Thank you for the reviews on the last chapter!
Several people try to smack Harry upside the head here. It does not always work, but then, it'll take them a while to get through.
Chapter Thirty-One: To the Ministry We Go
Harry closed his eyes. He was tired after an evening and a night spent researching ways to defeat dragons with Connor, a nightmare, and then an explanation session about the nightmare with Draco, but he thought he could still manage this. In fact, he thought his exhaustion would probably contribute to his success.
"Expelliarmus," he whispered aloud, and gestured with one hand.
His wand, which he'd put in the hand of a wooden figure on the other side of the room, flew away from it with great rapidity and vigor. Harry felt a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth, and was too tired to resist giving it.
Yes. Perfect. My wandless magic really does work better when I confine it to my body than when I let it spread around me. And if it's not floating around me hitting at the walls like wings and plaguing everyone, that will make life easier for other people, too.
He walked over to retrieve his wand, humming under his breath. He froze when he heard the door creak open behind him, though. So far as he knew, no one else had realized he was here, in a small room in the dungeons where Snape used to take him to practice dueling spells while students had detentions in his offices.
Harry turned fluidly around, clutching his wand, and blinked when he saw Dumbledore standing in the doorway. He stood, but said nothing. He had no idea why the Headmaster had sought him out, and lately, when he initiated confrontations, he always seemed to come off the worse in them anyway. He kept his eyes on Dumbledore's face and waited.
"Harry, my boy." Dumbledore nodded to him as if nothing had ever changed. Harry wanted to rage and snap that yes it did, yes it had, but he just inclined his head back. "Ready for our trip to the Ministry this morning, I hope?" Dumbledore continued, looking at the walls of the dungeon room with interest, as though they offered something more than stone starred with damp patches and marked irregularly by flickering shadows from the torches.
"What trip to the Ministry?" Harry shifted one foot behind him. He was poised now, ready to dart in several directions. "I know that today is Fudge's trial, but I thought you were going to vote no confidence."
"I am, Harry, I am." Dumbledore gave him a fleeting smile. "I am satisfied that you have kept up your end of our bargain. Lily has shown me your letter herself."
Harry roped his magic, which wanted to explode out of his body in several dozen different directions, and nodded.
"But you are required to come with me," said Dumbledore, with a small sigh and a flap of his hand. "One of those tired formalities that require those involved in bringing the motion before the Wizengamot to be present when it's debated."
"But I wasn't the one who suggested the motion," Harry argued.
"No, but according to Amelia Bones, you were a large part of the reason that she decided to suggest the vote."
Harry flushed. He could feel Dumbledore's mild gaze on him, and that was bad enough. He did not want people in the courtroom pointing at him, and whispering that that was the boy who had caused Fudge to be brought to trial.
"You need not speak," Dumbledore reassured him. "The formalities do not require you to do that. Only to be present, and if someone does have a mild question, about corroborating factual details perhaps, then you can give your answer to the court scribe. Your participation can be limited."
Harry relaxed. With the way that Dumbledore had come in here, springing this as a surprise on him, he had been afraid that Dumbledore would spring the greater and far more unpleasant surprise of making him a witness. "Then let me eat breakfast, sir, and I'll be ready to accompany you," he said.
"Take all the time in the world, dear boy," Dumbledore said, and stood out of the way. "The trial is set for noon, and since we have special permission to Apparate in to the Ministry, we don't have to take much time getting there. Meet me in my office no later than half past eleven, though."
Harry nodded shortly and edged past Dumbledore. It made his skin crawl when the Headmaster looked at him.
This time, though, he could not imagine that this was some plan of Dumbledore's. Why would it be? Perhaps the Headmaster wanted Harry to witness him voting no confidence, but then inventing this talk of a formality that required him to be there, an easily detected lie, would be pointless. No, probably the formality was real and any benefit that might accrue to Dumbledore from his presence just a side issue.
