Part Three: Dance of Life

by Taliath

Harry smiled lightly in amusement.

"—WILL NOT BE IN THE ORDER!" shouted Mrs. Weasley. She visibly tried to calm herself, her breathing harsh with the effort. "No. I will not hear of it!"

Ron opened his mouth. "But, Mum—"

She turned to glare at him with a most ferocious expression. He withered before her. "No 'but's, young man! Oh no, dear, you won't! And that goes for Hermione and Neville—" Neville seemed to shrink a little at Mrs. Weasley's mention of him, but Hermione attempted in vain to match the woman's glare "—as well! How could you even suggest such a thing, Professor?"

Harry had arrived just moments after Professor McGonagall had informed Mrs. Weasley as to why Ron, Neville, and Hermione had been invited to the Order meeting—after the interim Headmistress had revealed to the mother of seven that they would be inducted as members of the Order of the Phoenix. It was very apparent that Mrs. Weasley was greatly against the idea.

"Mrs. Weasley," said Hermione, struggling very evidently to keep her tone from becoming rude. "I know you care a lot about us—but you're not my mum, and she's already given me permission—"

"Oh, nonsense, darling," said Mrs. Weasley forcefully. "You could hardly hope your Muggle parents would know what kind of dangerous things you'd be getting into! No, no—I don't mean to offend you, dear—but you must see my point! You'd best listen to me."

"Or," interrupted Harry smoothly as he stepped through the door into the Headmistress's office, "perhaps we could listen to what Professor McGonagall has to say?" He smiled graciously at the astonished looks on many Order members' faces and gave a small nod to the interim Headmistress. It seemed everyone had gathered already and had been entertaining themselves with watching Mrs. Weasley before he had interrupted. Harry couldn't help but feel amused.

It appeared that without Dumbledore's furniture and furnishings, the office was just large enough to accommodate the remaining members of the Order of the Phoenix—and that was with everyone standing fairly comfortably, for there were no seats available as of yet.

"Well, no need for everyone to be standing so," said Harry calmly into the silence. "Allow me." He drew his wand and waved it easily, and couches appeared with soft popping noises under the members' legs, tripping them and forcing them to sit down. He permitted a small smile of amusement to show on his face at their surprise—their facial expressions were so delightfully entertaining. Only Alastor Moody kept a stony face, though Harry thought he could detect a sense of suspicion and wariness about the man, as the Auror stared at him. Moody was obviously still brooding over the other day.

"Now that we're all comfortable," he said lightly, "let's continue the earlier discussion, shall we? I believe it's Professor McGonagall's turn to speak." He gently lowered himself onto his own seat and looked attentively at the professor.

Professor McGonagall's lips were twitching slightly, though she managed to control it before speaking, and she said evenly, "Thank you, Mr. Potter. Now, Molly, I understand that you are hesitant about allowing Ronald to join the Order, but you must understand that your son has been through more trials these past few years than perhaps most adults—"

"But that's exactly it, Professor!" cried Mrs. Weasley in despair. "Ron—he's only seventeen—only just of age—not a fighter against You-Know Who! He's a child—"

"I think you'll find him to disagree most astutely with that statement," observed Harry pleasantly. "But do continue what you were about to say." He ignored the looks of complete bewilderment that many were sending his way and simply continued to peer attentively at Mrs. Weasley.

Mrs. Weasley didn't seem to notice that it had been Harry who had said it, and simply looked at her son with anguish and desolation. "Ron, I can't lose you—so many have died already—if I lose you, any of you—" she looked around at her family "—I just can't—I've already lost a family once!" She let out an involuntary wail of misery and began to sob as her grief overwhelmed her. She leaned into Mr. Weasley's arms, and whispered unsteadily through her tears, "I c-can't lose my family a-again."

Everyone was silent and still, even Ron, for what could anyone say to that? Oh, it was easy to think what everyone should have done—fight on for the good cause! Never give up!—and in the realms of fantasy and fiction, everyone would have done just that. But when faced with true horror, with absolute death, and with genuine war—it was never so easy.

