Chapter 7 – Attack and Counterattack

The Monday after the trial, Harry gathered with his new betrothed and his friends, and waited for the man who would be giving them some training in combat which Harry was certain he would end up needing sooner, rather than later.

Their group had expanded more than Harry and Fleur had expected. Looking around the room, Harry considered each one of his companions and thought about his relationship with them and their reasons for being there. Hermione and Ron were obvious of course, their friendship forged through four years of almost constant companionship. Though Harry's relationship with Ron had been strained by his friend's actions at the outset of the Triwizard Tournament, he knew Ron would be there when it most counted. Ron was a little flaky at times, but he was loyal. Hermione was not even a question—in one way or another, he had been the center of her world—and he of hers—since they had met on the train. She would never be left out where he was involved.

Fleur was, of course, a given in this endeavor. Not only was she now his intended, but in the few days in which they had had to become better acquainted, he had come to know her as a fierce defender of those who she considered family—clearly, Harry now fit into that group. It was humbling and overwhelming to be considered part of a real family—something he had never had before—but Harry was grateful for her caring and concern.

Likewise, Ginny's motivations were no secret—or at least they were not now that Hermione had explained her actions. What surprised Harry about Ginny was the change that appeared to have come over her since they had met again only two days prior. Upon arriving at the ambassador's manor, Ginny had visibly screwed up her courage and approached him, greeting him with none of the embarrassment and shyness he had expected from her in the past. The annoying squeak was gone, and for that Harry could only be pleased—he hoped to get to know her better, as he suspected she could turn out to be a close friend.

The twins lounged in the corner of the room, speaking quietly with one another, no doubt planning their pranks for the coming year. Not only were they fun to hang out with, but Harry also trusted them—at least he trusted them to have his back when it mattered. In the matter of their pranking, no one was safe from their attentions, but at least Harry knew none of their jokes were meant in a malicious manner. Their presence was also a given, as they had always supported him.

The difficult ones to place were the last two in the room. Neville Longbottom stood speaking with Hermione in quiet tones, his manner as shy and self-effacing as ever, as had been his appearance that morning. Hermione had suggested including him, and with Harry's agreement she made the overture. Harry had been surprised when Neville agreed. While he had not yet had a chance to talk to Neville, he knew the boy considered himself to be a failure—his confidence could only be helped by this undertaking, and Harry figured that was at least part of the reason for his presence.

Finally, his eyes rested upon the final member of their little group—Luna Lovegood. Not knowing her in the slightest, Harry was uncertain as to her presence. He understood that she was a childhood friend of Ginny's—who had invited her to become a member of the little group—but beyond that, his contact with her had been limited to a few words of greeting spoken that very morning. She was sitting by herself, a slight smile on her face while she looked off into the distance at something which only she could see. Hermione told him she was very intelligent, but her ways were somewhat fanciful and odd. Deciding to reserve judgment for himself, Harry had greeted her in a friendly manner, which she had returned with a like sentiment.

Together, Harry was hoping they would make a potent force in the fight against Voldemort. They were all, he suspected—with the exception of Neville, who could not seem to get anything right, and Luna, who he did not know anything about—among the most powerful of their age group, something which would only continue to develop as they matured.

After a few minutes of waiting, the sound of the professor's approach—the characteristic thud-stomp of his gait—was heard through the door, and the man entered, his eye rotating wildly, presumably searching for enemies. He stopped inside the door and regarded the assembled youths with an unreadable expression.

"So you're the recruits I'm to be saddled with," he ground out grumpily.

From behind him, Jean-Sebastian slipped into the room, a wry smile on his face as he watched the showdown between teacher and students. He took a seat in a chair at the back of the room and settled in to watch.

"All right then, let's all get in a line side-to-side, facing me," Moody barked out, turning his back to close the door, clearly expecting his orders to be followed.

A few moments later, the young students were arranged to his liking, he turned back to them with an unreadable expression. The man stumped around the room inspecting his charges for several moments, correcting posture where he found it lacking, admonishing the lack of care of a wand, or an expression lacking the appropriate gravity—the Weasley twins, specifically, were reproved for their irrepressible humor and lightheartedness.

At length he trudged back to the front of the group and once again observed them with a critical eye.

"First, you will all understand that this is no lark," he snapped, peering at each of them in turn. "Anyone who does not treat this with the appropriate level of seriousness will be asked to leave—no exceptions."

He began stumping in front of Harry and his friends, his eyes still affixed upon them as he passed each one. "Death Eaters are deadly serious, and they depend upon ruthlessness and brute force to instill fear in their enemies, and possess the power and the will to use their knowledge for the support of their master. In short, they will kill—and have killed—without a second thought. And killing is not even the worst of their crimes. You are all targets, either by circumstance, your family's political and social beliefs, or by the simple matter of your birth.