Harry would make sure to renew his glamours before he entered the court, though, and several other defensive spells he had learned in the past few days, while he and Connor worked on trying to find magic that would fool a dragon. There would still be nosy people poking and prying around the court, perhaps even other reporters than Skeeter. He did not want them carrying back stories about the Boy Who Accused Fudge looking pale or worn or tired.
"You weren't in your bed, Potter," was Millicent's greeting as he slid into place at the Slytherin table. She had two full plates in front of her, and she pushed one of them towards Harry. "Eat, and then we can talk."
Harry frowned at her. "You could stop treating me as a child, you know," he said, and started to eat.
"When you stop acting like one, then I will," said Millicent. She glanced about, but their part of the table was largely empty; Pansy always slept in on a Sunday, and Blaise and Vince had already finished and gone Merlin knew where. Draco was in the library researching empathy, Harry knew. Millicent leaned nearer to Harry and lowered her voice. "You should stop that, you know. Other people are starting to notice."
Harry swallowed around a lump that seemed to have frozen in his throat. Another problem. Another damn problem. "I don't know what you mean," he said.
"Other people are noticing that someone has to coax you to eat, to sleep." Millicent took a dainty bite, her eyes never leaving his. "And what they notice, their parents notice, at least some of them. You can't afford to look weak, Potter, and neither can your allies. You should start shaping up soon. Any victories you gain are worthless when you can't be depended upon to stay on your feet past them, or if you have to spend days in the hospital wing recovering from them." She raised her eyebrows, the expression she usually had before going in for the kill. "Plus, it doesn't give most people much trust in your basic common sense."
Harry frowned and chewed as he considered that. It was true that he didn't want to inflict public damage on his allies for allying with him. On the other hand, how could he stop? Some of the victories that he won for others were dependent on the time that he spent away from extensive meals and bed rest.
"I could improve the magic that I'm using to prevent people from noticing," he offered. "I found some spells that—"
"Not enough, Harry." Millicent's voice had gone quiet and intense. "That would only solve half the problems. If you're driving yourself into the ground, you'll start making mistakes. More, your magic will be more likely to go mad, and that's what we depend on to win us victories in the first place."
Harry picked at his food, no longer hungry. Millicent, though, leaned closer and closer, until her stern look filled all his vision. It promised wrath, probably a public scene, if he didn't finish his breakfast. Harry sighed and started eating again.
"I don't know what to do," Harry admitted at last, after several minutes of eating and thinking.
"I do." Millicent was smug, but at the moment, Harry couldn't hold it against her. "Delegate, Potter, for Merlin's sake. Get other people to help you. Don't try to do everything yourself. It's what the best leaders have always done."
Harry resisted the temptation to say he wasn't a leader. Millicent would ignore him, anyway. "But most of the tasks I have are ones that only I can do," he argued. "Either because of strength of magic, or because they're serving people who will only trust me."
"Name one." Millicent folded her hands on the table and watched him with a quietude that didn't fool Harry for a moment. It was the look she wore right before she proved someone wrong in class.
"My duties as vates, for instance," Harry muttered. "Most of the magical creatures won't see or converse with anyone but me."
The Many on his arm stirred, and thrust its head from his sleeve. "What is for breakfast?" it hissed.
"Meat," said Harry, and fed it, then added to Millicent, "You see? Most wizards aren't Parselmouths."
"So my speaking to cobras and Runespoors for you is out." Millicent waved her hand. "You must have some allies who speak English, Potter."
"The centaurs, but—"
"And they'll accept a delegate if you appoint one according to the proper formalities." Millicent rolled her eyes. "Merlin, but you're stupid sometimes, Potter. All you need to do is send me to them with a token of your first meeting. I would think you knew that."
Harry winced. "I didn't think of it," he said quietly.
