The Last Man

CHAPTER 1: Thereby Hangs A Tale

It had been light for hours by the time he rolled out of bed, groaning at bruised and aching muscles from the previous day's Quidditch. Harry stood up and stretched, reveling in the feel of a well-worked body. He hobbled over to the window-sill on his bludger-bruised knee and poured himself a glass of water, picking up the Daily Prophet that Dobby had left him. MINISTRY STEPS UP CONSCRIPTION, it proclaimed. Below the headline youths stood in line in the Atrium of the Ministry of Magic, the enormous queue stretching as far as the eye could see.

Harry shook his head. He had spent summer in France with Ron's family, and the War had meant that the news was sketchy as to what, exactly, was happening in England. The French wanted nothing to do with the mess that was Voldemort and War, and so censored any and all press from the British Isles, including owl post. It had been a rude shock to return to England to find that one in three of the eldest children of British families were to be conscripted into the British Army's Magical Strike Division. The Prime Minister had apparently lost patience with the devastation Voldemort was creating with increasing numbers of Death Eaters, and had entered into talks with Scrimgeour. The Magical Strike Division was the end result, and now it looked as though the Ministry wanted ALL eldest sons and daughters to enlist – all save those attending Hogwarts, which was a significant portion of them. Thus far Dumbledore had managed to out-maneuver any attempts to conscript Hogwarts students, but Harry had a nasty feeling that time was running out for all of them. Should conscription be put in place at Hogwarts, he knew where the children of Death Eaters would go – straight home to their parents and the Dark Lord. And where would everyone else go? The word of mouth was that conscripts vanished, disappeared, whether their parents wanted them to or not.

There had been more than one case of conscripts taken against their will – but what could parents do? Those who resisted had been arrested and then released days later, no charges laid against them, but equally with no clue as to where their child had gone. The government was increasingly tight-lipped, and as Aurors were legally unable to participate in any action that was contrary to the law, they were now bound by magical contract into tracking down fugitives and rounding up conscripts.

Harry sighed and shook his head, then turned to fumble in his drawer for clothes. It was a Sunday, so he pulled on a baggy pair of Dudley's old jeans, which hung low on his hips even with the belt he'd bought in Paris. He dragged a faded purple Zonko's t-shirt over his head and dug underneath his bed for the dragonhide boots Hermione had given him for his birthday. He couldn't help but feel a swell of pride in the things; ever since he had seen Bill strutting around in boots just like these he had wanted a pair, and though he'd never say it out loud, he did think they were extremely…cool, as it were. For a 17 year old on the prowl for a girlfriend – never mind that she happened to be Ron's sister, he would cross that bridge when he came to it – they were especially cool. Turning back to the paper he sat down on his bed, wondering why nobody had come back from breakfast yet. He glanced down at the front page and began to read.

Minister Scrimgeour announced late last night that an agreement had finally been reached on the subject of Hogwarts students with regard to conscription. Aurors are to enter the school early this morning to make good on a deal sealed between the board of Governors and the Ministry, wherein one in three – Harry leapt to his feet. They were probably already here – he seized his wand and shoved it into his back pocket, then stumbled from the dormitory to vault down flights of stairs and tear into the common room – was Ron ok? – and shouldered his way through the portrait hole to a squeal from the fat lady. He pounded down the corridors, whipping through tapestries to take all the short cuts he knew, sprinting madly at every stretch of open corridor. He rounded a corner sharply and took the steps to the Entrance Hall two at a time – and stopped dead in the middle of the staircase, panting harshly.

The castle doors were open, and students had been lined up on the lawn, on their knees, in ordered lines patrolled by scarlet-robed Aurors. One in three seventh years, the paper had said. That meant three Gryffindors – all with families unless they took him. He was about to leap the last few steps to the ground when he saw Dumbledore. The old man was being hustled up the steps by a squad of Aurors – Kingsley Shacklebolt at the head of the group. Behind him the teachers filed into view, and each was ordered to kneel. Harry couldn't quite figure out why they complied so easily. Then he saw the Slytherins. Malfoy and Snape were at the end of the line closest to him, wands of Aurors at their throats, hands bound behind their backs, feet tied at the ankles where they knelt. Something about watching Snape kneeling and bound, and Dumbledore powerless in the face of harm coming to his students made Harry's heart ache and constrict with anger, and grief, and something he didn't ever remember feeling.

