After lampooning Hermione's plans for the day, Harry made his way balefully to Kingsley's office. He anticipated feeling beholden in the same way as when he and Ron had driven the Ford Anglia to school.

Harry knew it would be worse than occlumency lessons with Snape when he saw the drawn look on Kingsley's face.

'I've told Miranda to give us a solid half hour,' Kingsley said, slumping his shoulders a little. Harry felt quite honoured – usually all manner of assistants wandered in and out of the Minister's meetings.

'A man was brought into Saint Mungo's early this morning,' Kingsley began. Harry didn't like the new turn of conversation. 'He'd been attacked by some muggles in central London. Didn't have his wand. Luckily an old warlock found him on his way to pick up today's Prophet from the Leaky Cauldron.'

'Who did he look like?' Harry asked, foreboding pressing down on his chest. Kingsley stared at him.

'Scrimgeour.' Harry swore. 'Whoever it is, is perfectly fine. He's being kept asleep by Healers. I've got two witches from Magical Law Enforcement outside his room just in case, but I've had word from the Healer on the ward that he's not likely to wake up without their knowhow.'

'Has whoever brought him there squawked to the Prophet yet?' Harry asked.

'No. But that means nothing – he was brought in publicly. Right through the waiting room. Wearing a Minister for Magic's face.'

Harry found it difficult to imagine a worse turn of luck. Not only was the situation continuing at a rapid pace, but it was now oozing its way into the public sphere. He still struggled with motivations too, at the bizarre lack of action or real violence. Were they dealing with some kind of large-scale offensive? A strange cult of people trying to prove an obscure point to the world at large? It was no longer just a matter for Harry personally, or his department. It would quickly become political, and wizards and witches up and down the country would know about this stunt, whatever it was, and have their eyes focussed steadily on how Harry and Kingsley were dealing with such an obscene thing as pretenders mocking the dead.

'This shows no sign of slowing. We must get ahead of this and set the tone while we still can.'

'How very savvy of you, Kingsley,' Harry replied, smiling, knowing how irritated playing politician made Kingsley – knowing how good he was at it too. Kingsley closed his eyes and shook his head.

'I'll need you on board, of course.'

Ah – revenge.

'The wireless and the papers are scheduled for this afternoon already.' He continued. 'My – address, speech, whatever they'll call it – is being drafted now.'

'Percy?' Harry asked in surprise. Kingsley shook his head again.

'Unsurprisingly, he has called in sick today. I could have done with his help, really … but we can't blame him. Given the circumstances.'

Harry felt a curl of mild annoyance at Percy's absence, given that he had been presented with his dead Godfather last night. But Harry was tired and angry at the pretenders and, if truthful, agreed with what Kingsley had said last night: he was rather accustomed to the weird and wonderful after so many years being surrounded by such events.

'You're to go to Hogwarts,' Kingsley said after a solemn pause. Harry looked up in interest. 'These people, whoever they are, are clever,' he continued, 'the Sirius lookalike knew intimate details you thought were private. The Scrimgeour man was right where the Death Eaters left the actual body. It would be naïve of us to leave the school untouched when so much death occurred there.'

Harry felt stupid. It was he that was supposed to think of all angles and prepare endless contingencies. Two of the Aurors under him were qualified before he even knew he was a wizard. He had gone to Hermione for help already. He had to have this fact, so blindingly obvious, spelt out to him by the Minister for Magic, who had a plate so full it was a banquet.

Kingsley seemed to sense Harry's thoughts, for he tilted his head and told him he understood, because of the fake Sirius.

Harry didn't like to blame his incompetence on things other than himself; it made him feel pompous. If he did not do better in this matter, better than he had done so far, then it would mean chaos for everyone involved. He was scared, not for the first time, that he was no better than the Ministry he had so reviled in the past … perhaps they too were simply trying their best with the hand they had been dealt.

'Do you have anything for me to say yet?' Harry asked around a dry throat. Kingsley drew a sheet of parchment from a pile to his right and pushed it gently across with a forefinger.

McGonagall knew he was coming, somehow. Maybe it was an owl, maybe it was a floo call. Maybe it was Kingsley letting her know himself. Whatever it was, the headmistress didn't flinch when Harry careened out of her fireplace and into a small golden stool.

Most portraits were asleep, but those that weren't watched Harry with great interest and those that had been lurched awake at the clatter he made. Dumbledore's, of course, remained dozing. Dexter Fortescue clapped in happiness, wide sleeves billowing, when he recognised Harry; he had followed Harry's career with more interest that Witch Weekly, and exalted every opportunity to chat. (Phineas Nigellus, meanwhile, simply sneered 'You,' before leaving his frame in time to avoid Fortescue rounding on him in anger.)

A few ticks on the mantlepiece clock went by before Rupert, then Winnie, stepped neatly out of the flames without a speckle of ash on their ruby robes.

'Potter. I have been informed of the situation.' McGonagall nodded to Rupert and Winnie who looked a mixture of awed and determined to not be so. She looked at the clock. 'Fisher, Warren – good morning to you both.'