Harry spoke after another moment, his voice sad and grave. "We can all, to some degree, understand and empathise with you, Mrs. Weasley. After all, we've all at some point lost someone—or in cases such as yours and my own—more than one to this war effort. Yet, allow me to ask: will you throw their deaths away as you would something of no value? Will you throw away the ideals and the hopes and the dreams that they gave their lives for? They died, so we could fight. They sacrificed themselves so we could be free from terror and from oppression. Lord Voldemort has done us grave injury—yet will you allow such injuries to fester and worsen?"

He looked around at everyone now, meeting each of their gazes one by one, and gently shook his head. "No. No, we must clean the wounds, we must rid them of all sickness, and we must allow them heal—swiftly and without delay. Don't allow the deaths of your family, and your friends, cause you to stumble in this march to war, Mrs. Weasley. They died for a cause—will you now throw their sacrifices away because you refused to allow yourself to turn from the past, and look to the future?"

Harry now had everyone's absolute attention. They gazed at him, not with disbelief nor with bewilderment, but with attentive ears drinking in what he had to say. He was no longer just Harry Potter, a seventeen-year-old boy, but something much more. For though he was not altogether conscious of it, he had a commanding presence now—such as he had never possessed before—of power and of authority, of knowledge and of wisdom. He exuded the charisma and the poise of a leader, and conveyed a sense of force and capacity.

Just like Dumbledore had once asserted. And this drew the attention of the Order of the Phoenix, and held it.

He continued softly. "There is a reality we must face, all of us—Dumbledore is dead, and we are gearing up to face one of the greatest battles in history." He remembered fighting in two wars now—first Grindelwald's, the second Lord Voldemort's. Both were gruesome—but this third one would be beyond inhumane. "We are at war." He paused, then repeated sadly, "We are at war—and I have nothing to offer but blood, toil, tears and sweat. Many have died already, and many are perhaps dying this moment—but for certainty many will die in the future. We face before us a road paved with pain and suffering, a path winding much with misery and torment. I will not sugarcoat it—we are about to enter a phase in our lives consisting of many months of struggle, and of fighting, and of battles lost. Yet we must not give up. We must wage war with all our might and all our strength—for victory. Without it, there can be no survival.

"But the future, if we fight and when we win, will be one free from Lord Voldemort—can you imagine it? Think of the past thirteen years before Voldemort's resurrection, remember the peace and the happiness and the utter relief of the wizarding world during those intervening years. Now imagine that future for our children and their children—and contrast it with what you remember of the first war against Lord Voldemort, and this coming second one. Do I even have to ask which one you would prefer? It will be a long and hard road to achieve freedom—but I ask you, is it not worth fighting for?"

Mrs. Weasley was no longer crying. There was complete silence. "Never give up. Never lose hope. For even in the deepest dark, there can and will be light. Surrendering is not an option, and neither is ignoring what is before us—there will soon break on Britain a storm of war. Darkness gathers even now on the horizon, Lord Voldemort consolidates his strength even as we speak, and his Death Eaters fragment what power is left in the Ministry of Magic—yet we must not flag nor fail."

Harry paused, and leaned forward to emphasise his next statement. "Every able hand has to aid in the front against this coming tempest, Mrs. Weasley; every wand and every wizard and every witch—no matter the differences that may exists, be it size, height, color, race, or age. We need to come together, to unite as one, in order to defeat our common enemy. We must set aside our differences and work together for victory, in spite of all costs. And only in this way can Lord Voldemort be defeated—and only in this way can the Order of the Phoenix gain any efficiency against this Dark Lord. We shall never, never, never give up."

Harry gently folded his hands, and peered solemnly at the adults. "And now, will you deny what Ron, Hermione, and Neville have to offer? Will you begin the path to defeat by failing to unite? The moment of truth has come, ladies and gentlemen. It's now, right here, at this moment, that the fate of our future resides. Will you deny them their right to fight?" He leaned back slowly into his posh chair and waited. He would speak no more. The decision was not in his hands.

Professor McGonagall took his lead. "An inquiry has been brought here today," she said steadily. "Hermione Granger, Ronald Weasley, and Neville Longbottom are requesting membership into the Order of the Phoenix. If you are in favour of this, raise your hand—and if a consensus of the majority is not met, those requesting membership will be asked to leave, and if judged as unreliable, charmed to forget." Then she too spoke no more—but leaned back in her own seat to study the Order before her. The decision was not in her hands either.

