A Matter of Opinion

How to play with idiots when you're a cunning Slytherin with a silver tongue.

Fandom: HP

Genre: Humour (according to Phineas Nigellus' criteria), General

Ratings PG-13

Pairings: none

Warning: OotP. Missing scene at the end of the chapter 'The Centaur and the Sneak'. "You know, Minister, I disagree with Dumbledore on many counts…but you cannot deny he's got style…"

A/N: With my deepest apologies to those still waiting for the next chapter of There and Back Again (I'm working on it, I swear!). For my defence, Phineas talked me into it and well, how do you say no to cunning Slytherins with silver tongues? He can be quite charming when he wants to. (Even if the rest of the time, he's mean to other characters.)

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As Minerva McGonagall led the two children out of the room, Fudge's victory finally dawned on him. Dumbledore had fled before him. He was the only one left standing in the Headmaster's office, the master of the battlefield, so to speak. A smile etched slowly on his lips as he surveyed once again the wrecked room, dismissing the hissing portraits of the former Headmasters and Headmistresses out of hand and ignoring magnanimously some others' less savoury gestures. After all, Dumbledore had surely fed them false stories to discredit him and they weren't responsible for their actions…

Behind his back, he missed several rolls of the eyes and two former Ministers for Magic pounding their head on the frame of their pictures in a mixture of embarrassment and consternation. What kind of triple brain-dead idiot - one), could not he was not wanted here; two) did not know showing a lack of respect to magical entities tended to annoy them and annoying the magical entities living in one of the power centres of a magical place was a bad, baaaad idea?

But on another wall of the room, a painted man did not show signs of irritation. Rather, he was stretching slowly, lazy as a cat waking up from a satisfying nap. At a closer look however, his casualness was belied by the predatory smile that curved his lips and the shrewd spark that inhibited eyes narrowed in mischief.

Several portraits caught these signs signalling Fudge's impending doom and shared an inscrutable look. Raising an eyebrow, they considered both the Minister and the bearded portrait in less than one second. The former, not exactly renown for his smarts, walking around blissfully unaware of his surroundings. The latter, infamous for having stuck terror in the heart of his students, for being at the very least disliked on general principle by anyone he met, advertising trouble for Fudge in all his Slytherin's green and silver clad subtlety.

Then, acting with a formidable synchronicity and symmetry rarely observed, they hurried to their closest neighbour, nudged them to look in the right direction, raised the other eyebrow and, with an expression of gleeful anticipation that would have worried Fudge had he seen it, smirked.

Let the show begin.

"You know, Minister, I disagree with Dumbledore on many counts…" Phineas Nigellus' bored voice was dripping with disdain and Fudge turned eagerly towards the portrait, figuring he had found an ally in Dumbledore's own den. "But you cannot deny he's got style…"

Confusion filled the current minister's face. The portraits who hadn't remarked Phineas' previous antics took one look at Fudge's surprised face, another at Phineas' carefully bored one and gave a feral smile.

"I beg your pardon?" Fudge smiled unsurely, his earlier assurance cracked a bit.

"A fool and slow on the uptake too," Phineas sighed with resignation. "Dumbledore. He made an impressive exit, I'll give him that but he should have realised earlier that Potter was trouble. I told him so time and time again. He never listened to me," he whined. A violet-eyed witch gasped and dived behind the couch depicted in her painting.

Taken aback by Phineas' petulant behaviour – and perhaps debating mentally who of Dumbledore or himself had been insulted – Fudge blinked rather foolishly. Looking for his composure, he remarked a gimlet-eyed witch below Phineas taking out an impressively tick wand and tracing a golden vertical line in the air. At his inquisitive look, she wriggled her fingers, gave a sweet smile but marched out of the painting without a word.

