A/N: The Daily Prophet arrives, ruining breakfasts the length and breadth of Great Britain. Harry and his friends scramble to make lemonade out of the lemons the Prophet hands them. Harry and Albus have a few words, and Umbridge makes her opinions known to the Headmaster. Fudge is given the pitch, and a chance to get with the program. Voldemort contemplates just how daunting a task world domination can be…unless, of course, you happen to be immortal.
Disclaimer: no change, no profit except for the warm fuzzies from loving reviews!
Chapter 10
Denotes Flashback
Remus Lupin had just complemented Winky on his excellent breakfast and taken the first sip of his morning tea when the Daily Prophet arrived. The Lord of the House, one Sirius Black, had never been much of a morning person, and Remus fully expected it to be another half-hour, at the earliest, before the smell of Winky's cooking lured Sirius down from his room.
Opening the paper, he was reaching for his tea when he saw the headline.
"Oh, no!" he moaned.
His tea was quite cold by the time he remembered it.
Tom Riddle, aka Lord Voldemort, had just taken his seat at the breakfast table when the Daily Prophet arrived.
Opening the paper, his eyes immediately fell on the headline.
"By Hecate!" he swore, and then burst out laughing.
Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic for the United Kingdom of England, Scotland and Wales had a lovely breakfast undisturbed by the morning Prophet. He had learned years ago to avoid the rag on a morning after he had given a press conference. No, first he broke his fast, then took his time dressing before taking the Floo into the Ministry. As per his usual procedure, he wasn't given the morning paper until he was on his second cuppa of the morning.
Consequently, the Howlers were already beginning to arrive before Fudge saw the headlines.
For Percy Weasley, the poor assistant to whom the Howlers were diverted, reading the headline (and accompanying article) first thing in the morning wasn't much help in dealing with the dozens of screaming red letters that swooped down on him that morning.
Harry Potter was sitting in the Great Hall with his boyfriend Cedric when the morning Prophet arrived. Once again, he was surrounded by Hufflepuffs; he was finding out that 'puffs were in general a much cheerier bunch of a morning than the bulk of the Gryffindors.
Harry was, of course, enough of a Gryffindor to like a good lie-in, and was still adjusting to sharing a bed with a self-confessed morning person.
He had managed to score a nice, strong cup of tea this morning, and had put four or five sugars in (he was still a bit blurry, and his count could have been off) when the post owl landed in front of him.
Feeding the bird a scrap of bacon while he put his knuts into the pouch on the bird's leg, he took the paper and laid it down while he fixed another cup of tea. Then, fork in hand, he managed to spread the paper out to one side of his plate and start reading and eating at the same time. At least, that was the plan.
The sight of the headline made Harry drop his fork back on to his plate, push the plate to one side, and began bashing his forehead on the tabletop repeatedly.
When Cedric Diggory saw what his boyfriend was doing, he stretched his neck enough to get a good look at the paper's headline.
Cedric immediately buried his head in his hands, and began taking slow, calming breaths.
At the high table, several of the Professors noticed the strange reactions the morning paper was causing around the room. So, it was with some trepidation that Albus Somebody Somebody Somebody Dumbledore opened his morning Prophet to see the headline:
WEREWOLVES TO REBUILD HOGSMEADE! screamed out at him in 72 point type. Just under the main headline, in slightly smaller type, the paper proclaimed that LORD POTTER BACKS MOVE.
Sighing, the headmaster turned to Professor McGonagall. "Minerva, if you would, please let Mr. Potter know that I'd like to see him in my office immediately following breakfast." Then, knowing she would do as he asked, Dumbledore went about the process of eating his breakfast and reading the paper in its entirety, looking for all the world like a man without a care.
"Harry, you can stop banging your head now. We've all seen the paper, and you're getting enough attention right now without trying to get any more," Justin Finch-Fletchley snickered. His own paper was already folded for easy reading. "You, too, Cedric…so you can both stop sulking and eat up. Merlin knows, you'll probably need your strength," he said, going back to his sausages.
Harry sat quietly for a moment, resting his (now sore) head on the tabletop. Then, with a supreme effort, he raised his head, took a bite of rapidly congealing eggs, and began reading.
He was surprised to find that Remus, as his Seneschal, was the one quoted as saying that werewolves would be recruited to rebuild Hogsmeade. The two had discussed that as one possibility, but nothing had really been decided; nor could it be decided until after the Wizengamot met for the first time since the attack. Under the current law, the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures had to sign off on any firm's hiring of more than three werewolves at any one time.
"Harry, I'm certain that Remus wouldn't say something like that," Cedric was speaking softly, leaning in so that only Harry could hear.
"Oh, I know, Ced," Harry said, not raising his head. "I know full well just what kind of twists the Prophet can put on things. It's just…" Harry lifted his head and sighed. "Now we'll have to spend time doing damage control, or giving everyone reassurances, or some other rot. That's time that could be spent doing something else."
"Like snogging your boyfriend?" Cedric grinned.
"Actually, I was thinking…sleeping, but that'll do," Harry grinned back.
"Hmph, it's nice to see just where I rate!" Cedric mock-huffed.
"Well, both things do tend to involve beds…." Harry gave a little leer, which made Cedric lean forward so they could touch foreheads.
"Oh, sweet Merlin, are those two at it again?" Susan Bones walked up, laughing as the boys broke apart.
"Morning, Susan," Cedric said, not rising to his housemate's bait.
"Morning, loverboys," she chirruped back. "Ah, such a glorious morning! The sun is shining….
"Actually, if you'll look up, you'll see that it's overcast, and threatening rain later," Justin said.
Susan pointedly ignored him. "The birds are singing, the happy little forest creatures are laughing and dancing as they go about their merry way…."
"Oh, Merlin, she's gone Disney on us!" Justin laughed, which made Harry spew pumpkin juice out of his nose and the purebloods look at the two muggle-raised students like they had just gone insane.
"Desney? What's 'gone Desney' mean?" Ernie Macmillan asked, thoroughly confused.
