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Chapter 5
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"The end of term?" Harry asked incredulously, looking up and down the staff table, "We'll have Mandrake available at the end of term?"
"Yes," Dumbledore said, setting aside his fork and knife, "It is unfortunate that it should take so long, but Mandrake is an exceedingly rare potions ingredient, of which Hogwarts is, in fact, the only provider in Great Britain."
Harry glared furiously at the old man, something that made the other professors distinctly uncomfortable, as they recognized the extremely unusual display of emotion for what it was. Dumbledore, however, had only ever had personal interaction with Harry before when he was even more enraged than he currently was, and did not realize how unusual his behavior was.
"Professor Snape," Harry said, turning abruptly to face the man, "You are a Potions Master of well recognized skill. If I acquired the necessary ingredients, would you be willing to brew the appropriate draught to restore Professor McGonagall?"
Snape did not allow his surprise at being addressed directly by Harry to show. He spent a long moment carefully weighing his personal distaste for the Potter line, and not inconsiderable irritation at how McGonagall had stepped on him, hard, over the last six months, against both his personal debt to the Potter line, and the increasingly difficult to ignore voice within him that insisted that McGonagall was right to come down on him as she had.
"Yes," Snape eventually said, "Mandrake is the only pertinent ingredient not readily available from the Hogwarts stores.
"In that case," Harry said, turning away from the staff table, and storming towards the exit of the great hall (as much as a twelve year old can storm), "I will be spending the Christmas Holidays acquiring Mandrake."
Filius Flitwick smiled as he watched Harry leave the great Hall; it was the most amusing farewell feast he had taken part in for some years. A certain part of him found himself hoping he would get to see a twelve year old Harry chewing out the 'Great Albus Dumbledore' again. Conversation at the feast, from all four tables, had come to a halt during Harry's confrontation with the Headmaster, but it swiftly began to pick up again, and Flitwick was certain that the rumors of Harry's confrontation with one of his former-prefects that had been leaking through the castle for two weeks now would be confirmed in many minds.
((()))
Harry, levitated trunk in tow, appeared in the middle of his bedroom at Privet Drive with an ear-splitting crack, and staggered slightly.
"It's been too long since I've done that," He murmured under his breath, the shock of apparition having partially broken his enraged mood.
Shaking off the disorientation, he stowed his wand, and moved his hovering trunk over to a corner of his room, before pushing it down onto the floor. It would 'hover' on floor level until the spell wore off. Opening it, Harry retrieved and changed into casual clothing appropriate to places more reasonable than the magical world, then left his room to see if anyone else was present in the house. It was barely ten AM, so Harry was not surprised to find the house deserted; his Aunt, no doubt, was at work, and Dudley at school.
Writing a note to his aunt explaining his possible presence over the course of the break, Harry then returned to his room to plan his next course of action. Five minutes later, he realized there really wasn't much to plan. Find Mandrake, purchase, then stay out of Hogwarts long enough to cool down before he did something rash to the headmaster. Or tried. Harry was still very aware of how easily the Headmaster had defeated him at the beginning of the school year.
Averting that train of thought, as brooding could do nothing to change it at the current time, Harry went to look for the phone book, intent on finding Hermione Granger's address. Halfway to the phone, Harry realized that she would, of course, be in the Crowley phone listing, not the Surrey phone listing. With a grunt, Harry realized that he was going to have to take some time to navigate the phone system, and started by looking up the area code for Crowley.
((()))
"Filius," Dumbledore said, "You said it was particularly urgent I meet with you this morning?"
"Yes, Albus," Flitwick said, seating himself on a chair in front of Dumbledore's desk, and pulling a wrapped package carefully out of his pocket, "Last night, Mister Potter turned up at my door, with this, and an unconscious Miss Weasley."
Dumbledore opened his mouth to speak, but Flitwick raised his hand placatingly and continued.
"Miss Weasley is, of course, in the Infirmary," He said, "And Poppy assured me that aside from a considerable degree of magical over-exertion, she is fine. More importantly," Flitwick placed the package on Dumbledore's desk, and began unwrapping it, "Is this."
