The Quetzal's Fire
Harry Potter
I'm trying to start a Harry Potter fanfiction message board. Email me or go to my homepage link and sign up for my totally subjective admittance process. As always: idiots need not apply. Fools, of course, are more than welcome.
A/N: Well, sorry about the delay on the previous chapter. I was occupied with a multitude of things before writing it, and I'll be off school soon and I'll probably scrape up some time for two or three more before New Year's… hopefully. Anyway, here's what you came for.
Part Four: Bloody Brilliant
Harry awoke the next morning with nothing worse than a headache. Madame Pomfrey handed him a painkilling potion on his way out the door.
While traveling through the corridors, Harry was struck by the emptiness of the castle. It seemed even the ghosts were on vacation, and he didn't see any of the faculty until he arrived in the Great Hall. Professors McGonagall (in an ancient dress) and Dumbledore (in his full set of purple robes) were the only ones there.
"Ah, good morning, Potter. Do sit down, will you?" said McGonagall when Harry was in range. "Sleep well?"
Harry found it incredibly strange to even attempt to make small talk with a teacher.
"Er… yeah, I reckon so. I'm starving, though." McGonagall smiled and passed him the bacon. "Is Hagrid here?" Harry asked.
"No, he's off working for the Order," replied McGonagall.
"Indeed, Harry, we were just discussing the Order's current plans," said Dumbledore casually. "And the consensus has been that we should move into Hogwarts until we can find a more suitable location." Harry wasn't quite sure what to say, but didn't have to talk as Dumbledore continued. "That means that the Weasley family will be moving in for the remainder of the summer, of course."
"Bloody brilliant!" exclaimed Harry, pumping his fist. Unfortunately, he knocked over his tea.
"Oh, Potter!" shouted McGonagall, fighting back fits of laughter. It was going to be an interesting summer.
Dumbledore told Harry that the full Weasley tribe (including Bill, Charlie, Fred, and George) would arrive that afternoon at four, along with the rest of the Order. "And I'm sure either of us could find some time to assist you in whatever homework you might have," the headmaster added, winking. "Not a word, of course."
"And, Potter- you're the quidditch captain, so do try and practice, will you?" said McGonagall casually.
"'Course I will, Professor!" Harry walked out of the hall and ran up to Gryffindor Tower, whooping the whole way. He found his Firebolt on his bed, along with the rest of his stuff. "Brilliant!" he whispered one last time. Then he collapsed on his bed, wondering what in the hell he could do to occupy his time. Finally he decided on writing a letter rubbing it in to Hermione- quidditch captain! And think of how jealous she'd be when she found out Harry was going to be tutored by Dumbledore! Brilliant, indeed!
Grinning ear to ear, Harry ascended to the top of the Tower with his broom. He jumped off, doing laps around the castle. From her office, Professor McGonagall watched approvingly.
At twelve, Harry swooped down to ground level. He had a diabolical idea, one he'd never pull off during the term…
Aw, why not… Filch isn't here… grinning demonically, Harry opened the doors to the castle and flew in, still very much on the broomstick. After a few close encounters with the corridor walls, Harry swooped to the Great Hall and dismounted in front of the faculty table. Its only occupant, a very tan man clothed in brilliantly white robes and a burnoose, clapped politely.
"Certainly you know how to make an impression, Mr. Potter," he said gravely. Harry saw mirth dancing in Abd al Rahman's eyes, however. The tall Arab's moustache quivered and he finally guffawed. "Do sit, please. It is a pleasure to meet you properly. Professor Dumbledore has already told you about my status, yes?"
"Yes, sir," replied Harry uncertainly.
"You need not hold any pretense around me, Mr. Potter- I knew your family quite well while I lived in Britain the first time." Harry's expression turned rather sour, and he started to open his mouth rashly. "I am sorry. I know you are still grieving over another loss."
"That's fine, Professor," replied Harry sharply.
"Now, now, that won't do. Perhaps some food will make you more personable. Oh, don't worry, I'm not eating anything exotic," laughed al Rahman as Harry raised his eyebrows. "Just a roast beef sandwich." Harry finally sat down, disarmed a little by al Rahman's affability. He accepted the plate of cold cuts with the full gratitude of an empty stomach. al Rahman paused. "I am sorry, it has been some time since I have spoken English," he said apologetically.
"Oh, your English is good," said Harry emphatically, piling meat and condiments onto his bread.
"I hear you are very interested in my subject."
