Occasionally, I see writing prompt posts on various social media sites that catch my eye. When that happens, I have to write them out. Sometimes I can't post replies since those posts have been archived by the time I find them, so I do it here.
- On an archived post in r/hpfanfiction, posted byu/flingerdinger -
Prompt:
The only manipulation Dumbledore is doing is trying to get his Harmony Ship to sail, but everyone including Voldemort keeps getting in his way.
The Wesleys are avid Hinny Shippers.
Minerva wants Harmony as well so she's thoroughly on his side.
Fillius is firmly in camp Huna
Pomona is a Husan shipper while Severus doesn't care (though is trying to push his Haphne ship on the side, Dumbledore sees through Snape's bullshit.)
Sirius is the biggest problem he's on team Honks and is the person Harry is most likely to listen to, while Remus is firmly in Dumbledores pocket...now if only Voldemort would stop trying to push Harry/Draco...
Wait, who doing what where?
Harry shivered, violently. Hermione noticed and looked up with concern in her big brown eyes.
"Harry? What's wrong? You've been shivering like that for a week and a half now. Is your scar hurting?"
"Not exactly... it's just slowly throbbing but it's not hurting."
"Then why have you been shivering like that? Have you been to see Madame Pomfrey?"
Harry shivered again at the mention of the Hospital Wing's benevolent dictator for life.
"Yes, and the shock of me showing up voluntarily almost made her pass out. After she gathered up all the notes and parchmentwork she dropped when she saw me, she examined me and said there's nothing wrong for once. She can't explain it and I surely can't. Then she got what I can only describe as an evil gleam in her eye."
"What? Like what kind of gleam?"
They were seated in a very nice small gazebo on the grounds of Hogwarts doing their Charms assignments. It had a stunning view of the loch and the mountains behind it, and the Headmaster had suggested it to the two of them. He had mentioned something about it being there when he was a student, but try as Harry might he couldn't remember having ever noticed it before. Even from the air during Quidditch practices, and everyone he mentioned it seemed to have no idea about it either. Being a magical gazebo, there was a wet bar, a quite comfortable couch with instructions on how to pull out the bed hidden inside, and an extremely well-stocked musical section with a state-of-the-art phonograph. Too bad it was stocked with things from almost a century before he was even born. There were shuttered windows and screens to deter insects. Even the light green paint smelled fresh, but he wondered about the chocolate accents that ran around the gazebo. Harry hadn't thought that green and brown fit too well together, but when he looked at Hermione he had to wonder about that thought.
She was waiting for an answer and he had been trying to put it off, but this was Hermione. The now-tapping foot and quirked eyebrow warned him that maybe he'd better answer her and quickly. He should have known better than to make such a leading statement. It bugged her to no end to have information just in her grasp and then be unable to snatch it to her bosom.
Harry tried not to continue that thought. Hermione definitely wasn't the tiny bushy-haired little girl he met on the Hogwarts Express in his first year. He cleared his throat and tried to clear his mind and spoke.
"She has some kind of monitor that I have to wear for a week or so to gather information. It's heavy, even if it's magical and I have to be careful how I sit so I don't bump it. It's supposed to be on the center-line of my body but away from my brain. Something about the neurological impulses that the brain generates in conjunction with my magic and the interference with this monitor. It's... a little uncomfortable."
Hermione thought about that.
"Like Muggle cardiac monitors for heart patients?"
"I suppose, but I don't have a clue about that."
"Well, where it is and how come I don't see any bulges anywhere?"
"Errrmm..." He wasn't quite sure how to mention to her where it was. Harry shifted in his seat, uncomfortable in more than one way and unconsciously spread his knees a bit more apart. His book fell to the floor. He leaned forward to try to catch it and winced.
Hermione's eyes followed the sudden movement. Her sharp ears had heard a second 'thump' and her eyes widened as her brain gathered and collated information. There was only one or maybe two places left on his body. She blushed, but a little smile creased the corners of her mouth and she turned away before he could see it. The sun was approaching the mountains as she thought.
