Tuesday May 12, 1998
Quidditch is a simple game
based on giving and taking of passes,
of controlling the ball
and of making yourself available to receive a pass.
It is terribly simple.
Attributed to Bill Shankly
Aberforth worked Harry with the vim and vigor of any professor at Hogwarts. When Harry went to bed he was absolutely bone tired. He slept soundly with a jumble of thoughts and dreams. What Harry was looking for was the dream of Ginny and himself eating ice cream. He couldn't find it.
"Come on Harry, it's time to get up." Aberforth yelled from the ground floor. Harry tried to open his eyes but they weren't working. Slowly the day registered and he crawled out of bed. He reached for this friendly Parasol and tossed a pinch over himself while muttering the spell Clesnotum Totalis. In a flash Harry was clean, tidy, shiny, and still not awake. Forcing one eye open Harry stood up, walked over to his new clothing and started to unbutton his morning suit. It had a strange feel. Not strange as in weird, just strange as in strange. The cloth texture felt strange, like it was not cloth at all. But it had to be as it slipped on and fitted like a glove. Whatever Minchkins the Marvel made, he made very well and felt very good. Harry was glad Minchkins did not produce a top hat to go with the outfit. Then again, not many wizards wore hats for every day stuff. Evenings and dinning out was different. Then hats were more common.
Once fully dressed Harry reached for the cape. This Harry really liked. The cape felt light as a feather, tough as old boots and, after last nights beating, clean as a whistle. Harry, holding the cape in a casual over the arm position, swished it up and over his shoulders in one clean move that even impressed himself. That was when Harry allowed himself his first and last smile before heading off to the Ministry.
The shoes Minchkins left were perfectly balanced, properly sized, and super quiet. They seemed to direct Harry's feet to the quieter part of the wooden stairs as he came down to be greeted by Aberforth and a piping hot breakfast.
"Where is Arena?" Harry asked noticing the picture frame was empty.
"Off somewhere. She seems to have a full social schedule these days. Same with my brother. Then again they are of no use to us on this Ministry visit."
"You coming?"
"Wouldn't miss this for the world. Need some livening up these days. Letting school out so early caught us all on the hop. Mean to say, my holidays aren't due to start for a few more weeks… after school was supposed to be out."
"Messed you up did I?"
"Nah, Got to be flexible in this business. Anyway time to go." That is when Harry noticed that Aberforth was dressed like a muggle: well sort of. Not many people wear Berets these days. Harry polished off his breakfast and felt really good about the day.
"Okay then, side-a-long we go." Aberforth said which raised Harry's blood pressure. Aberforth could see Harry's temperature rising so he added, "Look, you are in deep do-do, don't go any deeper." Harry took hold of Aberforth's arm and they disapparated from the pub and apparated at Grimmauld Place. "We'll walk from here. I believe you know the way."
"Why not apparate at the ministry?"
"That's what they are expecting. They are expecting you to blow your stack and stick up two fingers. Since that's what they are expecting, we won't do it. We walk in taking the high ground. Which, for thick people, is, taking the moral high ground and keeping calm!"
"Keep calm. Ha!" Muttered Harry out loud. "Keep calm… Like I can't keep calm! Yes I can keep calm. Just let me get my hands on the twits from the Ministry and we'll see who is last one standing.!"
"See, that is what everyone expects from you. Press your buttons and out you come swinging. Same with your trademark Expelliarmus spell. Everyone knows you use it first. That could be our downfall one day. Change or get beat.
"Nothing wrong with liking a spell." Harry said a bit too loudly.
"Liking and drooling over it is two different things." Aberforth quickly recognized the signs. He had been there with his departed brother. When the two of them would stand toe to toe, nose to nose yelling at each other while poking each other in the chest as hard as they could. All semblance of brotherly love lost while cruel crass anger reigned.
That was when Aberforth put up his hand and said in a somber tone, "Harry, I'm sorry. I'm out of line. I apologize."
Harry was stunned by the abrupt change. In that instant he lost all the wind in his sail and looked at Aberforth wondering if it was a trick or something. All he ever heard about Aberforth was his temper: and now it was gone.