"Muggle cartoonist, did a bunch of movies about classic fairy tales, with animals that would flock to singing princesses and stuff," Justin tried to explain, then just shrugged. "It looses everything in translation, I know," he said lamely.
"The best way would be to show them," Harry said, still trying to get the juice out of his sinuses.
"Yeah, but how would we do that?" Justin asked.
"Over the summer Cedric and I found some spells that let us make muggle electronics work around magic," Harry said.
"You know we went to Japan, right? Even their wizards are crazy about their electronics over there," Cedric put in, giving Harry some realistic cover. It helped that it was the absolute truth, but the spells he and Harry had looked at were only just now being developed in Japan and the Americas. But, Justin had no way of knowing that, so they were in the clear.
"Anyway, in a few days, I'll owl my godfather, or Remus, and get them to send us some stuff. Then, we can have a movie night!" Harry said happily.
"Movie night?" Susan asked.
"Yeah, we'll get a room somewhere, with a telly…get some popcorn from the house elves, and maybe some butterbeer…then we'll all sit around and watch movies! My relatives used to do it all the time, except I couldn't watch," Harry said. "It'll be great!"
Justin was nodding enthusiastically, and Cedric was willing to go along with Harry, just because, but the rest of the table didn't look terribly convinced. However, the conversation came to a screeching halt just then, when Professor McGonagall walked up.
"Mr. Potter, am I to assume that you'll be taking all of your meals here, away from your proper house from now on?"
"No, ma'am. Sometimes Cedric and I will sit at the Gryffindor table," Harry said courteously.
McGonagall's lips pressed into a thin line, but she didn't pursue that particular topic. "I see. Well, the Headmaster has requested that you see him in his office immediately after breakfast. Please be prompt."
"Yes, Professor, of course. And the password is..?" Harry paused, expectantly.
McGonagall blinked. "I…he didn't inform me of his new password, Mr. Potter. I'm sorry, I don't know it."
"I see. So, I'm to just stand in the hall, guessing sweets, until I either get lucky or he decides to come down and fetch me." Harry's face and voice didn't change in the slightest. He was still calm and respectful.
"Actually…." McGonagall started, then stopped.
Cedric leaped into the breach. "I think Reducto would be a good password to try on the gargoyle, myself. Either that or 'gravel'," he grinned up at the Professor cheekily. "Maybe the next time the Head would remember to give the password out, along with demands for meetings."
Before she could help it, McGonagall felt her lips twitch. She'd often had the same thought herself. Still, discipline and decorum had to be maintained.
"One point from Hufflepuff for cheek, Mr. Diggory, and for inciting Mr. Potter to damage school property," she said.
"Oh, I wouldn't damage the gargoyle, Professor," Harry said innocently. "I'd just go ahead and destroy it completely. Think of all the time that would save over the course of the year!"
"Brat! One point from Gryffindor for your cheek, as well." Now McGonagall was smiling, as the mental image of a pulverized statue came inexorably to mind. She had no question that Harry Potter could indeed blast Albus' guardian into very small rocks and dust, but still….
"I would suggest that you call a house elf when you arrive, Mr. Potter," she said. "I'm assuming, of course, that the house elves will respond to you outside of the Lords Hall."
"I think they will," Harry nodded. "Thank you, Professor. I don't suppose the Headmaster said just why I was being called in so early in the school year, did he?"
"No, Mr. Potter, but he had just seen the headlines in the morning Prophet when he asked me to notify you." McGonagall and Harry shared a moment of intense eye contact before the Professor turned and strode away.
"Well, forewarned is forearmed, I suppose," Harry said softly.
"Do you want me to come with?" Cedric asked casually.
"No need," Harry answered, just as casually. "He'll rant, I'll plead ignorance and the well-known stupidity of the Prophet, he'll cajole, I'll yawn, he'll make a few thinly veiled threats disguised as 'suggestions' or 'for my own good', and I'll leave to go and do what needs doing. Hopefully, he'll only waste half an hour of my time." Harry grimaced.
"Bets on him invoking the 'greater good' at least once?" Cedric smirked.
"No bet." Harry snickered. "Although, if he does say it more than twice, I swear I'll vomit on his carpet."
"Weren't the twins working on a candy for that?" Cedric asked.
"Probably…if not, we need to suggest it to them," Harry grinned.
Just then Hannah Abbott brushed by Harry, leaning over to whisper in his ear. "Thanks for letting me stay until McGonagall left. It meant a lot to both of us." Straightening, she rounded the table, heading for an open seat across from Cedric. As she did, she looked over her shoulder and winked, matching Harry's confident smile. Who knew that the Abbotts—a family gifted (or cursed, depending) with a fair number of mental sensitives—would have trained their daughter in Occulumency since childhood? It had been a bit of a surprise, but a pleasant one for Harry, Neville and Cedric. One more trusted person they could share secrets with, at need….
"Well, Lord Potter, you're certainly in the proper jolly mood to be insisting that Dark, dangerous creatures be used to rebuild Hogsmeade," Zacharias Smith put in snidely from down the table. "Once the werewolves rebuild the village, they can just tear it down again, and start from scratch."
"And so, the vox populi idiotus speaks," Neville said, coming up to sit across the table from Harry. "Tell me, Smith, just how many werewolves have you known?"
"Well, er, ah…shouldn't you be sitting at your own table?" Smith blustered.
"I asked him to sit here, thank you very much," Hannah Abbott said, her voice hovering somewhere around the temperature of liquid nitrogen. "Budge over, Longbottom, you great lump," she said fondly, scooting closer to Neville. "Be a dear and pass the marmalade," she ordered, reaching for the toast.
Neville just smiled and nudged her shoulder, then reached for the marmalade. "Morning, oh most lovely of all the women in the world."
"Oh, Morgana, they're traveling in flocks now! Or has somebody been dosing those four with Amortentia?" Susan Bones laughed, and was joined by most of the rest of the table as Neville, Hannah, Harry and Cedric all blushed.