Before he could look around for her, Phineas introduced himself, calling back his attention, "Phineas Nigellus. My friends would call me Phin if I had found any worthwhile." And he bowed before Fudge. It was logic. They certainly couldn't shake hands. It certainly could have been respectful. For this, the bow should have lasted nine seconds less, the intricate movements of the arms flown less widely and derisorily and the graceful flourishes of the wrist, hand and fingers bypassed at least nine-tenth of the arches and folds.

Later, some of the portraits would argue one of the moves included the French infamous bras d'honneur. Their adversaries would point out it looked more like Phineas guarding his face from a possible spray of contagious stupidity. A few others would ask what this arm of honour was and yet others would inquire of Phineas' French lineage. But all would agree on one point: duels had been fought over less in the past and it was a pity Fudge didn't seem to own a thorough set of etiquettes or the sense to realise when he had been insulted. But that was for later.

For the moment, the witch who had disappeared behind a couch and emerged just before Phineas' introduction was stuffing the left sleeve of her robes inside her mouth and collapsing back behind her piece of furniture with bright eyes and a red face. Fudge, as to him, was gaping, wracking his brain desperately to find an appropriate response to the bow, finding none, and Phineas was wishing Hogwarts' windows had not been charmed to keep flies out. A pity, truly.

"I suppose that if you're not hurrying out of this office to chase Dumbledore, it's to gather more information first? A smart initiative," Phineas said on a decisive tone, suddenly at odds with his earlier nonchalance.

"What? hum...  Yes, of course!" Fudge exclaimed enthusiastically, his face brightening after a caught-with-one-hand-in-the-cookie-jar expression.

"Minister, you realise, of course, that the other paintings support Dumbledore much more than I do? That they'd rather flay you alive with words than give you the time of the day?" Phineas grew passionate in his speech, sending scathing looks to some of the other portraits and receiving positively scorching sneers in return.

"Well, as long you're collaborating, I don't need the others, do I?" The minister clasped his hands together and rubbed them with energy. He didn't see a tall and thin wizard shake his head in commiseration behind him but he finally remarked the gimlet-eyed witch was back with a friend and they seemed to be taking turns tracing lines in front of them.

"I don't like fools, Minister," Phineas stated venomously, pacing back and forth and waving like a possessed man, "and even less ambitious and power-hungry fools that aim above their abilities. These idiots should be thrown in a dungeon and left to rot."

Fudge nodded in agreement. "Exactly." A muffled keen and a thud drew his attention towards a painting on his right but he saw no one near the heavily draped couch.

"Worse than fools who aim too high, do you know what I despise?" Suddenly calmer, Phineas stared intently at Fudge and stroked his pointed beard. "Sentimentality. Too much fondness for anything or anyone is a pathetic excuse for sloppy attitude. Closing one's eyes to protect current standings is the surest way to let a situation degenerate."

Fudge nodded once again, but a little more uncomfortably this time as several portraits were taken by coughing fits and strange wheezing noises came from behind the painted couch. A little frown appeared on his brow.

"But I'm taking up your time, Minister," Phineas added smoothly, "and you want information about Dumbledore. I heard him talk about clearing a passage besides the kitchen. If you hurry, I'm sure you could find one of your Aurors and catch him there."

"Phineas!" Fortescue gasped, wide-eyed "That's … that's …"

"Quick, before one of the other portraits finds a way to warn Dumbledore!"

But the advice wasn't necessary. Fudge had left as soon as Phineas had mentioned the passage, closing the door behind him.

"That's…" Fortescue tried to continue.

"Devious. Didn't Filch say earlier he had to clean the girl's toilets on the second floor before taking care of the Dungbombs Peeves hid near the kitchen?" the gimlet-eyed witch grinned.

"Did he now?"

"I knew you just needed the right incentive to help Dumbledore willingly."

"Bait the right idiot and people will love you for it. Frightening," Phineas gave a suffering sigh and examined his silk gloves. "Any other comments to share?"

All the portraits rolled their eyes as one and Dilys stood up from behind the violet-eyed witch's couch. "In case this interests anyone," she brushed non-existent dust from her robes, "I think Gladys will live."

Fin