Harry Potter, still officially the Minister of Magic elect, sat in the office which had once been that of Cornelius Fudge - the office which still did not feel like his own. The room had been stripped of those personal items which had belonged to the former Minister: all the many knickknacks and mementos of a high-profile political career. And yet, there had been no personal touches applied to the room by its current occupant. There wasn't a single picture, diploma, trophy or commendation gracing the desk nor mounted upon the walls. There were no framed newspapers bearing headlines trumpeting the Minister-elect's victory. There was neither perch nor cage for a bird, though everyone who worked within the Ministry knew that the Minister-elect kept a great snowy owl. There wasn't even a single reminder of Quidditch, not so much as a Keeper's glove or a Beater's bat.

What stood prominently in the Minister-elect's office was a pair of great bookshelves, one covering the wall behind the desk, the other covering the wall to the left of whoever sat at that desk. These shelves were packed tightly with books, except for the topmost shelf of each, which were carved in scalloping curves, each curve holding a scroll. The books and scrolls were varied; some historical, some theoretical, some critical in nature. But all of them addressed the same subject: the government of Wizarding Britain.

The Minister-elect had read many of those volumes during the past year. But at the moment, his attention was focused on a completely blank sheet of parchment, spread flat against the desktop.

Harry folded the parchment lengthwise, carefully matching the corners before pressing the fold flat, then running his thumbnail along the crease, listening to the hollow sound of the parchment settling into its new configuration. He watched critically as the top portion of the sheet rose and curled slightly, the parchment resisting the fold. Nodding absently in concentration, Harry picked up the sheet and worked the page back and forth, using the fold as a hinge, weakening its resistance to its new shape. He pressed the folded sheet to the surface of the desk again and let go, noting with satisfaction that it remained nearly flat. Then, with elbows braced on the broad desktop, hands moving slowly so as not to put a crease in the wrong place, Harry made a triangular fold in the end of each half of the doubled sheet, creasing each with a satisfying 'sssssip' of thumbnail on parchment.

After several more folds had shaped the once-flat sheet into a streamlined shape with a very sharp nose and swept back wings, he held it suspended above his head, the fingers of one hand barely pressing against the edges of its wings, his other hand poised below as though to catch the parchment construct as it fell. He allowed the plane to drop from his grip, but as it gently drifted toward his lower hand, Harry cast a subtle spell, causing the air to waft gently upward to hold his parchment creation aloft.

The Minister-elect had been working on this particular spell for several weeks by this time. Previously, when he had attempted it, his planes would tilt forward, pivoting until their noses pointed directly toward the ground. Then their streamlined shapes would cut through the gently rising air, and they would crash. But this time, Harry thought he had gotten the balance just right. He wiggled the fingers of both hands, ever so slightly altering the airflow, keeping the sharp nose of the parchment aircraft high, buffeting the plane's wings with sufficient force to hold the construction aloft...

"Mister Minister?"

Harry started, eyes wide. He straightened, sitting bolt upright in the heavy wooden chair behind his wide, empty desk. The parchment plane turned nose-down and dove into the hardwood floor, landing with a 'thup' that was all Harry needed to hear to know that his plane now had a crumpled nose and would no longer fly straight. Harry felt his airflow spell dissipate, its last gentle wisps of wind brushing his face before the atmosphere returned to stillness. Taking a deep breath to compose himself, Harry brushed his hands down the front of his robe, a deep red formal dress garment trimmed in gold, nearly as gaudy as the uniform he had once worn as a Quidditch Seeker. He looked up at his Chief of Staff, Deckard Constantine, who stood in the office doorway, holding a rolled sheet of parchment.

Constantine pulled his lips into a thin line, an expression that struck many observers as one of impatience or even contempt. Harry had learned over the past year that such a slight tensing of his Chief of Staff's mouth was as close as Deckard ever came to a grin.

"Victory again," Constantine reported smoothly, lifting the parchment a little before crossing the room to place the roll on the Minister-elect's desk. Deckard immediately took a long step back from the desk. He was a very tall man, and if he had stood any closer while his boss had remained seated, Harry would have had to crane his neck back awkwardly to meet his chief's eyes. Constantine's unobtrusive positioning of himself comfortably within Harry's view was more than merely polite. It was a subtle acknowledgement that Harry was the office-holder, the man in charge, while Deckard was subordinate to him.

Harry sighed, trying to keep the sound of it as quiet as possible. He missed his lessons with Narcissa Mal... that is, Narcissa Black. Or whatever name it was she was using since leaving France. It was just such constant attention to detail that she had been teaching Harry to notice... and to employ. Harry knew that his education in such matters – especially now that he was supposed to be a politician - was woefully inadequate. At his side nearly every single day was the clearest example of how much he needed to develop those skills. Harry was aware of Deckard Constantine's smooth, effective application of the principles Narcissa Black had espoused. But that didn't mean that Harry himself could apply those principles, or gain as much information from limited observation as could his Chief of Staff.

