Chap. 3: The meeting, Dumbledore, Little Whinging, and the Greengrass brothers.

It was 7:00 AM in the morning when Harry walked down the steps of the front stoop at No. 4 Privet Drive. Harry also noticed that it was abnormally foggy that morning, and he felt a slight chill. Something, to him, just didn't feel right, and there was a feeling of uneasiness and dread about him.

Harry was wearing his tan slacks, a white dress shirt, a solid red tie, and the brown corduroy dress jacket that he wore for his trial. After he had woken, showered, and dressed, he had made his way down to the kitchen to fix him something to eat, only to find Petunia, who sat him down and fixed him a plate of scrambled eggs, bacon, toast, and a cuppa.

While he was eating, they had discussed Vernon declaring that Harry must now pay rent, which ended up in a huge row the evening before. Petunia, though, assured Harry that he would not be required to pay any rent. Harry figured that she already knew that he would be leaving before long, and staying at his godfather's old place.

Something had changed in his aunt, Harry thought, as he walked along the walkway, and out onto the sidewalk of Privet Drive. From here, he would make his way to the end of the drive, where there was a roundabout, and then flag the Knight Bus down with his wand. He would offer to pay extra to Stan and Ernie if they could get him to Whitehall Place on time, where he would use the visitor's entrance, which was an old, red, telephone box.

When Harry summoned the bus, there was a crack, and the purple three-decker bus stopped directly in front of Harry, where Stan Shunpike stepped off into the foggy air, and onto the street.

"Well, lookie 'ere, Ern, Neville Long-bah-um," Stan said in his Cockney dialect, and with a smirk and a wink. "Where do ya wan' ta go today," Stan said, but lowered his voice, "Mr. Pa-ur."

Harry's eyes blinked rapidly at this before he stilled himself.

"I need a quick lift to the visitor's entrance at the Ministry of Magic at Whitehall. I'm willing to pay extra to get me there by twenty till eight."

Stan scrunched up his face at this and glanced sideways at Harry. "Two galleons, and don' tell any-un, alrigh'?"

Harry quickly paid Stan two golden galleons and boarded the bus. The beds were still out, so he took the first one, which was, fortunately, empty, where he sat down, and grabbed onto the headrail.

While Harry was getting situated, he noticed Stan whisper something to Ernie, and then take his place behind the driver's seat. Just as Harry's grasp on the bedrail tightened, there was a crack, and the bus was off. Harry had to swallow down the bile that rose in his throat.

"So, Neville, who ya ta see ah ta ministry?" Stan inquired, after about five minutes of traveling had passed by.

"Oh," Harry began his lie, just as he was thrown sideways, "someone at Games and Sports about Quidditch."

Stan looked disappointed at this, but the shrunken head, hanging from a string beside Ernie, loudly announced in its patois accent, "Ministry of Magic and Whitehall," but then, it cackled out.

There was another crack, and the huge purple bus came to a quick stop, with just the smallest amount of the screeching of its tyres on the tarmac.

Harry didn't have to get up, as he was literally launched forward, putting his red tie to swinging, forcing him to stand, and if he hadn't held onto the bedrail, he would have tumbled to the floor.

Next, Harry collected himself, swallowing more bile down from his upset stomach, and then, he gave a cheeky grin at Stan before he quickly deboarded in front of the red telephone box, where it was foggy as well. Just as Harry stepped onto the sidewalk, the bus was gone with another crack.

Here, Harry looked at his wristwatch, and it was now 7:30 AM, so he had made good time, and the "bribe" was worth it. Next, he looked around, and then entered the telephone box, where he dialed via the telephone's old dial interface.

There was a feminine voice that appeared, next, welcoming him to the Ministry of Magic, and asking him to state his purpose. He did, and the voice told him to have a "good day," before a badge was spat out of the change slot, and then, the red box started to drop below street level.

When the box reached the atrium, Harry opened the door and stepped out. The atrium was already busy, and as he started making his way back, toward security, many noticed him, but they acted like they were afraid to approach him, which made him smirk. One just did not walk up to someone for pleasantries, when that person had just fought both Voldemort and his Death Eaters.

