Thank you for the reviews yesterday!
Harry does not kick quite as much ass in this chapter as he did yesterday, but then, running headlong into Scrimgeour will do that to him.
Chapter Thirty-Seven: Make Some Noise
Draco told himself it was not childish to go a little weak in the knees at the sight of Harry as he came out of Snape's office. His eyes were ablaze, as they tended to be in moments of high emotion, and Argutus glowed with shifting colors on his arm, and Fawkes shone on his shoulder. He was aglow with light, but not the weak kind of Light that Light wizards served and Draco's father had often told him to beware of, lest it should trick him into servitude through false promises. This was light like lightning, like sea-fire blooming and leaping on the masts of a doomed ship.
This was light that made Harry look really damn good.
Draco followed obediently as they made their way to the Headmistress's office, though he did wonder if Harry knew the current password. As it turned out, he didn't need to. Fawkes lifted his voice and threw a note like an arrow at the gargoyle. The heavy creature gathered itself and shifted aside, its limbs grinding and shuffling on the stone.
Harry stepped onto the staircase, and Draco made sure he was the one who stood at Harry's right shoulder. The Hufflepuff girl and Neelda meant well, he was sure, but neither of them was as good at spotting small threats to Harry as he was. Besides, Harry glanced back once, as if he expected to see him standing there, and Draco didn't think he could disappoint him.
Harry's hand found his, and squeezed.
More sure than ever that he had made the right decision, Draco hardly heard the Headmistress's voice saying, "Come in."
When the door opened, they found McGonagall on her feet, one hand on her head and her expression pained. That look melted the moment she saw Harry. She stood straight then, and Draco thought he saw her draw in a breath as of cleansing sea-air. She nodded at Harry.
"Well, Mr. Potter?" she asked quietly. It only occurred to Draco a moment later that she wasn't treating Harry at all like a student.
"You've canceled classes for today?" Harry asked her.
McGonagall nodded. "With the chaos exploding in the Great Hall, with memories suddenly rushing back to students and professors alike and emotions shifting so suddenly, it seemed the most prudent course," she added dryly.
"Dumbledore was spreading a web," said Harry, without bothering to introduce the subject. Draco hissed a bit at the thought that Harry had broken another web and he hadn't been there to see it, but Harry's hand found and squeezed his again, which somewhat helped to make up for the disappointment. "It was a powerful, old Light spell, which subtly influenced people against me and ate the memories of those who discovered it. Of course there's no way to tell immediately which actions people took against me were influenced by that, and to what degree. But I think canceling classes for today is a good first step. It gives people some time to recover and think about what they feel."
McGonagall closed her eyes and thinner her lips. "And another shame falls to the House of Gryffindor," she said softly. "I am sorry, Harry. Godric's children have not done very well by you."
Draco looked down to conceal a smile. He could see advantages in this shame of Gryffindor's, though he doubted Harry would see the same thing. Draco had not been blind to the fact that Slytherin House was gaining in prominence, that people—save those students against Harry—tended not to make as many jokes about them or assume they were evil automatically, as they had last year. Their rival House being willing to hide its head about now was another point in their favor.
"You didn't have anything to do with it, Headmistress McGonagall," said Harry dismissively, which rather wasn't paying attention to politics, in Draco's mind. "It does mean that I need to contact the Minister, and inform him of the spell, and get him to reason out which of his actions towards me in the last little while were prompted by the spell, and which were genuine. It'll affect publicity, the trial procedures, the members of the Wizengamot they might choose to judge the trial—all that." Harry shrugged as if none of it mattered more than any other part. Draco thought he was the only one in the room who knew him well enough to see how his shoulders trembled at the mention of the trial. "I'll have to talk to other people too, of course, but the Minister first. I need to ask your permission to be absent from the school today, at least, and perhaps for several days, and I need to know how far you're willing to back me on opposing the Minister, if that's what I need to do."
"I believe you entirely, Harry," said McGonagall at once, which earned her a few points in Draco's eyes. "Creating a lie like this isn't in your character. If you need my help with Minister Scrimgeour, you shall have it."
Harry's eyes closed for a moment. Draco wasn't facing him, but he knew they did it anyway, by the crinkles in the side of his face. He felt a moment's smugness in being that familiar with Harry, and then an even greater smugness at the thought that Harry was his, all his.
