were you ever going to tell me? Or was it some sort of surprise?”

“It’s his prerogative. I assumed he would tell you, but it’s not my place.”

“You didn’t think that would affect my decision?” Harry accused. “How can it not be your place to tell me when you know how close we are?”

McGonagall chose her words carefully. “I didn’t say anything precisely because you two are close. Among friends, it is better to hear that kind of news firsthand. As for your decision, I assumed Hagrid’s situation would make your choice more difficult, but I didn’t think it would alter the final outcome. You never even asked.”

Harry reluctantly nodded his agreement. He had stewed over Hagrid’s news for several hours before he even briefly thought about withdrawing from Hogwarts. “Well, he’s pretty angry... and so am I.”

For the first time in weeks, Harry spotted a trace of defeat in McGonagall’s pursed lips. “I’m truly sorry for his situation,” she sighed. “There just isn’t an easy solution.”

“You could’ve hired him back as a professor.”

She offered him a hollow smile. “The Board would not allow it, even if I wanted to. Rubeus performed horribly on every metric they evaluated.”

“He thinks you’re pushing him out and the Board’s just doing what you tell them to.”

“That’s no longer the case,” she explained. “The Governors always treated Albus with great deference. He had a free hand in personnel decisions, but they now feel that was a mistake. The Governors have become much more attentive since the Minister tried to close the school. The Headmaster no longer has the final authority over personnel.”

“But, you could fight for him. He’s not that bad a professor.”

She nearly laughed. “I’m afraid your friendship with Rubeus is blinding you, Harry. I’m in complete agreement with the Board’s evaluation of his teaching.”

Harry scowled. If he was honest, he knew she was right, but it just wasn’t fair. “What about loyalty? You can’t just use someone when you need them and then toss ‘em out.”

“I did not discard him like some piece of rubbish!” she bristled. “I convinced the Board to retain him as Gamekeeper… and at a Professor’s salary, at that. Don’t make the mistake of confusing loyalty and competence!” she seethed. “That’s a mistake not worth repeating.”

He stopped pacing abruptly. Her thinly veiled criticism of Dumbledore stung the part of him that was blindly loyal to the late Headmaster, but the criticism had been well earned. “You don’t like Hagrid, do you?”

McGonagall nodded. “It’s professional, not personal. I’d happily bring him back as Gamekeeper, but not as a professor. I have to do my job well, too.”

“So you don’t like him, then?”

She sighed. “Rubeus and I don’t see eye-to-eye on many things. We’ve co-existed in peace for many years. I consider him a staunch ally, but no, I don’t consider him a friend.”

Not that it should have, but her honesty and openness caught him completely off guard. In that realm, she was Dumbledore’s opposite, unfailingly forthright with him, unafraid to let him make his own decisions; it was why he respected her so much. Of course, he’d always felt that Hagrid treated him similarly. “I just don’t get it. What’s your problem with him?”

She let the question linger for a while, perhaps hoping he would withdraw it, perhaps recalling a decision made years ago. “I suppose it boils down to different philosophies,” she finally answered. “Rubeus sees the school through the eyes of a student. It’s a surrogate family for him. He becomes friends with the students, and like many students,” she shot a pointed look at Harry, “sees the rules as optional. But as a member of the faculty, he continually sets a bad example.” She thought for a moment. “How many times have you been into the Forbidden Forest with him? How many times has he placed you in harms way?”

“Quite a few,” Harry admitted with a grin. “I think that’s why I’m so disappointed he’s leaving. He’s one of my last friends at the school. I’m going to miss him badly.”

---888---

The next two days passed without incident. On Wednesday, Hagrid wheeled an enormous cart chock full of boxes and wire mesh cages up to the Quidditch pitch. He interrupted Harry’s morning workout to say goodbye, and the two ended up sharing a pint at the Hog’s Head before Hagrid left for France.

On Thursday, Harry woke early with the intention of sneaking off to Diagon Alley and purchasing his school things and a new set of dress robes for his dinner with Scrimgeour that evening. But, Salty had already made arrangements to have the entire shopping list purchased via owl order. As if on cue, Hedwig and Phaedippas returned with several neatly wrapped bundles between the two of them, and so Harry got in another full day of Quidditch training at the Hogwarts pitch.

