Okay, I'm being extra-nice today, and leaving you with an extra chapter. Why? You know me too well to not question my motives... well, it all has to do with where I'm going to leave you for the weekend...
CQ
Chapter Eight: What's Going On At the Ministry?
Hermione Granger's eyes took in the words written on the parchment in front of her, scarcely able to believe what she was reading. Nervously, knowing she could be caught at any moment, but unwilling to stop until she'd read it all, her eyes glanced at the doorway, then back to the parchment several times, taking in both the written words and the fact that Mr Marchbanks hadn't yet returned from his tea break.
The words danced on the page in front of her, and Hermione had never wished for a muggle camera more in her life. She knew that she would be prohibited by her vows to speak one word of this – to anyone – ever. But Dumbledore needed to know... the Order needed to know...
Harry needed to know.
What on earth was she to do?
Suddenly, hearing the tapping footsteps of Mr Marchbanks' hard-soled shoes on the marble tiles of the floor in the hallway outside the door to this room, she shuffled the papers and tried to appear as though engrossed in the report he'd handed her.
"Well, Miss Granger? What do you think?"
"I... I'm not sure what to think, Mr Marchbanks," she replied truthfully, straightening from the papers before her.
"Yes, yes. Of course, it's a fascinating subject, but what..."
"I was... I was wondering, Mr Marchbanks... if I could have a little more time to think about... this? Would it be possible for me to take this file home with me this evening and... we could discuss it more... tomorrow morning?
"Oh, I am sorry, Miss Granger. I thought it was made clear to you that the files are not allowed to leave the Ministry?"
"Oh... yes..." Hermione flushed. "Of course... I..."
"Someone as eager as you are to learn, it's understandable, Miss Granger. You know, your esteemed Madam Pince is a personal friend of mine. She has commented to me on several occasions since you came to work here with us what an avaricious reader you are..."
Hermione flushed again, remembering intimately some of the rather... confrontational... conversations she'd had with the redoubtable Hogwarts librarian over the years.
"Yes... I... I do like to know what I'm talking about..."
"Of course, of course you do. Unfortunately, your studying on this particular subject will have to be undertaken wholly within the confines of the Ministry. Can't chance such things making it to the outside, now can we?"
Hermione smiled at the elderly wizard, to whom there appeared to be, in fact, three worlds. The muggle world being one, the world outside the doors of the Ministry of Magic the other, and the safe, ordered world he knew here, had worked in eighteen hours a day, six days a week, for over twenty years quite happily, safely inside the walls of the imposing Ministry of Magic building.
Hermione sighed. How on earth was she going to get this information to those who needed it? And furthermore, how was she going to feign interest in...
She glanced down at the file she had been meant to be reading while Mr Marchbanks took his tea break. The report she'd been meant to be reading when she realized that there was another, extra sheet stuck to the back of it that certainly wasn't meant to be there. The dry report that Mr Marchbanks was apparently about to go into raptures over, which had nothing to do with the last page, which she'd been hurriedly reading before her supervisor returned. The boring report they'd seen fit to have her start with.
Policy for Standardization of Cauldron Bottoms in the European Market, a report by Percy I. Weasley.
"Damn," she muttered, opening the file once more, much to the delight of Mr Marchbanks.
Harry's first class as a Professor was with the fourth year Gryffindors and Ravenclaws. He was very, very thankful that he was starting here, rather than with, say, a group of seventh years. He wasn't sure he would have done well if his first class was full of Ginny, Luna, and other seventh years he knew.
He didn't know if it would be harder to face those who he knew... or remember those who should have been there and weren't. Like Colin.
The fourth years filed into his classroom early on the morning after the Welcoming Feast. He watched them come, unsmiling. These students had been third years last year. They would remember him as a student, not as a professor.
"Take your seats, please," he called out as they took their time about settling down. "We have rather a lot to cover this year and I'd like to begin."
"Har... Professor Potter?" A Gryffindor raised his hand. Harry remembered him as Jaren Matthews. He'd tried out for Quidditch last year, but hadn't made the team.
"Jaren?"
"I... I just wondered...?"
"What?"
"Why on earth you came back here?" Jaren asked, glancing at his classmates. "I mean... you could do anything... why teach DADA?"
"Because, Jaren," Harry said. "I don't want any of you to ever, ever, have to do what we did last year. I don't ever want to think of any of you the way I think of Dean Thomas. I want every one of you to be able to defend yourselves, be able to defend your families, and not live in fear. That is why I've chosen to come back here. To teach Defense Against the Dark Arts, rather than take up the Ministry on their undoubtedly tempting offers."
There were scattered chuckles from around the room. A Ravenclaw girl's hand rose.
"Yes... I'm sorry, I haven't done the roll call yet, and I don't know your name."
"Marisa Kelly, Professor," the pretty little blonde said firmly. "I just... I wanted to know..."
"Yes, Marisa?"
"Well... Voldemort is gone... why do we have to...?"
"Marisa," Harry looked at her, his green eyes penetrating. "Lucky you."
"Lucky me, Professor?"
"Lucky you," Harry smiled. "To believe we live in a world with only one evil."
There were scattered mutterings about the room.
"I'm going to start this class with a quote," Harry smiled, taking up his wand and flicking it at the board behind him. Words suddenly appeared written there, and all the students flew for their quills. "No need to write it down. You'll all know it by the end of the year by heart, I promise you, without ever writing it down once.
