A/N: Ok, alright, let's see...I have a whole bunch of people to thank...but I'll do it later!
The vacuum that was Hogwarts School bathed in a surfeit of airy sunlight that Saturday morning. The grounds, dazzlingly white, blushed by the compliment of the lucid atmosphere, so bright that passing eyes were left with dark spots in the middle of their irises for hours afterward. Dumbledore was looking out of the window then, speculating randomly that this was one of those days when his beard, in contrast, wasn't white enough to tell him what to do. Not white enough to match that ephemeral though optimistic snow. Oh, the rigors of authority, he was thinking, everyone looked to you for strength so that you hardly had any strength to look within yourself--to see that you were no different, no more courageous than they were.
There was a knock at the door, left slightly ajar for the limber McGonagall to slither in if she had so wished. He did not want to be disturbed, but thinking that introspection only made the situation worse, he gestured behind him with his right hand.
"Come in."
"Er-erm, Professor?" A timid voice asked.
"Yes?" Dumbledore let the happy, false glow envelop his face, as one of the very best of his students approached him, clearly scared out of their wits.
"Well, erm, sir--last year, you are no doubt aware that we had a Defense Association, to counteract the useless classes," he glanced at Dumbledore's slightly amused face warily before going on, "Not that it wasn't effective to an extent--"
"It's alright Mr.Finch-Fletchley, I quite believed that Umbridge was a cow myself. It's just that no one wants that position. It's possibly jinxed. I'm looking into that now, actually," Dumbledore replied, completely serious so that Justin was momentarily stunned.
"Well, we have a pretty good teacher this year, even though he's really sort of scary to me," he amended, "but McGonagall and Snape are too, and they've been with the school a long time."
"I understand all that, but I quite fail to see your point, Mr. Fletchley--may I?"
"Oh. What? Well yes, of course you may. But my point is I think besides classes we should have the association as a school-endorsed club. It was really useful for those of us who were in it."
"So you suggest that the Defense Association be open to all students?" Dumbledore asked, in his uniquely sphinxical tone. A little put off by that, Justin's thoughts wandered to Marietta, who had betrayed them last year.
"Well, maybe not. Maybe all Gryffindors and Hufflepuffs?" he suggested.
"That would be house-discrimination, Mr. Fletchley, I cannot propagate that."
Justin was silent, fixing his eyes upon the copy of Self-Defensive Spellwork that he recognized on Dumbledore's desk. After a few more moments of contemplation, Dumbledore added:
"Have you talked to the other members of my Army about this?" he smiled kindly, as Justin reciprocated it with glittering eyes at "my Army".
"No. Maybe I should have. Thanks Professor. I know you must be busy and all, I'm sorry for wasting your time. I do tend to ramble a lot, don't I? Well, anyway, thanks. I'll have Harry talk to you about it probably later."
"It's alright," Dumbledore sighed, ever-present smile on his face, and turned back to the window. When Justin had left the room, he heard the quavering squeaks of the infant Fawkes standing up on its spindly legs and shaking off the ashes bravely. It was hope to know that the good could be found in such obscure corners.
"How symbolic," he mused aloud, a moment later.
"Indeed. What was he doing here, Albus?" said a familiar voice from behind him.
"Our dearest Harry has had quite an effect on bringing that boy out of his shell."
"Don't give him too much credit, Justin wasn't all that shy to begin with."
"Maybe, Minerva, but most students in this schools think of me as some kind of Voldemort, and he had courage enough to approach me."
"He's known well for his impetuousness."
"I wonder why he wasn't sorted into Gryffindor?"
"I thought you were against House-discrimination." Dumbledore looked up to Professor McGonagall, smiling almost imperceptibly, and breathed a heavy sigh.
"What news have you for me?"
"You asked me to call you after everyone was in the Infirmary." His eyebrows rose.
"Ah, yes, of course. Memory must be failing me."
"Undoubtedly," McGonagall whispered under her breath. Dumbledore chuckled softly.
***
"I don't even know why McGonagall called you in here anyway," said Hermione, "For Order members only," knowing that it was a sore spot for Ron. He was such a prat sometimes. He'd copied her Charms homework, and just on the one day in which Flitwick hadn't read her homework (because she had such a perfect reputation anyway) he had happened upon Ron's, and given him more than full credit for it. The incident had thoroughly irked Hermione, and Ron would not, whatever she might say, admit his mistake.
"Shut up, Hermione Granger, you're not the Queen now that you're in some obscure club."
"You're so immature!"
