Chapter 24: Politics and Pizza

"What do you 'spose would happen if I ran into a Dementor?" I ask Hedwig as she plays with the mithril ring whilst sitting on the kitchen table. "Centuries of horrific flashbacks?"

"Hoot." She spins the ring on the table.

"I suppose you're right, Sirius could teach me the patronus." I drum my fingers on my newest book. "Hopefully I'll never have to use it."

"Hoot hoot."

"Better safe than sorry." I repeat, nodding. She picks up my rings and trots across the table, depositing it in my hand in exchange for petting. After a couple of minutes, she decides to go hunting. "Have fun." I call as she launches out of the window. I stretch the mithril band to about 8 inches wide. I don't make use of the resizing ability very often, maybe I could use it as a bangle or wear it on my head. Not a bad idea. I lift the metal ring and place it on my head.

Knock. Knock. That'd better not be the bloody Prophet again. I stamp down the stairs and open the door. Albus … at my front door.

"Albus?" I frown. "What are you doing here?" Currently dressed in garish orange robes with black paw prints dotted across the fabric, he makes for quite a sight. "Do you want to come in?" I motion inside.

"Not today." He smiles. "Are you busy this morning? I believe I have something quite … fun lined up." Fun? I shrink the band back onto my hand and close the door behind me.

"Lead the way." He smiles genially as we walk.

"You once asked me to assist you in, ah, learning 'how the old farts occupy themselves'. In reference to politicians, I believe it was."

"And Filius spilt his coffee, I remember."

"Do you recognize the name 'Patrick Delacour'?" He asks me.

"Patrick? Err." I exhale and think for a moment. "Ignoring his brother for the moment, Patrick Delacour … 1994 March 16th Daily Prophet page 7 – 'French Diplomat Patrick Delacour sighted with Minister Cornelius Fudge' and then some speculation. So he's the French diplomat that lives here and acts as a back and forth? And another article in … 1987 I think it was when Allain was elected as the French Minister of Magic, they were pictured together." I squint as I try and recall the photograph. "The Minister's wife too." I shake my head. "Why do you ask?"

"Today, on the way to Gringotts, Mister Delacour was attacked, I believe the muggles would call it a 'mugging'." He looks amused as we walk to the crowd. "Consider this the first lesson – Be amongst it." The crowd parts like the Red Sea did for Moses. We pass through and enter the loose ring of Aurors. A healer is applying a thick yellow paste to Patrick's black eye whilst Minister Fudge faffs about with the press.

"Ah! Harry!" He turns his smile to me.

"Minister." I smile and shake his hand, he turns us and waves to the cameras. I can't help but smile genuinely at the absurdity of the action.

"May I introduce you to Mister Delacour, our Diplomat with France." He steers me towards the man, currently squirming as the woman applies the cream.

"It's gonna take longer if you keep wrigglin'." She says impatiently.

"Monsieur Potter!" His eyes make the common movement of flicking to my scar before moving back down to my eyes. He eagerly shakes my hand. "Eet's a pleasure to meet you."

"Likewise, sir." I'm not sure which one of us is more surprised by me speaking French. "You have a little something here." I motion to my won eye, grinning cheekily. He laughs good naturedly.

"Yes, Yes. I was not expecting a sucker punch when the drunkard came at me." He smiles. "Could we get a photo? My niece is a fan of yours. If it's not too much trouble." He quickly adds, looking worried.

"No, no. It's fine." He looks relieved as we turn to the photographers. I smile and wave as the flashes fire off. Patrick walks over to the nearest photographer to retrieve the photo. He holds it up as the moving picture forms. My awkward wave and the paste over his eye. "A story behind every photo."

"Perhaps we could return to the Ministry?" Fudge suggests.

"Of course." Patrick nods. "Accosted on my lunch break." We move through the parted crowd towards the Leaky Cauldron. Apparently just turning up can make me part of the Ministerial party. Kingsley Shacklebolt has join on by the time we reach the floo inside.

"Ministry of Magic, Atrium." Fudge intones, lighting the fireplace. We pass through into the grand, green tiled atrium.

"Mister Potter!" A surprised voice has me turning around. "Doris Lawry, My son was an Auror." She says, pulling me into a hug. "Thank you." She whispers.

"Glad I could help." I smile nervously as a few more people stop.

"Adam Vance, A pleasure, an absolute pleasure." Another man introduces himself and shakes my hand enthusiastically. A younger woman shoves him out of the way and curtsies, I glance over at the twinkle-eyed Albus. Bastard.

"Terribly sorry about that." Fudge says after we make it to his office.

"It was nothing. I'm just glad I didn't get punched." I smile as they laugh, none more so than Patrick.

Thousands of conversations are held in this office yearly. Many have started or ended wars, repaired friendships or passed laws. Money changes hands and not so subtle political manoeuvres are done so behind this closed door.

"All I am saying is that I believe he would be a powerful ally." Lucius Malfoy drawls to Fudge's whisper.

"You are directly suggesting that I manipulate the poor boy for my own gain." Fudge bites back with a raised voice. "The lad has been through enough. He needs no more deception than he will already encounter."

"When he is outwardly opposed to you, perhaps then we shall see who has had the last laugh." Lucius offers an insincere smile.

"I must be making my way home now." Patrick says, accepting a folder from Fudge with a smile. It contains various documents, including the location of 87 portkeys in France keyed to bring the World Cup goers across the channel.

