11/12/22: Fell in and out of love since I last posted, got a new job and degree... hope you're all doing well and thanks for following!
In the aftermath of Dumbledore's reckoning at the Dursleys, Scrimgeour insisted that the both Dumbledore and Harry accompany the Minister to his office. Harry found some small consolation in knowing that Dumbledore looked just as unhappy with this development as he did.
Alastor Moody was waiting for them in the atrium of the Ministry. He frowned at Harry and Albus, but for once made no comment as he joined the trio as they walked the halls.
Naturally, Harry had to break the silence. "Are you our official bodyguard then, Alastor?"
"Your humility is hilarious, Albus," grumbled Mad-Eye. "It grates to say, but we are all grateful for your presence."
Harry was supposed to be guarding them? Thank fuck for Dumbledore-trapped-in-Harry's-body. "I aim to please," said Harry with a bright, forced smile.
The pace of the Ministry seemed a bit hurried to Harry; no one wanted to linger, all rushing to and from as though recognizing that to be in motion posed the greatest risk to their well-being.
A head of radiant, platinum blond hair stood out from the sea of wixen. Harry was surprised to see that it did not belong to Lucius Malfoy, before remembering that the wizard was locked up in Azkaban.
"Ah, Mr. Potter," called the white-haired man, completely ignoring both the Minister and Dumbledore.
"Mr. Lovegood, how is Luna?" greeted Dumbledore politely, answering Harry's unspoken question.
"She's been better, but has been resting since the excitement at the Department of Mysteries. I do not blame you, as I know my Luna can be quite stubborn, but I would have if any harm had come to her," said Xenophilius baldly and unblinkingly.
"Ah, noted with thanks," said Dumbledore with the sort of diplomatic agility that Harry was instantly envious of. "I am glad to hear she remains well. And how do you fare?"
"Oh, you know," said Xenophilius with a careless wave of his hands. "Dangerous times make for interesting, yet slow news. And apparently owling the Wizarding Wireless to ask if they know which song has the melody 'do de do de do de do de do do do' isn't a good way to figure out what song is stuck in my head but that's honestly that's where my life's at right now, Harry. But if you recognize the song please let me know because it's been four days now and I grow weary."
Harry could only stare incredulously at the man, mirroring Mad-Eye and Scrimgeour, but Dumbledore nodded. "I am familiar with that plight. I promise to owl if recognition strikes me."
"Much appreciated," said Xenophilius before wandering over to the fireplaces and disappearing in a flash of green flames.
The four wizards walked in silence to the elevators, Scrimgeour impatiently taking the lead.
"While we are here, it would be prudent to officially file the paperwork making you my apprentice," said Dumbledore to Harry in a low murmur as they exited the elevator.
"Alright," said Harry agreeably before being startled by the sight of a familiar redhead sitting at an oak desk outside of the Minister's office. Percy did not look up at their arrival, looking rather frazzled yet determined.
"Ah, Mister Weasley," Harry said, trying to conceal his dislike. "How do you do?"
"Hmm?" said Percy, batting away a paper airplane memo that nudged insistently at his head before looking up. "Oh, Professor! Quite well, quite well… working as the Undersecretary to the Minister himself. They have me studying law."
"And how are you finding that?" asked Dumbledore from his place next to Harry, looking genuinely interested in the answer.
"Studying law is fun," said Percy with a forced smile, as though trying to convince himself, "because I enjoy being so tired that I literally do not know whether or not I am still alive."
Harry blinked in shock, because it sounded awfully like Percy had just made a joke.
Dumbledore, on the other hand, was nodding sagely. "Ah, yes. Studying the law. Their intent, I believe, is to teach you what it's like to be a lawyer. For when the body is alive but the soul is dead…"
Percy nodded vigorously, eyes slightly crazed. "Right you are, Harry. And if that's not enough!" he said in shrill tones, "My criminal law textbook has convinced me never to have children, because they're probably going to get murdered! Horrible, awful case studies…I don't know how to break it to Mum."
Moody snorted. "Also, because they're shrieking little shits for the first couple of…decades."
"Well, yes," said Percy in fervent agreement, likely thinking of his own childhood. "Yes, that's very true."
"There's probably worse things than murder in your criminal law text though, right?" asked Harry, not really sure how that would make things better but unable to withhold his curiosity.
"Aye, Albus," said Mad-Eye appreciatively. "The ones who don't get murdered will be violently tortured. And then murdered."
Harry felt a brief flash of inspiration. "Your kids can also be the murderers," he pointed out, earning him some strange looks from the people eavesdropping behind them.
Dumbledore looked highly disappointed with the conversation, and merely said, "Undoubtedly, we live in a world of infinite possibility."
"They could also starve before coming to any violence," said Mad-Eye, now raving. "Though the tax-benefits…Pretty sure that's the reason the Malfoys only produce one son-of-a-bitch a generation…"
Well, that had escalated quickly.