"And that's the problem, Potter, your not thinking. It's going to ruin you if you let it." Millicent shook her head at him. "I think you'll find many more willing hands than you think you will, if you only ask. Most people our age would be thrilled and excited to help in duties this big. Gryffindors will like the secrecy of it all, and the purebloods in other Houses will like the ceremoniousness. And those of us who are formally allied with you will feel like we're doing something to help."
Harry nodded slowly. "Then I'll find you an egg-shaped stone. That was the token I shattered to save Draco's life when I first met the centaurs."
"Save his—" Millicent halted and shook her head. "Never mind. I don't think I want all the details of the strange relationship that you two have."
She paused and watched Harry as if waiting for his response to that, but Harry just looked back in mild puzzlement. "I don't blame you," he said at last. "I would imagine that details of friendships are boring to most people not directly involved in them."
Millicent growled something about blindness and oblivious idiots, hit the table with her hand, and then said, "I'd be glad to do something to help you. And so would Pansy, and so would Blaise. And Draco—you've got to see that he would work himself to the bone for you, Harry. I can't believe you haven't taken advantage of this fact before now."
"You all have your own lives."
"And they're part of yours. For Merlin's sake," said Millicent yet again, but she sounded less displeased this time. "Well, unless you have somewhere to go today, then—"
"I'm going to the Ministry to witness Fudge's no confidence vote," said Harry, and began eating in earnest. Despite the few hours that he had before he had to meet Dumbledore, he still wanted to use the time as best he could. The unexpected chunk missing out of his day was going to play merry havoc with his plans. "Apparently, it's a formality that everyone involved in the motion has to be there to witness it."
"Yes, there is one of those," said Millicent, and lightly caught his wrist. "Harry," she said, and sat there until he looked at her. "If you get in trouble at the Ministry, go to the Department of Magical Games and Sports. I have an uncle who works there, Thor Bulstrode. You can depend on him in times of trouble."
"I'm just going to witness a trial," said Harry, caught off guard by the intense look Millicent was giving him.
"This is politics, Harry." Millicent smiled faintly, but her eyes didn't relent. "Nothing is ever just one thing."
Harry nodded his consent and his understanding, and Millicent released his wrist and turned back to her own breakfast. Harry went on eating, more slowly this time, because his mind was plunging around, reordering its conception of the world. Sometimes he forgot, since he lived in Hogwarts most of the year and so many of the things central to his own existence happened here, that his alliances implicated him in a larger world beyond it.
I should remember that more often, he thought, and wrote it on a mental scroll, and slid it into place alongside thirty thousand other duties in his library.
The courtroom where the Wizengamot met could have passed easily for a dungeon room in Hogwarts, Harry thought. It was gloomy enough, with bare, blank stone walls lit by torches in sconces that looked subtly wrong to Harry, though that might only be the spells wrapping them to keep the torches alight. In the center of the room was a chair wrapped with chains. The judges' balcony loomed above that, and Harry could see most Wizengamot members already there. Pointed hats nodded to each other as they milled between their seats.
"Come, Harry."
Harry shook his head and followed Dumbledore across the judges' balcony. He would sit in the center, Harry saw, and there was a small chair positioned directly behind him, where Harry could sit. Even more tension ran out of his muscles at the sight. No one would observe him at all. On the other hand, he could see easily between the members of the court, and if he craned his neck or used a mild Seeing Spell, he could see over the balcony and to Fudge's chair as well.
"Hem, hem."
Harry turned his head, and met Umbridge's eyes.
The witch stood looking at him. She did not smile, and she did not toy with the small pink bows of the cardigan she wore beneath her robes, which only made her look more menacing. Harry supposed she intended to engage him in a staring contest, but he turned his back on her before that could happen, and took the seat that Dumbledore had provided for him.
He did not want to look at her. She reminded him of the pain he had caused, and the foul things hiding inside him. He cast the Seeing Spell that turned a small patch of air in front of him into a window instead, and let him see through solid stone to where Fudge was shuffling into place. He cupped his palm around the window so that no one else could see it.