"Yeah— probably my favorite," mumbled Harry through a full mouth.
"And who wouldn't be, in your position?" Harry looked up, thinking up a long tirade until he noticed al Rahman was serious.
"Most people," replied Harry carefully.
"I suppose you have a point." al Rahman looked for another angle. "Certainly secondary school defense against the dark arts isn't good enough to protect you from He Who Must Not Be Named."
"Yeah, I guess. But our teachers have been very good for the most part," Harry replied. He winked at al Rahman, who laughed again.
"Indeed, indeed. I suppose it is only fair for you to know that I have never taught before. Of course, one is told that my predecessor did not either, but who would have known?" Harry laughed. He liked the man already, if only for the deadpan. al Rahman looked around the Great Hall. "Though I did attend Hogwarts," the Professor added thoughtfully. Harry continued smearing mustard on his bread, knowing what came next. "I knew Sirus Black and your parents, somewhat— I am sorry to hear of your loss." Harry nodded, not looking up. "I am sorry," al Rahman said hurriedly. "I suppose the wounds haven't healed yet—or closed again, as the case may be."
"That's alright," replied Harry gruffly.
The rest of lunch, he and al Rahman discussed the upcoming term and quidditch while al Rahman politely waited until Harry had finished his sandwich, then bid him goodbye. "I believe the rest of the Order will arrive around three o'clock. Until then, Mr. Potter." al Rahman shook Harry's hand and went in the direction of the defense against the dark arts classroom. Harry shouldered his broomstick and headed to Gryffindor tower for a nap; the potion was making him see things.
Harry woke up with his alarm clock- 2:45. He pulled on his t-shirt and stretched, and, upon further consideration, decided on his broomstick as a very fortuitous method of travel. Positively sprinting up the stairs, Harry almost fell off the top of the tower as soon as he arrived. He then proceeded to almost fall again, this time in midair off his broomstick. Littering the air with blasphemy, he landed in front of the doors to the entrance hall.
Looking around, Harry noticed that the doors were different. There were metal bolts, not wooden ones. Investigating further, Harry opened them; he noticed the wooden crossbars had been supplanted by iron ones.
"I see you have noticed some of the changes we have made to the castle," observed Dumbledore sadly. "I'm afraid that they won't do anything practical, but I had them installed as a reminder of our peril nonetheless." Harry let silence hang for awhile, but then he asked a question he had been pondering the whole day.
"How is the war going to stay a secret? Doesn't Voldemort realize how dangerous it would be for all of us if the muggles found out?"
"I do not believe we will be able to keep it a secret. Certainly we were able to do so last time, but Voldemort underestimates muggle power. And he was far less desperate at its beginning— you must remember the advances muggles have made in communications as well."
"Why would communications matter? I mean, we can still keep everything under wraps, right?" asked Harry, genuinely confused. He had no idea what Dumbledore was talking about.
"You're doubtless familiar with cable television, aren't you?" asked Dumbledore, smiling now. Harry nodded. "Well, with twenty four hour news networks, millions of people are capable of finding things out before the morning papers. And there's the internet, as well. Ten years ago, neither of those were concerns. 1996 is an age of technology, Harry: we just can't keep things secret for long."
"Only rich people have those things, though. What's saying that a lot of people will find out?" asked Harry, still skeptical.
"It's not as if the media isolates itself! No, Harry, the press communicates with other members of the press- CNN will give footage to the BBC, or The Daily Mail will get an article from Reuters, bless them," Dumbledore said fondly. He seemed to forget the discussion he had been having with Harry. "Good afternoon, Minerva. Will Abd be along?"
Dumbledore's getting loonier, thought Harry nervously.
"I think so. That man would almost rather die instead of be late," observed Professor McGonagall approvingly.
"Early is on time and on time is late!" exclaimed al Rahman's measured, rich tenor from behind them. "Not that my transcripts said anything about that, of course."
"Well, we won't begrudge you, Abd," replied Dumbledore, bowing so that his beard swept the ground.
The next few minutes passed in silence. Harry took a seat on the steps. al Rahman eventually followed suit.
"If it weren't this group, I'd be worried," observed Dumbledore to the air. "Ah! There's Alastor." Indeed, it appeared to be Mad Eye Moody, owing to the stooped, limping gait of the man who had appeared on the path to the castle. Harry and al Rahman leapt to their feet. Dumbledore extended his hand politely. Moody grasped it for an extremely long time.