It was a mud-stained book, that Dumbledore did not recognize, but Flitwick deftly manipulated his wand, opening it without touching it, turned it around, and then indicated the name stenciled within.
Tom Marvolo Riddle.
((()))
Eventually, Harry was able to track down the Granger's phone number, but the number was busy when he called, so instead he collected their address from the operator, wrapped himself in his invisibility cloak, then apparated directly to the address. He appeared at the mailbox of a house that had once been of modest size, but had been added on to at least twice, one of the additions added recently. After checking the name on the mailbox, Granger, Harry strode up the front walk, and knocked on the door, paused a beat, then rang the doorbell as well. A few moments later, the door was opened by one Hermione Granger, age thirteen, three inches taller than Harry, recent inductee into puberty, and possessor of a nigh-infinitely larger desire and capacity for physical affection than Harry.
"You came!" Hermione shouted, seizing Harry into what he was fairly certain she intended as a hug, but felt more like a death grip to him.
"Was it a Basilisk?" Hermione began, the first of an accelerating series of questions "Was anybody injured? Did you kill it with a rooster? Who was controlling it? Did you find the Chamber?"
Hermione paused for a moment, pulling back to face the slightly bewildered Harry, her face sporting a smile of truly epic proportions.
"It's so good to see you!" She half-shouted, dragging Harry back into what would perhaps, without his ingrained magical defenses, be a bone-crushing hug.
Hermione made a noise of deep contentment, her eyes closing as she simply savored being in the presence of her friend for the first time in a year, nearly to the day. Her moment of happy reunion, however, was interrupted when she realized that Harry was trembling in her grip. Concerned, she pulled back to look him over again. His entire body was shaking, and when she met his eyes, she saw fear. Fear was something she had never seen or heard from him before, and her worry deepened.
When Harry saw the deep concern in Hermione's very open and emotionally demonstrative body language, facial expression and eyes, he began to hyperventilate, and the trembling intensified.
"Mum!" Hermione shouted, "Help!"
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Luna Lovegood hummed happily as she made her way to the Burrow, carrying a basket of psychedelically colored mushrooms as she skipped through the countryside. She was off to visit her friend, perhaps her only friend, one Ginevra Weasley, who she recently discovered had something in common with her.
The first Weasley to notice her approach, she saw, was Ronald, who was de-gnoming their garden. He appeared rather glad of the distraction from his set task that Luna presented, and stared at her as she approached the front door of the Burrow. Once there, Luna knocked politely, and waited. After a few moments, a redhead of similar age and build to Luna herself opened the door, somewhat bored expression quickly morphing to surprise when she recognized the blonde in front of her.
"Luna?" She said, "What're you doing here?"
"Visiting, of course," Luna said brightly, "We've something in common from last semester, and I thought it would be delightful if we talked about it over mushrooms!"
Ginny, slightly bewildered and confused, made no move to stop Luna as she slipped past her into the Burrow, then began tugging her up towards her room.
"What is it we have in common from last semester?" Ginny asked as they began to move up the stairs.
"Why, we've both been saved by Harry Potter, of course!" Luna said.
((()))
Harry Potter's shaking had calmed slightly, to what could most accurately be described as trembling. To the assembled Granger's observing him, this was not particularly reassuring. Both of the Granger parents, while not physicians, had first aid and CPR training, and were able to determine that aside from elevated heart-rate and the now-passed episode of hyperventilation, Harry was physically fine. They had placed him in their guest bedroom, and determined that if they did not see change in half an hour, they would call for medical professionals.
Almost exactly thirteen minutes after Hermione had first embraced Harry, he abruptly sat up in bed, took a deep, loud breath, then several more, before turning to face Hermione.
"McGonagall's been petrified," Harry said, breathing and voice strained, "I need Mandrake to cure her. I have to go now."
And then he disappeared with a sharp crack.
((()))
Harry reappeared in his bedroom at Privet drive, and immediately collapsed onto his bed. The trembling continued, but he was no longer paralyzed.
"What?" He asked no one in particular, gesturing meaninglessly with his hands.
Unable to remain still, Harry stood, and began pacing his room.
"What is this?" He asked, staring around his room, his eyes not fixing on anything for more than a moment or two.
