Chapter 3

The morning table was an awkward affair. Harry was sitting at the head of the table wishing he hadn't got out of bed. He was still far from comfortable with his actions the other day and needed time to think it over. Then, too, he was so very tired. He was waiting for news from the Burrow before calling in the night, and then he heard about the Azkaban attack and about his friends going there to help, so he waited for news from them too. It was three in the morning when Remus Apparated in to tell him about the outcome of the fight. Once again, it was a very sad victory. The Azkaban prison was secured, after a long desperate fight. All prisoners were accounted for; the attacking Death Eaters suffered five casualties, and three more Death Eaters were wounded and captured. This came with a price. Two Aurors were killed and a few were wounded, though not severely. One of the wounded was Kingsley and Harry was planning a visit to St. Mungo's later in the afternoon.

On one side of the table sat the Granger family. Dan was eating his breakfast solemnly, while Emma and Hermione were bent over the screaming headlines in that morning's Prophet:

Night of Terror

Seven civilians and four Aurors killed in a night of Death Eater attacks. Eight more Aurors were wounded. A series of coordinated attacks by groups of Death Eaters spread fear, destruction, and death throughout England last night. Private homes and Ministry institutions were attacked in an effort to terrorise the English Wizarding population. During the long night Dark Marks were raised above a few of the more prominent Wizarding families in the country. Senior Auror Stanford Lucas commented this morning that the Death Eaters' attacks were fended off in every location from which an alarm signal was sent. By the Ministry account eleven Death Eaters were killed during these raids, and seventeen more were wounded and captured. "I'm sad to call this night a victory for the English Wizarding civilisation against He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his Death Eaters," said Senior Auror Lucas during a press conference held early this morning in the Ministry of Magic. "I promise the Wizarding population that the Ministry will fight and persecute He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and every last Death Eater with all the resources available to ensure law, order, and prosperity in peaceful times to the English Wizarding population."

Senior Auror Lucas and all other Ministry sources refused to refer to the identity of the casualties of the attacks. Ministry sources refused to either confirm or deny the fact that Mr. Harry Potter is one of last night's casualties. In the mean time, the Daily Prophet's offices are flooded with letters from devastated and desperate readers mourning the death of England's last hope against the Dark.

"Great, now the only ones to know I'm alive are me and Tom..."

More headlines were no better:

The end of a long line?!

Information has reached the Daily Prophet, according to which one of last night's attacks was at the manor house of the old and noble Bletchley family. Friend, colleagues, and business partners of the family confirmed that no contact was made with any of the family's members since last night. The Prophet's suspicion regarding the welfare of the Bletchley family was aroused by an unsigned letter bearing the Dark Mark, which arrived at the Prophet's offices late last night. According to the letter, the Bletchley line was extinguished last night as a retribution for the family's refusal to enlist in You-Know-Who's forces, and as a forewarning of the punishment due to any person or family who refuses You-Know-Who's forces.

Mr. Adam Bletchley was the last of a long line of potion ingredient merchants, dating back half a millennium, and a member of the Wizengamot legislative body, since the death of his father. If rumours are correct, the attack on the Bletchley family might marks the turning point in the support You-Know-Who's forces are gaining from the pureblood Wizarding families in England. The direction of this turn of tide is yet to be seen and will largely depend on the actions of the Ministry of Magic during the next few days, as well as on the fate of one Harry Potter, which has yet to be defined.

Hermione finished reading the articles looking, if possible, even more distressed than before. "You'll need to make a public appearance soon. Maybe even write a new article for the papers."

Emma looked at Harry's sour face and gently added, "War is fought not only on the battlefield. Wars are won in the media too. Especially fights against guerrillas or terrorists. Since one can't identify the enemy by sight, one needs the civil population to identify the enemy for him and to denunciate the terrorists from the general population. For this goal, the use of public relations and media is essential."

"I don't know how to do this. I'm miserable before press reporters and I hate the attention."

Dan had been listening silently all this time. "You don't have to do this all by yourself, you know. You'll have to make the public appearance by yourself, and make a few statements, but otherwise you can get a lot of help. What you need is a public relations advisor. Maybe Emma and Hermione will be able to help you in the beginning, at least until you can find someone to do this on a regular basis."

"So." Harry addressed Hermione. "Can you write a statement draft for me? And in the mean time, I'll make a public appearance somewhere later today."