Then Scrimgeour emerged from the dungeon staircase and saw Harry. He didn't know quite what spurred him to action, but he supposed later that it was a combination of reckless bravery – or stupidity – and instincts burned into him by all the duels he'd been in, and the fact that he had to do something, anything, to stop what was happening to his school. He vaulted over the banister towards Scrimgeour, who drew wand blistering fast, but – "EXPELLIARMUS!" Harry was faster and the stick flew from Scrimgeour's grasp, and then he had shouldered the Auror behind the Minister back down the steep stairs, twisted nimbly under Scrimgeour's outstretched arm and kicked him in the back of the knee.

Silence. Scrimgeour was on his knees, Harry's wand tucked under his chin. Shacklebolt and the other Aurors had scattered and formed a semi-circle around him, and through their thin ranks he could see the students on the lawn staring up at the commotion. There was no noise from the Auror he had sent tumbling down the stairs. "Right," he said, "back up onto the lawn." When there was no movement, he jammed his wand against the Minister's throat. "NOW! You think I won't hurt him? Try me." The Aurors walked backwards slowly, with Dumbledore, whose piercing eyes were watching Harry calculatingly. He met them as he forced Scrimgeour to his feet and moved carefully forwards, listening for any hint that the Auror behind him was up and moving.

You should have stayed in bed, Harry.

The gentle brush of Dumbledore's mind against his soft and effortless, so different to all the times he had practiced Occlumency with Snape. We were only trying to protect you. A thousand retorts sprang to mind, but he tamped down on them. Then he knew what had to be done as he glanced away to look at the kneeling Slytherins. They easily made up the quota of conscripts that would be levied from the other houses. And with him – it had to work. Scrimgeour would seize the opportunity. He looked back up at Dumbledore, whose eyes went wide.

I know what I'm doing, he thought. Trust me. Dumbledore staggered, but Harry had looked away again, willing Snape to meet his eyes. The Potions Master did, and his eyes widened in the instant he saw what Harry planned. Please, though Harry, please help me. Please go along with it. We can save all the other conscripts. Just help me out here. Snape's black eyes bored into Harry's, and he nodded shortly, and then sneered faintly, sardonically, back at him.

You are a reckless fool, Potter. But they were planning to take all of the Slytherins anyway, one way or another

"Potter," said Scrimgeour loudly, "kindly unhand me before you get yourself into even more trouble."

"I don't think so, Minister. You see, I have something to say-"

"That you're not going to say, Potter," put in Shacklebolt. "The Minister is right. Whatever you think you're doing, this is all legal. We just want one in three of the seventh years from each house-"

"QUIET!" Harry bellowed, choking Scrimgeour with his wand again. "It'll only take a moment. I have a proposition to make to the Minister here." He bent his head to speak so that only Scrimgeour could hear. All the students had turned to watch, and Dumbledore was now on his knees in front of the Slytherins, staring at the Aurors holding wands to their throats. His ice-blue eyes blazed, and power seeped of the man in way that made Harry's hands shake, but the implication should he not remain still was clear.

"Minister Scrimgeour. I've said it before and I'll say it again. I'm Dumbledore's Man, through and through, and since he can't act I suppose I should do something instead. You want one in three conscripts from each house, and I know how very much you want me to be one of those. But I'm one of the youngest in my year, so I won't be one of the three eldest who are chosen, will I?" He glanced up at the Aurors. Shacklebolt made to move forwards and Harry felt Scrimgeour shake his head. "Now, the Slytherins make up exactly the quota of students you want from the other houses. Professor Snape would agree to your taking his Slytherins if he went too, I'm sure. And if you agree to take Snape and his Slytherins and only Snape and his Slytherins, you can have me too." Scrimgeour had tilted his head to better listen to Harry. "Make an unbreakable vow with me, right now, right here, that Hogwarts students will never be under the authority of the Ministry in any area ever again, and I'll swear my life to this country." Scrimgeour was silent. "Do we have a deal?" There was another lengthy pause, and Harry began to wonder if this was really as it good an idea as it had seemed a minute ago.

"Yes. Shacklebolt, release the teachers and let go of the Headmaster. The Slytherins stay where they are, and the students don't move yet." Harry stepped back and slipped his wand into his back pocket. "There has been a change of plans. Mr. Potter and I have reached an understanding, and we're going to need a Bonder for an Unbreakable Vow." He glanced back at Harry, eyes unreadable. "No, make that two Vows."