Constantine flashed another of his swift, hard-mouthed grins. "I daresay, if the history of Muggle politicians were more familiar to our own people, you would likely be known as the Wizarding world's Winston Churchill."

Harry scowled. Was this another test? Was Deckard probing to determine whether Harry had paid attention while still in Muggle school? "I know who that is, you know."

Constantine's shoulders shook very slightly beneath his robes, betraying a slight chuckle that was as much laughter as Harry had ever his Chief of Staff express. "I believe that most of us in the upper reaches of government are at least somewhat familiar with Muggle history," Constantine purred, his voice tinged with just enough sarcasm to let Harry know that he had missed the point of his chief's comments once again. "We must know about them precisely so that we may continue to be able to prevent their becoming aware of us." Deckard paused to let that moment of scolding his employer pass. "And in fact," he went on in a lighter tone, "among the veterans of Ministry service, it is not the old ex-secretary of the Admiralty to whom you are being compared. It is, in fact, a pair of American Presidents - one in particular, who served about a half-century ago - who had an extraordinary period of success in office, which became known as his 'honeymoon' with his legislature. Your accomplishments, however, are even greater than either of theirs. Both of those men enjoyed the advantage of being generally accepted as the actual holders of their office at the time of their successes!"

Harry's lip curled. "If the lawmakers are so in love with me," he sneered, "why am I still coming to work every day like... this?" He spread his hands to indicate his entire office, but pointedly looked at one corner of his desk, from which he had removed the "In" box nearly six months previously. At that time, he had thrown the empty box, along with the similarly empty "Out" box into an equally empty desk drawer, promising to return them to service "the moment any actual work comes 'In' for me to do!" He had not had the opportunity to retrieve either of those boxes since that moment.

Deckard seemed completely unfazed by the Minister-elect's outburst. He regarded Harry seriously and answered quite calmly. "While the elected officials of this government – and, more importantly, the voters of this nation - do love you, the courts do not. Judges - good judges in particular - live to interpret rules. And you offend them. To your disadvantage, you especially offend the best and most influential of them. You offend them because your case contradicts, circumvents and even makes a mockery of so many of the rules that our judges have come to trust and to depend upon. It is worth noting that despite this general attitude toward you amongst the judiciary, you have not lost any of the most important court decisions regarding your presence here in this office. Nor has your right to serve as Minister been denied as part of any written opinion. What has frustrated the courts is that no judge has been able to formulate a decision regarding that right in such a fashion that the court could present it in a logical - and legal - manner that would not immediately offer you the opportunity for an undeniable appeal. Hence, each judge who has considered your case has 'Passed It Upward' to the next most prestigious judicial body. The senior jurists of our nation are debating your case now, and so far as we can tell, they are as baffled by it as all of those who have considered it previously. We are definitely keeping them busy with motions and..."

"What good does it do to keep them busy?" Harry fumed.

Deckard looked sternly at the boy. ('Young Man!' he reminded himself for the hundredth time. 'This is the Minister-elect, the hero of our people and possibly the most powerful mage in the world. Young. Man. Not. Boy.' Deckard knew he had not convinced himself, especially as he watched Harry glaring at him with all the burning fury of a petulant teenager.)

"The good it does is to keep you here at this desk," Constantine stated firmly. "And to keep others away from this desk. In particular, to keep Cornelius Fudge away from it. It also, despite the uncertainty surrounding your legal right to hold this office, allows you to continue to do your work. One portion of which lies right there." He extended a finger toward the scroll on the desk. "A victory, as I said. And I mean that the passage of this bit of legislation is a victory not only for you, but for our nation in general. This is not the sort of thing that gets the general population emotionally worked up, I'm sorry to say. But it is the kind of important work that government has to do when that government has survived for so long as has ours."

Harry waited, face still frozen in a mask of defiance. He fully expected his Chief of Staff's report to continue. He thought that a full description of the new law would be forthcoming, along with an explanation of why that particular bit of work was so necessary to a long-standing government. So Harry continued to glare in silence. Deckard Constantine stood there impassively. After a few moments, Harry realized that his Chief of Staff was not going to say anything more. Harry felt the tension throughout his body. He felt the shape of rage contorting his face. Very suddenly, he felt like a complete idiot. His face flushed bright red as he reached for the parchment on his desk. As soon as he did so, Deckard continued his explanation.