"This is a favorite of one of my... mentors. A wizard... an auror... who taught me a lot about Defense and the Dark Arts... Constant Vigilance. That's what it takes, to live in peace. Forever, constant vigilance. If we are constantly vigilant... we will never again get to the point where one misanthrope, one monster such as Voldemort, acquires such power over our world that we live in constant fear. Now... turn to page seventeen in your text books, please, and who can tell me what nex habitum does?"
Harry found his classes easier than he had thought they would be. Most of the students had questions about the final battle, things to ask that didn't have much to do with DADA, and Harry discouraged this, but for the most part, they were all eager to learn, and Harry surprised himself by being eager to teach.
Dumbledore surprised him one evening as he turned the last corner in his walk back to his private quarters. Harry nearly ran into the elderly wizard, righting himself just in time.
"Headmaster..." he nodded. "Sorry about that."
"My fault entirely, Harry," Dumbledore said with a smile. "I shouldn't have been lurking around corners."
"Were you... lurking?"
"Oh, indeed. You'd be surprised at what you can find out by lurking about this old castle."
"Actually, I probably wouldn't," Harry grinned.
"Yes, well... for those of us who haven't made a hobby of it for the past six years..."
"Oh, nearly seven," Harry grinned. "Ever since a certain someone felt the need to provide me with my cloak."
"Yes, handy, something like that," Dumbledore's eyes twinkled.
"You have no idea," Harry said. "Were you looking for me?"
"Indeed, I was, Harry. I would like to speak with you. Privately."
"Come in, then," Harry opened the door to his quarters and entered, leading the way to the comfortable armchairs in front of the fire. "Please, have a seat."
"Thank you," Dumbledore sat. "Harry... I wish to discuss your training."
"Ah," Harry nodded. "Are we ready, then?"
"Yes. Our auror friends have decided that Monday, Wednesday and Friday evenings and Saturdays would work best for their schedules and yours... and the others, of course."
There goes Saturdays in Hogsmeade with Ginny...
"I understand, of course, that there are certain... well..." Dumbledore smiled. "Suffice to say, we will be making an exception of Hogsmeade weekends. For obvious reasons."
Harry grinned. "And the others?"
"Professor Weasley and Professor Longbottom are eager to begin, as well. I spoke to Ron this morning and..."
"Yes," Harry nodded, chagrined. "I spoke to him, as well."
"Then I would imagine he has related to you his rather... intense... physical education plan for the three of you through the week?"
"In... detail," Harry sighed. Ron's idea of 'keeping in shape' required dawn runs about the grounds daily, and an exercise regiment that would make most professional athletes quail. He'd related his plan to the other two that morning at breakfast, and Neville had looked positively green. Especially after Ron mentioned the bit about helping out with the Quidditch team, and requiring flying time. Neville hated flying.
Dumbledore smiled, the twitching of his beard a good indication of his amusement. "Yes, well, he is... eager."
"Yes," Harry nodded. "So, this weekend?"
"We shall begin on Friday evening in the Room of Requirement, please."
"I'll be there. Would you like me to mention it to the others?"
"That would be helpful... save me a trip about the castle," Dumbledore nodded, rising.
"Harry..."
"Yes, Prof... Albus?" he corrected himself, flushing.
"You do understand..."
"Understand what?"
"This doesn't have to be your fight. You do know that?"
"My fight?"
"This new uprising. You've done your part, Harry. No one would fault you for..."
"Standing back?"
"Yes."
"This will always be my fight, Albus. Always. After everything that Voldemort did, to me, to those I care about... anyone who follows him, or his ways... well, I see now what it is that I'm here for."
"What is it that you think you're here for, Harry?"
"This. Fighting them. Keeping them from gaining power once more. Teaching others to do the same. I've been doing it for so long... with the DA club... well, ever since my first year, actually. I'd rather dismissed it as... well, I just didn't consider it as a career option, I guess."
"You've done your share. More than your share."
"We don't have 'shares' in this, Albus. It's there and needs to be done, and until it's finished, we all must do what we can. I can teach others, I can train myself, I can fight this. When I'm finished, you'll know."
Dumbledore watched him levelly for a moment, then gave a quick, sharp nod and headed for the door.
"Oh, and Harry?"
"Yes?"
"Miss Tonks will be here on Friday..."
"And?"
"You must be careful now."
"Of what?"
"Of how you phrase things to her. Her vows will require that she consider everything you say... quite literally."
"What?"
"Just... well, I'm sure you'll see. Just try and not say anything... flip... around her. Until you get the idea of how this works, at any rate."
Harry was left watching the door close behind the Headmaster, and wondering what he meant by that last.
How many days until HBP? Hmm... I have 24 days to finish this up before I lose my audience...
CQ
RyougaZell: Sorry, I tried to write that scene, but it just didn't come out right, so no, you won't be seeing that happen.
Shotgunn: My, aren't we defensive on the topic of Molly? Poor Harry, never free of the nasty Dark Lord...
Japanese Jew: Stop guessing the bloody plotlines! Am I that predictable? Grr...
WolfsScream: "Get your skates on" is a typical Scouse phrase meaning "hurry up" or "get moving"... and if you don't know what a Scouser is, I'm afraid all hope is lost for you. However, ten chocolate chip cookies to the reader who can tell me! I have a feeling it'll be a Brit...
Gerie: Nope – none of that here!
Manatheron: Inappropriate? REALLY? LOL!
And the rest, thank you: MissyMee, Nightgames, HarryGinnyluv4ever, JediKnightBus, BrittSchrick