Chapter Three

"Hermione?"

"In the library, Daddy!"

Harry looked up from the cards in his hand at Dan Granger as if to say, well, that was obvious. You should have known that. Her father rolled his eyes. At least he was beating the boyfriend… er, instructing Harry in the finer arts of random chance. It was turning out to be a profitable lesson – for him. For Harry, it was not. He'd never be a cardsharp.

"Might as well go talk to her about whatever's on your mind. I fold anyway."

Dan chuckled as Harry's cards flopped to the coffee table.

"Good idea. You already owe me five thousand, two hundred and twelve of those… What did you call them? Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans?"

Harry spoke with a grimace, "And when they say 'every flavor,' they mean it too. Yuck."

"Really. Now I'm starting to wonder why you suggested using them instead of poker chips."

"Hat wanted to put me in Slytherin, soooo…"

"Uh-huh. Well, come on, let's go talk to Hermione about something we need to discuss."

Harry looked up at Dan as he stood up, a bit worried. Dan didn't try too hard to hide a grin. This was just as much fun as cleaning Harry out at poker. He let Harry stew for a moment before letting him down easy.

"No, not that. I wanted to ask her a magical world question and get your opinion at the same time."

Harry's sigh of relief was hidden better than Dan's grin, but the older man still heard it. His grin widened. He'd have to tell Emma about this tonight and the two would need to decide what to pull next. The pair left the room, headed for the so-called library.

It was just a spare bedroom of a bit larger than medium size, but it was stuffed with books and a couple of comfortable chairs. When Harry stepped into the room, he saw that the room had a hidden corner that had runes carved into some kind of crystals describing a doorway into a space expanded section that held Wizarding World books and other items. He looked at Dan with a question in his eyes. The older man shrugged.

"Hermione etched the runes six months ago at Hogwarts and charged them there. They draw some kind of energy from the air around them like a trickle charger of a type to keep them active. What kind of energy, Emma and I aren't quite sure of. Hermione explained them to us the best that she could and we think we understood. She mentioned the important thing, though."

"What's that?"

"We don't have to worry about the room collapsing with us in it when she's away at school."

"Makes sense."

Hermione's voice came from one of the chairs.

"And with some exceptions, non-magicals can't see the hidden trigger to access the extra room. Mum and Dad can see it."

"How?"

Dan pulled a face before he answered.

"It turns out that the answer is a runic tattoo. I won't tell you where."

Harry glanced at Hermione, who had turned a bit pink. Another voice interrupted.

"Mine is along my left collarbone, in tiny runes. Too bad for Dan!" Emma's voice sounded… smug? Too cheerful? Amused? All of the above?

Harry turned to see Hermione's mother with a Potions textbook in her hands, reading it and making notes. He decided that Potions was a safer topic than finding out where Dan's tattoo was. From the look on his face, Harry really didn't want to know.

"What do you think of that subject, Emma?"

"What? Potions or Dan's intimate encounter with an ink-filled vibrating needle?"

Harry's face tightened. He really didn't want to know about their runic tattoos! He motioned quickly to the fairly thick book.

"Er, the Potions."

He really didn't sound that desperate to know. Did he? From the look of imperfectly hidden victory on Emma's face, he must have.

"Fascinating, actually. Much of it reminds me of chemistry and biology classes. Some gardening, but I didn't study agriculture in college. This is more like the plants I have in my little garden out back."

Harry glanced at Dan. He was looking at his wife with his eyes promising payback, who was innocently looking back at him promising payback for the payback. The young wizard looked at Hermione, who was shaking her head at their antics. She looked like she was used to this, and probably was.

"Don't mind them, Harry. They do this all the time. On purpose, too."

"What? Flirt about sharp objects?"

"And pliers and numbing drugs and billing codes… you really don't want to know right now. I'm beginning to think they get up to some kinky things in private, and that's something I don't want to know about," she muttered to her mother, who had taken in a breath to say something.

Emma just smiled, instead. Both teens tried to ignore the wink she sent Dan before she spoke.

"You'll understand one day, dear. What brings you boys in here? Surely the poker game didn't last that long. Harry run out of funds again?"

Dan looked at Harry, who didn't see the glance.

"Well, I was thinking about something that – Magic? – whatever exactly that was that spoke to me when I took Sirius under Protection. He, it, whatever said something about a magical guard that had to lodge here and I made the frankly terrible joke about having a Captain of the Guards."

"Oh, Daddy…" Hermione moaned.

