Professor Potter, Chapter 45

"How are they looking this year, Harry?" Bill Weasley asked.

"Pretty sharp, actually. I think some of them, at least, spent a lot of time playing this summer."

The 'they' Bill and Harry were referring to were the seekers attending the annual Quidditch camp. The two were standing side by side watching as their brother Charlie and several former pros were putting the youngsters through their paces.

"That appears to be true for most of the flyers. I think the youth summer league is going to pay big dividends," Bill said.

Harry simply nodded. They were nearing the end of the first week of camp and Harry was pleased with what he was seeing so far. The camp had an added international flavor this year. The two Beauxbaton exchange students were in attendance as well as two soon-to-be coaches and several senior students from Black Sea. The administration of the new school in Bulgaria felt that it was time to get a bit more serious about their Quidditch program.

Harry knew a large part of the impetus for this was coming from the East European national and pro teams that were looking for help in building up their teams after all the issues they had to deal with after the collapse of Durmstrang's program. The Black Sea attendees were looking for ideas on setting up their program, but more importantly to re-establish ties that had been damaged by what had happened at the old school.

In keeping with the orders of the Healers at St. Mungo's, Harry was spending most of his time flying and doing demonstrations and next to nothing in terms of administration of the camp. He was enjoying himself immensely. Something else he was enjoying a great deal was the time he had been spending over the last couple of weeks in the evenings and weekends with his dad. During Harry's birthday party, Arthur had told him about a car that he thought would interest the budding young autoist.

Harry's exposure to automobiles had been very one sided over the years. That is, from the back seat. First, in Uncle Vernon's Volvos when he had had the chance, which was not that often. Then the ill fated Anglia when the boys rescued him from the Dursley's that summer. Riding in the front seat of the Anglia on the trip to Hogwarts had been fun for the first couple of hours but eventually it got dead boring right up to the very exciting end of the ride. The fact that the Anglia was lost and Arthur Weasley was fined didn't help matters much. However, his experience in helping his father work on the Popular and his own time behind the wheel of the modified little car sold him on the idea of having one of his own.

The car he had been shown, and subsequently purchased, was a 1958 Morris Minor Traveler. It was a small estate wagon with four doors and wood trim. It was in reasonably good shape, but the wood needed restoration and Mr. Weasley had a few ideas about the drive train. The car was currently occupying the second bay of the shop at the Burrow. Abagail and Angus were lending a hand as well.

As he stood watching the flyers go through their exercises, he was anxiously awaiting his next driving lesson which was set for the following afternoon, which was a Saturday. At the appointed hour Harry Disapparated into the backyard of the Burrow and turned at the sound of a car bonnet being closed. He turned to see Arthur gesture towards him.

"Ah, Harry. There you are and right on time."

"Hello, Dad. Yeah, I didn't want to be late," Harry replied.

"Good. Let's move along then. Molly is out at Shell Cottage so you don't have to worry about stopping in to say hello."

Harry smiled and made his way around the garden wall and over to the Popular. Arthur handed him the keys and within moments the little black car was heading down the country lane towards Ottery St. Catchpole. Harry had been out several times and his confidence behind the wheel was growing. He had little concern now when Arthur directed him to one of the busier motorways. He had come to discover that whatever innate sense allowed him to know someone was approaching him also allowed him to anticipate when vehicles might shift lanes or overtake him.

When all was said and done, he found driving to be a thoroughly enjoyable activity. Ginny had asked him if he found it more fun than broomstick flying or flying as the dragon. She was a little surprised at his answer. He told her it wasn't more or less fun, but a different kind of fun. It was something that he had had to learn to do, not something he was just able to do. The learning was as much a part of the fun as the actual driving. She thought she understood this based on their past discussions about broomstick flying and who was better able to teach it.

On the return loop Harry found himself driving along a road on the outskirts of good sized village with houses spaced on either side. Ahead he saw what appeared to be a small crowd of people demonstrating about, or against, something. Some were carrying and waving signs. As they rolled closer the words on some of the signs became clearer and both Harry and Arthur's expressions clouded. One sign read 'No Witches in Newton Poppleford'. The Popular rolled to a stop some fifty yards or so from the edge of the crowd. Some other people were standing across the road about half way between the crowd and the car. Harry looked over at his dad.

