"I can't believe that Professor Dumbledore would do such a thing, of all people," Dennis whispered to Ginny. The transfiguration class was tenser than usual with Professor McGonagall , who was visibly a lot more agitated and snappish. A day passed after the shocking arrest of the Transfiguration Professor Dumbledore, and the Daily Prophet's breaking news of his "treacherous, fraudulent crime" rattled the entire Britain. Professor Slughorn, who happened to be absent at the time of Dumbledore's arrest, temporarily delegated the Transfiguration class to McGonagall, which wasn't a huge task for her since she had been teaching it until Dumbledore abdicated from the Headmaster position. Horace Slughorn reluctantly took the position but proved to be a competent headmaster, sometimes more efficient than Dumbledore in some aspects.
"I somewhat understand him," said Ginny as she scribbled down McGonagall's lectures, "squibs are arguably even less respected than muggleborns. My family has a squib cousin, and we don't ever talk about him. Filch killed himself the day after one muggleborn Hufflepuff called him a loser squib, how cruel is that?"
"I think he was almost expelled for that, right? I have never seen Professor Sprout that much incensed before," Dennis lightly shuddered, "poor Filch."
"Ms. Weasley and Mr. Creevey!" McGonagall slammed her desk. "One more useless chit-chat I hear, you will be in detention."
"Sorry, professor!" Creevey apologized in a mousy voice. McGonagall shot daggers at him. She then resumed her lecture with a less angry voice. "When you intend to transform an organic material to a completely inorganic entities, such as a pig to a glass statue-"
"Are your parents going to do anything? They are close to Professor Dumbledore, right?" Creevey quietly cast an imperturbable spell around himself and Ginny.
"I don't know what my dad can possibly do to help him, his position is barely above the bottom of the barrel," Ginny sighed, quickly glancing at McGonagall if she could hear them. The cantankerous witch seemed engrossed in her notes that she was reading. It was Professor Dumbledore's lecture notes that he had designed for this year. "With You-Know-Who at large, imprisoning him will enable Death Eaters to raise hell even more. Then you have arseholes like Malfoys in the Ministry that might already be spying for You-Know-Who-"
Ginny clammed up as she felt someone briskly striding by her desk. It was Hermione Granger, who recently took up the Teaching Assistant position for Professor Flitwick. Headmaster Slughorn launched a new career program for newly graduate students who wanted to teach students in Hogwarts or advance their ways up in Department of Magical Education. Those with top marks could gain apprenticeship under sorcery researchers in the ministry or work for Board of Hogwarts Governors, but mysteriously enough, Granger wasn't chosen for either opportunity despite her flying colors, hence settling for her current position. Ginny once overheard Granger complaining to another assistant how she was discriminated based on her muggleborn background, but Ginny found it grim that Granger was oblivious her profoundly condescending and rigid personality. It could have been because she had had no real friends throughout her entire school in her Ravenclaw house or others, and Ginny saw her progressively turning more and more distant.
"Professor McGonagall, Headmaster would like to see you," said Grange in a clipped voice.
"Is it urgent?"
"It absolutely is," Granger's irritation was obvious. She had already been occupied with Flitwick's lesson plans before Professor Dumbledore was arrested, and she was abruptly tasked with helping McGonagall, whom she shared a mutual dislike. Ginny couldn't blame the old witch for her grudge against Granger. Who would want to work with someone that berated an entire Gryffindor house for being 'unsalvageably stupid and loud'?
"I am afraid that I have to cut the lecture short, students," said McGonagall, wandlessly stacking the books onto Granger's hands. Ginny stifled her laughter at the witch's unbridled pettiness. "Read from page twenty-seven to thirty-five, and compose a three page summary. That is all. Ms. Granger, leave these books in my office."
Granger curtly nodded and left with a big stack of books and unorganized papers with a huge scowl. The students, confused but pleasantly surprised by the early dismissal, packed their belongings and darted out of their classes. Ginny signaled Dennis to leave her behind, and took her times on purpose, waiting until she was alone with McGonagall in the classroom. Once Dennis left, Ginny cleared her throat.
"Ms. Weasley, do you have any questions?" The old witch raised her eyebrows.