"I'm out of line for speaking like that to you. You killed Tom Riddle. You did everyone a huge favor. You have every right to be upset and you have the right to be heard. Sadly the Ministry has other thoughts and if you are late to your hearings things could get very sticky for you. So, if you are ready we need to hoof it to the tube."
Harry felt the sincerity and put out his hand. "I'm sorry to, Aberforth. Friends are too few to loose. Right now I could use all the friends I have."
Aberforth grabbed Harry's hand in a firm grip and said, "Then let's go and knock some heads together!"
Off they marched through the early morning mist of London town. The city that never sleeps was living up to it's name as the early morning trucks were rumbling by on one of the many main roads in the area. As they approached the same tube station the number of people increased. It was as if the lights of the entrance was pulling reluctant workers just like the Pied Piper of Hamelin. Aberforth was nonplussed by the tube just like it was some everyday affair. Even Harry's smart outfit did not raise but one or two bleary eyes. Most though he was some toff going home to his rich bed in Knightsbridge.
The underground rumbled round to Embankment where they joined the throngs of business men off to the business centers of London to squeeze a few more bob out of the poor undeserving classes of Britain.
They filed to the right of the escalators to allow hard pressed, attaché carrying, eager beavers to get to their desks a few seconds faster than their comrades that continued to read the free newspapers found on the underground trains.
As Aberforth and Harry exited the station and joined the glum faced workers of London Aberforth offered an odd observation. "Do you notice every one wears a watch of some description or other?"
Harry scanned the immediate area and said, "Everyone always wears one. How else are they going to tell the time?"
"Exactly! But who invented time?" Since Harry offered no reply, Aberforth set off at a good pace saying, over his shoulder to Harry, "Hurry up. This way." As he sallied forth to the visitor's entrance to the Ministry.
Harry vaguely remembered the way while Aberforth was sure of the way. As they walked away from the Thames the buildings became less imposing reflecting their lower stature and importance to London's business center. The roads also became more and more grubby looking with their fair share of rubbish bins still full from neglect.
Finally they rounded the corner and there stood the same bright red telephone box that did not look that imposing in the shadow of a close by building. Harry went in and was followed by Aberforth. Once the door closed Aberforth picked up the receiver and dialed 6 - 2 - 4 - 4 -2. Harry was beginning to wonder about the smoothness that Aberforth was showing. Like, he knew the way to the visitor's entrance a bit too easily. And now the number.
The same clear female voice came over the sound system inside the telephone box. "Welcome to the Ministry of Magic. Please state your name and business."
Aberforth spoke in a resonating voice not to dissimilar to that of his brother's, "Mr. Potter and Mr. Dumbledore. Here for Mr. Potter's disciplinary hearing."
The voice came back with, "Thank you. Visitor's, please take a badge and affix it to the front of your robes."
There was the same click and the same rattle as before. Then out of the coin return shoot appeared two badges. Harry took one and handed the other to Aberforth. Harry looked at his a bit closer this time. His square silver badge had printed on it, Mr. Potter, Disciplinary Hearing. This time there was a small number two stamped in the top right corner surrounded by what looked a canopied penny farthing bicycle.
Aberforth peered at Harry's badge then said, "You're number two. Seems I've been promoted. I've gone from twelve to number six. Lowest is best; or so I was told."
"Does it mean anything?" Harry asked.
"Don't know. But I'm sure someone, somewhere knows what it's all about. They always do. Oh yes, don't try and pin anything to your robe or clothes. Won't work. Just hold the badge close and it will stay in place." Harry did and it worked.
Just then the voice came back with, "Visitor to the Ministry, you are required to submit to a search and present your wand for registration at the security desk, which is located at the far end of the atrium. Thank you and have an enjoyable visit to your Ministry or Magic."
This time Harry was ready for the telephone box to descend. Being ready and feeling good about going downward is two different things. The dull grinding noise continued as they went downward deeper into the solid ground. About a minute later light appeared at their feet and slowly worked upward and they went downward to floor level.
"The Ministry of Magic wishes you a successful and prosperous day." The woman's voice concluded with.
The telephone box door opened and out stepped Aberforth and Harry. Harry knew where they were and suspected Aberforth also knew as he did not hesitate in heading off in the direction of the security desk. Harry paused to review his memories of the atrium.