"There was agreement with what I said, pumpkin. I didn't seem to have the risk of being burned at the metaphorical stake. Still, it was something that I'm wondering about anyway. Is there anyone in the magical world that has a military or police force, aside from the Aurors?"

Harry and Hermione traded glances.

"Centaurs are a bit militaristic, but they're… well, they don't always get along with us."

"Centaurs?" Emma looked up at Harry. "You mean the half-human, half-horse figures from mythology? They're real?"

"Yes, they're real and they're huge, relatively speaking. I doubt one would enjoy being cramped up in the house and your neighbors would freak out seeing one. Plus, there would be arrows everywhere if something happened."

"Huh." Dan seemed intrigued. "How would we keep them fed if we did host one, out of curiosity?"

A voice came from the doorway.

"Food for the human stomach and food for the horse stomach. It would get expensive after a while. I heard my name and wanted to see what was going on."

Sirius was standing there in the doorway, looking a bit better. He was still fairly haggard and was a bit unsteady. Hermione jumped up and guided him to her chair.

"Sit down, Sirius! You look like you'll fall over soon."

He tried to protest, but Hermione glared at him.

"Just give in, Sirius. It's a lot easier on you if you do," Harry noted.

Emma leaned toward her husband while Sirius raised an eyebrow at Harry.

"It looks like she's trained Harry well. I'm still working on you some days," she mumbled. "Wonder how long it took and what she had to do? If it worked for her, maybe I'll see if it works on you."

Wisely, Dan didn't comment and looked a bit green besides. An Auror came through the door next. She was sweeping the room with her eyes in a way Dan recognized but looked as though she knew where Sirius had been all this time. She played along with the fiction of an escaped prisoner anyway.

"Ah, there ye be, Sirius," the Irish-accented voice of Auror McGuire lilted. "I was wondering if ye had flown the coop again."

Sirius looked up at the woman. He got along pretty well with her and didn't tweak her like he did some of the others.

"With food like what Emma makes? Are you kidding? Best thing I've had in years." One hand motioned to Harry. "If Hermione cooks like that, Harry will have some meat on his bones sooner or later. He needs it, too."

Before Harry could huff at Sirius, Dan looked at the Auror. He took in the uniform and bright badge she wore a bit more closely than he had previously, seeing the hash marks on the sleeve. A thought had occurred to him.

"Say, Jenny, do you mind if I ask a question of you in a professional capacity?"

"Sure, Mister Granger, I don't mind. Ask away."

"I need to find out what this dherlec shakhacis is from the Goblins. Do the Aurors have anything I can look at before I go?"

She regarded him for a moment.

"Not so much that I can remember, although Madam Bones might have access to something that I don't. From what I remember at the Auror Academy, that is a title given to a Goblin that fights battles specifically for a person. Not quite a guard, not quite security, not quite a warrior, although those roles are filled by the same Goblin. It's almost like a member of the family that has this single role to battle. Physically, magically, financially, spiritually… whatever kind of battle there is to be done, the dherlec shakhacis does it. We could say that it's almost mercenary in nature, but that's not precisely right either where the Goblin culture and favored clients are all concerned. That's all I really know. It wasn't more than that in the single day we covered it, so you'll probably have to go to Gringotts to learn more. I'd make an appointment. Go to the source, right?"

"How do I do that?"

Harry took that.

"I'll make the appointment to see Ironbeard. He's the Potter Account Manager."

There was a hoot from the kitchen, and they all turned that way then turned to look at Harry. The resigned look on his face made Hermione giggle.

"I still don't know how she does it or gets into the kitchen. Excuse me for a moment while I find out what Her Owlish Majesty is up to now."

Hermione pointed out a ledger pad and some pens on a small desk. Harry gathered them up and left for the kitchen. After he left, wry looks were exchanged all around the room before anyone spoke.

"She runs his life. A ruddy owl runs his life," Sirius mused. The amusement on his face belied the graveness of his tone. "As if all the other stuff wasn't bad enough."

"It's Hedwig. You've met her. Can you say you don't understand?" Hermione chuckled.

The Irish Auror laughed at that. She leaned into the others and spoke quietly after peeking out the door to look down the hallway.

"As far as the kitchen, I charmed the window to allow her to get in. She's the only owl that can. Mrs. Granger asked me about it, since I think she loves that owl."

All eyes turned to Emma.

"What? I do. Lovely girl."

"She is. A little vain about it, though. Don't tell her I said that, or tell him about the window. Let him stew. It's funny to watch."

Sirius snorted.