"What is happening to me?" He asked, memories traveling back to when McGonagall had touched him, held him, at the beginning of the semester.
He did not understand these things that people were doing to him, he didn't understand why, he didn't understand why they made his chest churn uncomfortably, feeling like someone was stirring something in a bowl of chest-ache. He didn't understand it, it didn't make any sense to him, but it affected him so strongly.
If an enemy could do such a thing, he would be all but helpless before their attack. But there was no way an enemy would, or even could, have an effect on him, Harry knew it was something in the eyes, in the voice, in the expression, of Hermione, and earlier, to a lesser degree, Professor McGonagall, that had caused the reaction, not simply the touch itself. Harry's mind strained desperately to encompass that which it was so thoroughly unfamiliar with, to understand it, to rationalize it, to comprehend just what was going on.
The pressure and internal tension built, and built, and built within Harry, until eventually with a scream of pain and rage, he disappeared again.
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Two hours after Harry had disappeared from Privet Drive, a pair of Aurors, the Ministry's accidental magic reversal squad, and two Obliviators Apparated to a point over the North Sea, riding on brooms. Every member of the group quickly surveyed the area, wands at the ready. For several tense moments, no one said anything.
"Nothing," The senior Auror eventually growled, throwing back the hood of his cloak to reveal a scarred face with mismatched eyes, "Absolutely nothing."
"Not surprising," The second Auror said, throwing back her hood to reveal eye-jabbingly pink hair, "Monitors stopped tripping more'n an hour ago."
"Disgraceful response time," The first Auror said, "I'll be having words with Amelia about this."
"There's enough latent magical energy around here for a substantial duel," One of the reversal squad members said, peering through a monocle, "Two or three participants. Too indistinct to tell which spells exactly, but nothing dark."
"Is there enough to get their signatures?" The senior Auror asked gruffly, but the other man shook his head.
"No," He said, "It's all blurred together into the same signature now, they must have been fighting in tight. Wait," He paused for a moment, before continuing, "It looks like there's only one Apparition point in, and one out. This might have been a pair of friends dueling, or even joycasting out over the ocean for fun."
"Anything obviously illegal?" The Auror asked.
"No," The other man said, "Unless there were Muggles around, nothing here was illegal, just highly unusual."
"Just as well," The Auror grunted, "After a shoddy response time like that, it's just as well. Back to the Ministry."
A staggered series of cracks marked the Wizards disappearing.
((()))
Harry stood in the shower, taking deep, measured breaths as he leaned against the edge of the stall. The hot spray of water was relaxing his sore muscles; he'd spent five minutes under cold spray earlier to cool them off already. Time steadily passed, and when Harry felt he had his breathing fully under control, he straightened up, and began making use of soap and washtowel. Once he finished washing himself, he left the shower, dried, dressed in fresh casual clothing, and left the bathroom.
To his surprise, his aunt was waiting for him in the hallway outside of the bathroom.
"Hello Harry," She said, voice calm, but somewhat tired.
"Hello, Aunt Petunia," Harry replied, his voice completely neutral.
Petunia sighed, and looked him up and down sadly before speaking again.
"I'm glad to see you're well, physically, at least," Petunia said tiredly, "Is there anything you'll need while you're here?"
Something uncomfortable stirred in Harry's chest, and he looked away, closing his eyes.
"She looked at me like that too," Harry said, tired and confused now that the anger was worked out of his system "Spoke like that too. Then she touched me. Hugged me. She, she confused me."
Harry looked at Petunia again, staring her full in the eyes.
"But you, you had nothing but contempt, scorn, anger and hatred for me. Why is that different now?"
Petunia sighed again, and looked away for a long moment, before speaking.
"Your teacher Professor McGonagall, she visited at the start of the semester, and I told her about your mother and I. I think it's time I told you to. Come down to the kitchen, and I'll make us some tea."
Harry considered for a long moment, but then nodded slowly, and followed Petunia Evans down to her kitchen.
((()))
Late that night, Harry lay alone on his bed, silently pondering. He thought of his encounter with Hermione that day, his encounters with McGonagall over the last semester, starting first with the meeting in which she hugged him at the start of term, followed by her securing his release and Dumbledore's retirement, and many meetings thereafter. Part of Harry rebelled against the conclusion his mind was coming to, but Harry forced himself to face it, as disturbing as it was.