"Sure, Harry. What else do we need to do today?"

"Clean!" They heard Petunia's voice from the other side of the table, where she had sat and ate in silence with Dudley up till that moment.

Harry couldn't fault her logic. All the cleaning they had done during the year when the Order was using the house was a drop in the bucket, and it was wasted during the long year in which the house stood empty. Then there was the fact that the house was still dangerous to live in, especially for Muggles.

"Yes, Aunt. Cleaning is truly essential. The problem is that you and the Grangers can't do the work since it will be too dangerous for you to touch anything in this damn house, and Hermione and I have too much to do to allocate the needed time...I'll see about getting us some help."

"No you won't, Harry James Potter! We will not clean the house using slave labour."

"They're not slaves, and we don't have the time to clean it ourselves or argue about it."

"You can't use slaves just because they're there and it's the easy way!"

"Fine! We'll do it your way!"

Harry walked angrily to the anteroom with Hermione in tow. "Dobby!"

"Master Harry Potter called?"

"Yes, Dobby. We'll need help cleaning and maintaining this house in the near future. Can you help us?"

"Dobby will start immediately!" enthused the little elf.

"Wait," Harry said. "You know Hermione," said Harry, noting the cold look the elf directed at her. "You'll receive payment and will negotiate the exact terms of your service with her. Is this fine with you?" he asked Hermione in an acid tone and walked out of the room without looking back.

Harry went back to the kitchen and back to his breakfast, mumbling in anger. For a while no one dared say a word.

"Where's Hermione?" asked a soft voice.

"Trying to confront some of her strange ideals, Emma," answered Harry in a little calmer tone.

For a long while voices could be heard from the adjacent room, becoming more and more desperate. Finally Hermione ran into the kitchen, obviously in tears. She stopped in front of Harry for a moment. "You now have four house-elves. Dobby will be paid nine Sickles a month, which is about half of what he earned at Hogwarts. Winky and the two others will be bound to you and will receive no money at all." For a short moment she looked at him with an accusing look and then she said, "They call me She-Who-Tricks-House-elves," she sobbed, and she ran out of the kitchen and up the stairs.

Emma looked at her husband helplessly, and at his nod she went after her daughter.

"Well, this won't do," Harry said to himself and walked into the anteroom to find Dobby smiling and looking a little smug. "Dobby, I can't accept this..."

A long quarter-hour later Harry came back to the breakfast table looking exhausted. "Dobby will earn a Galleon a month, like he did at Hogwarts. The others won't receive money directly, but a Galleon a month each will be deposited in a fund for their exclusive use. Winky and the others will be bound to me but they'll wear respectable uniforms and will have two free days a month."

"Will they clean the house?" asked Petunia, indifferent to the whole drama happening around her.

Harry just looked at her intently.

"So we can go on with our plans for the day," she said, unabashed.

"Just let me get my girl back here."

Ten minutes later Dan and Emma came back to the kitchen with a little somewhat subdued Hermione in tow.

"You'll be happy to hear that I convinced Dobby to receive the same paycheck as he did at Hogwarts, and all the others will accept the same amount to be put in a fund available only to them."

Hermione just nodded silently.

"So, what do we do today?" asked Petunia. "I need more clothes."

"We do need to see what's left of our home." Emma's voice trembled a little and Dan looked even more subdued than before.

"We should go and tend to Vernon's funeral and see what happened to our home too. Marge was sleeping there and we'll need to give her some kind of explanation." For a minute, Harry thought he saw a tear in the corner of Petunia's eye. "We need to pack, to inform friends and neighbours, advertise the ceremony, and hold a reception." There was a long silence. Finally Petunia took a deep breath and went on. "You don't want anyone to suspect anything irregular..."

Harry felt a chill creeping down his spine. This was so like his old hell. His instinct for vengeance was ready to take control. He felt Hermione's little hand in his; he looked at her with a little smile and looked back at his aunt.

"I'll call the Ministry to find out what happened to your husband's body so we'll be able to help you with all the arrangements," Hermione said gently.

Petunia looked at her and nodded her thanks.

Hermione looked like she had got herself in hand. "Then, Harry," she said, "we need to start our work. We need to train and we need to make our plans and we need to make haste."