---888---

Fifteen minutes before his scheduled dinner with Minister Scrimgeour, Harry appeared, shrouded in the long shadows cast by the Hog’s Head tavern. McDaniels’ Chophouse was across the quiet street, set back behind a tall row of hedges and protected by an equally tall black gate, which Harry slipped through.

If it weren’t for the half dozen tables arranged on a patio in front of the restaurant, Harry would have thought he’d stumbled into someone’s front yard. The restaurant was housed in a stately old brick home that perfectly matched the quiet sophistication of its patrons.

A black-robed maitre d’ approached. The man’s sharp eyes widening as they lit on Harry’s lightning bolt shaped scar. “Lord Potter, you’re here to meet the Minister?”

Harry self consciously fingered the Leoforte family ring that Salty had insisted he wear. “Er, yes.”

“Please follow me.” The maitre d’ led him into the old home, winding through rooms, passing a dozen tables until they came to a booth in the back of a sparsely populated room.

Minister Scrimgeour stood to greet him. “How are you doing, Harry? I read in The Prophet that you’ll be back at Hogwarts on Sunday.”

“Saturday, actually,” Harry replied as the waitress brought Butterbeers. “I have Head Boy training.”

“Ah! ‘Training Day,’ that’s right,” Scrimgeour smiled faintly. “Headmaster Dippet spent the entire day giving Elizabeth Telford and I a tour of every snogging closet in the castle. There are one hundred thirty four of them.”

Harry snorted into his drink. “Sounds like an excellent use for my last day of summer.” The waitress returned briefly to take their orders, and Harry seized upon the interruption to move on to weightier subjects. “Uh Minister, Have you learned anything new about who dumped Hermione’s body in her dining room?”

Scrimgeour set his fork down and gave Harry an apologetic, pleading look. “I’ve been meaning to speak with you… Could you… well… Let’s just say it would be convenient if you would consider dropping the complaint.”

“Are you serious?” Harry scoffed. “She was my best friend… her parents were mortified!”

Scrimgeour took a deep breath. “What’s done is done,” he proclaimed fatalistically. “Charging the person won’t undo anything… You see, she’s the daughter of a Wizengamot Lord,” Scrimgeour said hesitantly. “I’ll prosecute her if you refuse to drop the complaint, but we’ll both earn a powerful enemy.”

“You go from promising time in Azkaban to ignoring it because of who her father is? You’re no better than Fudge!”

Scrimgeour had the good sense to look ashamed of himself. “We really need her father’s vote… and the bloc of votes that follow him.”

“There is no we.” Harry said flatly. “I’m not dropping the complaint, regardless of who her father is.”

Scrimgeour read the burning emeralds across from him and relented. “At least promise me you’ll sleep on it before making a final decision, alright?”

“Who?”

“It was an office assistant in the DMLE – Eileen MacMillan.”

“Ernie’s sister?” Harry gasped. “I knew her at school… She wasn’t like that at all…”

Scrimgeour ran a hand through his tangled mane. “She’s had a traumatic summer. Her brother died in the Monday Muggleborn Massacre.”

The memory of that day still stung horribly. “Ernie was at Justin’s house,” Harry remembered. “Let me guess, she’s blaming Muggleborns.”

Scrimgeour eyed his drink and nodded. “It’s not uncommon.”

Harry mulled this over in silence for several minutes. “What exactly would she be charged with?”

“Dereliction of duty… and uh, Muggle-Baiting,” Scrimgeour answered. “She’s looking at maybe three months in Azkaban, probably less if she pleads guilty.”

“Would she?”

“I believe her father would insist upon avoiding a public trial.”

Harry slowly sipped his remaining Butterbeer. Suddenly he wasn’t sure if he wanted to be responsible for sending Ernie’s sister to Azkaban. “On the topic of trials, I read in the papers that Stan Shunpike was released last Friday.”

Scrimgeour nodded. “I took your suggestion to heart, Harry. We reviewed the charges against all the suspected Death Eaters and decided that we didn’t have enough evidence to prosecute.”

