Chapter 6
It was the first DA meeting after Christmas break, and Parvati Patil was doing a few preparatory stretches (she didn't want a repeat of a previous meeting where she had sprained her ankle during a failed attempt to dodge a stunner). She was one of the first people there, so she zoned out as the rest of the would-be outlaws filed in. She barely noticed as a newcomer entered- a Hufflepuff who looked to be a fifth or sixth year, with olive-skin and mid-length black hair.
"Excuse me," he asked the person closest to the door- Ginny Weasley- in a lightly accented voice, "I'm assuming this is Dumbledore's Army, as I'm not currently dead or in some horrible circle of the Dungeon Dimensions?"
Ginny stared for a second before answering, "Uh... Yeah. Yeah, that's us."
"Excellent." The newcomer rubbed his hands together in a decidedly evil way.
Far from being the evil foreign genius he acted like, he was in fact more akin to a fumbling child when it came to magic. He clearly knew next-to-nothing. Yet despite this handicap, in that first hour he devoted himself to learning. Parvati didn't pay a lot of attention at first- she didn't even learn his name- but she did notice that he had managed a weak stunner by the end of the meeting.
During the next meeting, she payed a little more attention, as she was now somewhat interested following her discovery of his unconscious body lying defenseless in the hallway. He had clearly improved, but he said little, his face screwed up in concentration as he practiced spells everyone else had mastered years before. She felt kind of sorry for him, as he was never able to match anybody, even the youngest in the group, in a duel. He left sweating with a downcast expression painted on his face.
After their excursion to Hogsmeade, he had more confidence in himself, but he refused to talk about his remarkably low magical abilities with Parvati or Padma. When Harry broached the subject at the next meeting, he shrugged him off and left limping and soaked in sweat.
The next week he entered the room smelling faintly of cigar smoke. For the first time, he cast a stunner that fully incapacitated his target, but he was handily defeated by Dennis Creevey in a duel. He was clearly improving, but in baby steps.
Then, they began working on Patronuses, which everyone except Ziad had been very keen to practice, though, as Harry kept reminding them, producing a Patronus in the middle of a brightly lit classroom when they were not under threat was a very different from producing it when confronted by a real Dementor.
"Oh, don't be such a killjoy," said Cho brightly, watching her silver swan-shaped Patronus soar around the Room of Requirement during their last lesson before Easter. "They're so pretty."
"They're not supposed to be pretty, they're supposed to protect you," said Harry patiently. He spent quite a while helping Neville.
"You've got to think of something happy," Harry reminded him.
"I'm trying," said Neville miserably.
Seamus, then Hermione, then Dean finally achieved a Patronus.
Parvati fired a bright silver ferret out of her wand and oohed in appreciation, when she caught a glance of Ziad standing in the corner, not even trying. She walked over.
"Are you okay?" she muttered.
"Yeah," he said, "I just... I can't really think of any time or place where I was really all that happy. Satisfied, sure, but that's not enough."
"Maybe you're thinking about it the wrong way."
His face clouded in thought, before a light lit behind his eyes and cleared the clouds away.
"You know what? I think I might have something."
He cleared his throat, shook out his robes, extended his wand, and shouted, "Expecto-!"
The door of the Room of Requirement opened, and closed. Dobby scrambled in, his eyes wide with terror. The room fell silent, and the last Patronuses faded away into silver mist.
"Harry Potter, sir..." squeaked the elf, "Dobby has come to warn you... but the house-elves have been warned not to tell..."
Harry seized the elf before he could hurt himself. "What's happened, Dobby?"
"Harry Potter, she... she..." Dobby hit himself in the face with a free hand, which Harry promptly grabbed.
"Who's 'she', Dobby?"
"Um... Umbridge, Harry Potter sir..."
"Has she found out about us- about the DA?"
The elf wordlessly nodded.
"Oh... Shit."
Ziad couldn't help himself from muttering, "Understatement of the Year Award, much?"
Parvati elbowed him, eyes wide with fear, "Now is not the time!" she hissed.
"WHAT ARE YOU WAITING FOR?" Harry bellowed, "RUN!"
They all pelted towards the exit at once, forming a scrum at the door, then people burst through. Ziad and Parvati found themselves at the rear of the pile-up, Padma turned and gave one last fear-filled glance before disappearing out the door.
