Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, or any of it's characters, so don't sue me!
Pairing: hmm…not sure, but will be slash if anything…
Warning: Some spoilers from OoTP. (order of the phoenix - for mere mortals)
Plot: A weird thing which I just thought of this morning (I don't think I am copying anyone, so…shrug)
Basically, my theory on how Harry could get out of the war (kind of), and still manage to save all the people whose lives 'supposedly' depend upon him. Afterall, Harry's a teenage boy…if it were you in his place, don't you think the pressure would have some…unforeseen consequences?
The beauty of compliance
Glad to have gotten the beginning out of the way, Harry steadily headed towards the Ministry of Magic Headquarters, not looking forward to the next part of his plan.
As he made his way across the empty pavements, void of people thanks to the sudden urge they'd had to be elsewhere, Harry involuntarily double over, a wave of pain washing through him - the after-effects of part of his plan. Possibly the cleverest part of it. Riding the swells of agony with a grim determination that would have surprised even Dumbledore, Harry waited patiently until it was over, before continuing on his way with nary a pause.
The red phone box loomed in front of him. The entrance to the Ministry. Powered magically, and worked by a Ministry employee. Shame they thought that was enough protection - one would think they'd at least put the wizard equivalent of security cameras up, what with how easily Voldemort had found it to gain entrance when he wanted to get the prophecy. Still, their ineffectual measures would only aid Harry's task right now.
Closing the glass-paned door behind him with a firm tug, Harry paid no attention to the way his flesh sought to vanish through the red-painted metal, choosing instead to speed his plan up before his time ran out. Reaching out a pale hand, Harry lifted the receiver, as Arthur Weasley had that one time which now seemed so long ago. Unlike Arthur though, Harry didn't press the requisite numbers on the dial pad. Holding the ear piece to his left ear, Harry reached out with his right hand, and very deliberately touched the tip of his forefinger to the exact centre of the dialling pad.
A moment passed, then another, before the phone box began sinking into the ground silently. Harry kept his finger, eyes and mind firmly fixed on the dialling pad though, waiting until the box had gone down as far as it could go before releasing the machine from his grasp. Immediately the box began its ascent, and Harry had to hurry and open the door before he was back where he'd begun.
As it was Harry still had to jump down to the ground, but it was still an effective way to get into the Ministry. Having bypassed the entrance floor, with its people coming and going, not to mention the official measures you had to follow in order to be granted access to the main, Harry found himself in what could only be a disused storage facility.
Boxes upon boxes of yellowing parchment, and overflowing junk filled up the garage-sized area. From what he'd seen on his previous visits to the Ministry this was what the majority of witches and wizards offices resembled, but the fact that they even had enough junk to denote the use of a 'junk room' indicated their dislike of throwing even the most useless things out, and yet the obvious need they had to relegate some of the junk from the other floors here on occasion. Likely some kind of spring clean-out, in which nothing actually got thrown away.
Weaving his way through the piles upon piles of teetering boxes, Harry saw that the room was actually a lot larger than it first appeared, and was likely one of those rooms which magically expanded as it needed to. Spotting his destination at last, Harry headed for the grimy-looking door lurking in the darkest corner of the room. The back entrance he'd heard mention of.
The grimy door led to even grottier stairs, an indication of just how unused this room was for the majority of the time, and, as such, largely forgotten about by the people who worked for the Ministry. Climbing the stairs, Harry was careful to avoid the ominous stain taking up a large portion of the staircase, edging along the wall so as not to touch it.
After climbing an indeterminate number of stairs, Harry finally reached a landing. With a door on it. On an old, wooden, placard, attached to the top of the door, stood the words, 'Level Seven, Department of Magical Games and Sports'. Not where he wanted to get off, Harry continued on up the stairs, going higher and higher, even as his legs cramped from the strain, and pausing only for the momentary flickers of pain that wracked his thin form.
Finally, the stairs came to a definite end, having gone as high as they could, and the sign read, 'Level One, Minister of Magic's Office'.
The door opened at a push, and Harry's green eyes warily searched the warren of corridors in front of him, looking for any people who might immediately notice him. Luckily everybody appeared to be either at home, or stopping work for a dinner break. Since Harry knew for a fact the Minister was currently on the floor below, discussing a document with another colleague, and always worked at the Ministry until 8 o'clock at the earliest, preferring to eat dinner in his office as opposed to with the 'common' employees, Harry was well aware of the time limit he was working within, and hurried to accomplish his task.