"Heavy, you said?"
He grimaced.
"Several ounces."
"You have to wear it for a week?"
"...Or more."
"Did she give you any other instructions?"
"There's a cream I have to apply to the area if there's any, um, problems. It helps a lot."
She turned back to her book after patting him on the chest. Her hand lingered for a moment.
"I'll help you with it if you need it," she said.
There was a strangled gulp to her side and she carefully ignored it.
"Harry, I've been wondering why Professor Dumbledore gave us the key to this gazebo. There hasn't been anyone else here."
"I wondered about that." And welcomed the change in subjects. He was going to need some of that cream soon.
He shivered again and didn't stop for ten minutes. Hermione wrapped herself around him to keep him warm and supported his medical monitor as he shook.
-[=]-
In the castle, the Headmaster sat back with a scroll from his confidential files and noted the number at the top. Number 5, 387. A passing thought mused that if he came up with many more 'confidential plans' like this, he was going to need a bigger magical safe. As it were, he had to lean on the door to close this one before he could spin the dial and tap it with his wand. He wasn't getting any younger and it would be embarrassing to have to be floated to Madame Pomfrey's tortur... erm, hospital wing to be set to rights if he slipped. If he broke his hip trying to close the blasted thing, Fawkes would laugh at him for a week.
His Deputy arrived in the office, having finished with marking her students' work. He could see that the lines in her face were a bit deeper.
"Oh, dear," he thought. "Somebody must have really given her a poor submission. The last time I saw that expression, Mr. Weasley tried to transfigure an egg into a doughnut but broke the shell and its contents all her when he tapped it too hard with his wand. It surely didn't help that he mispronounced the spell and turned the albumen into sulfur."
The resulting chewing-out had attained legendary status and for the next week there were no eggs at the Gryffindor table.
"So, Minerva, should I ask what happened or just let my mind wander freely?"
She snorted.
"We both know that your mind will wander freely whether you intend it or not. It's the secret to your many abilities."
He wasn't sure if that was an insult or not and decided not to ask for clarification, especially with the frown on her face. Valor was the better part of... something. He could have been mistaken about that quote but didn't want to say anything aloud if so. Better to remain mysterious, even with Minerva.
"So how goes our plans?"
She squinted at him.
"Our plan? We both know that it was your idea originally and while I happen to agree with this one, you're doing like you do with everything else. You're being a secretive, pig-headed, cryptic, manipulative old bastard."
Dumbledore's mouth fell open in shock.
"Ah, Minerva, surely I'm not that bad."
His eyes wandered from her face to fall on the beady-eye gaze of his phoenix companion, Fawkes. The phoenix rolled his eyes – impressive for a bird. Dumbledore didn't think any bird could do that, but apparently Fawkes could. The Sorting Hat harrumphed as it woke up and glared at the Headmaster, then harrumphed again before it went back to sleep. Every portrait woke up and stared in abject amazement at Dumbledore's question.
McGonagall snorted. Enough said about that. Dumbledore decided to change tack.
"What brings you here? Aren't you usually laying bets with Filius and Pomona at about this time?"
"Usually – and winning – but this time we had an agreement to have to come to involving young Mister Potter."
Dumbledore raised a snowy eyebrow.
"Oh?"
"Yes, 'oh.' Remember what he was supposed to do tomorrow?"
"Hmmm. Was tomorrow supposed to be the re-shelving books with Miss Granger or the field-testing of the remote-house-elf-kitchen picnic basket with Miss Granger?"
McGonagall spluttered.
"What? No! Whose daft idea was that? The books re-shelve themselves and you know how she feels about house-elves!"
Dumbledore sighed to himself and reached for a quill to scratch those off the long list written on the parchment in his hands. McGonagall continued.
"No, Albus, he was supposed to be in the elective class for wizards to practice their dance steps. Frankly, Mister Potter needs all the help he can get."
The Headmaster chuckled.
"Like father, like son. Apparently, the messy hair isn't the only thing that runs in the family. So what's that got to do with tomorrow?"