"What the hell are you arguing about now?!" interrupted Harry, annoyed out of his speculations about Fudge, "I, for one see no point in it." As Ron and Hermione glared collectively at him, he heard the rustle of robes upon the tiled floor.
"Watch you language, Mr.Potter," McGonagall said robotically. Severus Snape, Bombagoo Blek, and finally Albus Dumbledore followed them.
"Lupin couldn't make it. Only in a few days, you know," McGonagall explained in a weary voice.
"My parents?" asked Ron.
"Too suspicious. And before you ask about Hagrid, Miss Granger, he's feeding that stupid beast of his in the Forest." Hermione was about to protest that Grawp wasn't stupid, but she just restrained herself at the rare look on McGonagall's face.
She waved her wand, gesturing toward a closed off end of the Infirmary.
"Minister Cornelius Fudge, under a heavy Serenity Spell," she introduced, "use simple vocabulary, Headmaster, and try not to be too loud-the senses are slightly altered here with the combined effect of the extra-strength Veritaserum dear Professor Snape gave us," she glowered vehemently at Snape's impenetrable face.
"Alright, then, let's begin. What is your name?"
"Cornelius Fudge."
"Where are you from?"
"Cornelius Fudge."
"Alright, Cornelius, try to think for a second," Dumbledore coaxed.
"Fudge."
"Right. Where-Are-You-From-?"
"Brixton."
"Good. Now. Do you remember the last face you saw?"
"Green."
"What?"
"Hogwarts. Old-muggle fool. Green."
"Dumbledore, you mean?" he suggested.
"No! Dumblebore. Yes Dlumbelbore...Blubbem..."
"Alright, pay attention, now. Who did you see last?"
"Malfoy. Green. Hogwalls."
Dumbledore exchanged a dark look with McGonagall, as something seemed to pass between them, and click in the others' heads.
"Ok. What is your name?"
"Green Fudge," the Minister replied. And Dumbledore's look saddened, the ages on his face in dusted lines once more.
"Was he--?" Hermione said quietly.
"As Head of House, Professor, I would like to say that--" Snape began defensively. He was abruptly silenced by Dumbledore's commanding hand.
"It is quite clear that we have yet another Death Eater in our midst... once again," he said, meeting the eyes of everyone in the room, including Pomfrey bustling in the corner, trying to look as if she weren't listening.
"Who?" Ron asked. Hermione glared at him, as Snape looked down.
Before anyone could answer it, however, there was suddenly a supersonic beeping echoing around the room. They all had to cover their ears to keep from going deaf, for it was so shrill. Dumbledore muttered a few brief words, glancing at his watch, but none heard it. When the beeping stopped, predictably there was a dead silence, but Harry, Ron, and Hermione, as well as, undoubtedly, the others in the room, filled with a dread, mainly at the grave, rare look on Dumbledore's face.
"Shall I contact Amelia?" McGonagall asked, in a voice like it were struggling to suppress fear.
"Yes. Poppy, will you attend to Cornelius for me?" Dumbledore said. The sound seemed like an unintended alarm for the completion of the conversation. The minister began to moan under his breath as the magic on him wore off slowly.
"Of course, Albus," Pomfrey said, calm but for her pale face, and hands gripping the sides of her white cloak. Harry suddenly closed his eyes, blinded by the hospital bright color, his fingers unswervingly seeking the scar on his forehead. It had begun to throb with an ugly emotion, the sweat that dampened his forehead may well have been blood, the way it burned, and as if on cue, their collective attentions centered on him.
"What's it?" Ron asked, eyes wide. And Dumbledore turned his attention back on Harry.
"I think it was Madam Pomfrey," Harry replied hesitantly, looking down at his hands. The pain had gone away completely just as he'd looked down.
"You're sure?" asked Hermione. Harry gave her a dark look, he wouldn't have said it is he weren't sure. Or...well, it had been really random.
"No, maybe not," he said, not looking at Hermione, but at Dumbledore as if for an explanation. The wizened man seemed to consider for a second, and the enigmatic eyes puzzled Harry as he registered them to know possibly what he was thinking.
"We haven't much time. We have to leave now if we want to make it before dark. I doubt Molly would approve of this..." he said.
"But I have classes, Dumbledore," Snape said.
"Have Firenze handle them. Helping Trelawney hasn't agreed with him much at all, for some reason that quite slips my comprehension," he said innocently, though the grave undertone had not completely escaped his eyes.
"And mine?" Professor Blek's harsh tone cut through the fragile air. He gestured to the grim McGonagall as well.
"You both will have to stay, then. I do not wish to alarm the students." Harry saw Ron and Hermione exchange a surreptitious glance. "It was a mistake to publish the incident," he mused softly, intending the comment more for himself than his audience.