"I am here to try to give you the basics in learning how to defend yourselves, not only with the use of curses and hexes, but also in employing various stratagems, learning to outthink your opponents, and above all, knowing when to fight and when to retreat. The last might be the most important thing you will learn. You must never be too proud to admit you are overmatched—living to fight another day must always be your goal in any engagement, as dying in an untenable situation will not help anyone."

Moody was now walking behind them, but the trainees kept their eyes forward. Moody's manner, his words and way of instructing them reminded Harry of certain old war movies he had chanced to see glimpses of in his uncle's house. Vernon had considered himself to be somewhat of a connoisseur of such films and had watched them frequently.

"Now, I do not have the time to teach you everything," Moody continued. "In two weeks you will return to Hogwarts, where I will not be a professor this year. Regardless, as I have other tasks which require my attention, I would not be available to hold your hands. I will try to give you some measure of my experience so that when you leave here, you will be better prepared.

He completed the circle and stopped in front of them, facing the students once more, his face as impassive as when he had entered the room.

"Ground rules! I expect each of you to obey my commands immediately and with no question. I also expect that each of you will give your best effort—if you do not, there is no point in your being here. Finally, I expect you all to practice constant vigilance—there is no way of knowing if someone is a Death Eater unless you are able to check their arm. And the friend you think you know may not even be that, as there are other ways for an enemy to get close to you. Simple Polyjuice potion can be used against you, not to mention the Imperius curse which will turn your friends into your enemies. Practicing watchfulness, and spotting things which are not as they appear, may save your life one day."

He scanned them once again, before his eye alighted on Harry. "Mr. Potter!" he boomed, startling Harry to stand up straighter. "I believe you have seen the Unforgivable Curses in action. What is the best defense against an Unforgivable?"

Harry considered the question for a moment. "I would say it is best not to be caught in the curse's path."

A smile, almost like a grimace, came over Moody's face. "A very good defense indeed. Listen to Mr. Potter's answer—no shield will work against the Unforgivable Curses, and you had better not be there when one is cast at you.

"Other than that, the only way to defend against them is the use of the summoning charm to intercept the beam—which can be a tricky piece of timing, I can tell you—or the use of battle transfiguration for the same purpose. We will cover both of these defenses, and although I do not expect any of you to master them for some time, I do expect you to give your best effort and learn the basics, which you will then practice.

"We will also be covering the art of dueling and you will learn some of the basic concepts which duelists will use to get a leg up on their opponents. However, you must remember that while dueling is a very important foundation upon which to build, it will not get you through a life and death struggle in a true combat situation. The art of dueling has a set of rules by which each duelist must abide—of course, a true fight does not have any rules, nor could you expect a Death Eater to abide by any such rules if they did exist.

"A fight with a Death Eater will generally be short and dirty, with each of you using every trick you can think of to get the better of the other. Clear your thoughts of long drawn out struggles between two titans which fill literature, as they have no place in the real world. I will teach you how to duel first and then I will teach you how to fight. There are some tricks you can learn which will help you to gain the upper hand, and I'm certain that some of the other adults will have some valuable things to teach you in addition. Learn everything you can—you never know when a piece of insignificant knowledge will save your life."

He once again paused and gazed at each of the youths in turn. "Again, you will not be able to master these techniques in the brief time we have available, but by the time you return to Hogwarts, you will at least have a foundation in these subjects, and I will give you further exercises for you to use while you are at school to hone your skills. Assuming you all do well, we will continue these sessions next summer.

"Now, does everyone understand?"

"Yes, sir," the group intoned.

They started with some simple stances, the professor teaching them how best to position themselves and to move, stating that good balance was key to being able to not only fight, but also to defend oneself. From the balancing instruction, the moved to various exercises which would help them shift from stance to stance, as well as to dodge, roll, and otherwise ensure that they could move about during a combat situation in the most efficient manner, while retaining their ability to respond to attacks. And though there were some grumbles from the assembled students of how they wanted to get to the dueling and fighting, Moody was firm, telling them repeatedly that they needed to learn to walk before they could even think about running.

What struck Harry throughout the course of the day was the man himself. He was fair but strict, exacting a high level of commitment from his charges, while putting his all into teaching them what he felt they needed to know. He was clearly knowledgeable, if his years as a top Auror had not already convinced them of his fitness, and the manner in which he taught them was concise and exact, yet his words and demonstrations were designed to be quickly understood and acted upon. When questioned, he told them that the methods he was teaching them were quite similar to what trainee Aurors were taught, modified slightly to account for their younger years and incomplete education. He was effusive with his praise, especially toward Harry, who he almost seemed to consider a prodigy who was his personal responsibility. Harry returned the favor by giving his all, picking up the exercises with ease and helping to instruct the others where required. DADA had always been Harry's favorite class—he was enjoying himself immensely.

