A/N: Funny how those spaces keep going missing. I'll have to check them all over this time, I think. Thanks for letting me know what was happening. Thanks to everyone who reviewed, and especially to the person who asked if they actually did wax the covers of leather bound books to keep them intact. The answer is... possibly? I know they used to wax bits of parchment to keep them preserved,so it just seemed appropriate that they might do the same to the covers. I KNOW for a fact that old leather coverings have to be regularily oiled to keepthe suppleness of the material, or else it'll dry out and crack. I believe that if a person used wax to cover up the oil to begin with, it would seal in the oil, and keep it from drying out completely. Don't ask me how I know this, it'll take too long to explain. Suffice it to say that I've seen the technique used elsewhere, but I don't know if they did it to books. Sorry. If anyone out there knows the real answer, let me know! I like to know when I'm just talking out of my $$!
This is the 'someone-please-give-me-some-new-ideas-for-my-disclaimers' disclaimer: Voldemort is icky. 'There! I said it! HA! (Sorry, I'm in a goofy mood. I'll write a better one next time.)
Chapter Thirty –
The Minister of Magic
Harry heard himself scream loudly, and he cut his voice off in mid-cry. His scar was burning, and he could feel the frustration and anger which was now rolling in Voldemort's gut.
It was too late to cut off the sound for the sake of the rest of his sleeping dormmates. His entire dormitory had heard the yell, and was now awake, some leaping into the air in surprise, and Ron mumbling, "Huh, wha!"
Harry felt his emotions rush back in, crowding him, and he used the excess magic on the drapes around his bed, which shot wide open. He used more wandless and soundless magic on the sheets and comforter, which he tossed to the floor without touching. Having everything surrounding him was making him feel claustrophobic.
The Gryffindor boys were a little surprised to see him already sitting up, and alert, rather than asleep and dreaming.
"What happened Harry?!" Ron asked, looking stunned, and still a little sleepy."Was it Voldemort again?"
Dean and Seamus winced at the name, but Neville made a concerted effort not to, as they waited patiently for Harry's answer.
"He had Minister Fudge." Harry replied, and at their stunned looks, he explained in depth what he had just seen and done.
"So you just saved the minister of Magic's life?" Dean asked, stunned. "You should be getting an award for that or something!"
Harry shuddered. "I hope not." He had told Fudge not to say anything about his being able to take Voldemort over, but he wasn't certain that the man would listen to him. Cornelius Fudge had always proven himself more willing to help himself, and less willing to help others. He just wasn't all that certain that Fudge would understand the importance of staying silent.
Twenty minutes later, he moved along the quiet halls with professor McGonagall, his scar prickling and burning with anger. Someone, somewhere, was paying a price for Harry's actions. He could feel Voldemort's anger, and he knew he had found someone to blame for the lost wards.
Professor McGonagall was looking rather nervous and bedraggled, as he had been forced to rouse her once again due to his complicated connection with Voldemort. He hadn't been quite as stressed this time as he had been last time, so when she had asked him what was the matter, he wasmore comfortable telling herabout the details of his vision. He supposed that if this happened enough, he might become emotionally immune to the sight of torture. the thought made him shudder with fear.
It had been a long time since Harry had been truly haunted by Sirius' death, but tonight as he walked, the dream he'd had rushed back to him like a serpent out for blood. The image of Sirius' wasted face stood out clearly in his mind. His wistful grey eyes stared at him comfortingly for less than a second, before they sparked, and turned red and slitted. The fear rushed through him, and he strove to supress it.
He let off some of the emotional magic again by pushing a tapestry aside for them to walk through a passage. McGonagall stared at him, a little disconcerted, but she said nothing. Before he knew it, they were standing before the great stone gargoyle that guarded the headmaster's office.
"Puking Pastilles." Said McGonagall, and Harry started with surprise at the password. Fred and George would have been pleased to hear the headmaster using their merchandise as his codes. The more surprising part was the sight of McGonagall using a vile word like 'puke'. He nearly laughed at the disgusted expression on her face. All of his terrified thoughts regarding his dream of Sirius,and his recent horrifying experience with the minister fled.
"Minerva?" Dumbledore asked cautiously from the top of the staircase. "What can I do to help you at this hour? Ah, of course. Mister Potter. I should have known."
Harry and McGonagall met Dumbledore at the top of the steps, and they all moved into the office.