A moment passed by, then another, before finally one hand was raised—Tonks's. She flushed red when everyone turned to gaze at her, but refused to let her hand waver.

Then another hand was raised — Remus — then another — Aberforth — Elphias — Dedalus — Hestia — then the older Weasley boys—

There was a majority consensus.

Professor McGonagall spoke after a moment, her tone conveying a sense of satisfaction. "The lesser consensus has agreed to the membership of one Hermione Granger, one Ronald Weasley, and one Neville Longbottom. As of the thirtieth of June, 1997, these three will be considered full members of the Order of the Phoenix."

Harry allowed for a small smile to show on his face. When the professor glanced in his direction, he nodded back to her—she had done well.

"Then with the induction of these three, I would also like to put the suggestion before us to allow one Harry James Potter membership into the Order of the Phoenix."

This was going to be a long Order meeting, Harry thought with an inward sigh, as many of the members looked like they were about to burst out with hundreds of questions concerning his behavior.

He silently took a deep breath and forced himself to show polite indifference as the first question was asked.

"Hang on a moment, Professor," said Bill Weasley. "I want to first know why Harry's acting like this—are you sure this is Harry Potter?"

The teen in question arched a brow at Bill's question.

Bill seemed uncomfortable, but in a patented Gryffindor manner, charged ahead. "Y-you're not acting like yourself—and doing magic that you shouldn't even be able to think about, let alone do!"

"Yeah," said Ron suspiciously. "And why didn't you answer any of our owls either? They all returned unopened!"

"I see," answered Harry, then he shrugged. "I've been busy."

"With what?" asked Hermione, her eyes narrowed. "Are you working on—you-know-what?"

Horcruxes, he thought dryly. Something she wasn't supposed to mention at all, let alone in a group of this size. Perhaps she thought she was being secretive, he allowed, but now it was blatantly obvious to everyone that there was a secret. Harry nearly sighed, but instead smiled pleasantly, "Whatever do you mean, Hermione?" He didn't allow her to respond. "Besides, it's not really your business what I do in my spare time, is it? Surely you're not saying you have a right to know what I do every minute of my life?"

He turned back to Bill. "And yes, Bill, I'm quite certain I'm Harry Potter—else I'd have been living nearly seventeen years as a lie." He smiled gently, "I hope you aren't going to tell me that." He leaned forward. "But, that hardly matters. Right now, we're determining whether I'll be allowed into the Order or not—and I hope to make this quick. Professor McGonagall, can you please call for a vote?"

The professor did so quickly, and the majority of them raised their hands to allow Harry entry—after all, they would hardly reject him when they'd just accepted Ron, Hermione, and Neville.

Professor McGonagall quickly spoke the words of formal induction into the Order of the Phoenix, and Harry nodded cordially.

Maybe the meeting will be short after all, he thought. It just might.

Harry was very much wrong—the meeting lasted well beyond lunch.

"—concludes this meeting of the Order," said Professor McGonagall—and Harry struggled not to show how tired he was, and how happy he felt now that the meeting was over. It had been long and very boring.

He had been forced to deflect over a dozen very pointed questions, dodge several verbal traps set by Moody and a few others, and firmly cut off any attempts by either Hermione or Ron to even vaguely refer to Horcruxes. All in all, it was a very dissatisfactory meeting.

Of course, then Harry had been forced to explain the current situation with the upcoming trial as Mr. Weasley had brought it up, and had to stare coldly at anyone who tried to scold him. Finally, he had been forced to put a lid on any questions that tried to divulge what he had been doing the night of Dumbledore's death.

"Harry," said Hermione, quickly approaching him as the chairs and couches disappeared, allowing more freedom of movement. "Can we talk?" Ron moved over behind her and Neville hovered nearby, unsure if he was welcome to join their group, though this was cleared up when Professor McGonagall tactfully drew his attention away from them. Harry met her eyes briefly with a silent 'thank you.'

Knowing he would have to face them eventually, Harry jerked his head to the doorway. "Sure. Let's do it in the Room of Requirement, shall we?"

He led the way, raising a brow in a nonverbal command for silence when Hermione attempted to speak, and soon they were in the Room of Requirement.