But what surprised Harry the most, was the sense of familiarity he had with the professor. In fact, if Harry had not known that the Professor Moody he remembered from his fourth year Defense Against the Dark Arts class was an imposter, he would never have believed that they were not the same person. Whatever Barty Crouch, Jr. had been, a poor actor was not one of them. The man should have been presented an Academy Award, based on the minute details of the grizzled Auror which he had acted out so flawlessly.

There was one memorable event which occurred during the course of the day. Moody had just asked them to do some basic spell casting using the stances he had just taught them, when he pulled up short at the sight of Neville struggling to cast a simple spell through his wand.

"Mr. Longbottom! What appears to be the matter?"

Neville blushed and stammered that everything was fine, but that did not placate the observant Auror.

"Do not try to cover up your struggles, son," Moody admonished. "You appear to be trying to force your spell through your wand, when your magic should be working in tandem with the wand to produce the desired effect. Where did you get that wand?"

"From my G-Grandmother," Neville stammered. "It was my father's."

Moody's remaining eye widened at Neville's admission and he held his hand out, inspecting it carefully once Neville had deposited it in his hand.

"I knew your parents, Mr. Longbottom," he said quietly, "the same as I knew Mr. Potter's." He nodded in Harry's direction. "Good people, excellent Aurors, they were. I was privileged to serve with them.

"Unfortunately, it appears to me that your wand does not match you, which makes casting anything very difficult. I recommend you visit Mr. Ollivander's shop and purchase a new wand which will match you more closely. If you don't, you will have trouble casting even the simplest magic for the rest of your life."

Neville appeared flabbergasted. "Really? But Gran… I thought I could use my father's wand because of our close relationship."

Moody shook his head and clasped Neville around the shoulders. "While it is true that children often have somewhat of an affinity for their parents' wands, we are all different and there is no guarantee. You go today after we are finished here and get a new wand. Tell your grandmother that I insisted. I don't think she will be upset—you will always have a piece of your father with you, as long as you possess his wand."

Thanking him, Neville moved away to continue his exercises, while appearing deep in thought. Harry was glad for his friend—while he could understand wishing to keep something of his parents' close to him, Mr. Ollivander's words from his visit still echoed through his mind. "The wand chooses the wizard, Mr. Potter." Hopefully, Neville would improve once he had his new wand.

The day ended with another pep talk from the professor, and they all separated to go their separate ways. In Harry's mind he felt as though he was finally beginning to obtain the skills he would require to take on Voldemort. It was a welcome feeling.

"I hereby call this session of the Wizengamot of Britain to order!"

Albus Dumbledore surveyed the Wizengamot chambers, thinking, with some distraction, that this was the first meeting of the English legislative body since Harry's trial the previous week. There would undoubtedly be some fireworks—especially a certain piece of legislation which he had found through his contacts would be presented. He was not disappointed.

The meeting started much the same as any other, with talks of the state of country, any news as to the activities of known Death Eaters (Fudge's denial of the Dark Lord's return making the topic of Voldemort specifically taboo), budgets—including a call for the Ministry to increase the Auror budget, which Dumbledore had proposed himself—and the other unexciting, yet necessary minutia which characterized any other meeting of the august body.

The arrival of the legislative portion of the meeting signaled the beginning of the true battle to be waged that day. When the Ministry propositions had been dealt with, Dumbledore opened the floor to private members' bills, and, as expected, the unsightly, pink cardigan-clad figure of the Minister's lackey stood and cleared her voice with her customary, "Hem, hem."

"Honored members," she began in her shrill voice, "I stand before you today outraged as one of our long-established institutions is under attack from forces which would see it tarnished and reduced to a shadow of its former glory."

A murmur welled up in the chamber at the woman's audacious and inflammatory words, and Dumbledore sat back and listened with a half smile on his face. This was politics at its finest (so to speak); impassioned speeches, outrage, and the playing upon the emotions, traditions, and solidarity of the body in order to accomplish a purpose.

Regardless, Dumbledore thought with a sardonic smile, Umbridge was a duffer in the political arena and her words—while she was doing a credible job of liberally sprinkling her speech with provocative statements—were not as affective as they would have been had they been delivered by a true orator. Umbridge—and by extension Minister Fudge, and Dumbledore assumed his financial backer Malfoy—would lose the vote here today, and would have even if Dumbledore had not held an ace up his sleeve.

"While perhaps some of you may not be aware of the threat to our way of life, I am certain all will be incensed by what I have to say here today. Our beloved national education institution of Hogwarts, which many of you here today attended in your youths, is on the brink of accepting those who should truly be kept away from its hallowed halls.