Dumbledore was in his sleepwear, and Harry couldn't help but chuckle a little at the sight of golden cows jumping over silver moons all over his purple robes. The sleeping cap matched, but was covered instead with golden dishesand silver spoons running hand in hand. For a moment Harry felt under-dressed, with his plain brown bath-robe and striped red and white pajamas.
"Professor, we need to contact Minister Fudge." He said quickly, trying to recapture the urgency of the moment. "He was kidnapped and attacked by Voldemort, and I helped him get out, but we need to make sure he's all right."
Dumbledore wasted no time in rushing over to his fire, taking a handful of the glittering powder that rested in a pot on the mantle, and throwing it into the fire.
"Cornelius Fudge's residence!" Dumbledore called, then he muttered what Harry supposed must be a password of some type,then hestepped into the flames.
Harry and McGonagall waited for nearly a full minute before he returned, and directly behind him lumbered a very dishevelled and frightened-looking Cornelius Fudge. He also was wearing his fanciest silk pajamas, though they were hastily covered with a bathrobe. The pajamas were torn a little at the neck, and a purpling bruise was showing on the minister's cheek. Harry also saw a dribble of blood coming from Fudge's nose, and as he waddled into the room, he dabbed at it nervously using the sleeve of his bathrobe, effectively smearing the blood across his upper lip.
"Oh, thank goodness." He breathed, upon seeing Harry seated in one of the chairs across from Dumbledore's desk. "I thought I had imagined the whole thing." He slumped uncomfortably into a large chintz armchair that Dumbledore immediately drew up magically for him.
"Are you all right, Minister?" Harry asked him.
"All right now." He mumbled. "I've taken a potion, and I could be sore come morning, but much better than I would have been. That was you who helped me wasn't it? I- I mean, I don't have to worry that he's put me under the imperius or something, then let me go?"
"Yes it was me. No, you'd know if you were under the imperius spell, and so would I." Said Harry, knowing that Fudge would need just as much encouragement as Percy had.
"How did you do it?" He asked bluntly.
Harry tapped his forehead. "I have a connection to him through my scar. I sometimes pick up information about what he's doing."
"That's brilliant!" Fudge enthused. "You could do a lot with that you know."
Harry didn't want to get angry. He took a breath, and let it out slowly. "I don't want to do a lot with it." He said between clenched teeth. "I want to get rid of it. I don't like seeing people being tortured any more than you enjoyed being tortured."
Fudge gaped for a moment, looking a little shaken at the mention of his own predicament. He cleared his throat nervously. "Er, well, I can understand that." He mumbled.
"I don't think you do!" Harry growled, his pent up rage at the regular ineptitude of the ministry beginning to seep out. "There are so many things that you've been wrong about in the past. Do you know that I almost didn't go back to save you tonight? I don't honestly trust you to know what's good for the wizarding world anymore. In the past you've put your faith in many people that you shouldn't. How do I know there aren't more Death-Eaters near you in your ministry? If anyone else finds out about this from you, I can't guarantee that Voldemort himself won't find out. If he knows, then I lose my edge against him. Do you see how dangerous that could be for me?"
Fudge had the good graces to blush and look apoligetical.
"Who have you told?" Harry interrogated, and Fudge squirmed understandably in the heat of his gaze.
"Well, I told my wife." He mumbled. "I thought she would be able to help me... you know…fix myself up a bit. Didn't have time to tell anyone else."
Harry turned to Dumbledore. "Have you met her?" he asked.
Dumbledore nodded. "I spoke with her tonight."
Does she know not to tell anyone else?" Harry asked both of them.
"Yes, I informed her of the importance of silence." Dumbledore's words made Harry breatheto calm himself a bit..
"You should be getting an award for this, Harry." Fudge said, puffing himself upimportantly.
"Is your life any more important than the life of Percy Weasley?" Harry threw back at him stubbornly.
Fudge blushed again, and quite obviously wanted to answer in the affirmative, but didn't dare.
"He was attacked by Voldemort too." Harry said, watching Fudge flinch. "I saw it, and sent people to save him. Should I not have received an award for doing that?" he asked, but didn't wait for Fudge to answer. "I find it incredibly arrogant of you to assume that I saved your life because you are the Minister of Magic. Right now in this war, no one can put much emphasis on titles. I saved your life because Voldemort needs to be put in his place once in awhile, and I don't like watching people being tortured. I won't differentiate between a poor man with no title to his name, and a rich man who just happens to be the minister!"
Fudge had flinched again at the Dark Lord's name, and franticallly scooted his chair backwards away from Harry.