A short while later, after a quick hallway conference with Neville, Hannah and Cedric, Harry stood outside the Headmaster's office. He flirted with the thought of actually threatening the gargoyle, just to see if he could make it react, but then decided to save that particular little test for another day. Snapping his fingers, he was pleased to see that Makky popped in immediately.
"Good morning, Makky," he smiled down at the little elf. "Could you please go tell the Headmaster that I'm here, and waiting?"
Beaming at being asked rather than ordered, the creature popped out, then back. "Makky is telling the Headmaster, sir!" he piped.
Thanks, Makky," Harry said, dismissing the elf as the gargoyle slid aside. A few moments later, Harry was in the Headmaster's office, looking around for any signs of change from his last visit. If there had been any changes, he couldn't see them.
Albus Dumbledore sat behind his desk, the morning's paper lying face up in front of him.
"Good morning, Harry," he said, eyes twinkling merrily. "Have a seat. Lemon drop?" he said cordially, gesturing to the dish where his potion-laced candies resided.
"Thank you, no, Headmaster," Harry said, taking a seat in one of the Headmaster's overstuffed chairs. "You asked to see me, sir?" he said, trying to get to the point of the meeting as soon as possible.
"Yes, Harry, I did. Have you seen the Prophet this morning?"
"Yes, Headmaster, I have," and I also know that you can see me getting the paper from your seat in the Great Hall, old man, Harry thought, keeping his eyes away from the Headmaster's. "Was there something in the paper that directly pertains to my education here at Hogwarts?" he asked, deciding to cut straight to the chase."
"Not directly, no, but…"
"Then I fail to see what business it is of yours," Harry said firmly, cutting the Headmaster off. Pushing as much strength into his Occulumency shields as he could, he starting playing random pop songs in his head.
Albus started, unused to being cut off, much less spoken to, the way Harry had just done.
"Harry, I…."
"Mr. Potter, please, Headmaster; or Lord Potter, if we are speaking about Wizengamot business. 'Harry' is for my friends," Harry said coldly.
Albus paused, then really looked at the expression on Harry's face before going on.
"Mr. Potter, I merely wanted to express my concerns over how today's article might affect the public's opinion of you. You are one of our leading citizens, and for you to seem to be advocating for the rights of Dark creatures…" Dumbledore began the speech he had prepared earlier.
"Your concern is noted, Headmaster, but my business affairs are no concern of yours," Harry said shortly. "So, if there's nothing else…" he said, starting to rise.
"Be seated, Mr. Potter!" the Headmaster's voice cracked, and Harry felt the old man's power push at him. He braced himself, then looked directly into eyes that were no longer twinkling.
I wonder how he does the 'twinkle' thing? Harry pushed the though to the front of his mind, then focused on the sound a drum set might make as it fell down an elevator shaft.
A very long elevator shaft. A very big drum set. With lots of cymbals.
Dumbledore stared into Harry's eyes, his brow furrowing as he only was able to pick up a large crashing sound. It was hardly pleasant, and quite effective at keeping him from probing too deeply into the boy's mind.
"Mr. Potter, while your business interests are of course your own, your actions while a student here at Hogwarts reflect on the entire school. I would urge you to consider the effect statements like this," he waved to the paper, "will have on public sentiment."
Harry nodded thoughtfully, and Albus allowed himself a small moment of exultation. Then, Harry looked him directly in the eye once more.
"You're absolutely correct, Headmaster, and I apologize for any difficulty which my Seneschal's statements might have caused the school. I'll be out of the castle within the hour," he said, starting to rise once more.
"WHAT? You'll do no such thing!" Albus all but exploded from his chair. "Harry…Mr. Potter," he corrected himself quickly, scrambling to take back control of the conversation. "I certainly didn't mean to suggest that you were being expelled! Far from it, my boy," he said, the urgency in his voice quite apparent.
"Oh, I didn't take it that way at all, Professor," Harry said calmly. "However, I would hate for my actions to have a negative impact on Hogwarts' reputation, and I'm certainly capable of completing my education elsewhere." He paused, thinking. "It's possibly too late for me to apply to Beauxbatons or Durmstrang, but exceptions might be made for Cedric and I…and probably Neville, as well," Harry mused, watching Dumbledore's expression go from shock to horror as he kept rambling. "Then of course, there's always Salem, or perhaps the Southern Magical Institute—I hear that New Orleans is quite the metropolitan city, and very warm compared to Scotland—or perhaps Peru. I did enjoy my time in Japan, but I'm not really sure that I'd enjoy living in Tokyo, though. Even if I did stay here in England, there are more than enough private tutors available for the three of us to complete our educations."
Harry paused, enjoying the ashen look on Dumbledore's face. "It seems that the past few years have seen quite the rise in private tuition in England, Professor; especially in areas like History of Magic, Potions and Defense. I wonder just why that is?" he asked icily. Left unspoken was what they both knew: under Dumbledore's leadership, Hogwarts' educational quality had plummeted. While there were still excellent teachers on the staff—Flitwick, McGonagall, Vector and Sprout were all top-notch—certain other glaring deficits could not be ignored.
"Ha…Mr. Potter, your parents…" Dumbledore began weakly.
"As I told Professor McGonagall, my parents received their education here, and are now dead. I don't plan to follow their example." Harry sat on the edge of his seat, not moving.
"But you need training…" Dumbledore tried again.
"Which, thus far, has been sorely lacking, and almost entirely at my own initiative…unless, of course, you count all of the little 'challenges' you've arranged for me to face each year. Tell me, Professor, just when were you planning on telling me the entire prophecy about Voldemort and myself?"
"How did you learn about that?" Dumbledore snapped upright, eyes blazing.
Harry looked away, and shrugged. "It wasn't difficult," he said, then purposefully focused his attention on a spot to the left of the Headmaster's elbow. If Dumbledore started to reach for his wand, Harry wanted to know.