"Thank you, Headmistress," Harry breathed. "And I'm afraid I need to borrow two of your professors for my journey to the Ministry. I'd like both Professor Snape and Professor Lupin to escort me."
"Is Professor Lupin a wise choice, Harry?" McGonagall asked gently. "It is true that I nearly dared the Minister to oppose me by giving him a job here, but Hogwarts is distant from the Ministry, and Scrimgeour is less concerned with me than Fudge was with—Dumbledore. Bringing a werewolf into Scrimgeour's own territory may strain your relationship."
"If it can be strained that easily, then I don't want to preserve it intact," said Harry. "Besides, bringing along a former Death Eater is risky, too. I want to show the Minister that I don't intend to back down and be as calm and tame as I have been so far."
Draco frowned. When has Harry ever been tame or calm? But he had refrained from much political prodding into the Ministry in the last few months. Perhaps that was what he meant.
"I think Professor Lupin is still in the Great Hall, calming students," said McGonagall quietly. "Would you like me to go get him, Harry, or would you prefer to go yourself?"
Harry took a deep breath. "I want to go myself."
McGonagall gave him a fierce, appreciative smile. "Then I wish you good luck, Harry," she said, and sat back down behind her desk.
Draco again managed to be right at Harry's shoulder as they entered the moving staircase, and he murmured in his ear, "I hope that you don't think you can leave me behind. We're going to the Ministry together."
Harry tilted his head back; they stood so close that he could let it rest on Draco's shoulder. Draco lost his breath at the feeling of Harry's hair on his cheek.
"I wouldn't want it any other way," Harry said.
I am angry, and I have a right to be angry.
That was the sentiment Harry kept repeating to himself, and it stood him in good stead as he strode back into the Great Hall. Professor Lupin and Professor Flitwick were near the front of the room, speaking softly with several overexcited students. They didn't see him as soon as the students themselves did.
Harry saw their faces tighten in shock. Several of them looked away from him. Those would be people who had figured out some difference in their thoughts about him, Harry thought. Others simply stared, as if they knew that something was different but didn't know what or why. A wake of whispers ran behind him as he marched towards the Professors.
It wasn't their fault, said part of Harry's mind, the older and more familiar part. It was the spell.
But with most of his fury escaped, it was impossible to put the rest of it away so easily. It snarled in his ears, and reminded him of what Margaret had done to Argutus, what Marietta had done to him with the encouragement of her Death Eater boyfriend—though probably not with the knowledge that he was a Death Eater—and what Rovenan had done. Harry knew Dumbledore's spell had seized and worked on what small feelings their minds might have harbored towards him, blowing up tiny clouds into great storms.
But those feelings were still there in the first place. Margaret hated me for something that happened in second year. Marietta hated me—because, apparently. Rovenan still became a Death Eater, and I don't think I was the only reason why.
Harry felt himself tense when he was a few feet away from Lupin and someone stepped up behind him. He heard Draco drawing his wand, but he didn't get a chance to say anything before the person said, "Dolor immoderatus."
Harry didn't recognize the voice, but he recognized the pain curse she was casting—probably at Isabell or Hannah—and he swung around and lifted his hand. His fury and his magic, both roused, rose together with a spat note from Fawkes, and turned her curse in mid-flight, changing it into a red spell that bounced back at her like a dagger. The caster, Lucy Turtledove, Margaret's friend, shrieked, and put one hand to her face. Harry saw her skin cracking and flushing, as if she had a bad sunburn. It spread from her cheeks to her chin, and Lucy yelped and dropped a hand when she touched her cheek, flinching, as if the intense heat were too much for her to bear.
Satisfaction as hot as the burn licked along Harry's spine like flames. He knew his lips had twisted into a smile, but he didn't know what it looked like, save that Lucy stared at him and as quickly glanced away.
"I broke a web that was spread over you," he said, raising his voice so that everyone could hear him. "Albus Dumbledore cast a spell that worked on your emotions and tried to compel you to hinder me. I thought that your hatred would cease with the web's removal." He fastened his eyes on Lucy. "It seems that I was wrong, and that some of you are not that intelligent."
Lucy was staring at him again, one hand clenched so tightly around her wand that Harry thought she would break it. That would be something to see. Her eyes glowed with hatred. "You're lying," she whispered. "Headmaster Dumbledore would never do that. You're lying."