"Case in point, I direct you to our esteemed Headmaster, who also leads this body, and question some of the decisions he has made with regard to who is allowed to attend our beloved institution. In fact, we all know of the dark creature he allowed to teach our children, and we know that that same dark creature was allowed to attend Hogwarts many years ago as a student. How can he justify this travesty?"

She sneered at Dumbledore, the curl of her lip completely incongruous with the lurid pink of her robes and the nasally whine of her voice. Dumbledore almost laughed aloud at the spectacle she was making of herself and wondered why the minister would saddle himself with her—likely because she was the only one he could induce to take him seriously.

A quick glance at the Minister revealed his attention on the pink-clad woman, but his face betrayed no emotion as he listened to her words. Dumbledore knew Minister Fudge was a willing conspirator in this attempt, but that concept had been the Undersecretary's. The Minister himself, however, wished to keep himself aloof and maintain the fiction he stood for the people, rather than the highest bidder, which was why he had left it to her.

"In response to this grievous threat, I have come before this body today with a proposal to bar those unfit from attending our beloved institution, or any of our other schools in Britain." The woman's eyes fairly glowed with her fanatical devotion and self-righteous indignation, and she cast her eyes about the chamber, her gaze almost seeming to imperiously demand the cooperation of the Wizengamot. "The copies of the proposed law are being distributed by the clerks. In considering this legislation, I would ask each of you to truly consider what is best for our land, and whether we wish to educate those creatures who mean us harm so they may further perpetrate their nefarious deeds against us all. I thank you for your time, and ask for your support and your honorable attention in this matter."

The member sat down and Dumbledore, once he had received the parchment detailing the Undersecretary's proposition, glanced down the sheet, taking in the details of her foolhardy plan. It was similar to other documents he had seen over the years, rife with pureblood dogma and full of defamatory and incendiary statements. It was nothing less than he would have expected from such a short-sighted woman.

After a few moments had passed, Dumbledore set the parchment down on the desk in front of him, and steepled his fingers in front of him as he considered the matter at hand. The Wizengamot was a conservative body, it was true, but it was not necessarily a forum for blood purists and bigots. Like any other organization, it had its share of factions ranging from the true Pureblood fanatics, right down through the spectrum to the moderates who knew there was no basis to Voldemort's dogma. In fact, the truly fanatical members were very small in number, and those who sympathized with their beliefs, although not overt followers of the Dark Lord, were only slightly more numerous. Like most groups of intelligent beings gathered together, the majority of those in the group were intelligent, honest, and reasonable, with only a few zealots who sometimes gave the entire group a poor reputation.

Which was why Dumbledore was somewhat puzzled with the Minister's move. Even without the threat of Harry leaving Britain to attend Beauxbatons, there was little chance of this bill ever being passed. Dumbledore fancied that he had more than enough support to overrule Umbridge's bill with little to no trouble. What could Fudge mean by it? Was this a prelude to something else, or was the minister so ineffectual that he actually thought he would pass this tripe just because he wished it?

It was a problem for another time, perhaps—the rustling of parchment had largely ceased, and more than one member was now looking to him to initiate the debate.

"Thank you, Madam Umbridge," Dumbledore said, rising to his feet. "A proposal for a new law has been put before the Wizengamot. I now invite discussion on the bill before we put it to a vote."

There were a few murmurs as the members discussed the issue amongst themselves. A man stood on the far end of the chambers, motioning that he would like to speak. Dumbledore bowed affably and recognized him. "Jonas Strong has the floor."

The man bowed in response before directing his gaze across the chamber. Strong was a tall, handsome man in his middle years, and though he was normally an intelligent and somewhat moderate sort of man, he had a disturbing tendency to vote with the Pureblood block on seemingly random occasions.

"Thank you, Chief Warlock. Before we get into discussion of this… bill Madam Umbridge has put before us, I wish to discuss this issue she raised of a werewolf who attended Hogwarts. I must say that I—and many of my colleagues—were surprised to find that not only had such a dark creature attended the institution, but also that he was hired to teach one of the core courses. I would like to ask the Headmaster to account for this."

Smiling, Dumbledore rose and stood before the chamber. "I might remind Member Strong, that though werewolves are technically deemed to be dark creatures, they are only truly dangerous on one night in a lunar month, unless they are known to be an insane criminal such as Fenrir Greyback. The student in question was never a danger to the student population—he was sequestered during his night every month. Besides, as per the Hogwarts charter, I have no authority to deny anyone an education who wishes it—as I told our esteemed Minister only days ago," he nodded at Minister Fudge, who had allowed a slight frown to come over his face, "the charter is very clear on this matter."