A breeze began to stir in the office as the power of both wizards began to build. Before it could do more than ruffle Harry's hair or Albus' beard, the doorway to the office crashed open.
"Headmaster! Have you seen this outrage?" Delores Umbridge waddled into the Headmaster's office like a charging pink hippo.
"Ah, Madam Umbridge…I believe you know Mr. Potter," Dumbledore said, suddenly the picture of urbane calm.
"Oh, yes! Yes, I know Mr. Potter," Umbridge hissed, turning to face Harry. "We met at his trial over the summer, I believe, where his barrister was able to get him off on a technicality."
Harry stared back at the great lump of a woman. "If you call the law a technicality, then I suppose you could look at it like that," he said calmly. He figured that Umbridge would be like Hermione in that the more calm you were in dealing with her, the more unhinged she would become. "Of course, if the Ministry had been doing it's job, then there wouldn't have been any need for a trial, now would there?" The subtle emphasis he put on his words was just enough to make a vessel in Umbridge's forehead throb.
Umbridge sputtered for a moment, then rounded on the Headmaster. "Professor Dumbledore, I demand to know just what steps you are prepared to take against this student! As a former Head of the Dark Creature Control Office, I can tell you that…."
"That this has nothing at all to do with Hogwarts," Harry cut her off sharply, "as I was just discussing with Professor Dumbledore, here. Obviously, Mr. Lupin was misquoted by the Prophet, which I find is the case more often than not, worthless rag that it is. Personally, I'm not going to do anything until I have a chance to speak with Remus face to face. Then, and only then, will we decide what's to be done…up to and including taking legal action against the Prophet." His peace said, Harry leaned back and got comfortable. For some reason, he felt a show coming on….
He wasn't disappointed. Umbridge lit into first him, then Dumbledore, then both of them at once, promising the wrath of the Ministry brought down upon their heads in so many interesting ways that Harry was tempted to make notes. Eventually, though, the toad-woman ran down, collapsing into another of Dumbledore's hideous chairs with a sweaty flop.
Harry raised one eyebrow at Dumbledore, who merely gazed back calmly.
"Well, that was a very informative speech, Madam Umbridge," Harry said. "I'll have to remember parts of it for my next insane rant. In the meantime, I really do need to go and firecall Remus, to see just what this is all really about. Professor, if you'll excuse me?" he said, then beat a hasty retreat at Dumbledore's nod.
"Let the old coot deal with short, fat and toady," he muttered to himself as he passed the gargoyle. And how the hell did she know the password, anyway?"
His boyfriend, who was only mildly concerned about how long he had been gone, met Harry at the door to his suite. One quick embrace and brush of lips, and Cedric was pulling him into the sitting room.
"Well, I like that!" Harry laughed. "No, 'how did it go?', or 'oh, love, are you all right?', just squeeze, smack and drag! The least you could do is check for bruises," he said.
"Shut it, you," Cedric snapped fondly. "Remus has been going spare on the mirror, and I told him I'd put you on straightaway as you walked in the door."
Figuring as much, Harry sat down and pulled Cedric down right beside him, where they could bump shoulders. Picking up the small mirror, he called out "Remus! Sirius! Oi! Grimmauld Place!"
The mirror shimmied then cleared immediately, showing an anxious Remus Lupin and smiling Sirius Black. "Oh, thank Merlin," Remus said all in a rush. "Harry, you must understand, I never said anything like what the Prophet reported, I'm certain that it's caused you all manner of trouble but that was never my intention…."
"I'd fire him if I were you, pup. He's obviously incompetent, not to mention he sheds," Sirius said, waving.
Harry just snorted at his godfather. "He doesn't shed a tenth of what you do, Snuffles. Now, stuff it while the adults work this out. Remus, if there's anyone who knows about the Prophet, it's me, remember? So, no harm, no foul. Dumbles is in a right state, but oddly enough, not upset enough to let me leave his little castle. What I'm more concerned with is how to play this to our advantage."
Remus' relief was obvious, as was his shock at Harry's last statement. Sirius, however, was leaning in to the mirror, his eyes intent.
"Pup, are you suggesting what I think you are?" the Lord Black asked.
"If you think I'm suggesting that we use werewolves to help us rebuild, then yes, I am," Harry said. "Remus, how many otherwise good people are there who're in desperate straights just because they've been bitten? Dozens? Hundreds? And where would we go to find them?"
Remus paused, caught unprepared by the question. "There are several hundreds in the major packs," he said, thinking furiously. "But, they tend to keep to themselves in their villages, and not to mingle too much with either the muggle or magical communities. Most of them are born werewolves, anyway, so they don't know any other way of life. As for the rest, the bitten who never found a pack, like me," he paused, glancing at Sirius' hand on his shoulder. "They are forced to register with the Ministry's Dark Creature Control Office," he shuddered, remembering his experiences there. "After that, they're required to inform any potential employer of their status prior to being hired, as well as report any possible new cases they may cause while they are transformed."
"So, they're monitored, and they're expected to turn in their victims, as well?" Harry said, shocked. "Well, I shouldn't be surprised—it's the Ministry, after all—but still…." he trailed off.
"Just so," Remus said. "So, I suppose that we could always go the Ministry…."
"No. Just…no." Harry said definitely. "Do this…start thinking about ways to keep them, and everyone else safe, both short-term and over the long haul. There'll be no shortage of work for strong backs and quick hands in Hogsmeade in the weeks to come; but they'll need housing, and food, and a place to spend the full moon. We've got, what..? Almost two weeks until the next full moon?" Harry asked.
"Assuming that we can get everything else worked out, what about Wolfsbane, Harry?" Remus asked quietly. "It's far too expensive for the average man or woman to afford."
"Not any more," Harry said determinedly. "Contact St. Mungo's, and L'hôpital de Miracles to start; see about getting their best price for one hundred doses of Wolfsbane a month for the next year. If there are any other possible suppliers that you can think of, ask them. I'll talk with Snape about mass-brewing the stuff; we've got the best Potions Master in England right here, I see no reason not to use his expertise."