He was, again, standing at one end of the atrium with its highly polished, dark wood floor. He glanced up at the peacock-blue ceiling that was inlaid with gleaming golden symbols. He was sure their movements and constant changes had some meaning that he was not privy to. To his left was the Floo network entrance while to his left was the Floo network exit. Even though the fireplaces looked enormous, they were so quiet that all you heard was a soft whoosh as someone came or went. The Floo network was the main means of transportation used by people working at the Ministry: so long as you had Floo powder at hand.
Aberforth stopped and looked back at Harry. He was not alone. A slow ripple effect was taking place throughout the atrium starting immediately around Harry and, one by one, went out. Then the clapping started. First one person, then two, then three, four, five and on and on and on. Harry stood there nodding to the people from the Ministry as the noise grew louder and louder and louder. The noise brought others into the atrium and the word went out that Harry Potter was there which, in turn brought more and more people into the atrium which, in turn made the noise rise in volume.
Harry slowly walked toward Aberforth and the two of them cut a path through the throngs of clapping Ministry workers towards the security desk. The clapping slowly died down, not so the chatter that Harry Potter was at the Ministry. Of course everyone assumed he was there on some important business: as it was Harry Potter.
As they walked toward security Harry noticed there was no fountain or statue in the atrium.
Security was as tight as last time with the same poorly shaven, half awake wizard in his grungy looking peacock-blue robes struggling to focus on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Obviously Eric he had not heard the noise or all the people thronging about Harry as Harry stepped up and said, "Visitor: here on Ministry business."
"Step over here," the wizard muttered. Harry did so and the wizard pulled out the same security wand and waved it about Harry. Of course it did not pick up anything as outfits made by Minchkins the Marvel do not offer up its secrets that easily.
"Wand." Muttered the bored guard. Harry handed him Draco's wand. The guard placed the wand on the brass instrument with one dish and waited for the result. The instrument vibrated and vibrated some more as if it was reading the wand's life history. The guard gave the instrument a tap to see if that would speed up the process. All he got were more noises more along the line of a wheeze. Then all went silent and a narrow strip of parchment was ejected from the base. The wizard picked it up and read it. Then read it again. Then he flipped it over, just in case there was something there. There was not.
Slowly and deliberately the wizard said, "Hawthorn 10" long with Unicorn hair. Reasonably springy. Won in combat from Draco Malfoy. Current owner's possession four weeks." The security wizard looked up from the paper to study Harry and then back at the parchment. "Is that correct?" he asked.
"Perfectly," Harry said with confidence.
That nugget of information went zooming out from the epicenter, through every Ministry employee down to the lowest elf in ten seconds flat. Now everyone was wondering what happened to Harry's original Ollivander wand? Eric stuck the parchment on the peg and handed Harry the wand back.
Aberforth wend through the same process with much less fuss.
As they passed through security and over to the lifts the throngs of Ministry people were still staying close to see where Harry was going. Finally someone asked the question, "Where are you going?"
As the elevator doors were closing Harry said, "Courtroom Ten… where else?"
The elevator went from eight down to nine where everyone got out and allowed Harry to go first. Harry took a few steps then stopped to look about and remember the battle that had took place here all over a prophesy that was for either him or Neville. Funny how a sward has two edges. And this was the place where he lost his godfather. Maybe a place with too many memories so he shook himself and took off heading towards the stairs going down to the courtrooms in basement level ten.
Of course other elevators were opening and disgorging Ministry workers eager to know where Mr. Potter was going and why down here in the courtrooms.
Out the elevator and along the corridor with nothing on the walls. Harry strode purposefully forward heading toward the black door at the end. Just before the end, Harry, followed by Aberforth, and then the milling crowds, turned left through and opening and down the stairs along another corridor. This corridor was constructed of rough hewn stone with wrought iron brackets holding flaming torches.
Harry passed heavy wooden doors now black with years. Each door had heavy black metal hinges, locks that required large mortise keys, large metal ring for opening, and was covered in black metal studs.
The corridor was designed to be intimidating to the guilty and humbling to the innocent: so long as Professor Umbridge was not in control.
Harry knew exactly where courtroom ten was. As he got closer to the door, he pulled out his wand and with a quick flick the door opened to allow him to enter without breaking stride.