Dumbledore glanced around the room, seeing the nods of agreement on the faces of many. This was the true measure of a politician, and Dumbledore was, at heart, a political animal. "As for the professor, the same precautions were taken during his tenure. You are all well aware of the difficulty in finding suitable professors for the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts, and having to find a replacement every year is difficult and taxing. In addition, I believe that if you were to ask the students, the majority of them would declare that the professor in question was the best teacher I have been able to find for the post in several years. If not for the outcry against his being employed at Hogwarts, I would still have him as a professor, I assure you."

Strong said nothing in response—he merely nodded and sat, seemingly considering the matter in a thoughtful manner.

"This is all very interesting," Madam Longbottom interrupted, "but I believe we had best focus on the present, rather than discussing the past."

The Longbottoms—truly ambassadors for the light, and had been for several centuries. The current matriarch was a tough, no-nonsense woman, who had stood for her family for more than thirty years since the death of her late husband. A more formidable political foe was difficult to find, though her choice of headwear was somewhat suspect…

"Your proposal, Madam Umbridge, is very… interesting." The Undersecretary's face darkened at the contemptuous way in which Lady Longbottom expressed her opinion of the bill. "But, in essence, I believe that this bill is a measure to prevent those undesirables from attending any of our educational institutions, am I correct?"

Umbridge nodded, a pleasant—and patently insincere—expression plastered upon her face.

"In that case, Undersecretary, I wonder at the wording of your proposal. In particular, you use the word 'creature' several times over in this document. However, I would like to know who would determine the definition of the word, in light of the many disparate peoples with whom we come in daily contact."

"I second Madam Longbottom's question," Dumbledore interrupted. "For example, does creature refer to any who are not human? And if so, what about those who are of mixed blood? There are those who are part goblin, giant, and some who have fairy blood, among others. How do they fall into this definition of yours?"

"An important question to be sure," Umbridge simpered. "We shall designate a committee to study the matter and come to a determination as to the precise definition."

"A committee designated by you?" Amelia Bones snapped.

"The Minister is responsible for enacting the laws passed by this body into law. He shall set up the commission to determine the exact standards of those we allow into our school system."

"Do you not think it dangerous to pass a law which does not clearly define its own aims, Madam Umbridge?" asked Lady Longbottom. "It seems to me that if you wish to deprive certain beings access to various benefits of society, that you had best classify exactly what—and whom—is being denied."

"Exactly!" another voice spoke up. Porter Friesinger was a moderate whose family had come to Britain some centuries early from Germany, and were also rumored to claim fairy blood in their past, though the family was largely Pureblood from the time they emigrated. "I should not like to vote for a law which would prevent my own family from gaining an education."

"Mr. Friesinger, I am certain we can come to some accommodation and make an exception for… certain members of good standing, whose loyalty and pedigree are well known." Umbridge's simpering voice was even more grating in her obviously rising annoyance. Moreover, it was clear in the instant that she finished her statement, that she had made an error of judgment. In order to carry the day, she would have to convince those moderate members who had certain elitist tendencies. However, this selective ban that she now appeared to be proposing was now clearly exposed for the intolerance it espoused.

"You cannot have it both ways," Lady Longbottom said in a stern tone, her disapproval clear in the censure of her words. "You propose to disallow all 'creatures' from attending due to the danger of educating them, and now you propose that there can be exceptions. Are there exceptions to the safety of our children? Are there those who are creatures that mean us harm, yet will be eligible to attend due to some… exception? And who would determine just whom will be awarded an exception? Really, Madam Umbridge, you appear to have given this little thought. Perhaps you should go away and redraft your proposal—if you were to bar all truly dangerous creatures, such as vampires or giants from Hogwarts, it may be something I could support. Of course, as we have never had such creatures attempt to infiltrate our education system in the past, your bill appears to be worth less than the parchment upon which it is printed. I would ask you to avoid wasting the Wizengamot's time."

The mottled red of Umbridge's face indicated the complete loss of her patience, but Dumbledore, deciding that it was time to end this farce of a proposal, cut in before she could reply.

"Come, Madam Umbridge, let us be honest with one another, don't you think?" he said, keeping a careful eye on her reaction to his words, along with the reaction of her superior. "I hardly think there is anyone in this chamber who does not understand the reason for your reticence in defining your words. Your strategy is to get your law passed and then leave the rest up to the Minister to further define your target group… or the particular person you target, is that not correct?"

"I have no idea what of you are speaking," the Undersecretary snapped.

"On the contrary, Madam, I believe you understand me perfectly," was Dumbledore's steely response. He glared at her for several moments before she was forced to look away. He smiled grimly in response.

"Your proposal is meaningless—the friendlier races, such as goblins and centaurs—are contemptuous of us and our brand of magic, and have no desire to attend Hogwarts, even should we extend the invitation. The darker groups, by contrast, have no interest in being educated by us, and would not fit into our society even if they did.