Following the thread his sight dangled in front of him, Harry went down the corridor on the right, following it round the bend until he found the small kitchenette used for the cups of tea and coffee etc that carried people through the day. It was also the area where Fudge's secretary, a ditzy witch whose love of short skirts was balanced by her seeming inability to remember she was wearing them whenever she bent over, put something together for Fudge's dinner, as well as the requisite snifter of firewhisky.
Pulling the door closed behind him, Harry made sure there was still a slight gap through which he could monitor the corridor, before he moved over to the counter next to the sink.
Already laid out on the counter, for Harry's convenience so it seemed, was Fudge's ham and mustard sandwich, box of pasta salad, and the aforementioned snifter of firewhisky, all neat and arranged on a tray ready to be taken to the Minister himself.
Reaching into his pocket, Harry's nimble fingers hit upon the smooth cold of a vial, and pulled it out by its stopper. Pausing to gaze at the milky blue liquid it contained, Harry held his breath as he uncorked the bottle and upended it over Fudge's firewhisky. Not daring to move anything in the kitchenette out of its place, in lieu of a spoon Harry picked up the small glass and jiggled it slightly to make the potion blend in with the drink quicker. Only when all traces of the blue liquid had been swallowed by the reddish brown of the liqueur, did Harry gently place the drink back on the tray and slide the vial and cork back into his pocket.
The sound of heels on tile alerted him to the approach of Fudge's secretary, and Harry jumped back into the shadows of the kitchenette, allowing his hold on reality to slip. Glowing green eyes watched as the bouncing blonde witch paused in front of the tray. Lacquered nails tapped against her full lips as she surveyed the tray in thought. At last a smile snapped onto her face, and she flounced over to the magic-powered fridge, withdrawing a single white rose from within its cool embrace.
One last minute adjustment of the flower in its glass vase, a quick pat down of her hair, and she was on the move again. Pink high heels tapping out a rhythmic staccato on the blue-tiled floor, polka dot skirt swaying as she balanced the tray of food on her hip.
Following silently, Harry watched as she set the tray down on the cluttered desk with an air of satisfaction and importance. Surveying her work one last time, a flicker of sadness appeared in her eyes as she noted the absence of the Minister himself, but that soon disappeared and she nodded her approval of her own work before slipping out of the office again.
Waiting until she was definitely gone, Harry then slid into the room himself, and grasped reality firmly in his mind once more. Feeling more solid for the first time in hours, the black haired teenager allowed himself to savour the sensation, knowing it would soon be brought to an end. Visions tugged at his attention, forewarning of the approach of an important event. Embracing their knowledge, Harry slipped out of reality once more, merging with the shadows as the Minister entered the room, swelled with his own self-importance.
Shutting the door so firmly it was almost a slam, Cornelius Fudge hung his green bowler hat up as was his wont, then moved towards his desk. His lip curled in annoyance at seeing where his bimbo of a secretary had placed his dinner tray. Again. If she wasn't so nice to look at, he didn't think she'd be worth the trouble it was to keep her on, and even with her looks and willingness to fetch things off the floor for him, she was still getting to be annoying.
"What does she think this is? Some kind of florist?" With an expression of intense dislike, Fudge plucked the flower that had been handled with such care and pride by the young witch, and flung it in the bin, which would then be cleaned out before morning, as was his wont.
Settling himself in his large padded chair, Fudge drew the tray of food towards him with eager, stubby hands. Practically inhaling the sustenance, he paid no attention to the sprig of herbs placed on his plate in an attempt to make the food look more appetising, and barely paused for breath before moving on to the pasta salad.
Only once the food had been abolished, did Fudge lean back in his comfortable chair and allow himself to breath again. A sigh of satisfaction indicated the meal had been to his satisfaction, but even that small sign the secretary would never receive.
Reaching out with a lazy hand the Minister picked up his snifter of firewhisky, something he would fire any other employees for having during working hours, and forced himself to take only a small sip, savouring the shot of heat it sent straight to his gut.
In three sips the liquid was gone, and Fudge noted an immediate change in the temperature.
"Hello, Minister. I hope you are in a receptive mood this evening, for I haven't got a lot of time I'm afraid, and this meeting will have to be somewhat brief."
The voice seemed to come from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. Smooth and well-modulated, the voice still managed to maintain an unusual quality, reminding the Minister of steel dipped in honey. There was something powerful about the voice, and the cold-yet-civil tone it took towards him sent shivers down Cornelius' spine.