"I am not," said Harry. "And even if I was, you have no excuse for trying to attack other students. Didn't Rovenan teach you anything?" His gaze went to her covered left arm. "Do you have something to hide, Turtledove?" he added, and made sure that his voice dripped false solicitude.
She seemed to choke. "How dare you—how dare you imply—"
"If you don't have anything to hide, then you should have no trouble showing your arm." Harry moved a step forward, knowing that he had turned the mood of the room against her, and that she would be stinging with embarrassment, and that he was enjoying this, much as he told himself he shouldn't. "Bare it for me."
"Why should I?" Lucy's chin went up. "You're a liar, I know you are, a Dark wizard, one who doesn't have any reason to tell the truth and just likes to show up those who are performing a useful service to the school!" She nodded to Margaret Parsons, who was lurking behind her, but avoided Harry's eyes when he tried to catch hers. "You cursed Margaret with a humiliating spell, and you've—"
"Received permission to defend himself with magic, as you should know full well, Miss Turtledove," said Remus, appearing beside them like a wraith, as graceful and as silent. Flitwick was behind him, his face reflecting deep disapproval as he gazed at the students of his House confronting Harry.
"Fifty points from Ravenclaw," Remus continued, his amber eyes dangerous. "You owe Mr. Potter at least the courtesy of listening to the truth." He ignored Lucy's spluttering entirely and turned to Harry. "Was there something you needed, Harry?"
Since he could hear Flitwick scolding Lucy, Harry felt secure enough in himself to nod. "Yes. I want you to come with me to the Ministry. I've got to tell Minister Scrimgeour about the spell." He held Remus's eyes. "You'll be going with Professor Snape, because I thought you were the best choice."
Reflections of several possibilities shone in Remus's gaze, but he simply inclined his head. "I'll go, Harry. You have the Headmistress's permission, I trust?"
Harry nodded. "I'll meet you by the front doors in a half-hour, then," said Remus, and turned to look at Lucy again. "It could be sooner, I know," he added, anticipating Harry's words long before he gave them, "but I have something to deal with here, first."
Harry worried that Remus would hurt her, with the rational part of him. The angry part of him chuckled and let him turn, to march out between two lines of students trying very hard not to stare at him, and go fetch Snape.
Rufus Scrimgeour was not having a very good day.
There had been the sourness in the back of his throat when he read the Daily Prophet article this morning, and saw Potter smashing Augurey chicks over the head. He could not believe it, but more than the literal truth of the article, what it portended made him close his eyes and swallow.
There was fear abroad in the wizarding world, and hatred, of a child with Lord-level power.
Rufus had been three years behind Tom Riddle in Hogwarts. He had seen what happened to a boy like that who was revered by some, but hated by just as many. Riddle had split Slytherin down the middle, some of them clinging to him and some turning away, and some of those who turned away had received—strange wounds. No one could prove Riddle had done it, but on the other hand, no one else came forward to claim credit for the dangerous pranks, either. Rufus had kept his head down, his vow to the Light at the age of twelve largely protecting him. Riddle had ignored him in contempt, and most of the others thought he was too odd to bother with.
And now there was another child who had power as strong as Riddle's—or stronger, really, than they had been at comparable ages, though Rufus was not at all sure who would be more powerful once Potter had grown to manhood—and people hating him. Harry could so easily do as Riddle did, turning in on himself in the face of that loathing. It would be worse for him, Rufus knew, because Harry would not understand it the way Riddle had. That first Lord had handled it with a raised brow and a sneer. Harry tried to make things better for those who hated him.
Sooner or later, though, forgiveness and good will had to run out. Sooner or later, they could wind up with another Slytherin Lord who chose to embrace Dark Arts, so that respect would at least mingle with the hatred.
And there was the suspicion, niggling and whispering in the back of Rufus's head, that Harry might one day decide to turn his sights on the Ministry, that his silence so far was ominous, that he should have been in contact and badgering Rufus to do something about the werewolf laws by now. What if he was gathering power in an attempt to take the Ministry over? What if he did manage to destroy the refuge of ordinary wizards after all?
Rufus wearily rubbed his forehead. He couldn't remember how long he'd had those suspicions. Since July, he thought.