Finally, Harry made his way past the fountain on his right, which he scowled at, and up to Eric Munch, who sat at the security desk before the lifts. When Harry studied the desk, he noticed that the wand-weigher was missing, which was destroyed when Voldemort and Dumbledore were fighting it out.

"Harry Potter to see Minister Scrimgeour. I have an appointment at eight, sharp," Harry stated, as he handed the guard his wand.

Munch's mouth was agape, but he quickly snapped it shut, before he looked over the wand. "What type of wand is it, Mr. Potter? Our machine is broken; caught fire, it did."

"Holly and Phoenix Feather, eleven inches," Harry stated, and Munch wrote that down.

Next, Munch stood and retrieved a brass Probity Probe from his blue robes, which he started quickly waving over Harry.

"Ya all clear, Mr. Potter," Munch said, as he handed Harry's wand back to him, which he slipped up his right sleeve. "Ay, ta new minister is alright, ya see. Nuthink like 'at greasy an slippery Fudge fellow."

"Thank you, Mr. Munch, and I'll keep that in mind," Harry replied, as he walked toward the lifts. Munch was left standing like he was petrified because the young wizard had actually remembered his name.

Harry entered the first lift he came to, which was, thankfully, empty, where he pressed the button for level one. The lift, of course, rose up like a rocket, causing Harry's stomach to drop to his feet.

It was no time when the lift came to a sudden stop, and a feminine voice announced "Level one, Minister for Magic and Support Staff."

Harry walked out into a large carpeted hall, where he noticed a plaque that pointed toward the direction of the different offices. The minister's office was to his left, so he started making his way down that hall, which, he noticed, was covered in portraits of the past ministers, and dignitaries.

The hall opened to a large round waiting room, and around its circumference were several doors. There was also a visitor's desk, so he made his way up to that, where a witch was slowly writing something in a journal.

Here, Harry waited, and waited, before he started tapping his fingernails against the desk, which seemed to obtain her attention, causing her to scowl. However, when she looked up and caught sight of his scar, the scowl disappeared for a gape.

"I'm Harry Potter," Harry stated, "and I have an appointment with the minister at eight, sharp."

She seemed to quickly come out of her stupor and began opening another book to her right. Harry watched her finger trail down the page, so, it must be the minister's appointment book, he thought.

"Right you are, Mr. Potter," the witch said with a squeaky voice. "You're a little early, but no matter. If you would, follow me into the conference room, and I shall bring you some tea.

"The minister canceled all his morning appointments this morning, until lunch, and had you penciled in. I've never seen any minister do that before."

"Really?" Harry inquired, where the witch nodded her head so fast that he was afraid it would disconnect from her neck.

"This way, Mr. Potter," the witch said, as she opened the large double-oak doors to the room.

After Harry stepped into the room, she beckoned him toward the head of the table and patted the chair by the high-backed one at the end, which must have been the minister's chair. He also noticed a pensieve sitting on the table, and two muggle notepads, with Biros laying next to them.

Harry took a seat, and the witch quickly spoke up as she was leaving. "Be right back with the tea service, Mr. Potter. Oh, what a pleasure it is to have you visit! Just wait until I tell my daughter!" As the last word left her mouth, she pulled the door closed, and Harry began to twiddle his thumbs, where he noticed a door in the paneled oak wall across from him, which, he bet, led to Scrimgeour's office.

Dumbledore had a bad night the night before, with Severus trying his best to stop the curse on his right hand. Luckily, the potions master was able to delay it, but he was now on a regimen of several potions per day. The headmaster had been foolish enough to go alone to Marvolo Gaunt's old home place, where he retrieved the ring, which was cursed, that he had placed on his right ring finger. That finger was now black, and black spidery blood vessels were now spreading over his knuckles, and down onto his other fingers. They had also climbed as high as his wrist.

He blinked his eyes, and was now awake, sleeping longer than he intended to. Finally, feeling quite unwell, he swung his legs over the side of his bed, where he sat there for a moment, and yawned. Next, he looked over at the clock and noticed that it was eight in the morning, as he slipped his feet into a pair of large, white, and rather furry house slippers. He had to admit that muggle mail order was wonderful.

Once he stood, he made his way over to an over-stuffed and flowery chintz chair at the foot of his bed, where he retrieved a purple satin and white-feathered dressing gown, which, he thought, was quite comfortable.