This was Harry's third time to be in courtroom ten. The first time was inside Dumbledore's pensive. The second time for using magic on a couple of Dementors chasing him and Dudley down an alley near their home on Privet Drive. And now for the third time and the first time without Professor Dumbledore.
When the door opened and Harry entered courtroom ten, the malignant silence the pervaded the courtroom vanished in an eruption of cheers, yells of congratulations and even the singing of, "For he's a golly good fellow." The noisy melee easily overwhelmed the wooden gavel striking the podium. Then came the Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes explosions, fireworks, a few anti-Ministerial critters started running about attacking members of the Wizengamot. The disruption continued for a full four minutes. At that point one of the court attendants came back in and told the presiding official, Jennyforcement Gilgail, that people from the Magical Law Enforcement Patrol were all absent and there are no Aurors anywhere to be found. At the end o the four minutes of rowdy exuberance Harry raised his hand and the celebrations stopped. With a smooth arm-work Harry swooshed off his cape. The move had its desired effect.
Following Professor Dumbledore's example, Harry used his wand to provide a more comfortable chair rather then the malevolent chair in the center of the room. The chair with impatient metal chains on the arm rests. Harry's chair was more civilized and once Harry was sitting down rose to the level of the people seated in the bench above: the benches where the Wizengamot sat. Now Harry could look at them on equal terms.
Mr. Gilgail spoke first while Harry gazed about noting who was where in the surrounding galleries. Mr. Gilgail did not speak wisely, "This is the Wizengamot and is due the respect it deserves. If the disruption continues I shall have the gallery cleared!" Handclapping immediately started as did the derisory laughter. The combination easily overwhelmed the noise of the gavel.
Harry let the noise continue for three full minutes, then, again, lifted his hand which created an immediate cessation of noise except for the gavel hammering away on the podium. "I think we should continue, don't you? Harry said in a laconic tone.
A frazzled Mr. Gilgail removed his hand from the gavel, pushed his wand deep into his robes, gave a cough and said, "Before we get started on the official charges, I would like to inquire of the defendant about his house-elf who has been seen carrying and using a wand." Mr. Gilgail's beady eyes darted about to see if what he said had caused a stir. It had not. From someone at the back came a loud yawn and then silence took over again. Seeing Harry was going to say nothing, Mr. Gilgail added, "Have you nothing to say?"
Harry let the question hang about for a long moment before saying, "About what?"
"About what I just said."
"Are you charging me with anything specific or not?"
"I am inquiring."
"I did not come here to be questioned about my dead house-elf. I am here in response to two parchments."
"Dead, did you say?"
"Funeral was the other day. I'm sure you can have the Hogwarts house-elves provide testimony."
"That's okay, I suppose. Better move on to the main topic at hand: then."
"Right," Harry responded slowly.
"Right," Mr. Gilgail said as he shuffled his papers to find the fat file on item number one. Once found he flipped open the cover and started to review the content. Once digested Mr. Gilgail was ready.
"Apparition without certification," Mr. Gilgail boomed. Harry gave him an economical glance. "Now that The Department of Magical Transportation is functioning properly they have had to opportunity to review their records and have noted you have taken several Apparition trips all while not being certified to so do. In light of the records do you, Mr. Potter admit such infractions of the rules and regulations of magical norms and standards?"
From the very back of the seats surrounding the proceedings came a slight, "Yoo-Hoo." Mr. Gilgail fired a withering look in the direction of the voice. Once Professor McGonagall stood up his attitude changed. She continued with, "Maybe I can be of some assistance here. As you all well know Hogwarts took the brunt of Lord Voldemort's attack. Those who were there can attest to the violence and destruction that occurred. Those of you who were there will remember our fellow teachers and pupils whom valiantly fought insurmountable odds and died defending our freedom and rights as wizards and witches to live free of tyranny. Those of you who were there did not have time to offer comfort to the fallen because the enemy was in the very walls of Hogwarts. Those of you who were there will remember how Mrs. Weasley fought the Death Eater Bellatrix Lestrange in a fight to the death. And finally, those of you who were there will remember how Mr. Potter, alone, faced Tom Riddle. Without any help or assistance Mr. Potter brought about the death of Riddle. Only those of you who were there will remember the great joy of freedom and the abject sorrow of loosing so many friends, relatives, and school mates.