"Mr. Potter."
Harry felt himself tense, but didn't look up. "Yes, Madam Umbridge?"
"Such a polite boy," she said in that kittenish, little girl's voice. "A piece of advice, sweet child. If today does not work out as you hope, you should still watch your back, rather than your hands."
"I have eyes in many different directions, Madam Umbridge," Harry murmured. "That shouldn't be difficult."
He felt her pause, as if she were going to add some other dire warning, but then she shook her head and shuffled off to her seat. Harry shuddered. He could only imagine that she was one of Fudge's appointees to the Wizengamot, and of course she would vote to retain him. He had to hope that most of the other wizards and witches would follow Dumbledore's lead.
"Mr. Potter."
This was another witch's voice, but Harry did not recognize it, and took the chance of looking up. In front of him stood an incredibly old woman, her face so mapped by wrinkles that Harry couldn't see any smooth skin. The soft blaze of her magic told him that she wasn't that powerful, but incredibly well-controlled. She was probably older than Dumbledore.
He clenched a hand in front of his heart and bowed, as the young were supposed to do to elders they respected. A wistful smile caused some of the witch's wrinkles to realign.
"I haven't seen that gesture in decades," she murmured. "No one is as polite any more as they are supposed to be." She extended a small, graceful hand, which Harry gently grasped. "My name is Griselda Marchbanks, Mr. Potter. I suspect we have some friends in common."
Harry nodded a bit. He'd heard of this woman, who had sat on the Wizengamot for years. "Headmaster Dumbledore, Madam?"
"Not just him," said Griselda, and leaned closer to him. "Some of them very much shorter than Albus Dumbledore."
Harry blinked, and abruptly remembered something else about Griselda that he'd heard but forgotten: she supposedly had links with goblin groups who at one time had plotted rebellion against the wizards. He swallowed. "You are involved in vates business, too, Madam?" he asked, and lowered his voice as he did so.
Griselda winked gravely at him. "Never had the power for that path, myself," she said. "But suffice it to say that I know quite a bit about it, and when seagulls and starlings both are flying back and forth in excitement, I know that someone special has given us what we wanted all along. A chance."
Seagulls would be from the northern goblins, Harry surmised. He supposed the southern ones must use starlings as messengers. "I would like to speak with you later, Madam, if there's time."
"So polite," Griselda said, in an uncanny echo of Umbridge, and nodded to him, and went to claim her seat. Harry watched her go.
I suppose, if I can have enemies I didn't know about, I can have allies that way, too.
"Take your places, please! Take your places, please!"
That was a wizard bearing the old, heavy medallion of a court scribe, whom Harry already didn't like, if only for his officious manner. He settled back in his seat, though, and directed his attention to his window. Fudge sat in the chain-draped chair, his gaze traveling over the members of the Wizengamot. His face flickered continually with changing emotions, hope and despair and disgust and grief and uncertainty. Harry shook his head. Has he never learned to hide what he's thinking?
"The Wizengamot has gathered to cast a vote of no confidence on Minister Cornelius Fudge," said the scribe, reading from a large and official-looking scroll. "Amelia Bones has called the motion. Chief Warlock Albus Dumbledore presiding."
"Thank you, Edgar," said Dumbledore, and stood. Harry saw the way that eyes turned towards him as he moved. A barely detectable shimmer of power insured that. Harry shook his head. I can only hope to have that much control over my magic someday. "First, according to the Wizengamot's Charter, the accused has a right to representation. Have you chosen to waive that right, Cornelius, or would you like to call someone in now?"
"I am not the accused," said Fudge, his body trembling as he leaned forward in the chair. "This is a vote of confidence or no confidence only. I'll only lose my job if I lose this, not my freedom or my life."
Dumbledore beamed at him, from the sound of his voice. "Silly of me," he murmured. "Forgive me. I do get confused." A titter moved through the members of the Wizengamot at that. "All right, then, Cornelius. I trust you know why this motion has been brought against you."