Ziad grabbed Parvati's hand to steady her as they sprinted down the hall. Unfortunately, they ran straight in to a band of Slytherins, all holding their wands.
Draco Malfoy pointed his want at Parvati. Ziad threw his arm out and rather miraculously (she thought for about half a second) caught the stunner in the palm of his hand. He collapsed like a sack of potatoes. Parvati reached for her wand.
"Don't even think about it," sneered Malfoy.
(Malfoy later cursed himself for not saying "Make my day!" but hey, you can't win 'em all)
Umbridge appeared around the far corner, breathless but wearing a delighted smile. She ogled the two captured outlaws, and kicked Ziad's unconscious body (he seemed to have a bad habit of getting stunned, which he later resolved to break).
"Excellent, Mr. Malfoy! I suspected this... This foreigner was up to no good. Thirty points to Slytherin!"
Umbridge flicked her wand at Ziad, "Innervate!"
Ziad groaned, and opened his eyes, and promptly closed them again.
"Oh... Shit. I should have stayed in goddamn Beirut..."
Umbridge giggled disturbingly before saying, "Hop along now and see if you can round up any more, Draco. Look for anyone out of breath." She whirled on the Parvati and Ziad and added in her softest, most dangerous voice, as Malfoy walked away, "You can come with me to the Headmaster's office."
The office was full of people. Dumbledore was sitting behind his desk, his expression serene, the tips of his long fingers together. Professor McGonagall stood rigidly beside him, her face extremely tense. Some old guy in a bowler hat was rocking backwards and forwards on his toes beside the fire, clearly immensely pleased with the situation. Two men who looked like hired muscle were positioned on either side of the door like guards, and a young man who had to be a Weasley hovered excitedly beside the wall, a quill and a heavy scroll of parchment in his hands, apparently poised to take notes.
Ziad pulled himself free of Umbridge's grasp as the door swung shut behind them. The pompous man with the bowler hat glared at him with vicious satisfaction on his face.
"Well," he said, "Well, well, well..."
Ziad groaned to himself. He was one of those important people. The kind who have to say "Well... Well, well well..." whenever they meet new people.
"They were running from the scene of the crime," said Umbridge, "The Malfoy boy cornered them."
"Did he, did he?" said Mr. Pompous, "I must remember to tell Lucius. Well, whoever-you-two-troublemakers-are, I expect you know why you're here?"
Ziad glanced at Parvati, who had seized up with fear. He glanced back at Mr. Pompous and said, rather truthfully, "No, not really. I didn't know it was a crime to walk through the hallways of the school I attend."
"Well... Well, well well..." Mr. Pompous said.
"Oh, for the love of-"
"Shut up!" Umbridge slapped the back of Ziad's head.
Dumbledore did nothing but watch the events with polite amusement.
"So you have no idea," Mr. Pompous said, "why Professor Umbridge-"
"Excuse me, but I haven't the foggiest idea of who you are and why you have the right to berate me in such a manner."
Mr. Pompous looked incredulously at Ziad, at Dumbledore, and then at Parvati who had given a little squeak of what may have been laughter. He decided it was probably fear. Of course it was.
He puffed out his chest and said in the most pompous manner possible, "I am Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic."
Ziad sighed, "I'm sorry, but I'm not a citizen of Great Britain, so I'm not subject to your authority. I'd like to talk to a lawyer, and also contact the Lebanese embassy before you say anything else."
Dumbledore shook his head slightly. Parvati groaned. Ziad lost a little confidence.
Fudge scoffed, "I'm sorry, but that is ridiculous. You are in Magical Britain. Muggle diplomacy means nothing here."
Crap. Well, Ziad thought, I may be well and truly screwed this time.
"Anyway," Fudge continued, "you seem to be implying that you have no idea, none at all, that an illegal student organization has been discovered within this school?"
Ziad thought for a minute before replying, "Well, yeah, of course I do. Everybody does. They busted in a few weeks ago and said some pretty ominous stuff in the Great Hall. Everybody saw it."
"Ah yes, the Terikal Talben Hogwarts-"
"Tehrik-i-Taliban."
"Sorry?"