"So," said Harry, looking at his friend thankfully, "(a) clean; (b) salvage; (c) train; (d) make plans. Remus—can you come with us today? I'll Floo the Auror department," he said, noting Remus's nod. "Hermione, can you and your parents be ready in twenty minutes? Petunia, go outside with Remus and call Marge at the house. Tell her you and Dudley are at the hospital and will be home in about an hour. I'll Floo Tonks and ask her if she can help us today so we'll be able to be in two places at once." He stopped to see everyone's eyes trained on him. "OK, I'll stop giving orders. Are you fine with this plan?" He looked at the shocked nods around the table and Hermione's little smile. "Let the day begin, then," he said and walked to the fireplace.

Fifteen minutes later Harry found everyone at the entry hall. Remus was going with the Grangers to their home, while Harry was to Apparate with Petunia and Dudley to Privet Drive, where Tonks was waiting.

They were opening the front door when two owls flew in with official looking parchments tied to their legs. One of them read:

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that you have performed magic on a few occasions in the last day, including in a Muggle-inhabited area, and in the presence of Muggles. To our knowledge, some of the magic performed by you was fatal to other wizards.

As you have received a few previous official warnings, and your use of magic was continual during the last day, you are hereby summoned to an official disciplinary hearing at the Ministry of Magic, today at 16:30.

You are hereby formally warned against any further use of magic until the hearing is held.

Yours sincerely,

Mafalda Hopkirk

Improper Use of Magic Office

Ministry of Magic

"You won't believe the bloody gits…" he said, taking the other parchment and impatiently breaking the seal.

Dear Mr. Potter,

We have received intelligence that a house-elf of your household has performed magic causing harm to...

"I don't have time for this!" he cried, and with a flick of his wand the two letters were torn through and in flames in the fireplace.

"Remember Moody," he told Hermione quietly, pulling her aside. "Call me when you're finished, or if you need any kind of help."

A little hug later and they were on their way.

The morning seemed to drag on forever. They took a Portkey to Privet Drive and drove Vernon's car to the funeral home, where Tonks was already waiting. She was wearing a black business suit and her dark blue Auror dress cloak, slightly modified to not look out of place in the Muggle neighbourhood. Her appearance was similar to the look she had worn at King's Cross train station, with her aristocratic looking long blond hair, dark blue eyes and thin, tall, upright posture. Harry walked towards her smiling slightly, noting the appreciative looks she was receiving from the surrounding people.

"This look grows on you," he said. "I wish you'd let me see the real you someday."

Petunia listened to this, perplexed, and then extended her hand to the other woman. "Thank you for your help, Ms...Tonks?" She saw the small nod from Tonks and said, "You were one of the officers who came with Harry to help protect us at the train station."

"Yes. The other one was killed at your place last night," she said. "Her funeral will be held at three o'clock in the afternoon, today."

Petunia was lost for words and just nodded her understanding.

"I'm sorry, but I needed to say I'm a distant relative of yours so they'd let me stay here without you. Mrs. Marjorie Dursley was a bit vocal in the beginning. She's now asleep in the waiting area, right through these doors."

Petunia nodded again. "Thank you for the help," she said, and after a thought she added, "and my condolences."

Tonks lead the way through the main doors. "The body was restored so no physical damage will be visible, and there are apparent signs of heart attack. I filled out the appropriate papers from the local hospital both here and in the hospital archives."

Petunia thanked her again and reluctantly approached the sleeping form of Marjorie Dursley. "Marge?" she said. When no response came she tried to wake her sister-in-law a bit more assertively and looked at Harry hopelessly.

Harry smiled and mumbled, 'Ennervate' under his breath, pointing his concealed wand at Marge.

Marge woke with a start.

Sadly, her first sight was Harry, and for a minute he was sorry for having revived her.

"Marjorie!" said Petunia. "This is the funeral house and I won't have you screaming around here!" This was enough to stop Marge's shouting, though not necessarily the angry staring.

"What are you doing here? Go back to the house. We can't bother with the likes of you today."

It took a bit of persuasion and a lot of assertiveness on Petunia's part to persuade Marge that Harry and his friend were there to stay.

