Honor to Serve

Author's Note: Production on this story is down at the moment because I need to get Neville Reads the Prophet caught up. Do not expect more with this story until that story reaches the edition of July 6th.

Chapter Eleven

Puddlemere United had been playing the Chudley Cannons since six post meridian Tuesday. It was now six antemeridian the next morning. The rain was soaking his bones as he searched for the snitch. The coach had in put his backup overnight, and he'd only returned to play an hour ago. When he was on the bench, he'd spotted the snitch six times, including once when it had literally crossed in front of the Cannons' starting seeker's eyes.

Percy had been surprised when they'd traded away his predecessor for the reserve seeker and reserve keeper of the Kestrals. Puddlemere's starting keeper at the time had just been taken out for the season due to concussions. So Oliver was now backed up by a new guy named Paul "Tiny" Engebretsen. Oliver had the job firmly in hand, as Tiny needed to learn to block other hoops, instead of just the center one. Oliver had only got a two hour nap out of that rotation. Chudley had gotten 160 points out of it. The only reason it wasn't higher was it was very hard to score in pounding rain.

The score was now 1050 to 1010 in Chudley's favor as Percy quartered the field. His opposite was following a similar pattern. It was nice not to go against a seeker that stalked him. Of course Percy kept one eye on his opponent, just in case he actually spotted the snitch. It wasn't likely. Percy was sure that once Puddlemere's chasers regained the lead, his captain would ask to call the match. Chudley's captain had certainly asked, and would find it hard to say no.

Percy suddenly felt a deep chill in his bones. It was summer time, so the ice suddenly forming on his broom wasn't right. All happiness seemed to seep from his body. He'd felt that feeling before, on the Hogwarts Express, and again when watching Hufflepuff versus Gryffindor in his seventh year. "Dementors on the pitch!" he cried out, as he reached into his robes for his wand.

The Patronus charm was considered NEWT level, but Percy knew that in his third year Harry Potter had managed that charm. It was one thing that he respected about Harry Potter even when he'd been in the midst of what his sister called his githood. It had emboldened him to try to learn the charm in just the few weeks before his own NEWTs. He'd managed to get some diffuse steam, not the full patronus, at the time. It was worth an Outstanding on that NEWT's practical.

It was a matter of pride that he continued to work on the spell. He'd actually written Harry asking how he did it once. Above the Quidditch Pitch, as the dementors closed in, he put all that practice, all that advice to use. "Expecto Patronum!"

It is said that a fully corporeal patronus takes its form based on the soul that of the caster. Harry Potter's was a stag, the representation of his father. Above the stands, Percy Weasley cast a fully corporeal patronus that revealed depths that few had seen. It was shimmering, blurred, and it seemed to be edged with a soft glow. The dull pewter hue gave notice that it wasn't as it should be, and wasn't quite to standard, but its eagle's wings spread widely, and its claws were glistening sharp. It was not the cry of the eagle, but the roar of a true Gryffindor Gryffin, not seen in the isles for centuries, that filled the stadium, at Percy's command.

If there was one thing that Ron Weasley had looked forward to the whole school year, it was the fact that his father had agreed to letting him go to a Cannons Quidditch Match as long as he could pay for his own ticket, in the summer. Ron had carefully saved enough for tickets and snacks. He was proud that he'd managed to not only save enough for good seats, he'd saved enough for the all you can eat game snack pass. It was a little expensive, and if his mum knew he'd bought it, well the game had lasted twelve hours thus far, so he was probably going to come out ahead.

Ron focused his gaze on Puddlemore's seeker. When Percy had been hired, Ron knew which game he was going to attend. Once the game started though, Ron realized that his choice had led to a bit of a dilemma. Ron was a tried and true Cannons fan. His blood ran orange, as the fan club said. He did not believe it was time to cross your fingers and hope for the best, he knew that his Cannons were going to conquer, no matter how many times they'd proven to do otherwise.

Ten more points and the Cannons would take forth place in the league. This week had been very good the Cannons so far. On Sunday they'd defeated the then leaders in the league, Appleby, by an amazing 1520 to 120. They'd gone from eleventh to sixth with just that game. Monday had them just thirty below Ballycastle, and Falmouth had been only three hundred above them. Since the Fridge had taken over at Keeper, and with Tinkers, Evers, and Chance in at Chasers, there were only two things that the Cannons needed. If they could find a better pair of beaters and a seeker who could actually see two inches in front of his face, Ron believed they would win the league. Unfortunately Puddlemere had hired Percy, and Harry needed to finish school first.