"I know the more ridiculous accusations," said Fudge. "I want to hear them all, and I want to hear them now."
"As you wish," said Dumbledore, and nodded to a gray-haired witch with a monocle and a sharp jaw sitting a few seats down from him. Harry turned to face her, and decided this must be Amelia Bones. She certainly looked strong enough for it. She rose to her feet with a scroll in her arms and a grim expression on here face.
"Minister of Magic Cornelius Fudge," she read out. "You are accused of the following crimes:
"Of forming a secret police force on your own cognizance, called the Hounds, which included ex-Aurors who had been sacked for incompetence or negligence of their duties, thus increasing the danger to the public safety.
"Of executing three persons without trial, thereby violating the rule of law.
"Of arresting at least one person with these Hounds, thus appointing yourself arbiter of right and wrong in a way that the Minister's office was never intended to be.
"Of abducting a fourteen-year-old wizard called Harry Potter and bringing him to the Ministry without his guardian, thereby putting a child in danger and in legal trouble that he was not legally competent to handle by himself.
"Of using a magical artifact to try and drain Harry Potter's magic, thus employing a punishment that has been historically used on only the most dangerous and desperate criminals.
"Of claiming the privileges of a Minister in a time of war when no war has been declared, thereby flouting the Wizengamot's authority.
"Of passing edicts against Dark wizards and Dark magical talents without putting these edicts through due process of law, thus flouting the Wizengamot's authority once more."
There were more accusations, but Harry didn't think he had to listen to them. He sat back, shaking his head, and saw Fudge sink lower and lower in his chair as each accusation was repeated. Madam Bones's steady, clear voice never faltered.
Harry started sneaking looks at the members of the Wizengamot, trying to decide how they would vote. A few faces were closed, and he could tell nothing from them. Most, however, looked steadily more disgusted as the list rolled on. They might not care anything about him, Harry thought, or even about the people that Fudge had illegally arrested and killed, but they were part of the governing body that Fudge had ignored in making his mad schemes. They had no chance of retaining true power if they left the Minister's office in Fudge's hands, and they must know it now. Harry relaxed as the list of accusations finally came to a conclusion, and Madam Bones leaned forward and peered at Fudge as if he were an interesting species of bug.
"Do you have anything to add to this list?" she asked. "Any accusations that you see fit to deny?"
Harry glanced back at the window cradled in the palm of his hand again. Fudge had a mulish look on his face.
"All I did," he said, "I did for the good of wizarding Britain. Besides, most of those accusations were made by people who had no personal interest in them, weren't they? I've never been approached about illegal executions. It was my political enemies who decided I acted wrongly."
He held his hands out in front of him and looked from face to face. "Most of you know me," he said. "I'm a good wizard of good family, Light-declared, who's always done my best for our world. Who opposes me? Paper-chasers, who don't even dare to show their faces in court. There's no one here with a legitimate grievance against me, no one who dares to meet me face to face, flesh to blood. This is all made in passive voice, from an impersonal distance. Oh, yes, very easy to do, isn't it, when you can't look the man you're accusing in the eye? But not one person who actually wants to act as eyewitness to any of these supposed crimes."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut. He could feel his heart beating in his chest, slow and heavy. No one had looked at him yet, except Griselda. No one had even noticed that he was here, seemingly. His own power was shielded by Dumbledore's, and his chair was in a secure and sheltered place. He had no need to rise to his feet and confront Fudge. He was going to lose anyway. This was too little, too late. Harry didn't have to answer Fudge's bluster.
"You're wrong," said another calm, clear voice, which did not belong to Madam Bones. "There is one wizard here who did dare to come and face you, and he's the youngest of your victims."
Harry opened his eyes, turned his head, and met Scrimgeour's gaze. He sat behind Madam Bones's chair, his bad leg propped out in front of him, his eyes steady and without mercy.