"They care," He whispered quietly, "Why?"
It was a question that he would not find an answer to that night.
((()))
Harry slept poorly, and when he woke improbably early the next morning, he was long in rising from his bed. Harry had learned since he was very young to take what sleep he could, when his body was sufficiently undamaged to allow him such, and to never waste a free moment while awake. Now though, he suddenly seemed adrift, lacking in purpose. For some time, he simply lay in his bed, staring up at the ceiling. After that, he sat up, and stared at the wall of his room, then the old desk, his trunk, the window, anything that his eyes could reach without leaving his bed.
Eventually, a full half hour and some after he had first awoken, he stood, left his room, and walked down the stairs, before turning to stand before the cupboard under the stairs. He stood, simply staring at the cupboard door for several long minutes, before reaching down, and pulling it open. The cupboard was heavily shadowed, but Harry found a pull-string hanging from the ceiling of the cupboard, and pulled it, activating a small light bulb.
The Cupboard was nearly bare, all that lay within were a great profusion of old bloodstains, and a collection of pictures pinned to the wall opposite the door. The pictures at the top were of Harry, bruised and bleeding, from what Harry expected was the last beating he had ever received from his uncle, before the man had gone to prison. Beside them, was a picture of Dudley at age eight, morbidly fat, wearing a preponderously self-satisfied expression as he held up one of a multitude of presents from his birthday that year. Beneath them, was a spread of pictures taken from newspapers, both healthy, and very unhealthy pictures of children from abuse cases that had made it into the paper.
There were dozens of the pictures.
At the bottom was a metal sheet, with an inscription that looked like it had been beaten and cut into the sheet by hand.
All that is necessary for evil to triumph, is for a good woman to do nothing.
Beside the metal sheet, were three final pictures, a peacefully sleeping baby that, judging by the scar, had to be Harry, followed by a brightly smiling Vernon Dursley. On the opposite side of the picture of Vernon, was a picture of Harry laid out on a surgical table, bruised, bleeding, and with at least one arm either broken or dislocated, with a copy of the medical report on his condition. Beside the final picture, was a note-card with a single line on it.
When a good woman does nothing, she is no longer a good woman.
Harry sat, staring at the collection for long minutes, only vaguely aware of light footsteps making their way down the stairs, and was still staring when his Aunt approached him from behind.
"It's to remind me," She said softly, "Of what I allowed to happen, encouraged to happen, and the cost of pride and vanity."
Harry remained silent, and Petunia stood behind him for a few minutes more, before continuing into the kitchen.
"I'm sorry," She said quietly as she left him to his thoughts.
((()))
When Hermione found Harry, he was still sitting in the doorway of the cupboard, staring at the pictures, lost in thought. He heard her knock on the door, of course, heard his aunt open it, and usher her in, but he didn't pay any real attention to her presence as she came to sit alongside him, leaning over to peer past him into the cupboard.
It took a moment for Hermione to recognize what she was seeing within the cupboard, and when she did, she choked, her stomach heaving. The floor of the cabinet was stained so thoroughly with blood, it looked as though it is a part of the wood's natural coloration. The walls were less bloody, but perhaps more horrific in the pattern of splatters, and what Hermione could clearly tell were characters drawn in his own blood, with his fingertips. It took Hermione nearly a full minute to get her stomach under control.
Then she looked at the pictures on the wall, and fled to the kitchen sink. Several minutes of retching later, she returned, and sat herself down beside Harry again. Paler, trembling slightly, but definitely present.
"Hello Harry," She said quietly, "I've got the Mandrake."
Harry nodded slightly, but did not look away from the wall of pictures.
Hermione impulsively moved to hug him, but stopped when he flinched away. Hermione realized abruptly that it was the second overt sign of fear she'd seen from him.
"Oh Harry," She said softly, "I'm sorry, I should have asked…"
She broke off as he abruptly turned to face her, intense, hollow eyes pinning her own.
