A Knut to Start the Revolution
Chapter 11

Disclaimer: This work of fan-fiction is not intended for personal profit. All characters utilized herein which are not creations of myself belong to J. K. Rowling.

Harry Potter had nicked Dudley's mobile phone since the plonker had gone out the previous day and stayed overnight at a friend's house. Dudley had apparently forgotten that his phone was on the bookshelf (the layer of dust on the few books that populated the shelves should have given Aunt Petunia fits, but she only cleaned the carpet, brought the laundry downstairs and made the bed. She apparently missed the fact that her son's inclination to enriching his mind was on a level below that of Crabbe or Goyle).

Considering that Dudley wouldn't be back until suppertime, if that, Harry saw no reason to spare Dudley's wallet the mobile charges. Aunt Petunia had mentioned Dudley being out with friends in passing to Uncle Vernon, as the man was heading out for a suspiciously well-timed weekend golf game with a potential large customer of Grunnings. It seemed the South Americans wanted drills as they were getting into a home construction boom, particularly in Argentina. The fact that the golf course had a very well-appointed pub was a mere coincidence, at least that was the way Uncle Vernon put it when Aunt Petunia sharply asked as to whether she would be having to get one of the neighbours to drive her out to pick him up.

After fiddling with the mobile and wondering how one actually got an outgoing call on it, Harry was startled by a sudden cacophony of sounds that bleeped, blooped, and in general sounded like a discordant digital attempt at a telephone ringing. Without stopping to realise what might happen if he answered the call, Harry was pressing all the buttons, including the 'Yes' button, and heard a tinny bellow in the speaker.

"Big D, where the sodding hell are you? Your mate Polkiss fucked off and didn't tell us whether you'd be over for that big party he's having since his folks have gone off to Essex somewhere!"

Harry, at first petrified, thought swiftly and grunted, "Uhhhhhh."

"Oh, fucking hell. You went and got completely pissed and now you've got a bloody hangover. Bugger all! I'll ring you back later."

Harry hesitantly pressed the 'No' button, hoping that since its pictorial representation was of a telephone handset with a slash through it, that it would disconnect the caller. Sure enough, the liquid-crystal display went blank and the backlighting went off. Harry noticed that the mobile read 'ERICSSON' near the top, and near the bottom it said 'GH388'.

Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry decided to move rationally through how to place a call. He first pressed all the digits that made up Hermione's number, and was confused when he held the telephone to his ear and heard nothing. Deciding maybe he had to hit another button, he tried the 'Yes' button, again.

Sure enough, the sounds of a telephone ringing could be heard, and Harry was soon talking to Hermione again.

"Hullo, Hermione, Sorry to be calling you like this so often."

"Oh, Harry, don't worry about that! I've just been spending most of my time revising for sixth year. Since I found out that Flourish and Blotts can owl your books over, I decided to have them owl me my books, since I already know what subjects I plan to take. They said they could charge my Gringotts vault – I put money in it when I don't need to change my Galleons back to pounds. And anyway, we've got a small swimming pool here, so I can sit by it and read; it's a good way to relax while I let the potions work."

Harry was alarmed, and upset at himself for not asking after her health when she'd visited him. "Potions? If I'd known you were still recovering—"

"I'm able to move around, Harry. It's just to make sure that I'm completely healed and all that. Relax. Honestly!"

He mumbled guiltily. "Well, it's just that I didn't even ask you when you came over, and—"

"Did we not go over this once before? We all agreed to go with you; now what did you call me for, because it certainly couldn't have been to rehash things we should leave in the past."

"Well…anyway, I'm calling on Dudley's mobile here because Aunt Petunia's downstairs and the only other telephone's in Dudley's room and I can't take it into mine. Anyway, I got this weird messenger parchment thing from Dumbledore and he says it was inspired by Muggle computer communications going back to the 1970s. Do you know anything about that?"

