That Boy is Trouble

Disclaimer: JK Rowling and Time Warner own Harry Potter, I don't. Please don't sue.

Set during the summer before Fifth Year...


Harry and Professor McGonnagal burst from the Floo fireplace with practiced grace. Well, McGonnagal had the grace. Harry had to practice. A lot.

"Oof!" Harry got back up to his feet, and looked back at his professor. She sighed.

"Honestly Potter, you have the grace of a bird in the air but just throw in a little trip through the Floo, and you're like your father after he'd pissed himself," McGonnagal tutted.

"Ugh... It's not my fault wizarding transportation is bollocks," Harry said. He coughed at the witch's look. "Sorry."

"No, you're quite right Potter, but if anything was easy, it wouldn't be worth it, right?" She asked. "After all, your life has rewarded you a great deal despite the tragedy, has it not?"

"Well, yeah, it has," Harry admitted as they left the house and headed outside. "But it doesn't make annoying things any less annoying, does it?"

"No, you're quite right," McGonnagal said. "Absolutes are a bit difficult to move past in humans. We would prefer things to be black and white, when grays are often what we find. Some figure it out, others don't..." She trailed off as they reached the sidewalk bordering Privet Drive. Harry stopped and stared as well, though for additional reasons.

"Some just… Surprise you," McGonnagal said, looking as though caught between laughter and anger.

First thing he noticed was that Hermione was lounging in a bikini on a beach chair. Understandably, he focused a great deal of attention on this until Professor McGonnagal cleared her throat. Harry reluctantly looked away from his girlfriend to the Dursleys. He blinked again.

Dudley was working hard in the yard, pulling weeds, mowing, and otherwise doing all his chores with a demented grin on his face. How he got back is another story, so just allow him to continue his work in the background of your mind's eye. Aunt Petunia meanwhile was serving drinks to Hermione.

"I... It... Uh..."

"Ms. Granger!" McGonnagal called. Hermione looked up, and blanched.

"Ah! P-Professor!"

"What is going on here?" McGonnagal asked flatly. Hermione coughed and looked around her various minions, guilt written on her face.

"Ah... Well... You see..."

"Hermione, what did you do?" Harry asked.

"Nothing against school rules... I mean, okay, it's perhaps a little unethical, I mean, just a smidge, but it's not that bad, really!"

"Hermione Granger," McGonnagal said flatly. "What have you done?"

"Well... Um..." She held up a sticky note. "I applied Muggle Repelling Wards to these, and there's just a brief moment when a Muggle is exposed to them where they are... Well... Very suggestible..."

"More iced tea, Mistress?" Petunia asked. Hermione bit her lip. Harry's jaw was down to the ground.

"So you brainwashed them," McGonnagal sighed.

"Ah, well, uh... Just a little!" Hermione said. "Experimental purposes at first and then uh..."

Uncle Vernon's car drove up, parking in the driveway of Number 4 with a smooth growl out of the engine. Uncle Vernon opened the door once that growl ceased, and emerged, looking out of sorts.

"I'm back!" Uncle Vernon loudly proclaimed. "I failed though."

"And where did you send him?" McGonnagal asked coldly.

"Er..."

"I couldn't find a single man to bugger me. Not even when I told them I had more... What's the American term?"

"'Cushion for pushin',' dear," Petunia remarked, as though talking about the weather. Harry felt his stomach roil as raw horror filtered throughout his entire body, his mind unable to resist picturing...

"Oh God, Hermione," Harry moaned, bracing himself against the fence.

"MISS GRANGER!" McGonnagal roared.

"I-It was just a slip of the tongue! He uh... It..." Hermione wilted under McGonnagal's glare, and sighed. "Come here, Mr. Dursley."

Vernon scampered up like a puppy. Harry felt the contents of his stomach try to force their way up. Hermione held up a Post-It Note to Vernon's face.

"All right... Go inside, relax, take the rest of the day off and tomorrow you will act normally," Hermione ordered. The big man nodded, turned and retired to the house, still wearing that disturbing, brainwashed smile of his. Hermione turned to McGonnagal and Harry.

McGonnagal looked over the Dursleys, sighed, and finally made up her mind.

"Given the danger that Muggles might be put into if this became public, and as it's technically not a violation of the Underaged Magic Laws, I'm going to leave this alone," she said. She glared darkly at Hermione. "However, I am very disappointed in you. Even if they are..." She looked over the Dursleys still in the yard, "them, I expect better from you, Hermione."

"Yes ma'am," Hermione squeaked.