"I lived in this cupboard for seven years," Harry said, "It's where I taught myself to learn magic when I was a child. I learned teleporting, apparition the wizards call it, first, doing it accidentally is how I first knew I could do magic. Then I worked on developing an ability to protect myself with my magic, but it wasn't until my uncle tried to beat me to death with a golf club that it became what you saw when I fought the troll. I tried to learn how to enchant things, like in some of the fantasy books I read, but my magic would always fade from the blood-runes I would draw, I couldn't get it to stay."
He stopped just as abruptly, turning to face back towards the cupboard wall again. Hermione grit her teeth, face screwing up with grief, and the concentration it took to hold herself back from wrapping herself around him in the biggest hug she could. They sat there silently for several long minutes, before Harry spoke again, his voice so small Hermione could barely hear him.
"McGonagall was the first person ever to touch me, for a reason other than to strike me. You are the only person who has since. I don't understand why I so desperately want it again, when I fear-"
The rest of his words were cut off as Hermione engulfed him in a crushing hug.
She started, violently, when Harry let out a tearing scream, but instinctively clutched him closer, as the scream gradually trailed off, and then devolved into incoherent sobs.
Hermione was still holding him when he cried himself to sleep twenty-three minutes later.
((()))
When Harry woke, he was in his bed again, wrapped in the comforter, and as he moved he realized something else was wrapped around him as well. Specifically, the arms of a somewhat larger, bushy-haired girl, who appeared to have fallen asleep herself.
Harry had no idea whatsoever how to react to the situation he found himself in, so he didn't, instead just laying there, being held, and trying to comprehend the swelling sense of fullness that seemed to be working its way through his chest. It ached a little, but it was nothing like the pain he had subconsciously ignored his entire life, and he had no idea why it made him want to smile and cry both at the same time.
It was silent, but when Hermione Granger woke, still holding Harry Potter, he was smiling and crying both at the same time. It took Hermione a few moments to come fully to consciousness, but when she did, she carefully maneuvered herself around so she could see Harry's face, and found a smile of her own at what she saw.
"Hullo Harry," She said softly, pulling herself upright, and Harry with her.
It had been quite surprising to her, when she first hugged him yesterday, then held him today, to realize that he was, in fact, quite a bit smaller than her. She knew it was in no small part due to girls developing earlier, and her being ten months older than him, but was also fairly certain that lost growth due to neglect was part of the issue. It also confused her; Harry was so intense, always focused, driven, in every contact she had with him, even if it was often masked subtly, but he was, in a very literal way, smaller than her.
She had never expected to hold the boy, or perhaps young man, who had saved her life so fearlessly, in her lap while he cried. Hermione was prodigiously intelligent, she knew that under different circumstances, it could very easily have been Minerva McGonagall who held Harry in this moment, and she would have been more comfortable, and felt it better for Harry if she had; McGonagall was vastly older and wiser than her, no matter how intelligent she was.
Speaking of which…
"Harry," Hermione said softly, "I've got the Mandrake, shall we go wake Professor McGonagall up?"
Harry nodded quietly, and Hermione abruptly found herself enveloped in what felt like a wall of pressure, squeezing her from every side, then being rained on. Looking up, then standing awkwardly as Harry pulled himself out of her lap and stood himself, she realized she was at the gates of Hogwarts.
"Harry," She said carefully, "Did you just apparate us?"
Harry nodded, and began walking through the gates, towards the school.
"That's…" Hermione was about to say illegal but realized both that he probably didn't care, and that this wouldn't be a good time to be critical of him and get his guard up, "That's really advanced magic," She continued, following after Harry, "Especially bringing someone with you."
Harry did not respond, simply continuing to walk towards the castle. Hermione followed.
((()))
"That was quite quick, Mister Potter," Snape said, his voice and face for once devoid of antipathy.
Harry only nodded, and Hermione handed him the small packet of Mandrake.
"The potion will take three hours to brew," Snape said, and left, closing the door to his quarters behind him.
((()))
Minerva McGonagall opened her eyes, and instinctively reached for her glasses. It took her a moment to find them, as she was not in her own quarters, but instead within the Hospital wing. In front of her, stood Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, with Poppy Pomfrey standing watchful in the background. Granger was smiling a small, but intensely bright and hopeful smile, something McGonagall thought suited her quite nicely. Harry…
Harry was staring at her with a combination of pain, hope, and confusion. McGonagall studied him carefully for a long moment, before looking to Granger again, a question in her eyes. Granger glanced at Harry, and her smile grew a fraction, something beyond words passing between the two witches in that moment, and McGonagall found a smile growing on her own face.