"Oh, nothing. Just mumbling to myself."
"Right. Well, Dumbledore, I suppose we'd better fetch our informant, if these two refuse to talk."
Umbridge left the room and returned several minutes later with one of Cho Chang's friends. Ziad couldn't remember her name, but Parvati released a betrayed gasp.
After the usual pre-informant niceties and the revealing of the ugly scarring on her face, Fudge cut right to the chase. "Who else was there? What happened at this meeting? Was its purpose the overthrow of the Ministry (Ziad scoffed. "Oh, please")?"
The informant refused to speak (which, Ziad thought, rather negated the purpose of informing in the first place. People just couldn't even betray correctly in this place)
Umbridge sighed, "The purpose of these meetings was to persuade them to join an ileegal society, whose aim was to learn spells and curses the Ministry has decided are inappropriate for school-age-"
Finally, Dumbledore decided to live up to his reputation. "I think you'll find you're wrong there, Dolores."
Ziad looked up, and stared at Dumbledore. Parvati had a hopeful expression on her face. Ziad was less-than-enthusiastic. There was no way in hell even a man with Dumbledore's reputation could talk them out of this. Fudge clearly thought the same, and expressed as such in a rather pompous manner (the poor man just couldn't help it. That level of pompousness is inherent in someone who is short and wears bowler hats, and is only magnified when he is in a position of power. Interestingly enough, eighteenth century magical scientists Florian & Wattson actually performed a study on this phenomenon and concluded that the highest level of pompousity was achieved through the combination of a bowler hat, three green hairpins, an orangutan, and a model 3 wool Class A Robes made by Mrs. Wattson).
"Cornelius," Dumbledore said, "I can't deny that these two were undoubtedly in some clandestine meeting, the purpose of which is a major breach of school rules, but I will say that I really do not believe all this-" he waved at the two security guards- "is necessary, let alone involving the Minister of Magic. It is a matter of school discipline, not law enforcement."
Fudge puffed up even more (quite an achievement, Ziad thought), "On the contrary, Albus! It is the Ministry's duty to investigate any, and I mean any!, threat to Magical Britain, and I believe this organization represents just such a threat!"
Arguments and negotiations ensued.
Ziad sighed and rocked on his toes to get his circulation going again. From his experience, these sorts of arguments could go on for hours. He zoned out and let his eyes explore the room. It seemed like generic Eccentric Wizard stuff that any respectable Eccentric Wizard should have in his room. It probably came in a box-set.
He looked at Parvati, who had gotten over her paralyzing fear and had began to grow bored herself. He waggled his eyebrows at her in an attempt at levity. It didn't work because she looked away at the last minute, meaning he presented the back of her head with a rather funny facial expression.
Oh, well. Such is life.
Finally, the argument seemed to peter out. Neither Fudge nor Dumbledore looked particularly happy. Neither was Ziad. It was getting late and he wanted to get some sleep sometime this century.
"Hurry up, you old bastards." he muttered.
"What was that?" smiled Dumbledore.
"Slip of the tongue."
Fudge turned towards Ziad and Parvati, "Well, Dumbledore has talked me out of throwing you two in Azkaban (Parvati coughed, she clearly had not known that was on the table), but I'm afraid you're now in the hands of Hogwarts justice. But be warned, if you put another toe in any clandestine meeting or subversive cell of insurgent innuendo..." Fudge racked his brains for a second, "Or... Rebellious rookery, you will face the consequences." He jabbed Ziad in the chest with a pudgy finger, gestured at his employees and attempted to sweep out of the room. It was more of a shuffle, because the door didn't really do what he wanted it to do, and he had to stop and wait for his employees, so it rather failed to achieve its effect.
Ziad shook his head. Amateur.
Dumbledore sighed and leaned back in his chair (which Ziad noted was a very nice plush-leather one, that creaked appreciatively).
"Er... Professor Dumbledore?"
"Yes, Mr. Jarrah?"
"Do you mind, uh... Where did you get that chair?"
Everyone stared at Ziad, jaws agape.
Ziad stepped back defensively, "Ask a simple question..."
Author's Note:
Good plush-leather chairs that creak just right are truly in short supply. It should not, therefore, be surprising that Dumbledore would have just such a thing.