The rest of the morning was busy with funeral planning, writing and publishing an obituary, arranging the house for the guests, coordinating refreshments, and packing for Petunia and Dudley's stay with Harry. Fortunately, all this was much easier to do with the help of magic, though it forced them to play interference with Aunt Marge in order to prevent her from noticing the "unnaturalness" happening all around her. Harry was tempted to just Stun her and modify her memory of the day later on, but a stern look from Petunia stopped him in his tracks.

"You remember those cold things from last summer?" Dudley asked him when Harry sat down beside him to rest for a minute. "This is what they made me think about," he continued, noting Harry's nod. "About me losing my father and discovering, after all these years of my parents' praise that I'm completely useless..."

Harry didn't even have the will to try and look sympathetic.

Packing was a much simpler affair. Petunia and Dudley each prepared a huge pile of clothes and artefacts, and Harry, in his turn, packed it all neatly inside a small travelling bag he found in his aunt's wardrobe. Just before lunch they said their farewells to Tonks and took Vernon's car for the two-hour drive to London. Harry was left in the house with an angry Aunt Marjorie. He let her punish him and confine him to his room without lunch and Apparated to Hermione's place.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

Emma, Dan, and Hermione stood for a long while in front of the ruin that was once their loved and well-kept home. Hermione watched as her father lost his composure and sat on the ground, weeping for the home he had built with effort and love for his family, and lost in a minute. Emma was standing behind him, her hand on his shoulder, silently supporting him, while holding back the concerned neighbours from her distraught husband. For once in a long while, it was her role to be the anchor for her family.

"We don't really know. The Fire Brigade says it was a gas accident. Luckily we weren't home at the time...

"Thank you. We're staying with some our family in London until the time we can rebuild our home...

"Yes, thankfully we took care to be fully insured..."

In the mean time Hermione walked amid the rubble looking for any salvageable items. She managed to escape her parents' concerned neighbours, and the few spectators of her age kept their distance from her. She had never been a popular girl in her primary school, and never kept in contact with her schoolmates after starting Hogwarts. She was struck by the fact that without Ron and Harry, probably Harry alone, she would have been a very lonely girl. A very dead girl, her conscience nagged her. Ron, as dear as he was, would never have thought for himself to go and look for her in that girl's toilet. She was lost at the sight of her broken dad and, against all logic, felt very guilty about the destruction of their home and about the fact that she couldn't see the place as her home any more. She just kept walking among the ruins, watching her parents and their neighbours interact, for a very long time, feeling useless and waiting for her parents to get ready to leave.

"Anything salvageable?" She heard a familiar voice from behind. In a split second she was in his arms crying. For a long while he just held her in his arms, soothing her flurry of emotions.

Finally she looked in his eyes. "What happened at your place?"

He gave her a wry grin. "As you can see, I'm now locked in my room without food or water, waiting for Aunt Marge to kindly free me from my prison tomorrow after Vernon's funeral. All morning long I just wanted to Stun her, lock her in the cupboard under the stairs, and give her new memories of a lovely service for her brother tomorrow evening. Tonks and Petunia had to work hard to persuade me not to."

"I see what you mean," she silently sighed. "All I wanted, all morning, was to shoo all my parents' friends and relatives away, put a Notice-me-not charm around the yard, and try a strong Reparo on the house."

"Let's go talk to them," he said and took her hand.

"You'll laugh at me, but all morning I've been fighting the thought that all this is my fault."

"Sorry, I'm too familiar with the feeling of unjustified guilt, and in no mood for laughter today."

After a long silence she said gently, "Most of my guilt is about me not being able to see this place as my home any more. I've left my parents' world and the Wizarding world won't accept me."

"We'll make them accept you—together, Hermione," he told her silently.

"We have nothing more to do here," Emma said as she approached. "Do we have time to stop on the way to buy a few things we need?"

"Sure, let me just ring Petunia. I don't want her to get into that house with no wizards around."

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

It was later in the afternoon, when the much encouraged Grangers and one neatly dressed Harry met with Petunia and Dudley to help them into the dark house at Grimmauld Place. Hermione was taunting her parents amicably about them forgetting to pack their toothbrushes, while Harry was trying to hide his satisfaction with his new clothes. It wasn't much, just a pair of dark blue jeans, black T-shirt, a black jacket and trainers, but for the first time he could remember Harry was dressed in a manner that didn't make him embarrassed to show his face or his attire in public.

"Nice clothes!"