And then, as he sipped his tea and contemplated the Argus Veritaserum articles he'd saved and wished his respect for the right of the Daily Prophet's reporters to say whatever the hell they wanted would yield just enough to allow him to arrest Veritaserum—sometimes, it was a problem having morals—everything changed.
Rufus spilled his tea, which was never calculated to put him in a good mood. He stood up, wand whipping into his hand, and glanced around the office. He frowned. There had been a sparkling mist over everything a moment ago, and now it was gone.
Wasn't it?
But why was there a sparkling mist in my office in the first place?
Rufus strode rapidly to the door and threw it open. Young Tonks was the guard on the office this morning. Of course, she started and tripped over her robes, sprawling full-length on the floor.
Waiting for her to recover, Rufus stared in several directions and even sniffed. Come to think of it, a faint smell he had got used to was gone, too. It had been the smell of rotten eggs. But why should he have got used to that? Surely not even the most incompetent of Auror trainees would have to wear the hex that made them smell like that for more than a week. Smelling like rotten eggs was an excellent incentive to master the correct spells.
"What is it, sir?" Tonks squeaked, popping back up again.
"I want to speak to—" Damn. Not Mallory. Rufus still had to pause and remember that his most trusted second-in-command had disgraced herself, sometimes. "Auror Burke. Right now."
Tonks simply ran off, not even pausing for a "Yes, sir!" Hopefully that would help make up for the several times she tripped on the way. Rufus shut his door and returned to his desk.
His glance fell on the Veritaserum article about the Augureys, and he read a few lines. He frowned. Who would believe this drivel? It was still a cause for concern since it spoke of the attitude some people held towards Potter, of course, but suddenly it seemed much less compelling than it had been.
Someone cast a spell on me.
Rufus tapped his wand against his palm, speeding up as he began to pace back and forth, only slightly favoring his bad leg. He could think of only a few wizards who would have the skill to get such a spell past his complicated, layered wards on the office, and most of them were either in Tullianum or running around with Voldemort. Of course, Rufus couldn't discount that the Dark Lord might want to hex him, but such a subtle spell wasn't really his style. Voldemort liked to announce his presence. Besides, wouldn't he have had the spell do something else? Command Rufus to become a Death Eater and take the Dark Mark, for example?
What was the spell meant to make me do?
It was an unanswerable question for right now, and Rufus tucked it away. He went back to numbering down candidates who could have done this kind of thing.
There was Dumbledore. He certainly had the raw power, but he was in Still-Beetle confinement. One couldn't use magic through Still-Beetle confinement. Of course, one couldn't cast magic on Dumbledore, either, but that was all right. The beetles would make sure that he was still alive, his body preserved as it had been at the moment the shell was thrown. He could remain locked up neat and tight until they were ready to try him.
And there was Potter.
Rufus scowled. His suspicions about Potter wanting to take over the Ministry no longer seemed quite as potent as they had been, either. On the other hand, if Potter didn't answer an owl, then Rufus thought he would be justified in suspecting him. He went to his desk and sat down, intending to write a polite letter.
He was halfway through the first paragraph when the door opened, and Auror Burke came in. Rufus sat back, linking his hands behind his head and studying her. Burke was a Dark family, almost all of them, though some of the bastards had the decency to stay neutral. Auror Priscilla Burke was one of those. She hadn't Declared, though her husband had. She was fiercely, yet quietly, independent. She got things done. Rufus had chosen her because he trusted her to look out for her own interests, and to have the cool-headedness that Fiona Mallory lacked. If she ever became involved in a case that targeted one of her family, for instance, she would hand the reins over to someone else. Fiona hadn't been able to keep away from the Potters, and look where it got her.
"Sir," said Burke, sitting down in the chair opposite his desk and inclining her head cordially. She was tall for a woman, and could look him directly in the eye. "You wanted to see me?"
"Yes," said Rufus. "Did you feel a change in your thoughts about ten minutes ago?"
Burke's eyes widened, then narrowed. "I noticed something," she said. "The air around me felt lighter, and I remembered a few things I'd forgotten from the past months, about times I suspected I was under a spell. But I couldn't see any visible effects. Besides, none of the wards on my office rang. Do you think that there really was a spell, sir?"
"I'm positive," said Rufus. "And the wizards who could cast a spell able to get in under our wards are rare, as I'm sure you know."
Burke nodded. Her face had gone pale. Rufus cocked his head. Her husband is Potter's ally, but I had thought she'd kept distant enough from the war to keep her job here. Perhaps not.