"And she runs his life. Though to be fair it probably runs smoother than if she and Hermione weren't in it. James needed a firm hand sometimes. The things Lily did… well, there would have been more Potters if there hadn't been that Halloween with the snake-faced bastard."

Eyes turned back to Hermione, who blushed. Dan started to say something, but Emma shushed him. Sirius however, wasn't shushed.

"We all know whose hand is firmly on my godson. Don't hurt him too badly, Hermione. Well, unless he likes it."

Eyes turned to Sirius.

"What? It's the quiet ones you have to watch out for, right?"

Any answers to his not-quite-sincere questions were forestalled by the return of Harry, who tossed the pad back on the desk. Thankfully for Hermione's burning face, he didn't notice the mood in the room and Sirius' grin or Hermione's scowl of promised retribution.

"Forgot the pens. They're still on the table."

Emma smiled at him. "That's all right, Harry. I'll get them later. So Hedwig is off?"

"Yes. She held out for some of the ham in the refrigerator first, but took the letter. I asked for an appointment and what it was about. I also mentioned the title of whoever that was that Dan gave us and apologized if I spelled it wrong. I tried to emphasize the importance of what the letter was about and said that I didn't want to go into specifics in a written letter. I also mentioned that security was important and how many people that was with us, but not who. I guess we wait for now."

"We wait for now," Hermione agreed.

=-{}-=

In a dim room in the depths of the Ministry, there was work being done. It wasn't work that the rank and file of the workers in the Ministry knew about, except for those in the room. It wasn't something that was advertised, either. Not everyone was cleared for things like this. For that matter, not everyone was trusted either.

Some things in their society didn't sit right with certain members of the old guard in the Ministry. There was a certain way to do things that had worked well enough in the past and there was no good reason to change that now, they thought. Carefully unheard grumbles were softly spoken, certain sketches of things went unnoticed, some longtime habits continued unchecked without comment. Certain things were quietly encouraged. For the most part, things continued as it had since the founding of the political body known as the Ministry of Magic.

Meaning, the rich got richer and the poor got poorer. Money talked in the political ring. Any attempts to change the status quo was soon slapped down with temerity more often seen with thrill-seekers. The problem was that the thrills gained by this exercise of power simply repressed those seen as 'lesser-than' by those exercising that power. The 'lesser-thans' got about as much consideration after the fact, too.

It was tacitly agreed among those in the know of the work being done in that dim room that knowledge really was power. It was with glee on some cases and disgust with others that a few teams went out to gather what could in some respects be called intelligence in advance of an attack on something. In others, it was more likely cases of confirmation bias. In yet others, it was a way to pad expense accounts.

For the last four months, every day had been busy days for this dim room. Information was gathered and cross-checked the best that they could do. Every few days, there had been requests for more information on this subject or that. As the teams learned more and more about what they had been set out to discover, things happened.

For one, it was getting his foot run over by one of the loudest… thing… he'd ever seen. The disillusionment charm that he was under prevented him from being seen by the muggle directing the motion of whatever the large… thing… was. The foot was beyond saving, even at St. Mungo's and the knowledge of the staff there.

It took a couple of muggleborn Healers that had taken the time to view the Pensieve memories to ask him what he was doing standing that close to a combine harvester for him to realize the stupidity of what he was doing. He was still under the influence of pain-relieving potions brewed a little stronger than intended and spoke a little more freely than he should have, and the Aurors were called. It didn't matter, as the shock of the moment caused the risk factors from a lifetime of rich eating and little exercise to suddenly pile up as he glanced down at the missing foot and partial remains of a leg. The terrible damage from a massive thrombotic stroke literally took him from speaking to the mediwitch about treatment to dead mid-word.

By the time the Aurors got there, it had become a death investigation. As the now dead man hadn't said why he was in the situation he'd found himself in to begin with, they found themselves with a mystery. There wasn't much to assemble where clues were concerned and it went into the 'cold-case' files a bit quicker than usual while they went out to deal with other calls.

A second intelligence-gatherer had combined her childhood love of the arts and wandered around the various music venues. She wasn't seen for three months and when she did appear, she only said one thing.

"Radical!"

This was said with the biggest grin anyone had ever seen on the woman, even though she was walking less than upright. She said nothing about why.

This confused her superiors more than anything else and made absolutely no sense to them, so off to St. Mungo's she went. The healers didn't find anything wrong, but did find something new to play over the PA in the hospital's cafeteria. It was much appreciated.

A third raised suspicions when he made five separate requests for funding increases. It turned out that he had discovered casinos and chorus girls. This privately interested half of the people in the dim office, but in the interests of their physical safety they said nothing. The other half was not so amused.