"You really are developing a bit of a mean streak, you know," McGonnagal sighed. "I know about what you did to Rita Skeeter-And don't ask how, it's not the kind of thing to discuss even here. It looks to me you need some... Punishment," McGonnagal said, cocking an eyebrow. She looked over at Harry, who was still trying to resist the urge to empty the contents of his stomach all over the yard.

"Mr. Potter!"

"Yes Professor?" Harry groaned.

"I am going to impart some advice to you on relationships," McGonnagal said. "Not only must you be willing to compromise, but you must also be able to watch out for your partner and ensure they learn from their mistakes."

"Uh... Okay... And how should I do that, here?" Harry asked.

"Simple," McGonnagal stated. She transfigured a stick on the ground in the yard into a paddle, and handed it to Harry. "Discipline her."

Harry's pale face turned bright red, as did Hermione's. McGonnagal merely gave them a saucy little smile.

"You will see to it she learns her lesson, I trust?" She said flatly.

"Uh... Uh... Uh..."

"I will take that as a yes," McGonnagal said. "I will see you at Mrs. Mal... Ms. Black's meeting," she amended. "Tah." With a last little smile she turned on her heel and headed back to Arabella Figg's. Leaving the two teenagers to stare at the paddle, then at each other... And definitely not at the retreating McGonnagal.


Dolores Umbridge was woken up early by her House Elf, informing her Minister Fudge had asked to see her. After ordering the elf to set himself on fire for daring to interrupt her beauty sleep, she set about primping and preparing her appearance for her meeting.

This is it... He'll tell me how Potter was found with his soul sucked out, boo hoo! As long as my contacts in the Daily Prophet are paid, we can spin it as the boy going off and getting himself killed! How to spin the brat confronting some Dementors might be a bit trickier, but the public didn't need to know where exactly Potter had been Kissed, did they?

Of course they didn't.

Dressed in her finest, pinkest cartigan and in her best applied makeup, Umbridge left her house, her soul soothed by the screams of her impertinent house elf as he sat in the other fireplace. That was the right way to start a morning!


Umbridge made her way to the Minister's office with a spring in her step and a twinkle in her eye. The hushed tones and muttering of the personnel stopped when she came around. How very good to see her position being appreciated!

Of course, that muttering did concern her a bit. She'd need to get auto-quills into some of the offices, keep track of what everyone was saying. Who knew what one person could say to bring down morale, or introduce bad thinking. Why, just imagine if someone started saying that Potter might have been murdered! That would just not do. They couldn't be allowed to think that way, it would just make their jobs more difficult.

She entered the Minister's office and with a smile to the bowed head of his secretary, entered Fudge's sanctum.

"Cornelius~! I'm here~!" She announced cheerfully.

"Dolores," Fudge returned, in a downright icy tone. Umbridge froze at this, and stared in significant confusion at the flat expression on Fudge's face.

"Ah... Is something the matter, Minister?" Umbridge asked. Fudge huffed, and crossed his arms over his chest. It did little to make the man more physically intimidating, but his office made Umbridge far more wary.

"Yes, I should bloody well think so," he growled. "Those Dementors... They... They...!"

Oh. Oh! Of course. She knew the Minister's heart perfectly, his weakness. To kill off a boy with his power was not something he could really stomach. She could sooth it away though-Her mother always did say she was very good at comforting, right after her dear Mudblood nursemaid had committed suicide.

How the two were connected Umbridge still wasn't sure but she was always willing to give her mother the benefit of the doubt.

"There there, Minister," she said, walking up and patting him lightly on the shoulder. "Such actions may seem... Unsavory, but they really are for the Greater Good."

"The Greater Good?" Fudge asked.

"The Greater Good," Umbridge confirmed. "Think of it as a blessing in disguise."

"How?" Fudge demanded. "There's the trial, after all! And how we can make this seem like a bad thing is beyond me when he's going to be talking to Dumbledore...!"

Umbridge's patting of his shoulder ended. Fudge looked up to see his Under-Secretary's eyes bulging, like a toad on a hot plate.

"Hem hem... Excuse me Minister, but... Are you saying Potter... Survived?" Umbridge asked. Fudge nodded, sighing deeply.

"Oh yes. Apparently he briefly overloaded the magic sensors at the Office of Inappropriate Magic use-A Patronus the size of a bus! Can you believe it?" Fudge shook his head in disbelief, as Umbridge's eyes bulged out even further. "Right off the scale! The Auror on the scene reported he actually destroyed the Dementors."