McGonagall sat smirking in the corner, watching while Minister Fudge was put neatly in his place by a sixteen year-old boy. It occurred to Harry that he ought to be kinder, since the man had just been tortured after all, but he didn't think coddling was the correct course for the moment.
Fudge blushed and squirmed, knowing that what he was feeling right now was his due for being so arrogant for so long. "Is there something else I could do to help you mister Potter?" he asked, trying to sound strong, when they could all see that he was very close to breaking down, possibly into tears.
Harry was about to say no, and he half turned himself away from the distraught man to do so, but a sudden epiphany made him turn back.
"Do you remember," he began, looking carefullyinto the minister's eyes, "what I told you three years ago about Sirius Black?"
Dumbledore's lips cracked into an amused grin, and McGonagall gasped, putting her hand to her mouth. They knew what he was going to do, and it looked as if they approved of it wholeheartedly. They alone understood how important it was for Harry to do what he was now doing.
The minister was suddenly well in control of himself at the abrupt change of subject. "Crazy blighter." Fudge spat, not knowing how much he was once again pricking Harry's temper. "You said something impossible about how he's innocent of all of his crimes." He harrumphed. "How could he be innocent of everything when there was so much evidence against him?"
"The only evidence there was against Sirius was flawed, and he never had a proper trial to prove otherwise." Harry growled.
"Never had a trial?" Fudge furrowed his brow. "Bollocks."
"I'll tell you what you can do for me Minister. You can look into the records of the trial of Sirius Black, and tell me what you find. As his godson, I can tell you that Sirius would never have done those things he was sent to Azkaban for. Peter Pettigrew did every one of them, then the nasty traitor spent the next twelve years in hiding from everyone in the form of a rat. How do you explain the fact that Voldemort is back? Pettigrew revived him!"
"Nonsense!" Fudge grumbled. "Black would have done that! He's his right hand man! And what sort of contact have you had with Sirius Black!? He should be locked back up!"
Harry turned calmly to his headmaster. "Professor, do you have your pensieve handy?"
Dumbledore's eyes twinkled, and he nodded. He walked over to the cupboard behind the furiously scowling Fudge, reached in, and pulled out his pensieve.
The surface of silver memory sat glittering and glowing etherially in the darkness of the cubpoard, and when Dumbledore pulled it out, it lit up his face from below, putting into perspective the lines and shadows of his face.
"Thank you headmaster." Harry said, smiling. "You don't mind if I use this for now, do you?"
The headmaster gestured to the liquid in the bowl as he set it down upon his desk. "Be my guest."
Harry moved over to the bowl, took out his wand, and touched it to his temple. He let the memories of Sirius Black and Peter Pettigrew filter into the silver strings, then he deposited them into the mix of Dumbledore's memories. Fudge looked a little stunned that Harry knew how to use a pensieve properly. They were not usually the sort of things teenagers picked up. Most teenagers didn't need something external to clarify or settle their thoughts, nor did many of themusuallywant to. More often, a pensieve was used for important business, or for infirm or older Witches and Wizards who had a bit of trouble remembering things.Harry saw Fudge eyehim suspiciously.
Harry prodded the surface with his wand and watched as the ghostly form of Wormtail the rat rose out of the liquid.
His fur was patchy and his balding skin looked a little reddened in places. A flash, and in the memory Peter's human form knelt thereshivering and cowering.
"Well, hello Peter." Remus' voice said, from somewhere inside the memory.
"Sirius… Remus… My friends… my old friends." It was obvious to Fudge that Wormtail was no innocent victim here. All Harry needed was to prove that Wormtail had actually been alive, and had at one point been seen by Harry. He didn't need any more from the night in the shrieking shack, so he let the memory slip.
He prodded the liquid again, and out of the mist of silver rose a large black cauldron that was frothing and bubbling. Wormtail's voice echoed shakingly throughout the memory, "It is ready master."
Another voice answered him, high and screechy. "Now"
Obviously Fudge didn't recognize whose voice it was, but McGonagall and Dumbledore both caught their breaths in their throats, and watched as Wormtail slowly moved into the image carrying a small bundle in his arms. He carefully dropped the bundle into the hissing cauldron with a thunk, and wrapped the leftover swaddling cloth and set it on the ground, his hands shaking uncontrollably.
"Bone of the father, unknowingly given, you will renew your son!" A loud crack rent the air. A fine cloud of dust rose up to obscure the image, and a piece of flying bone plopped into the cauldron.
Wormtail pulled a dagger from his robes, and held it tightly in his left hand. He broke out into petrified sobs, as he raised the dagger high into the air. "Flesh – of the servant – w-willingly given – you will – revive – your master!"