"Aside from Snivelius' sunny disposition, that is," Sirius put in.
Harry grinned, but otherwise ignored his godfather. "The main thing is going to be what to do with everyone during the nights of the full moon, and then the next day while they're recovering."
"Most of the individuals rely on their families to take care of them after the change," Remus said, his eyes a bit haunted. For too many years, he'd been on his own, and was still getting used to the fact that he had a 'family' to care for him.
"So, we'll move their families to Hogsmeade," Harry shrugged, casually making a decision that would horrify people the length and breadth of Great Britain. "Even the ones who aren't magical know about the wizarding world, don't they? I mean, if there's a werewolf in the family it's a bit hard to keep something like that a secret…"
"You'd be surprised," Remus quipped, then smiled. "No, very few of the bitten come from muggle families, or if they do, they leave them almost immediately. The ones that don't…that stay because they want to infect their families, or worse…well, we don't want them, anyway."
"That brings up something else," Harry said. "I don't want a bunch of Greyback's thugs, either. Maybe I'm naïve about all of this, but the ones I want are people like you, Remus…otherwise good people who've been bitten, and would like a chance to be decent members of society again. If nothing else, can we get muggle background checks, or the Ministry equivalent, run on our possible hires?"
"That would go a long way towards keeping us out of trouble with the Ministry," Sirius said. "I can't see Madam Bones objecting, if we told her what we were about."
"I'll get Dad on that right away," Cedric said. "He can feel her out before we have to ask for anything formal, while Remus is getting everything else lined up."
"Good idea, Cedric…if you'd handle owling him, I'd appreciate it," Remus smiled.
"We need someplace secure…" Harry mused, then sat bolt upright. "Goblins!"
Cedric, Remus and Sirius all reacted with versions of 'what?' to Harry's outburst, as he rushed to explain.
"We get the Goblins involved, at least at first," Harry said excitedly. "What's more secure than Gringotts, right? So, we get the Goblins to lease us a large vault, make it 'wolf-safe', and portkey our wolves into it right before the moon comes up. We put some chunks of meat, and some water in it, and give everyone a dose of Wolfsbane right before they go in. The next morning, we portkey them back to their families, or to a central facility for 'morning after' treatment. Won't that work, until we can get something better built?" he asked.
There was a long pause as the idea was considered. Sirius was the first to speak.
"I don't know about that many wolves in a vault. I mean, what if a fight broke out? Things could get ugly, and we'd have no way to get to them."
"You wouldn't want to get in the way of fighting werewolves anyway, Sirius," Remus snorted. "Remember, there were times when it took you and Prongs both to manage me, and I was still just a kid. No," he shook his head, "you'll have to rely on the cooler heads—and isn't that just a wrong concept when talking about werewolves—to control situations like that. I'd want to be very sure about who I was going into that vault with before I'd risk it," he said finally.
"So, you're in charge of hiring, Remus…don't hire anyone that you won't want to go into the vault with, or fire them if they slip past you," Harry suggested.
"That…might work, at least for the short term."
"Long-term, I'm thinking that we'll need a purpose-built facility, or more forest space than I think we have left in England or Scotland for them to run around in. How practical are trans-Atlantic portkeys?" Harry asked.
"Expensive, and rough on the system," Sirius answered immediately. "You're thinking Canada or America, I presume?" Seeing Harry nod, he paused, thinking. "There's certainly enough forest there, but I'm not sure how the locals would respond to us dropping a few hundred werewolves on them once a month. South America or Africa might be a better choice, if we have to do something like that."
"Ask the ICW," Cedric suggested, then smirked at the shocked looks. "What? I mean, really…we've got this international body, why not see if they can do something useful? If nothing else, get them to tell you that they've got nothing better to offer than what we've already come up with."
"Boy's got a point," Sirius laughed. "Remind me why he hasn't gotten his Marauder name yet?"
"Because we've been just a bit busy with things that actually matter," Harry laughed. "We'll get right on it, though," he said, seeing Sirius' sour expression. "Sirius, could you take care of dealing with the ICW, please?" he asked, to which Sirius smiled and nodded. "Now, what else?"
"Construction crews, and supplies," Remus said promptly. "I've sent out owls already, and was going to start investigating building suppliers today, after Sirius and I came back from the Ministry. We've got to get permits before we even get building plans, apparently," he explained to Harry. "There aren't that many wizarding architects, but a few squibs do most of the work that's ever been needed. Most wizards just magic up four walls and a roof, and hope that the nails hold," he said.
"I've seen the Burrow," Harry said dryly. "One good Finite, and the whole thing would come down."
"Exactly," Remus said. "Of course, there are a number of house plans already drawn up and on file with the various firms, but Sirius and I…the house we bought, that was going to be a surprise," he said sourly, "was going to have to be remodeled for us. Now that it's a pile of burned timber and stone, things are actually harder in some ways, easier in others." He sighed. "I hope that Tom's happy with all the trouble he's putting me to," he finished.
Harry couldn't help but laugh at Remus' complaining. "I'll be sure to tell him, the next time we talk," Harry said happily. "Sirius, why don't you have Lucius pass that message along?"
"I just might do that," Sirius said. "I'm going to tea at his Manor in a few days, and I'm sure that he'll appreciate Remus' position. We're also going to talk about…other things," he said, grinning.
"Keep me posted," Harry said. "He'll probably be getting complaints about 'that crazy Potter' in a few days, anyway. Give him my love, won't you?" Harry gave a saccharine smile to the mirror; making Sirius laugh so hard he fell out of view.
