Disclaimer: Everything you don't recognize belongs to JKR. Harry Potter belongs to JKR. All hail JKR P
Author's Note: This is kind of late. And kind of short. Sorry 'bout that, folks. It was unintentional. I didn't mean to keep all of you waiting.
Also, since one reviewer recently reminded me that there really are people out there that really care about author's putting review responses in their chapters (hence the rule), I've decided to stop including them in-chapter, and will be removing them from the previous chapters. I'd really rather nobody felt they had to report me for it, since I'd like to keep my story. However, if you any of you want, I'm willing to respond to your reviews another way, such as email, perhaps. So, if you enjoyed my responses (can't imagine why, lol), just let me know and I'll be glad keep it up via whatever media you prefer. I aim to please, after all. For now, everyone will have to make due with a giant, collective thank you to everyone that reviewed. (I'm allowed to do that much, right, ambiance15?)
Onwards, then, to chaptery goodness.
o.o.o.o
With dangerous villain Harry Potter locked safely away, You-Know-Who's rebirth completely nonexistent and Dumbledore's crackpot 'loyalist' squad relatively quiet, Minister Fudge was quite pleased with himself.
He sat in his plush office and felt smug.
It was the only significant thing he'd ever done well.
o.o.o.o
Harry did not recover for several days. Surrounded by dementors -- there were always two flanking his cell door -- in a climate which was unpleasant before the supernatural addition, his waking mind refused to resurface. Some part of him knew that if he were to awake, he'd be plagued once again with his mother's voice and the silent screams of Sirius's death. Wasting away from malnutrition was a welcome and appealing alternative.
While he was unconscious, between dreams of nameless terrors, Harry slowly became aware of a presence around him. Cold and unsure, but not unpleasant or unfriendly, the silent entity was always growing, gradually increasing until it surrounded Harry. It seemed to radiate a powerful energy that soothed him. It lulled him into a state relaxed enough for him to get a restful day's sleep, free of terrifying dreams. It felt familiar.
Azkaban itself no longer seemed such a horrible place.
Harry's return to consciousness was abrupt. The first thing he noticed, before total awareness had set it, was that it was night out; the torches in the hall had been lit. Harry could see their flames flickering against the stone wall through his open door.
His open door.
Harry sat up sharply, looking around wildly. It didn't take him very long (less than a second) to notice the wizard standing in the room with the leveled wand in one hand, pointed straight at Harry. The other hand was curled gently around the head of a snake, twined up the wizard's leg. He looked understandably pissed off.
Lord Voldemort had come to visit Harry Potter.
"Shit."
o.o.o.o
"What?" snapped The Minister, leaping from his chair. He threw his hands on his desk and leaned forward, glowering. He probably thought this made him look intimidating. The young man in front of him was one of those thoroughly useless people that worked in his office without ever having a real job. Cornelius vaguely remembered that his name was Ichabod, and that he was loosely connected, somehow, with the Malfoys. And if it weren't for that little tendency towards disrespect, Cornelius would have said he was generally intelligent.
Doubtless why the man had been hired in the first place. Doubtless.
"They can't repair it, sir," the young man repeated cautiously. This was odd; nothing usually seemed to worry Ichabod. Cornelius frowned.
"Of course they--" he started to exclaim, but Ichabod cut him off.
"The clean up team went down there, you know, when you sent them," Ichabod explained, clearing his throat. "But by the time they got there, the wall was completely intact. The only sign of any damage was a wide, shallow chip from one of the blocks near the door -- completely superficial, of course. The whole wall is structurally sound, the clean up team assures me."
"That's... what?"
Ichabod continued, as if Cornelius had said nothing, "I did think it was rather suspicious, though, so I called in the Warding Wizards we had on standby, and had them check it over." He paused, then said softly, "Their magic couldn't get near the wall -- or any of the others connected to it, for that matter. Most of these are the same Wizards who did the refresher wards only five years ago; they're all from the same Guild as created the wards."