"Of course, Of course." Fudge shakes his hand again. "Have a safe journey." I've always thought that is a bit of an odd thing to say to somebody that's about to use the floo, but I suppose the saying out dates the floo network. Patrick ducks into the larger fireplace. "The trans-channel floo. State of the art, or so I'm told." He explains to me. Albus bid us farewell, saying that he would leave me in more than capable hands.

"It's beautiful." I agree, watching the last flicker of Patrick's journey disappear from view.

"Drink?" I turn to see him holding a bottle of scotch.

"If you'll join me." I smile, leaning against his desk as he decants some into two tumblers.

"I know why Dumbledore brought you here." He says, handing me a glass. "You and I both know that in a few years you may well be seeing the insides of the Ministry much more often. Whether in employment, or as a member of the Wizengamot. It is a dangerous game to play, one must rely on their allies for support and I believe that Dumbledore sees this. Giving you a head start in the political ring without any of the pressure that comes with being a full part of it."

"To gain a footing before I need it." I nod, politely drinking the alcohol.

"Precisely." He says, staying quiet for a few seconds before pointing at me. "Do you like Quidditch?"

"Who doesn't?" I lie. He smiles.

"Who indeed? I might just happen to have a ticket with your name on it, if you've not made other arrangements." He says evasively with a smile.

"It'd be a shame if nobody were to use it."

"Exactly!" He passes me and rifles through one of his drawers. "I had to have enough tickets for every employee at the Ministry. The department heads could gain more for their family members if they so wished. It's been a logistical nightmare to arrange. Ah!" He plucks out a golden ticket and presses his wand to it. "Harry Potter." The ticket glows briefly as my name appears, he holds it out to me. "There we are. Just follow the signs to find the booth and I shall see you there."

"I look forward to it, Minister.

"Please, Just Cornelius."

"Of course, Cornelius." He smiles at me winningly.

"So you suddenly speak French?" Tonks asks sceptically as we sit in a grubby Pizza Hut.

"There've been a lotta people in Hogwarts, and some of 'em have spoken French, I reckon I've picked it up without really realising it. I think it has something to do with the speaker understanding what they are saying, and that sort of imprints on me." I shrug. "And add to it the Ministry, Diagon Alley and everywhere else I've ever been – That's a lot of language potential."

"Hmm." Tonks pensively sucks on her straw. I lift my own and pass my eyes over the restaurant. Tonks had the idea of venturing out into London for our 'date', nobody would ever look for me here and the Press wouldn't make a big scene in a muggle area so they won't be at risk of breaking the secrecy act, especially not with Tonks here. I freeze as I lock eyes with a boy staring at me from directly ahead.

"Oh god."

"What?" Tonks looks at me. We are seated side by side and she follows my line of sight. "Fat boy?"

"Fat boy's name is Dudley Dursley." I say, my voice comes out quietly. I look at the accompanying mass of flesh that makes up my Uncle.

"Dursley?" Tonks says dangerously, setting her drink down hard. I grab her wrist to stop her standing up.

"Tonks, you can't do anything to them. Not here." I say urgently.

"But the things they did … Harry." She tries to break free again.

"It's not worth it, Tonks." She turns to me, looking somewhere between upset and furious.

"They're right there – Everything they've done to you..."

"As much as I would like to cut them up into tiny pieces and flush them down a toilet, I'm not going. Besides, I think the over-eating will kill them in a much more satisfying way." I joke. She smiles too.

"Can we do something more … psychological?"

"Tonks, you can't curse the-" She pulls me into a kiss. Yep, this'll do the trick. I wrap an arm around her waist and pull her along the bench. She smiles against my lips and wraps her arms around my neck, climbing onto my lap as she does so.

"Do you want to go fuck with his car?" She asks as we break apart.

"Was that a with or in?" I ask.

"Which did you want it to be?" She smiles suggestively. I set a £20 on the table and take Tonks' hand, following the wide waddling whisper of Vernon outside and back to the car he'd came here in.

"Oh ho ho, a brand new Ford Mondeo." I remark as I run my fingers across the bonnet. Manufactured last year, very fancy. "What should we-" SMASH.

"Hah!" Tonks has just smashed the left headlight with her boot. "Do something with you ring, it won't count as under-age magic to the scanners." She tells me as she climbs up onto the bonnet, looking marvellous as she does so. CRUNCH. The wind shield now sports a tiny chip, Tonks quickly sets to work making it a large crack. I use my ring to scratch away a bit of paint, giving me access to the raw metal. If I thin out the metal, the whole car would be wrecked, and the extra energy as … heat.

"Tonks, hop off." She jumps down, admiring her work. I have the metal reduce itself to half the thickness, the whole car suddenly gets bathed in heat as the reaction throws out the extra energy. "Oh shit." I just back as the seat set on fire.

"BOY!" We look down he street to see Vernon waddling towards us. I take Tonks' hand as we run, trying not to fall over from the laughter. I just accidentally fire-bombed Vernon's car. We slow down as we get a couple of streets away.

"You set it on fire!"

"You started it, kicking in his wind shield."

"Hey, That's waaay different to setting it on fire." She says defensively, and correctly.

"I didn't really mean to, there was just a lot of energy that had to go somewhere. Better than an explosion." I point out as we turn onto the road where the Leaky Cauldron sits.

"We should do something special tomorrow." Tomorrow being my birthday.

"I'd prefer a nice relaxed day. No reporters beating on the door." I laugh. "Maybe a nice slice of cake?"

"You stay in bed, I'll get the cake then." She adopts a grin as we walk into the Cauldron. "And as it's your day, I'll have to be in my birthday suit."

A/N: Some stiff conversations along with stiff drinks. A little fiery revenge. Dobby returns next chapter

Enjoy!