Chapter 13—The Interviews

Rufus was annoyed.

Matters that were important to the survival of the wizarding world should not be allowed to slip through the cracks. Private individuals might neglect their affairs if they wished—until that brought them into contact with the law—but the Minister of Magic, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, the goblins at Gringotts, and others like them should pay attention to what they did.

Rufus had looked at every memory in that damn Pensieve three times. He'd examined the documents pertaining to the Potter case and the arrest of Sirius Black until he was dizzy and saw afterimages of words every time he closed his eyes. He'd looked at every law that might apply, too.

And he had at last come to the connection that the Potters, with the trust in the world so usual of youth, had simply assumed that Sirius Black would survive if they died and be able to care for their son. If Black was killed, or arrested for deaths that weren't his fault and locked away in Azkaban for twelve years, they had no second guardian chosen.

So Albus Dumbledore had simply stepped into the gap and placed the boy with his Muggle relatives. There was no one to say he could. But there was no one to forbid him, either. And most of the people involved had not dreamed of forbidding him, out of awe of him and probably because they knew the Potters had trusted him implicitly and so would trust him to make decisions for their son.

There was one other person who might have challenged for control of Potter's fate, but as he was a werewolf, Rufus could see why the Wizengamot would have turned down his petition. Werewolves hadn't been allowed to have or adopt children for several decades now.

This left him in an unusual position. He could do several things, such as declare Potter a ward of the Ministry and take control of his legal fate. It was the usual procedure in such cases.

But that would almost surely rouse Dumbledore against him, and the Headmaster still had claim to a larger share of the public good-will than he did. And Rufus had no sanctuary prepared that was safer than Hogwarts or the Muggle home where the boy had spent his days so far. He certainly could not live in the Ministry.

Then there was—

Rufus's nostrils flared as he glanced at the neatly-penned letter on his desk. He would not admit it the dignity of calling it a petition. It was a demand. It stated that, since Harry Potter was an Occlumens, he needed a mentor, who was actually granted the legal authority of a guardian, and Severus Snape would become his mentor.

It was too bad for Severus Snape that Rufus recognized his name as someone who should have been in Azkaban. He was Marked, and he had committed crimes; Rufus had seen some of them happen with his own eyes while he was chasing Death Eaters in the field. Dumbledore had freed him by pulling strings, and Rufus, resentful though he was of that, would not have cared if Snape had only taught Potions at Hogwarts.

But to have him claiming guardianship of Harry Potter…

No. It would not do. At all.

After thinking about it, Rufus made the only decision he reasonably could. Then he thought about keeping it secret from Potter, but in the end he made the only decision he reasonably could on that, too. He wanted Potter as an honest ally, so far as that was possible, and he would be more like that if he were not surprised. Rufus intended his gesture to be made along with the interview by the Daily Prophet reporter, after all, and so it would be public. Potter would be declaring his support for the Ministry in front of everyone anyway. No need to trap him into doing so.

Rufus wrote a letter to the boy, explaining. Potter wrote back immediately. Rufus could feel his lips curve up in a smile as he read the letter over.

It was strange that the boy was a Gryffindor, really, instead of a Ravenclaw, which had been Rufus's own House. He had a manner of thinking things through that didn't seem consistent with a lion. Still, it was very welcome in a savior of the wizarding world.

Harry was expecting it, though it seemed no one else was, when the doors to the Great Hall crashed cheerily open on Tuesday morning and the Minister of Magic, followed by a tall witch with brown hair piled on her head to make her seem even taller, walked in.

Scrimgeour nodded to the head table, but didn't look at it for long; instead, his eyes sought and found Harry, and he came towards him, threading the tables as if they were a maze of cubicles. He spoke loudly enough for everyone in the Hall to hear, though Harry wasn't entirely sure if that came out of the natural acoustics of the room or a modified Sonorus.

"Here you are, Mr. Potter, as we discussed. " He inclined his head as he laid a sheet of parchment down in front of Harry. "After thorough investigation, it was found that no one with any true right had claimed your guardianship. Your legal future, until you come of age, is yours to decide."

Harry clasped the parchment and smiled up at the Minister, fighting against temptation. "Thank you, sir." He kept his voice polite, but then he couldn't help himself. He turned and looked at Snape.

The man's face was so pale he looked as if he might faint. Harry opened his mouth in silent laughter, and then realized the dark eyes were looking right at him. He winked, and turned away. Snape might wonder how much Harry had to do with this, but he would never know for certain. The means of presentation meant it would seem to the public like a gesture from the Ministry.

"And this is the reporter from the Daily Prophet?" he asked, looking at the tall witch, who actually dropped him a little curtsey.

"Astraea Johnson," Scrimgeour said, with a smart nod. "And may I say once again, Mr. Potter, how grateful we at the Ministry are for your giving the newspaper a few words of truth to soothe this troubled time."