Harry could see the moment when Fudge recognized what Worntail was doing, and who it was in the cauldron. The blood completely abandoned his face, and he twitched away from the image. His eyes, however, remained fixed on the events as if they were stuck there.
Wormtail brought the blade swinging down, and his wailing cry echoed around Dumbledore's office as his severed hand fell to the silvery grass at his feet twitching.
"Show no more!" Fudge cried out, covering one hand over his mouth as if he were going to be sick. He covered his left ear with his other hand, trying to block out the sound of Wormtail's whimpers as he deposited his own flesh and bone into the cauldron. "I know what this ritual is for! Please! Show me nothing else!"
Harry didn't really want to see the rest of this scene either, so he let the ghost sink into the silver thought once more. Watching Fudge angrily though, he mercilessly reached over to prod the surface of the liquid again. Fudge whimpered.
This time, Sirius Black rose up to greet him, and Harry nearly sobbed at the image. His godfather sat magestically atop the huge form of Buckbeak the Hippogriff. He was wearing ratty old prison clothes, but to Harry, he looked like a powerful knight, riding the back of the grand animal.
"We'll see each other again..." Sirius said, clutching at Buckbeak's feathers and nodding at Harry. You are – truly your father's son, Harry." He smiled warmly, and the hippogriff took off into the sky.
Then another image overtook the one on the Hippogriff, without any request from Harry. It was a scene that was always just waiting in the back of his mind, and had somehow snuck its way into the penseive while Harry was thinking about his godfather.
Sirius stood fighting with Bellatrix Lestrange on a round dais in the Department of Mysteries.
"Come on, is that the best you can do?" He taunted the Death-Eater, and circled around for a different vantage of attack.
She shot something at him that had then been a red bolt, but was now a silver memory, and he was not prepared for the attack. The shot caught him right in the middle of his chest and he flew backwards, a look of mingled alarm and horror on his face. The black veil, which had sudddenly appeared at the side of the memory rippled once when Sirius fell through, as if caught in a mild breeze, then fluttered back as though nothing had ever disturbed it. A cry of triumph came from Bellatrix, and Harry's terrified screams of Sirius' name started up in the background as the memory flickered and died away.
Harry turned to look at Fudge, feeling overwhelmed and angry at the same time. He was surprised to feel tears on his face, and when he looked over at Dumbledore and McGonagall, they were both looking suspiciously misty-eyed. McGonagall had her eyes shut tight, and her hand fluttered at her throat as she gulped down a wave of emotion, and Dumbledore stared morosely at his entwined fingers. His eyes looked surprisingly hollow and sunk.
"How could those incidents have been in my memories if they didn't really happen?" Harry berated Fudge, his voice cracking with emotion. "Sirius was a good man. He didn't deserve the ignorance with which the Ministry treated him. He didn't deserve to have all the happiness he had left drained out of him for twelve years. An innocent man doesn't forget that he is innocent while he's in Azkaban, Fudge. That is not a happy memory, and the Dementors couldn't take it from him."
Fudge, for his part, looked stunned. It took him a while to gather his flying thoughts, and when he finally had, the truth must have dawned heavy on his shoulders.
"An innocent man was in Azkaban for twelve years?" He asked, biting his lip.
"Hard to imagine, I know. But true."
"I can vouch for Harry's story." Dumbledore interrupted. "I didn't know Sirius the way Harry did, but I know that without a doubt, it is the truth. Black was innocent, and I know that the aurors only requested my statement, which I didn't know was incorrect at the time. I was never asked to attend a hearing, and I never complained about it, as I too, thought Black to be guilty."
Fudge, for once, looked ashamed. "I'll have to look into this. If he didn't get a trial, then there is a very simple way to have him exhonerated. We can simply hold the trial he never got."
Harry nodded. "That's all I ask."
"I'll return to my office immediately, and let you know what I find." Fudge turned, and made to leave through the fireplace. "Before I go…" He stopped, and turned back.
"Yes?" Harry asked.
"Thank you for saving my life, Mister Potter."
"You're welcome."
"And…" Fudge looked ashamed yet again. "Could you possibly not mention to anyone that I was…was a little… cowardly?"
"I didn't notice." Harry assured him. "A coward is only someone who shows his fear. You didn't."
Fudge puffed out his chest at the compliment, and smiled as he turned to leave.
Harry hoped he hadn't just done something very wrong by complimenting him.