"There is something else I'd like to talk about," Cedric put in carefully. "Remus, I suspect that you'll have trouble getting any construction company to agree to hire werewolves. So, I think that we should start our own. I've got funds of my own, and so does Harry and Sirius; enough to take care of our initial costs and then some. Plus, I think that it's not only good for the werewolves, but could be good for the community as a whole. If Hogsmeade isn't rebuilt, then the Dark Lord wins. By forcing a rebuilding on our terms, we win…and make a point. I think that, if we move a number of lycan-affected families here for the rebuilding, they'll probably stay. That may make some people leave…but on the other hand, if we give those people a stable home, then they'll fight for it." He paused, then pressed on. "I, for one, would hate to face a few dozen werewolves who were defending their homes and families and friends," he finished.
"Well…that's certainly ambitious," Remus began, then stopped as he was overwhelmed by the enormity of what Cedric had just suggested.
"You're talking about making werewolves respected members of the largest wizarding community in Britain…you know that, don't you?" Sirius asked. "I like it!" he said, lightly pounding Remus on the shoulder.
"That might just be the thing to make Tommy think twice before attacking Hogsmeade again," Harry said. "Of course, that one night of the months…" he trailed off.
"How would the Death Eaters know that there weren't a few Wolfsbaned-up wolves hanging around as a 'welcoming committee' on that one night?" Cedric asked.
"That would certainly make things interesting," Remus said, his grin feral. His wolf was rising at the thought of being able to give a little retribution back to Fenrir Greyback at some point in the very near future. Then, a thought occurred to him. "I wonder…" he began, then went silent.
"What?" Harry and Cedric both asked, then laughed at each other.
"I was just wondering if our friend Little Jacque could make me something like Harry's bracelet, that would survive the change but let me cast spells in my other form?" Remus wondered. Of course, there was no way of knowing, but all of them had a bit of fun thinking about the implications if it could be done. Harry in particular was intrigued by the thought of a few dozen spell-casting werewolves—fast, strong, tough, magic-resistant, fast-healing werewolves—at his back when he finally went against Tom and his merry band.
"Sounds like we're going to be training them to be some kind of Home Guard," Cedric said. "Do you think Mad-Eye will object to some extra work?"
"Actually, I think that Madam Bones will probably be forced to expand the Auror corps," Sirius said. "If we can get the facilities built quickly enough, there's no reason why some of that training can't be done in Scotland as well or better than around London and the Midlands. Harry and I can use our seats on the Wizengamot to push for a unit of Auror trainees, at the very least, to be stationed in Hogsmeade. Sorry, Pup, but that just occurred to me yesterday, and I haven't had time to even discuss it with Remus yet," he apologized.
"Something else we need to keep in mind," Harry sighed. "No, it's a great idea, Sirius. It's just that there's so much that needs to be done…" he sighed again.
"That's why you've got me, and Sirius, and Cedric; to help you carry the load," Remus said. "Don't take too much on yourself, Harry, pass as much as you can along."
"That goes for you, too, Remus," Harry insisted. "If…when your job gets too much, I expect you to tell me, so that we can get you some help, as well. Understand?"
"Completely," Remus smiled. "Now, I'm sure that there are dozens more things that we can talk about, but I have to get Sirius ready to go to the Ministry. Owl me!" he said, then closed the connection.
Harry leaned back with a great sigh, pulling Cedric's arm around him.
"I can see that I'll need to get on those large mirrors soonest," Cedric said, nuzzling Harry's hair.
"Mmm…not right now you won't," he said, putting his arm around his fiancé and snuggling closer. "It's time for my mid-morning snuggle-nap," he declared, and shifted until he was comfortably draped across Cedric.
"Mid-morning snuggle-nap? Just how are we supposed to go to classes while you're getting this 'mid-morning snuggle-nap'?" Cedric asked softly, shifting himself as well.
"Sod classes. I quit," Harry said, his eyes closed. "Oh, wait, I tried that; Dumbles wouldn't let me. Got to get expelled, then," he said, still not moving.
"Well, let's see if this will do the trick," Cedric laughed softly, settling down to enjoy his own mid-morning snuggle nap.
It just seemed the reasonable thing to do.
In his office, Albus Dumbledore had finally managed to get Delores Umbridge to leave so that he could fume in peace. The Ministry flunky was a minor distraction, at best, but she had done him a service by disrupting his meeting with Harry Potter. The little wretch had no idea just how close he had come to being hexed and obliviated, then sent on his way under a subtle version of the Imperious that Albus had learned from Gellert Grindelwald more years ago than he cared to remember.
Of course, then he would have had the tiresome job of 'adjusting' the paintings, but he had done that so many times over the past few years that he could almost do it in his sleep. Still, he didn't have time this morning to deal with that; his weapon was displaying signs of a disturbing trend towards independent thought, which he absolutely could not allow!
Dumbledore resolved to get the boy down to Madam Pomphrey at the first available opportunity, and the back up Longbottom, as well. That the two of them were getting along so well was a bad sign, and steps needed to be taken to keep them separated. If they realized just how much power and influence they could command together, much less their families' long history of cooperation, all of his plans could be seriously threatened. The first step in that process would be to get one or both of them out of that damned Lords Hall and back into Gryffindor Tower, where they could be properly watched over and distracted at need. A bit more compulsion, that would be all it would take for that useless near-squib Longbottom to cave in and go running back to his 'friends'; the youngest Weasley boy was an old hand at sticking to Potter like glue, and his jealous streak and abrasive personality would force an acceptable distance between Potter and Longbottom. After all, he'd done a spectacular job of interposing himself between them for the past four years; there was no reason why he shouldn't be able to continue doing the same thing.
He was still a bit shaken at just how casually Potter had threatened to leave the castle. He had worked far too hard over the years to insure that Hogwarts was the only place that Potter felt at home; obviously the summer spent with his 'boyfriend' and godfather had undone much of Albus' hard work. He absolutely could not allow his weapon to slip from his control…and somehow, the brat seemed to know it!
Dumbledore could see that he was going to have to accept a certain amount of insolence from the boy before circumstances allowed him to be brought to heel once more.
Perhaps this werewolf article was a blessing in disguise. Certainly it would garner Fudge's ire, since it made him look like the fool he was. Also, the fear of the common witch or wizard would generate more anti-Potter sentiment than the boy could possibly handle. It was high time that Albus stopped shielding the brat and let him feel the full consequences of his actions!