Rufus had become aware of young Harry almost at once. He'd been around Dumbledore too many times not to notice what seemed an addition or augmentation to his power. In fighting the compulsion to pay attention to the old wizard, even when Amelia was reading out the accusations, he'd turned his face in the right direction and seen Harry, half-in and half-out of the shadows.
And he'd known why Dumbledore would have brought him, and he knew what a chance he had, especially when Fudge made that idiotic plea for one of his accusers to rise and confront him.
Rufus did feel a pang of sympathy for the boy, whose green eyes were saying, all too clearly, that he did not want to take this chance, that he would not even dignify Fudge with a response if he had the choice.
But Harry did not yet understand the way Ministry politics worked, not completely. Fudge could be ripped out, but he would leave roots behind, most especially that odious Umbridge. Rufus did not want him to leave behind any roots of respect, though. It would be better if Fudge's last moments in front of the Wizengamot were utterly tarnished, if there was no lingering doubt in the Elders' minds that they had done the best thing.
And Dumbledore seemed all too content to keep the boy hidden, not displaying him the way that Rufus would have thought he would, if he wanted to show the world that Harry was under his control. Whatever Dumbledore wanted was something that Rufus Scrimgeour usually wanted to oppose.
Rise, Harry, Rufus said silently in his own mind. I think that we may have left it alone too long already. There are some here to whom you will be a surprise, and that is not the way it should be.
Harry swallowed and stood. He felt gazes moving towards him, necks craned awkwardly and chairs turned around, and Scrimgeour suggested calmly, "Perhaps young Potter should move to the center of the court, so that all involved can see him?"
Harry shuddered as he imagined those eyes crawling like spiders down his shirt, but he inclined his head and made his way off the judges' balcony, until he could stand on the floor of the courtroom. He ignored Fudge's gaping mouth. He felt compelled to back up until he was at least not hurting his own neck, meeting the eyes of the Wizengamot members.
"Now, Cornelius," said Madam Bones, in a faintly amused voice, "you were saying something about none of your accusers facing you? And what did you want to say to Mr. Potter?"
Harry glanced at Fudge from the corner of his eye. The Minister's face had gone white, though, and it was only too obvious that he didn't have anything planned for this eventuality. His mouth was flopping open and then shut again, as if he were a fox caught in a trap.
"Mr. Potter," said Madam Bones then. "Do you have anything to say to Minister Fudge?"
The stares intensified. Harry could gladly have shucked his own skin, as bad, as unnatural, as it felt, to have all these people paying attention to him.
He carefully pushed his discomfort under the surface of a pool of quicksilver, the way Snape had taught him. He had a chance to do some good here, something that mattered to more people than just himself alone. Perhaps he should thank Scrimgeour for the opportunity after all, though at the moment he wasn't particularly inclined to.
He turned and faced the Minister. Fudge was looking at him as if faintly curious what he might say. Harry fixed his gaze and his awareness only on him. It was easier that way than if he tried to imagine everyone else staring at him. Merlin, his breath was coming fast, and if he—
Harry chopped off the thoughts, not letting them continue. He met Fudge's eyes, and began.
"I always thought of the Minister as someone who served the public interest, sir," he said quietly. He knew that the courtroom's acoustics, and carefully placed spells, would repeat his words in the ears of everyone in attendance, though. "I suppose I didn't think much about that. It was just the sort of thing I learned as a child, the way that other children learned things.
"I began to question the Ministry's actions last year, when I realized they had passed legal restrictions against werewolves. I've had a very dear friend in a werewolf, Remus Lupin, and he had been taking the Wolfsbane Potion for the last year. It worked. There's finally a potion that could give werewolves hope, and then they had it taken away, because the Ministry forbade them to have custody of a child, to hold a paying job, to borrow money. They were about to become productive members of society, and now they're going to be more desperate than ever.
