CHAPTER FOUR

A Dark Appointment

Harry was still reeling from the letter that was now tightly scrunched in his sweating hand. He could not, would not believe that his recent dreams were connected to this. In any case, he had much more to worry about than himself. This DOR – or whatever they were calling themselves – had set their targets on Hogwarts; his children could be in danger. Thoughts swam in Harry's mind, what would these Muggles put the children through? The letter mentioned an 'evaluation', just what does that mean? Unless the Minister had a plan, he would likely find out in less than a day. The Minister's office was down the most centre corridor. As Harry walked down it, he noticed that the mail traffic (small bewitched paper airplanes) grew dense; clearly other members of the Ministry were beginning to feel apprehensive about this mass arrival of Muggles. He passed a small office, where Arthur Weasley – head of the Misuse of Muggle Artefacts Office – was talking to his son, Ron.

"Harry! Harry, my boy – come in please!" Arthur said expectantly. "I'm sorry, Arthur, I have an appointment with the Minister, presumably about..." and Harry held aloft the crumpled letter. "Don't worry Harry; this will only take a moment. I'm sure Amos can wait for you." Harry felt this was a battle he would lose, so he took a seat next to Ron and opposite his father-in-law. "What is it?" Harry said, regretting the impatient tone in his voice. "Well, we wanted to talk to you about this Muggle intervention business. Do you really think they could be behind this, or are we about to walk into an elaborate trap?" Arthur asked, a strangely excited look etched on his face. "I don't understand, how would I know?" Harry said incredulously. "Well think about it mate, you may be a wizard, but you keep the most amount of Muggle company of any of us." Ron said. He added "Sometimes I think you prefer their company – you've missed the last four get-togethers." Harry shifted nervously in his seat. "Yeah – I've just been swamped with work that's all." Harry knew Ron didn't believe him – he gave the same look as Ginny does – but he was nonetheless glad when Arthur reiterated the question, "So? Could the Muggles really pull something like this off?" Harry thought for a moment, and then answered. "Truthfully, I don't think we give Muggles enough credit for they have achieved without magic. Sure, we can heal wounds and save lives without the need for scalpels and stitches, but could we develop devastating weapons? Could we really utilise computers, the microchip? Could we integrate them into wizarding society? I don't think so. If they've managed to find us and protect themselves, they could – if they wanted to – inflict great damage." Ron and Arthur looked at each other nervously. "I suggest," Harry continued "that you both research Muggle behaviour. Just like wizards, they have performed acts of good and evil. Don't take Muggles for granted." With that, Harry excused himself and continued to the Minister's office.

The door to Amos Diggory's office was rather elegant. It was engraved with caricatures of both his son and wife, who had long since departed. Like the statue in the main hall, they represented the mood of the person within the office. At the moment, both were holding hands, with their heads bowed, as if contemplating a difficult decision. As Harry approached, however, they simultaneously looked up and smiled warmly. Knowing what to do, Harry asked the engraved family of Diggory if he could enter. Again, they reacted at the same time, nodding slowly, and the door to Amos Diggory's office opened. Inside, there was a small but effective mural to Cedric Diggory, Amos' son, who – years ago, though it felt like only days – was murdered in front of Harry by the Dark Lord Voldemort. Harry felt a pang of pain every time he looked at it, though it was immeasurable compared to how Amos must feel. The rest of the office was usually a neat assemblage of cabinets and drawers which would magically open and close depending on the severity of the days' cases. Today, however, the cabinets were working very hard to keep closed, as a pile of recently unfolded paper airplanes sat unread on Amos' desk.

"Ah, Harry, please sit down." Amos said, rather calmly. "Sorry I'm late Minister," Harry began, but Amos raised a hand, "Do not trouble yourself, Harry – I'm sure many people wanted your input as to the content of these letters from no-one..." The Minister looked tired, Harry thought he had been notified just as he was about to go to sleep. "Now, you've probably read this damned thing a thousand times." "Just the once – I've only just arrived." Harry interjected. "Well, in any case, you must understand the severity of its contents?" "I do." "Well," Amos began, "What we have here is a breach of the Statute of Secrecy. I know that we've been working to find a way to rid ourselves of that archaic law, but it would appear that a select band of Muggles are going to do that for us." "So, you don't think that other Muggles know about this?" Harry asked. "It is unlikely. Before the Muggle Prime Minister's removal – yes, Harry, it was the first thing I checked – he assured me that as far as the Muggles were concerned, witches and wizards were something to be confined to stories and fable. I believe that what we have here is a Muggle who has links with a witch or wizard. Someone who is clearly influential and cunning." Harry was still confused as to why he had been brought in specifically. "I've already relayed this to Kingsley. We have decided that prudent action be taken quickly and within the short time limit that we have. First of all, we have ordered all wizards not to be on the offensive. The last thing we need is violence. Secondly, we are going to inject certain areas that would be otherwise outside of Ministry intervention with Aurors." Amos continued, "You must remember the last time 'we' sent someone to Hogwarts?" Harry instinctively rubbed the back of his left hand, the scars of 'I must not tell lies' faded, but the memories were still fresh. "McGonagall won't like that." Harry said. "She has little choice, I'm afraid." Amos said, with a nod.