"Pomona Sprout asked him two days ago if he would help Miss Bones with a Defense refresher, since he's the best in the school right now. She told him that she needed help with 'close-quarters movement,' or some such twaddle and arranged for a tight closet for her to learn to fight in place. With his assistance, of course."
"What? Isn't she..."
"Yes, the Herbology Professor. You should know, you hired her. He'd already agreed and was already drawing up a tutoring plan."
"Well, she would have the best student tutor, you'd have to admit that."
"That's what the D.A. is for, you nitwit!"
"Now, Minerva, there's no call for such... well, okay, you have a point."
He reached for the quill again. A few scratches obliterated an entry.
"Of course I do. And then the day after tomorrow..."
"Oh, I remember that one. Baking lessons in the nude... no, wait, that's another list. That's for me. Never mind."
There was a breeze as several listeners drew in shocked breaths. Dumbledore wondered why, since the windows were all closed. He shrugged and put it down to something the Castle did that he hadn't found out about yet.
"Minerva, are you okay? You look a bit green."
"I'm... fine, Albus. No, as for Mister Potter, Professor Flitwick has discovered that Miss Lovegood has an astounding talent for art. She has asked him for pointers on artistic charmwork and he informed her that it requires a subject with a great deal of trust. Mister Potter is almost the only one of the student body that she implicitly trusts, and the only male that she would prefer to... ahem... 'assist' her in her studies."
"Studies?"
"Yes. Miss Lovegood has, for the most part, specialized in art along the lines of the Ancient Greek and High Renaissance models. Her discussions with Filius has revealed that there are many Muggle art galleries that focus on these time-frames in artistic history and she would like to create certain works with Mister Potter as her sole model. As with Miss Bones, he has agreed to help Miss Lovegood."
"That shouldn't be too bad, although there are many Hogwarts robes around and why Mister Potter in particular, I don't understand."
McGonagall stared at him and then decided that it would do no good to mention the fact that sometimes a wizard's or witch's name was quite appropriate. He would be off on a lecture and she'd never get him to shut up. It was hard enough as it were.
There was moment of silence in the room, apart from the scratch of Dumbledore's quill yet again.
"Well, what about the day after that, Minerva?"
A great gust issued forth from his Deputy. Dumbledore knew what that meant, and reached down into the back of the bottom drawer. His questing fingers found the gleaming bottle of Glenfiddich and passed it to Minerva. She poured out a wee dram (well, no so wee but no one commented) for each of them. They partook of their libations.
"Well?"
"Mister Potter has agreed to help the Weasleys with a problem. Apparently, Miss Weasley doesn't have the same culinary skill as her mother and they've found out that he is an excellent cook. He could be successful with his own Wizarding restaurant, and Miss Weasley wants to make her mother proud. However, that requires practice, and even the youngest Weasley brother has standards in what he eats."
"Do you mean to say..."
"Yes, Albus. Ginevra Weasley could burn water. How she's passing Potions, I'll never know."
"But what does Mister Potter have to do with this unfortunate inability?"
"In all honesty, he couldn't leave her to the fate of derision and ridicule over her inability when he could do something about it. So, for the next three months, he's going to tutor her in how to cook."
Dammit, he thought as he reached for his quill again. From everything he'd heard, Miss Granger desperately needs that help, too.
A sudden thought occurred to him.
"Minerva, has Severus made any er... overtures, I suppose, for Mister Potter's help in anything?"
The only reply was the unsettling feeling that came from having every pair of eyes on him again, blinking in confused amazement. A few minutes later, the dead silence was broken by the Sorting Hat's wheezing laughter. It took several minutes for it to calm down.
"Oh, my ribs. They hurt!"
"You don't have ribs, you ratty specimen of haberdashery!"
"So you think. Oh, my ribs ache from that. I haven't laughed like that in - hell, must be four hundred years."
Dumbledore was relieved that at least Severus hadn't thought of something on his list, but he knew that the Potions Master wanted to link Miss Greengrass up with the Boy Who Lived. She was amenable to it, too, from what he could tell but he wasn't completely sure. It flew in the face of all he was trying to do with Miss Granger.