"D-Destroyed?" Umbridge squeaked. "But that-That-"

"Hasn't been done in centuries," Fudge confirmed. "Yes." He sighed. "On one hand, we've got him on Inappropriate Magic Use. On the other... I've got Amelia Bones demanding to bring him in for questioning on just how he pulled that off. A little early recruitment, you might say," he said with a humorless smile.

Umbridge coughed. "Ah... Well... That is..."

"And there's the fact the public has never trusted the Dementors, and here we have a wizard, a fourteen year old wizard capable of destroying them, who also vanquished Lord... Thingy," Fudge got out. He sighed.

"Honestly, this whole idea was nonsense from the get go, Dolores!" Fudge huffed. He scowled at her intensely. "You didn't think that someone might ask what a pair of Dementors were doing in Surrey?"

Umbridge coughed. She just now realized that she hadn't thought of that at all. Fudge scowled.

"Damn you for giving me the idea, and damn ME for being stupid enough to go along with it!" He huffed. He turned a severe glare on Umbridge. "I really should just have you fired right now and be done with it!"

"B-But sir-!"

"Or I could turn you over to the Aurors! It was your idea, after all," Fudge growled.

"But-But you-!"

"I? What did I do?" Fudge asked flatly. "You gave the order. There's no proof I agreed to anything!" The rotound politician smirked. "And even if people think I'm an idiot, they don't think I'm a murderer."

Cold hands siezed Umbridge's heart, and she felt faint. She had to do something, fast, otherwise she was going to go down hard. Oh why oh why didn't she think to record her conversations with the Minister?

"I-Please! Give me another change, Minister!" Umbridge begged. Fudge shook his head.

"Nope, I think I'm quite done with giving you those." He tapped his wand twice. "Secretary? Please get me the Aurors. Madam Umbridge is leaving."

A pair of invisibility cloaks came off two Aurors, both of whom had their wands pointed at Fudge and Umbridge. The Minister's face purpled as the doors opened, and Amelia Bones entered the office. His secretary was there as well, brandishing her Auror badge with a large smile.

"Of course, Minister," the secretary said with an unpleasant grin. "And so are you."

Umbridge coughed.

"Well, um… Very good! My ploy worked perfectly! Take him away!"

Madam Bones gave her an incredulous expression. "You really expect us to believe that?"

"Yes, I do," Umbridge said in her sickly sweet voice.

"Can I blast her, ma'am?" The secretary asked with a pleading look in her eyes. Bones gave it just enough serious thought to allow Umbridge to turn pale in fear, before smiling.

"Maybe later… If she resists," she said.

"Oh bugger," Umbridge muttered.

"Oh bugger, indeed," Fudge said sarcastically.


In Hogsmeade, there is a former store called Marionette's, a store that at one time sold magical dolls, playmates for kids and lonely people.

The latter is probably partly responsible for why it was closed. The other reason was that the creator was a Muggleborn, making money, and certain pureblood members of society didn't want to see such occur.

One vote in the Wizengamot and it was closed.

However, the women who loved Potter Hunting, as it were, knew it had a second use.

This was why Narcissa Malfoy—recently widowed member of High Society—was inside the abandoned shop. There was a secret known only to certain women, women who could be trusted, women who would not betray this path, or abuse it.

You see, according the both the Marauders and their map, only two secret passages in Hogwarts were still usable, safe for people to traverse and do what they wished. The other four had all collapsed.

That was not exactly true.

Entering the basement, Narcissa tapped her wand to a brick in the middle of an exposed wall, a brick that would never stand out unless you knew where it was. As nothing happened, she had to smile, as that meant the security spells placed long before her time in Hogwarts still functioned, though she did not doubt they would likely need serviced soon—best to not let them continue on until they failed.

"I seek to place my bet," she muttered.

As with the secret entrance to Diagon Alley, the bricks folded back, revealing a passageway. Clear stoned, embedded within the side and top of the passage began to glow a soft white, allowing a person to see through the tunnel without using their wands.

Smiling at memories of youth, Narcissa entered.

Finally, she came to what appeared to be a caved-in section of the tunnel, shaking her head, as she looked about, before focusing on the third light stone on her left, before tapping it with her wand again. "Time to play the slots," she said. "Let the one-armed bandit pay out."

Truthfully, she didn't know what the former pass phrases were. Nevertheless, if forced to guess, she would surmise that whoever last serviced the wards and spells for the tunnel, was likely another satisfied customer of James Potter. I do wonder what the new phrases will be when Harry begins his tour, she pondered.

As if by magic—which in truth, it was—the stones began to rise, seemingly fitting back into their proper place, creating a clear path towards what looked like a pane of glass, with a dark-skinned witch standing before it.

Smiling, Narcissa approached the glass, tapped it with her wand, causing it to open. "Aurora."