"Uh, professor…," Ginny wetted her lips, "is there any news from Professor Dumbledore that you have gotten, other than what the Daily Prophet reported?"
"I assume that is what Headmaster Slughorn plans to inform all the faculty members, not just me."
"Yes, but you know, we are in the Order, and-"
McGonagall raised her hand. She conducted elaborate wand movements, first pointing at the classroom door, and then pointing the opposite side wall. Ginny felt an odd vibration in the air, realizing that the witch cast a soundproof spell.
"Ms. Weasley, although we have the Order meeting tonight - which you won't be a part of - but I will tell you a few things that Shacklebolt and Tonks informed me." McGonagall sipped a cold tea. "You Know that Harry Potter is a squib."
"Yes, but I don't understand how he is squib now when he wasn't at birth."
"During the trial, Professor Dumbledore speculated that the death curse rebound somehow left the child's magic in some kind of...disability. None of us knew that until the year he would have attended Hogwarts - well, professor Dumbledore hid it from me by apparently casting a memory charm on me-"
"He changed your memory?" Ginny gaped.
"I recall informing him the lack of the invitation letter for Harry Potter, and him visiting the Dursleys to check on Harry. He came back to tell me that Harry died in a freak accident, but after Tonks relayed me his confession, I let Professor Slughorn look deeper into my memory. Now, I remember what actually happened: Professor Dumbledore cast a very complicated spell on the Hogwarts Book of Admittance to fool it into thinking that Harry Potter is dead, and planted a false memory of me telling him that Harry is recorded dead in the Book, and he just came back from confirming Harry's death."
"The Book also tells you if the student is dead?"
"The Book never makes a mistake of admitting squibs, muggles or dead students. I don't know how the Book and the Quill work, but I believe that Professor Dumbledore understood the mechanisms and changed the record, or I would have known that he was lying." A pained expression loomed over McGonagall. "It is hard to stomach that your colleague of decades would corrupt your memory so readily."
"I...am sorry for that," Ginny could find no elegant choice of words to console McGonagall. What could she possibly say about such an outlandishly scandalous ethical violation?
"I understand why he did that, but I must say that I am quite fed up with him wanting to do everything," McGonagall huffed, "anywho, the ministry will want to find anyone or anything that will want as a figurehead for this war. Some of my colleagues are in denial, and I am sure that a good part of civilians don't want to admit that Harry Potter is a squib and will latch on to the belief that he will save the world once again."
"But why does it have to be him? Can't we just leave him alone? What makes him so significant?"
"I am afraid that that I don't have any answer for that," McGonagall shrugged, "and frankly, I don't think the ministry knows why they need Harry Potter, but they think they do because he defeated Him as a baby after all. Some cretins think that Harry Potter is trained as a secret weapon, which is absolutely silly."
Ginny was well aware of the once popular conspiracy. It sprung right after the Professor Dumbledore announced the unfortunate accidental death of Harry Potter. Some pureblood families accused Dumbledore of hiding Harry Potter and demanded that the Ministry interrogate him. Some journalists from Daily Prophet and other gossipy magazines published bogus breaking news with dubious 'tips' about how Dumbledore planned to use Harry Potter as his own personal weapon to usurp revolution and become a new Minister. Anyone with sensible brains wouldn't have believed such utter stupidity, and Dumbledore was swift to quell the controversy with a funeral of Harry Potter, his corpse for all to see in a well-adorned, Gryffindor style coffin. A few yellow journalists then published wild claims of Dumbledore of fabricating a fake dead body, which he responded to by a threat of lawsuits of defamation. Ginny believed that they simply wanted to sell papers but thought how ironic it was that it turned out to be true.
"This is all I can tell you, Ms. Weasley. I don't want to burden you too much, and I am sure Molly is not ready to fully induct you to Order. Have a good day, and don't let this distract you from your academic duties."
"Thank you, Professor McGonagall."
McGonagall curtly nodded and left to attend Slughorn's call. Ginny agreed with what McGonagall said about Dumbledore. He was full of benevolence and always put everyone else before himself, yet he seemed so secretive and private. For such an accomplished and famous wizard, very little was known about Dumbledore's past prior his duel against Grindelwald decades ago, and seldom he would provide any concrete information when younger students who idolized him asked his childhood or his teenage years. She once overheard an O.W.L. test administrator who praised his transfiguration practical exam performance, but his academic feat rarely surprised anyone. No one really questioned him how he knew You-Know-Who's strategy so well or if he personally knew the monster at all - people simply relied on his every word at its face value.