"Harry," said Hermione the moment all three of them were comfortably seated, leaning forward with her eyes intently latched onto his. "What's going on? I don't understand why you're acting like this—"

"Tea?" asked Harry pleasantly. "I know you're probably both still full from lunch—but I hope you aren't averse to some tea and biscuits?"

Hermione blinked. Harry smiled amusedly and drew his wand, conjuring tea and biscuits on a small table that appeared between the three of them—the table was the Room's doing.

"Ah, well, now that there's food and drink, let's talk," he said. He took a small sip of the tea, then sighed audibly. "That was quite a meeting, wasn't it? The Order meeting, I mean. I have to say, I was getting rather bored in there."

Both Ron and Hermione seemed completely bewildered by his actions.

Ron burst out at last. "H-how'd you do that?" He waved his hand, indicating the tea and biscuits, which had floated off the table and were hovering near him and Hermione.

Harry only smiled. "We all have our secrets."

"But—that's highly advanced magic, Harry!" said Hermione, a small frown on her face. "Nonverbal conjurations, both now and in the office!—and you're not even of age to do magic during summer yet." She shook her head, a confused look in her eyes. "I just don't understand. Honestly, what's gotten into you these days? Apparating without a license, doing magic at your aunt and uncle's, and not replying to our mail—Harry, we're your friends. Don't push us away." Then her eyes widened. "That's what it is, isn't it? You think you're putting us in danger because we're your friends? Because if you do—"

"The thought never crossed my mind," cut in Harry amusedly. "I assure you, Hermione, that I would never push you away because of something so trivial a matter as putting you in danger. Your friendship means more to me than any Dark Lord. Besides, it would serve nothing, actually, if you think about it. You two are already known as my friends, so parting now would be of no use."

"Oh," said Hermione. Then her eyes narrowed. "Harry, I know you might feel that Professor Dumbledore's death was your fault, but it's really not. Is that why you're—?"

"Remarkable," said Harry thoughtfully. "I've always been astonished at the speed of your mind." He gave her proud smile. "That's our Hermione, always thinking about a multitude of things at once, eh Ron?" He knew his eyes were twinkling now as he turned to share a look of amusement with Ron—who didn't quite respond in his bewilderment. "Why, she's just gone from accusing me of pushing the two of you away to trying to relieve me of my supposed guilt over Dumbledore's death."

Harry chuckled lightly, though not unkindly. "It's good to see you guys again, really. It's only been a little over a week—but it feels like a lifetime ago, doesn't it?"

"Yeah, it does," said Ron carefully. "Though it might not have felt so long if you answered our owls—"

"You've changed." Hermione had a quiet tone, filled with sadness. "You've changed, Harry. I just don't know if it's good or bad." She was studying him with intense brown eyes. "It probably has to do with you staying at Hogwarts last week, doesn't it? It was fairly obvious to Ron and me that it wasn't you who was on the Hogwarts Express—and besides, you briefly disappeared after at King's Cross, and we saw the Dursleys still waiting afterwards. What happened, Harry? Nine days; what could have possibly happened that changed you so much in a little over a week?"

Harry gave her a small smile in response. "You were always the smartest among us, Hermione. But you surely must realise now that nine days really isn't such a stretch of time? Lives can change in a split instant, after all. Think about it—what were we doing nine days before Dumbledore's death?" He gently shook his head. "What can't have possibly happened that could change us so much?"

"You didn't answer my question," said Hermione softly. "But I suppose you really can't. Like you said in the Order meeting—there's a war heading our way. 'Trust him not with your secrets, who, when left alone in your room, turns over your papers.' I'm sorry I almost mentioned the Horcruxes in the office." She looked at him sadly. "You said you would never push Ron or me away, that our friendship means something to you—"

"Yes," said Harry gently. "Our friendship is one formed over many years—no one can break a bond like that so quickly, not even Lord Voldemort."

"Friends are supposed to do things for each other if one asks, to be there when they need it," Hermione answered back. "Friendship means trust and trust unconditionally. Don't you trust us—?"

"Yes, friendship does essentially mean trust," said Harry, leaning forward and looking at her intently. "And of course I trust the both of you. The question is, do you trust me, Hermione? Do you trust me, Ron?"

"Of course we trust you too," said Ron. Hermione drew back, however, as though she knew Harry was about to pull a trap on them.

"Then will you trust me enough to do as I ask?"

