Disclaimer: Not mine, at all, even a little bit. Pout.
Author's Note: It's short, yes, but it's something. Sorry this took so long. Please review?
o.o.o.o
Several hours later, a thoroughly disgruntled Harry was being led back to Arrival and Containment Room 3 by a small group of stony Aurors. Pennywesh, who'd run off somewhere as soon as the Minister and Madame Tibbles had finished with Harry, hadn't reappeared, so Smythe and Bidge had been joined by none other than Kingsley Shacklebolt. The tall black Auror looked livid, but Harry barely noticed, caught up in his own anger.
Fudge's arrogance had reached extraordinary levels. The list of charges leveled against Harry James Potter by the Minister (on behalf of the Ministry and the Wizarding Public of Great Britain) was some seventy items in total. Of these, only a small number were based in fact, and none (as the events really stood) were actionable. At least not in the minds of Harry, the Aurors accompanying him, and -- according to Shacklebolt -- the Order of the Phoenix. Most distressing of all the bogus charges, however, was the last; murder.
Specifically, the murders of Cedric Diggory and Quirinus Quirrell.
As one (or rather, several) of the other charges had been about willfully deceiving wizarding public for his own sake, Harry had thought it best not to keep insisting that both of those deaths had been caused by Voldemort. The first time he'd said it, in connection with Professor Quirrell, Fudge and Tibbles had shared one of their looks, and then...
"But, Mr. Potter, I thought you said that He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named didn't return until last year. How could he have --" started Madame Tibbles smugly.
"He was still around," Harry insisted rather desperately now, for they'd been over much the same subject several times already, "he just didn't have a body. His spirit was possessing Professor Quirrell."
Minister Fudge snorted disbelieving. "Possessing, you say?"
A sinking feeling in his gut, Harry nodded. "That's right, possessing."
"You-Know-Who," Madame Tibbles directed at him patronizingly, "is dead, boy." And then to Fudge, "No doubt he must have been hallucinating, Cornelius."
"Quite," agreed Fudge easily. "Or else he had Quirinus deluded as well -- pity, that; brilliant man, you know."
"Yes, I met him just after he got out of school. Such potential. Typical of Potter, of course, to go for some one like that."
"Well, that's why he's got Granger under his thumb, too. Must have gotten to her young enough to make a difference--"
The increasingly painful grip of the Aurors standing around him was the only thing that kept Harry in his chair once they started talking about his friends. It didn't stop there, either, and the stuff relating to Sirius was such that Harry would rather not remember it. But then, the enter interview was like that.
Now that it was over, Harry wasn't sure what was happening next. He also wasn't sure he wanted to know. Whatever it was, he suspected the Aurors with him knew. And they looked anything but happy, talking to each other over Harry's head.
One of them mentioned Minister Fudge.
"Damn the man," Bidge was muttering to Smythe, who was fiercely grunting his agreement.
"Don't," snapped Shacklebolt, who appeared even more incensed than before.
"But, sir--" began Bidge, showing noticeably more respect than he had when referring to Fudge.
"He's the Minister." Shacklebolt paused a moment and stared levelly at the other two Aurors with him. He held each of their gazes in turn, as if making sure they understood some secret code he was speaking. "We are still on Ministry property."
Then he whirled around and led them onward.
Bidge and Smythe were silent the rest of the way, until they reached the door of Arrival and Containment Room 3, where Smythe hesitantly spoke up, "Sir, what's going to happen now? Surely... you... won't let them --"
"I don't know," responded Shacklebolt, looking solemn. "I have to talk to Dumbeldore before I will know. That shouldn't be long. Come to think of it, he should have been here by now."
Smythe glanced almost nervously at Harry. "Dumbledore's late, sir?"
"The Headmaster is never late," whispered Bidge to himself. All of the Aurors looked uneasy at this. Harry didn't know how to feel; he still wasn't that happy with Dumbledore after the end of the previous term, but that aside, there was no-one he'd rather see just then.
All of a sudden there was a commotion around the corner, and Pennywesh came running into view at the end of the corridor. A young woman with bright green hair was hurrying to keep up with her.
"Pennywesh!" cried Shacklebolt and Smythe at the same time, as the blond and her companion skidded to a stop in front of them.
"Bad news," gasped Pennywesh, breathing heavily. She nodded to the other woman, Tonks, to explain.
Tonks cleared her throat. Pointedly not looking at Harry, she informed them all, "Dumbledore's not coming." Everyone stared.
Harry was the first to recover, feeling some of his anger at the Headmaster bubbling back up again. "What? He's not coming?" Tonks winced, apparently knowing how he must be feeling. Because Harry's outburst summed up how they were all feeling, none of the Aurors added anything, but all waited for Tonks to elaborate.
But it was Pennywesh that jumped in, looking soothingly at Harry, with an even more irritating piece of information, "It's the Minister, sir. He won't let Dumbledore anywhere near this place. The whole Ministry's off-limits to anyone connected with Potter here."
There was a moment of heavy silence.
Under his breath, Shacklebolt swore savagely. He took off at a dead run down the way Pennywesh and Tonks had just come.
"What're you doing here, Tonks?" Harry asked, to lift the silence.
"She works here," said Pennywesh, a teasing note in her voice that couldn't quite cover her anxiety. Then she turned away from Harry to hiss at Smythe, "Is he supposed to be standing out here in the corridor?"
Smythe shook his head quickly. He and Bidge immediately ushered Harry back into the, now completely empty, Arrival and Containment Room 3. Pennywesh followed, but Tonks remained in the doorway.
"What if Dumbledore really can't do anything for Harry?" Tonks asked the other three Aurors quietly. She still hadn't looked directly at Harry since she'd gotten there.
"Fudge wants him sent to Azkaban," Bidge stated matter-of-factly. There was no expression on his face. Tonks gasped.
The bottom had dropped out of Harry's stomach a long time ago, but now it came back with a vengeance, just to make his queasiness that much worse.
Azkaban?
"He can't do that!" Tonks burst out, her hair fading to a dull, dishwater color remarkably similar to that of Pennywesh's. "Harry's still a minor, Fudge can't send him to Azkaban."
"Yes, he can," came Shacklebolt's voice from the corridor. "Fudge can, and he's going to."