"Thanks, Dudley," Harry said with a proud smile. "And it fits!" he added without thinking.

Petunia had the decency to blush and look the other way. It took several moments for the uncomfortable silence to reach Harry and erase his cheerful mood.

He threw Petunia an accusing look. "Fine, let's just get in."

For the last sixteen years or so, ever since the death of Mrs. Walburga Black, Number Twelve Grimmauld Place had had a life of its own. First the house was left empty, inaccessible to all persons not of the Black family. Then the dark and evil house was permitted to keep deteriorating at an accelerated rate. The deterioration had begun on the eve of Mr. Orion Black's life. The Black family house was almost empty of inhabitants by then. Sirius ran away as soon as it was possible for him. Regulus was trying to make his career in the Dark forces. Mr. and Mrs. Black were left alone in the big house, without family and with very few acquaintances in a backsliding Wizarding world full of Mudbloods, half-bloods, and blood traitors. Mr. Orion Black occupied himself with strengthening the house, making it more isolated and Dark. All the while Mrs. Black was ranting and cursing and making the place even more unpleasant, if such a thing was possible. During the years after Mrs. Black's demise, the house deteriorated into chaos. Under the sole control of the old mad house-elf, and with the influence of the equally mad portrait of Mrs. Black, the house was infested with insects and other creatures, mostly magical, and of course the dust took over. They say a house is an image of its owner. When it comes to magical houses, this is even more true.

Under the command of the ever formidable Mrs. Weasley, they spent a whole summer fighting the house, and losing miserably. To be frank, Harry was now certain that the whole idea of making a bunch of teenagers try to clean a rogue magical house without the use of magic was merely an attempt to keep them too busy to mind the Order's business. More elaborate efforts at bringing the house under control that were made by the Order's members—mainly Sirius and Remus—using stronger magical means hardly put a dent in the house's fighting spirit. Harry was actually surprised that the house hadn't cost them any casualties. On second thought, maybe Sirius was one, Harry thought with a pang.

Opening the front door, Harry froze in place. It took Harry a great effort to reconcile the sight before him with the house he had left that morning. The entrance hall's hardwood floor was burnished to a warm glow and the light green wallpaper looked like new. The black marble fireplace shone with polished inlaid silver ornaments. As they continued into the beaten house, they could see that the dirt, darkness, and depression had been replaced with shining cleanliness, bright light, and cheerfulness. All Harry could do was to walk the ground floor speechlessly and look around in wonder.

"The little creature with the pointy ears did all that with his friend in a single day?" asked Petunia, looking around mesmerised. "It's like magic!"

Hermione couldn't hold back her laughter. "Where is Dobby?" she asked. "We should thank him."

"Dobby!"

"Master Harry Potter sir called?" said a small timid voice after a soft pop!

"Winky! You did amazing work here today. Thank you! Do you know where Dobby is? We wanted to thank him, too."

Winky definitely looked anxious. "He went to the Ministry, sir."

"The Ministry? What the hell for? Oh, bloody hell! Everybody, stay here please. Hermione, can you come with me?" A few seconds later they arrived by Floo in the Atrium and stormed through the security stand, Harry ignoring it completely and Hermione looking apologetically at Eric, who hardly had time to rise to his feet before they were gone into one of the elevators. The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures was located on the fourth floor of the Ministry.

Originally, the Department had been established as a mean to facilitate the cooperation and coexistence between the main magical races—Elf, Man, Goblin, Centaur, and Vampire—as well as to exact effective measures of control on the dangerous beasts out there. Obviously, no one wanted a rough Chimera or other similarly dangerous beast roaming around the country. Somehow over the years men had made the Department into their tool for the oppression of other magical beings. It had all started about fifteen hundred years ago with the disappearance of the elves. During the course of about three centuries, all wood-elves had disappeared from the face of earth, leaving behind only their unassertive, timid, and eager to submit and serve relatives, the house-elves. With the elves gone, the world was left as a realm of Men. The Centaurs were scholars and formidable warriors, but never leaders. They left the political struggle in the hands of Men and soon found themselves pushed out of any posts of power or stature. In return they cut themselves off from the world of men and slowly, over hundreds of years, their numbers diminished as their natural habitat was destroyed by Muggles all around the world, and little to no support was offered them by wizards. Vampires had never been numerous during any age, which left only the Goblins to oppose Men. During a series of bloody wars, men and Goblin fought for freedom and dominance. "Goblin rebellions" the men called these wars, since the name dictates the opinion and the victors choose the name. Men won marginally, due to sheer numbers. It wasn't a decisive victory, and the Goblins were left with autonomy and control over all money related affairs; but it was victory enough for men to rewrite the history books.