Couldn't everyone see that she was just right for him? They both had wild hair, for one thing. It didn't fare too well for any children but that was beside the point. At least with Severus, the Headmaster could see thought his bullshit. If he didn't know better, he swore the Potions Master was stirring things up just as much as he did anything in his cauldrons. Dumbledore admitted that Miss Greengrass was quite lovely, even if she wasn't a suitable Gryffindor. Severus was just trying to mess with his boss, he just knew it.
"Albus!"
Dumbledore realized that his Deputy had been calling his name.
"I'm sorry, Minerva, I was woolgathering. What did you say?"
There was something muttered under her breath that he couldn't quite hear. It sounded like rough Scots with something that she normally wouldn't say. Wisely, the Headmaster decided that it was best to ignore whatever it was. The last time he asked what she muttered to herself, it took three days for his singed beard to recover, and she didn't use her wand at all.
"I was saying, you old goat, that Sirius is getting bored at Grimmauld Place. Ever since he brought Andromeda back into the Black Family, he's thought up all kinds of things for young Nymphadora to do for and with Mister Potter."
There was a distinctly disapproving glance on her face and if anything the lines on her face got deeper by the moment.
"Like what 'kinds of things,' Minerva?"
She told him. He had to crack open a new expensive jar of ink to scratch out a good eighty percent of what of on his list. Although, to be fair, some of the things she said Sirius came up with were things he'd never have thought of.
"Could I have that list, Minerva? I may have to... er, research these."
There was that irritating moment of silence again, and Minerva was looking rather green. Dumbledore decided to ask Sirius for a list of his own later. He might wind up with pink hair or something like that, but the man's imagination was quite broad. And considering that Miss Tonks was a Metamorphagus after all, it was quite believable.
Although the one about certain Professors sounded a bit... well, never mind. At least Mister Lupin agreed with him. That was a young man that even with such an unfortunate affliction, he knew that the pairing of young Mister Potter and Miss Granger was the most optimal that could have happened. After all, such a similar pairing after nine months lead to a new Potter. What a wonderful thought, should there be another Potter. Or, two or three, perhaps.
Assuming everyone quit meddling and let him get on with it. Or, more precisely, let Mister Potter get on Miss Granger.
He sighed. If this kept up, how was he going to get Mister Potter and Miss Granger to jump the broom? That was an old marriage ceremony and he would be delighted to see it happen again. There was a noise that he ignored as he continued his thoughts. When he looked up, he saw that Professor McGonagall was holding a crisp parchment. From his position on the other side of the desk, he could see that the folds were razor sharp in their precision and the seal that had held it closed was a coruscating green and silver.
"Minerva?"
"I... I don't understand..."
"What is it?"
"This is a formal business contract, detailing a merger between Mister Potter and another student. It details times, amounts, financial remunerations in certain cases, something called 'stud fees,' variations and penalties for breaking the contract."
"Who is it from?"
"It says at the top, 'From the Desk of Lord Voldemort,' and lists a business law firm as retainer!"
"You're kidding."
"Look for yourself! It just appeared in front of me and politely asked for my attention."
Dumbledore glanced at the thick stack of parchment. Sure enough, it was a contract for the use of Mister Potter's 'services' and a quite well-written one, too. For the life of him, he couldn't imagine who Tom Riddle would pair off with Mister Potter. On the eleventh page, he finally saw it.
"Draco Malfoy?!"
"Yes. Apparently the Dark Lord has made his selection, as well. There are certain things that he feels must be done."
Dumbledore stood up after scratching off the last few items on his list. Considering the things he'd heard today, he might as well.
"Come, Minerva. I am afraid there are yet unexpected things afoot and Mister Potter must be warned."
The door had been closed behind the Headmaster and his Deputy for only a few moments before the Sorting Hat turned to Fawkes and said, "When are we going to tell him that everyone has had the combination to his secret plans safe for the last six months?"
Fawkes rolled his eyes again.