I should talk to Dean, Ginny thought. He had graduated a year earlier and surprised her and other Gryffindors that he was hired as some kind of muggle military staff, which Seamus called him absolutely mad. Many felt that Dean was throwing away everything after seven years of magical education, but from her correspondence with him over the last year, he seemed to be doing quite well. Surely he must know well about muggle weapons? If Harry Potter were really to be thrown into the War waged by murderous pureblood supremacists, he should at least be armed with something that could be enchanted with magic. No way he could fight a single wizard with bare hands. Do they use arrows and canon balls?
"Ginny, are you going to stand there starved or what?" Dennis shouted.
"Oh, sorry Dennis." Ginny apologized, startled. An idea just hit her, and brought a smile. "Dennis, what do you think of transforming muggle weapons for this semester's Transfiguration project?"
"I was able to acquire the recording after calling in some quick favors," Slughorn whisked his wand in a small vial of whirlpooling, silver substance, which clung to the tip like string. He tapped the wand on a large pensieve designed to replay memories for the public, and the strands of memory propagated into a seemingly bottomless pool, "Albus owes me for making me do this on the first week of the school!"
The four professors - McGonagall, Snape, Sprout and Flitwick - congregated around the giant Pensieve as Slughorn did his magic, tense yet not knowing what to expect. Sprout barely finished uprooting Mandrakes and was still dirty with dirts, and Snape reeked of potion odors from unruly students that broke ten or so flasks - they were swiftly given detentions. Flitwick was the least disturbed. The surrounding of the headmaster's office filled with pensive's magical aura and eventually took a form of the Wizengamot Courtroom 10. The entire staff members watched as Dumbledore were dragged to the defendant's seat, which happened to be right in front of them.
"Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore," said Fudge, "do you have anything to state in defense of yourself against the crime of falsifying the death certificate of Harry James Potter and defrauding the Ministry of Magic?"
"We already know that Albus essentially admitted to the guilt and Harry Potter is squib, so why don't we fast forward to the end?" Snape drily suggested.
"Certainly! Any objection?" Slughorn asked the professors. Seeing no one protesting, Slughorn cast a spell, "Influnnt citius!"
The conversations between Dumbledore and Fudge, the ensuing outrage of Wizengamot after the revelation and DUmbledore's tirade about squib rights passed in a fast motion. "Finite!" Slughorn let the memory play at a normal pace again.
"Professor Dumbledore, you said that Harry Potter was under Sterling Richter's guardianship, am I right?"
"Mora!" Slughorn paused the replay. "Sterling Richter? I assume that if he was Potter's guardian, he should be of similar age to Severus. Do you recall the name?"
"I don't remember anyone of such name," said Snape. Other professors murmured in negative. Slughorn frowned and resumed the replay.
"Yes. Do you know the name?"
"Why, yes! I remember now. He was my classmate who left in my fourth year in Hogwarts! A very clever lad. He excelled in the charms and the defense against the dark arts. Quite an intuitive folk, too. I know that he grew up in Arnold. I wondered why he left Hogwarts, who would have thought that he owned a muggle orphanage? Nuttley, you work in the Improper Use of Magic Office, are there wizards who live in Arnold?"
"I don't recall any wizard of that name within fifty kilometres of Nottingham, I should know."
"If Horace doesn't remember the name, I am not sure if he was as outstanding as Tiberius claims," said McGonagall as she watched another chaos ensued and the image of Fudge started to shout.
"Albus Dumbledore, you are hereby given a judicial bargain of assisting the Ministry of Magic to combat You-Know-Who's imminent dangers and prosecute Death Eaters and their supporters who have assisted them by any means, however significant it may be. You are also tasked to retrieve Harry Potter from the muggle world, otherwise you will face lifetime imprisonment in Azkaban and redaction of all the honors that were bestowed in your name. Do you agree to this bargain?"
"But why do you need Harry Potter? He is no use to us anymore. Do you plan to use him as a sort of rallying icon?"