All this was the handiwork of the illustrious group of wizards now known as the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. Being the victors, the Department slowly degenerated and nowadays occupied itself with research on new ways to oppress all creatures and beings that were not Men, the erosion of the Goblins' autonomy, and reading their self-made history books.

Harry and Hermione stormed through the empty Department to find an interrogation room at the far side.

"…of excessive force against a human resulting in that individual's death. The punishment for this offence is death. We can not let you lowly elves forget your stature, can we?" They heard a cold voice from the room. "You are hereby sentenced to death by decapitation, to be executed immediately."

"Do you wish to resign your employment with me?" Harry asked, stepping into the room.

"No, Master Harry Potter sir," answered a sobbing elf.

"Then I expect your obedience. Go to the house, now!" Dobby was shocked for a minute and then disappeared with a soft pop!

"Now, Mr. Potter, you can't barge in here and interfere with the lawful operation of this Department. I demand that you call your elf back here immediately for the execution of his sentence."

Hermione barked a cold laugh. "Dobby was defending our friend—a son of a Ministry member—against an attack by Death Eaters. He saved the boy's life and you're concerned with the life of the Death Eater? Was Goyle a friend of yours? We know that you employed the Death Eater Walden Macnairhere in this Department as an executioner. What a fitting job for a terrorist on a leave."

"Listen here, child," said Randell Maddox, walking towards Hermione threateningly. He took out his wand, only to stop dead in his tracks with Harry's wand pressed to his throat.

"Let us see here," Harry said with a mockingly joyful tone, rolling up the man's sleeve to reveal a Dark Mark. "What a lovely Department we have here," he said sarcastically.

All present were frozen for a very long moment, until Mr. Maddox made his second mistake. In a blink of an eye he turned and tried to take a shot at Harry, only to finish his turn without his head. There was another long moment of shock and then the room lit up with a blur of spells. A lady sitting in the corner threw a dark-blue curse at Hermione, forcing her to dive to the floor. Harry retaliated with an un aimed Reducto, which nevertheless took off the witch's wand arm, sending her screaming to the wall behind her. He then had to dive for cover himself to hide from a barrage of spells sent toward him by an elderly wizard standing off to the side of the interrogation room. However. these spells were all observed from a sphere-like shield which formed around his body. Another Reducto from Hermione took care of the elderly wizard too. A few seconds later the silence in the interrogation room was disturbed only by the sobs of the witch in the corner.

"What do you think you're doing?"

Hermione and Harry turned to see the Minister of Magic standing at the door, flanked by two Aurors holding drawn wands.

"Mr. Llewellyn! Mrs. Coolen! Is this Mr. Maddox? What did you do?"

Harry picked up Mrs. Coolen's hand from the floor, while Hermione put the woman under stasis pending medical treatment. "Nice Department you have here," Harry said to the Minister, handing him the arm which clearly showed the Dark Mark. "Mr. Maddox had one, too. I didn't have the time to check Mr. Llewellyn's body, but all three of them attacked us first, as the rest of the people here can tell you."

"Mr. Potter, you and your friend here are hereby charged with attacking Ministry employees with deadly force. You are also charged with unauthorised use of underage magic, unlicensed Apparation, and breaking and entering. Please hand over your wands to the Aurors here." The Aurors there certainly looked very uncomfortable.

Harry had had a long day. He was tired, he was angry, and he didn't have the patience to be polite. "Listen to me carefully, Mr. Scrimgeour. It's been two years since the incarnation of Voldemort, during which the Ministry did nothing to oppose him and his men. First, Minister Fudge wasted a whole year slandering me and Professor Dumbledore and denying Voldemort's return. Then you come along and try to enlist me into your PR machine, while arresting an innocent bus conductor in order to show the public that the Ministry is doing something, while actually doing nothing to fight Voldemort. I've had enough!