A faint buzzing sound suddenly filled the office, and Dumbledore leapt in alarm. He grabbed at his chest, and for a second, Harry was afraid the wizard was having a heart attack. Instead, he pulled from under his robes a fine gold pendant on a chain.
"Three, two, one." He muttered.
A gasping cough pulled Fudge's eyes away from the fireplace.
Severus Snape stood in the middle of the headmaster's office looking green, clutching tightly to a small golden amulet identical to Dumbledore's. He had a large gash on the side of his face, and the blood ran down his chin and neck, right through his robes. Harry could see the blood covering his hands, turning the pendant red.
Snape shuddered, dropped the amulet, fell to his knees, choked once more and vomited in the middle of the carpet.
Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore rushed forwards to help him, and McGonagall quickly vanished the small puddle of sick.
"I'm all right." Snape growled, attempting to throw the other teachers off his back. He looked shakily up to see Harry staring at him, and he scowled fiercely. "You nearly cost me my place, Potter."
Harry knew Snape was telling the truth. He could see the honesty flashing in his eyes, and Harry understood that the potion master's hard won occlumency was now failing him. The emotions and pain were becoming too overwhelming. Harry turned angrily to Fudge who was still standing by the fire, gawking at the potions master. "Go, now." He said, then pointed at Snape. "This should show you how dangerous this war is. It's not something to be trifled with. Mention tonight to no one."
Fudge nodded, and with shaking hands, threw floo powder on the flames.
The green fire rushed up and enveloped him as he stepped through.
"I'm sorry." Harry said quietly, hardly realizing that he was apologising to Snape of all people. "I didn't know how much this would compromise your position. He would have killed him."
Snape growled, still kneeling on the floor, clutching at the side of his face. Harry knew he should not outstay his welcome. "I'll go back to my dormitory now." He said cautiously, then he slipped out of the office, and down the steps to the griffin gargoyle.
His heart was beating so fast by the time he returned to the dormitory that he could hardly sit still.
Snape had said 'almost'. Harry had almost gotten him killed because of his secret loyalties. Harry still didn't understand how Snape could be filled with so much hate, and yet still seem to have the presence of mind to do the right thing every time he was asked. The idea confused and bewildered him. He could hardly imagine why someone who had always shunned those on the side of 'good' would still want to keep working for them as a spy against the people that had once been his friends. It simply made no sense, even though it was the right and decent thing to do.
How had Snape survived? He had obviously been able to keep his place in the Death-Eater circle even after Voldemort's little test, so what had he done to prove himself? It must have been pretty horrible for him to have the reaction that he'd had. It must then have been Snape that Voldemort had blamed for the lowered apparition wards.
So, besides saving the life of a pompous fool, what had Harry accomplished tonight, other than completely undermining the safety of the Order?
He'd learned something valuable, for one.
Harry now understood for the first time why it was that every time he possessed Voldemort now, the Dark Lord did not know that Harry was there. It always had to do with control of his emotions. Snape had nearly lost his, and it meant that Voldemort might already know everything. Harry doubted it, since if it were true, then Snape would not have said, 'almost'.
It all made so much sense. If Harry stopped before sleep or meditiation and took the time to sort out all of his emotions, then he had enough control over his legilimency to keep unwanted minds out of his own. Even with Percy's attack, he had been meditating just the night before, and he had made a concerted effort to empty his mind of all emotions, or at least to sort them out in his own mind.
With that understood, it became completely clear that Occlumency and Legilimency were not two separate things. They were one and the same, and Harry had always had the natural capacity for both.
Last year, when Snape had been teaching him occlumency, he hadn't been prepared for Harry's natural abilities. That first lesson, Snape had even given him a veiled compliment. After Harry had been attacked countless times over a short period, he had felt the pain in his scar increase, and the incidents with his legilimency went completely out of his control. It was more due to the fact that every time Snape would attack, Harry would get angrier and angrier, and he hadn't been able to deal with the frustration logically.
The way Snape had been teaching Harry was that he'd expected Harry to have no knowledge of occlumency at all, and he thought that he was giving Harry the skills he needed to begin his training. Harry really had quite a good base to begin with, and -left to his own devices- he would have very likely flourished. When Snape began to attack his mind over and over again, and Harry became uncontrollably angry, it sent everything careening out of control. His occlumency, his legilimency, and the neverending pain in his scar.
It was a relief to know that he wasn't in danger from extreme mental attacks any more, and even if Voldemort were to try, Harry would know it was him from now on.
Even with that reassurance, he didn't sleep again that night.