Of course, the Fridge didn't seem to be having a lot of luck against Puddlemere. The Quaffle soared though the left hoop, bringing Puddlemere up to 1020, only thirty behind. "10 points for Puddlemere United, they're getting close again, Cannon-on-ons!" the announce said. Ron didn't like the current Cannons announcer. He found the way the announcer said Cannons annoying.

As Ron started to look away from the box, there was an explosion, and the announcer flew without the aid of a broom in a high arch on to the pitch. Screams filled the stadium as explosive spells hit around the edges of the stadium. Panic begin to spread, and Ron felt a deep chill, a familiar chill in his body. He looked up, and saw something though the rain that he'd hoped to never see again. The Seeker, his brother this time, was casting a patronus.

Above the stadium, Percy Weasley herded what dementors he could with his gryffin patronus. There was too many. Too many dementors, too many people, for him alone to clear the field. He was determined, though, as he dived, projecting the griffin before him. The roar of his patronus, an addition he'd added for his Arithmancy NEWT, seemed to have an anticipated effect on the dementors. Normally, the dementor would encounter then gild away from a patronus. The roar had them turning, seeming to see the patronus. To some, on the edges of the stadium, it called to them briefly, distracting them from their task, but once the patronus got closer, they too were driven away.

Percy could tell that his patronus had an effect, but not enough. He dived, directing his patronus in front of him, trying to clear a knot of them that where heading towards the hoops on the Chudley side. Oliver, with just the patronus haze moved to cover his left flank, and much to his surprise, Tiny had taken to the air to cover Percy's right flank. Together they began to escort dementors out of the stadium.

Ron Weasley did not really know how to cast a patronus. He'd never really tried, actually. He had heard Hermione describe the process, but more importantly, he'd heard Harry tell about the night that he'd saved Sirius. He knew Harry had had trouble casting it. He also knew that Harry said that it required supreme confidence that you knew that you could do it.

Ron was not a boy who often had supreme confidence in himself. With dementors on the pitch, their deep chill already reaching him, he should have been in panic, ready to bolt. Ron was not, even when he spotted the dementor descending towards him. Four years of being Harry's sidekick had created a well of courage, of stoutheartedness, that he would not let anyone down when the time came. Recalling the feeling he got when Harry thanked him, he cast, "Expecto Patronum!"

Most people failed at their first attempt. Ron Weasley would have been one of them, if he had not become accustomed to succeeding in do or die situations. He was a boy who was willing, even in his first year, to put his life on the line. It was a do or die situation, and Ron knew it. So the terrier that shot out of his wand to chase the dementor away only surprised him in its form. He'd kind of hoped that he'd have something big and impressive like Harry's stag.

That was only a moment's thought, as he directed his patronus to force the dementor away. The dementor turned away, looking for other, targets, only to run into the trio of patroni of Percy and his teamates. Four patroni were enough to make short work of the dementor, causing it to simply fall apart, pieces of it's cloak drifting towards the pitch, the cold feeling of its approach replaced by the warmth spreading from the increasing number of patroni in the stadium.

It was not just the dementors attacking the stadium, though. Ron found himself dispelling his patronus, as two death eaters appeared nearby. With a cry of "Expelliarmus!" one of the death eaters found himself flying without the aid of a broom over the pitch.

The other turned to face Ron, and he felt a brief stab of fear in his heart. He heard the death eater cry out, "Reducto!" Somehow, Ron found himself dodging the spell. Behind him he heard something explode, but he didn't have time to look. He did smell a strong scent of pumpkin.

"Petrificus Totalus!" Ron responded. He'd practiced that spell since Hermione had used it on Neville during his first year. He was good at it. Nine times out of ten, perhaps a little more, he could drop two of his older siblings with it before they had time to respond. The death eater's arms and legs snapped together and he fell, sliding down the steps before coming to a halt at the rail.

Ron looked around. There were no more death eaters he could see, but Voldemort's mark floated above the stadium. As he watched, his brother flew through the mark, disrupting it with his patronus, which seemed to grow larger as it did so.

The attack was over. Ron wasn't sure what all happened, especially when he found himself suddenly being kissed by Susan Bones. His last thought before he let himself dissolve into the kiss was that he was sure Harry hadn't gotten anything like this for saving a girl.

As the last dementor left the stadium, Percy let his patronus dissolve. He let his broom drift over the stadium, cataloging the damage. The announcer's booth was gone, and several suites appeared to have been blasted. He was sure that at least a few spectators had been cursed or kissed, and his opposite on the Cannons lay on the pitch, staring up blankly, either in shock or kissed. As he cataloged the damage, he heard an annoying buzzing sound by his right ear. His hand shot up, and captured the snitch.