"Were you exempt from the spell because you are Potter's ally?" he asked quietly.
"Sir, I—I really don't know." Burke shook her head and gave him what he thought was an honest, if anguished, look. "I don't think he would do something like that. He's vates, about freeing the magical creatures. I don't think he'd enslave wizards to do it. From what I understand, he can't, or he loses everything he's become."
Rufus jerked his head in a short movement neither nod nor shake. Yes, he'd heard that too, but Merlin knew that Potter had enough power to be a Lord, and Merlin knew no wizard was immune to temptation. Rufus could see Potter Declaring himself a Lord out of genuine desire to do good, forgetting that wizards and witches who did not have his extraordinary magic were people, too.
"I would like you to go through the Department," he said. "Quietly. Find out who seems to have recovered from this spell, who remembers nothing, and who still might be under it."
Burke was just nodding when his door flew open. Rufus lifted his head and narrowed his eyes when he saw Tonks standing there. "Nymphadora," he said, to show how displeased he was. "What is it?"
"It's Mallory, sir," said Tonks, gulping several times. "She's broken free of her confinement. She insists now that she wasn't that angry at the Potter parents, and she doesn't know why she let herself be arrested. She says that she was manipulated, her emotions exaggerated."
Rufus cursed softly. If that is the effect of the damn spell, we have more of a problem on our hands than we imagined.
But Fiona's escape was a bigger one. Rufus knew she was the strongest wizard in the Ministry right now, excepting the confined Albus Dumbledore. And if she'd decided to forego rationality enough to break the wards on her cell, then she might well use her wandless magic to kill.
"Tell me where she is," he ordered Tonks, drawing his wand.
"Sir, you can't—"
"I'm the only one who has a chance of getting through to her," said Rufus. "Tell me now, damnit."
Tonks bowed her head. "Second floor, sir. Just past the lifts."
Rufus nodded, and lifted the thread hanging around his neck, which held several small ordinary objects, made into Portkeys, one for each floor of the Ministry. They were the only ones that worked in the confines of the building all the time, without special dispensation. He grasped the one for the second floor, and felt the familiar dizzying whirl grab him and then deposit him in the middle of the Auror office.
Most of his Aurors were missing from their desks. Rufus could hear a silence from up the corridor, which was worse than the sounds of battle. More to the point, he could feel Fiona's magic in the air. The walls and floor shimmered with heat. Rufus winced. He'd been one of the first Aurors on the scene after Fiona had killed her abusive father when she was sixteen. The man had been covered with burns so deep he hadn't been recognizable as human.
"Steady does it," he muttered, in encouragement to himself, and started forward.
He made it through half the desks before he caught a glimpse of movement under one. He dropped at once to a battle-crouch, wincing as his bad leg pained him. He caught a glimpse of a startled face, and then red hair.
"Weasley," he said, nodding to Percy. "Do you know where Mallory is?"
Weasley shuddered, but he had a hold of his wand, and Rufus knew he'd been hiding as part of a strategy, not out of fear. "Still in the second-floor corridor, sir," he said. "She tried the lifts, but Madam Bones had already cast a spell to make them refuse to carry her. She was screaming about finding Albus Dumbledore and making him pay for this."
Rufus sighed. So there's no doubt about who she blames it on, at least. "Come with me, Weasley," he ordered, and had the satisfaction of hearing Percy fall in behind him as he threaded his way through the desks. He'd known he had potential Auror material in that one from the first time he looked into his eyes. Potter had done him a favor there, identifying Weasley as one of the spies Dumbledore was trying to plant in the Ministry and warning Rufus about it. Rufus had taken the opportunity to snare the younger man's loyalty for himself. No sense in wasting someone who could do the Ministry so much good.
They rounded the corner that led out of the office, and the heat immediately grew stronger. Rufus gripped his wand, and stepped out into the middle of the hallway.
He nearly stepped on Auror Feverfew, lying motionless on the ground. Rufus estimated his state of health with one glance, and relaxed when he saw that the young man still breathed. His burns were bad, though, at least second-degree. Rufus shook his head, and felt his mouth harden into a thin, determined line. This was why he didn't like powerful wizards and witches. They were apt to let their magic rule them, and think they had the right to do anything they wanted just because of what they could do.