"As you can appreciate in the mêlée I misplaced Mr. Potter's certificate of Apparition." With that Professor McGonagall pulled out the certificate that was quickly presented to Mr. Gilgail.
While Mr. Gilgail was reviewing the certificate Professor McGonagall coldly asked, "Were you at Hogwarts during the battle?"
Mr. Gilgail made a critical mistake by not giving the question his undivided attention. While he was looking at the certificate he absentmindedly said, "No, I was in Iceland."
Electricity filled the air as Professor McGonagall said in a piercing voice, "Iceland. What were you doing in Iceland when the call went out to gather at Hogwarts?"
That was when Mr. Gilgail realized his fatal mistake. "I – I – I was there…"
"Doing what?"
Mr. Gilgail scanned the galleries and clearly saw every set of eyes on himself. Then he scanned the Wizengamot and clearly saw every set of eyes gazing elsewhere.
That is when Professor McGonagall pressed home the advantage with, "I hope you were running to the fight, not away from it. Too many valiant wizards, witches goblins, elves, and the like died to put up with cowards now the fight is won.
"And you can rest assured that we are in the process of gathering memories of the fighting so we can give credit where credit is due. Our Hagrid, being tall in stature, had a good view of the battle and is lending his memories to our repository. That way false claims can quickly be discounted and the Wizengamot can deal with falsehoods in a prompt and efficient manner. We do not want falsehoods to trump the valiant, brave, stalwart people and creatures of the wizarding world who were there fighting for our very existence and way of life.
"And if I remember rightly Tom Riddle had said that once Harry Potter was dead he would deal with the Wizengamot in a like manner. Something about stuffy old men without an ounce of magic between them. Full of useless parchments and out-of-date wands. Even though I don't remember seeing you at Hogwarts I hope you were at your post fighting for Harry Potter and his success."
Mr. Gilgail gave the Wizengamot another glance and noticed a bunch of well dressed old men squirming under the heavy burden of not being anywhere near the Battle of Hogwarts despite the clarion call to come and fight.
"Maybe we should press on," Mr. Gilgail said as he struggled to claim some semblance of decorum to the proceedings. "Thank you Professor McGonagall for the certificate. It shall be properly filed."
"And all charges dropped?" She fired back.
Flustered Mr. Gilgail said, "Naturally," In an icy tone. "Now may we progress to the next charge. Did you or did you not discuss magical means and methods with a non-wizard or witch?"
Since no one answered the charge Aberforth Dumbledore casually said, "I thought the Third Wizard Concordance of 1311 was rescinded in light of the rediscovery of the Lost Thirteen. In particular may I point out that number thirteen said something like, 'If there is anything truthful, lovely, of good report, praiseworthy, we seek after these things.'"
"Not in it's entirety: only certain sections." Mr. Gilgail retorted.
"Oh come on," Aberforth said, "All that remains of the Concordance is the general agreement on the creation of a global wizard language based upon the French language. I don't hear anyone speaking French: do you?"
Getting no reply Aberforth pressed on with, "Actually it was the French, during Napoleon's Egyptian campaign, that discovered the Lost Thirteen in some tomb or other. It is said the Lost Thirteen was written at the Beginning and handed down from the fathers of old. That through unfaithfulness they became lost. Then we lost them again as there was no record of what happened to them once Lord Nelson destroyed the French fleet at Egypt. Fortunately Lord Carnarvon rediscovered and brought the Lost Thirteen to London where they languished until some faithful house-elf released what they were. And the rest is, as they say, history."
"Thank you for that historical rendition." Mr. Gilgail muttered.
"Not a rendition, a reminder that we are duty bound by the Lost Thirteen to seek knowledge wherever it may be found." Aberforth replied.
"May I remind you," Mr. Gilgail said, "The Lost Thirteen also applies to muggles. I don't see them searching for the good in anything."
"Since there are no muggles here," Aberforth replied, "I don't see the efficacy of your statement. I think we should concentrate on the charges as written, as applicable to us wizards."
Mr. Gilgail muttered to himself, "Thank you for the first positive statement today."
"What did you say," Aberforth said.
In a clear voice, the official recorder said, "Mr. Gilgail said, thank you for the first positive statement today."
"Thought so."