"Why, you've given me a great idea, Dumbledore! Your heartfelt and passionate speech for the squibs inspired me to provide funding for research of squibs and their cure. Perhaps Mr. Potter can be of great assistance!"
"Finite!" Slughorn flicked his wand. The scenery melted like icebergs, and the elaborate interior of a headmaster's office was recovered.
"Wasn't this one of the bills that Albus tried to help pass after Filch's...ehm, passing?" Flitwick spoke carefully, "and that Malfoy and his ilks squashed ultimately?"
"It's obvious that Fudge will want to utilize that poor boy in some ways since he is a squib - or said so Albus - but I don't quite understand why the Ministry withheld the second half of the trial from the public," Pomona frowned.
"Albus' tirade about the squibs' rights, or lack thereof, should make it obvious, shouldn't it? I don't believe that the general public would be keen about Fudge's decision," Snape maintained his try tone with no apparent shocks, unlike other professors, "let's suppose that Potter really is a useless squib with no power and indistinguishable from muggles..although frankly, I don't know if it's truly possible to cripple one's magic and render the target an essential squib. I suspect that Fudge somehow plans to recuperate Potter's magic and showcase everyone by surprise to bolster his popularity and become the new Albus - a paragon of leadership and intelligence."
"As outlandish as it sounds...and even silly, that doesn't sound unrealistic for Fudge's character," Flitwick squeaked disapprovingly. Living as a part-goblin, Flitwick faced his fair share of discrminiation, and he knew too well that Fudge would never do anything that wouldn't advance his publicity. He had given up long ago protesting the wand ban on goblins.
"Albus hasn't communicated with me after the trial - I doubt he could, but I know that he wouldn't leave anything unattended in a scenario like this," Slughorn tapped his desk.
"So what do we exactly need to do?" Minerva deeply sighed.
"I don't know that Albus has left any messages specifically for us in this situation, since we were left in the dark about Potter's whereabouts," Flitwick contemplated, "are we supposed to find the child and warn him? Hide him from the ministry?"
"I don't believe that Albus wants Pomona or Filius to participate in whatever Dumbledore might want us to do, it would be uncharacteristic of him to lend his hands out to someone that weren't part of the Order-"
"Oh, you are all here!"
A snide, old male voice called from an elegant and richly adorned portrait. Everyone's attention was now on Phineas Nigellus Black, who was mysteriously absent for a day. Slughorn had noticed his absence after Dumbledore's arrest - he may not engage with the previous headmasters but he was keen on details - but forgot about it until just now. Phineas' usual smug face was even more smug, as if barely being able to hold some preposterous secrets. "I know."
"Know what?" McGonagall snapped.
"I know what Dumbledore wants," Phineas grinned, "well, to be exact, I didn't know when he gave me this all those years ago, but now I understand. My great-great-grandson is now cleaning - well, Kreacher is - for our new guest."
"Who?"
"Harry Potter, who else!" Phineas grunted out of frustration, "Dumbledore left me two notes: one for Sirius and another for you two, Severus and Minerva. And Horace, he told me that you would know the password to re-materialize the notes from my portrait. Come here so that I can tell you."
Horace clearly was suspicious of this wicked old man but regardless leaned on Phineas. His face soon turned pale as the words were whispered. Phineas cackled at his reaction.
"Mr. Black, please do not jest in these grim circumstances," Pomona chided.
"I am a dead man, can't a dead man have some entertainment?" Phineas' unapologetic laughter rang in the office. Horace quietly spoke a word and tapped the part of the portrait where Phinease was holding a letter. The letter manifested out of the portrait and gracefully flew into Minerva's hands.
The letter instantly alighted in chartreuse flame and engulfed Minerva and Severus.
"Oh Merlin!" Pomona lashed out her wand and cast a water spell, but Horace blocked it, "leave it, Pomona, it's o-kay."
"Wha-wait!" Minerva's protest was cut short as the flame dissipated as fast as it had engulfed the two wizards. No trace of fire or the wizards were left on the spot.
"Must have been Albus' unique portkey spell," said Flitwick, impressed, "no time to waste, eh? Seems that he doesn't want any of us to be involved anymore. Right, Horace?"
"Yes, at least you and Pomona," Horace sighed. What is Albus thinking?