The perfect quiet that followed persisted for no more than five seconds before Fudge began blubbering and screaming pathetically, the foam that flecked his lips, and the blank, crazed look in his eyes chilling each of them to the marrow. Harry thought that he had seen the victims of Voldemort's Cruciatus Curse on the Longbottoms, but seeing Fudge then, he apprehended the import of Frank and Alice's courage, which had prevented them from reaching the Minister's pitiable state.
Hermione, though was looking at Madam Pomfrey, who was steadily walking across the room toward the potion cabinet, her fists clenched, having taken the brief moment to compose herself once more. Dumbledore began moving toward the exit, and the rest followed from their respective places almost methodically. Harry, Ron, and Hermione still sat, on stools next by the bed, unsure of whether to get up and resume their weekend or follow the teachers out. Obviously they wouldn't be back for atleast three days, if not more...
"Come on, Harry. Ron and Hermione, stay behind," said McGonagall in her usual imperious tone.
"But how come he always gets to go everywhere?!" Harry heard Ron say to Hermione, who hushed him. Shocked though he was by his teachers' blatant preference (Snape's!), he still listened to their argument all the way down the hall.
***
They were going deep into Hogsmeade village. Harry had always assumed that the streets which he and his friends had traversed were all there was to it, but that, it seemed, was only the commercial center of the quaint town. As they walked further, past the souvenir store and the tea shoppe, and deep into the deserted streets lined with odd ten or fifteen story houses, Harry saw the cheerful remnants of congenial neighborhoods, where no one had to abide by the International Statute of Secrecy. The houses faintly resembled the Burrow, but he noted they were much more posh. There were yards of strange plants that muggles would probably repulse at, but Harry doubted Hermione wouldn't be able to recognize and classify at first glance. Some of the houses were majestic, looking like mansions, with dense, seemingly ever-extending forests behind them when next door, the house stood on a completely even, sand-filled lot with swings and slides, and flamboyant marble nymph fountains.
There were no people about. The whole neighborhood had a look of a recent plague, the playground deserted, the armchairs on the front porches still rocking, magazines (with moving pictures) strewn around as if in a hurry, empty dishes, and if one looked through the windows, even the houses seemed strangely empty. Harry considered asking one of them where all the people were, but he knew full well that they would most probably not tell him. What would Hermione say?
They walked for nearly an hour before they reached a small cottage at a secluded nook slightly apart from the street. They had to cross the lawn of a house and walk about fifteen minutes on the empty grass before they reached the place, hiding under a blanket of firs. It was painted completely black, and the lit windows glimmered like eerie eyes on the face of the house. Harry was about to say "There's no door!" but stopped himself, noticing a gaping void in between two windows. It looked almost like a mouth, uninviting (obviously), but Dumbledore stood right in the front of it, pulling out his wand. Snape stood behind the Headmaster, but did not imitate the gesture. Harry felt thoroughly out of place.
Dumbledore flicked his wand, but nothing seemed to happen to the door for a while. Harry recollected one of the magicks he had read about in one of Belgarath's books, about the difference between Illusion enchantments and Repellent Spells. Knowing then that Dumbledore was removing a Repellent Spell, Harry moved slightly back, ready to experience the blow which usually came when the Spell was broken properly. Dumbledore and Snape too, moved farther away, but glanced somewhat suspiciously at Harry.
It was still a gaping void, but they could enter it, as it was only an Illusion to keep away the intruders. Harry felt a sense of excitement bubbling up within him. Whoever was this mysterious person?
The three of them stepped through to see a one-room cabin. There was a fireplace crackling merrily off to the right, and a sofa and coffee table in front of it. A portion was sectioned off, and they could see a comfortable and frilly, pink canopy bed and matching dresser. The brick and burning cedar left a delightfully homey smell lingering tantalizingly below their nostrils. Harry's lips curled into an unconscious smile. His eyes wandered about, and caught on the far left of the wall in front of them. A brown, wooden door pushed through the bricks with a grating noise, and the knob turned. With a grand, welcoming sigh, out stepped Amelia Bones--from his trial, stern glasses no longer perched upon her nose, and sporting a deep pink set of robes. Her hair was let loose, and despite her age, she almost looked stunning.
"Hello Albus," she greeted fondly, and gave Snape a wide smile which he did not returned. Her gaze fell upon Harry, as they shuffled aside slowly to let him come up. The smile disappeared, and her eyes were firmly disapproving. Harry thought that she probably was thinking of the trial, but it proved otherwise when she spoke.
