Chapter 3: Manipulating Mr. Fudge

Harry had no problem summoning the Knight Bus to their location. It was surprisingly refreshing to see Stan Shunpike both alive and un-impiriused. "Where to then?" he asked lazily.

"Diagon Alley," Harry requested, "And no, I don't want a toothbrush."

"Why does no one ever want the toothbrush?" Stan muttered. "You'd think that- hey, aren't you Harry Potter?" Harry didn't even bother responding to that question. "You are! You must be, look at your scar! Ern, take a look at-"

Sirius, still disguised as Padfoot, growled lowly.

"Grim!" Stan squeaked. "Grim!"

The next thing Harry knew, he was at the entrance of Diagon Alley with Padfoot and his trunk next to him as a bus full of gibbering, terrified, superstitious wizards teleported away faster than physically possible. Harry turned to look at Padfoot. "Did we even get the chance to pay?" he asked.

Padfoot shrugged surprisingly well for a dog. You'd think their anatomy would make it more difficult.

"Oh well. Not our fault," Harry dismissed. And really, one passenger's fair wasn't enough to make or break the Knight Bus anyway. It's not like he'd done it on purpose.

Upon entering the Leaky Cauldron, Harry was displeased to encounter the man he'd hoped to avoid this time around. THen again, politicians did have their uses if you knew how to use them. His younger self from before would have hated to manipulate a politician to do his bidding but after the war and after what he had lived though Harry knew better. People like Fudge were only in office to be manipulated by outside factors. Better he be manipulated to do good than be controlled by someone like Malfoy.

"Ah, Mr. Potter," Minister Fudge greeted, smiling saccharinely, "I'm so glad that you're sa-a-a-aaaAAAGGGHHH! GRIM!"

"Calm yourself, Minister Fudge," Harry soothed, gesturing for Padfoot to stand down. It would be just like his godfather to move closer or growl to try and make the man piss himself. As funny as that would be, it also wouldn't be very useful. "This is merely a dog, not a grim. I assure you, our lives are safe. I have been in its company for some time and have yet to fall to harm. There is no cause for concern."

"Right, I, ah, right," Fudge muttered, staring at the dog. "I- uh, Mr. Potter… You, ah, you need to go back to your relatives. It's safer, much safer, there. Far away from me with the gri-er, dog."

If Fudge's concentration was entirely on avoiding Padfoot, it would be even easier for Harry to get what he wanted than he anticipated. "Minister Fudge - Cornelius, can I call you Cornelius? - I have a few requests for you."

It was not even remotely difficult for Harry to sweet-talk the man into allowing him to stay at the Leaky and arranging meetings with the Diggorys and Amelia Bones without telling him why. Fudge agreed in part he was scared of his fellow ministry workers, knowing that they were more intelligent, more magically powerful and more charismatic than him. Harry smirked internally while smiling genteelly at the man. He hadn't even needed to break out the blackmail. That would wait for another day, when it would be more effective. For now, a lighter touch was better.

"Have a nice evening, Cornelius," Harry bid the man goodnight.

"Good evening Mr. Potter," the minister agreed before beating a hasty retreat. Siruis couldn't resist snapping slightly at the man's heels as he went past and Harry only barely suppressed the laughter that wanted to escape him as he saw the minister run like the hounds of hell were behind him.

Tom led Harry and Padfoot to a room, setting a plate out for dinner and Sirius transforms right in front of them.

"What the heck, Padfoot?! Do you want to get caught?" Harry asked indignantly

"It's okay Harry he knows," Sirius reassured him. "Tom can be trusted."

"This mangy mutt dropped by three days after his escape, as a mutt begging for a meal," Tom explained. "Once the Cauldron was empty he transformed, and I already knew who he was, long story, but I gave him two hearty meals before he went to get you."

"Oh, well thank you then," Harry said, not having realized that Tom was someone that could be trusted to such a degree. In retrospect he should have. In his original summer before third year, the man had been incredibly helpful, had taken to looking after him and had occasionally reminded him to eat and such. It should have been obvious that he could be trusted, but the residual paranoia of the War had affected Harry badly, making him see anyone he didn't know to be on his side as his enemy before he even judged them. "Anyway let's settle in and go to bed it's late," Harry decided.

He curled up into bed under the covers and watched Padfoot devour his meal. He closed his eyes and quickly fell asleep.

Harry felt tears fall on the back of his hands. He was trying to stop the bleeding. Some poor firstie had taken a sectumsempra to the - well, he got hit everywhere. There was too much blood to stop and Harry's spells hadn't worked and the kid was covered in so much red that Harry couldn't tell what house colors his tie used to have. The kid wasn't going to make it. Some part of Harry already knew that. He kept trying to save his life anyway.

The boy tried to draw breath and ended up spitting out blood instead. "Mr. Potter," he gasped out.

"Don't try to talk," Harry ordered. "You'll just make it worse."

"'S fine," the boy, the child dismissed. No eleven year old should be resigned to death so easily unless they had absolutely nothing left to live for anyway. And even then, Harry was supposed to save them. It was Harry's job to save them all. "Mr. Potter, you-" he choked again.

"I told you not to talk," Harry instructed, not letting the tears that fell down his face effect his voice. The kid was probably suffering from blood loss and had blurry vision anyway.

"Mr. Potter, you gotta stop this," the boy begged. "Don't- don't let them win."

The boy fell still. Harry cried.

"Harry! Harry are you okay?" Sirius demanded. "You were having a nightmare."

"I know," Harry muttered.

"Do you want to talk about it?" Sirius offered coutiously.

"No," Harry bit out quickly before taking a calming breath and answering, "No. It doesn't matter. Nightmares aren't real. I won't let them be real."

"If you say so," Sirius allowed, clearly not believing that he'd beent old the whole truth but trusting hs Godson to know his own limits. "Get some more sleep, pup. You'll need it. Big day tomorrow. Are you sure about those requests you made from Fudge?"

"It'll work out, Padfoot," Harry promised. "I know what I'm doing."

"If you say so.