"And as for those others who I have no doubt you would brand as 'creatures,' lycanthropy is a well-documented disease which does not take away the humanity of a person. And as for Veela…"

No one in the room missed Dumbledore's emphasis, least of all Umbridge. "Yes, I know what the thrust of this… this travesty is," Dumbledore snapped, waving the parchment in the air before crushing it in his fist. All trace of the grandfatherly persona he often projected was now gone in favor of making an impression upon this stupid woman of just how formidable he could be when provoked.

"Make no mistake, esteemed members," he continued, addressing the entire chamber. "If this bill passes and Miss Delacour is not allowed to attend Hogwarts with her betrothed, then Mr. Potter may very well decide that he has had enough of us. I have heard from my French counterpart, and Madame Maxine has assured me that Harry Potter will be welcome at Beauxbatons any time he chooses. If you wish to be the means of forcing one of this nation's greatest heroes away from our shores, then I suggest you support this bill. If you are a right-thinking, rational person, then the choice is clear—Madam Umbridge's proposal is defamatory and discriminatory. It must be defeated.

"Now, I call for a vote on the member's private bill."

"Seconded!" exclaimed Amelia Bones.

Needless to say, the members of the Wizengamot, unwilling to appear to the Wizarding public as though they had driven Harry Potter from Britain, were cowed by Dumbledore's words. The motion was defeated soundly.

Cornelius Fudge, Minister for Magic of Magical Britain, sat behind his desk, at once amused and annoyed by the spectacle he was witnessing. The meeting of the Wizengamot had concluded over an hour earlier, and while his senior Undersecretary had arrived almost ten minutes previous, she had not stopped her ranting and raving the entire time she had been in his office. Even now she paced in front of his desk, her screeching grating on his nerves, the way she threw her hands up in the air to punctuate her words making him concerned her gyrations would cause her to suddenly take flight.

Such an absurd thought to have at such a time—he shook his head and smiled at the incongruousness of the thought paired with the situation. On the other hand, it was difficult not having such thoughts about such an absurd woman. Unfortunately, his smile had not gone unnoticed by his companion.

"…and I cannot countenance such effrontery, such disregard for the standing and honor of those of us—"

Umbridge stopped and rounded on the Minister, her chubby face turning red in her anger. "Minister!" she demanded in her typical shrill voice, which was rendered even higher by her agitated state. "How can you smile at a time like this? These… beasts are threatening our society, our way of life, and our very existence as a noble social order which must be the envy of all the world. Can you countenance this even for a moment?"

"Madam Undersecretary, I am certain you are well within your rights to be outraged by the defeat of your proposition in the Wizengamot." Actually, Fudge, not having much more than a rudimentary loyalty to anything other than his wallet, was indifferent to her schemes. What mattered was his ability to stay in power, and unless she went along with his plans, her ability to continue to forward her own agenda would also be seriously compromised—even the most fervent Pureblood fanatic, unlikely as it was that such a person could actually be elected to be the next Minister, would have a difficult time putting up with her. "However, you must consider the fact that it was by no means certain that your motion would pass, and given the state of the Wizengamot with Mr. Potter's acquittal last week, I dare say your defeat was inevitable."

Eyes narrowed, the Undersecretary stared at him with suspicion. "Do you mean to tell me that you expected my motion to be defeated?" she demanded, indignation evident in her tone.

Apparently the expression on his face told her everything she needed to know, as her expression became flinty and she sniffed at him in disdain. "In that case, Minister, I wonder why you allowed me to make a fool of myself before the Wizengamot and even encouraged me to do so."

"You need no encouragement from anyone to make yourself into the fool," Fudge thought to himself.

Out loud he merely gestured her to a chair and leaned back in his, considering the proper response that would maintain her loyalty, while allowing him to continue to employ her as his own personal attack dog to be pointed directly at Dumbledore and his annoying little lackey.

"Madam Umbridge, I am most surprised at you," he finally said with a hint of reproof in his voice. "I should have thought that a woman of your political acumen would have read the situation and understood the thrust of my allowing you to present your legislation."

Her eyes softened at the flattery, even while she appeared to become more thoughtful. In truth, the woman had no political acumen whatsoever, and was merely guided by her prejudices and wishes for a society in which her definition of what was right and proper was allowed to rule over the rest.

"I can only assume that you misread what I had seen due to your righteous indignation," Fudge continued, taking great care to appeal to her vanity. "The situation in the Wizengamot was such that a motion which would even appear to be even remotely detrimental to young Harry Potter had no chance at success. If you had perhaps been able to phrase your proposal in language which was a little more… reasonable, there may been a slight chance it its being carried, but the likelihood—now that Potter has been exonerated and publicly linked to the Veela—of it being passed was never great.