"This is, on the surface of it, nothing but a repeal of one of the old pure-blood privileges. In specific, it concerns right-of-way for constructing carriage paths across easements bordering public roads. In a much broader sense, it provides a new precedent for considering property-use and property-rights issues that puts all citizens of the Wizarding community on an equal footing, without the presumptive preference for pure-bloods that has been written into our laws for over three hundred years. A minor item, so it seems. But so rich in potential."

As he completed his explanation, Deckard stood energetically, poised on the balls of his feet as though ready to pounce into physical battle with the old pure-blood laws. Harry unrolled the parchment and began to read. Within a few seconds, he murmured, "I see what you mean about not getting people emotional. This is..."

"Dry? Dull?" Constantine suggested.

Harry dropped the parchment onto his desktop. "Dead boring."

Constantine shrugged. "And yet it must not be allowed to be perceived as such by the voters, especially since it will be considered part of the torrent of far-reaching and forward-looking bills that Minister Potter shepherded into law during his first astounding year in office. It will be made to seem more... vital, shall we say?... by the time you deliver your speech to the Herbologists' Convocation tomorrow night."

Harry groaned. "I have none of the power and all of the irritants of public office, haven't I? I can't sign anything, stamp anything or even make any official proclamations about anything as the real, true, duly-elected Minister of Magic - but I still have to cut the ribbons at the grand openings, make the speeches at the... what is it? Convention? Confustication?"

"Convocation. Of Herbologists. Tomorrow night. And if you don't want your political base to deteriorate the way Cornelius Fudge's did, you will make the speeches, cut the ribbons, thank your volunteers - personally and sincerely - and keep your face before the public's very easily-distracted eye every opportunity that presents itself."

"Right," Harry agreed without enthusiasm, then his mood brightened. "That's for tomorrow, then. Now, it's nearly lunch. Do you know where Snape is?"

Deckard Constantine's face went completely blank. His voice was uninflected as he replied. "No." Harry looked a question at him. The Chief of Staff showed no emotion as he explained, "The Professor and I do not communicate well."

"Ridiculous," Harry pronounced. His voice was as firm and commanding as one might expect from the Minister of Magic elect. But his face wore a pout more appropriate to a small boy unable to find a favorite plaything. "The two men most important to me... to my life... unable to work together at all. I know it's true, I've seen it. I just don't underst... that is, I do understand it. I think. Which hardly matters. It doesn't do me any good to have the two of you at odds, is all. What about Remus? Have you seen him?"

Constantine lost some of his reserve with the change of subject, but his voice was no warmer. Instead, it held a warning note. "Mister Lupin is in Muggle London. Again. He seems to prefer it there. That causes me some concern."

Harry looked confused. "Remus survived in Muggle London undetected by us or them for years. He's used to it. He probably feels more at home there. So what's the big deal about him going home; living wherever he wants?"

"I believe that there may have been some unfinished business left behind when Mister Lupin rejoined you during your preparation to face..." Deckard's face betrayed a grimace as he forced himself to say the name. "Voldemort. I fear that Mister Lupin's forays into the Muggle city are motivated by a desire to close out some of that business."

"Remus is a good man."

Deckard met Harry's eye and held it for a long moment, making sure he had the Minister-elect's complete attention before continuing. "He is also - now, thanks to you - a werewolf in Animagus' clothing. His near-instantaneous transformations, coupled with his independence from the lunar cycle give him a tremendous weapon to wield if his motivation were revenge or punishment. And the level and quality of mental capacity he retains while transformed make him a very dangerous..."

Harry stood, face once again burning red, but this time from anger rather than embarrassment. "Stop!" he barked. "Remus is my friend. He is a good man, a kind, caring man, and one of the most important men alive - both to me and to the current good fortune of this country in being free from the threat of Voldemort."

Constantine's voice never rose, never wavered. "And he has also confessed to using his previously uncontrolled transformations to destroy certain Muggle individuals who he considered to be unfit to live. That is not simply murder - which we might find justification for in any number of ways. It is interfering with Muggles by distinctly magical means - which endangers our entire society and everyone in it. Our Ministry apparently failed to detect those crimes, and the Muggle authorities - whatever they made of the killings - apparently did not think to start a werewolf hunt based on the evidence they found. Nevertheless, using magic to perform..."

Harry's voice was cold as he interrupted his Chief of Staff once again. "Do you have any reason to presume that Remus has killed anyone in the past year? Or that he has even changed form within Muggle London? At all?"

Deckard's face fell. To Harry, who had become used to searching his chief's generally unexpressive countenance for any trace of feeling, the man seemed disappointed, even sad. Harry's heart lightened. He was sure that Constantine's accusations would turn out to be baseless. But Deckard's words did not follow Harry's expectations at all. "A number of items have come to my attention. They all point to a single conclusion: that Mister Lupin has been involved in instances of vigilantism. Not only once, but on several occasions."