Well, Fiona was about to learn better.
A few more steps, and he saw her, standing in front of the lifts and attacking them with blast after blast of wandless magic. She hadn't noticed them coming, but then Weasley stepped heavily, and she whipped towards them. She went quite still when she caught sight of Rufus.
Rufus made a quick decision. Fiona's eyes were crazed, her own skin blistering and crackling with the force of the raw magic that bled from her. He had been about to try reason, to persuade her that she was a principled Auror and didn't need to do this, but he knew now she wouldn't listen.
"Calx de Achilles," he murmured, a spell that he didn't use often, a spell as near the Dark Arts as he would let himself get. When it was a choice between Fiona hitting him and Weasley and this spell, though, the Achilles' Heel Curse would win out every time.
The spell lashed, seeking and finding Fiona's weak point. It would have been easily defeated if she had shields, but she didn't; she was too far gone in rage to have them.
Her eyes widened, and she made a little moaning noise as one of her worst memories welled up and overwhelmed her. Then she slumped to the floor, unconscious. Rufus quickly shot binding ropes from his wand, tying her wrists and ankles together and forcing her to lie still.
He left Weasley to fetch a Healer for Feverfew and cart Fiona back to the cells, advising him to work with several other Aurors to set up stronger wards this time, and then went back to his office. Potter was indeed going to have some explaining to do.
He was gratified when Tonks informed him that Potter had already arrived. He smiled grimly and stepped into the office, seeing the boy waiting with Severus Snape, the young Malfoy boy, and a man who was obviously a werewolf.
Does he want to issue a challenge? Then I'll meet it.
Harry turned his head as Scrimgeour stalked into the office. He had often thought the Minister was like an old lion, but that was never truer than now. His yellow eyes all but glowed, and he had a deep purr to his voice as he spoke—though not the kind of purr a cat would give on being stroked.
"Potter. My Ministry has gone quite mad this morning, and I think I am relieved of a spell I don't remembering being under. I trust that you can shed some light on this?"
Harry smiled slightly. He knew it wasn't a pleasant smile. He didn't mean it to be. He had seen the look on Scrimgeour's face when he saw Remus, and the flicker of discomfort and disdain that passed over his features when he identified him as a werewolf. That is going to be our next battle, isn't it, Minister? That is, if you don't convince yourself that I did Dumbledore's dirty work.
"I know about the spell," he said. "It's Dumbledore's. He cast a web of compulsion across Britain that made people think as unfavorably of me as possible. I would wager that you probably thought I was set to muck about in the Ministry. I'm not. I broke the compulsion, and I'm here to let you know about it. I have no idea how long it will take your people to recover, or what lasting damage they might have from this spell. I do think that you should move Dumbledore to an isolated cell in Tullianum until his trial, so that no one else has a chance to get to him."
Scrimgeour's eyes became slits, and he walked behind his desk before he spoke again. Harry felt Draco's hand on his shoulder. He moved back into the support, but didn't lean back, though the grip invited him to. He couldn't afford to look weak in the Minister's eyes right now.
"No one can cast magic through Still-Beetle confinement," said Scrimgeour. "Not even a Light Lord."
"Someone raised it, then," said Harry.
Scrimgeour jerked like a fish on a line. "Impossible. I looked over the Aurors myself, and purged them of anyone who might even have been tempted to free Dumbledore. Besides, why wouldn't he have cast more powerful magic if he did have the chance to?"
"Because he prefers subtle spells." Harry moved a step forward. Draco and Snape and Remus all moved with him. He was amused at that, but he kept his amusement off his face. It would only to do to let Scrimgeour see hardness in his eyes right now. "He wanted the chance to make it seem as if the wizarding world itself had decided he was innocent. That was the only way to retain his old reputation and his old power. And as for purging your Aurors—well, Minister, Auror Mallory tortured my parents. I think you should look over the ranks again."
Scrimgeour's nostrils flared just slightly. Then he said, "You've informed me of the spell, Potter. I believe you, provisionally. It doesn't sound as though you would cast the kind of spell that made hatred of you possible. But if that's all you want, why march up to me with this phalanx?" He moved his head to indicate Snape, Remus, and even Draco. Harry supposed that Draco's narrow-eyed protective look might have something to do with it.