The large wooden door into court ten suddenly burst open and Hagrid came pushing his way in to an already full court. "'Cuse me," here and "Sorry," there. Hagrid elbowed his way in. Once shoehorned in Hagrid said, Okay then, carry on."
"As I was saying before the interruption," Aberforth said, "Us wizards are duty bound to find and take in any good thing. If I can learn something good from a goblin I am duty bound to do so. Elves are the cleanest bunch going. Sadly there is many a wizard that lacks their care and dedication to order and cleanliness. Is it wrong to accept help in one area and reject it in another? Have we forgotten our ability to sift the facts and know if it is good or bad? Have we created rules and regulations to take the place of those skills bestowed upon us and handed down from the Beginning? If we loose those skills then we become sad people indeed. I say bravo to Harry for being open to listen and learn. To discern for himself if what was said was for his betterment or detriment. To listen, learn and grow, and yes, to grow even from his mistakes as that is what was known from the Beginning."
That was when Mr. Gilgail started using his gavel. "We are not here to discuss the Beginning. We are here to decide if Mr. Potter is guilty of consorting with non-wizards to discuss wizarding means and methods!"
Calmly Harry asked, "Where is the definition for wizarding means and methods?"
Mr. Gilgail turned to his assistant and said, "Well, where is it?" In a rather sharp tone. Flustered the assistant started thumbing thought the parchments and other documents assembled for the hearing. The search revealed nothing.
Seeing they were getting nowhere Harry asked, "Since the entire Wizengamot is here, surely they can provide a proper definition?" The innocent question revealed a deep division in the Wizengamot.
First to speak was a dumpy, heavily-mustached wizard by the name of Updyke Fordyce. He rose slowly and said, "Gentlemen, I would like to say I applaud Mr. Potter here for realizing that wizards are not the only group that have worthy magical skills. In fact there is much to learn, even from so-called wild animals. I for one have spent long hours studying fairies to learn their language. I feel that Mr. Potter is on the right track and should be encouraged to extend the hand of fellowship and friendship to all and sundry.
"Now on to the definition of wizarding means and methods. I have studied this topic long and hard and must conclude that there is no hard and fast definition as it is the sum of all wizarding knowledge and understanding, which, I may add, is not all written down. And since it is not all written down can not be defined as such.
"Furthermore, the repository of knowledge and understanding is not stagnant but continuing to grow and decline based on wizarding diligence and understanding. For example, when Professor Dumbledore passed away, there was a ripple in the repository of knowledge and understanding. His demise caused a shrinkage. Not a huge shrinkage, but a shrinkage nonetheless. Each of us are part of the sum and a loss is still a loss. Now the question is, can the loss to the repository be recovered? I say yes, but only through diligence, study, and applying proper wizarding skills. For example, here we have Mr. Potter. When he defeated Lord Voldemort the repository increased because the negativism Lord Voldemort cast about affected those right minded wizards…"
"Oh shut up you old windbag," An elderly witch known as Gerdoditch Testafiah, "Listening to you drivel on and on is worse than eating Garnuts in the springtime. Shut up and sit down and let someone more in tune with real life speak!"
Updyke Fordyce turned slowly to look at Gerdoditch Testafiah, nodded then said, "Still alive I see. Thought the rumors were true. Pity that. Better luck next time."
"You saying it was you who spiked my prune juice?" Gerdoditch Testafiah said in a squeaky voice.
"Ha… you still drinking that silly prune juice? Thinking it will keep you alive? Let me tell you here and now, your death will be a time to celebrate cleaning out the dead wood from the Wizengamot. You have sat there too long doing absolutely nothing except hogging up space and using up air!"
Seeing the divisions of old open up yet again, the newly appointed Chief Warlock, Xidi Jabberlock of Dunoon and Largs, stood up and said, "Ladies and gentlemen of the Wizengamot, we are not here to argue, we are here to decide on the evidence presented here." The noise died down but not the looks of antagonism and murder. Several of the Wizengamot were still muttering to themselves and others nearby. In a slightly elevated voice the Chief Warlock asked the fundamental question, "Have you heard enough to make a decision?"