Harry fixed the Minister with a cold glare. “Spare me the company line!” he sighed. “You knew quite well that there was never any evidence against them.”

The accusation clearly angered Scrimgeour. “I did not know they were innocent. You need to learn that there is a formidable gap between suspicion and knowledge!” Scrimgeour strangled his napkin, knuckles white around the linen square. “Harry, the Ministry can’t make snap judgments about guilt and innocence. We have to let investigations run their course.”

“Oho! A new policy!” Harry exclaimed derisively.

“What is that supposed to mean?”

Harry’s eyes bulged incredulously. “Sirius Black!”

Scrimgeour faltered at that. “In Mr. Black’s case, you are quite right,” he conceded. “Minister Bagshot ordered the case closed prematurely.”

“It’s the same thing with Stan,” Harry argued. “People rushed to judgment, and they were both locked up without a fair trial.”

Scrimgeour frowned. “Black’s case was much different than Shunpike. Primarily in that Shunpike claimed that he was guilty.”

“Have you ever met Stan?” Harry asked skeptically.

“Multiple times,” the old Auror replied. “How many times have you met him?”

Harry thought for a moment. “Twice. Once on the Knight Bus, and another time at the World Cup.”

“And how did you know he was innocent?” Scrimgeour pressed.

Harry paused for a bit. It was difficult to explain his original gut instinct on the subject. “A guy like Stan Shunpike would never make a good Death Eater,” Harry answered. “He’s not terribly intelligent or powerful, and he runs his mouth too much. Voldemort wouldn’t have anything to do with him. He would have killed him just as soon as he saw him.”

Scrimgeour pondered this as the waitress arrived with their steaks and another round of drinks. “Harry, think about what you’ve just said. Were there any Death Eaters that weren’t magically powerful?”

“Peter Pettigrew.”

“As for boisterous,” Scrimgeour laughed. “Can you name any that weren’t?”

Harry thought for a moment. “Snape was guarded...”

Scrimgeour apparently hadn’t thought of the potions master. “Yes, he was a quiet one, I suppose… but the exception that proves the rule nonetheless.”

“So you’re saying that just because some Death Eaters shared traits with Shunpike that he was obviously a Death Eater?” Harry made a face to explain what he thought of that logic.

“No,” said Scrimgeour. “I’m just saying that it wasn’t completely out of the question. Think about Shunpike objectively for a moment. He works on the Knight Bus and is in a terrific position to overhear conversations, and track people’s movements. He has a general idea where those people live, and best yet, no one suspects him because he appears stupid and weak… But, suppose he’s just a bit smarter,” Scrimgeour tapped his temple with a gnarled finger. “Now, what if you were Voldemort? Would you just as soon kill him? Or, would you try to tap him for information? Perhaps the imperious curse, or a touch of legilimency.”

“But he wasn’t spying for Voldemort,” Harry objected weakly.

“How was I to know? Shunpike told a pub full of people that he was a Death Eater.” Scrimgeour held up a hand to cut off Harry’s objection. “You see it as a foolish boy running his big mouth, but the Aurors saw it as a man with too much alcohol in his system saying more than he should have. We had to lock him up until we could prove one way or the other.”

“I still say it’s different.”

“Here’s a question for you,” Scrimgeour stabbed a fork full of steak in Harry’s direction. “Should we have arrested Lucius Malfoy after you accused him of being a Death Eater two years ago?”

“Of course! If Fudge had listened to me, the Ministry would have been better prepared.”

“On what evidence?” Scrimgeour challenged.

“I told Fudge what happened!”

“So on the word of an attention seeking fourteen year old we should have arrested a member of the Wizengamot?”

“I was not an attention seeking fourteen year old!”

“I’m just repeating what Fudge told me,” Scrimgeour replied. “You didn’t have any evidence. It would have been your word against his. You were right and I knew it, but I couldn’t do anything about it just because I knew it to be the case.”

“You’ve confused me,” Harry said looking up from his empty plate. “You knew Malfoy was guilty, but you let him go. You knew Stan was innocent yet you locked him up?”