"And what's that?" whispered Hermione, but Harry knew that she had already figured it out.

Harry looked at them both, one after the other, and spoke gravely. "Forget."

"What?" said Ron with a frown. Hermione paled. "What do you mean? Forget?"

"Forget about the fact that it wasn't me last week on the Hogwarts Express, about the inconsistencies in my actions," Harry paused, "and about—"

"The Horcruxes," finished Hermione shakily.

Harry nodded sadly. Hermione eyes fluttered, and a small tear trickled out. She bit her lip, visibly trying to calm herself, but finally looked up at him with resolve. She nodded.

"Wait," said Ron in confusion. "What are you guys saying? Harry? Hermione? What's going on!"

Harry didn't answer. It was now up to Hermione, he knew.

Hermione drew in a deep breath, before speaking with forced calmness, "Ron, we need to forget about the Horcruxes."

"Yeah, I heard that," snapped Ron hotly. "But what I don't get is why you're not slapping him right now. How dare you ask us this, Harry?"

"Ron." Hermione lightly touched his hand, drawing his glare away from Harry. "Don't you see? Us knowing is a l-liability to the war effort. Think about it, what would happen if Lord Voldemort found out we knew about the Horcruxes?" Ron didn't answer. "Nothing good. That's why we need to forget. And—and Harry's asking us to do this. We need to trust him, Ron. T-that's what friendship means, r-right?"

Ron looked at Harry, shaking his head. "You said we'd be a team, remember? The three of us together, forever. Why are you asking us to forget? You're not any better than either of us."

"It's not a matter of whose better," said Harry gently.

"Then what? What is it, Harry? You said we needed to unite! That we needed to all come together, to work together, to win! Then why the hell are you asking us to leave you alone now, to forget everything,—to bloody watch you die?"

There was a moment of stunned silence. Harry sighed audibly. "I certainly don't intend to die, Ron. It's—like chess. There is a part each of us has to play. Mine is dealing with the Horcruxes. But, will you give that away to your opponent so quickly? I know how you play chess. You have several working strategies, all hidden behind seemingly useless moves, unknown until the last piece is in place. There may be times when it looks like you haven't a clue what you're doing, when the opponent is laughing because he thinks he has the upper hand—but I know you, Ron, and you always win because you let him think he's winning."

Harry continued after a moment's pause. "This is just like it. You may not know everything—no, I can assure you that there are many secrets you both do not know—you might think what I'm doing is stupid, foolhardy, and ultimately useless. You may think I haven't a clue what I'm doing, that Lord Voldemort's laughing now because he thinks he's ultimately won—but you know me, Ron, Hermione, you know me well enough to know that I wouldn't do something so stupid as that. I ask you again, and hope your answer hasn't changed in the last five minutes: do you trust me?"

There was a pregnant moment of stillness.

"I-I trust you, Harry," said Ron at last. "I trust you."

Harry looked at Hermione. She nodded in agreement. "We trust you."

"And will you trust me enough to forget?"

Both nodded slowly, and Harry let out a relieved sigh. "Thank you," he said gratefully.

"Will you Obliviate us, then?" asked Hermione in a small voice.

Harry replied gently, "I promise it won't hurt."

She bit her lip, then slowly closed her eyes. "Now or never, I guess. I'm ready—and Harry? Good luck."

"I-I guess that's that, then," said Ron slowly. He too closed his eyes. "Whenever you're ready Harry."

"You both are the best of friends," said Harry sadly. "I'm sorry things have turned out this way. Really. Please forgive me." He pointed his wand at them.

Just do it, he thought.

"Obliviate."

The world was a tunnel of fire, red and gold blazing with tickling warmth, as Harry traveled with Fawkes. They appeared moments later with a flash of golden light in Minister Scrimgeour's office.

There were three wizards in the office, two office aides and Scrimgeour—the office aides had terrified expressions on their faces, gaping up at him from their seats, but Minister Scrimgeour proved his worth as a battle-trained ex-Auror. Harry had to let go of Fawkes immediately, who burst into flames and disappeared, and lightly swish his wand, blocking several spells that erupted from the Minister's wand.

The man was already up and had summoned a powerful shield for himself, ready to send another volley—that is, until his eyes widened with stunned recognition. "Potter?"