"In short, I allowed you to proceed as a distraction to Dumbledore. He and I are engaged in a power struggle for control of our government, as you well know, and if he were to be able to best me, I shudder to think what would happen to the society we all love. We would be overrun with Mudbloods and those of less than human ancestry, no doubt."

The woman was silent for several moments, though here glare did not lessen. "So you allowed me to be a… diversion!" she spat at length.

"I allowed you to create a diversion," Fudge replied with aplomb. "There is a fine distinction. You are not the diversion, but your proposal was. Dumbledore must now watch and be afraid of a modified version of your proposal being slipped past him, which will take his attention from other matters, including your coming installment at Hogwarts. You have not forgotten that have you?"

"I have not," she responded slowly.

Fudge knew he had her—she had been basking in the fact that he had entrusted her with such an important design ever since he had first informed her of it.

"Good," Fudge said, allowing his approval to be conveyed by his voice. She truly was a useful tool in that she was manic in attacking whatever he pointed her at, and he could disavow her actions if she went too far, as she was well known to be a fanatic. Hopefully, in this instance she would be able to curb her natural tendencies and accomplish the complete takeover of the school.

"Always keep the goal in sight, Madam," he admonished. "Removing Hogwarts from the Headmaster's control is the first step in our plan to neuter him. Once we can prove he is unfit for that role, it will be easier to unseat him from the Wizengamot and completely marginalize him. And without Dumbledore's support, Harry Potter will be completely without any power. Then with Dumbledore out of the way and Potter shunted to the side, we will be able to claim the moral high ground, quash any hint of this ludicrous story of the return of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, and proceed with building our society into one which will be the envy of the world.

"But in order to achieve this goal, I will need to you adhere to the plan and gradually take over control of the school. Remove Dumbledore from his positions of power, Madam, then we will have the upper hand."

Umbridge's smile became truly unpleasant—Fudge thought she may have intended it to be predatory, but he could not imagine any short, plump predators clad entirely in pink. It was a most disturbing sight, and one which would undoubtedly take an excess of brandy to remove from his consciousness.

After another day of training with the demanding and critical Alastor Moody, Ron Weasley stumbled from the Floo, ignoring his brothers and sister who followed him, and trudged up the stairs to his room in the Burrow, thankful that another day had come to a close. It seemed that every part of him ached, and he was certain he had never worked this hard before in his life. Moody was trying to kill them—of that, he was convinced.

Still, though Ron was perhaps not the most motivated or studious sort of person, the training and the things he had learned filled him with a… pride, for want of a better term—pride in what he was doing. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named had returned, after all, and his best friend was still the number one target. Ron would not sit back on the sidelines while Harry was threatened—he would stand and fight.

On the other front… The thought of Hermione brought a grimace to his face. He had not wavered for an instant in his determination to woo his brainy friend, and he was quickly coming to realize that Hermione was not the plain young woman he had always thought her to be—she was growing and filling in nicely, and was now a girl who he thought would command considerable attention as she continued to mature. Much as he regretted it, he knew that previously, his desire to be with her was something of a desire not to lose to Harry again, but now that had changed—she was perhaps not the statuesque beauty he had always noticed in the past, but she was attractive in her own right. The fact that they fought constantly…

That, he firmly pushed from his mind. Their arguing had the earmarks of an old married couple's relationship—everyone said so. It was logical to assume—as his desired girlfriend was so fond of stating—that their relationship was ready to move to the more official one which he desired. If only it were that easy…

He was trying—he certainly was. He had attempted to tone down their disagreements, he tried to speak of her favorite things, and he endeavored to show her that he really cared. It did not seem to be working. She acted suspiciously around him, almost as though she thought he was trying to put one over on her, and moreover, his attempts to appear interested in the things which were important to her she seemed to see through with ease. If only she were interested in the things he was—he could talk about Quidditch and chess forever!

The door to his room banged open, and Ron sat up in surprise, as his two elder brothers entered the room.

"Hello Ronnikins, fancy meeting you here!" exclaimed one twin.

"It's a surprise to see our brother in his own room, Gred?"

"No, perhaps not, Forge. It just seemed like a good way to open the conversation."

The other twin nodded sagely. Ron, however, was not in the mood to deal with his ever-exuberant brothers.

"Do you two have a reason for bugging me?"

The twins shared a smirk. "Was that a hint of surliness I heard from our ungrateful brother?"

"I believe it was," replied the other. "And it's particularly rude of him, considering the fact that we came to help him, don't you think?"

"I concur, brother."

"Help me what?" Ron demanded.

"Well, Ron, it appears your attempts to woo the lovely Miss Granger have run into an impasse."

Ron attempted to react nonchalantly. "What are you guys talking about?"

Fred raised an eyebrow. "It appears that little Ronnie is trying to play stupid."

"An easy endeavor, to be sure."