Harry smiled as he stood. He had known that he'd be declaring his support of the Ministry in public, and that was a small price to pay, truly, for Scrimgeour's showmanship. "You're welcome, sir," he said. Then he turned to Johnson. "Shall we adjourn to a quieter room to talk, ma'am?"

"Of course." Johnson's voice was so soft and light that Harry imagined she had trouble making herself heard in a crowd. She gestured, and Harry followed her towards the still-open doors of the Hall.

He glanced back once to see Dumbledore and Snape descending on Scrimgeour. For an instant, he was concerned, but he shrugged it off. You know he can handle them. Handling people like them would be part of the reason why he went into politics, after all.

And you're one step closer to deciding your own fate. He thoughtfully touched the parchment declaring him free, which he'd put in his robe pocket, and wondered what to do with it.

Rufus remained gazing after the Potter boy for a few seconds. He looked worse than when Rufus had seen him last. Oh, his face was still at peace, but his eyes were darker. Rufus remembered that exact shade of darkness. He'd been in the field with Lawrence Delthorn, an Auror who was usually silent, but had laughed and talked up a great storm that night. Then he'd lain down, and the next morning, Rufus couldn't rouse him. He'd taken poison. Their last case but one, involving the slaughter of several children, had broken him.

What is going on with the boy? And I wonder why no one else has appeared to notice? But perhaps someone has. I am not privy to every working of his mental state and daily life, after all.

"Minister Scrimgeour. Please come to my office."

Rufus turned and smiled at Dumbledore, letting his eyes rest on the man's cheeks instead of his gaze. "Of course, sir." Now that he knew the Headmaster was a Legilimens, he intended to keep a few of his own secrets.

Severus Snape was behind him, too, growling like a Crup inappropriately tamed. Rufus grinned, and didn't look around. The man was probably used to having some measure of power over his students and even his other colleagues. He had none over Rufus.

They went to the Headmaster's office, which Rufus found an invigorating walk. His bad leg was troubling him again, that was true, but surrounded by the malice of enemies, all his old Auror instincts returned and rose up roaring. This was where he belonged, really, in danger, not stuck behind a desk. He did envy his Aurors such as Moody sometimes.

When they were seated in the office, the Headmaster offered him a lemon sherbet. Rufus performed a non-verbal detection spell on them, on the principle that he would have drugged his sweets if he'd ever been in the habit of offering them, and found a misty glow indicating the presence of a potion that dulled reflexes and relaxed mental defenses just a bit. He refused.

Snape sat close on one side of him, still scowling. Rufus ignored him merrily. It was true that he'd stolen a march on them, and also true that it would never happen again, because now they knew he was in the game and would watch their backs more effectively. But he could enjoy it while it lasted, and establish that they couldn't intimidate him even when he'd lost the high ground.

"Now, Minister," Dumbledore began in his mild way, "you must realize we are all concerned with Mr. Potter's safety and legal status."

"Of course we are," Rufus contributed. "That young man is the savior of the wizarding world, after all." He heard a snort from beside his chair, and filed it away. Interesting. If the Potions professor doesn't like the boy, why in the world did he try to become his guardian?

"Of course," Dumbledore echoed, with a little smile and a nod. "But the dear boy has had trying year after trying year. It may be true that his current guardians are not the best people he could live with, but the best choice has been removed from us."

If he was trying to make Rufus feel guilty for Sirius Black's death, it was not going to work. He was sure the Headmaster could not have known the truth until recently, either, or he would have tried to free Black from Azkaban and demand a trial with the use of Veritaserum for him. "In fact, Headmaster," Rufus said calmly, "I have investigated the matter—"

A slight frown appeared between Dumbledore's brows, perhaps because he'd tried to catch Rufus's eye and that didn't work, either.

"And have discovered that those Muggle relatives of his mother have no right to call him their own." Rufus tapped his fingers together. "In such cases, the child in question becomes a ward of the Ministry, but we have no one in the Ministry prepared to claim exclusive charge of him. And, in this case, the 'child' has been aged into a young man by the trying years you mention. I thought it best to let him have his own choice in the matter."

"And if he will not make the best choice?" Snape demanded. Rufus shifted his head slightly to look at the man, but not much. Dumbledore was still deservingly the main focus of his attention. "The boy is sadly lacking in brains."

"I haven't found him so," said Rufus brightly, and watched Snape's eyes narrow. Ha! He agrees with me, I think. But it costs him to admit it.

As if aware that his face was so open, Snape looked away again with a small grunt. Rufus turned back to the Headmaster. "If you wish to see the legal documents authorizing the change in guardianship, I can of course show them to you, sir."