"I suppose that's when a lot of my romantic illusions about the Ministry shattered, assuming that I had any left. I no longer thought that they worked for the good of wizarding Britain. I thought they worked for the good of part of wizarding Britain, and only that."
Harry paused. His breath was still coming fast, if he let it; his body was not convinced by his mind's insistence that only one person was watching him, and neither was the training he had received from Lily. The impulse to flee from the room was fading, though. He could do this. He could go through with this.
"And then I had that confirmed this summer, when you kidnapped me," he finished. "I knew that even children weren't safe. I thought no one in the Ministry would ever take me to an illegal trial, ever take me somewhere without my guardian's consent, ever try to drain my magic. But you did, and—"
"I did not!" Fudge interrupted harshly.
"I can fetch a Pensieve, Minister, if you would like," said Madam Bones, all concerned helpfulness.
Harry felt his body stiffen. No. They would all see him hurting Umbridge if they did that, and Harry did not want to remember what he had done. Sick shame was already bubbling in his gut like vomit.
But Fudge, luckily, shrank from the offer. "No," he said. "No. I only meant—I meant that there were extenuating circumstances that the child does not understand." He gave Harry a sickly sweet smile, which Harry returned with a level glance.
"Do explain them, Minister," said Madam Bones. "This is a very serious matter, and though of course this is a motion for a vote of no confidence and not a trial to put you in Azkaban, we would like to understand everything that surrounds it. Every extenuating circumstance, every unusual occurrence, should be explained in full."
Fudge went pale again. "I do not wish to speak," he said, and tried to put his head up and strive for a look of dignity.
Madam Bones waited, then said, "Did you have anything else to say, Mr. Potter?"
Harry shook his head. I know that Scrimgeour probably wants me to do something more, but I don't know what it is, and I don't want to stand here. "Just that that day irreparably broke my trust in the Minister," he said. "I think I could trust again, but only if justice is truly served this day." He gave a little bow to signify that that was the end of it.
"Very well, Mr. Potter," said Madam Bones. "Please return to your seat."
Harry climbed the stairs again, and resumed his tiny chair. The Wizengamot was stirring and murmuring, most of the wizards and witches turning at least once to look at him, and then looking away again. Harry ducked his head, and felt his cheeks turning steadily and steadily more crimson, his heart hammering loud enough, finally, to obscure the murmurs.
Did Scrimgeour even accomplish what he wanted to accomplish with that? I hope so. I'm certainly not doing it again.
Rufus watched with a faint smile as Harry took his seat, and shook his head. The boy didn't seem to realize what he'd done, even by speaking his short little piece that emphasized werewolf rights at the expense of his own. He was still young, at least in looks, and he had had the courage to face the Minister, and Fudge hadn't been able to answer him in any way. The Minister's last moments were forever tarnished now, and he was a weakling, and Rufus no longer had any doubt that the Wizengamot would cast a vote of no confidence to throw Fudge out of office.
And, more to the point, the boy's magic had poured off him like heat off a phoenix, once he was away from Dumbledore's shielding influence.
Things were changing even as Rufus watched, small currents of thought traveling through the Elders' minds. Harry realigned the world just by walking around, and he'd done it again here. Rufus would be content with that. The world should change, with the advent of a new Minister.
And it's about to change even further. Amelia had told him—well, told many people—of her own plan. Rufus hadn't told anyone of his.
He watched calmly as Amelia called for the vote. Three members of the Wizengamot voted to retain Fudge as Minister. Two abstained. Three weren't there.
That still left forty-three witches and wizards who voted that they had no confidence left in Cornelius Fudge, and cast him, resoundingly, out of office. Amelia cast her vote with a small smile, Dumbledore with a calm voice and a glance darted at Rufus as the voting moved on around the circle.
Rufus met his eyes. Oh, yes, scowl at me, Light Lord, if you must. I'm taking the Ministry back, and in a moment, you'll see how.