Yes, of course! That would certainly be the best thing to do: merely step quietly aside with a rueful shake of his head and 'I'm only the boy's Headmaster', and let the public tear the Boy-Who-Lived to shreds. Perhaps most enjoyable of all, his own involvement in the whole debacle would be minimal, at best! His only true effort would be to welcome the boy back into his care and stewardship with open arms, once he 'had learned his lesson'.
Albus' grin was a disturbing thing as he contemplated Potter's impending destruction.
Cornelius Fudge had generally recovered from the shock of the front page when a knock sounded at his door.
"Mr. Secretary, Amos Diggory is here to see you," his secretary said.
"Send him in," Fudge barked, reaching in his desk for a stomach-soothing potion.
"Good morning, Minister!" Amos was all smiles, which made Fudge want to hex him.
"Maybe for you," the Minister muttered, then waved the man to a seat. "Sorry, Amos, it's not your fault that I'm having a bad day…bloody Prophet."
"Actually, Minister, I'm afraid that I'm here in relation to that very thing," Amos began, still smiling. "I've just had a fire-call from my boy Cedric…you remember, he's betrothed to Lord Potter, and they're back at Hogwarts now…and he was absolutely livid about what the Prophet is saying. He wanted me to extend his—and Lord Potter's—most sincere apologies to you, and ask if you would be interested in joining them in taking legal action against the Prophet."
Fudge leaned back, stunned. This was not something that he'd expected, but…. "Well, Amos, I don't really know what to say. Oh, I won't be able to take any legal action against the rag, public figure and all that," he said, glaring down at his paper. "I am a bit surprised that the boys sent you here straight away to discuss it with me."
"Minister, I've Harry's—Lord Potter's—assurances that his Seneschal was quoted far, far out of context. While Lord Potter is, of course, very much concerned with the plight of those poor unfortunates who, through no fault of their own, have been infected with lycanthropy, using them to rebuild Hogsmeade is certainly not something that he would suggest without first having extensive discussions with the Ministry."
"Well, I'm certainly happy to hear that," Fudge said, relaxing. How interesting! The boy was certainly sending the right signals. Perhaps this was Potter's way of opening up his relationship with the Ministry, or a sign that he and Dumbledore weren't as close as Fudge had assumed.
Amos Diggory smiled, watching the Minister's face closely. "Unfortunately, the Prophet has opened up a tremendous can of worms on all of us, with their lead story today. What began as an idea bandied about over tea and biscuits is suddenly the topic of the hour, and both my Cedric and Lord Potter hope that there might be some good to come out of the whole debacle."
"Oh?" Fudge said, expecting the worst.
"Since everyone is already talking about it, Lord Potter feels that it behooves all of us to make sure that the discussion taking place is honest, fact-based and above-board. If we rely only on the Prophet, how will the public get the facts? Harry's—Lord Potter's—main concern at this point is to provide a counter to the lies and hysteria that the Prophet is using to sell papers."
"They're certainly going to do that," Fudge said. Long experience had taught him that this kind of panic virtually guaranteed a second, even a third print run. "So, what kinds of things does Lord Potter have in mind?"
"Not a lot, actually," Amos smiled, getting ready to make the pitch. "He's prepared to issue a statement now, with the possibility of an interview later, to the effect that his Seneschal was taken out of context. He is open to the idea of providing honest labor for our infected who are otherwise good citizens, and intends to work hand-in-glove with the Ministry to see that they receive proper care while insuring the public safety. He's instructed his Seneschal—who was infected as a child, by the way—to contact St. Mungo's and other suppliers to arrange for large quantities of Wolfsbane potion to be brewed. He also wants it known that several options for sequestering the infected during the full moon, as well as providing recuperative care the following days, are being investigated." Amos paused, then leaned forward confidentially. "He won't be saying this in his statement, but the best idea that's come up thus far is to lock them in a vault at Gringotts during the full moon, and not let them out until the next morning."
Fudge couldn't help himself…he had the first good laugh of the morning at that thought! "And just what do the goblins think about that?" he said, when he could speak once more.
Amos had the grace to blush. "Well, that's something that hasn't been discussed with them yet, which is why Lord Potter didn't want to bring it up."
"I should say not!" Fudge smiled. He liked what he was hearing more and more. It had the great advantage of being openly humane and progressive, while putting the whole thing on Potter's shoulders. All Fudge had to do was be the voice of reason and restraint, until the public's verdict was in. If that verdict was good, and Potter could pull it off, Fudge could claim at least partial credit for making it work. If it failed spectacularly (as he expected it to), then it hadn't cost him anything. It suited his politician's soul perfectly.
"Amos, I'll have to see the details, of course."
"Of course, Minister," Amos nodded.
"And, there will have to be involvement from the Dark Creature Control Office, and the DMLE, I should think. Still," he said, waving his hand, "I see nothing that can't be managed or overcome, with a bit of effort and good faith. I take it that Lord Potter would also like for me to make a complimentary statement?" he asked, already knowing the answer.
"If you would, Minister," Amos smiled. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I know that you're a busy man, and I need to get back with Lord Potter as soon as possible."
Fudge merely nodded as his underling showed himself out. Gazing down at the paper, he began thinking about just what his own statement needed to say….
Lord Voldemort was in a fine mood after having read the morning Prophet. Really, he should do something nice for those fools for being so dependable. He couldn't have gotten better press if he had written it himself! Maybe he should offer them an exclusive interview…and use it to announce his return…. So much to ponder!
At any rate, he knew exactly what had happened. Potter's Seneschal, a wolf himself, had made a fairly neutral statement that the Prophet's scandalmongers had blown all out of proportion. No one with any sense could possibly see any other reading of the mess, which of course meant that the bulk of the Prophet's readers would take it as gospel.