"But that's... that's ridiculous!" exclaimed the Minister, actually rather worried. As far as he was aware, nothing like this had ever happened before.
"I know," Ichabod nodded. He paused a moment, but Cornelius didn't to have anything to say, so Ichabod shrugged and went on. "I've spoken to the clean up team and the Warding Guild. Most of the Warding Wizards feel that this could be a highly dangerous and potentially disastrous situation, but some of them are just curious and don't seem to think there's anything actively wrong about this.
"On the recommendation of the entire Guild, however, I called in the best of the cursebreakers we have on retainer. Their magic wasn't repulsed by that of the wall, but they couldn't find anything to complain about. Indeed, a great many of them are saying that the wall is better and more thoroughly warded than any other part of the building -- and they've run comparison tests on the other Arrival and Containment Rooms to prove it."
Cornelius would have been sputtering incoherently, but he couldn't find the mental power to do even that. This was absolutely unheard of -- an unprecedented breach of possibility that he was at a complete loss to explain. Very few things could bring down or bypass wards put up by either of the two major Warding Guilds, and the Ministry had always employed the better of those two. Only powerful Dark Magic could actually alter parts of the wards, and there wasn't supposed to be anything that could totally change the very structure ofthem.
"You mean--" Cornelius finally managed to get out, bowled away by what he'd just been told.
But Ichabod was most definitely ignoring all of the Minister's questions, at this point.
"I've taken the liberty of requesting loan of several more cursebreakers, some who don't work for the government. Mostly from private organizations, but a few from such places as Gringotts. I'm hoping they'll be able to give a less biased, more detailed appraisal of those Wards, and considering that most of these cursebreakers are truly the best in their class, I doubt those hopes will not be realized," said Ichabod in a flat, matter-of-fact voice.
"There's one, in particular, which I was exceptionally pleased to be told could come," he added, with an ingratiating smile. "The very best of the best, reputedly, he's come over to England out of Gringotts Egyptian office. Extended leave-with-pay; a family crisis, I understand. But he was quite honored to receive our request for assistance."
Cornelius stood hunched over his desk, blinking, for a few seconds. "These cursebreakers -- this Egyptian -- he'll be able to tell us what's wrong? And how to fix it?"
"Given time, sir," assured Ichabod, eyes flashing so briefly that Cornelius was sure he'd imagined it. "He is the best, after all."
"Very well. I want him to start work immediately!" declared Cornelius imperiously. He gestured significantly toward the door. "See that he's informed at once."
"Yes, sir." Ichabod gave a half-bow and carefully covered his face with a long-suffering expression, to hid the smug one that wanted to come out. He swept from the room, his long, rich robes billowing behind him and swishing agains the door frame with a gentle murmur.
Cornelius had already settled back into his chair before he realized that he hadn't bothered to ask the name of this better-than-best cursebreaker.
Well, he didn't think it matter, did it? After all, it was just a cursebreaker. Dumbledore didn't have any of those in his pockets, did he?
Well, there was the one... but what were the chances of that? Ichabod was of Malfoy-stock. He'd never recommend a blood-traitor.
Of course, Cornelius had nothing against blood-traitors.
He just didn't like Weasleys much, at the moment.
Except Percy.
But he didn't count.
Did he?
o.o.o.o
Just down the hall from the Minister's office, Bill Weasley slipped from an alcove and fell into step beside Ichabod. He saw the smirk on the Ministry employee's face and grinned in return.
"We good to go, then?" he asked, as they made their way toward Arrival and Containment.
"Oh, yeah," answered Ichabod, his smirk turning slightly more smug. "You're now authorized by the Minister himself to do whatever you want to that damn wall, in the name of discovering what happened to it."
"That's good, but all I really want to do is look over its magic," Bill pointed out, traces of amusement obvious in his voice.
"Well, you can do that, too."