He was recalled and sent off to St. Mungo's with a sharply worded note about mental deviance. As none of the group was muggleborn or even halfbloods, there was no problem with the note.

The person in charge of this group looked over the results of the information gathering operation and grimaced at what was contained therein. Such evilness abounded and would need to be excised. There was evidently no hope for the Magical world and the lesser contact, the better. There was some thought about how to go about ensuring that, but there was a good deal of dissent on procedure.

Too bad Cornelius Fudge was the way he was. Occasionally he had an original thought that had nothing to do with pecuniary motivations. Unfortunately, it didn't help those subordinate to him in the Ministry's pecking order when that happened. Then again, the original thoughts he had often didn't help him, either. It usually made things worse, whether for him or for whoever he had the original thought about.

Such as that Muggle he'd been to see recently. Why he'd done that, there was no clue about it. No one could even hazard a good guess about it, since he'd kept the reasons to himself. His secretary didn't know and frankly didn't care. That was another thing that needed changing around here. People didn't care enough about their livelihoods.

It was only after word leaked out from the DMLE's diminishing supply of chatterboxes that Minister Fudge had run afoul of his magical oath somehow and found himself thrown into a holding cell by Madam Bones herself and yelling at him something fierce, that people stopped working for a moment. They couldn't decide what was worse, the magical oath triggering or Madam Bones getting triggered. That debate was still going on in some form and it didn't look like it was going to be resolved any time soon.

Whatever he'd done was his own fault. At least everyone agreed on that much. It didn't help them or their boss at all, however. Still, it needed to be discovered what he had done to be subject to the DMLE's tender mercies, and that took several days. Once that was found out, it was decided that for once, he'd had a good idea.

Good ideas needed to be fleshed out, they'd agreed, so after a day or two of serious thinking a plan was decided on. They didn't particularly like Fudge, but considered the danger to their way of life the phrase 'needs must' came to mind. They definitely didn't like the way he went about working on his 'good idea' and agreed that if he'd just asked somebody about it, he probably wouldn't be in the place he was in. They agreed that he was right where he needed to be until the time came to pull him out and put him to work on something else.

Now, in the dim room with all but one person having left there to go home there was a moment of silent reflection. After that moment passed, that one person stood up and moved carefully to the fireplace. The Floo flared up as the powder was tossed in after a more or less hidden rune was tapped on the mantel. Soon a face popped up in the flames.

"You called, Madam Umbridge?"

=-{}-=

Cornelius Fudge was in a right snit. This was intolerable!

The cell he was in was simply terrible. The bed, if you could call it that, was lumpy and thinner than a piece of parchment. The paint was in need of redoing, the lights seemed to dim every so often, the window was tiny and looked out on a frozen beach scene beside. It flickered every so often, usually in time with the lights.

He wasn't even going to talk about the food.

It didn't smell fresh and clean either like his suits did every morning. In fact, the rough jumper that they made him wear had some odd scent that no one wanted to talk about or even refer to. That made him wonder what happened to the last person that wore this thing and how long ago that had been. Fudge was sure that he really didn't want to know the answers to those questions. There were other things that the somewhat stained and faded fabric suggested and brought up in his mind but he tried not to think about those.

For an hour a day, he was taken out of the cell to walk around and do what the Aurors called 'large muscle group exercise,' as if he bothered with it before now. At least he was able to see something other than that malfunctioning window. The fairly small exercise area that he was taken to didn't excite him and looked as rough as the rest of the place. A trio of magical treadmills, a couple of sets of some kind of horizontal bars with worn areas… and that was it.

When he mentioned the conditions, the Auror in charge that day shrugged and said, "Funding problems, like everything else." That gave him food for thought. It cooled off the snit he was in, too. If they didn't have the money, then they didn't have the money. Where had it gone? What could they do about it? It was already explained to him that he was in the best areas of the detention center, relatively speaking. Peering around, he decided that he didn't want to know what the worse parts looked like.

The Aurors had been firm with him. Not nasty, but distinctly business-like. It was like Fudge was something unsavory that they had managed to avoid dealing with, but now that they had to do something they were treating him like… well, like a run-of-the-mill wizard. He didn't like that. He was the Minister of Magic, he was, and he deserved to have some respect!

The problem was, there was little to none to be found in the bare walls around him. The bolted down furnishings didn't seem to care one way or the other what or who he was. The Aurors that came in to relieve the others or to bring in whoever had run afoul of the law didn't have time to sit and chat. There was plenty for them to do as it appeared that they were either short-staffed or working long hours or maybe both.