Now that he was ready, he made his way down the spiral stairs to his office, greeted Fawkes, and sat down at his desk with a yawn. Finally, he called Whippy, his favorite house-elf, which appeared with a slight pop.

"Whippy," Dumbledore said, "please bring me a spot of tea, and my usual breakfast. I'll be eating here, today since I'm a little under the weather."

Whippy gave a small bow, snapped his fingers, and disapparated.

Here, Dumbledore leaned back in his golden throne-like chair, and stared at his ruined hand, just as Fawkes called out to him, which made the headmaster turn his head toward the famous bird. However, when he did, he noticed a certain silver instrument on the small spindle-legged table, one of several, which had quit operating.

"Oh, Dear Merlin, NO!" Dumbledore loudly said, before he quickly stood, pulled the Elder Wand from his fluffy robe, and disapparated.

Where the headmaster apparated to, was at the end of Privet Drive, where he was surrounded by a thinning fog. Here, he scowled and began making his way up the sidewalk, while ignoring the muggles that were staring at him out of their windows.

Mrs. Polkiss covered her mouth to stop her gasp when she noticed an old man that was dressed in a woman's purple satin and white-feathered dressing gown, who was also wearing white furry slippers, that looked to be having himself a leisurely and merry stroll along the sidewalk in front of their house. He also looked to be carrying an orchestra conductor's baton.

"Fred," hissed Mrs. Polkiss, "come and see!"

Her husband took a quick sip of his tea, stood, and walked over to the sitting room window, where he looked outside.

"Oh... , dear me, that's awful, and for a man of his age. Has he ever cut his hair, or had a proper shave?"

Mrs. Polkiss shook her head at this. "I wonder where he's going?"

Both quickly walked out onto the front stoop and watched the old man, where he finally made a right, and started up the Dursley's walkway.

Mrs. Polkis first covered her mouth to stifle her chortle, before she dropped it, and said, "Wait until Eileen and Janet hear about this. It will be all over the neighborhood by this evening!"

Petunia Dursley was just wiping down her kitchen when she heard a loud knock on her door. She thought that Dudley was upstairs on his computer, so, surely, he hadn't locked himself out, yet, again, and Harry was already gone to the Ministry of Magic!

She quickly wiped her hands on her apron and made her way down the hall to open the door. When she did, she was flummoxed, as there, standing before her, was an old man, with very long white hair, and a matching beard, who was wearing a woman's purple satin and white-feathered dressing gown, along with white furry slippers.

Petunia's head quickly cocked to the left side, and her bulging eyes went from left to right, taking the man in from bottom to top. She just couldn't wrap her head around what she was seeing, and then, it hit her about the neighbors. Why, she could see Mrs. Johnson from across the street, staring at the spectacle! This, of course, made her shriek.

Harry took a sip of his tea and then checked his watch. Just as the second hand showed ten seconds till eight, the oak door across from him opened, and in walked the minister, who was reading a piece of parchment, with a scowl. He didn't look up as he pulled the high-backed swivel chair from the table, and took a seat. Finally, he scoffed, and slammed the parchment upside down upon the table, and then, took a deep breath before he glanced at Harry.

"Mr. Potter," Scrimgeour said with his right eyebrow raised, "I hope you understand what hoops I jumped through in order to schedule this meeting."

"Yes, sir," Harry replied, "the witch at the desk told me that you canceled all your appointments until lunch, which, I much appreciate."

"Right," Scrimgeour gruffed. "First, Mr. Potter, I want you to know that I am on your side, and have always been, but you have to know that our world is now in a right mess at the moment?"

"Yes, sir."

"You can't do what you want to do, alone, Mr. Potter. You-Know-Who is too strong, and he has too many powerful followers. You do understand this?"

"Yes," Harry sighed, "I know. However, before we go any farther, I want to know if you are ruthless enough to do what needs to be done to finally shut the Death Eaters down, and not be like Fudge?"

"What do you mean by ruthless," Scrimgeour questioned, "Mr. Potter?"

"I mean, are you ready to do what it takes, no matter how dirty, clandestine, underhanded, deceitful, vile, and I might say, illegal it has to be? I mean guerilla warfare, Minister, because Voldemort plays by those very rules!"