Amelia clapped her hands, and two of Rufus's Aurors came to escort a dazed Fudge back to his own office—or the room that had been his office until just a few moments ago. "Now," said Amelia. "I realize that an event of great moment has just taken place, but we must not leave our poor island in the lurch for long. I call for an emergency election for Minister to take place, no later than the first day of January. In the meantime, the Wizengamot will govern Britain. Is there anyone who wishes to say nay?"
There was a deafening silence. Fudge's supporters, Rufus saw, including that horrible Umbridge woman, scowled, but remained silent.
Amelia nodded. "All the rules for emergency elections apply. Candidates for Minister may offer themselves at any point before the New Year. They may campaign with all tactics that are legal in a more usual race for office. I would like to announce my own candidacy at this time."
There were a few surprised noises, but not many. Amelia really had been cultivating the ground. Rufus nodded, and waited.
Amelia looked around with a faintly bored expression. "Would anyone else like to announce themselves as candidates now?"
Rufus gave a little cough and stood. He felt surprised eyes swing his way—and Dumbledore's, at least, were dismayed. He liked that.
"I would," he said off-handedly.
Harry blinked, then shook his head. Oh. That was why he called on me, then. This had something to do with preparing his own campaign for Minister. Maybe he wanted to make absolutely sure that Fudge would be defeated.
Harry shrugged, and put it out of his head. His own part was done now, except for the meeting with Griselda. He stood, looking for the old witch in the sudden movement of people, but found Dumbledore in front of him.
"Harry," said the older wizard with extreme firmness. "I really think that we should be returning to school."
Harry sighed and nodded, reluctantly. He was unwilling to make a scene now, not when people were still glancing at him, and he didn't want Dumbledore to know that he was interested in an alliance with someone who had links to goblin groups. I can always owl her.
"Just a moment, Albus," said Griselda's voice just then. "I wanted to congratulate Mr. Potter. That was a fine piece of oratory that you did there, young man." She held out her hand, as if for the first time, and Harry shook it. "Have you ever considered a career in politics?"
Harry met her sparkling eyes, and did his best to smile. "Not really, Madam," he said. "I keep busy."
"I'm sure that you must," she murmured. "But politics isn't incompatible with a busy life, you know. In fact, it's the cause of busy lives in other people."
Harry could feel his own smile turning more natural. "I'm sure, Madam," he said. "But I prefer to work with people, and not just the framework of the Ministry. No matter who the people are," he added, hoping she would interpret that the way he meant it. Goblins are people, too.
"Ah. A distaste for bureaucracy. Well, sometimes that produces admirable bureaucrats. But someone who can get his way through other means might not need that." Griselda's eyes shifted as if to look at something in the air around him.
My magic. Harry decided that Millicent was right, and his exhaustion must be affecting the way he controlled his power. He really wanted the damn stuff confined to his body. More than that, though, he wanted to stop Griselda before she could wander onto paths he wouldn't walk.
"Not at all, Madam," he said. "I prefer to work with people. Not against them, not above them, but with them."
Griselda's face softened. "I understand that impulse, Mr. Potter," she said quietly. "It led me into the Ministry. Perhaps your inclinations will take you down the same path, or a different one, but no less valuable."
"I hope so, Madam."
Dumbledore insisted on hustling him away then, and Harry didn't get a chance to say anything more. He lifted his head, gave a shuddering breath, and forced himself to consider this a victory.
We got Fudge out of office. We did it. And whether Scrimgeour or Madam Bones becomes our next Minister, as I can hope one of them will, he or she will be a better Minister than Fudge ever dreamed of.
I'll have to tell Draco that I nearly panicked in front of the Wizengamot, though. How in the world am I ever going to be a leader at this rate? It really would be better for me to work from the shadows, or from within the Forest. That gets just as much accomplished without all this staring, and then I won't fail anyone.
At least that didn't take as long as I thought it would. Now, I can get more things done this afternoon.