Though Ron's anger was about to explode, George moved quickly to prevent him from erupting. "Ron, don't ever think that we're blind. The only one you are not fooling with your little puppy dog devotion is Moody, and I doubt he can tear his attention away from his paranoid delusions long enough to see your romantic fumblings."

"But have no fear, George and I have come to your rescue."

Though Ron was suspicious and angry at his brothers' teasing, he was desperate enough to grasp at just about anything. "What do you mean?"

The soft sound of something hitting his bed brought Ron's attention away from his brothers. A book? What good would that do?

"That book, Ronnie, is the ticket to your successful wooing of your lovely lady."

"Read the cover, Ron."

Looking down, Ron noted the wizarding illustration of a young woman holding the hand of a young man as they walked along a street, a look of utter devotion on her face. They were surrounded by delicate flowers and vines, which weaved and intertwined with each other, no doubt a subtle example of what was occurring between the couple in the picture. The title of the book was emblazoned upon the top in lurid red letters, Twelve Fail-Safe Ways to Charm Witches.

Ron glanced back up at his brothers to see them smirking at him. "Just read the book, Ron. It tells you how you can mold yourself into boyfriend material."

"No guarantee that she will go out with you, but at least you'll have a fighting chance."

They smiled, identical evil grins, before they turned as one and left he room, leaving Ron alone with the book. Curiously, Ron opened it and began leafing through its pages. The irony of using a book to gain Hermione's affections was not lost on Ron, but as desperate as he was, he was willing to resort to just about anything. Hopefully, she would see he was serious about connecting with her.

"I know you are indignant about his, Jean-Sebastian, but I believe there is no response to make at this time."

Jean-Sebastian stopped his pacing and glared at Dumbledore. "A member of your government just attempted to brand my daughters as creatures, and all you can say is that I should let the insult slide? At the very least I should be giving your Minister a stinging set-down, if not pulling Fleur—and Harry—from Hogwarts immediately."

Dumbledore smiled faintly. "I understand your need to protect your daughter. However, I believe it would be absolutely pointless to protest directly to the Minister. It would only give him possible ammunition to demand that you are removed from your post."

"As though my Minister would listen to him," Jean-Sebastian replied with a derisive snort. "Alain's opinion of Fudge is perhaps worse than my own."

"That may be," Dumbledore agreed pleasantly. "However, the situation has been dealt with. Even if I did not remind the Wizengamot of the consequences of barring your daughter from Hogwarts, I do not think that Fudge had anywhere close to the number of necessary votes to pass the law. No, this was nothing more than a diversionary tactic, and a rather obvious one at that."

Jean-Sebastian did not like what Dumbledore was suggesting, but he was conscious of the fact that nothing could be gained by storming into the British Minister's office and threatening him within an inch of his life. Much as he would like to do exactly that…

Flinging himself into a chair, Jean-Sebastian considered his companion, even as he worked to calm his inflamed emotions.

"What do you suggest then?"

A shrug was his response, prompting Jean-Sebastian to narrow his eyes.

"You do not need to take make that face, Jean-Sebastian," Dumbledore said with a chuckle. "At this point, we can do nothing but wait for Fudge to make his move. I do not doubt that it will be something aimed at discrediting me—you and your family enjoy diplomatic immunity, after all, and I do not think he will be foolish enough to attack you directly."

The man was right—much though Jean-Sebastian wished he was not. But that did not change the fact that he would not allow the man to persecute his family, a family which now included Harry.

"I will not allow your government to target my family, Dumbledore—officially or unofficially. If Fudge attempts to make it difficult for Fleur, I will leave the country and not look back."

"I understand," Dumbledore affirmed. "However, I would ask you to trust us. My staff and I will ensure Fleur's safety and wellbeing at Hogwarts, and I will be vigilant in the Wizengamot, though I doubt that Fudge will try again so soon."

It was the best he was going to get at the moment, Jean-Sebastian reflected. He knew what he was getting into when he agreed to Sirius' plan to help Harry, and he had no choice but to ride out the storm. It did not change the fact that he had not expected such open opposition from the Minister himself. Perhaps the Minister was something they need to change…

"I will leave it in your hands, Dumbledore," he finally responded. "But I think it is high time we speak of your Minister. He has done nothing about Voldemort's return and I believe we should begin planning for his ultimate removal."

"I agree. It will become the main focus of the Order, along with the ongoing effort against Voldemort."

The two men spoke deep into the night, speaking, planning, discarding, and ultimately agreeing on nothing, but both feeling that they had begun to approach a method for accomplishing their goal. Jean-Sebastian was still concerned about his children, but he knew that they would be protected at Hogwarts. He would need to do his part, from attempting to convince the English government to take the threat of Voldemort seriously, to acting as a liaison to his own government. He did not for a moment believe that the Voldemort problem was merely a British one.

Updated 05/09/2013