"I thought Molly said--" she trailed off. Dumbledore faced her accusing stare with that utter calm which sometimes grated on Harry's nerves.
"Molly has agreed that this has to have happened. He is a special case, Lia," he said.
"What he is, is a mere child!" she said strikingly like Molly. She sighed, defeated. "Alright," she said.
"Now, how are Hilly and the twins?" Dumbledore queried. She shook her head sadly.
"Anthony is taking care of them in the sitting room," she said, pointing to the place where the door had appeared.
Snape and Harry followed Dumbledore into the kitchen, where sitting at a table, a woman was wailing loudly, being consoled by house-elves. She hardly recognized their presence, but Harry couldn't help but stop walking.
"My babies! How will I tell my babies!" she was saying, and Harry was thinking of his own mother's frantic pleading before she passed away.
"Oh! You idiot! I'm so--" she began to take in huge gulps of air, as if she were hyperventilating. Harry went to comfort her, but stopped, hearing a house-elf say in a consoling voice, "It's alright, Missus Fudge, 'salright. The kiddies already know, you see..." She jumped away scared when out of the blue Mrs. Fudge started wailing again.
"Oh! My poor Cornelius!" she said, beating her heart. Harry turned away, unable to bear the sight, and walked through the door in front of him, vaguely listening to the house-elves desperate pleas for the woman to calm down.
When Harry entered, he was bombarded with two little blond-haired twins, who looked more than two.
"Wanna play Godstomes?" one asked, and Harry agreed hesitantly. Dumbledore nodded to him as he conversed in whispers with Snape--and a balding, grim-faced man who was apparently Stephen Bones.
The two kids were utterly horrible at the game, having more fun with the foul-smelling goo than the intellectual challenge of the game, and soon forgot Harry (as well as his attempts to teach them the game). For nearly an hour, they played together, with Harry settling for just watching their good-natured playing.
"You can 'ave this stome Jelly-Ka, it has plitty pink stuff en it," one said.
"And this purple stome is nice, but it don't gots any goo 'nit, I don't pleazune," replied the other, sticking a sticky purple Gobstone in her sister's face.
"Ooh, it is pretty," she said, grabbing the stone, and dropping the one that she was offering her sister carelessly on the linoleum floor. It skittered about, and Angelica grabbed it before it ran off somewhere, and at the precise moment, it sprayed an excess of pink slime on her little yellow sundress--which Harry noted was already splattered with a spectrum of colors. When all of the stones were slimed out, and lay on the floor irresponsively, the twins lay staring thoughtfully at the ceiling. Angelica suddenly sat up, without warning, and fixed Harry with a wide-eyed gaze.
"Do you have Daddy?" she asked innocently. Harry's brows furrowed. Was he expected to explain it to them? He looked to Dumbledore, who was too immersed in whatever he was telling Stephen, then back at Angelica's scrutinizing stare. Angelica, possibly seeing his indecision turned to her sister, who was looking at her from the ground. Her small head resting on her elbow.
"What happened to Daddy?" she asked her in a suddenly scared little voice. The girl sat up hurriedly, as if suddenly remembering that she'd left her doll somewhere unknown. She looked at Harry, then at her sister.
"I don't know!" she whispered, and began sniffling. Soon, she was sobbing quietly, and before Harry could reach out to comfort her, her sister went and put her arms about her.
"I'm sorry Don," she said, "It'll be okay." But contradicting herself, she too began crying, and awkwardly, Harry put his arm around the both of them, and they willingly sobbed into his school robes. The adults, who had stopped to see what the matter was, caught Harry's eye thankfully, and went back to their discussion.
Harry felt angry. All they thought about was talk when the true damage was being done not at the war field, but in the hearts of these fatherless children. Irrational, he thought, you're being irrational. They had to prevent this from happening again. He hugged the girls sitting on his lap tighter to him.
About two hours later, Dumbledore disapparated, and after whispering a few last minute things to Stephen, Snape too, left through the door, not even giving him a single glance. Stephen was the only one left. He conjured a makeshift sleeping bag on the floor, and Harry thankfully lifted the two little girls on his lap and lay them upon it. His limbs were completely numb, but he mustered himself to stand and face Stephen, waiting for whatever he was supposed to do now.
"Dumbledore has informed us that there's been a You-Know-Who attack, happened when he was questioning Fudge. That watch of his is amazing--"
"Wait, you mean that that beeping was an attack?"
"Yeah," he said, as if it were quite obvious, and plopping casually in front of Harry, "It can sense Mosmordre."