"Yes!" came the clarion call from the back of the Wizengamot. It was Jedidiah Blazer. Using the chair arm and his walking stick the aged man rose to his feet. "Mr. Potter here represents everything we are against. He consorts with lesser beings, he shares means and methods with lesser mortals, and treats common house-elves as equal! And if this is not enough he has set free the second house-elf. Ladies and gentlemen, we have fought long and hard to preserve the purity of our wizarding community by careful breading and genealogy research to match the best together. This keeps the gene poll in correct balance. Sadly we are facing a rebellion in our very own ranks of the youngsters of today delaying marriage and the subsequent delivery of babies until the family size is diminishing too rapidly."
"Get back on the topic you silly old boot!" said someone from the audience
Jedidiah Blazer glared in the direction of the rude comment. "As far as I am concerned Mr. Potter is guilty as charged. Why are we wasting time fussing about the niceties of sitting here and listening to all this hot air. Guilty as charged!"
Then a dithering voice came from Yolanda Flashrupun who said, "And what was the charge again?"
Jedidiah Blazer said in a loud voice, "Just listen to me and say guilty as charged. Then we can all go home."
"I think not," Harry said. "I think you'd better reconsider your position."
"You… you little pipsqueak. How dare you question the Wizengamot! How dare you question our understanding of the wizarding laws and ordinances that have been handed down from father to son for many generations. How dare you stand there and question us!"
Harry calmly said, "I'm not standing, I'm sitting." That rebuttal brought Harry's defenders to their feet with a roar of laughter.
The chief Warlock knew he was facing a rebellion. His appointment was not universally accepted as he came from the Holy Island of Lindisfarne which most wizards had never heard of. Rather than tackle the issue head on he said, "Parlay."
Harry had been prepped for this tactic being used. Boldly he said, "I accept on the condition it's only one on one."
The entire Wizengamot rose in uproar. Pointing fingers, gesticulating, throwing scrunched up papers and generally acting as spoilt brats who have had their favorite snack taken away.
Banging away with his gavel Mr. Gilgail was yelling, "Order! Order!" to no avail. The visitors sat in satisfaction that the shoe was on the other foot for a change. "Order… Order!" was still being yelled out. It took a while for the Wizengamot to realize they were the only ones making the noise and circumspectly sat down.
Mr. Gilgail glared this way and that as if to dare anyone to make a noise. Pointing his gavel at Harry and then at the Chief Warlock he said, "You two parlay, right now."
Harry flicked his wand and down went his chair. The two of them walked out of courtroom ten and over to the empty courtroom nine. They were there for a total of ten minutes before they walked back into courtroom ten where the Chief Warlock handed a scroll to Mr. Gilgail. Mr. Gilgail read it three times then gave the Chief Warlock a dirty look before announcing, "Innocent of all charges."
Kingsley Shacklebolt was calmly walking out of the tenth floor, up the stairs and back to the elevators. He wished all small problems were that easily resolved.
The noise of the result spread faster than Angel-Fire throughout the ministry building. As Harry walked up to the ninth floor the cheers and yells were deafening. Harry took a lap of honor making sure to recognize all he knew either by sight or by reputation. The constant flash of cameras made it tough to see all the people. As planned, this was to showcase Harry was alive fighting for the small man while Tom was dead and gone.
Rather than take the elevators Harry chose to use the stairs to go from nine to eight. That way more people could gather and make a resounding noise. On entering the atrium the empty spot where the Fountain of Magical Brethren had stood, where the Magic is Might monument had stood, there for all to see was a larger than life statue of Harry Potter. Harry had one foot resting on the chest of the dead Tom Riddle while pointing into the air with the Wand of Destiny. Surrounding the statue was a pond with several bubbling fountains.
Aberforth slid along side Harry and quietly said, "I think our splash has been a mite too big. Time to find quiet quarters."
As they walked through the throngs of well wishers Harry noticed one or two young men sporting cloaks remarkably similar to the one Minchkins had made for Harry.
It was then Hagrid whacked Harry on the back and said, "Well done. Showed them lot not to mess wi' a Hogwarts Professor." Then nodding to Aberforth he added, "Good to see you Mr. Dumbledore, hope to drop by tonight. Bit low on food. If you know what I mean."
Aberforth did as Hagrid ate so much but only paid for one place at the table. Aberforth nodded and said, "I think we can handle it."
Turning to Harry, Hagrid said, "You be there?"
"Don't see why not."