"Dumbledore. Good to see you. Where will I be staying?"
"The faculty lodgings. Minerva can show you there now, if you wish."
"I'd prefer that… standing outside gives us too little cover. You might want to take Potter inside, Albus," grunted Moody.
"I don't think Harry's security is a concern at the moment, Mr. Moody," observed Abd al Rahman gravely. "I would know, considering how much time I spent trying to preserve it," he added jokingly.
Moody didn't really find it to be a joke, because he fixed al Rahman with a long, piercing stare. "I suppose, Rahman, I suppose. Albus, Arthur said that they're going to be late… you know how they are," growled Moody. "Anyway, the rooms- I know where they are." Dumbledore held open the door as the grizzled auror shuffled through without further remark.
Ex-Professor Lupin was the next to arrive. He said a few kind words of consolation to Harry before going inside. Mundungus Fletcher almost fell off of the broom he arrived on due to the large magic carpet that was wrapped around the tail. Dumbledore played innocent while McGonagall chewed out the Order's resident crook. Nymphadora Tonks and Kingsley Shacklebolt showed up at the same time, having apparated from the Ministry simultaneously. Tonks explained that they would only be staying for a few meetings— they still lived in London ("Toget'ah," snickered Mundungus under his breath, having reappeared after a few minutes of hiding from McGonagall's wrath) and had to go to the Ministry every day. Mrs. Abarella Figg showed up, greeting Harry familiarly and shaking Dumbledore's hand vigorously. Snape was the last to appear, ignoring Harry and Dung ("He's a git, dat'un," muttered Dung darkly) and merely nodding to Professors Dumbledore and McGonagall ("Wit no rispict fer 'is bitters, evin") before striding down to his dungeon office.
After that, Harry became impatient and finally worried for the Weasleys' appearance. Even Dumbledore was finding it harder to silence Dung's frequent complaints. Harry heard Professor McGonagall condemn Arthur Weasley to the inferno at about 3:45, which was incidentally the same time Ron came sprinting up the hill. He was redder than usual due to the effort he had been exerting.
"Oy! Ron!" shouted Harry, grinning. "What took you so long mate?" Ron smashed into his best friend unceremoniously and bent over, panting.
"Store… display… down…" Ron gasped for breath.
"Weasley! How far did you run?" asked McGonagall sternly. Ron, who had been recovering up until that point, started gasping anew at the sight of the assistant headmistress. Harry put his hand over his mouth, quaking silently. "Oh, forget it," McGonagall snapped. She drew her mouth thin and squinted down the path. "There's the rest of them." Harry pushed Ron into sitting on the steps, wondering what on Earth had been the motivation for the mad dash.
"Ron! I will not tolerate this! You go back there and apologize!" Molly Weasley was puffing up behind him, apparently not so deprived of breath as to shout at her youngest son.
"Sorry mate, but I can't get your back when your mum's on the warpath," said Harry. Ron made a whimpering noise. Professor Dumbledore was looking at the sky innocently while McGonagall gave a knowing look to Molly Weasley. Abd al Rahman had an expression of skepticism mixed with curiosity, while Dung was making a pathetic effort to look small as Mrs. Weasley arrived at the doorstep, still spewing spiddle.
"Ron! How dare you! Causing a scene like that… I ought to have you locked up!" she finally noticed the assembled party. Harry jumped when she made to embrace him. Mrs. Weasley apparently didn't notice, because she greeted Dumbledore. "I'm so sorry Albus, we got caught up because Ron here decided to go into Zonko's and break half the displays in the store!"
"I didn't do it, mum!" protested Ron in earnest.
"Not another word from you!" bellowed Mrs. Weasley. "You ought to consider yourself lucky that Professor McGonagall can't give you detention yet!" Ron apparently hadn't noticed McGonagall's presence, because he tried to jump into Harry's arms again as soon as he turned around.
"I… ah… would be happy to compensate the store," proposed al Rahman cautiously, reading Ron's expression of help, please correctly. The rest of the family had caught up by now, including an angry Arthur and his amused children.
"No, Abd, that's quite fine. Ron needs to do it to learn something about respect!" screamed Mrs. Weasley.
Ginny tapped Harry on the shoulder. "Fred and George actually did it. They've been trying to get an upper leg on Zonko's for months," Harry noticed the twins slipping inside quietly. Fred winked as they hauled their trunks through.
Harry grinned. Things were going to be fine this summer.