"As you may know, Luna Lovegood teaches at Hogwarts – Defence against the Dark Arts, and truthfully, her methods are less than suitable. Headmistress McGonagall has been looking for an excuse to... substitute her, and we think this is the perfect opportunity." Amos bowed his head, looking over his glasses. "This is where you come in, Harry." Taken aback, Harry simply stared at the Minister. "You're experience with the Dark Arts is well known – however many times you try to explain it away with 'luck' – either way," Amos pointedly added over Harry's stuttering objections "you know your stuff." Harry sat back in the comfortable arm chair, uncertain as what to say. "Your chambers at Hogwarts are ready, a lesson plan has been written and the school passwords have been sent by owl." Amos concluded. "Minerva expects you in three hours. Clear up any loose ends you have with Kingsley." The Minister clearly saw the trepidation in Harry's face. "Look. We need someone adult with Muggle experience at Hogwarts." "Why not choose Hermione?" Harry asked. "We also need someone who can think on their feet. Basically," Amos genuinely seemed desperate "we need you there."

Harry sat for a moment, contemplating the next twenty-four hours. Not only would he have to teach several classes of students about the Dark Arts with no prior experience, he also had to prepare for whatever was going to descend upon the wizarding world at the end of the day. Harry relented, nodding, and left the Ministers office. He made his way to his own office – passing groups of concerned witches and wizards on the way. 'The Office of Harry Potter (Snr. Auror)' was engraved on the bronze door that led to his personal office. Inside were many trophies from his school Quidditch days, a blood-stained diary in a magically re-enforced glass case (perhaps the strangest item), and most precious of all – pictures of his family: father James and mother Lily, wife Ginny with the kids. On the wall opposite the enterance hanged a broomstick, the Greenbelt 4500 – a fast, but agile broomstick. He unhooked it from its resting place and placed it against the side of his desk. Sitting down, he pulled a piece of parchment from a drawer and a quill from a pot of ink and began to write:

Dear Ginny,

We've got our hands full at the Ministry, no doubt you'll have heard about it already over at the Prophet. I've been assigned to take over as the Defence against the Dark Arts teacher at Hogwarts. I'm heading there now, I'll give your love to this kids.

Love,

Harry.

It wasn't exactly a masterpiece, but he had no time to spare if he wanted to get to Hogwarts within three hours. He pointed his wand at the piece of parchment and said, clearly, "Mail Room". The piece of parchment folded itself into a neat airplane and sped off, the door opening and closing for it. Standing, Harry quickly threw his travelling cloak around him, grabbed his broomstick and headed for the main exit for any travelling witch or wizard. Upon arriving, he was greeted by the Broomstick Marshall, who oversaw any take-off and landing from or to the Ministry. "'Arry Potter?" "Yeah?" "It's abaht time you got 'ere, we're ready t'let ya go." The Marshall turned to his workmate at the other end of the room. "OI! BARRY! OPEN THE BLEEDIN' ROOF UP WILL YA?" "WHATCHU SAY TERRY?" Barry yelled back. Terry turned to Harry and said, "Tell ya, he's gettin' deafer and deafer this one... I SAID OPEN THE EFFIN' ROOF YA MORON!" "OH! OK!" With the message clearly understood, Barry pointed his wand to the darkness that enveloped the sealing. With all the motion of fluid being parted the roof opened, and daylight streamed inside. "Righ', I fink you're ready t'go now. Happy travellin'." Harry gave Terry a grateful, if not altogether friendly, nod. The broomstick felt very natural to Harry as he kicked off. Soon, he was flying with the greatest of ease towards his destination.

Flying from London to Hogwarts was not a difficult journey for Harry – he'd always thought that if he could do it in a flying car, he could do it with anything – just keep above the clouds and out of the way of planes. Fortunately, this particular day was a grey one, plenty of cover to fly with. Harry was feeling a little apprehensive about his return to Hogwarts, and he would have much appreciated it if it wasn't under the veil of such uncertainty. No doubt he could persevere with the teaching, but the alien notion of Muggles being at the school scared Harry. He knew that children could be very troublesome, especially in the possession of magic, and he was worried about any possible problems this would present. He also had his special, usual appointment at the weekend that – despite what happened at Hogwarts – he had promised himself a long time ago he would never miss.

Suddenly everything suddenly grew darker. Harry's vision became blurred, his control over the broom uncertain. A voice, the same voice as his dreams began to speak. As before he could not place it, but this time the words were clear. "Soon, soon my friends we will be in control. For too long they have overshadowed us. Too long. Yes, Shelby, I intend to see him, but not just yet. I have work to complete first. No, Jason, she will not be a problem – I have seen to that."Then everything changed. The darkness took shape. A woman named Astoria cried in the distance, her white dress spattered with blood. A man with a red scar down the length of his face walked towards her and placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. Astoria looked to him and mouthed nothing. A man with a pointed face and dulled white hair lay on the ground in front of them – his face disfigured by a large puncture mark. "Do not worry, my dear" the scarred man said "he is at peace, and soon – so shall you."

Harry was jerked from this unpleasant image by the droplets of rain on his face pounding down. Before he could do anything to stop it, his broomstick began fast descent. He could see Hogwarts – he passed over the lake, his speed getting faster and faster. He flew past the Whomping Willow, going far too quick for it to react to him. He could not react quickly enough, and Harry Potter crashed headlong in to the wet grass.