"Good," beamed Hagrid. "Make a party of it, then!" Hagrid took off to the Floo network twiddling his wand. Being an official graduate of Hogwarts had changed Hagrid. He was much more confident, more sure of himself and loved using all the magical spells he was not supposed to know or use. Hagrid was like a small boy let loose in a sweet shop: and wasn't interested in leaving.
In rapid succession that Harry was accosted by six smooches. How the owls got in to the Ministry of Magic building was never discovered. Harry knew he had overstayed his welcome even though the throngs had not died down. Or was it because it was lunch time. Aberforth and Harry made their way over to the telephone booth and exited that way back up to the streets of a muggle London.
Aberforth quickly scanned the area and said to Harry, "You stay here a minute. Let me clear the path." Aberforth had noticed several loitering owls in the immediate area. Making sure there were no muggles about Aberforth pulled out a muggle sling shot and muggle exploding caps. Deftly Aberforth aimed and cleared away the owls. They were not expecting a muggle attack and retreated quickly.
Harry stepped out of the phone box and said, "Guess that won't show up on any Magical radar."
"We have to be adaptable to use the right tool at the right time to realize the right effect. I think I did rather well and avoided using spells where muggles are known to frequent."
Harry smiled and added, "We can learn from anyone, including muggles."
"Glad you were listening." Aberforth added as they headed back to Grimmauld Place.
It was early evening when the gathering took place. All the remaining Hogwarts teachers were in attendance. Aberforth put on a resplendent meal that even satisfied Hagrid. To round out the meal Aberforth brought out apple crumble, double Devon cream and a selection of rock cakes.
"The best," Hagrid said as he set his teeth into yet another rock cake. He was going through them faster than a knife through butter. Fortunately Aberforth had laid in a good supply: he knew his customers too well.
Professor McGonagall leaned forward to have her last bite of apple crumble and cream, and then said, "If I may be so bold, you could consider the Sturgeon Creamery of Kilmarnock as another source of double cream."
"Yes, I have talked to Nicky at the creamery," Aberforth said, "She says we are a bit too far for her delivery rounds." Aberforth reached for one last scoop of crumble to mix with the remaining cream. He added, "There's the Love Dairy on the outskirts of Glasgow that's closer and seems to have the means of supporting both Hogsmeade and Hogwarts." After polishing off the last of the desert Aberforth added, "And, I hear, the three Love girls have put in their applications to attend Hogwarts this autumn."
"Along with quite a few other young girls." Professor McGonagall said. "Seems our Professor Potter has created quite a stir amongst the younger set. And just the other day we had several enquiries from French families about my rates."
"Could we be getting French pupils?" Aberforth quickly asked. His French culinary skills were not that great since there is not much call for it in Hogsmeade.
"I think it's a flash in the pan," said Professor McGonagall, "Seems Bill and Fleur Weasley have been talking to family members about impending changes at Hogwarts. And that family members might consider transferring from Beauxbatons to Hogwarts."
"No, not regular families, I'm thinking about pure blood French families like Villefort, Caderousse, Danglars, and Mondego. Better still like Morrel and Pari Roubaix."
"Ah yes, the legendary story of Maximilian Morrel and his fiancée." Professor Babbitt said reflectively. "One of the saddest yet happiest stories going."
"Don't know French," Hagrid said. "Rightly don't know English too well either. Do know 'ow to talk to Centaur's and get along right fine with spiders. Not so good with Bygars. They get a bit upset when not fed."
Thinking about the future Harry glanced up from his third bowl of apple crumble and cream to ask, What do Bygars eat?"
"Bugs mainly. Small bugs. Like small rolly-polly bugs."
"Not at the dinner table Hagrid," Aberforth said gently. He had not been paid and did not want to upset his guests.
"Sorry about that. Got a bit carried away. Don't you worry about Bygars. They won't bother with you. Jus' look out for flying Bygots. They attack in packs like the Vashta Nerada: but different."
"So long as you are with me, I'll be okay." Harry said in a confident tone. Harry didn't see Hagrid's concerned look on his face as Hagrid tucked in to the last of the crumble and cream.
That night Harry carefully folded up the cape, suit, and shirt. Along with the shoes all were placed safely away in the small portmanteau Minchkins provided. This was the first nice clothing Harry had ever owned. It felt good being well dressed.