"Thank you, gentlemen," Scrimgeour said with a forced smile. "For those insightful observations. If you would just follow me?"
When the Minister sat, his right eye was twitching, and for a moment he so resembled McGonagall that Harry nearly laughed.
"Right, let's get down to business, shall we?" asked Scrimgeour. He took a seat and gestured for the three of them to do the same.
Mad-Eye merely grunted and leaned against the door.
Dumbledore obliged and moved to sit down gracefully, but Harry stopped him with a hand on his arm.
Harry took one look at the available, austere chairs, vividly reminded of his farce of a trial the summer prior. Based on the experiments he and Dumbledore had conducted, he should be okay….
Harry gathered his magic, pictured the type of seats he wanted very clearly…
He waved Dumbledore's wand and beamed as two oversized beach chairs, complete with leis and piña coladas, popped into existence.
His magic (or was it Dumbledore's?) was flowing and obeying him like never before.
Harry and Dumbledore sat down simultaneously. Dumbledore crossed his legs and donned the lei immediately. Harry pulled out a pair of sunglasses, put them on, and grinned. "Ready when you are, Minister."
Scrimgeour opened and closed his mouth several times before finding words. Was it Harry's imagination or was the eye twitching increasing in pace?
"Right," the Minister said, and perhaps he truly was the man for the job, for he powered through his obvious irritation. "The first order of business. Ishtar Shafiq has been forced out of the State Department, resulting from internal investigation."
Dumbledore hmm'd in acknowledgment next to Harry.
Harry blinked.
"You don't seem surprised," said Scrimgeour, eyeing Harry. "Omniscient as ever, Albus."
Harry didn't mention that the reason the news that Ishtar Shafiq was being forced out of the State Department was not shocking to him was because Harry didn't realize that a person named Ishtar Shafiq was working at the State Department or that the Ministry even had a State Department in the first place.
"You flatter me," said Harry instead. "Perhaps we can discuss another matter? Kingsley did mention that the meeting with the Wizengamot has been green-lighted at the highest levels. And a PR meeting." Harry said, suddenly grateful to have read a few of the letters Dumbledore received. "I'm afraid I will have to decline both due to other, conflicting priorities."
Scrimgeour looked very much like he wanted to point out that he was of the highest level, but was interrupted by Dumbledore-in-Harry's body. "I agree, no need for the PR meeting."
Scrimgeour breathed in and did not exhale for thirty full seconds. He finally breathed out, and looked between Harry and Dumbledore very carefully. "Alright," said Scrimgeour with a calm that set Harry immediately on edge. "I will concede the PR meeting and the Wizengamot session."
"You will?" asked Harry hopefully.
"If you will instead go to the ICW and give your speech to a global audience tomorrow," Scrimgeour smiled with too many teeth for it to be pleasant. "Regarding the attack on the Millennium Bridge in London."
From beside Harry, Dumbledore sighed and said, "Hope does spring eternal."
Harry laughed because he knew it would incense Scrimgeour but his mind worked furiously. He took off his glasses and pretended to clean them on his robe. No way in hell was he giving a speech. "I think it would be best if my apprentice gave the speech instead."
"Your apprentice?" asked Scrimgeour flatly.
Harry pointed to Dumbledore, who took a sip from his piña colada before waving the tips of his fingers at the Minister cheekily.
Harry, unwilling to lose momentum, carried on. "Naturally, Harry will need an exemption to the underage magic restriction, and I trust your office, or rather, Percy Weasley, will handle and expedite the paperwork?"
Scrimgeour stared at the ceiling, as though praying for patience. After probably having a silent discussion with some deity of his choice, Scrimgeour's eyes returned to Harry. "I suppose that could work…"
As they hurried from the Minister's office with the approved apprentice paperwork in hand, Harry said, "I'm sorry about the ICW Conference," feeling a bit guilty about inconveniencing the Headmaster.
"Sorry for what, my dear boy?"
"Well, that we won't be able to go, you know, what with us having switched bodies and all."
"No apologies necessary, Harry. We are, after all, still going."
"Er, really?" asked Harry, dubious about their chances of successfully fooling an international community made up of incredibly powerful and accomplished wizards and witches. "I mean, they'll expect us to make grand speeches, and rally international support for the war, and it just doesn't seem very responsible…"
"Oh goodness, no, Harry," Dumbledore said, looking rather alarmed. "If we are to survive an ICW Conference, we cannot be concerned with being responsible. In fact, I have just the idea for our grand entrance."
The 1950 sunshine yellow VW bus crashed through the magnificent doors of the Wizarding Swiss Bank and immediately captured the attention of the ICW attendees.
Harry coughed and waved his wand at the engine, which had started to smoke.