"Good morning, Minist—" Harry began, but was cut off abruptly.

The door slammed open and two Aurors leaped in with their wands out, eyes narrowed with concentration. The first swung his wand immediately at the Minister, summoning a physical barrier around Scrimgeour, while the second threw a powerful stunner at Harry's back—

Harry casually twisted his wand, while turning nonchalantly to face the two Aurors, and slapped the spell away. The first Auror was now also facing him and both of the men drew their wands back, about to cast a fury of spells—

"Gentlemen," said Harry amusedly, "there's no reason for—"

Beams of light shot out from both wands, and Harry mentally shrugged. Well, he tried. He raised his wand and silver light flashed with a loud bang in a streak around the office, the room shaking with reverberations. There was a second flash of silver light, another roar of noise, and the office shook once more. The first flash had dispelled all the four curses the two Aurors had managed to cast, including their shields, and the second had rendered them unconscious.

Harry casually brushed off dust from his robes, smiling amiably down at the two terrified office aides, and said cheerfully, "Aurors, they do tend to think with their wands, don't they?" The two gaped at him blankly. Humming lightly, he glanced around the room, noticing that it was in quite a mess: the large desk was overturned, chairs had been blown away to pieces, and dust motes still floated slowly in the air. He also saw that the opaque barrier still separated the Minister from the rest of the world. "Ah, let's fix that, shall we?"

He waved his wand once and the barrier disappeared.

"Potter, what in the blazes?" snarled the Minister, his eyes wide as he glanced at the mess of the room and the Aurors slumped at the other side of the office. "When—how—what is the meaning of this?"

"Quite sorry for the mess," said Harry pleasantly, but without a hint of apology in his tone. "Your Aurors were a little jumpy with their wands, you understand. Here, allow me." He swung his wand from left to right in a wide arc, and the mess righted itself with almost an eager fashion. The Minister's desk up righted itself and wiggled back into its space, the chairs waddled over to where they had previously been, the portraits straightened, the dust cleared, and the Aurors woke.

Harry smiled down at them kindly. "I hope you aren't hurt. I did try to warn you. Ah, well, it was rather silly of you—but alas, no lasting damage has been done. You both can run along now. The Minister and I have business to attend to. Go on." The two Aurors, with baffled looks, glanced towards Scrimgeour, who nodded at them irritably.

"You may leave." Scrimgeour sat heavily onto his chair, a frown on his face. "You both as well. Get out." He spoke to his aides, who both rushed out without a single glance behind. "Now, Harry—"

"A rather poor reception, Minister," said Harry, conjuring a more comfortable seat for himself and sitting down. "I must admit I'm rather disappointed. You yourself attacked me, sir! I fear what the press might say if they ever heard." He chuckled lightly. "Not very good for your public image, I dare say."

"Mr. Potter—"

Harry arched a brow. "Are we safe to talk?"

"What?" asked Scrimgeour, his frown deepening with his irritation. "Now, see here, I'm a busy man and I'd like to get this over with—"

"You arranged for an hour's free time, I recall," said the teen, "for which I suppose I should be grateful. And believe me, sir, I wish to make this as short and as sweet as possible. Now, I'd rather this conversation not be publicised all over the Daily Prophet—" he pointed his wand at the door, locking it with a spell, "—so I hope you don't mind if I just secure this room." He swished his wand, drawing privacy wards around the office. "Ah, I'd be delighted to have some tea, thank you; I'd just had my breakfast, and tea would do wonders."

Harry allowed Minister Scrimgeour to take a moment to calm himself, the man obviously needed it, and folded his hands politely as he waited. Finally the Minister tapped a small pad at the corner of his desk, then said shortly, "Tea will arrive in just a moment."

"Excellent," replied Harry, smiling. "I would have conjured some myself, except I would have been breaking the laws restricting my use of magic, you see." He accepted a cup of tea that appeared next to him, and took a small sip. "Delightful. Now, I'm sure you will not be penalising me for the bit of magic I just performed to protect myself, surely? Yes, I thought so." He added pleasantly, "After all, if I had been charged, then I would have been forced to explain why I had to use magic to defend myself from the Minister of Magic! You've made the right choice, sir. Now, since you've set up this meeting, what do you wish to discuss with me?" He peered at the Minister attentively.