"I'm going to fight Riddle to his death. I suggest you and the Ministry do the same, starting with purging the staff of your own Ministry. Know this—I'll be happy to fight Voldemort together with a dedicated Ministry. I will do so without the Ministry's help, and if needed I'll fight my way to him through the Ministry."

With that, Harry took Hermione's hand and disappeared from the room.

Minister Scrimgeour looked around the room, thoughtful. "Auror Berne, please see that Mrs. Coolen receives medical attention and then arrest her. Auror Travers, please see that all senior Aurors are present in my office tomorrow at ten in the morning. We have some work to do."

Back at the house Hermione and Harry sat for a long while, holding each other in silence, for comfort.

"Thank you. You probably saved my life there," Harry finally whispered.

"You've saved my life plenty of times. We don't do this kind of arithmetic between us, Harry."

"I wasn't expecting this. I expected the argument and the need to flee from there, but not the Death Eaters or the fire-fight."

"Neither did I, but this is war. Maybe we should expect Death Eaters and fights everywhere from now on."

"You're probably right. How do you feel?"

"I don't know. I'm still working it up."

"My advice to you would have been to just sweep it under the rug and ignore it, so this is probably the wrong way to do this. You know, I just feel so wrong. This is so far from the person I have always imagined myself to be that I almost can't look myself in the mirror."

"Sadly, now I can understand clearly." Hermione snuggled closer to his warm body. "I need to sleep on it, so I'll go show my face downstairs and be off to bed—but we'll talk it over tomorrow, right, Harry?"

"It's probably the best thing to do."

They found the "adults" sitting in the dining room, having late afternoon tea in the bright, clean room which, in Harry's eyes, was the antithesis to everything this house represented for him. They all looked like an old fashioned, well off family, relaxing together, living their lovely life.

"Where's Dudley?"

"In the afternoon we found a nice Internet café, not far from here. He went there with his computer."

"I don't think I can sleep yet, so I'll go for a cuppa. Can anyone explain to me where it is?"

The coffee house was pleasantly worm and cosy, and full of cheerful young people. Apparently in the last few years the neighbourhood was targeted by students and other young inhabitants escaping the high cost of living of the more established quarters of the city, while still looking for a home inside London. The place was full of the soft sounds of light conversation and laughter and was exactly what Harry needed to tense down. He found Dudley sitting in the corner, concentrating on his computer, and took the armchair next to him. For almost an hour Harry just sat there in silence, cradling his cup of coffee and looking around the room.

Finally Harry paid attention to what Dudley was doing. He was playing some sort of computer game which involved killing many German soldiers. Apparently the Germans were fair game in the computer game industry. "What is this game?"

"It's called 'Call of Duty' and it's the best shooter around. There's a sequel in the market, but this is a portable computer so the newer game is too heavy for it."

That was much too much information for Harry.

Dudley gave his cousin an amused look. "Do you want to try for yourself?"

Harry tried the game for half an hour. It was sort of fun, but after a short while he found himself getting killed again and again early into every new stage. "This is fun, Dudley, but am I doing something wrong?" For the next few hours Harry received a thorough walkthrough of the game.

"You can't just run into the fire, shooting in every direction. First you should hide. As long as they don't see you they don't attack you and you get more time to prepare and make plans. Then you're far better off shooting at them from behind a shelter than running toward them in full view. Secondly, you need to choose the right weapon for each task. Look here, you can pick up a long range gun with a sniper's sight. That way you can shoot all these Germans across the street lying on the ground behind shelter where they can't hurt you. See, here there are too many enemy soldiers, moving too fast for you to follow them with the sniper's sight, so just grab the machine gun and block their way. Here you have a large group of enemies behind this wall. You can probably try and fight them all, but you'd be better off to throw a grenade or two above the wall and then look around with a small weapon, dedicated for short distance fighting, like a submachine gun..."

It was long after midnight when Harry and Dudley finally got ready to walk back home. Harry was tired and pensive. It was just a computer game, but it had certainly made him think. "Thanks, Dudley. It was entertaining." He stood, put his hand into his pocket, stopped, and looked at Dudley, embarrassed. "Do you have any money on you? I don't think they'll accept mine," he said, taking out a large gold coin.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

AN – I know that CoD is way out of timeline, but it was a good example and wasn't important enough for me to go and look for the war shooter of the middle '90s.

Thanks a lot for anyone who actually reads this ;-)

Niv