"I still say we should have kept driving until we ended up in Italy, or East Bumfuck, or literally anywhere else that isn't here," muttered Harry in a low voice intended to be unheard, slamming the door of the vintage vehicle.
"I've heard East Bumfuck is quite lovely this time of year," said Dumbledore from behind him, causing Harry to jump dramatically.
"Their Dark Lord is supposed to be scared of them?" a young representative for MACUSA, identified by his patriotic tie, asked incredulously, voice carrying through the hall. There was something pompous about him that reminded Harry enormously of Percy, despite the wizard's errant mustache and cowboy boots.
"Don't write them off too quick," said the American ambassador, a beautiful witch with brown eyes and brown hair. She seemed completely uncaring of who heard her. "Voldemort's dangerous, but Albus Dumbledore is crazy. Besides, if any of those British papers had an ounce of truth in them, that Potter boy is just as nuts."
Harry gave a distinct look of Dumbledore disapproval. The young MACUSA wizard remained undaunted. "We shouldn't have settled for declaring independence," he muttered darkly. "We should've fuckin' taken over these bastards."
At that point, Harry's remaining goodwill evaporated; he opened his mouth to very politely invite the Yanks to drown themselves in the Thames, when Dumbledore cut in, intent on resolving the impending diplomatic nightmare.
"Delightful, isn't it?" he asked with a bright smile. "So wonderful to meet new friends, share opinions, and embrace our differences. Might I ask for your names? My companion here," he threw an arm awkwardly over Harry's shoulder, "is Albus Dumbledore. I am, of course, Harry Potter."
"You don't say," said the young wizard sarcastically. "And here I thought all British teenagers had huge, thwacking scars across their foreheads."
"Sarcasm is the lowest form of wit," Harry retorted, thinking back to many conversations with Hermione about this exact nature.
"Well maybe my wit decided to slum it!"
"You know," said Harry with a sharp smile he was sure looked terrifying on Dumbledore's usually calm visage. "For a diplomat, you have an interesting way making friends. What's your accent?" he asked, suddenly curious. "California?"
The young wizard looked enraged. "Texas, you ignorant fu—"
"This is George Wayne Washington," the witch interrupted with a long-suffering look upon her face. "I am Priscilla Polly Presley. No relation to the King. We are… well, now we've introduced ourselves, and surely have no further obligation to interact."
"Well-said," said Dumbledore, grabbing Harry's elbow in an iron grip and pulling him away from George Wayne Washington, who glared daggers at Harry as he departed.
Dumbledore pulled Harry through diamond-crusted glass-doors and into a breathtaking auditorium packed with witches and wizards. They descended down the stairs and came to the center, lower level. Harry didn't quite know how to handle a room full of peoplelooking at him like they'd known him for sixty years.
But they had discussed this on the car-ride here.
Harry raised a hand and felt reverence for Albus Dumbledore as a sea of powerful wixen fell silent at his request. Lights turned on above the Wizarding Wireless tables near them. The whole wizarding world was listening. "I, Albus Percival Wulfric Brian Dumbledore, introduce to you my apprentice, Harry James Potter. Mr. Potter has a few words he'd like to share with you today."
Dumbledore looked out at the crowd with unflinching confidence, something savage yet regal in his eyes. Every inch of him conveyed competence and authority.
When he spoke, not one person whispered to interrupt. "There is very little that brings more comfort than viewing events and situations in a vacuum," Dumbledore began in a strong voice. "If you can, sufficiently, ignore something's causes, context, and consequences, then suddenly that something becomes digestible. It becomes easier. It becomes manageable. And that explains the pervasive desire, I think, to view Voldemort's strike on Millennium Bridge in London in a vacuum. If you look at the incident on its face, the British Ministry's response was exceptional. Minister Scrimgeour is a competent, able wizard whose management of this crisis ensured victory for the Ministry. This was a Death Eater strike on a sparsely-populated muggle bridge that Lord Voldemort failed to execute. In a vacuum, this is good news.
"But nothing happens in a vacuum. And because of that, it is important to remember that this strike comes in the broader context of the threat Voldemort poses to the world itself. It's deflating and demoralizing to remember that, but it needs to be remembered.
"Voldemort is a dangerous wizard whose only motivation is the attainment of furthering of his own power. We do not live in a secure world anymore, our entire way of life is under dire threat, and everything that happens needs to be viewed in that context. All signs point to the Death Eaters' escalation of violence until we become embroiled in yet another devastating, blood-supremacy war in which the only winners are the cruel and violent. So please, look beyond the vacuum, look beyond selfishness and fear that allowed Voldemort to nearly topple the British Ministry in 1981. His cause presents no interesting choices, no ethical quandaries, no tough decisions. Your options are to oppose ethnocentric fascism, or, conversely, to not oppose ethnocentric fascism.