"Do you know if any of ours live here?"

"Not that I'm aware of, Harry, but I can't say for certain."

Harry shut off the engine and began to open the door.

"Harry," Arthur began.

"No worries, Dad. I'm just going to take a look."

Arthur looked skeptical but said nothing further. Keeping his expression neutral, Harry strolled slowly over towards the other spectators. Since the demonstrators were more or less blocking the roadway his approach didn't cause any outward concern among the on-lookers. One of the men looked at him and Harry asked,

"What's all this, then?"

"A bunch o' bloody nonsense, if'n ya ask me, mate. The old lady has lived here her whole life, so did her ma. Now they think she's some kinda witch. That bloody minister is stirrin' people up, that's what."

Harry simply shook his head in response and watched as the group of twenty five or so people shook their signs and chanted various phrases.

"They should be more careful," Harry said in an off-hand manner. "Someone is liable to get hurt with those signs waving around like that."

"Might do 'em some good. Knock some sense into 'em."

Harry nodded and thought a moment. He should be close enough, he thought. Squinting a bit behind his new glasses he added a little shove to a sign that was waving widely. It swung wildly and hit a man on the side of the head. A shouted 'Oi!' rang out and the sign was shoved back. Harry smirked a little when he heard a snorted laugh from the man next to him. A few minutes later someone 'stumbled' sideways and stepped on the foot of another demonstrator. This resulted in a hard shove sending the first person into another. A short scuffle broke out. This distracted the others, who then tried to separate the scufflers, resulting in several more struggles.

"What a bunch of bleedin' sods," the man next to Harry muttered.

A general melee' was in the offing when two cars from the Devon and Cornwall Police arrived from opposite directions. A voice boomed from the public address speaker of one of the cars, which said,

"Alright, this is the police. Break it up or you're all nicked."

This announcement was followed by two short, sharp blasts from the car's siren.

"I said, break it up," the voice boomed out again.

Those on the edge of the brawl got the message and began pulling on the others. In moments the ragtag mob began to disperse. Seeing that the worst was over, Harry made his way back to the car and got in.

"I'd like to wait until the police leave and then see if the lady who lives there is alright. Someone told me she's lived there all her life, and so did her mother."

"That's fine, Harry," Arthur said mildly. "Odd, though, how that crowd seemed to turn on itself."

Harry shrugged and simply said,

"They should have been more careful."

It took some fifteen minutes or so for everyone to clear off. An officer went to the door but apparently got no response. The two cars pulled away going in opposite directions. The one that passed by the Popular didn't even slow down and the two officers inside barely glanced at it, a testament to Arthur's magical handiwork. Harry rolled the car forward and stopped in front of the stone cottage and then stepped out. It was a fairly old house but it seemed in good repair and the front garden was tidy. He knocked on the door and got no response. He knocked again and said,

"Hello, the house."

Still nothing.

"Ma'am, I'm sure you're home. I'm not a protestor or the police. I just want to make sure you're alright."

As he spoke he tried to make his voice reassuring. He wasn't sure if that had worked specifically but he heard the sound of someone approaching the other side of the door. His dragon senses also picked up what sounded like a muttered 'leaving an old lady in peace'. The door cracked open enough so the occupant could say,

"As you can see, I'm well and would be so much the better for being left alone, thank you very much. Now be off with you."

"I'll be gone in a moment, ma'am, but we, my father and I, were just concerned with what we saw happen. We just wanted to make sure you were safe. Had you been a real witch that wouldn't have been an issue, of course," Harry said levelly.

The door swung open about half way and he was confronted by an elderly woman of average size, long gray hair and penetrating dark brown eyes. It was clear she was upset.

"Now what kind of fool thing is that to say? You come to my door and …" was as far as she got as the look on her face shifted from anger to surprise.

"Ma'am, are you alright?" Harry asked.

"It's you. You're him. You're Harry Potter."

"You know me?"

She grabbed him by the arm with a surprisingly strong grip and pulled him inside.

"I know of you is more to the point," she replied.

"So you are a witch, then."

"No, but me mum was. Da was a muggle. I didn't get any of her powers but she was good with potions, real good. So she taught me all she knew about the healing kinds that didn't need any magical assistance. Make a tidy livin' with 'em. Lots of muggles go in for the natural remedies and herbal teas and such. Now that fool parson has stirred things up."