The referee's whistle ending the game had never been such a strange sound.

Draco Malfoy woke up in bed with his Pansy. It was the first time he'd slept the night through with her. They had their own rooms at Windsor Castle, but after the fight the previous night at the side of the Snowdon, Pansy had not wanted Draco to leave.

So Draco had greeted the morning sun with the woman who was having his baby in his arms. Her body pressed up against him, and his arms kept her close. The smell of her namesake flower filled his nose as he took a deep breath against her dark hair. The Malfoy magic had long kept the heirs of the family blond, but secretly, Draco preferred the dark hair of Pansy and her mother.

Much as he wanted to stay in bed with Pansy, he knew he couldn't. The sun coming through the windows reminded him that he had to get to the Wizengamot today. Pansy could, and should sleep in. He untangled himself from her, and carefully slid out from under the covers. Somehow he managed to do so without waking her.

He picked up his discarded clothes, sliding back on his boxers, and carefully left the room for his own. It didn't take long at all for him to return to his room, obtain his clothes for the day, and slide into the shower.

Draco wanted to take the shower head with him when he left Windsor. He loved the way that it eased the kinks out of his back after a long day sitting at the Wizengamot. He knew that this Thursday was going to be a long day. He had two committee meetings in the afternoon, unfortunately they weren't ones with Potter. He'd managed to keep the seat on the Justice Committee, and had somehow been appointed to an ad-hoc committee with Dadalus Diggle and Amos Diggory on Potions instructions. Apparently there were issues with bad information out there.

Stepping out of the shower, Draco dried himself with a quick charm. He was glad that he didn't have to worry about the charge of Underage Magic anymore, not that anyone was watching Windsor Castle for Underage Magic. He donned his Wizengamot robes, checked his hair, and headed towards the floo.

When he arrived at the Ministry, it was bustling with activity, unusual for this early in the morning. Draco picked up a copy of the Daily Prophet and only had to glance at the headline to discover why. He immediately headed for the Wizengamot chambers, not bothering to stop at the Wiltshire offices.

The Wizengamot was already in session, and it didn't sound like it was a normal session at all.

"Order! Order! Order!" Dumbledore's voice sounded horse, as if he had made the cry several times before. "We shall have order on the floor, or the sentries will clear the floor!"

Draco entered in the midst of order being restored, everyone returning to their seats. Potter was in the row in front of Draco's desk. Potter looked exhausted. He wasn't actually in Wizengamot robes, but a torn, scuffed, and burned black muggle suit. It looked like he had come right to the chambers from a melee duel.

"The member from Surrey still has the floor," Dumbledore said after order had been restored.

"Thank you, Chief Warlock," Potter said, standing again. There was a tear in the back of his suit jacket, revealing the once-white shirt below it and a small blood stain. "As I was saying, last night Death Eaters attacked the American Embassy in London. They severely damaged the Embassy, most notably by the removal of the distinctive eagle feature of the building. Fortunately witches and wizards from their Marine Corps guard were able with some assistance to repel the Death Eaters from the Embassy, but only after they were able to enter it and obtain some sensitive documents stored within. The Americans are understandably upset. I'm informed that President Clinton is dispatching his Secretary of Magic, DeConcini, to personally make that known. I do not blame him.

"I spent a good portion of last night at the Embassy, assisting with restoring the damage after working with the Marines. I can assure you that what ever that eagle is made of, it is bloody heavy. I hope that I have managed through those efforts to impart some good will.

"Like it or not, last night was the opening in what can not be called a civil war or internal insurrection. Last night Tom Riddle and his Death Eaters declared war on the United States of America, not just the United Kingdom. There will be a day, very soon, when Riddle will regret that he woke that sleeping dragon.

"I yield the floor to member from Kent," Potter concluded as his knees gave out, and he collapsed into his chair. Almost immediately, the on-call healer was at his seat.

Draco spared little attention to what Madam Bones said. Instead he watched the healer take care of Potter's wounds. It wasn't long before his jacket and shirt were both off as the healer bandaged him up. He was sure that Potter hadn't just helped with the repairs. There was a good chance that Potter had fought off the Death Eaters.

As Draco looked at Potter being cared for, he noticed that just beyond him, staring back at Draco was the member from Cumberland, Pansy's grandfather. Her father was, last Draco heard, excluded from inheriting the seat. It wasn't something often done, because you had to get approval from one of a list of members of the Royal Family. Most pureblood wizards preferred not to deal with the Royal Family on that kind of level, assuming that they even knew where Windsor Castle was.