"Voldemort's Death Eaters decimated generations of wixen and cost the lives of many other beings. He's a violent racist, a despicable Dark Lord, a creature who thirsts for war and thrives in savagery. Voldemort ruined countless lives and countless families. He ruined my family."
Dumbledore struck the podium in a slap that echoed through the auditorium. His voice was a warning, a reassurance, and an affirmation of power, all at once. "I will not rest until Voldemort is stopped; but I cannot do it alone. I ask for my fellow British citizens to find the courage to resist Voldemort's threat at home; I ask the international community to support the British Ministry. I am asking you to find the bravery to do what is right, not what is easy. My name is Harry James Potter, and I am asking you to find the courage to save our world."
The crowd looked moved by the speech, and Harry felt hope burn in his chest.
In the aftermath, Dumbledore settled on a strategy of shoving Harry into a corner and handing him drink after drink as a means of keeping his mouth otherwise occupied.
This backfired somewhat, because Harry was having the time of his life with the Cambodian, American, and Indian Ministers of Magic, who were also getting steadily drunk.
They escaped from Dumbledore and were currently at the bar. Harry stood behind the bar, swaying slightly, as he rummaged around the counter and gathered ingredients. The bartender looked like he wanted to protest, but thought better of earning the ire of Albus Dumbledore.
"That apprentice of yours! Potter!" said the American Minister Mary Jane Ramsey. Her red lipstick was smudged but her voice unfaltering. "Now he's something! Hah, wizard like that would fetch a dowry of a dozen Thunderbirds."
The Indian Minister Nicholas Kothari, a tall, handsome man with long hair tied a bun, and striking red robes, narrowed his eyes at Minister Ramsey. "Are you insulting me?"
"More like, a dozen hiffo-hippo hic hypogryffs!" shouted Harry over the question. "He killed a basilisk at 12! Outflew a dragon at 14! He's a legend! He's – he's worth like—three firebolts."
"Wormwood absinthe!" shouted the Cambodian Minister Chantrea Shafiq, less drunk than Harry but more urgently inspired to defuse American-Indian relations. "Dumbledore, you must try this!"
"Absinthe? No, no. Firewhiskey!" Harry demanded, nodding with approval when it immediately appeared before him. "Good, good. What to add, what to add…" he drummed his fingers against a glass, pursing his lips. "Beef bullion!" declared Harry, before dumping the bullion into the glass. "I call this Godric Gryffindor's Liquid Courage!"
"No, no, no," sniggered Minister Ramsey. "Wait!" She reached into her robes and pulled out a vial of gold, shimmering liquid. "The final touch!"
"Is that..?" asked Minister Kothari, curiosity overpowering his indignation.
Minister Ramsey nodded. "It is," she said reverently. "Felix Felicis."
"Who's Felix?" asked Harry.
"Did you have to do that?" Harry complained, fully aware that he was being petulant and ungrateful, but nonetheless unable to wave away his irritation. "They're all going to think I'm the next coming of Merlin."
"Merlin?" Dumbledore looked askance. "I should hope not," he levitated the morning papers over to Harry. "In fact," he grinned knowingly, "I think it is quite more likely that they will say something along the lines of-"
Harry grabbed them from the air, looked down-
JULY 15TH – INTERNATIONAL MAGICAL TIMES
HARRY POTTER: THE NEXT ALBUS DUMBLEDORE? IMPRESSIVE DISPLAY OF POWER AT THE ICW.
Geneva, Switzerland - Professor Marchbanks, longest-running member of the Wizarding Examination Authority and British Wizengamot Member, recounts unbelievable display of magic by Harry Potter at the mid-summer ICW Conference. "I examined Dumbledore personally in Transfiguration and Charms when he did N.E.W.T.s… Did things with a wand I'd never seen before. Well, that is to say… until Harry Potter. That boy cast a Protego Horriblis (explained in detail by Harvard College charms expert, Shivani Ramiah on page 11) of a magnitude I'd previously believed impossible for a single wizard. He simultaneously transfigured dozens of birds, all of which immediately slowed the descent of a deadly, falling erumpent horn." Not to be outdone by his apprentice, Albus Dumbledore quickly incapacitated several individuals later revealed to be culprits of the attack, all known associates of Vadim Poliakoff, who is rumored to be in league with the British Dark Lord. Magical Interpol declines to comment on suggestions that this was an assassination attempt-
JULY 15th – MACUSA TODAY
HOW THE BOY-WHO-LIVED SAVED EUROPEAN-U.S. DIPLOMATIC RELATIONS
JULY 15th – THE QUIBBLER
HARRY POTTER & ALBUS DUMBLEDORE: EXPLORERS OF ASTRAL PLANE PROJECTION
Harry sighed.
"There is still the issue of the horcruxes," said Dumbledore, offering a distraction.
"I'm coming with you," Harry said immediately.
"My dear boy, I would expect nothing less."