Scrimgeour studied Harry with thin lips before he sighed, and nodded his head. "Yes, I was already thinking about that, and I approve. However, we will have to placate the public, because, if we don't, it will collapse our economy, which is right now on the edge. People are scared, Mr. Potter, do you understand?"

"Yes," Harry replied with a sigh. "I also know who many of his inner circle are, and I will reveal them today, using my memory of what happened in the cemetery at Little Hangleton. That town was where both Tom's mother and father were from."

"Tom?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle, sir. 'I Am Lord Voldemort' is an anagram of his real name. Of course, Voldemort means 'Flight From Death,' which is his greatest fear; dying, that is. He went to school with Hagrid and he framed Hagrid for Myrtle Warren's death. It was Tom that let the Basilisk loose from the Chamber of Secrets the first time.

"How many memories are you willing to share, Mr. Potter?"

"All of them," Harry answered.

"We'll need a witness with us in the pensieve," Scrimgeour said, "and someone to bottle each memory up and hide them away. Who do you trust with your life, and to keep their lips sealed?"

"I'm sorry to say," Harry replied, "nobody, at the moment, because everyone I know is attached to Dumbledore in some way, and they would break their neck to spill the beans to him for 'the greater good.' I do not want him to know about my plans."

"What about Gareth Greengrass, then, since his family, now, has a magically binding relationship to you, which they do not take lightly, and he is, of course, an unspeakable? Plus, he is very familiar with the dark and arcane magic used by the Death Eaters, since they study it all in the DOM."

Harry sighed, and thought long and hard about it before he nodded.

Rufus' wand flew into his right hand, and he said "Expecto Patronum," causing an old, battle-worn, lion to appear. Harry could see its ribs, and he was staring, which Rufus noticed.

"We all get old, Mr. Potter, and my patronus is aging with me, I'm sad to say."

Here, Rufus directed the lion to find Gareth, and told him to "Come to the Minister's Office, Conference Room, post haste."

Cyrus Greengrass was sitting across from his elder brother, by ten years, in his study, and was studying the man, after he told him that he had informed Mr. Potter of the betrothal contract, and that, indeed, Mr. Potter was Sirius' legal heir.

"What kind of lad is he," Cyrus asked.

"He's had a very hard life, Cyrus," Gareth commented, "and I mean up to his neck in shite from the time that Dumbledore placed him with his aunt. Plus, many of those rumors that we've heard about him are true. How he didn't become an obscurial is beyond me, over his mistreatment and neglect. However, he is still a good young man, and has the good traits of both Gryffindor and Slytherin."

"Really?" Cyrus questioned.

"Yes," Gareth said, "and we also have a problem with him, about his health, which was revealed, today, during the meeting with the minister."

"And what would that be?"

Here, Gareth gave his younger brother a serious look, before he stated, "He is the victim of a minor possession."

"What, in Merlin's name, is that?"

"A full possession is when a full renegade soul possesses another person," Gareth explained, "completely. In Mr. Potter's case, it is a fragment of a soul, which is how he has been able to fight it off since that Halloween night. However, it has caused a constant drain on his magic, and it has stunted him, somewhat. It's like a leech."

"This is dark magic, dear brother, and I'm sure you know that. What can we do to have it exorcized?"

"I don't trust anyone around here to do it properly, as the fragment must be forced into the afterlife, after its removal. I think it's time that we contact our friends over in New Orleans."

"For fuck's sake," Cyrus muttered a curse.

"There's more, Cyrus, about You-Know-Who, and the way that I believe he cheated death, which is tied to this."

Cyrus groaned out loud at this and stood to pour himself another glass of cognac. "What did you find out?"

"A Horcrux," Gareth replied with a scowl. "The foulest and darkest of magic there is, and I believe that he created several, which has caused his soul to become so unstable, that it created that soul fragment and the minor possession. Harry wasn't hit with the killing curse, we don't believe, and we think that it rebounded off his pregnant mother, Lily Potter, destroying You-Know-Who's body with some unknown magic mixed in."

"Merlin help us all," Cyrus said, as he took a large gulp of his drink. "Say nothing of this to anyone, but those within our family, or any that Mr. Potter trusts."

A/N: Since several asked for a new chapter, I thought that I would write one more, but this will be the last one before I update Intrigue II. Thanks for all the reviews!