Riddle sighed to himself. There were times when he wondered if the sheeple were even worth leading, foolish creatures that they were. Then, he sipped his tea, and those silly thoughts went right away.
Now, how to best turn this headline even further to his advantage? He wasn't concerned one way or another about any werewolves that might be used in the rebuilding. Most of the independent wolves could be bullied about by a strong alpha like Greyback, just like the majority of the tribes. Oh, there were a few tribal villages where the local pack alpha was strong enough to stand up to his minion, but not enough to matter. No, those few 'lone wolves'—he snickered to himself at the phrase—that Potter and his tame wolf managed to round up would be much more trouble than they could ever possibly be worth. Potter and his agents would be forced to provide them Wolfsbane, and a safe place for the full moon, and then bandage them up afterwards. He would never, ever think about using them against an enemy; the public would crucify him if he even suggested such a thing. So, all of the advantages that a solid cadre of weres could bring to the Light—strength, speed, resilience, enhanced senses, just to name a few—would be wasted on putting up walls that his Death Eaters could burn down in another night of fun and frivolity
Still, it wouldn't do to let Potter steal a march on him. Summoning parchment and quill, he scratched out a quick letter to Greyback, ordering him to find a solitary wolf or three to plant in the workforce that Potter's man—Lupin, that was his name, and just how ironic was that? It couldn't be the man's real name—would be recruiting. Having a man on the ground would make it just that much easier to plan his next strike at Hogsmeade. The timing of the next attack would have to be carefully thought out. Too soon, and there wouldn't be anything there worth destroying. Wait too long, and some bright soul at the Ministry might actually decide to put an Auror squad there. Not that a squad of Aurors could actually do much to stop an attack by his Death Eaters, but they could prove an inconvenience. His troops were still in a state of exultation over the ease of the last attack, and he wanted to preserve that illusion of invulnerability as long as possible. It was only a matter of time before Dumbledore or Potter convinced Fudge to pull his head out of his rectum and do something useful, and then the losses on both sides would, of necessity, go up significantly.
The most important thing taken care of, Riddle began going back over the follow-up articles carefully. There was a brief mention about the offer of international assistance, but the Ministry had declined any such aid. Well, good! Scratching out another note to a sympathizer in France, Voldemort "encouraged" him to begin spreading the opinion that giving any aid to the ever-so-irritating British would be not only unwise, but also unappreciated. Given the propensity of the man to gossip, his 'opinion' would be spread from Paris to Kamchatka by the end of the week.
Not for the first time, Riddle found himself grinding his teeth about the state of his support in the Americas. He had essentially no support at all in Canada, and aside from a few small pockets of blue bloods in New England, almost no support in the United States. There was a significant cadre of blood purists in Mexico, with roots going back to the early phases of the Spanish conquest, where the second and third sons of magical Spain married the daughters of the Aztec wizard-priests, but every single emissary he had sent to them had been returned in multiple containers. As jaded as he was, even Voldemort had shuddered at what had been done to his men before they were packaged for shipping.
Apparently, they considered everyone's blood—aside from their own, of course—to be too debased to even consider opening up communications. Especially that of the English! While Tom could certainly appreciate the mindset, he was still a bit miffed at the insinuations that had accompanied the bits and pieces of his minions.
So, between the generally laid-back and egalitarian United States, the relentlessly self-involved Canadians, the bloody descendents of Castile and Tenochtitlan, and the Peruvians—who considered everything south of the Yucatan to be their own personal playground—Voldemort had never been able to gain a foothold in the New World. Of course, it didn't help that every year or so, a new Dark Wizard rose up somewhere in South America, only to be squished like a cockroach under the foot of the Peruvians and ICW. Apparently, none of those Dark Wizards had ever wanted the competition he represented, so any hope of an alliance inevitably was squashed, as well.
Leaning back, the Dark Lord took a moment to consider what else he might be doing in places other than England to strengthen his position. The Americas were a lost cause, at least for the moment. Africa was, well…Africa. The Dark Continent had been the birthplace of man, if the archeologists were to be believed, and then been in a steady decline ever since. With the great, glaring exception of Egypt, where most of what could be considered 'modern' magic had been born, the rest of the continent had always been a festering morass of warring tribal factions too intent on decimating each other to every build anything of substance. No, Africa would be a major effort to tame, and he had more urgent things to occupy his time.
As for the rest of the world…well, he was immortal, after all. The Middle East was firmly in the grip of the Wizard Imams and their djinns; China and the Far East had their own way of doing magic that he would have to master before he could even contemplate expanding his rule over them. Asia would present its own unique difficulties, as well; he wasn't looking forward to digging the monks and tribal sorcerers out of their mountains.
All in all, it seemed a daunting task, this global domination. Good thing he had, literally, all the time in the world to go about it!
A/N: before you flame me: consider that Voldemort is just a bit prejudiced and Brit-centric, and I've tried to write him as such. If you'll note, his interpretation of the newspaper headline is a bit different from, say, Fudge's.
Ah, who am I kidding? Go ahead, flame me! Every review counts! *heh heh heh*
Special thanks to RRW, who caught my slip-up with Hannah in Harry's room, which I then had to fix in this chapter.
ReaderMike has asked (appropriately) why portkeys aren't used en masse to transport supplies directly into the storage dungeons of Hogwarts. My explanation is that portkeys are a fairly advanced magic that not everyone can make (seriously—Molly Weasley making a portkey? Please…), and even then the energy involved is directly related to the mass involved. So, moving a few people takes a fair amount of energy, but it's manageable. Moving large amounts of supplies (building materials, foodstuffs, etc.) is just too tiring to be practical on a regular basis. There will be some emergency supplies portkeyed in, but not pallets of goodies. One more thing: Albus won't adjust the wards to allow direct portkey entrance to his storage areas because of security concerns—one quick DE raid to snatch a portkey, then 'poof!' into the castle to run amok amok amok! That would be, as they say, a bad thing.
Next Chapter: Cedric and Professor Sprout have a meeting, and the rebuilding continues.