"Because I have a guard everywhere I go, these days," said Harry, fighting the temptation to roll his eyes. "Because there were Death Eaters in Hogwarts." He drew in a deep breath. He hadn't recited his final purpose to any of the three coming with him. So far as they were concerned, this was mostly a journey to let the Minister know what was what, and just where he stood in relation to the structure of political power in wizarding Britain. But Harry did have something else in mind, and he would say it now. "And because I want you to see that I'm serious about my goals. All of them. I will use my power, though I won't compel people. That means that you're going to have a challenge on the werewolf laws, Minister."
Scrimgeour just nodded. Remus, though, shook at Harry's side as though he'd heard a wolf howl.
"And it means that you're going to have to move my parents' trial date," said Harry, getting out the sentence all at once.
Draco's hand tightened on his shoulder, and Snape snarled. Remus growled, a more frightening sound. Scrimgeour raised an eyebrow. "Why?" he asked.
"Because the atmosphere's been poisoned, now," said Harry. "Do you have to ask? Some people hate me, some people love me, and that'll include members of the Wizengamot. There is no way that my parents will get a fair trial. Shift the date to a time when more people know about the spell and have a chance to recover from its effects. December should work, I think."
Scrimgeour studied him in silence. That gave Draco the chance to learn forward and whisper into Harry's ear, "Are you insane? You're already stressed about this, and you want to move the trial back further, and put yourself under more stress?"
"It's not about me," Harry snapped back at him. "It's about applying the principles of justice fairly and evenly."
"I agree with Mr. Malfoy."
Harry's heart stopped. He had never thought he would hear Scrimgeour say something like that—either agreeing with a Malfoy, or going against his own principles. He turned his head back slowly, inch by inch, and stared hard at the Minister, who didn't stir.
"But, sir," said Harry, fighting the urge to cry out, "you don't know yourself when your own feelings towards me changed. You'll have to wait until the spell breaks completely. You—"
"Did you, or did you not, break the web of the spell, Mr. Potter?" Scrimgeour asked. "Are you, or are you not, vates?"
"It's gone," Harry whispered.
Scrimgeour nodded sharply. "Then I will advise the Wizengamot to clear their minds as much as possible in the three weeks we have remaining. Speak with mediwizards if they need to, or a skilled Occlumens. They will be ready by the time the trial comes, Potter." His face darkened for a moment. "Dumbledore's trial will be the problem. I am glad that will not be until March."
"I would prefer this not happen, sir," Harry said steadily.
"The evidence came in before Dumbledore could possibly have cast the spell, since he wasn't in confinement then," Scrimgeour countered. "The Pensieve memories are still fact. They will still serve as evidence during the trial."
Harry ducked his head and said nothing. He could feel the anger burning, the temptation to just lash out and change things, but he would not. There were some things even his magic and his temper would not allow him to do.
Draco's hand stroked softly at his shoulder, and pulled him back to himself, reminding him what things he still had to be angry about. "Minister, do you know who Argus Veritaserum is?"
Scrimgeour shook his head. "I was trying to find that out myself."
"Thank you," said Harry. "Then I think I have nothing further to say to you, unless you want to say something to me?"
Scrimgeour shook his head again. Harry nodded back once, and then turned and ducked out of the office.
Snape hissed at once, "Harry, what were you thinking? To get your parents' trial pushed back—"
"I want them to have every chance," said Harry, staring straight ahead. His hand was clutching the quill-shaped amulet he would use to call Skeeter. He would set her digging to find out who Argus Veritaserum was, and who had murdered the Augurey chicks. That was a good thing, a thing he could be angry about without more complicated emotions in the background.
Remus said softly, "Harry, what Lily and James did to you was wrong."
Not this again. Harry turned on them, and the look in his eyes was evidently enough to silence them. Draco was the only one who didn't draw back, but stared at him with a slightly open mouth. Harry ignored that. Perhaps he was too stunned by the sudden movement to know how to react otherwise.
"I know that," he said. "I accept that the trial date won't be moved. Everything is fine. Now, come on. I want to set Skeeter on Veritaserum's trail before the day is much older."
He marched off, ignoring the rest of what Remus and Snape said. No point in getting angry about things he couldn't change.
He could find out who was impersonating him, though, and get to the bottom of that. And when he did…
The anger burned like fine wine in the bottom of his belly, like a promise on the lips of an enemy. Yes. I think I will enjoy that even more.