"Right, well," began Scrimgeour unsteadily, pausing to gather himself from his nearly concealed bewilderment, "I apologize for the earlier affair. I admit I was startled at your mode of travel—you entered by phoenix, correct? Yes. This office was supposed to be sealed from magical travel, you see, other than by restricted Floo."

"No worries," placated Harry, hiding a smile at the flash of irritation that sparked in the man's eyes. "I understand perfectly. You were surprised and reacted. In fact, I applaud the speed of your reaction—rather impressive, I must say."

"I do keep myself ready at every moment of the day—"

"The only problem I see with that is your vulnerability when it is night, not day—but I digress. You wished to speak to me, I recall."

Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed and his brows drew close together in a frown, before he smoothened his expression forcefully. "Well, Harry, I'm glad you've decided to take me up on my offer. There is much we can do for each other. Of course, there are little trivialities such as magical contracts—but we can discuss that later. Now, as promised, I can easily do away with your trial and any further complications that may head your way, but," the Minister paused for effect, "of course, I'm sure you're smart enough to guess, there is a—payment, of sorts—that I will require."

"Of course," agreed Harry, hiding his amusement.

"It is an interview, well, I suppose it's really a press conference," said Scrimgeour, oblivious to the arched brow of the teen before him, confident that he had Harry under his thumb. "Now, I took the liberty to call for a few representatives from various media agencies to come today in order to help you present your thoughts on how the Ministry is handling the war against You-Know-Who. They will arrive at the Ministry conference room in approximately forty minutes." The Minister shuffled through a stack of papers on his desk, before carefully removing one and handing it to Harry. "This is a basic list of things I want you to mention in your interview. It doesn't necessarily have to be in that order, but I do want you to come off sounding unrehearsed. I'm not sure how much experience you have with public speaking, but I expect you to do the best you can, is that understood? Well, then, the only thing left is for you to sign the contract. Essentially, it gives me legal rights over your public image as well as several other minor details that are hardly worth noting. Now, if you just sign there—"

"Minister Scrimgeour," cut in Harry politely, and kindly, "you go too far. You forget that I never agreed to—er—'take up your offer,' let alone sign a magically binding contract!" He chuckled. "You arranged this meeting to talk, only, of what you could offer to me and vice versa—but I never agreed to anything."

The man's eyes narrowed. "Be careful of what you are saying. I'm not sure you are aware of what you're doing—perhaps you need further convincing—"

"Hardly that, sir," said Harry amusedly. "You've made it very clear in your letter to me—oh yes, about the fact that you just recently heard the word 'expulsion' in relation to my hearing—yes, yes, I am well aware. I must thank you for that knowledge, sir." He inclined his head.

Scrimgeour stared hard at him. "What are you saying?" It came out harsh and beyond cold.

"Perhaps I spoke too ambiguously," said Harry gently. "Simply this: I have never considered seeking the shelter you so generously provided for me, and never will if the requirement is that I have to endorse the current actions of the Ministry of Magic. To be frank, I consider your administration to be a disgrace, perhaps as much as the former's."

There was a pregnant silence.

"So. So, you insist on being Dumbledore's man, through and through," snarled Scrimgeour, nearly losing all composure. "You will destroy the reputation of the Ministry in this time of war; you will destroy any remaining faith and hope that the people have in the government of magical Britain—because of what? Your childish belief that the Ministry should be able to snap its fingers and fix everything? Do you honestly think that my administration and I have done nothing to try to put up a better front against You-Know-Who?"

The Minister slammed his fist against his desk, his eyes hot with anger. "You are an arrogant, spoiled boy, Potter! While I am here trying to hold together what I can, to rise above the blizzard that is tearing wizarding Britain apart, and navigate through the fog of war, you sit there with your condescending attitude and dare to judge me? You are the disgrace. You, who could save us all, you, who could aid the Ministry in ways no one else could, you, who could raise the morale of the entire wizarding population—you do nothing but play magic tricks before Muggles.

"It is people like you that I loathe, Harry, people like you. You sit on your hands and watch with nothing but criticism for those who are out on the battlefield, offering no solutions but only useless and ultimately detrimental whining. How's this for one—get out there and try it yourself! Do you seriously believe that you could do a better job than me?"