Winnie, whose juniority was only beaten by Rupert who was a new trainee as of last September, smiled nervously and mumbled something back that contained 'professor'. Harry, unimaginably relieved he did not have to explain the situation to her, nodded meaningfully to McGonagall, who removed her small glasses and rubbed her eyes. 'Insanity.' She said firmly.

Phineas Nigellus grizzled in his frame, but Harry paid him no mind as he followed McGonagall down the spiral staircase and into the school at large, his Aurors trailing silently behind.

'The children are mostly in lessons,' McGonagall said, striding forwards, 'it is safe for us to talk, for the moment. Tell me – have you any idea why these people are doing this?'

'Not at all. It's only very recent. Last night.'

'Yes. It must be something quite knotty indeed if the Head Auror is coming to Hogwarts about it.' At this, she turned and gave Harry a rare small smile. 'Not that I am disappointed to see you in one piece, Potter. And you, Fisher – I am glad you decided against Healing, it wouldn't have suited you in the slightest.'

Rupert blinked back owlishly while Winne tried hard not to laugh. 'Well, my NEWT in Potions wasn't quite good enough for it, really …'

'Yes, I seem to recall the Auror Department amending their required brewing standards a few years ago now. Very fortunate for you, Mr Fisher.'

While Rupert nodded blankly, Harry attempted not to meet McGonagall's eye. At the time he had thought that if he, the Head, wouldn't have qualified for training, then surely he couldn't expect others to … Harry avoided thinking about his complete lack of NEWTs because it would skew his tenuous reasoning too much. He had quite enough to be dealing with.

They were coming to third floor now, more central in the castle. A staircase deposited them past the wandering Fat Friar and next to a portrait of a beautiful woman in a headdress who glared at them all.

'Winnie, you're going to the Slytherin common room with Slughorn, aren't you?' Harry asked desperately, eager to change the conversation. Winnie nodded, brushing her hair back with an air of importance. 'And Hufflepuff, Rupert?'

They had already spoken at length about this in the office. Harry and Kingsley had eventually decided he was to be accompanied with three Aurors. For protection (Harry bristled), and in different houses to encourage compliance with the students (Harry gleefully offered himself Gryffindor, to see the common room and his children). When rounding up the office like unruly children, Harry found that there was an astonishingly low number of Ravenclaws at the grand count of two. One of them was Jean, who was completing her night shift and looked dead on her feet, and the other was Proudfoot, who simply looked at Harry in anguish when faced with the prospect of teenagers.

And so Harry was covering the two towers and three Aurors became two.

'We are to meet Professor Slughorn directly.' McGonagall said, 'he's waiting in a staff common room just off the Charms corridor.'

If Harry was to hear the puffing pomposity of Slughorn in a thousand years, it would be infinitely too soon. He and Ginny had tried everything possible to avoid his invitations, and decided jointly that the man was only hanging onto the job he had so regretfully taken up again in order to ensnare James, Albus and Lily. 'The lure of our blood is what he's been working towards, Harry,' Ginny had said solemnly. 'He brewed countless love potions for me to create the perfect little club members.'

Harry's nieces and nephews bemoaned the Slug Club, and James and Albus had only recently returned from the recent Christmas soirée looking mortified. 'He made us wear matching dinner jackets,' James had whispered as Albus shivered beside him. Ron had laughed delightedly – but not as delighted as he had been that Rose was also a guest of honour.

'My boy!' his voice echoed around the stone. Harry glared at Rupert and Winnie as they giggled. 'Wonderful to see you, absolutely wonderful! How is that dear wife of yours—'

'Horace!' McGonagall interrupted. 'Mr Potter is not here to dilly-dally, he is here on important business for the Ministry.'

Slughorn, rather than drawing back, drew himself higher and fuller, making his stomach roil. 'Of course,' he said in a conspiratorial tone, tapping his nose, 'I sent my students straight to their common rooms after their lesson, even threatened them with a week's detention just in case the little scallywags decided to go wandering about!'

McGonagall's nostrils flared. She turned to the three Aurors, half-facing away from Slughorn in an effort to wipe his existence away. 'Well … Fisher, Madam Rafflesia is waiting by the entryway to the Hufflepuff common room, if you would like to meet her there. And, Ms Warren, if you and Professor Slughorn could make your way down to Slytherin's, Mr Potter and I shall first meet Professor Flitwick and Professor Jigger outside Ravenclaw house. Please meet us upstairs when you are finished, I expect we shall much take longer than yourselves.'

Quite unsure when he had relinquished his control over the proceedings and not entirely surprised by it either, Harry started back to the staircases with McGonagall. He ignored Slughorn and waved to Rupert and Winnie, tapping his temple in the universal sign of keep a look out.

It hadn't been long, but Harry looked forward to seeing his sons. He hoped McGonagall wouldn't regale him with their idiotic ventures on his way to see them.

AN: Hi! I hope this is all right for you all. Any mistakes can be blamed on it being 2.32am. Still, please let me know.

I had to chop the original draft in half. Hopefully the second bit will be out soon.

Fun fact: Rafflesia is a flower and it translates to 'corpse flower'.

Fun fact 2: I really want to get this in somewhere but if I don't - Winnie Warren, my Auror here, is related to Moaning Myrtle (Warren) and she hates it, for obvious reasons. When the found out they nicknamed her Weeping Winnie and she hates that too.