Harry felt cold. His voice croaked as he tried to form words. "These... uh... items. Could they have... I mean... would anyone...?"

Constantine appeared to be contemplating something in mid-air several inches away from Harry's head. "I hope that what I have found would be meaningless to anyone not specifically looking for evidence of this nature. But our Improper Use of Magic Office does habitually look for such things. Not to mention the regular teams of Aurors who, with the demise of—" another barely-perceptible hesitation "—Voldemort - and his organization - have more time to devote to other types... other categories... of crimes than those of Death Eaters. It would not help you to be accused of concealing the serious criminal activities of one of your associates, especially if those activities included the use of magic among Muggles. And murder, of course."

Harry struggled to come up with a confident-sounding reply. "Um," was the best he could do. He thought a moment, took another breath, said nothing. Finally, very softly, he said, "I'll talk to him." Then, practically under his breath, "As soon as I can find him."

Deckard Constantine nodded deeply, practically describing a bow. "Very good, Sir," he murmured. Then, backing quickly out of the office and turning to go, he added, "Your luncheon companion has arrived."

Seconds later, Severus Snape walked into the office and scowled at the young man who sat behind the desk, staring blankly into space.

"Has the man left you stunned, or were you planning to spend your afternoon mindlessly goggling at the far wall?" the Professor inquired, his voice even more acidic than usual.

"Hmmm?" Harry murmured in response, still apparently lost in thought. In a moment, he collected his thoughts and met Snape's stare directly.

"Professor, I would like you to do me a service. I realize this may be somewhat uncomfortable for you, but I would appreciate it if you would sit in on my staff meetings."

Snape inspected Harry as though looking for signs of a head injury. "Staff meetings? Am I not present when you and Mister Constantine... and Mister Lupin, when he is around... discuss your plans? Have I not been, in fact, since your decision to leave Hogwarts and take up your adult responsibilities, practically your only dependable advisor? Am I not your only councillor who can be counted upon to be available to respond - at any time - to your need for information or guidance?" Snape shook his head with a scowl. "I would have thought that if I were not present, any meeting in which you took part could not properly be considered a 'staff' meeting at all."

Harry considered the man standing before him in disbelief. 'I've hurt his feelings,' he thought, astounded that he could even form such a thought regarding a man that, just a short time ago, had appeared to have no feelings whatsoever. 'He's not only insulted, he's...' Harry thought quickly, but could come up with no other description that fit so well with what he was seeing. 'He's hurt. Emotionally wounded. He thinks I've demoted him, or that I don't appreciate what he's done for me.'

Harry spoke quickly, hoping to avoid any further misunderstanding. "No, not those. Of course you're there when I'm trying to figure out what I'm supposed to be doing. I meant, I'd like you to sit in on the meetings with Deckard and the rest of the office staff here."

If Harry had expected his explanation to mollify Snape, he was sorely disappointed. The Professor's eyes widened as his lip curled. "What, sit around for the discussion of the monthly orders of Spellotape? Be part of the fact-finding mission to get to the bottom of disappearing quills? Discuss the preferred brand of coffee for the employees' break room? Though, the truth is, that with the swill they brew here in lieu of actual coffee..."

"Please, Professor."

Snape stopped speaking, examining the young man before him. Harry had matured a great deal in the last two years. He was nearly unrecognizable as the self-centered brat who had imposed himself onto the potions class some seven years ago. The Minister-elect was likely the single individual with the most sheer magical power in the entire world. Snape looked askance at him and murmured, "Yes?"

Harry cast a quick look toward his office door, simply to make sure no one was lurking somewhere easily detected. He knew that if anyone really wanted to spy on his private conversations, there were any number of powerful spells that might allow this. But Harry was unwilling to live in a morass of paranoia. He saw no one near his door, and so spoke his mind directly. "Professor, I think I may be losing my grip on my own administration. Bills are being proposed - and passed, using my name as endorsement - that are surprises to me when they become law... that, honestly, I have no real understanding of. It's all too fast, and too much for me, and I need to get some kind of control over it all again, and... and... you're the only person I can trust."

Harry was watching Snape's face carefully, trying to remember some of the things he had learned from Narcissa Black. He thought he saw a number of emotions expressed in Snape's countenance, though each one barely registered, and none of them took more than a fraction of a second. Was that shock, disbelief, horror, and even fear that showed, however briefly?

Whether or not those emotions had been exposed, in an instant, Snape had reestablished his cool exterior, revealing nothing. "All right, Mister Potter, if you insist," the Professor sighed. "I will sit with your office workers and do what I can to bring you... whatever advantage it is you expect to gain from my presence in those proceedings."

Harry smiled and stood, immediately cheerful once again. "Great. Thank you, Professor Snape, I'm sure you'll do me a lot of good. Where should we have lunch?"