At night, he wondered why his wife hadn't been in to see him. When he wasn't wondering that, he wondered when Madam Bones was going to come to her senses and release him. That thought was followed by the uncomfortable chaser that wondered if she was in the process of setting off a coup upon the government, starting with him.

As he hadn't heard any riots or destructive acts from outside the building, and no one else other than drunks or malcontents was in the cell blocks, all he could do was sit there and wonder. It didn't do his constitution any good.

Just what was going on?

Cornelius Fudge looked around at the stark walls starting to close in on him and found no answers to that question.

=-{}-=

The Goblin took the letter from the snowy owl and quirked an eyebrow at the look she gave him.

"This is more important than what you usually bring me, isn't it?"

The glare that she gave him reminded him uncomfortably of his wife, as if she was debating how to enumerate the ways he was being stupid, obtuse, and a whole host of other descriptive terms. Ironbeard wondered how the young Potter lad handled such a strong-willed bird.

Prek!

She scolded him for the question he asked her in an unmistakable tone and the Goblin winced inwardly. Yes, that definitely sounded like his wife on a rant for something he'd forgotten to do or just forgot – like birthdays. The last one had kept him from sitting comfortably for three days and make him the butt of quite a few jokes around the bank. Even Ragnok had heard about it, but hadn't said anything about it to Ironbeard, at least yet.

"I'll look at this right away, Lady Hedwig. I'll have an answer in a few minutes. Is that suitable?"

She regarded him for a moment and settled on a chair back to wait. Ironbeard wondered what was so important that Hedwig would act like this.

Five minutes later he was still staring at the letter in disbelief, even after rereading it three times.

The phrase "the dherlec shakhacis will be needed for House Potter" was the reason for most of the shock. The lad had misspelled it, but the Account Manager ignored that in favor of wondering how he had known of it. That was something that no one before the age of majority knew about! The letter went on to say that memories would be needed to review, but due to the situation that his group (and that was another thing. How many exactly?) found themselves in he would feel much better about giving them in person. Hedwig was trusted, but even with her abilities, some things were too important to be left to chance.

The mention that certain Aurors from the Department of Magical Law Enforcement were aware of whatever was going on and actively assisting him under the covert orders of Madam Bones made him pause. There was something going on and if he was reading between the lines correctly, the Ministry as a whole didn't have the need to know anything about this.

A portkey was needed for roughly seven people with two of those being Aurors. It was requested that Madam Bones be present, although he hadn't had time to ask her about it.

The lad closed by swearing that he wouldn't bother Gringotts with this unless it was important to all involved, and Ironbeard grinned at that. That sounded like his grandfather. Charlus didn't like to waste time, either.

He raised his eyes from the letter and stared unseeing at the crossed swords on the wall. What was going on? The boy sounded like he was going to war, almost. But with who?

Finally he shook himself and looked up at the owlish eyes.

"You'll have a letter in a few minutes."

Prek.

He looked at her.

"Somehow, you knew that was going to be my reaction, didn't you?"

She managed a credible sigh but didn't respond any further. The Goblin decided not to push his luck, since any owls of the young Potter probably knew exactly how to use their talons to maximum effect. He pulled out his correspondence materials and got to work after checking his scheduler. There was a block of time open for first thing tomorrow morning. He put that information in the letter, charmed it to act as a timed portkey, and folded it precisely.

Seeing this, Hedwig stuck her leg out to receive the letter and Ironbeard carefully tied it on.

"Safe trip, Lady Hedwig. Give my regards to the Grangers and this Hermione witch. If she's who I think she is to young Potter, I wish her all the luck in the world. She's going to need it."

Hedwig gave him another evaluative stare after his light statement and an owlish huff promising a future discussion on his jocular tone. He watched her leave silently and blew out the breath he didn't know he was holding.

"I hope my wife doesn't meet that bird. I'll never get a moment's peace."

Ironbeard shuddered at the more or less fanciful thought, and shuddered again at the related thought of his seven daughters meeting the bird too. His beard was grey enough to match his name without things like that making it worse. He waited for a moment to make sure that he wasn't going to be interrupted by an avian presence taking him to task for his thoughts before going back to work on what he'd been doing before she showed up.

He finished up quickly and gathered up some items from the safe mounted in the back wall of his office. There were things that needed doing before tomorrow's meeting and he wanted to be prepared. To do that, he needed to talk with a few other Goblins and set them to some necessary tasks before close of business today.