"No, no, I don't think that necessary." Dumbledore waved away the matter with one hand, as if he were clearing a cobweb, and then leaned forwards. "Do you know, Minister, I had expected to see you at the school long since."

Rufus smiled. He wouldn't deny that part of the reason he'd come along with Astraea Johnson was to have an excuse for entering Dumbledore's territory without being invited by the man and so giving up some of his pride and independence. "And I had hoped to see you at the Ministry, sir."

"Alas, the pressure of my duties for the school—"

"You maintain a schedule flexible enough to open for me at less than a moment's notice in the midst of all that pressure." Rufus shook his head and pasted an expression of reluctant admiration on his face. "Impressive."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed at him. Rufus looked calmly back. He didn't think the old man was malicious, really. He'd just got used to having things all his own way when Cornelius was Minister, and now he acted as if he should have his way with the new Minister, too. And if that included not respecting laws and being able to have more power than he should, of course he would want the advantage. So would Rufus.

"I wish to work with you, Minister," Dumbledore said softly. "Or would, were matters not so…difficult."

Rufus opened his eyes wide. "I would hope, sir," he said, with just the right touch of surprise, "that such a matter as granting a young man his overdue independence would never come between us when the safety of the wizarding world is at stake." He spoke more seriously after that. "I can use your help, and I can give it. Lending Aurors to guard Hogwarts, for example. Working out a program of home study with your professors so that those students from families most at risk can continue their education in Unplottable locations. Giving a prod to laws that would make crimes such as Muggle-baiting punishable with more time in Azkaban." He ostentatiously did not glance at Snape. "But I can do nothing of the sort without your cooperation. And you so far seem unwilling to give that."

Dumbledore chuckled, firmly ensconced in his persona as a harmless old man again. "So far, you seem to have talked about Ministry sacrifices alone, my dear sir. Let me know what help an old wizard can give, and I'll give it."

"May I return in five days' time, and bring a group of selected Aurors with me?" Rufus asked quietly.

The twinkling blue eyes brightened. "Of course!"

Rufus made a silent note that some of Dumbledore's agents—this 'Order of the Phoenix' that the Potter papers had mentioned—apparently hid among his Aurors. He stood. "Then I thank you for your time, Headmaster, and I hope that you will come to see the wisdom of my decision eventually."

Dumbledore only gave him a wise smile, as if to say it would be the other way around, and then waved his hand again. "Severus will show you out."

Severus didn't like this; Rufus could tell it from his muffled growls. But he rode the moving staircase down with him in silence. Rufus thought he knew why, and it was proven when Snape grabbed his arm at the gargoyle.

Rufus turned, meeting those dark eyes without fear. "Unhand me, now," he said quietly.

"Why did you not grant my petition for guardianship of Potter?" Snape hissed at him. "You know what he is."

"I do, actually," Rufus said. "And you are right that a young Occlumens requires a good teacher. I can assist Mr. Potter in choosing one, if he requests my help. But I also know what you are."

Snape narrowed his eyes at him.

"Dark wizard. Death Eater." Rufus resisted the temptation to poke him in the chest with a forefinger, just barely. "Not a fit guardian for the savior of the wizarding world." He freed his arm with an easy pull and walked away.

Snape would try something else, of course. This was not done. But Rufus was sure that Potter could withstand the man.

He wondered, as he went, if he ought to tell someone else about the shadows in Potter's eyes. But then he dismissed the notion. No. Either someone knows already and is helping him, or I would betray a secret of his. The boy certainly does not seem on the verge of suicide, but active and alive and committed to his political future. I have been mistaken about such things before, and such dark eyes may only be due to his destiny.

Harry found Astraea Johnson much more accommodating than Rita Skeeter had ever been. She didn't use a Quick-Quotes Quill, for one thing, but listened intently and then wrote what she heard down, sometimes asking Harry to repeat himself if she wasn't sure of a word. She rarely missed one, in fact.

She asked questions about his support of the Ministry and his troubles with the old Minister and Umbridge. Harry was quite happy to voice them, and more than once he caught a small smile on Johnson's face when he mentioned Rita Skeeter. Well, why not? They were probably rivals, after all.

The interview went well, light and fast, and soon Johnson was standing and curtseying to him. Then she extended her hand to him. Harry felt the firm nature of her shake and glanced up at her questioningly.

"I'm Muggleborn," she said in her soft voice. "And Death Eaters killed my sister sixteen years ago, when she was just eleven. I cannot say how grateful I am that you keep guard on our world, Mr. Potter."

Harry shook her hand back more strongly in response. Just about a month now, and people like Astraea Johnson shouldn't have to worry again.

He waited until she left before he also left the room, again touching the guardianship paper in his pocket. He paused when he saw that Dumbledore was waiting for him, face graver than normal.

"Will you come with me, my dear boy?" he asked. "I think we should talk."