"Hello Harry, Hermione," She said softly, "How did I end up here?"
"You were petrified by the Basilisk the other day," Hermione said, "But Harry sent me to buy Mandrake, and Professor Snape brewed the restorative draught, so you were only petrified for two days!"
McGonagall smiled gently at the girl, before redirecting her attention to Harry.
"Thank you, Harry," She said, "For seeing to my quick resuscitation."
Then she reached out, and hugged the boy. It took a long moment for him to respond, but when he slowly returned the hug, McGonagall felt her heart warm over, and her eyes began to get a little bit misty.
Then Hermione joined the hug, crushing Harry between the two of them with the full force of her youthful spirit, and straining McGonagall's ribcage slightly as well, squeezing gasping laughter out of the elderly Transfiguration Professor. For the first time since she had discovered just what Harry's childhood had been like, she felt the guilt within her chest ease a little, and her hope for his future rise.
((()))
Harry stared at the portly man in front of him, who even fully grown, was not much taller than him, even with his bowler hat.
"You don't believe me," Harry said carefully, calmly, and behind him, McGonagall, to the elderly witch's considerable surprise, found a shiver running down her spine at how much violence was buried beneath the surface of his voice.
"Not only do you not believe me," Harry continued, "You do not believe Professor McGonagall either."
"Pettigrew alive?" Fudge said, his voice in the classic tone of an adult condescending to a child, without trying to sound like it, "I understand it is upsetting discovering that your godfather betrayed you-" Harry twitched "-but all they could find of the man was a finger. No, he's most certainly dead."
"It is not uncommon for victims of traumatic experiences to have distorted memories immediately before and after the event," Lucius Malfoy said with painful condescending courtesy, his respectful, sympathetic posture as immaculate as his well-groomed appearance, "I am certain Professor McGonagall simply suffers from confused memories."
Harry glared furiously at the older blond man, beginning to tremble with anger, but his voice was still tightly controlled.
"Tell me, Lucius," He said, "Did you know it was a Basilisk in the Chamber? Or did you pass the book to Miss Weasley without knowing what it would unleash?"
Lucius Malfoy became very still, a hint of anger beginning to roll across his features.
"I'm not surprised, really," Harry continued, "To find you here attempting to get the Headmaster removed. Tell me, was it so that you could attempt to replace him with someone who would attempt to keep me from humiliating your son every time he makes one of his feeble attempts to attack me?"
Malfoy's nostrils flared, and anger was the clearly dominant expression on his face now. He opened his mouth to speak, but Harry cut him off.
"What's wrong, Lucius?" Harry said, "Are you unable to deal with the fact that your pathetic excuse for an heir has been shown utterly incompetent by a half-blood?"
The Malfoy patriarch's temper snapped, and he went for his wand, but Harry had been waiting for it, and was faster.
There was a slightly curved, foot and a half long blade in Harry's hand, and its point was resting against the hollow of Malfoy's throat.
"Fear Malfoy," Harry said into the suddenly deathly quiet Headmaster's office, "I do not know what spell you intended to cast upon me, but your attempted assault makes this the second time you have crossed me. For this time, the payment I require for not defending myself to the full right I am entitled under the law, is for you to release the House-Elf, Dobby into my service. The next time, I will not give you such an option.
Malfoy, face full of shock and disbelief, refusing to believe that he was being held hostage by a twelve year old boy, reached again for his wand, but Harry increased the blade's pressure against his throat fractionally, and base survival instincts caused him to freeze. In that moment, fear controlled him, and made a decision on a deeper level than his conscious mind was ready to process.
"Dobby!" He rasped hoarsely.
Less than five minutes later, Harry left Dumbledore's office, confused but ecstatic house-elf and worried Granger in tow, leaving the 'adults' to handle the catastrophe he left in his wake.
"Why did you do that, Harry?" Hermione asked softly.