"Dumbledore," Harry blurted, suddenly feeling a lot less brave than he had an adrenaline fuelled minute ago. You always say you're in Gryffindor. You always say you're Dumbledore's Man. So take it on the chin and prove it. Dumbledore stood up and stepped forwards, eyes meeting Harry's once more. I'm proud of you, Harry. And all of a sudden it wasn't so hard to be brave. Harry stepped forwards and dropped to one knee, holding his right hand up. Scrimgeour knelt opposite him, and Dumbledore stood over them, wand poised above their clasped hands. "Nice and loud now, Minister," murmured Harry. Dumbledore's wand-tip brushed over his knuckles, and Harry felt the blood slide from his head. He'd woken up to a lazy Sunday morning not half an hour ago, and here was signing his life away for other students and betraying Slytherin. This was it. He felt cold and almost feverish at the same time, and his tongue was thick in his mouth. Harry spoke before Scrimgeour could.

"Do you, Rufus Scrimgeour, swear that Hogwarts students will never, in any circumstances, for the rest of the time Hogwarts exists, come under the authority of the government in any form?"

"I do." Scrimgeour's eye twitched.

"Will you ensure that the government will, to the best of its ability, ensure that Hogwarts students remain free of the control of the British government?"

"I will."

"And will you, should it prove necessary, give your life to defend the rights of Hogwarts' students, its staff and Headmaster from violation by the government of any of its agents, affiliates of associates?"

"Yes." Three tongues of flames danced and hissed about their hands, and now Scrimgeour spoke, a gleam in his eye.

"Do you, Harry Potter, promise your life in service to Great Britain?"

"Yes."

"Will you serve in any manner deemed necessary to fulfill this promise?"

"Yes."

"And will you, should it prove necessary, give your life to protect and serve your country?"

"Yes."

The tongues of flame were intense, and twined and seared and burned their way across skin as they tightened – then vanished, in a puff of smoke, leaving blistered burns across Harry and Scrimgeour's hands and wrists. Harry dropped Scrimgeour's hand and stepped back.

"Before we go, could I have a moment with a few people?"

Scrimgeour smiled.

"Of course." He turned to his Aurors. "Fetch Mr. Potter his friend Mr. Weasley." Harry was about to ask for Hermione too, but bit his tongue. He would take what he could get. He spun to face Dumbledore.

"Sir." His voice was quiet and steady, and he felt pride that it didn't shake. "I'm sorry about this." Dumbledore was about to speak, but Harry cut him off quietly. "You mean the world to me, sir. Hogwarts means the world to me. You've given me something I never thought I'd have, and for that I owe you a lot more than I'll ever be able to give back now. Take care of the others." There was a lot he wanted to say, and he didn't care that he sounded like an idiot, but it seemed important that he let Dumbledore know how much he meant to him. "Good luck. I'll never forget you." Then he stepped forward and impulsively hugged the old wizard. Suprisingly strong arms closed around him and he pressed his face into midnight blue robes, inhaling the scent of rain. Then he pulled back and turned to Ron, who now stood, hands unbound, on the edge of the steps.

"Ron, mate," he said, and this time his voice was a little shaky. Everyone was watching, but he didn't care. He stepped down and clasped Ron's shoulders. "I love you. Tell your mum and dad I love them too, and give my best to all the family. Look after Hermione and Ginny for met too, will you?" He hugged Ron tightly to him, and stood back again. He looked into Ron's eyes. "We've had a good run, eh, Weasel King?" Ron smiled wanly at him. "It's been fun." Scrimgeour cleared his throat impatiently. "I know I haven't always been the best company, but I care about you guys more than words will ever be enough to express. I'm doing this for you. I'm sorry I won't see the people you're going to become, but even if I never see you again I'll think of you every day." He released Ron's shoulders, leaving the gaping red-head swaying on the spot. Aurors took hold of his arms and began to bind his hands behind his back. "Live life for the both of us." The ropes jerked tight. "Remember me, ok?" His voice was steady, and he pulled his shoulders back. "Good luck, Ron. Godspeed." The Aurors shoved him forwards, and he twisted to look back at Ron.

"Remember me."