"The Reverend Armburster, I take it," Harry responded.

"That's the devil. I can tell you this. Not a single one of them idiots out there before was from around here. Don't know how they heard of me, but I do have customers that come from a fair distance. Someone must've overheard something."

"How do you know about me?" Harry asked.

"The Daily Prophet. We've been subscribers since afore I was born. Oh, I know they didn't do you any favors there but it's my only tie to my mother's world. It gets dropped down the old chimney at night. Had to tread lightly during those awful Voldemort years but I made sure I was just another muggle peddlin' her teas and ointments."

"Do you think you'll be alright after today?" Harry asked, genuinely concerned.

"Oh, I believe so, deary. I have mostly friends around here. This was a bit of a surprise, but thank you for your concern. And for everything else you've done," she finished with a squeeze of his arm.

After bidding the woman farewell, Harry walked back out to the street and got into the car. Arthur looked at him, waiting for an explanation.

"She's an elderly woman whose mother was a witch. She learned how to make medicinal potions and the like. She makes a living selling natural remedies and so forth. Apparently that crowd were all outsiders to the village."

"Do you think she's going to have more troubles?"

"She didn't think so. Apparently she has a number of friends here. But I think I'll ask Milligan to check around and see. I'm beginning to find our friend the Reverend more than just a bit annoying," Harry replied, the last part rather quietly.

"Have a care, Harry. Having him disappear in a ball of fire wouldn't do us much good."

"Please, Dad, I'd like to think I've outgrown any such behavior."

Mr. Weasley regarded Harry with raised eyebrows as his son started the engine and began the last leg of the drive home to the Burrow. That evening he was sitting at the table in the dining room with Ginny, the two boys and Abagail and Angus. The last two had spent the afternoon planning their trip around Europe that was to begin in September and Angus had been invited to stay for dinner. Abagail was laughing openly while Ginny just rolled her eyes while Harry described how the demonstrators turned on each other, with a little help from him. Then Ginny said,

"It's disgraceful how those people behaved, harassing an old woman like that. Quite frankly, Harry, I think you were far too lenient with them."

"What do you think I should have done, love? Spray them with dragon fire?"

"Well, of course not, Harry. But a good dose of Bat Bogeys would have been a good idea."

Now it was Harry's turn to roll his eyes. Neither of them noticed the whispered discussion that Abagail was having with Angus. Harry got all the details and then some the next day.

Since it was the middle of the afternoon on a warm, lazy Sunday in late August the young couple found him outside on the front lawn, his lounge chair pulled under the shade of an ornamental tree. Snuffles was tucked up next to the chair, sound asleep, since James and Albus were both down for naps. Harry looked over as they approached.

"Hello there, you two. Couldn't find anything more fun to do on a Sunday afternoon?"

"We may not have been having fun, but I think you'll agree that what we've been doing has been very interesting and very, very enlightening," Abagail said with a satisfied smirk.

"Am I going to be happy with what I'm about to hear?" he asked seriously.

"I don't know if you'll be happy with what you hear, Harry, but I'd think you'll be glad you heard it."

"How wonderfully cryptic," Harry said with a brief smile. "Out with it," he added in his best copper voice.

"Well, after what you talked about last night at dinner as well as over the course of the last year or so, you know, about that Reverend and the evidence he claims he has, it got us to thinking. So Angus and I went to see if we could find out what he knows."

"You what?" Harry asked, sitting upright on the chaise lounge.

"Calm down, Harry. It's not like we strolled into Durmstrang or that Chamber of Secrets place. It was just a church. He's a minister after all, so we just attended his service this morning. Sat right up front and I peeled him like an onion for you."

Harry stared at the impudent grin on the girl and the somewhat embarrassed expression of the young man. He shook his head and then said,

"Alright, tell me."

"He hasn't a thing, Harry. His so called evidence doesn't exist. What he has in a great deal of fears about things that go bump in the night. Apparently he didn't have a very happy childhood as a result. He's also incredibly superstitious. Black cats, upside down horseshoes, the lot."

"So it's all a fraud?" Harry asked.