"The only problem," said Harry coldly, "is that yes, I do believe you and your administration are doing nothing. All I see before me is a growing list of casualties from attacks you have never yet managed to counter. All I see before me is half-hearted attempts by the Ministry to fool others into thinking that something is being done—yet there is nothing, absolutely nothing, you have done yet that has affected the war effort against Lord Voldemort.

"Loathe me all you want, Minister, for likewise, I loathe you. Your absolute foolishness in your pride and inability to see reason, your lack of sense and logic, your incapability to change, to accept advice, makes you the worst possible leader magical Britain could ever desire in the face of these troubling times! You cling to what you think is right and in doing so are blind to the faults in your stance. Have you ever, ever taken time to think of why the wizarding world has so very little hope and faith in you and your Ministry? Have you ever given thought to the fact that maybe, just maybe, you are wrong?"

The Minister was glaring at Harry with fury and the teen matched him with cold anger.

There was a sudden hesitant cough from the corner of the room, and Harry turned to see that it had come from a portrait of a froglike man with a silver wig. "To Minister S-Scrimgeour," said the portrait in a weak voice. His breath hitched because of the glare sent his way by the man in question and the milder look from Harry. "Demanding an emergency conference. Kindly respond immediately. From the Prime Minister of Muggles."

"Not now," snapped Scrimgeour, his gaze returning to Harry. "Inform him that I'll deal with him later. I'm currently busy in a conference with Harry Potter, the famous Boy Who Lived." The man in the portrait briefly disappeared. The Minister turned back to the teen, and said with a sneer, "Well, Harry, what now? If you never had any intention of receiving my offering, why ever did you come here today?"

"For my own entertainment," said Harry coolly. "I wished to see what silliness you'd come up with."

"I see," replied the Minister just as coldly. "Then there is nothing more to be said between us. You will continue to oppose the Ministry of Magic, the only real defence against You-Know-Who."

"That is where you are sadly mistaken. There is the Order of the Phoenix, which has done far more for this war and the defence against Lord Voldemort than you have done, and perhaps will ever do. But yes, you are correct in that unless you change your position, I shall not change my own. There is nothing more. Our business is concluded."

"Do not expect any aid from me at your trial, then. You will be facing the full Wizengamot alone."

"Excellent," said Harry, gravely. "I'm glad at least someone around here gets a fair hearing. You can't have all the members under your thumb."

The Minister's eyes tightened with anger. "Then you may leave. I will see you on the sixth at your hearing—"

The portrait in the corner of the room coughed again and Scrimgeour turned to snarl, "What?"

"To Mr. Harry Potter. Requesting a meeting. Kindly respond immediately. From the Prime Minister of Muggles."

"What? What is the meaning of this?" demanded Scrimgeour.

The portrait pointedly ignored the Minister's question, most likely miffed from the glare that had just recently been directed towards him, and looked questioningly at Harry. The teen in question arched a brow, before answering carefully, "Of course, immediately."

"I will see the Prime Minister now as well," the Minister said forcefully. "Inform him immediately."

The silver-wigged man left and Scrimgeour continued to scowl at the portrait, as though the froglike man had been the cause of this impromptu meeting.

"Let's not keep the Prime Minister waiting," said Harry calmly. "After you, Minister."

The man glared briefly at Harry, who met it with an amused smile, before turning to fire up the hearth.

Wondering what on earth the Prime Minister might want with him, Harry casually walked up to the fireplace and spoke the code word, which he had just picked up from Scrimgeour.

This was proving to be a most interesting day.

To be continued….

Part IV: Trivialities That Hinder will be updated soon. But reviews really encourage me to write! So take the hint and review! A simple, "Wonderful!" or a "Love it!" will do! Even simple messages like that inspire authors to write more!

Ending Notes:

Deadline's long been passed and I missed it because I became very ill for about four days total. I'm still recovering, in fact, though I'm much better now.

In any case, I want to finish this fic. Two more parts. Then I'm done. And I really, really, really want to have a finished fic. So. I'm gonna work on this fic till it's done even though I won't win anything off of it. Hopefully it'll be completed soon.

Read the "To be continued…." section for the date of the next upload. Happy reviewing!

Comments always welcome.

-- liath

! Updated: 9.27.06 !