"Where are you? What meeting? I'm afraid I don't recall any meetings organised for tonight - maybe you got the wrong date. If you talk to my secretary, Suzie, I'm sure I can fit you in sometime, but…"
"Why, Minister, I'm shocked." The shadows by the door coalesced into the dark form of a person, only the pale face and eerily bright green eyes telling the Minister who had snuck into his office.
"That you don't recognise me, that is. The fact that you were unaware we had a meeting doesn't shock me, as the truth is this meeting wasn't scheduled, although it was inevitable in some shape or form."
As Fudge looked at the dark figure, who even now stayed back, he lost some of his previous fear to anger. And everybody knows how volatile fear and anger are together. However, before the Minister could do something he would later regret, Harry decided he'd given the potion enough time to work its way through the Minister's system.
"I came to put a proposition to you. However, I am fully aware of how defensive you can get, and how your own pride often gets in the way of rational thought, so I took it upon myself to slip you a little something to overcome that problem."
"Now, it's nothing dangerous, or even illegal I don't think, although so few people are aware of the potion it's hard to say exactly. All it does is force you to say and do what your deepest rationality and being believes to be right. Overcoming stupid things such as stereotypes, racism, beliefs etc. Here's how it works - I give you the bare facts, and you judge, independently and totally objectively whether or not you think my solution is a good one, and whether or not you give you support to it."
As Fudge took in what the legendary Harry Potter was saying he felt his rage swing free, and rose from his chair to forcibly remove the living legend himself. Or at least, that's what he tried to do. A simple wave of Harry's hand took care of that misguided action though, and the Minister found himself magically bound to his chair.
"Now, now, none of that. A proposition must always be met with calm, and be considered carefully. How you made Minister is beyond me, you seem far too hotheaded for the task." Musing, half to himself, Harry leaned back against the wall of the office, shadows shifting and concealing even his face from view, leaving just his pale slim hands for the Minister to gauge his mood from.
"You have Voldemort and Death Eaters terrorising your people. You don't want this. Voldemort and the Death Eaters don't like muggles and mudbloods, which is the reason behind their actions. Therefor the perfect solution to this problem would be to separate the two. The wizarding and muggle society's split up from those who follow Voldemort."
"This is a possibility we could put into practise. I have drawn up some contracts which give Voldemort control of a portion of land big enough for him to set up his 'ideal society', and isolated enough to keep it apart from your own. He has already signed it, agreeing to the restrictions placed upon him and his. I also have a contract agreeing you will leave him and his alone, apart from necessary contact, such as; returning any wandering muggles or mudbloods, extending the terms of the contracts, building any bridges wanted between the two society's etc."
"Do you think this is a good way of keeping the two separate?"
Harry waited patiently, and the potion forced a firm 'yes' from the Minister.
"Do you think this is a good way to stop any further blood shed?"
Quicker this time, the answer came - 'yes'.
"Will you formally support this action, and explain it to your people with the purpose of gaining their support for it?"
A slight hesitation occurred, as Fudge desperately tried to keep from letting the potion say what he really felt. However, even Fudge wasn't so blind that he could deny the wisdom of such tactics, and he soon succumbed and let the potion talk for him.
"Yes."
Withdrawing the contracts from his back pocket once more, Harry sent them to the Minister's desk on a tendril of magic, with the clean-again quill following shortly after.
"I want you to read each of the contracts over carefully. If there is anything in them you don't understand I want you to ask me about it. Then, if you agree with the limitations and agreements set, I want you to sign your name in the required box, using your own blood as the ink. Do you understand?"
An absentminded 'yes' reassured Harry, and rendered him free of any wrongdoing or trickery. With a look of intense concentration, Minister Fudge bent to the contracts, going over each one with a thoroughness that ensured he didn't miss any details.
Eventually he finished reading them through, and the quill was bloodied, and the signature done with a flourish, before all was proffered to the silent figure still leaning against the wall.
A flick of magic took the contracts and quill back, and as the silent figure departed Fudge idly wondered why he hadn't ventured any closer.
The door to the Minister's office slid soundlessly shut behind Harry, and he left the man to his paperwork, knowing he'd have no problems with the man's approval from now on. That was another advantage of the potion used, not only did it make the recipient have to listen, once they stopped fighting their own agreement with what was being suggested, it was sealed. They'd never fight against that particular idea again, unless something they didn't agree with in it came up - but their biased approach, on that front at least, was forever abolished.