Hermione gushed, "Oh, my, yes! My Dad has a computer with a modem in it, and I used to dial BBSes when I was younger, but it lost its allure after I found out the majority of people who used them were boys with a rather stunted view of the world. But anyway, I dialled a few multiline BBSes back then, and you could communicate with up to ten other people all at once through the computer. Quite fascinating, really, at the time. Nowadays we just use it for occasional dialling up for Internet access."

Harry, not wanting to admit he was bowled over by half the terms Hermione was using, replied, "…Er, all right."

Before either person could continue, a familiar-looking owl from the Ministry sailed up to the window, perched on the sill and rather self-importantly pecked at it. Harry frantically wrenched the window open before the bird got the attention of too many other people in the area while blurting, "Hold on, Hermione!"

Said owl landed on the windowsill and stuck the letter out at Harry, who chucked the mobile onto his bed, then took the letter. The owl then ruffled its feathers and zoomed back into the open air.

Fumbling the letter open, the boy began reading. After a few lines, his heart raced as he realised its import. He grabbed up the mobile and said, "Hermione! Are you there?"

"Yes, what is it, Harry? Are you all right? Is there a—"

"No, no problem, Hermione. Just a letter came from the Wizengamot. It's just a notification to me that I need to attend the session coming up on the thirty-first of July. There's some stuff in here about proxies, and I'd like to talk to you about my seat on the Wizengamot anyway."

Hermione paused, then said, "Are you eligible for any seats besides your father's? Maybe Sirius Black's? They were an ancient enough family, after all."

Harry looked again at the parchment and said, "It just says the Potter seat is available and there's no age restriction on when I can assume the seat if I'm deemed mentally competent." He snorted. "Wonder how they've have taken it last year."

"I think you should definitely assume the Potter seat right away. Can you assume Sirius's seat? Or, well, the seat he would have got if he'd been cleared of all crimes."

Harry shrugged, then realised Hermione couldn't see the gesture. "I guess I won't know until Gringotts get a letter to me saying when they want to, y'know, give everything to the proper people and all that when the will gets read. But I have an idea about that second seat that'll just give everybody fits, if I'm eligible for it."

Guardedly, she said, "Yes, and?"

"Do you want the seat as my proxy?"

For the second time that summer, the Boy Who Lived managed to render Hermione Granger speechless. He laughed and added, "Well, say something! I mean, can you imagine the look on Malfoy's face when he realises your appointment to the Most Noble and Ancient House of Black's seat elevates you to his equal, legally? Anyway, just say you want the seat!"

Hermione was truthfully torn between disbelief and giddiness at the thought of putting paid to all the pureblood supremacists who delighted in looking down on her and her kind, the Muggleborns. She summoned up all her bravery and committed herself (which was why the Hat had put her in Gryffindor instead of Ravenclaw), saying "Yes! I'll do it, Harry."

"Okay. We'll wait until we find out more about the other seat but I'll take mine for sure, and as soon as Gringotts get hold of me, we'll see about the Black seat. Sirius would have been tickled pink at the idea, wouldn't he?"

"I'm sure he would, Harry. I'd better ring off, though. Those mobile telephones cost a bit of money and even if it's your cousin's you're using you don't want to make it too obvious you're using it."

"Shite, you're right. I'd rather not get Uncle Vernon all purple-y. It looks quite unattractive, I'll tell you that."

She giggled, then said, "Goodbye, Harry."

"'Bye. See you later."

He pressed the 'No' button, and then returned the mobile to Dudley's bookshelf. He smirked to himself as he decided to read some more about battle-spell casting; it seemed that the Soviets, like their Muggle counterparts, specialised in overwhelming their opponents by dint of sheer numbers. So their Arithmancers had come up with spells that were short and easy to cast repeatedly. This, he thought, could be useful in a fast-paced fight or duel, and it seemed not many people in Great Britain bothered with Russian-language spells.

Author Notes: This is essentially unexpurgated from the old version of the fic and as such is unbetaed. I will try to update this more regularly and would appreciate a beta-reader for this. Cheers! :)