"I wanted to hurt him," Harry said, voice full of tightly leashed anger, "But I've never killed anybody, and I'm not ready to start now."
"I'm glad," Hermione said after a moment, "I've never seen anyone die before, and I don't want to start now."
Harry nodded silently.
((()))
"Honestly!" Fudge sputtered at Dumbledore, "How can you let students behave so disrespectfully, so dangerously!"
"Tell me, Cornelius," Dumbledore said quietly, his body still in a rather telling way, "Did Harry's actions violate any laws?"
Lucius Malfoy noticed the Headmaster's body language, Cornelius Fudge did not. Minerva McGonagall knew Albus Dumbledore far too well not to notice.
"Holding a man at swordpoint!" Fudge said incredulously, "That violates all kinds of laws! Why-"
He was cut off by Malfoy's hand on his shoulder, and turned to face the taller blond man, confusion writ in his eyes.
"Come, Cornelius," He said softly, "I do not think we can accomplish anything more here."
Fudge's confusion escalated, and in his bewilderment, he allowed Malfoy to usher him out through the Floo, back to the ministry. After the pair had left, a long, slow silence passed within the Headmaster's Office, while the tension in the room gradually released.
"Albus," Minverva said eventually, "I am rather surprised you didn't intervene when Harry drew that sword."
"He wasn't ready to kill," Dumbledore said, sadly shaking his head, "Harry is a very angry young man, with just cause, but unlike the creator of this," He gestured to the diary sitting on his desk, "He takes no pleasure in the pain of others, and has no taste for killing."
"You are certain of what it is?" McGonagall said cautious.
"Yes," Dumbledore said sadly, "It explains a great deal, and supports my theory about poor Quirrinus' death at the end of last year all too well."
Another long silence passed in the office, but McGonagall eventually broke it again.
"I should go see to Harry," She said, "This will be quite hard on him, especially after recent events."
Dumbledore nodded gravely before responding.
"Indeed," He said, "Please do look after him. It appears that I may have lost Cornelius to Lucius' machinations, but I must at least try to draw him out into a more reasonable frame of mind. I hope I can be as successful in covering for the effects of my neglect there, as you have been with Harry."
With a respectful nod as farewell, McGonagall left the Headmaster to his thoughts.
((()))
McGonagall eventually left the castle grounds in her search for Harry, Apparating first to the Granger's, then the Evans', where she found Harry and Hermione in his room. The door was open, but she still knocked before entering.
"Professor McGonagall," Harry, seated at his desk and facing away from her, said quietly, for once not the quiet of carefully hidden emotion or intent, but instead simply the quiet that came when there was no need for noise, "What do you intend to do about Fudge and Black?"
McGonagall held her peace for several long moments, thinking carefully before responding.
"I am not entirely sure," She said eventually, "But I will not sit idly by while an innocent man suffers in Azkaban. I do not know how to secure his release, but I will see to it that it is done."
"Neither will I," Harry said, leaning against his desk tiredly, and turning slightly to face her, "I cannot abide bullies, or corrupt men of authority, and now Fudge is both."
"I won't either," Hermione said fiercely, "I'll throw every law and judicial precedent in existence at the Wizengamot if I have to!"
"Well then," McGonagall said, suddenly aware that she was conspiring with a pair of second-years to begin a chain of events that would probably depose the Minister of Magic, "We shall need to formulate a plan."
Harry responded by pulling a muggle book out of his desk, one McGonagall was unfamiliar with.
The Art of War, by Sun Tzu.
((()))
"The reason?" Lucius Malfoy said simply, his face schooled carefully into a near-perfect semblance of guileless concern, "It is quite simple. Albus Dumbledore is retiring from his position as Headmaster, and beginning to interfere with Ministry Business, because he is coming to regret not accepting the position of Minister of Magic when Bagnold retires, and now means to take it."
Cornelius Fudge looked across his desk at Lucius Malfoy, radiating confusion and worry, and inwardly, Malfoy smiled as the seed of doubt was planted.
((()))
"Therefore, just as water retains no constant shape, so in warfare there are no constant conditions."
-Sun Tzu, Art of War, Chapter 6, Section 32.
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Old AN removed.