"No, I wouldn't go so far as to say that. He really believes we exist, he just doesn't have the proof he claims. I'd say he fits into that classic mold that says odd old ladies who keep cats are probably witches. And of course anything strange or spooky that happens in the area is their fault. He's a very old fashioned fellow, our Reverend. I don't think he'd hesitate to throw a torch on the bonfire if he could get away with it."

Harry's expression turned grim. After what he saw the day before, he was pretty sure that the Reverend would have plenty of help. Abagail and Angus watched in silence as Harry thought the situation over.

"I think it's about time I paid Reverend Armburster a visit," he finally said.

"Um, Harry, this visit isn't going to involve any loud noises or bright lights, is it?" Abagail asked anxiously.

"Not unless he starts it," Harry said with a smirk.

The following morning Harry let Bill know he would miss that day's camp due to some important business that came up at the last minute. Abagail had given him the address to the church and some directions to where he could 'pop up' unnoticed. He could Disapparate to the spot and walk the half mile to the church. Since his knee hadn't given him any trouble in quite a long while, he didn't think it would be a problem.

He dressed as conservatively as possible, trying to look like a well heeled member of the gentry. He even made an attempt at getting his hair under control but didn't make much progress. He left from the front portico after receiving admonishments from Ginny and Abagail to make sure he didn't lose his temper. He arrived at the spot Abagail had suggested in a little wooded area just before the pavements that led into town began. He took his time and within fifteen minutes or so he came to the smallish stone church whose sign board listed the Reverend Armburster as the pastor. He looked about and saw a small door that had the sign 'office' next to it.

As Harry stood before the door he took a deep breath and let it out slowly. During the walk he could feel his temper building and he knew he needed to stay calm. He turned the handle and swung the door in. There was a desk by the door for a receptionist but it was empty and looked like it had been for a while.

"Hello? Anyone about?" Harry asked.

"Yes, who's there?" a voice called from a small office of the reception room.

"My name is Harry and I'd like to talk to you about your work, sir."

"Well, Mr. Harry, do come in," the voice said.

Harry closed the door behind him and followed the sound of the voice into the small office. Standing behind the desk was a middle aged man with gray hair and a slight paunch. His watery brown eyes looked a little tired but there was something else there as well. Harry didn't know if it was zeal or a bit of insanity but it was there none the less. The dragon rumbled a bit. The minister offered his hand and Harry took it. The grip was nothing of note.

"Please, sit and be as comfortable as the surroundings allow. By my work, I presume you mean my crusade against the dark forces of magic."

"Just so," Harry replied mildly. "I'd be interested to know what brought it all to your attention."

"Well, sir, it was a gradual thing at first. Growing up in the country there was always strange occurrences. Livestock gone missing, odd creatures spotted out on the moors, mysterious lights and noises. The old folks would tell their tales but never really taking them seriously, or so I thought. Of course as you grow older you're taught that it's all nonsense, just tales from someone's imagination. But over the years I've come to find that's not so. There is so much that can't be explained by logic and science. And plenty of others know it to be true but they succumb to the allure of the mystical and join groups and play at magic. But I know it's not play. That the true practitioners are out there, hiding in the shadows and dark places, spreading their evil."

Harry never took his eyes off the man's face, and his eyes. What was there began to grown stronger as he talked. Harry couldn't tell but he had a feeling it was more insanity than zeal.

"Evil? You know this?" Harry asked quietly.

"What else could it be, Harry. The good book tells us not to suffer witches to live, how could they not be evil then?"

The Reverend then proceeded to describe to Harry a long list of supposed acts and atrocities committed over the years by the forces of darkness. When the man finally wound down Harry nodded. Then he asked,

"Have you ever met a witch, or seen one performing these acts?"

"Alas, no. In all my investigations I've only ever seen the results. The remnants of their twisted rites, the fear in the eyes of their victims, and the treachery of their writings."

"Would it surprise you, sir, to learn that you have indeed met one of them? A wizard in fact, for the men are called wizards and the women witches," Harry said.

"Who, when and how do you know this?" the Reverend asked, his eyebrows pulling down in a frown.

"Me, now and this is how," Harry replied and with a whispered phrase he levitated the small lamp that sat on a corner of the desk.