"But--"
"No one knows how to make it. Dumbledore has the prototype," then Stephen shook his head frustratedly, "but anyway," he said, "there's been an attack in Surrey, where you live. They killed a lot of muggles, and Mrs. Figg's been wounded. She's at St. Mungo's now, unconscious--no one's able to figure out what the hell the damned Death Eaters put on her. Dumbledore's gone to help in the Obliviating. The Ministry's still not off the scene."
"Are my aunt and uncle still alive?" Harry asked, trying to keep the eagerness from his voice, lest Stephen get the impression that he was heartless.
"Yeah, unfortunately." he smiled at Harry's slightly surprised expression "I read in The Quibbler that they used muggle torture devices on you, is it true?" Stephen said, quite honestly.
"No, actually," said Harry. "Is nothing in my life private?" he said jokingly.
"The pains of living your life in the limelight," Stephen replied. He looked pointedly at the girls. "How're they holding up?" he asked.
"Er--fine, I guess--" he said. "I don't think they understand."
"No, they don't."
Silence. Harry listened closely for the lingering wails of Mrs. Fudge, but did not hear anything. As if reading his mind though, Stephen said, "Mrs. Fudge isn't so good. Amelia had to force-feed her the sleeping draught. She hexed all my house-elves, you know," he said mournfully. "Once the people have been settled, Dumbledore can be Minister and straighten this whole mess out. But until them, they'll all have to run around like chickens with their heads cut off. I mean--he wasn't a good Minister anyway--but having a bad government is still better than none at all, isn't it?"
Without waiting for a reply, Stephen went on, "I don't know why Dumbledore is resisting that Minister position though. Even after all that bad publicity, all the magic community is waiting on Dumbledore's word that Fudge is really gone mad."
"You mean he'll not be Minister anymore? Can't the Healers fix him?" Harry asked, feeling stupid again that he didn't know these things.
"Of course not. Magic can't fix everything now. Look at--" he stopped, glancing up at Harry's scar nervously, as if checking himself. He remained decidedly silent for a while afterward, until his wife came in with an enormous plate of self-refilling sandwiches. Harry, feeling quite ravenous (not having had anything the whole day) tucked in even before she placed it on the rug between them.
"Why did Voldemort attack there?" Harry asked, after a lot of pondering on the matter. He noted that neither of them flinched at the Dark Lord's name.
"Didn't you know? Voldemort doesn't know who those muggles are, or what they look like...They've been Disillusioned ever since sixteen years ago," said Stephen.
"Of course, he didn't know, dear," said Amelia, grabbing one of the sandwiches, "he's been having to live as a muggle for eleven years, poor boy. I imagine it must've been dreadful." Harry nodded dazedly, unable to get over the drastic change between the Amelia from the ministry hearing and the Amelia he saw now.
"How's my niece doing?" she addressed Harry, "she told me about that Defense Society thing that you were 'teaching' apparently?" There was a slightly challenging edge to her voice, and Harry tried his best to tread carefully.
"I didn't do anything, really, we just got together and learned some defence spells from books," he said, trying to keep his face from betraying any emotion.
"Really?" Amelia said, after swallowing her first mouthful of sandwich.
"Lia, let the boy alone. He didn't kill Susan, did he?" Stephen mediated.
"All I'm saying is that he's too powerful to be suppressed like this. If he's going to be in the Order, the least he could do is learn some of our techniques."
"He's still underage by Ministry standards," Stephen countered, as Harry put his half-eaten bologna and swiss down to follow the argument. He felt a slight swell of pride at Amelia's 'too powerful to be suppressed', but which deflated when Stephen remarked that he was underage.
"The boy's out of control! He has to be trained! Underage or not! And Dumbledore goes and inducts him into the Order without even telling him what he's getting into--"
"What'll we tell him, then? Harry, what do you want to know?" Stephen rounded on Harry, and he, taken aback, did not reply. "He'll know when Dumbledore sees fit, Lia. He has enough to handle already with those muggles put him on those racks, and threatening to cut his arm off, and what with Sirius gone, and--"
Harry stopped listening at that point, feeling the back of his eyes burn at the mention. He clenched his teeth firmly, berating himself for being so weak. He had to get over this. Sirius was DEAD! He plastered a smile on his face and turned back to the couple who were glancing at him as if he were fit to burst anytime. It was all perfectly fine. Nothing was wrong, or so he repeated to himself.
"All that's left is to wait," said Susan. "You'll be staying in here with the twins until Dumbledore and Table come back."
"Who's table?" Harry asked.
"Oh, your Professor, Severus--Monsieur Table." At the look Harry gave her, she burst into an uncharacteristic laughter which echoed through Harry's mind as long as his stay in the cottage.