Draco was going to have to talk to Petros Parkinson soon. He was not worried about Perach Parkinson any more. According to the report that Pansy had managed to obtain from Saint Mungo's, her father was still confined there. Cursing Perach for hitting Pansy and Draco was the one cursing that Draco was glad that his father had done. There was a bit of guilt with that approval, but also a wish that he'd been able to do it instead.

One of Potter's pages was exiting after having delivered a message. Draco struck out his hand to grasp the Hufflepuff as they passed by. "Can you pass some messages on for me?" he asked the shocked boy. The boy nodded. "Ask the member from Cumberland if he's available for lunch, and let Granger and Weasley know about Potter's condition." The boy nodded and headed toward Petros Parkinson.

Draco really needed to get his staff up and running. Perhaps he could take a page from Potter's book. With his turning in his father, he'd cut a lot of ties with members in his house. Among the younger years, however, there were several who he didn't think were connected with the Dark Lord. Perhaps they'd be willing to help him in the office like Potter had got the Hufflepuffs to. If not, well, Potter hadn't raided the Ravenclaws who just finished their second years ... or the Gryffindors for that matter.

Draco smiled as the thought of the reaction that Weasley would have to him, the embodiment of Slytherin for his year, hiring Gryffindors. He nearly laughed at the idea of Dennis Creevy working for him. Then sobering, he considered the idea more. He'd need more than just pages to run errands. Potter's all student summer staff wasn't sustainable, but as Neville had told him, it was only intended as a stop gap measure.

Petros Parkinson caught Draco's eye again, after the page whispered in his ear. He nodded. Draco had a lunch date now. Perhaps he should see if Pansy wanted to join him. She might try to kill him if he didn't at least tell her about the meeting before it happened.

Harry Potter barely made it inside Number Four Privet Drive before collapsing. He'd been told that the potions that he'd been given would only last so long, and advised to go home early. Even then, he'd barely made it to the floo. Then, of course, he'd had to walk all the way from Figg's House on Wisteria Walk, each step taking more out of him than he'd felt when he was fighting Death Eaters on Grosvenor Square.

According to the marines guarding the Embassy, he'd fought the Death Eaters for three hours. Harry didn't remember much of it. He'd put everything he could into protecting that embassy with the Stars and Stripes flying above it. One of the marines had told him that it had given him new appreciation for his nation's anthem. Harry had never heard the anthem. Uncle Vernon had muted the telly every time the "bloody Yanks" had won during the broadcast of the Olympics from Barcelona after Harry's First Year.

As soon as he opened the door, Aunt Petunia was there. "Where have you been?" The tone was harsh, a remnant of many such inquiries in the past. The expression was not, at least by the time Harry looked up at her. He stumbled over the threshold.

Harry was too exhausted to respond, and barely managed to remain standing.

"You'll have to pardon Harry," came a familiar voice from behind. "It seems that after he left dinner with you last night to pick up something he left at his office, he just missed getting crushed by a Death Eater thrown glided eagle from the front of the American Embassy. Deciding to push his luck, even more, the knight errant, joined in it's defense. After the attack was beaten off, he then spent the rest of the night trying to make it look to the public that the attack never happened. This apparently included personally flying up with the aforementioned thirty-five feet wingspan gilded bald eagle and affixing it in place."

Just before Harry's legs went weak, he felt Hermione's arm going under his shoulder. "He then, still not having received any treatment, gave an hour long briefing on the attack to first the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, then to the Wizengamot. Only then did he accept treatment for multiple lacerations, contusions, and who could forget the two broken ribs ... wait a minute, you forgot about those Harry, didn't you?" Harry could only nod. "He was told to go home early and get some rest ... you know Harry, for him to admit he isn't fine ... I'm not certain what it takes, because he always replies that way."

Harry slumped into Hermione's side.

"Anyway, I got nominated to make sure that Harry got home safely," Hermione said. Harry could tell through the haze of his exhaustion that Aunt Petunia was not angry any more. "Can you help me get him up into his room. I don't think he's going to be much help."

Harry barely managed to keep his eyes open as he was practically carried by Hermione and his aunt up the stairs to his room. They laid him on his bed. The mattress was a lot more comfortable that it had been before.

"We should at least take off his shoes and trousers before he goes to sleep," Aunt Petunia said.

"If you don't mind, I have a couple good spells for that," Hermione said.

Aunt Petunia apparently accepted, because the next thing Harry knew he'd been tucked under the covers, and his clothes were shooting out from under them. All of them. If it wasn't for the fact he was so tired, he would have protested. He tried, opening his mouth into a gigantic yawn. The last thing he heard before he collapsed into sleep was "Hearts, Harry?"