The Reverend's watery eyes nearly popped out of his head as he stared at the lamp. His hands, that had been clasped tightly on the desk in front of him, began to shake. Slowly his eyes pulled away from the floating object and focused on the mildly deceptive face before him.

"That's right, sir. I'm the real thing, and after all these years you finally have your proof. And therein lies your dilemma. For I'm sure you're very much afraid right now that there is much more I could do, and specifically, do to you," Harry said as he let the lamp drift back down to the desktop.

Harry looked at the frozen ashen features and smiled a bit.

"You must be, I'm sure, quite familiar with tales of the witch burnings of the past. I can assure you, sir, that in all probability not a one of those poor souls were either a witch or a wizard. Any moderately competent magic user could have easily avoided the efforts of the so called witch finders. Instead they murdered thousands of innocents out of fear, hatred, jealousy, all the truly marvelous features of humanity. And here you are trying to stir all that up again. And again, it's the innocents that are suffering. And based on what? Your own fears and stupidity and whatever else that is going on inside that poor confused mind of yours. Well, sir, I'm here to tell you that it won't happen. The only question is, what am I going to do to stop you?"

The terrified cleric finally found his voice and managed to push out,

"Stop me? You might stop me but there are others."

"Yes, I know. I saw some of them the other day. But you're the biggest trouble maker and therefore the one to deal with first. The others can come later. Now, what to do?" Harry asked as he drew out the ironwood wand he had tucked in this jacket.

The Reverend eyebrows nearly went to his thinning hair line as his eyes went wide at the sight of the wand. He jaws clamped shut.

"Now, I could," Harry began, "simply blast you to nothingness but I think that would create more problems than it would solve, what with all the questions. And quite frankly, I'm not inclined the way your old heroes were in terms of just killing someone. I could also blank your memory but then again that might create issues too," Harry said, as he pointed his wand at the Minister's tea cup that was off to one side of the desk and with a little wave turned it into a toad.

The Reverend Armburster recoiled away from the little creature so violently he crashed his chair into the cabinet behind his desk. Harry shook his head and with another wave of his wand made the tea cup reappear.

"No, much too much of a cliché," Harry said, almost to himself. "Ah, I have it. I believe in free will, sir, and you will have a chance to practice some of your own. You have a choice. You never mention another word about this ridiculous crusade of yours again," Harry said, his voice getting very firm as he leaned forward, the wand pointing directly at the man for emphasis. "You tell your followers that you've been working too hard and your health requires you to take it easy. I suggest you go away somewhere that's quiet and you take some time to consider the trouble you've already caused and what might have happened if you continued on. The alternative is that you make one more wild claim and I come back here and I turn you inside out and hang your guts on the hedges. My people have suffered a lot these past decades and now that it's finally getting good again I'll be damned if I'll stand by while someone like you causes trouble. Have I made myself very clear in this matter, sir?"

The Reverend had a little trouble responding because at the moment he was petrified, without the need for Petrificus Totalis, for as Harry talked his eyes began to 'go dragon' and the temperature in the room had become significantly higher. He was finally able to nod his head.

"Good. For you see, sir, you now have your proof, not that anyone is likely to believe you, any more than they have or haven't already, and the reality of it is much more profound, and for you, much more dangerous than you could have imagined. And rest assured that you have been, and will continue to be, watched. I will find out if you fall back into your old ways. And there will be consequences, if you do. I am those consequences."

Harry reached into his pocket and pulled out an envelope and tossed it onto the desk.

"I suggest you use that and take that trip I mentioned, and do it soon," he said as he stood up and walked out of the office.

As the Reverend stared at the white envelope he heard a brief sizzle and saw a bit of flare from the reception room. It was nearly a half an hour before he stood up and slowly reached out and picked up the envelope. He walked woodenly out of his tiny office and looked around the room. He froze when his eyes fixed on a blackened splash on the wall above the door where he had, several years before with a touch of whimsy, placed a small sign that someone had given him. It had been the classic silhouette of a witch on a broom with the international symbol of the red circle with a line through it. There was nothing of it left and the wall was heavily scorched. When he was finally able to open the envelope he found a 'donation' of five hundred pounds in old notes inside. When the lay deacon arrived early the next morning he found the office empty and a note on the desk indicating the Reverend was called away on urgent personal business. It was the last anyone who knew him would ever hear from him.