"Narcissa," the black witch smiled. "I am sorry for your loss."

"Yes, I do miss those shoes. Sadly, they could not be salvaged."

"I was talking about your husband," the other witch continued to smile.

"Oh, him; whatever," Narcissa waved off. "Love of my life, yadda-yadda-yadda, missed till the end of time.

"You would think as often as the Black Family 'lost' spouses, they would have had some speeches prepared for it," the Malfoy widow snorted, before hugging the woman. "It has been too long."

"Indeed," Aurora responded. "I do wish you luck trying to turn your son into something worthy."

Sighing softly, Narcissa nodded. "It will be a difficult task. I often wonder if Lucius feared Draco might usurp him, as Lucius did his own father, to explain Draco's lack of … refinement. Perhaps when I meet with Lord Potter to 'discuss' some items, I can have him pick up the level of rivalry between them. Draco may simply need to be shown his current level is not up to par."

Nodding, Aurora motioned for her to follow. She had no fear of the portraits revealing to the Headmaster about the unauthorized guest. The path had been chosen just for that, as well as several abandoned classrooms for the 'liaisons' to occur in. After all, Hogwarts did have so many unused rooms, and such were better for the intimate acts to occur in than some cramped broom closet.

Nothing ended the mood quicker than a mop handle up the backside.

"So, have the others approached you yet?"

Narcissa raised her eyebrow. "Define which others you speak of."

"Both."

"Ah, those associated with my husband's … extracurricular activities have made some attempts to contact me, most likely to see if I will support the Dark Lord, some at least to try and woo me to gain access to the Malfoy vaults, and the Minister to see if his usual 'donations' will still be given."

The professor could only snort. "A high-class vulture is still a vulture."

"Agreed," Narcissa stated, before pausing at a classroom. Casting several spells on the door and on the desks, chairs, and tables, she nodded and moved on, deciding that the classroom would still serve its purpose for now, but reminding herself to get the entire setup serviced before school started. It simply would not do for a Potter to have an injury because a preset transfiguration failed and dropped them on the hard, unforgiving stone floor.

"As for those of us who wished to 'thank' the Dark Lord for murdering James Potter, well… It will take some time, but I do fear that at the very least, dear Bella will find her love lacking."

"Oh yes," Aurora nodded, checking a classroom now, making a note to start asking the House Elves to start cleaning this section of the castle again. "It would simply not do to have him stop another Potter."

"Feeling an itch, my dear?"

"You've seen what I have to choose from here," Aurora waved about. "Lockhart had all the skill of a Snape to pick up women, Lupin would never take a hint, and… Well, let's say the pickings are quite slim."

"Yes, such a failure of society to keep males up to some sort of standard of presentation," Narcissa replied. "I may take over my husband's seat on the Board of Governors and try and have some etiquette class taught. I shudder to think how much such simple things will suffer a hundred years from now."

"Did you know Muggles now have places where they go, just to try and improve the shape and appearance of their bodies?" Sinestra asked. Reaching into her robes, she pulled out a large page from a magazine, showing a muscled male, flexing for the camera. The fact the page never moved proved it to be Muggle in making. "I confiscated this from several Ravenclaws last year."

"… Oh my," Narcissa muttered, trying not to drool. "Perhaps the hatred for Muggleborns is not as clear as stated," she replied. Oh yes, if Muggles could look like that, more than a few Pureblood women would not bother with marrying the elite males of the Wizarding World, society be damned. Dozens of potions to give a male an erection, but nothing to make them look so … yummy. I wonder if Potter will look like this in a few years… "I do believe this will have to be researched, see if … this can be made to also occur in our world."

"One can certainly hope." Nodding her head as the corridor was finally checked to be in working order and cleared of any major debris, the two made their way back to the mirror, the secret entrance in Hogwarts for the passageway.

"So, when will you meet Harry?"

"Oh, it will have to be soon. My contacts in the DLME reported that two rogue Dementors attacked Potter near his home. I'm sure Dumbledore will try to move him 'for his own safety' soon enough, and that will make him all but unapproachable until the school year starts. I just first have to ensure that Draco is kept busy. Who knows what he would do should he learn I am meeting Harry."

"Seeing his performance these last few years, it will be poorly planned, poorly executed, and likely to fail," Aurora stated.

"Yes, I do wonder how he ended up in Slytherin, but at least his is no Crabbe and Goyle."

"Thank Merlin."


Sorry for the short update but I think you'll agree it's better than nothing. The Narcissa subplot was largely written by Innortal. Go see his fics on his page, bug him to write more.