Scrimgeour sighed at Harry’s bullheadedness. “First, you knew Shunpike to be innocent. I actually thought he was guilty. The difference between the two cases is that Malfoy professed his innocence and in the absence of any evidence to the contrary, we had to accept that. Shunpike claimed he was a Death Eater and without looking foolish or taking a major risk, we had to lock him up.”

Harry resolutely studied his jacket potato. “What made you decide to finally release him – them?”

“Mostly the fact that they’re still alive,” Scrimgeour answered. “It appears that Voldemort took all of his followers with him. I suppose he was disheartened by those that abandoned him last time.”

“What about Guffy’s group?” Harry inquired, genuinely interested in the Minister’s explanation. Grudgingly, he admitted that Scrimgeour seemed to have pure motives in the realm of law enforcement.

“We’re completely baffled,” Scrimgeour admitted. “Guffy’s wand, which was in her partner’s possession when they were arrested, was used to kill the Creevey boys. But, Guffy and her bridge partners were all interrogated under Veritaserum, and they all swear that no one left… There’s no evidence of a memory charm, and no one saw them at the scene. Trying the case would be a nightmare, and we have no idea if one, none, or all of them were involved.”

The truth struggled free from a repressed portion of Harry’s memory. “The Creevey attack?” he murmured sadly, the answer rising unbidden onto his tongue. “Severus Snape, Draco Malfoy, George and Greg Goyle… Greg Goyle used a summoning charm so he wouldn’t have to use his own wand. He was underage.”

Scrimgeour’s eyes brimmed with fear. “How do you know that?”

A voice in the back of his mind, sounding suspiciously like Snape’s, screamed at him for revealing so much to the Minister, but even his brief confession assuaged his guilt tremendously. “You thought the spells were important?” Harry asked distantly. “I beat Voldemort in his mind.” His voice struggled to convey the full implication of that statement. “Have you ever bathed in maggot-infested rotting flesh?”

Scrimgeour shuddered at the thought. After visibly shaking himself a third time, he leaned in and whispered. “This is the type of thing that you shouldn’t go spreading about. The public is fickle. They will turn on you as easily as they embrace you.”

“I know.”

Scrimgeour apparently didn’t think Harry was taking him seriously enough. “It has not happened for the last time,” he warned. “People fear power and love a good rumor. That combination will lead to more headaches than you could possibly imagine.” The Minister smiled ruefully. “Incidentally, it’s also a good reason why we should work together. Having allies is always a good thing, Harry. Right now I need your support to pass some policies that will make a real difference. In the future, I can promise you will want allies when things become more difficult.”

Harry’s eyes wandered around the restaurant, and for the first time, he seriously considered Scrimgeour’s overture. “I’ll think about it.”

“Will you at least vote for the DMLE funding bill tomorrow?” Scrimgeour pleaded. “Fudge left the department in shambles, and we desperately need to increase the budget. I’ve been trying for months, but the Wizengamot has been hopelessly gridlocked.”

“Probably,” Harry answered as the two got ready to leave. “I’m going to listen to the debate tomorrow, but I’m leaning toward it.”

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Author’s Note: This is the first chapter written post-Deathly Hallows. That said, much of this chapter was written sixteen months ago… including the conversation about Stan Shunpike. As for HPDH, I am not going to try and adapt the story to be ‘canon-compliant’ with the seventh book, but where appropriate, I may incorporate some non-spoiling background information into this story.

Author’s Recognition: The line about maggot infested flesh is how Snape describes Voldemort’s mind in Resonance by Greengecko. (You thought I was that creative? Pshaw!). The mention of one hundred thirty four broom closets at Hogwarts is a tribute to JBern’s To Fight the Coming Darkness.

Author’s Recognition 2: Thanks to the AFC crew for their input. Among other things, JBern helped with the title of this chapter. Nonjon came up with the funny book title Harry reads at the beginning of the chapter. This chapter is pre grammar beta. I’ll repost once the comma errors and dependent clauses are cleaned up.

Originally Posted: 17 September 2007
Last Updated: 17 September 2007